#it's not enough to scream this pain into the twitter void

[owl-deer]

So, since Twitter is dying a slow and painful death (or at least going through something chronic from which it will never recover), I decided to move my non-native English maybe-poetry here, because why not. Nobody reads it anyway and I learned long ago that if I worry whether people read me I'll never write, just hoard it in my brain like some word dragon.

So, let's go.

1.

(2017)

When December is over we'll start again from the very very beginning. The world is spinning, shaking and we dance.

Come here, hold my hand again - you know this waltz. Three steps for promises, that slip off my tongue like fishes, one swing for your little kiss that fills me with an ocean of hope. We're dancing, the world is spinning, shaking, crumbling under our feet.

We hear nothing but music and the rhythmic sound of our steps.

December is over, New Year's coming, and the snow, white and cleansing, falls, covering all the cracks and gently melts in your hands.

2.

(2017)

Silence is magic that fills the air with a thin web of unspoken words

The curse of struggling with the screaming world

The void between you, extending your hand, and me, small and trembling, not strong enough to hold it.

3.

(2018)

You have a dream

I listen while hiding between your heartbeats, how you toss on the sheets: your soft exhale mingles with roaring waves of your ocean.

You have a dream.

With the first sunlight reflected in your eyes, still half-blind and drowsy, it flows away leaving only a subtle shadow of something beautiful.

But sometimes you wake up, limp and fuzzy, and then you are dragged back into the depths where you tremble, you struggle to breathe. And the walls seem to slowly crumble, and the light from an open window seems to be painfully bright.

And it lasts for hours.

I always hear it.

Thousands of miles away I lay down as if to fit into your body and whisper soundlessly the lullaby of the full Moon casting her light upon your raging ocean, hushing the storm.

And you have a dream again.

4.

I have been carving our story On the walls On your fair skin On my shaky hands I wake up, slowly And the morning Is sweaty, salty So lonely And there is nothing else left To say

I know, it's been too long So I am sorry For still feeling That way

5.

you know this feeling of being busy making myself useful waiting so painfully waiting to that light tic-tac-toc and the low chime of a century-old clock the call for seven

seven hours without a word from you seven wasted chances to hold your hand seven kisses that failed to happen more than seven months ago

I'm waiting for that telltale sign to end my workday to send you a text to imagine your soft smile (the ghost of a dimple that I so desperately want to taste is always present) 'hey there' I'm typing 'it's been a while'

and seven hours and thousands of kilometers turn into seven soft kisses captured in seven words

6.

it's nothing new I'm walking down the avenue of love I'm watching the landscapes of my everchanging feelings like an erratic line of a heartbeat in the ER

No nurse will come as it peaks and a high-pitched sound screams in my ears as my breath hitches and, with hands, trembling with fear, I hand out all this bloody mess of my feelings to you, my lovely to you, my dawn and my dusk

to you, the one I think of when the coastal city sheds the warmth of the sun and dresses up in blurry lights of the night

7.

Missing you is like breathing under the water The lump in my throat The heaviness in my chest — all of it has your name all of it is filling my empty body Until the glass breaks Until the water is rushing forward, crushing my ribcage, overflowing my eyes, my voice.

My words are sobbing for you. But I am silent, silenced, muted, like a boring, forgotten movie. But I am blank, grey, buried under the water.

I have so much to say, but words fail to form, fail to become a sound,

a call, reaching out to you.

8.

it's not love I'm not allowed to name this thing you and me share

we share thoughts lightest of touches giggles late night confessions

we share worries scars scratches torn paper clawed truth

I stand there, naked born anew I open my soul, shredding skin and bones away I open gates to my core and wait

And, like a miracle you go through

9.

Imagine poetry as a word unwritten incomprehensible repeated by thousands of lips over and over

The feeling composed into a thought composed into a poem hovers in my clouded mind

Imagine poetry as an unkind God he unforgivingly strips me from layers of armored past reveals the truth

Imagine poetry as you silent, standing In the eye of the storm, trembling, but strong -

so beautiful

My eyes close and there is nothing but cool air of your content sigh

Imagine poetry as love

10.

It always comes back.

At first - Slow, Like a ripple On the surface Of the quiet lake At dawn. It's gentle, Peaceful And, oh, so beautiful.

But you know better. You saw typhoons Started by those. You faced Tsunamis.

You know better and yet: Mesmerized, you take a stone, Flat and polished from the days You were drowning in salty water. You throw it, curious, (As if it's going to be different As if you'd find something new) And water Is rippling And rippling And rippling back

With a wave, caressing your toes.

With a wave, hitting you in the stomach Flowing into your eyes

You can't breathe Your lungs, filled with questions, Struggle to find air. Your legs, heavy with failures, Wobble, Buckle, Break.

The waves (Raging, Heartless, And, oh, so beautiful) Throw you into the coast Into the sandy soil, Leave you, like a jellyfish, To melt under the sun.

The soft whisper Of the ocean Takes you back To the days You hated its calmness Wishing It promised The storm.

Gonna post the rest tomorrow since there's a lot left and I don't want to make a monster post.

#poetry #my poems #poems on tumblr #Owl Deer scribbles

[fleetofshippyships-archive]

how cool would a red string of fate au be, with lwj watching the string snap while wwx fell to his death. and by cool I mean heart-crushingly painful

but then of course he'd see the string reforming when wwx is reborn into mxy so...it's not all bad?

#mxtx #mdzs #wangxian #the untamed #cql #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wei ying #lan zhan #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #my headcanon #wwx #lwj #* #it's not enough to scream this pain into the twitter void #i gotta scream it here too

[warmau]

Love Struck!AU x SF9

lately i just need to write about every member of every kpop group being in capital L love. find other love struck!aus here: monsta x | day6 | ateez | the boyz

youngbin

overcompensates with selfless acts that go above and beyond what any person deserves

offers to carry your bags, learns about plumbing when you mention you have a leaky faucet, asks if you want him to drive you to your appointments which you are perfectly fine getting to on your own

if there was a puddle of mud on the ground, youngbin would throw his brand new jacket over it just so you could walk over it

even though you could literally just. walk around it

doesn't even realize he's overdoing it

he just loves you and therefore knows he has to show it at any given part of the day

but not like in an aggressive manner

just a small smile and a "i can pick you up and drop you off if you want!"

dawon: actually, youngbin, we have practice at that tim-

youngbin, shoving a sandwich down dawon's throat: so you said noon right?

when you respectfully decline any of his help, mostly because you are worried you're using your friend for his kindness, everyone assures you that's not it

actually everyone is super confused how you haven't seen why it is weird that youngbin would commit hours of research for you when you ask offhandedly if you should visit europe for the summer and then show up at your door with ten pamphlets on different european destinations 'by chance'

because - that's weird - and weird means, in the great way of sf9, that he has a crush on you

"youngbin, you're being so nice to me these days how could i ever repay you?

youngbin about to say that there's nothing you need to do, he just likes being able to help

dawon, shoving a sandwich down youngbin's throat for revenge and also to answer on his leader's behalf: "actually, if you could finally go on a date with him - i think that would repay it."

you get all shy and murmur that you don't know if youngbin wants that, and youngbin can only vigorously nod that he does

(due to the sandwich)

inseong

no clue if puppy syndrome is a thing, but he's got it

the human embodiment of big puppy eyes whenever you're around, big puppy pout, big puppy wagging his tail at just the mention of your name

even without all that - the energy that exists around inseong when you are near him and giving him attention - it's enough to quite literally blow everyone and everything else away

and there are lasting effects

as in you walk away from the conversation and fifteen minutes later inseong still can't make out a single word, just chin on his palm - daydreamy look in his eyes

jaeyoon tries snapping his fingers in his face, tickling him, even flicking his best friend straight on the forehead but.

nothing.

the only way he breaks out of the spell you cast on him is either a long time passes or you show up again and inseong is back at your full attention

it's getting bad, like to a point where he walks into walls or drops his phone in the sink when he starts thinking about you

incidents where he nearly topples over onto poor chain who is like get off of me you are built like a skyscraper

or just flat out doesn't move a muscle in the right direction during practice and it's literally driving youngbin mad

so jaeyoon (like the best friend he is) arranges for you to come hang out with him but tada it's actually a candlelight dinner in the sf9 kitchen he and the rest of the boys set up for you and inseong

and you're like w....whats all this and inseong is like i don't know either

and jaeyoon (who like the best friend he is picked the nicest smelling candle from the tj maxx sale aisle) appears and lights it and is like this is for you two to confess and for inseong to be cured of puppyism

you: puppyism?

inseong, red as a tomato: i think he means like the way i act around you like a - um -

jaeyoon: like a lovesick puppy, so like....collar him or whatever

you and inseong both looking at him like do what? and jaeyoon is like sorry that didn't come out right

either way you get the point please date the oversized man whose brain wont work unless you give him a kiss

jaeyoon

opposite of his best friend, jaeyoon doesn't need to fall over his feet when he's lovestruck

he will literally just let you know how he feels

"i like you"

you smile at him and laugh, "i like you too!"

and jaeyoon is like amazing so we are both "liking" each other how lovely how nice

and that is....................where it ends

he literally is so preoccupied with the concept of confessing that he forgets the part where he has to like.

confirm the relationship

so for like a month after you are both just saying 'i like you' to each other and he thinks it's romantic and you still think it's platonic

it's a mess

he keeps asking himself when the right time to ask you to go to the movies with him is, if he should pull out the home cooking - why haven't you pulled out the home cooking? do you not "like" him enough for that?

he paces around before you come over because is he dressed too casual - i mean he's your boyfriend, he should put effort into it right?

and then you show up and nothing is different and everything is the same and when inseong is like

jaeyoon you're dating them right, why don't you guys like kiss? and jaeyoon is like holy shit i haven't even thought about that yet

and dawon is like how have you not thought about that kissing is all i think about ever

and so jaeyoon's head gets even more scrambled because now you come over and he's like ..... kiss......lips......mouth...hand? kiss on mouth...hand...lips.....hug?

and you're like what? and he's like hug lips mouth? and you're like jaeyoon are you ok?

oh my god at some point you're both alone and jaeyoon is walking you home or something and he reaches out to grab your hand because like that's normal right? people dating do that right?

and you're like oh! and he's like is this ok? and you're like a-does it mean something?

and jaeyoon is like it means the same thing as i like you....you know....like how i said it a month ago and i just thought we could take the next step-

he's rubbing his neck and blushing and he has always been sauve and straightforward and it dawns on you that the entirety of this month he has been saying he likes you like in that way

and you're like wait you like-love me? and he's like yes wait what did you think- and you're like i thought it was like-like ....like friend like?

you and jaeyoon just staring at each other and then he's like should i let go of your hand then

and you're like no. actually just kiss me we've wasted a LITERAL month

dawon

always the class clown, being lovestruck somehow only tends to make it worse

but not worse like oh he gets louder and cracks more jokes.

my man has upgraded to mildly dangerous body humor.

you are all together and dawon is suddenly like you guys think i can climb that uneven, rickety tree? and youngbin is like no and you're like no but dawon is like it'll be fun just watch

dawon: should i drink spoiled milk

you: why-

dawon: im hardcore it'll be fine - look im just a goofy guy who - oh my god. call an ambulance.

the idea is that every time you are in the vicinity and glowing like an angel without a halo dawon is like

gotta do something so outrageously stupid that it grabs their attention and/or lands me in a situation where i can excuse myself to run away from my feelings. perfect.

it's literally the dumbest logic on the planet

everyone tells him it's the dumbest logic on the planet

but dawon is convinced it's the best reaction to....to the butterflies in his stomach

of course, you don't find any of it amusing, you are just in a constant state of worry

one time dawon takes it too far and probably tries to do something that could actually seriously hurt him

and you stop him by grabbing him and being like stop - i don't know why you don't care about yourself but i care about you so stop being stupid

and dawon is staring down at you like

"pause, you care about me? like on a scale of 1-10 how muc-"

you kiss him and mutter a "11" and dawon thinks he sees stars

youngbin thanking you profusely like we were worried for his actual literal life

zuho

rather scream into the void than confront how he feels about you

the private twitter account is blowing up with tweets about how he wants to hold your hand and how that makes him pathetic

dawon replying under each of them: tru

rowoon replying under each of them: not true!!!!! love is awesome!!!! pog as chani would say!!!!!!

you talk to him about something and his ears are full of white noise and he cant help but think about how your face is somehow the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and how he could write a whole album about the curve of your nose and the color of your eyes and -

you ask him what he thinks and he can only reply with a sound that is both pained and high pitched and when you raise your eyebrow he's like gtg uh feed my cats

when you're around he disappears to "feed his cats" like . ten times

surprisingly being a lovestruck fool does fuel his ability to make music

but it is also sad and about being heartbroken and the members are like hey do you wanna talk about it and zuho is like no

there are spotify playlists with your name, there are journal entries about you, there are iPhone notes app scribbles about you

he's down bad

everyone knows he's down bad

you also figure out he's down bad and so you finally confront him

except you're like......... zuho who are you in love with? ill help you if i can

and he looks at you like a deer in headlights because that's the most bizarre shit you could ask him

and because of the shock he blurts out the truth

"you. i love you."

screams after and you jump up and he's like i need to leave and you're like AT LEAST LET ME SAY IT BACK?????

rowoon

it's the cluelessism of it all

he looks at you one day and instead of just being a person you are beaming at him like a direct sunray and he's like woah! weird!

he just kind of becomes more clumsy around you since you've got this new effect on him

trips over his big feet, giggles randomly while you're talking, forgets he's in the middle of the street when you're walking by his side and someone has to honk three times for him to start walking again

honestly no one can tell what's wrong with him

because is he like ... is it early onset amnesia? is he just spacing out?

even chani notices the shift because rowoon has gone from annoying him to laying half off the couch with his hand in an empty pringles can

"what are you thinking about?"

rowoon just mutters your name and chani is like .... i don't know about all this but maybe you like them?

reality hits rowoon like a freight truck .... liking you? that's new

he googles 'what to do when you like someone?' literally googles it

tries to show you by playing it cool, tries to show you by showering you in random compliments but he's tongue tied when you smile so he's like i love your hair it looks like. cheese

embarrasses himself over and over and over until he just hunches himself over one day and is like

why is liking someone so hard? isn't it supposed to be easy?

and you're like haha i know the feeling, ive liked someone for so long but he never takes a hint and rowoon is like omg who

and you look at him and you're like well he's a tall clueless handsome guy

and rowoon stares at you like he sounds nice

and you're like you

and he's like oh that's nice - WAIT

taeyang

flirts with you but it flops because he's been flirting with you since you first met

so you cannot tell the difference and taeyang is like what am i doing wrong

inseong: karma for always winking and calling them cute when now you want them to do it back to you

taeyang: shuttup sad old man

inseong: you've been hanging out too much with chani. sniffle

he decides ok so regular flirting doesn't work, so what about lowkey flexing?

he wears the expensive watch and puts his hand in front of you like, hey and you're like hi? and he's like notice anything? and you're like .... um..... oh, your tag is sticking out of your shirt! and taeyang is like .........F

ok so not flexing, what about compliments?

he piles like ten of them on you and you're like oh - thanks, but i don't really like this outfit anyway and he's like....F

ok so not flexing, compliments, let's try playing hard to get

he gives you the cold shoulder when you come over and you immediately are like taeyang are you mad at me if you are im sorry so stop being a weirdo and he's like........F

finally he just reverts to himself and just keeps up the regular flirting and the soft touches and smiles

and he realizes the difference now is when he flirts - he just has to follow up on it

so when he asks " i cant taste my lips, can you do it for me?"

and you reply with "sure" and roll your eyes

he just . does kiss you and you're like oh.

and he's like well what do you say and you're like your lips taste sweet and he's like NO I MEAN-

you just kiss him again because now you get what he actually means LOL

hwiyoung

sulks when you're not around, and then doesn't go near you when you are around

it's like please make up your mind

is the definition of if i stare at you long enough you will fall in love with me right?

but he stares from ten feet away

it takes everyone all their strength to drag him out of his room when you're over and even then he puts his hoodie up and plays with his shoelaces and acts like he's a five year old

when he gets put next to you in the car ride somewhere he almost passes out from holding his breath from nervousness and you turn to him and you're like hwi you're turning purple?!?!?

you tap his shoulder when he isn't looking and call him hwi~ and he thinks his knees like. give out he crumbles to the floor and you're like oh my god are you sick??!?!!?

to put it simply, being in love forces him to lose his human ability to live

gets a pep talk from literally every member about how he cannot act like this. it's giving you the wrong impression and yet he just

he can't do anything about it you enter his personal space and the little nerves in his brain go haywire

"i don't want them to think im being rude, but it's kind of like im allergic to them."

"oh - you're allergic to me?"

hwiyoung turns and you're giving him a look and he's like oh god i mean - i don't - i mean like -

and he doesn't know what to say but you just giggle and you're like "fine, if you're allergic we'll have to make immune"

and he's like blinking like wha-

you wrap your hands around him and he's like !!!! and you're like here just take me in large doses until you build up immunity ok?

hwiyoung nodding because he has forgotten the entirety of the korean language

chani

realizes he's being freaking weird when he bails on his plans to eat and game to hang out with you

prioritizing social interaction over being alone in his room......now that's not normal

yes, ok, so he likes you - but now he's like

no one can ever know that. i will not be left alone if anyone finds out.

unfortunately, he asks jaeyoon of all people if he knows what food you like and jaeyoon is like

OH YOU WANNA ASK THEM ON A DATE RIGHT SO YOU WANNA LOOK UP RESTAURANTS WITH THAT FOOD RIGHT?

chani standing in the doorway like. what. no....

the minute chani starts picking the spot next to you when you're all together is his downfall

the entire world knows how he feels and he's like oh fuck seriously

he helps you go shopping and he comes home and every member is just like :) tell us about the date :)

and he's like SHUTTUP

calls you by a nickname and rowoon almost chokes on his food in surprise, because chani?????? gave someone???? a nickname????? and it isn't a combination of the word ass and hole?????

he cannot escape the fact that little things for others, are big things for him

being attentive and caring and even just smiling in your presence is enough to give away how he's feeling

let alone he dropped a rank in league so everyone is like ah - he's distracted with someone~!

it gets unbearable to a point where chani is like i cant live with these people always bothering me so im just going to confess

he pulls you aside and is like "i want to date you - is that ok?" and you're like of course, was wondering when you'd ask dummy and he's like,,,,,,listen,,,,

assumes the teasing will die down when you both come into the room holding hands

BUT OH IS HE WRONG

inseong: i got dibs on being the wedding planner, eat dirt youngbin

#sf9 scenarios #sf9 au #sf9 imagines #sf9 x reader #youngbin scenarios #inseong scenarios #jaeyoon scenarios #dawon scenarios #rowoon scenarios #chani scenarios #hwiyoung scenarios #taeyang scenarios #zuho scenarios #youngbin au #jaeyoon au #chani au #inseong au #rowoon au #zuho au #taeyang au #sf9 #sfw #lovestruck!au #youngbin imagines #inseong imagines #jaeyoon imagines #dawon imagines #rowoon imagines #chani imagines #hwiyoung imagines

[writing-by-gayrainbowbridge]

Endure

Part One (1) Inspired By This Fanart (Which I Couldn't Find Before So I'm Adding It Now) And Writing Prompt by murdermuffinloki:

When Loki fell from the Bifrost, Sylvie jumps after her brother, not willing to ever be separated from him. They fall into the clutches of Thanos. After many months of torture, they manage an escape plan, yet only Sylvie successfully makes it out.

Sylvie finds her way to Midgard and is found by a woman named Pepper Potts. Pepper takes Sylvie to Tony Stark to recover after Sylvie blacks out from all the pain she was in. When she wakes, she explain's what happens and how she's desperate to find and save her brother.

She tells Tony and Pepper about Thanos' plan to send Loki to Midgard to take the Tesseract. And, well, Tony isn't going to let an innocent man be framed for something he's been forced to do now is he?

⚠️Warning: Attempt Suicide, Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence⚠️

Enjoy 💚❤

(Please Check The Pinned Post On My Tumblr Page To See If There Are More Parts To This Story)

"I could have done it, father!"

Loki had tears in his green eyes, his heart trying to tear itself out of his chest as he clung onto the last bits of hope that this might have been enough. That he was good enough.

"I could have done it!" He repeated, voice choked up. "For you! For all of us..."

Odin's face didn't change, blue eyes as cold as ice. "No, Loki."

Loki's heart finally tore in half. He felt as it did and he wanted to scream from the pain of it but instead, his face simply fell. He wasn't good enough. He had never been good enough. Of course not.

He was a fool to believe otherwise.

"Loki, no" Thor said, blue eyes like his Father's widening in fear as Loki's hand slipped down the staff's handle.

Loki swallowed, knowing death was only one move away. One move he was willing to make. Because what else did he have to live for now? He was a monster. Nobody could ever love him.

He let go.

"Loki!"

Loki was already falling when arms wrapped around him but his fall didn't stop or even slow as his own arms came up automatically to wrap around her.

"Sylvie," Loki gasped out. "What are you doing—?!"

"You go," Sylvie whispered against his ear, her grip tightening. "I go."

Loki wanted to scream at her that she was a fool and should have stayed on the Bifrost but he couldn't. Not at his sister, the only one who had ever been there for him throughout his life.

Loki sobbed, burying his face into her neck as the cold air rushed past them. "Did you know?"

Sylvie paused before she nodded. "I knew."

Loki's heart broke a little at that as he leaned back but never loosened his grip on Sylvie. If they were going to die, they would die together. "W-why didn't you tell me what I was?"

Sylvie looked at her Brother's tear streaked face and sighed softly. "I-I thought you knew."

Loki let out a shuddering breath. No, Sylvie hadn't kept secrets from him. Not purposely. It helped ease the ache in his heart just a little.

"We're going to die," Loki whispered, hating that he had put his sister in this position, even if she had jumped from the Bifrost on her own free will.

Sylvie rolled her eyes though she couldn't completely mask the fear in them. "Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

Loki laughed brokenly. A selfish part of him was glad Sylvie was there so he wouldn't have to die alone. But if things had gone how he planned, she wouldn't have been there at all. She should never have jumped after him

But now it was too late.

They fell in silence after that, the cold of the void sinking into their bones but wrapped up in one another's arms, Loki didn't feel it.

It seemed like a thousand lifetimes before anything appeared out of the darkness. Sylvie saw it first, green eyes widening. "Loki."

Loki glanced at her then below them and saw a world he knew not of and they were heading straight for the ground.

If Loki had been by himself, he would have let himself splatter but now he had Sylvie to think about. If there was even the slimmest chance of surviving the fall, he would take it.

"This is going to hurt," Loki muttered to himself, tightening his arms around Sylvie and closing his eyes.

In one moment and the next, they were tumbling across the ground, Loki having used the last bits of his magic to teleport them to the ground but the impact still knocked the air out of his lungs.

Loki pushed himself up, already feeling the bruises forming on his body as he searched around for Sylvie. He opted not to yell out her name, unsure if this planet was inhabited with life yet.

He spotted her a little ways from him, slowly getting up herself and pushing back the hair falling in her eyes as she looked over at Loki. "Are you okay?"

Loki let out a shaky breath. "Just a little bruised. Nothing that won't heal. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, standing and walking over to Loki and offered a hand that he took. She tried to pull him to his feet but Loki realized too late that he'd sustained more than some bruises as he shouted in pain when he tried putting his weight onto his left ankle. Which was very obviously broken now that he could feel the pain. Odin only knew how he hadn't noticed before.

Sylvie crouched down beside him to inspect the breakage. "You're such an idiot."

"Thank you. I try," Loki gritted out, trying to ignore the pain it caused when Sylvie placed her hand over it and muttered under her breath so she could heal it.

Loki scanned their surroundings but saw no sign of life. The planet was bare of pretty much anything it seemed. Must be a dead planet. There were more of those than most realized. At least it meant there was no danger coming after them.

Loki had spoken too soon.

Loki frowned at the forms of...something coming towards them in the distance. Much closer than Loki would like. "Sylvie, be quick. We're not alone."

Sylvie turned her head to look in the direction Loki was and cursed in Norse when she saw the...the things heading towards them. "It is never easy for us, is it? No, of course not."

Loki bit his lip when she continued her quick but soft murmuring to mend his ankle faster.

Not fast enough though. The beasts were faster than Loki suspected and he pulled his leg back before Sylvie could finish. "Sylvie, run. Run now."

Sylvie gave him an aggravated look. "I am not leaving you here. Now stop moving."

"I mean it. Go, now," Loki hissed out, pushing her lightly away.

"Loki!" Sylvie growled.

"Sylvie!" Loki snapped back.

It was too late for them to argue beyond them. The beast were upon them. Horrible, twisted looking creatures that made Loki's skin crawl in revulsion.

Sylvie stood between them and Loki who would have berated her about doing so if he wasn't injured and they weren't in such a dire situation.

"Stay away from us," Sylvie stated firmly, looking unsure if the beasts even knew English or not.

Funnily enough, the beasts seemed to listen as they didn't come closer but a cloaked form made their way out from the group, walking or more gliding towards the pair.

"What have we here? Prizes for our master?" The cloaked figure murmured, head raised enough to see a twisted scarred mouth filled with sharp teeth. The mouth grinned. "This shall please him greatly."

"Leave us," Sylvie demanded, voice cool. "And perhaps I'll let you live."

"Such spirit," the figure said. "Oh yes. He will have such fun breaking you."

A dagger appeared in Sylvie's hand as she lashed out at the figure but they vanished before the knife could make contact, appearing back behind her. Sylvie didn't have the chance to turn before a clawed hand touched the back of her head.

Sylvie fell to the floor, unconscious.

"Sylvie!" Loki screamed, trying and failing to stand. His ankle wasn't healed enough.

The figure turned towards Loki who was still staring wide eyed at Sylvie's unconscious form. Or at least, he hoped she was only unconscious. He wouldn't believe she was dead.

"Do not fret, Asgardian," the figure spoke as they approached, Loki pushing himself back with his hands. "I'm sure he will let you live."

Loki shook his head, unable to form any words to make them stop as they reached for him, a clawed hand touching his forehead.

After that, he only remembered darkness.

...

@murdermuffinloki I finally got around to writing this! :D This is only the first chapter. I'm not sure how many chapters there's going to be just yet or how often I'll be updating so bear just with me on this!

#murdermuffinloki #frostiron #loki/tony #loki x tony #sylvie/pepper #sylvie x pepper #loki and sylvie #loki #sylvie #pepper #tony #angst #hurt #attempt suicide #injury #suicidal thoughts #violence #chitauri #other #story #ch1

[foone]

Unbreathing Vacuum

I got an ADHD inspiration to write a short DS9 fic off a shitpost about Star Trek-but-all-the-computers-run-windows-98, so I wrote a thing about Odo and the crew's reaction to his seeming death. (This was written for twitter, so it's gonna have some weird paragraph breaks, sorry about that)

Odo is tracking down a Bolian weapons dealer with as many morals as hair follicles when he finally corners him in a cargo bay. It goes south, quickly, as it turns out weapons dealers have access to a lot of weapons.

His Bajoran security officer is laying down suppressing fire as Odo sneaks around behind the Bolian who is trying out a wide variety of strange weapons, colored beams shooting across the room like we're in a deadly disco of death.

Odo reforms into a grumpy humanoid behind the blue man group reject, shedding his Andorian Ice Fox form that let him cross the sea of crates without detection. Odo grumbles "I think that's enough, don't you?" as the Bolian turns and screams.

The football shaped object in his hands that was beeping increasingly frantic pitches drops to the floor, and he dives for it. Odo looks down in surprise, then recognizes what it is, but it's slightly too late, as timers on Klingon grenades are not known for their accuracy.

There's a flash of light and pressure as it detonates, and the cargo bay wall cracks, and the one sound no one wants to hear in a space station begins: the high pitched hissing of air rapidly leaving.

Odo gets to his feet in that uncanny way he sometimes does when he forgets to move like a being who has bones. He simply transitions from a body on the floor to a standing vaguely humanoid form. The Bolian, being closer to the blast, appears dead, or at least soon to be so.

He turns to his security officer to tell her to go call Chief O'Brien, when the hissing wall suddenly groans with the sound of bending metal, and the wall gives way completely. An entire semi-rectangular wall panel is ejected into the black, taking Odo and the dead Bolian with it

The security officer, nearer to the door, slams the access panel and dives through the door before it can finish opening, and rips off a barely attached wall panel to yank on the manual bulkhead release.

The door slams shut with typical Cardassian efficiency, not caring or bothering to check if there might be a limb or two in the way. The hurricane wind of all the station's air trying to escape is suddenly ended, and deafening white noise gives way to the low hum of the station.

Moments later, the crew up in Ops are reacting to the news of Odo's death in almost comically predictable ways.

Kira, the career soldier, is angry. She's seen many friends die in front of her, and she never let herself become numb to it. She's swearing at Odo in ways that the universal translator is so good at eliding, saying she always told him he was taking too many risks.

Just because he won't mind when someone stabs him doesn't mean he's invulnerable, she told him, and he, as always, almost-smiled in the way he only seems to do around her and grumbled about how he'd be careful.

The young doctor is barely holding it together. Kira's lashing out but it's a controlled sort of anger, a way she keeps a handle on the pain of losing people. Bashir, the eternal optimist to Odo's eternal pessimist, doesn't really believe in death, a strange trait for a doctor.

O'Brien is focusing himself on technical issues to avoid having to think about the emotional ones. What kind of weapon could have taken out a reinforced cargo bay wall? Had it been damaged before and incorrect repaired? He makes a note to do a full check of structural integrity

Dax has seemingly no reaction, but that's almost to be expected. You have a different outlook on death when you've died before, multiple times. As a near-immortal you see many people and make many friends, and nearly all of them will die long before you.

You have to learn to accept it, or it will kill you by inches. One of the downsides of seemingly endless life is there's a lot of time to mourn.

The commander is definitely feeling the impact of the loss, especially having had far too much experience with this particular kind of loss before. He flashes back to that time he always, in some way, still resides in...

When an alien force shows up and starts carving your ship into digestible chunks, you quickly become intimately familiar with the effects of sudden decompression on the humanoid body. It's not pretty, it's not as fast as you'd hope, and it's something you never forget.

He maintains his composure, leaning on his command training, and asks Kira to make a list of security officers she'd suggest promoting to Chief of Security. He thinks for a moment, realizes Odo had no family, and says he'll send a note to Dr. Pol

He turns back to go into his office when there's a dull thudding noise, and a sort of faint tink-tink-tink caused by the flexing of glass that happens with even the thickest of reinforced viewport.

He looks around in confusion, and Dax suddenly points at one of the high-up viewports. Floating outside the window, looking only slightly more annoyed than his resting "I hate life" face, is Odo.

It feels like something outside of a horror movie, a ghost floating silently outside a second story window, because humanoids don't just happily move around in the harsh void of space without needing a suit or a forcefield to keep them breathing.

But Odo isn't like most humanoids, after all. He's not a humanoid, for one. He's more a confounding self-propelled pile of goo that sometimes feels like pretending to be a humanoid shape.

This is made more obvious by the fact that he's only half there. His lower half is not legs, but a shimmering stretch of undifferentiated shapeshifter material, in order to hold onto an access handle tightly enough to give him the leverage to knock on a window.

Seeing he's got the attention of the crew, he pulls his hands from the window and starts attempting to sign to them. Kira's the only one with any experience in Bajoran sign language, and the best she can make out is something like "he broke his... Weasel? Columns him... Boat?"

He sighs, rolling his eyes, like only a shapeshifter really can. The sigh is silent of course, but if anyone could grumble in disappointment in the vacuum of space, it would be Odo.

His hands blur together as he shapeshifts them into a new form: a small flat panel, with Bajoran lettering in a large block font, perhaps a little too blocky as his aggravation is coming across even in typographical form.

COMBADGE DAMAGED BEAM ME ABOARD

Dax and O'Brien quickly confer, taking a painfully long moment to figure out how to lock onto something that is neither wearing a working combadge or reads as a life sign. Finally they figure out how to get a lock, and engage the transporter.

The grumpy-looking chief of security rematerializes on the Ops transporter pad, adjusting his "uniform" in an entirely unnecessarily maneuver he long ago picked up in his study of humanoids. He's naked, after all, he just looks like he's wearing clothes.

"Thank you for bringing me in", he grumbles, not saying the "finally" everyone can clearly hear in his tone. "It turns out that you can't open airlocks from the outside, so I wasn't able to come in the obvious way."

O'Brien, still slightly surprised by the sudden reappearance of his "dead" coworker, falls back on technical details as always. "That's a safety system we installed. The airlocks won't open unless they detect a ship is docked."

Kira chimes in with "Yeah, the Cardassians didn't have that restriction, as they wanted the freedom to just toss Bajorans out the airlocks when they felt like it." Odo responds with his usual grunt, a dismissive "pah, you solids and your weaknesses and your squabbles" noise.

Sisko replies "Regardless, it's good to see you alive and well, Odo."

Odo half-nods. "Commander, if you'll excuse me, I have reports to file and a safety lockout to implement. As tempting a prospect as it might seem, I wouldn't want Quark to end up to be sucked out the station's new orifice when he comes looking for his shipment of Yarmok sauce."

O'Brien jumps in with his typical urgency, half-covering up the feeling of "I should have fixed that already, damn" that he's seemingly always feeling around here. "I'll send a repair team down there right away."

Odo doesn't turn as he walks to the lift. "That would be appreciated, Chief. I'd rather not have to walk along the outside of the station again today." he says, punctuating it by activating the lift and descending out of view.

Sisko rubs his forehead. This is a strange place indeed, and despite all the headaches it gives him on a daily basis, he's beginning to feel almost at home in this remote alien place.

This place is strange, the people are strange, the situation is strange... But they're his strange.

Maybe someday they'll stop surprising him. But he doubts it, and he isn't sure he would want them to.

He sits down at his desk and pulls up another of the day's reports, thankful he doesn't need to write that letter to Doctor Mora Pol, for more than one reason.

It's never easy losing someone under your command, and writing that letter to their next-of-kin never gets easier either. But it's a good day when you don't have to do either.

#star trek deep space nine #ds9 #odo #star trek #fanfic

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

.-

Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

.-

~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



#HAMLIZA #HAMILTON #ALEXANDER HAMILTON #ELIZA SCHUYLER HAMILTON #ELIZA SCHUYLER #Spilt ink #sweetest missives #you're an angel babe and I really hope you like this

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 41- The Forest of Memories

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The Hangman’s Playground awaits.

_________________________________________

Standing before the tall, seemingly endless copse of trees, it looks like any other forest in Lairyon. It’s not quite as tall as the Evernight Forest, or bright as the Flowerfruit fields. To someone who didn’t know any better, this was a regular forest. But no one in Lairyon would dare enter this forsaken ground. Brambles grow right up to the edge of the treeline, not a single thorn cut, not a single leaf plucked. Even the most plump, ripe, delicious fruit goes unpicked among these trees. 

But the leyline they stand over, five hermits wide and pulsing with Ren’s imagination magic infused and glowing, goes directly into the Forest of Memories. All three major leylines run into the forest, but Grian noticed on their way here that a fourth one also radiated out, this time in a westernly direction. Towards the Ashioll sea. 

No time to explore the implications of that. Not after all the training, all the resource gathering they’ve done. No, there’s no more time to waste, no more preparing they can do. Today, no matter what happens, they will find out what Magistrate Dolios is hiding. 

TFC tries to psych himself up, despite every fiber in his old bones telling him not to go in. Ever since he was a boy, almost every story he was told warned him not to enter the Hangman’s Playground. The stories never quite explain what happens within these woods, but the tales of those who dare enter only got more horrifying as he got older. 

Grian, on the other hand, walks straight through the bushes and into the forest, much to the shock and horror of everyone else. He knows the stories, true and legend, he just doesn’t care. Soon after, Etho follows in, then Tango, Joe, xB, and Jevin. One by one, following after the cheerful angel, until only TFC and Mumbo are left at the forest interface. TFC places his hand on Mumbo’s back. “I wouldn’t recommend being last, with your back to the forest and all that.” 

It’s enough to get him moving, running to catch up with Xisuma. The Forest of Memories swallows the hermits whole, trees letting in only dapples of light across the ground. The smattering and ever changing light plays tricks with the hermits’ heads, flashes of things that shouldn’t be here appearing in their eyes, sounds that don’t belong in a forest playing distantly with the wind. 

They do their best to stay directly atop the red hued leyline of dark magic, Ren every so often recasting his spell to keep from losing the trail. They pass by a herd of goldhorns, grazing in a clearing alongside a wild herd of shleep. The night sky wool wisping into the air and playing in the distorted light. Zedaph almost runs off to join the shleep, were it not for Impulse holding him by the capelet. `Turuls and Anzus flit between full crowns of trees, the latter spitting water and breathing fire as it plays. 

It was a perfectly normal forest. But between every twitter, there was a scream. Behind every dappled ray of light, there was a world long gone. The Forest of Memories is sinking it’s teeth into the hermits. 

A flash of light blinds Stress, and she’s no longer in the calming, quiet forest, hiking with her fellow hermits. The sounds of birds and the breeze replaced by a low roar of voices and lush music. The snug, warm, and durable robes of her outfit is gone, rather feeling sterile, starch silk shift across her legs. She feels so exposed in the rich, beautiful dress. And when the light fades from her eyes, she’s standing in a grandiose ballroom. Her parents’ ballroom, full of people, all wearing similar dresses and suits. All wearing the same smile.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice Stress immediately recognizes as her mother shouts. The tight bun of brown hair, the same shade as Stress’s own, leans down and hauls her skirts up. “These shoes are peasant wear! And look at your posture!”

“But mother,” Stress whimpers. 

“Don’t talk back! You are a lady, act like it!” 

“I don’t want to be a lady! It’s borin’, mother! I don’t want to use my magic to make swan sculptures,” She waves to the side, knowing that an ice waterfowl is just nearby. Of course she knows- this is her memories. “I wanna make something grand and beautiful! Something no one has ever made!”

The ball fades for a moment, like fog in the night, and her mother has been replaced by a different face. A face she knows, though is much, much younger. But his voice betrays the illusion. “Stress, stress! Snap out of it!”

Mumbo’s face regains his mustache, matching the grownup voice of her fellow nobleman, and something cold, smooth is pressed into her hand. The talisman fights away the illusion, until the mist has dissolved in the summer sun and her true family stands before her again. Twenty something concerned faces, BDubs and Iskall helping her stay standing. “I...I was back in Milliara, in ma family’s manor.” 

Xisuma shakes his head. “You were here the whole time. It must be the forest. It’s like what Queen Erlea mentioned, the forest uses our mind against us.” 

“Such a peaceful forest,” Cleo whispers. “Yet it harbors such dangerous magic.” 

“It felt so real. I knew it was a memory, but in the moment….” Stress shakes her head. “In the moment, I was trapped as a lady again.”

She runs her fingers over the talisman, then pulls it over her head. With the help of her friends, her true family, she regains her step and they move forward. But every shimmer in sunlight, Stress’s fears only grow. 

The forest isn’t after her. Xisuma is always the logical one. He’s deduced that the forest seems to play off people’s memories, latching onto their emotions. The ghost in Addows mentioned that she only thought happy thoughts, and the Forest didn’t have control over her. So Xisuma thinks happy thoughts as well, simple and to the point. He thinks of his fellow hermits, building his beloved tower. 

He built his observation tower with Ex. And just like that, the forest has found his weak spot.  He’s not standing among the trees, but rather in front of his observation tower. And only one other person was with him. Standing, hackles raised, was his brother. 

Ex’s white hair was luminescent in the sunshine of the Ashioll sea, red cloak discarded and tucked beside the wall of fresh, unweathered, and unblemished stone. No burn marks from Tango or Impulse, or mismatched windows after Grian would throw a rock just a bit too large. No, there were only two people on Eremita. 

Not anymore. “We can’t let any random person on our island! We hardly know anything about this poet guy, he could be working for the Council!” Ex waves his hand in the general direction, where their newcomer is tapping the end of his quill against his chin. Leaving an ink stain. “This is a place to hide, for us to be free, brother. You’re too trustworthy!”

“And you’re a coward!” X’s voice rises over his mask, forged by his brother to protect him from the sunlight. “You’ve blinded yourself with your own light, and you can’t see that we’d be stronger, safer with more. We can’t be a guild with just two brothers.”

“I never wanted to be a guild.” Ex surges till the twins are nose to nose, the supernova mage’s eyes burning with the heat of a thousand stars. Xisuma’s are as dark as night. “I just wanted somewhere for us to be free, aren’t I all you need?” 

The words fall from X’s mouths, stinging as he says them this time around. He should’ve never said them, but now he’s being forced to relive this horrible moment all over again. “I don’t need you, I never needed you!” 

Xisuma finds himself on the ground, his mask knocked loose. But the sunlight wasn’t the only thing burning his eyes. Blood falls across his face, perpendicular slashes oozing red ochre, and the same dripping from the end of his brother’s staff. 

In his foolishness, blinded by the sunlight, by his brother, Xisuma fights back. He summons his magic, and hurls twin lashes of void at his brother. Knocking him over, grasping against the frozen burns across his own face. Xisuma stumbles to find his mask, ignoring the blood. “An eye for an eye. You aren’t my brother.” 

The pain feels real, the sensation of the blood running down his face, the scent of ozone in the air feels real. But Xisuma remembers that day clearly- the worst day of his life. The day he lost his brother. And he knows he wasn’t crying. 

It’s not real. Xisuma reaches up, and feels the wet stain. It doesn’t coagulate like blood, the tears that run from beneath his mask. It’s an illusion, Xisuma.

Logic is Xisuma’s strength. He wasn’t logical that day, but he is now. And he cries, for the loss of his brother, his best friend. He focuses in on those teas, something the forest can’t hide from him. He closes his eyes, feeling the guilt and sorrow. Wishing he wasn’t so cowardly to reach out and make amends. 

Distantly, he feels someone touching his arm, his hand. But it doesn’t feel like his body. A cool metal band slips around a finger, and he can finally find his way out of the illusion.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest again, the illusion shattering and sparkling like starlight in the sun. Like the tiny stars his brother used to make when they were boys. Xisuma jumps out of his skin when a hand lays on his arm, feeling all too real. Joe stood next to him, other hand retreating from the moodring on Xisuma’s finger. The first newcomer to the island. He offers peace, but Xisuma can’t find it within himself. 

The forest is in his head, twisting his memories and reminding him of all his wrongs. Turning his mind against him. He can only focus on walking, follow the line of hermits before him. Wishing for the horrible thoughts to end. And wishing for his brother to be at his side. 

Xisuma isn’t the only one who lost his family. But at least his is alive. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango tried to steel themselves in preparation of what they knew the Forest of Memories would bring up. They thought they were prepared, able to fight off the Hangman’s Playground. Both physically and mentally. Even Zed thought he’d be able to shepherd away the intrusive thoughts.

The forest is smart, however. And it goes for him before the others. Zedaph feels the heat against his face, and closes his eyes. He will not see that night. Zedaph hears the screams, of his own guild dying around him, and he hums to himself. He will not hear that night. He tries to block it out, to block out the forest, to refuse it access into his head to hurt him further. 

“Go, Zed!” The voice is so crisp, so real, it’s not just an echo of a memory. He can’t help but look up, searching for his guildleader. 

And he sees scicraft burning. He watches as the fire hurls across the sky, and ash coats the massacre in a fine layer of dust. But he realizes, experiencing this night all over again, that it’s not just ash dancing in the air. Mixed with the burning embers are the fragmented pieces of husks- those attacking the guild. Husks before he even knew dark magic existed. 

Zedaph collapses to his knees, alerting the other hermits to his vision. Impulse falls victim next, his face red as the sensation of burning is played through his head. As, in his illusion, he’s running through the fire. Calling out for the other guild members, even though he knows there’s no hope. He’s trapped in the past, forced to relive the day he lost his family. Until all he had left was Zed, Tango, and a memory. 

Tango rushes to try and retrieve a potion, liquid happiness that was brewed to perfection by Stress. He digs his hand through the bag of supplies, until his fingers close around...fabric. Tango retreats his hand, no longer digging through his backpack, but rather digging through the ashen remains of his guild. He’s holding a torn, burnt cape, stained in blood. 

In one fell swoop and one horrible shared memory, all of Team ZIT is in the clutches of the forest. It plays with their mind, their memories. Turn them on themselves, blaming themselves for the loss. Survivor’s guilt. The other hermits try to snap them out of it, placing talismans on them and forcing potions across their lips. 

It’s not until Doc takes control of Zed, and uses his friend’s magic to dispel the thoughts are they able to get ZIT in any state of relief. Doc feels horrible, but it was a necessary evil. The ZIT trio hold each other close, the thoughts lingering like mist in the morning, whispers of the forest still controlling them. 

Doc looks at the others, their faces worn thin. The sight of their friends, their family struggling has weakened them as well. The Forest of Memories will claim them all if they don’t hurry. Queen Erlea was right- no amount of preparation could prepare them for this. Doc nods his head at the bright red leyline. “The longer we’re in here, the more Hangman’s Playground will toy with us. Let’s keep moving.”

#hermitcraft #lol #light of lairyon #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard au #wizard hermits #wizard stress #wizard zedaph #wizard xisuma #wizard tango #wizard joe #wizard evil xisuma #wizard impulse #stressmonster101 #xisuma #zedaph #tangotek #joehills #evil xisuma

[delaneytveit]

Satellites Part 13

WHOOOOO we’re halfway thereeee! OOOHHHHH (Actually we’ve been a little bit more than half way for a bit) but don’t worry, there’s still A LOT of story to get through. If you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider buying me a coffee! 

Oh and I’m on twitter! if you want to give a follow, or watch me scream into the void about Lance in tactical gear, that’s the place! 

Twitter - sfw -> @/spacemom_laney | nsfw -> @/15_agentwash

ko-fi - ko-fi.com/delaneym_15

 ( Part 12 ) ( Satellites Master Post ) (Part 14) 

The team left at 0800 the next morning. Allura had convinced, after quite a long time, Blue to let her pilot. Though it was clear that Blue was not happy about it. The only lion that was missing was the red one.

Keith had chosen to stay behind, to much confusion of the team. Though Lance could vaguely guess why. He felt guilty. Keith had been the one to bring into question Lance’s ability to complete missions, and even though that wasn’t his intention, he knew that it still hurt Lance.

Their relationship was rocky as it was. Neither of them really knew where they stood with the other, what they were to each other, and it seemed that the present situation had complicated things even more so.

Lance was refusing to talk to Keith, and it hurt. He hadn’t meant to indirectly ground the sharpshooter. He had only wanted to voice his concerns to Allura, positive that she would be able to do something for Lance that he couldn’t.

Normally, the only kind of confrontation Keith would be willing to face was violent, but he didn’t want to fight Lance. He wanted to apologize. To take responsibility for what was happening to Lance. He owed him that much at least.

It wasn’t hard to track the Blue Paladin down. He had locked himself in his room since breakfast. It was a good thing Keith knew the code by heart.

Punching in the code, he was relieved when the door whooshed open revealing Lance sitting at his desk. Keith could hear the volume of the headphones from where he stood, which made him cringe. The EDM music that Lance listened to was loud enough, didn’t anyone warn him of blowing out an eardrum?

Keith knocked twice before taking loud steps towards the boy, hoping that they would be loud enough to let Lance know that he was there. Lance’s anxiety had spiked dramatically since his return and it took one accidental sneak up by Pidge to inform the team that it was vital for Lance to know that you were coming, so as to avoid a swift punch to the face out of panic.

“What do you want, Keith?” Lance sighed as he removed his earphones. He swiveled his chair to look at the red paladin, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

This was it, Keith had been rehearsing his apology for hours now, trying to make it sound as genuine and coherent as possible. Though at the very moment, what ever award winning speech he had come up with beforehand had vanished as those hard blue eyes stared into him.

“I’m sorry.” he blurted out, cursing himself for his lack of grace.

He immediately dropped his gaze, eyes staring at the floor. There was only a tense silence between them, and Keith begged his mind to come up with something, anything to put an end to this crushing feeling.

But of course, his mind, nor his mouth could seem to work correctly.

It was Lance who broke the silence instead.

“For?” he asked, the question forcing Keith to look up and face the boy. Blue eyes met his once more, a questioning brow raised as Lance waited for Keith to answer.

He could do this.

“I shouldn’t have told Allura about all of this. I- I didn’t know that she would take you off of missions. I should have talked to you and voiced my concerns to you, you didn’t deserve what Allura did to you and it's my fault that it happened. And I am so, so sorry for that.” He was rambling, he knew he was. How did people do this? How did they apologize?

He was only stopped when Lance held up his hand.

“I appreciate the apology, I really do. And to be honest, I’m glad that you told Allura. I don’t think she would have found out if you hadn’t. I’m not mad at you Keith.”

“You’re not?”

Lance chuckled a little, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean, I am a little bit. But I think I’m more pissed at the situation in general.” Lance leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. Looking down at his clasped hands, Lance spoke “You guys are right, I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a while and no matter how much I pretend that I am, I’m just hurting myself. I’m not getting better.” he sounded so...broken. Lance never really talked about himself, at all really. Superficial things, sure. Like how he got barely any sleep, or that he missed his mom’s cooking. But he never really talked about things deeper than that. Keith hadn’t really noticed until now, but Lance had been hiding a big part of himself away this entire time, and it only came out at his most vulnerable times at night.

A year ago, Keith would have thought of the way that Lance talks about himself as vain, but now he knew that it wasn’t really the case. Lance has been putting on a mask this whole time.

“But we don’t have time. The universe doesn’t have time for me to get better. It's a long ass process that Voltron can’t afford.”

He was right, of course he was right. Lance was vital to Voltron, even if he didn’t really see himself that way. He still knew that Voltron needed him. It was even more present today with Blue’s little tantrum about having to take on Allura as a pilot.

“But is the universe really more important than having you here?” That was what Keith was most afraid of. Lance had always been the self-sacrificial type. He couldn’t argue that he himself was any better, but Lance seemed to take it to a whole new level. The paladin would miss sleep and meals to make sure that everyone else was taken care of. He would jump in front of a bullet in a second to spare the others. On one occasion Lance had bounded into a burning building to save a few children stuck on the third floor, that had been the worst as it only reminded Keith of how he lost his father. He couldn’t lose Lance too.

“Keith-”

“No, Lance. Listen to me. The universe is not worth you throwing yourself away like that. What you need time to heal, what you went through was fucking terrible. It's no wonder you have PTSD from it.”

“We are the literal Defenders of the Universe, I can’t just not do my job!”

“I’m not asking you to stop being a paladin! I’m asking to for once in your life put yourself first. We need you, I need you! You need to let yourself heal from all of this because there is no Voltron if you continue to let your own health fall by the wayside!” Keith meant every word of it. They needed Lance. They needed him to come back, to be the best he could be, and as hard as he was trying right now, this wasn’t it.

“I’m worried for you, Lance. I can’t lose you too.” Keith’s voice was so small, he himself almost didn’t hear it. But he knew that Lance did, as the boy stood up from his seat and walked over to Keith, instantly wrapping his arms around the shorter one.

“You won’t Keith, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Keith breathed in the scent of ocean and sandalwood of Lance’s detergent, and thanked whatever higher being was there that Lance had insisted on buying his own detergent all those mall trips ago. The pompous asshole had good taste in soap, and it comforted Keith easily.

“Just promise me you’ll at least try.”

He felt Lance take a deep breath.

“I am trying, Keith. I’m trying every day.” If Keith felt the shaky breaths or the wetness on his shoulder, he said nothing. It was clear that Lance needed this as much as he did, maybe even more. “I never wished I was Shiro, more than I do right now. He’s been through everything and he’s able to handle it all so easily.”

Oh, absolutely not. There was no way in hell Keith would let Lance talk about himself like that.

He pulled away from their hug, to much of his own dismay, and held Lance at arms length. Violet eyes bore into icy blue ones. The eyes that he could get lost in, but now as not the time to think about that, Keith.

“Lance, you said it yourself. WHat Shiro went through and what you went through was completely different.”

“But-”

“No. You really think that Shiro would be in any better of a state than you are now after being treated the way you were? I have no idea the extent of what they did to you, but I do know that it had to have been absolute hell. You don’t get to compare your pain to others, just because they seem to be doing better than you. Your pain is your own, so stop being an idiot and just acknowledge the fact that those guys are assholes!”

Keith was most definitely not expecting a chuckle from the Blue Paladin, but he assumed it would be better than the alternative.

“That was good, Mullet. You come up with all that yourself?”

Keith rolled his eyes. Of course, leave it to Lance to make a joke about a serious conversation.

“As a matter of fact, I did. And I’ll say it again. As many times as I need to for it to get through your tiny brain.”

“Hey! I’ll assure you my brain is of average size. Some may say it's even above average!”

It was Keith’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is.” he joked offhandedly, letting his grip on Lance’s arms finally fall.

Lance fixed him with his characteristically famous smirk that Keith knew could only mean trouble.

“Want to know what else is above average size?” Lance waggled his eyebrows knowingly as Keith facepalmed.

“Oh my god, Lance. No!”

#vld lance #lance serrano #lance mcclain #i love two blue bois and lance is one of them #lance getting to joke and be a normal human being for once #it can't all be angst #I mean it can but like #he deserves to be heard and enjoy his life somewhat #also lance and Keith??? oh yeah klance is happening

[ayuxhi]

Dreaming - Part One

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader.

AU: Idol AU, university life, Idol x Fan.

NSFW/SFW: SFW

A/N: This story is part of the Luv Library Collab. This is the first part, the second part comes out next week while the last part comes out by the end of this month. This is my first fic, so please bear with me. Feedbacks are always welcome. The story will be a lot more clearer in the next update I promise. Thank you.

Summary:

You are bored in life. With your love life non-existential, you can’t help but miss having someone’s constant company. Someone you can talk to 24x7. Someone who can talk you to sleep. So one day when you couldn’t fall asleep, you decide to install Tinder. Thinking it was about time for you to start dating again, things take an interesting turn when you find your favorite idol Kim Seokjin’s profile on the app. Trying your luck out, you wonder how different things would turn out if it was really him.

______________________________________ 

“This must be a dream.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be happening in reality.

I must be dreaming. I have to be dreaming.”

Last night when you went to bed, you were so exhausted from hectic schedules of university life that you couldn’t sleep. You try to count sheep in your mind but that didn’t help. Deciding to try something else, you play your favorite guided meditation audio that can somehow always put you at ease. Putting your headphones on, you lie down on your bed again. Trying to relax your body to the maximum and notice your breathing, you can’t help but feel restless. Even the audio comes to no use today. After several failed attempts at trying to sleep, you turn to porn to please yourself. Switching between different sites to find the right video to get off to, you wish you had someone to fulfill your desires instead of some crappy porn. Guess that’s what life’s about when your love life doesn’t exist. Not that you were complaining, single life has its benefits and silver linings. It's just that your last heartbreak two years ago was a major burnout in your soul. And even though the lessons learned from that experience was life-changing and truly elevating. You can’t help but miss having someone to talk to 24x7.  Someone who can talk you to sleep. Guess you miss the messiness of the entire process or the entire life cycle that goes on from meeting a new person to getting to know the person to talk to that person 24x7 to the inevitable heartbreak. Maybe you need someone.

So when you couldn’t find the right video to get off to, you decided to open Instagram and go through your DM's. To find someone worthy enough to fill your lonely voids both emotionally and physically. But that was useless too. That’s when you decide that it was about time for you to get out of your head and start testing the waters again. Go back to the field and start fishing again. And to test the waters, you decide to go to the place where the water is really fresh, you download Tinder. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It is half-past 12, in the middle of Thursday night and you are unavailable to sleep. Run! BTS is running in the background on your laptop while you are busy scrolling through Twitter. Its been a busy week at the university as finals are approaching soon. That means you don’t get enough time to watch Run! BTS right away when they are uploaded. As a result, you are now catching up with the last to last week’s episode.

Download complete. The notification popped up.

Quickly opening the app, you set your profile first. You fill the basic details first. Name, age, gender, preference, location, and other things.  The something about you column has always been a pain in the ass, going with whatever random gibberish that comes to your mind, you complete your profile. Now the media section. You can upload up to 9 pictures. Only if you had 9 good pictures. Going through your gallery, you choose a candid picture of you standing on a beach, 2 other selfies taken in your room and one that was taken on your university campus as display pictures. The last one was a genuine candid and you kinda looked cute in it. Trying to figure out how the app works, you start swiping left-right without thinking much. Don’t get you wrong, you were just checking the app out, trying to make the maximum out of it. But after the initial 5 minutes, you were bored, declaring it overrated.

Just when you were swiping through the various profiles, you stumble across a profile that you were too familiar with. It was a picture of a tall Asian guy getting out of a car. An HD picture of an HD quality man. He is the same person who sits proudly on your phone’s wallpaper.

Kim Seokjin, 27

South Korea.

Nickname: the car door guy

Something about me: Famously known as the third guy from the left, Kim Seokjin is responsible for stealing the hearts of millions of fans across the globe. The worldwide handsome guy is a part of the rainbow international K-pop sensation traditional transfer USB hub shrimp BTS. The oldest of the team can sing and dance to the rhythm of your heartbeats. He is the CEO of Jinhit entertainment (formerly known as Bighit). Swipe right to get a chance to go on a date with the worldwide cutie guy.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a super like and swipe right. If only it was this easy to win a chance to go on a date with your favorite idol. When you installed Tinder, you never thought you'll find Jin here. Having heard thousands of stories of how so many people catfish the locals, using K-pop idols pseudo profile, its an old trick in the book, in fact, a famous one. Sometimes they don’t even change the details and just go with the real one. This profile, for example, is one of them. The bio looks like something a fan came up in his/her sleep. Having swiped right, you wonder how many naïve people would fall for this façade and actually believe that they are talking to the real Jin. The visual of all visuals, the singer of all singers, Your Kim Seokjin. With that thought, you continue to explore the app.

“Why do people waste time on these stupid apps. If a person could that easily find his/her soul mate on this app, astrologers from all over the world would be already moving inside it.” You sighed.

“Maybe I should just go back to counting sheep instead” Closing the app you turn to your laptop where the latest episode of Run! BTS was playing providing perfect background music. You were so caught up with swiping left and right, exploring the new app, that you didn’t even take a single glance at the screen.

“I should have just watched the episode instead!” With that thought mentally apologizing to your favorite seven idols, you shut down the laptop and switch the lights off your room. Covering your face with your favorite blanket you turn to sleep, wishing that you could finally get some rest. And just when you were about to drift to the dreamland, the notification bell ring, hinting that you have a new notification.

Mentally cursing whoever it was that interpreted your almost sleep, you open your phone. Too bright for your liking, you couldn’t make out who it was. Until your eyes adjusted and your eyes read,

Kim Seokjin and you have matched. Take it easy from here.

Message from Kim Seokjin: Hi.

Your heart stops beating. It can’t be him. Can he? No. You know better than this. Why would he be on Tinder? If he wanted to date anybody, he can just announce it to the world and millions of fans from all gender identities would line up for him. Why would he need tinder? And even if he was on tinder why would he match with me? There are millions of beautiful girls out there who are way better than you look.  Why would he text you? Why would he choose you? Ignoring the newly arrived notification, you quickly open tinder. You are going through your profile once again. Basic. The profile screams basic. With just your name, age, gender and preference your profile doesn’t say much about you. With a quote “Chaos is a ladder” sitting on your bio you know pretty well your profile is darned. You can’t fathom why would he, out of all the people out there, text you. You know it danm well he didn’t. If only you were that naïve to fall for the façade but you knew better. This is an imposter. He is an imposter. Or maybe she is. You don’t know who it is, that has texted you. But you know its not Jin.

It can’t be him.

You can’t help but sulk further when you realize how much you wanted it to be him. A message from Jin. A chance to get to know the person who has not only graced your life with his beautiful face, soulful voice and a windshield laugh that could light up the whole town. You also wanted to thank him. For all that he has done. He along with his other 6 band members have helped you in the most difficult times of your life. There were days when BTS was the only reason that kept you going. You wanted to thank him for his contributions to your life. You wanted him to know you as you know him.

You wanted it to be him.

You look at the clock, it was 1:37 AM. With the excitement of Jin's message and the realization followed by it that it is not him, you have completely lost your sleep. You were already struggling to fall asleep earlier and now with his message lying unread on your notification bar, you are wide awake.

Maybe you should reply to him at least. To the imposter of course. And know what it feels like to even talk to his imposter. Maybe you'll make good friends with him. Maybe you’ll become best friends with him who later fall in love with each other. Get married in Paris then move to Egypt, have 3 children and live happily ever after.

“I should reply to him.”

1:40 AM

[Y/N]: Hi.

You finally tap the send option after glaring at the two words greeting for an eternity now. Suddenly you become more conscious of your environment than you have ever been. It's almost like you can notice the minute actions that are going in your surroundings. From the clock ticking to the vehicle noises coming from the main road far away, you can notice it all.

Ding. With the notification bell, you are pulled out of your mind.

1:44 AM

[Kim Seokjin]: How are you?

Your heart started beating again. This time its 140 BPH. You can't help but get excited seeing his name flash on your phone.

1:45 AM

[Y/N]: I am good. Are you the real Kim Seokjin?

#bts #bts fic #bts jin #ficwithluv #bts imagines #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #min yoogni #park jimin #jung hoseok #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #jin x reader #jin x y/n #jin x you #idol au #kpop fanfic #tinder #tumblr #bts scenarios #jin scenarios #jin reaction #jin imagine #fwl project #luv library #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #jin fic #idol jin

[yridenergyridenergy]

Hello there! If you have some time to spare; I would be very interested in hearing your opinion in each album of Dir en grey so far.. or what they make you feel like etc etc.. If you got the time ;)

The Insulated World

If you try karaoke with this album, you quickly notice that the MAJORITY of the lines are structured long and you always run out of breath. Like you are spent and out of oxygen or life after each. It's tasking on the abdos, painful no matter whether the song is constituted of screaming or is a 'ballad'. Whether it is by screaming the end to expulse the last bit of breath or transitioning from one sentence to the other for as long as there is still air in your lungs, Kyo orchestrated these lyrics in a manner that demonstrates his meaning, which will bring him to the brink of death and that he wishes to use all ounces of his existence to transmit. "Until my very last breath". With this album, it helped that I worked on posting the lyrics and stuff to incorporate them into my understanding from the start. So, there is no escaping that this is the "I hate myself" album. But this loop of ending the last song the same way as the beginning of the first song – I scream therefore I live – is genius. Globally, the tone isn't one void of hope.

Another particularity with this album, I think, is the "spitting" going on. The 'dare' sounding like 'zare'  in Ningen wo Kaburu for instance isn't just a Kyoto accent: you can hear the lack of restraint, the raw and unfiltered loathing that can't warrant one second spared to collect the saliva properly in the mouth. But it's not screamed as much, everything has been very reflected.

Musically, I have found myself detecting melodies that are extremely familiar to ARCHE and Dum Spiro Spero ever since their release. That was usually on the first couple of listening sessions though, so I would have difficulty pointing them out now, but it feels like the raw sound is not as unique as it used to be. Perhaps just the band thinking about giving themselves a break on stage by thinking about how difficult things could be to play and keep in mind if they want to move around or interact with the fans.

 THE MARROW OF A BONE

Some sorrow, but an orgy of frustration. No care for how long, just short bursts of anger stringed one after the other. That being said, there are some interesting guitar melodies among everything using that dirty, somber tuning, even though Shinya's track does not demonstrate his independent streak. Overall, listening to this album, I develop a vision of dwindling, swirling pieces of flesh exposing a head that exploded open out of sheer intellectual anger? Perhaps because of the majorly English lyrics which, coming from a Japanese, means that there was more effort put into them to reach a wider range of recipients. There was too much contained but not just in the heart – like the person tried to contain it and reason with those feelings, however it became overbearing and transcended all restraints of the mind.

 UROBOROS

Before even realizing that that was the intended world view featured in the ultra deluxe release whatever, from the first few songs I was really imagining a desolated landscape. A very somber one. Throughout the album, it feels like you navigate from one area to the other in this world, encountering deserts but also destroyed cities and even living beings, like demons. And yet, at the end there is a twist of hope, it seems. Overall, UROBOROS sounds so sophisticated, the melodies are starting to be elegant while dirty and low. But, I hadn't noticed before, you can discern some melodies following the lyrics very closely like in all of the rest of the music produced in the world. Still, this album really has Shinya shining with his truly unique, genius drumming. If you don't know what I am talking about, watch him or an amateur drummer playing GLASS SKIN. To finish, is it just me or does this album's guitar riffs sound very "piratey"? In addition to the dry, post-catastrophic land, there is some personality in the guitars that my mind associates to pirates for some reason... Well, UROBOROS is very beautiful and goodness, I love Tue Madsen's mixing.

 VULGAR

This album is ominous but exudes confidence. There is something daring about the individuality of the songs that is fully assumed and goes in your face. The music is more repetitive than in most Dir en grey albums, but the heavy riffs are catchy and there is a plurality of sounds regardless. With this album, I get reminded that Kyo's voice is rather unique in the Japanese music scene for not being as low as the average singer. I love the UGHs throughout the album. It's very lyrics-heavy, each song is an individual story for sure.

 Six Ugly

Again, the music can be repetitive but there are some very good beats and sound experimentation. In general, this mini-album gives me the sense of a renegade teen expressing madness both as frustration but also as some delusion. It's slightly on the crazy side hah. The way it ends is representative: a scream followed shortly by a laugh.

 GAUZE

As much as I was approaching this album now with some resentment due to those people on Twitter who hold it as the sole album worth mentioning in all of Dir en grey's history, damn this was a very, very solid debut album (MISSA tends to be overlooked hah). It feels like a train,  both as a continuous, relentless ride but also a train hitting you head on. The music can get very repetitive at times, but there are such good riffs too. The tone of the singing throughout most of the album is "revendicateur" (no real equivalence in English), respectful but very powerful regardless. There are already very interesting experimentations with the voice at this early stage.

 MISSA

How did Shinya even go from such standard, non-varied drumming skills to his genius and unique performance of these days... Still, much better than a lot of other stuff I hear on today's radio or from the past, and especially from ANY other visual kei/J-rock band of that era. I listened to Aoi Tsuki all the time before hah. There is something insolent about the sound of the guitars in this album. The repetitiveness and the lyrics that are dragged on make this a more contemplative work.

 (As far as semi-albums go... Do you consider The Unraveling one? AH don't get me started on this one, my love is absolute! 改-KAI- is just remixes though...)

 Kisou

Like I am witnessing a very particular ceremony. There is demonic mixed with frustration and sadness. There are some highly powerful atmospheres in the songs on this album, like Bottom of the death valley, Gyakujou Tannou Keloid Milk and Karasu. It's vicious, it keeps me transfixed. The transitional tunes (shinsou) are so nice to have, they really transport you from one mood to another.

 Withering to death.

Ah this is when I discovered Dir en grey. THE FINAL had been enough to trigger the rest of this past decade+. This whole album grips my heart and elevates it, deepening the trend of exuding all that's inside. And hey, having watched these songs live a few times, they definitely have that 'dancey' vibe. There is a remarkable trace of maturity in this album from all members and every song is very unique. Ending with Kodou too... All in all, a very relatable work, like everything that followed.

 ARCHE

Du Shinya génial tout craché. This album wholly demonstrates Shinya's talent, the rolling and so diverse drums. Overall throughout this album, the bass and drum tracks are very, very appreciable. And the guitars pave some amazing, fantasist sonorities. ARCHE, to me, is desolation but, primordially, HOPE. It feels like the sadness is acknowledged but the energy of this album possesses me, courses through my veins and what unfolds is an encouragement to take control and turn your gaze forward. When a closed one passed away, "What now?" from Chain Repulsion and other segments of the songs on this album surfaced in my mind. When the dearest soul in my life passed away, in the end, this album is what I turned to in order to assimilate the situation, pour it out and still leave with a sliver of hope.

My initial thoughts about ARCHE when it came out was that the songs were universes that were cut short prior to being fully fleshed out. Almost a "coït interrompu". Now, I deeply appreciate them as they are, but indeed each tune is a world of its own, so immensely unique. There is something very stubborn about some of the songs too, like "I won't let you ignore what happened, I'll make sure of that". Seize the reins.

 Dum Spiro Spero

I get the image of one horribly gigantic and tenebrous snake sliding across the ground, fangs bared but discrete, prowling. There is something difficult to seize about these songs, like they are up there on a pedestal trying to lure me in with fantasy golden linings... Otherwise, I am quite biased by a review I had read, which described this album as the opening of the gates of hell, letting loose all that it had imprisoned. I really agree with this depiction. The sounds on this album are very bewitching, it's as if there was magic involved and many of the songs sport twists and turns, as though to pull the listener into various tunnels up and down in something that you are not too sure you want to partake in.

 MACABRE

Honestly I am relieved when I remember that this came right after GAUZE, not Kisou. Macabre's content is definitely very raw and overall, the sounds are very constant. It feels like a storyteller album, where things are expressed and you are entranced, but as far as relating to the stories being told... Weird things are going on sometimes hah. What is sure is that, no matter the range of emotions, they are powerful. There is little restraint to this intensity and madness. What it starts, it ends. And this album gave us the likes of Wake, a fist in and of itself.  

 And yet, throughout these two decades, there is an unmistakable constant of five men producing unique rhythms that aren't bound by even one another and yet come together as one to form a plethora of the most genuine expressions of pain, sadness, anger and, still, hope. Which is why I say that my favourite album is all of them.

I would be very interested in reading other fans’ impressions of each album too, and curious to know if anybody agrees with my thoughts on them. Let’s open a discussion!

#thanks for the trip #anon #ask #albums #opinion #Dir en grey #京 #Kyo #Die #Shinya #Toshiya #Kaoru #薫

[amonsteronmaplestreet]

A few months back, I quit my job.

I did it for a few reasons. I'd recently started doing Postmates deliveries, and I'd discovered that I enjoyed that way more. I was also seeing an uptick in Kindle sales; I had just published ScaleGuard and it was doing well-- much better than anything else I'd ever put out. And I hated the job I had. When I was alone at work, I'd start sobbing. I would use razors and the tips of tweezers to cut my arm open, as if inflicting pain and harm on myself would act as a punishment for whatever I'd done, and negate the grueling agony of angry customers and no time to breathe and constant ringing phones. I wanted to die. And when I saw the twin opportunities of Postmates and ScaleGuard, I saw a way out, and I took it.

It was a gamble. I knew it was a gamble. But I hoped and prayed that it would pay off, and I would be able to make enough to support myself.

Now? I fear it hasn't.

No matter what I do, nothing seems to change. Over a thousand followers each on both Instagram and Twitter and few if any seem to be bothered to even check out my free writing, much less my paid work. ScaleGuard and its sequel make some money, but not nearly enough to pay the bills, and no one seems interested in checking out the 11 other books I have out on Kindle. They just languish there, doing nothing.And then there's my Patreon. Nothing I do seems to entice people to it. I lower the prices of tiers. Nothing. I advertise it on every free story and poem I put out. Nothing. I advertise it in books that I know people are reading. Nothing. I offer exclusive short stories. Nothing. I beg and plead on social media for support. Maybe a few people hit the share button on the post, but other than that? Nothing.

Am I a bad writer? What reviews I have are positive, but clearly not good enough that anyone wants to pay for anything. Out of 13 books, only two of them seem to generate even the faintest interest. People seem to just ignore all my posts about Patreon. I look at all this and all I can think is:

I have failed. I am a failure.

Today I woke up to an unexpected $170 bill. I was already stressing about affording $300 in bills by the end of the week, but I was reasonably certain I'd have it, if only just barely. Now I have that and rent next week and an extra $170 to worry about. And that's to say nothing of food and gas.Should I just skip ahead to the end? If my fate's to starve on the street, should I save some time and blow my brains out? Desperation wells up inside me and I feel like I'm screaming into a void, begging and pleading for aid and pity that will never come.

All I can do is keep trying, but trying doesn't matter if it makes no difference.

[sladedick]

im just creepin on your twitter (as you do) and i wondering if u would ever write some rastim? bc 👀👀

yes!!!!! sorry this too k so long i love ra’stim owo

noncon/underage/switching/violence/black humor | on ao3

           Timothy Drake stares at his American school lunch in the fuzzy security camera. His dark circles are visible under his eyes even from this height, and his hair is visibly unwashed. Equations trail their way up pale arms in smudged ink. He shovels another soggy french fry into his mouth, scratching his armpit with the other hand.

           “Are you sure you want that one, Master?” Ra’s’s assistant inquires, standing meekly next to him as he watches the screen.

           “You dare question the will of the Demon?” Ra’s booms.

           “N-no, master, of course not,” he mutters, looking down. Ra’s turns his attention back to Timothy. He’s facedown in his applesauce, clearly snoring.

           “He’s perfect.”

Share the happy news with your detective

           “Happy engagement,” Ra’s says. Tim blinks at him.

           “To who?”

           “To you.”

           “I’m not engaged,” he says blankly.

           “I am pleased to inform you that you are. To me, the Demon’s Head.”

           “No,” Tim declares.

           “Yes.” Ra’s’s grin shows teeth.

           “No!”

           “This is not a discussion,” Ra’s says. “It is the respectful thing to do before I deflower you, Detective.”

           Tim makes a disgusted face. “You won’t be ‘deflowering’ me. I had sex with Superboy.” It had been an ordeal. Kon’s Kryptonian dick had gained semi-sentience and tried to lay its eggs in Tim. Turns out Clark hadn’t bothered to give him ‘the talk’.

           Ra’s’s lip curls. “How inappropriate.”

           “No premarital sex, huh, but rape is a-okay,” Tim mocks.

           “Victor’s rights, Timothy.”

           “That’s bullshit,” Tim says. Ra’s wags a finger in his face.

           “Language, Detective.”

           Tim sticks his tongue out. “You can’t marry minors without parental consent. Your marriage is null and void. Ra’s! Ra’s, listen to me, we have to be in Alabama—”

Keep excessive amounts of alcohol away from your detective

           The reception is ostentatious, of course.

           Ra’s first notices the problem when Tim’s step is slightly halting at the reception, cheeks slightly redder—always red, really, given how pale his skin is even for a European. They’re even red through the several layers of makeup that Ra’s had his servants apply.

           Tim gives a lopsided grin, showing off teeth that, until recently, had had braces on them. That’s the second sign something is off. Timothy has been pouting ever since he was kidnapped.

           “I want — some more campaign,” he says, quite sincerely. A face, as if he knows that’s not quite right. “Clam pain.” A pause. “Sham veins?”

           “Champaign, dear,” Ra’s says softly. Timothy grabs another glass from a passing server before Ra’s can stop it. The reception is ostentatious, and Timothy’s dress is no exception, in lacy whites and pale greens, showing off his body just enough to tell everyone what Ra’s has that they don’t. And how they should be jealous of Ra’s’s high school concubine.

           “It’s poor taste to be drunk at your own reception,” Ra’s says.

           “Your … fault,” Tim says. He sways slightly. Ra’s catches his arm. “Kidnapped me. Miss my family.”

           “You’ll make a new one quite soon.”

           “Fuck you. Hate you,” he mumbles. “Don’t wanna get pregnanant. Pregant. Prenengant.”

           Ra’s snatches the glass of champagne from Timothy’s hand as the boy slumps slightly against him.

           “I insist,” he says coldly, angrily, “that you be conscious for the consummation.”

           He takes some pleasure in seeing Timothy’s skin lose its redness for the first time that night, falling away to reveal a pale face. Timothy grabs desperately for the alcohol, but Ra’s whisks it away just in time.

           “Absolutely not.”

             2. Keep your detective well entertained

           “You can’t all be monks,” Tim tries to explain. The ninja sat in a circle around him squint at him through the eyeholes in their masks, heavy armor clinking as they shift. Tim repeats it in Arabic for the two that don’t speak English, and then switches to it for good.

           “I wish to be of the shadow subclass,” Ninja No. 3 says.

           “As do I,” adds Ninja No. 1.

           “The point of Dungeons and Dragons is to be something you’re not. It’s escapism.” The four guards, practically brainwashed into the service of Ra’s al Ghul, stare at him. “Nobody is allowed to be a ninja monk.”

           “I will be a warlock,” says Ninja No. 2, waving about the bit of paper that Tim had given him, translated from what Tim remembers of the Player’s Guide. “In service of the great Head of the Demon—”

           “This is a fantastical universe. Ra’s doesn’t exist. See? Escapism!” Tim sighs. “If you don’t cooperate I’m going to tell him you were very inadequate and suggest severe punishment.” He stares sternly.

           The ninja pale. Tim wouldn’t do that, really, because then they would end up dead. He knows exactly how much influence he has with Ra’s. The threat, however, is still good.

           “I will be a fighter,” sighs Ninja No. 2. “In the service of nobody.”

           “Perfect!” Tim grins. He feels like he should patronizingly pat their heads, but refrains. That’s the kind of thing they might only accept from Ra’s.

           “I will be a sorcerer,” says Ninja No. 4, “who works for only himself, and wields fantastic power.”

           Tim nods enthusiastically.

           “I will be a rogue,” says Ninja No. 1, “who overthrows his glorious leader and takes his place, murdering his kin and raping his wife—”

           “Wait just a second—”

           “—and sending all his castles and being to endless ruin, in search of individuality.”

           “I mean,” Tim says, “I’ll allow it …”

           (Ninja No. 1 doesn’t show up the next week. Neither do any of the others. It wasn’t your fault, Ra’s assures him, though please do not encourage individuality, Timothy.)

             3. Be assured your detective is sexually satisfied and interested

           Tim sits on one side of the wooden table, idly tracing the patterned texture with one

finger. Ra’s sits stiff and regal as always, a few slips of paper right in front of him. This is obviously a Meeting. Ra’s is always around Tim, but a Meeting is different. Ra’s has something to talk about, and Tim probably doesn’t want to hear it.

             “Beloved,” Ra’s says.

             “Ra’s,” Tim replies. His voice is considerably cold. More tired.

             “I’ve been doing some research,” Ra’s says. “You have been quite uninterested in our sexual activity.”

             “It’s because I object to the rape,” Tim says.

             “Ah, I think not. I think you’re simply not … stimulated enough. So I found out what you might be interested in.”

             “Please don’t—”

             The papers are slapped onto the table like a death warrant, and Tim is stared in the face by his last six months of search history.

             man turns little brother gay big dick blowjob looks back at him like the antichrist with flaming, doomed eyes. Tim pales. He tries to think of exactly what he’d been searching on PornHero before Ra’s had caught up with him, but his mind is suddenly completely blank.

             bears rail twink anal dp rimming glares accusingly at him. Tim knows that Ra’s has a perfectly neutral expression on his face. He always does. But Tim can’t force himself to meet the green eyes, not even on the pain of losing some of his pride.

             “And some more enlightening content,” Ra’s adds, putting another piece of paper on the table. Tim can barely bring himself to open his eyes and look.

             batman fucks robin hard in the ass, batman and robin blowjob, batmanxrobin—

             Tim covers his eyes. He can’t take it.

             “You’re particularly understimulated in the bedroom. Would you prefer that I don a suit in the manner of your adopted father? Would you enjoy referring to me as—”

             “No!” Tim almost screams. He wants to cover his ears. “Ra’s, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll pretend I like getting fucked. Just please stop.”

             Ra’s makes a little humming sound. “This is not a punishment, Beloved. I am simply curious.” The rustling sound of papers lets him know what’s going on. “Though perhaps you can explain this? Superboy x reader fluffy love fanfiction?”

             Tim turns white.

             “I’m going to kill myself,” he declares, and he’s not sure if he’s joking or not.

             4. Install safety bars on windows; learn modern youth jargon

           “I’m going to kill myself,” Timothy says.

           It’s something he says a lot. Quite a bit, really, typically any time something goes even a little wrong. Timothy had explained to him, a sullen glare in his eyes, that it was a joke. Ra’s had eventually been persuaded.

           The fact that Timothy is crouched on the window ledge, the mountain wind making long-grown dark hair—tended to with the most expensive shampoos—swirl out behind Timothy, makes the thought of him joking much less likely.

           “That is a choice you will regret,” Ra’s says coolly. He could try to grab him, but Timothy would fall out of the window and die anyways. Then when it came time to punish him properly, Timothy could attempt to childishly shift the blame.

           Timothy flips him off.

           Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “How rude, Beloved.”

           “Yeet,” Timothy says. Ra’s assumes this also means I’m going to kill myself because right after Timothy does it, he’s falling through the air. Ra’s doesn’t hear the crack of his bones or see the blood spatter, but he sees the broken body splayed in the snow below, certainly dead.

           “How inconvenient,” Ra’s says, to nobody in particular. Except, perhaps, the three guards who monitor Timothy at all times. He makes a mental note to have them executed.

             6. Discourage your detective from staging coups

             “Fuck,” Tim says.

             “Indeed.” Ra’s’s teeth are perfect, pearly white. A wickedly curved sword at his side slowly drips blood into the oceans pooled around his feet, the corpses’ blood eking its way towards Tim’s booted feet.

             Tim stomps. Blood splashes, staining the bottom of his robes. “Fuck!”

             Ra’s sheathes his sword. The front of his shirt is crimson, showing that he, at least, did not escape unscathed. Tim draws some small satisfaction from that, even though he feels the guards still loyal to Ra’s grab at his shoulders, yanking his arms behind his back and holding him still.

             “A valiant attempt, Detective,” Ra’s says. “Next time, I suggest purging your dissenters’ ranks for spies more carefully.” He moves forward, and Tim sags slightly in the arms of the guards.

             “I’m sorry?” Tim offers.

             “You’re not.”

             Tim sticks his tongue out.

             7. Properly reprimand your detective

             “I’m sorry,” Tim whimpers, head hanging between his shoulders as he stares down at the bed beneath him, fingers curled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

             A hand cards gently through sweaty hair. “Shh, Timothy, it will be over soon,” Ra’s murmurs. The back of the boy’s thighs and buttocks are covered in red switch marks, from the birch thing that Ra’s holds in the hand that does not hold Timothy. The skin burns red and pink and parts bleed. Timothy won’t be able to sit down for a month without remembering this.

             The next one whips down with a wicked noise. Timothy chokes, spasms, arms shaking. He gasps, tears clinging to his long, pretty lashes like pearls.

             “You are free to cry if you like, Beloved,” Ra’s says softly. “Forty out of fifty. You’re almost finished.”

             8. Curb attempts to relate to the youth

           Ra’s throws his sword. It impales the man through the gut; a wound that will leave him squirming for hours in agony before he finally expires.

           “Yeet.”

           (Timothy doesn’t speak to him for a week.)

             9. Keep track of possessions around your detective

           “Is that my cape, Detective?”

           Tim wraps the green folds further around himself, his small form almost disappearing inside of it. “Maybe.”

           “Are you going to return it?”

           The high collar hides Timothy’s face, and slightly muffles his answer. “No.”

            10. Take very good care of your detective, and give it nobody else to turn to when it hurts

           Timothy’s eyes are wide, blank oceans, full of a sort of pain and sadness that Ra’s knows will pass, but he still almost dislikes seeing in his consort’s eyes. Ra’s’s arm is wrapped around him, fingers splaying dark hair around them, Timothy warm against his chest. His eyes are closed, the two of them wrapped in Ra’s’s cape. Before, Timothy would flinch away whenever he was to be held. Now, he almost begs to be touched with his eyes, even when he is too proud to ask.

           A shift of him. Ra’s stays still, doesn’t move, enjoying the fact of Timothy against him. A hand slowly pets his hair.

           Something is wet against his chest, where the neck of his shirt is cut down to reveal his chest. Ra’s almost has to pry Tim’s face off of him, and it comes away teary.

           “How do you fair, my love?”

           A hand rests on Ra’s’s shoulder, pale fingers against dark, tanned skin. The eyes look past Ra’s.

           “I hate you,” Timothy whispers. It’s not an accusation. Simply a sad, broken confession.

           “I know,” Ra’s says, almost, almost sympathetic.

           A pause,

           A long, long pause.

           “I love you,” Tim whispers, and it’s even softer, barely audible. And then he’s diving back against Ra’s’s chest, Ra’s’s head tucked above Tim’s.

           “I know,” Ra’s murmurs.

           The look in his eyes is the stare of a man who has killed millions, and will kill millions more.

#Anonymous #asks #ra'stim #ra's al ghul #tim drake #fic recs #freak fic #prompts/requests

[muertawrites]

Careful (Loki x Reader) [nsfw]

Summary: Being intimate with a god for the first time is much more... painful than initially expected, and Loki does all he can to make you comfortable.

Word Count: ¿?

Author’s Note: “I’m not going to post anymore smut for a while,” she said. “I’m going to focus on more literary fanfics,” she said. “I’m not cold and empty and void of all emotion,” she said. Clearly, she was lying. Also, I have a Twitter now! It’s under my professional pen name and is focused on more of my official / professional writing, but I still post my stupid daily thoughts there and will also let you guys know about postings to this blog when they go up - no links, for obvious reasons, but I’ll tweet about new posts to tumblr (which is exciting, because I’ve just started the first chapter of a series). Follow me so we can keep in touch! @lydia_trueblood

                                              ~ Muerta 🌸💀🌸

“A... ahn... ah, L-Loki!”

You cried out as the first few inches of his cock slid into you, splitting your walls apart and causing a searing pain to rip down your abdomen, the burning sensation accompanied by white spots on the backs of your eyelids as you squeezed them shut. The tips of your fingernails dug into Loki’s biceps, deep enough that they almost drew blood, and he immediately withdrew, his length pressed against the inside of your thigh. He swallowed nervously, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Loki gasped, the panic in his voice hardly concealed by his heavy breathing.

“N-nothing,” you attempted, body quivering in the wake of his exit. He could feel your hands shaking as they lay slack against his arms. “It’s just... it hurts. A... a lot. I think I... I might be too tight for you...”

Loki huffed, the exhalation causing a lock of his hair (slightly damp already, and curlier than usual) to flutter upwards, only to float gracefully back down to where it had previously lay over the bridge of his nose.

“Darling...” he scolded, “you haven’t lied to me...”

“No,” you quickly responded. “No, I promise, I wouldn’t lie about this. I’m... I think I’m just... not used to Asgardian proportions.”

Loki wasn’t your first partner, but he hurt much more than those before him had. You may not have been the best judge considering that the others had been few and far between, but you were certain that Loki was larger than any mortal man - except perhaps those regularly featured in the adult film industry. You’d never believed yourself to be overly small or sensitive in that part of your anatomy, so the fact that he caused you so much pain was a little disconcerting. You propped yourself up on your elbows, lifting yourself off his mattress and leveling yourself so that you could look him squarely in the eye.

“This might shock you, but I haven’t had sex with very many gods,” you said with mock earnesty, and Loki cracked a hint of a smile at your teasing. He pressed his lips to your forehead, sighing as he leaned you back into the sheets below.

“Perhaps we should not...” he murmured.

“No, I want to,” you assured him. “We just... have to go slow, I guess.”

“I don’t want to risk hurting you,” Loki confessed. His craving for you was near raging at this point, and he could feel the feral nature of his Jotun form bubbling within him. He couldn’t let it boil over; not yet, not with you. He stroked your hair lovingly, willing himself to relax.

“Please, Loki,” you whispered. “I want to feel you... I trust you.”

He gazed at you for a moment, lost to the vice that suddenly seized his chest. Oh, how he loved you. You, a soft, silly, gorgeous, insasiable little Midgardian girl, captured his soul the way no creature had ever done before and, he was quite certain, never would again. He nodded, kissing your forehead once more before wrapping his arms around your waist and rolling to your side, positioning your bodies so that you were facing each other.

“We will do this gently,” he assured you, his fingers reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear, “and slowly. If you are in pain, tell me, and I will stop.”

You nodded, pressing your hands against his chest as he positioned the tip of his cock between the tender folds at your center. Loki leaned forward, forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping firmly at your hips as he guided you onto him, taking you only an inch at a time. You whimpered, the pain returning as he slid back inside, but didn’t resist, instead wiggling your hips around him to help you adjust to his length. He gasped at the feeling of your slick insides around him, his arms snaking around your body and pulling you closer against his own. He slid in another inch, then another, until he was half sheathed inside you. You bit into his shoulder, signaling that you’d reached your limit.

“How do you feel?” Loki asked, his composure somehow intact despite how badly he wanted to pin you to the mattress and fuck you until you screamed. You nodded, letting out a breathy moan as he shifted inside you.

“Good...” you replied, your voice taking on a mewling quality as you tentatively worked yourself around him. He groaned, kissing the shell of your ear.

“I’m going to start moving,” he told you. “Stop me if you need.”

Slowly, Loki began to work his cock in an out of you, moaning softly as your velvet walls wrapped around him and took him eagerly, like ocean waves lapping against the hull of a ship. You were right; you were very tight for him, and the tension was immense and seemed to almost drown him. He focused on your breathing, rocking his hips in time with your inhales and exhales.

A familiar knot began twining about your abdomen, and despite how much it still hurt, you savored the feeling of having Loki inside you, giving as much as you could take. Being half filled wasn’t enough, however; you took his hand and pressed his cold, nimble fingers against your clitorus, crying out as he rubbed and rolled it until an orgasm sweeter than any you’d ever experienced spilled out of you, leaving you a quaking, whimpering mess on his sheets. You took his member in your palm and stroked him, catching his moan with your lips as he came onto your stomach. A sudden rush of ecstasy, followed by the silence of post-coital bliss. Loki kissed your forehead, then slipped out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom, returning with a soft towel to clean you up.

Once you were free of any offending substances, Loki curled his body around you, pressing his chest to your back and gently kissing your shoulder, burying his face in the silky waves of your hair.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. You nodded, bringing his knuckles to your lips and kissing them drowsily, sleep threatening to pull you under at any moment.

“I’m amazing,” you breathed, still high from your climax and swimming in the haze of his scent and touch. “You’re amazing...”

Loki chuckled, his breath tickling your neck.

“Rest now, sweetling,” he said. “You’ll need your energy for tomorrow evening. I plan to finish inside you..”

You kicked him playfully beneath the sheets, eliciting his heavenly laughter and a teasing nibble at the skin behind your ear. You smiled blissfully, turning so you could nestle your face into his chest. Loving a god may have been painful, but you could hardly deny how you savored the sweet sting you felt whenever Loki was near. For him, and for him alone, you were happy to not be so careful.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #muerta's works #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki fluff #loki smut #loki odinson smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinsom smut #loki x you #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson fluff #loki x reader fluff

[saieras]

I’m proud of you, kid

Summary: On the 1-year anniversary after the Snap, Tony, Pepper, and May deal with their losses and remember who and what they are fighting for.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Notes: This fic is based on an incredible piece of fan-art I saw the other day, about Tony and Pepper having a baby, and giving him a Spider-Man doll to play with.

Art is by 茗牌耳钉 on Weibo.

EDIT: he/she has Twitter as well!

Also on FF & AO3.

I hope you enjoy the read~

————————————————————

April. The first sneak peek of spring, the first month of slush-free roads. Central Park, turning green.

Tony Stark hovered over the city, his helmet open. The wind was brisk at this height, so he had a little trouble keeping his eyes open, but he wanted to see the colors with his own eyes. It was a lovely Saturday, and millions milled about the streets and avenues below. Madison Square was packed to the brim.

He flew a short distance over to Washington Square Park. It was similarly filled. He was at roughly the same altitude as the Empire State building, so doubtless the throngs pulsing below could see him well and clear. Without the suit's visual feed, Tony couldn't make out the individual faces as they peered up at him.

He imagined they must be cursing him.

Nonetheless, his vantage point afforded Tony a veil of sorts, a barrier vast enough to block out the sounds below. It was peaceful and good — this was his city, and he was her protector, standing high and mighty in the clouds.

… Hiding, low and broken, behind his worthless armor, suffocating under an avalanche of shame.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, “you're going to be late if you don't start heading — ” 

“I know,” Tony said. He closed his eyes. The nanobots obeyed his thoughts, reforming the helmet over his head, and a second later Tony breathed in the familiar filtered air. It used to make him feel invincible, this clean, sterile smell. Now every breath was a reminder.

“I know,” he said again. He took one last look at the restored Washington Square Arch beneath him. “Let's go.”

————————————————————

It was a nice and quiet place with impressive views of the city's skyline. Not many of the residents were new, so there were relatively few visitors. Tony landed in an out-of-the-way little garden, making sure he wasn't seen. The armor disintegrated and rolled itself back into his chest.

He took a deep breath. It smelled like flowers. Oh, he'd forgotten to bring flowers.

He donned his shades, as if they protected him from the scrutinizing stares as he walked the short distance over. He had only been here once, but he knew the place well — he'd visited, after all, more times than he could count, in BARF and in his dreams.

Three people were already there; a girl, a boy, a woman. The grass beneath his feet rustled to herald his arrival. Tony willed himself to not flinch as they looked up.

“Mr. Stark,” May Parker said. There was not an ounce of surprise in her tone… in fact, there was not an ounce of anything in her tone. Tony wished there was. He wished she would curse, scream, cry, seethe. Anything.

“May —“ he began.

“Please call me Mrs. Parker,” the woman said.

“Right,” Tony muttered. He was a fool. He couldn't do this. He stared up at the blue sky, and wanted nothing more than to materialize the suit and fly away.

“Mr. Stark?” piped a timid voice. Tony looked over to see the boy in the group, a chubby Asian holding a Lego Millennium Falcon, stealing a glance at him. As their gazes met, the boy averted his eyes — bloodshot and rimmed with red, Tony noticed.

All the same, the boy shuffled aside.

“Are you going to… uh, join us?” he asked, voice even smaller than before.

“Ah,” Tony said. He squeezed out a smile. “Yes. Thank you, Ned.”

The boy looked astounded that he'd remembered his name. Tony stepped up a little, and gave a brief nod to the girl now beside him.

“And you must be… Michelle, right?”

Michelle blinked and shrugged. “Mmhmm,” she said, obviously every bit as surprised as Ned, though rather better at feigning nonchalance.

Tony hated how he had to act as if he was asking — as if he wouldn't know the names of the kid's best friends.

As if he didn't know the names of every member of the Midtown Tech Decathlon team.

As if he hadn't memorized the names of every person who bothered to show up to the service. Not that there were many — the kid hadn't exactly been popular in school.

Nothing else was said after that. May Parker had closed her eyes, and Ned was muttering something under his breath, clutching his Lego piece. Michelle was looking over towards Manhattan, her jaws tight.

Tony fought the urge to look up again at the sky. Two point three six billion lightyears away, there was a decaying planet called Titan, in a whole other galaxy still undiscovered by NASA… at least that was what the blue-green android woman had told him.

He clenched his hands into fists. Breathe in, breathe out. He repeated this ten times before finally, with a light jerk of his head, his gaze settled on the stenciled letters.

Peter Benjamin Parker, 2001-2018

A loving nephew, a best friend, and always our hero

Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good…

I don't want to go…

Sorry.

The sound that escaped his throat was something Tony did not expect. Suddenly, all he could see in front of him was dust, and dust, and more dust, blowing on the brown and tattered landscape. It wasn't until he heard Ned's surprised shouts that he noticed the helmet forming around his head.

Tony allowed himself a second of respite inside cocoon of filtered air, where the world could not see him break — where the world only saw the red and gold mask, forever strong.

Then he willed the nanobots to disassemble.

All three of them were staring at him when his skin once again touched the free air. Tony tried to speak, tried to crack a joke — he had to take a call from the company — always at the worst time, am I right?

But then May Parker said, “It's okay. I'm here with you.”

And Tony simply collapsed in front of the headstone, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface, etching out each letter. Behind him, May put her hand on his shoulder, and Tony was glad she was there, glad because she too understood what it felt like to have your soul ground and pulverized until it was a colossal vacuum that could never be filled, not by all the happiness in the universe.

When he screamed, he took what little comfort in knowing she was beside him, walking every step of this hell with him. Her fingers on his shoulder tightened, and for a moment they were linked through that eternal pain; that void of a parent losing a child.

————————————————————

May had brought a plate of her signature walnut date loafs, and a few other new recipes she'd wanted for Peter to try. Ned had brought the Lego, naturally. Michelle had brought a sketchbook. Tony noticed how thin it looked; more than half the pages had been ripped out, and the cover looked splattered. For a moment Tony imagined the skinny girl, sitting alone in her room, the drip-drip-drip of her tears soaking through her sketches.

Tony wished he'd remembered to bring flowers. He wished he'd remembered to bring something. Hastily he downloaded a model of a flower, and ported it to the nano-assembly algorithms. Soon a miniature white rose grew out of the palm of his hand, glinting in its metallic sheen. The display had been enough to captivate Ned, who seemed to have temporarily forgotten his grief.

Looking at the boy's face was like a gut punch. That same wonder, that same curiosity. That same fascination and youthful enthusiasm. Peter made that face often, pretty much whenever Tony allowed him inside the lab or workshop.

What Tony wouldn't give to see that face again, just one more time.

Gently he laid the flower down in front of the headstone, next to the others' gifts. It landed with a small clink.

“Do you have a place to be?” May asked. Her voice seemed hoarse, but somehow softened.

He did. He had other memorial events to attend. He planned to make a visit to Happy's family, as well as Sam's. He had a meeting with Hank Pym and the rest of the Avengers.

He needed to get back to Pepper and their boy.

“No,” he said. “I've got a while.”

“Eat with us,” she said. “We — we were going to Peter's favorite Thai place.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“I'll tell you where it is, and you can meet us —“

“No. I'll ride with you guys.”

May nodded. She lingered a few seconds more, before bending down and kissing the headstone. Ned gave it a squeeze, hard enough his stubby fingers turned white. Michelle… Michelle didn't do anything. But Tony knew if she touched that stone, she would shatter.

“Are you coming, Mr. Stark?” May asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just — give me a minute.”

He waved them ahead. When he was sure they were out of sight, he knelt down and hugged the headstone tight.

“I miss you, kid,” he said. “You know that? I really — really miss you.”

He choked down the lump in his throat.

“I'm so proud of you, Pete,” he whispered, and for this small moment, he allowed himself to crumble.

————————————————————

The Thai food was very good, but Tony was forced to cut their lunch out a bit short. He thanked May, and Ned and Michelle, for allowing him to intrude. It surprised them, and himself too, because that was so very unlike him.

But then May had given him a smile — a small smile, but a genuine one.

“Peter would've wanted you here,” she said simply.

Tony turned and pretended to watch the TV.

“I heard you had a baby,” May remarked when their table fell silent.

“Ah, yes,” Tony mused, not knowing why she changed the topic, but grateful to pivot. “Not my best creation, to be honest — all he can do at the moment is cry and poop and eat. Even Dum-E is a little better in —“

“Thank you,” May said.

Tony paused.

“Yes, the world often does,” he said finally, chuckling awkwardly. “But I've gotta admit, I don't know why you are —“

Tentatively, May squeezed his hands. Tony flinched at the touch, but didn't pull away.

“Tony,” she said. “Thank you.”

She knows, he thought. He hadn't intended her to know. He worried that she might think of it as an affront. He thought maybe she'd think he didn't deserve it; didn't have the right to use that name. But here she was, thanking him.

“Yeah,” he said, not trusting his face. “I guess I have the paparazzi to thank. Honestly, you'd think they have more important things to report on — Anyway, I got to go, there's —“

“Wait!“ May's grip on his hand tightened a little. She rummaged around in her purse before pulling out a tangle of red and blue fabric. “I — I was making — I was making this, and I…“ She trailed off, and just put the thing on the table between them.

It was a spider-man doll. Coarsely made at first glance, but Tony picked out the little scabs on May's fingers, dots of dark red. Suddenly, he recalled Peter mentioning once how she couldn't sew or knit to save her life.

'And other people were like, aren't aunts supposed to sew you stuff? And I'm like, not May!'

'Kid, could we save the topic for when you're not literally being sewn up?'

'It distracts me from the pain, Mr. Stark. Ow. Are you really sure I can't use anesthetics?'

The memory brought a bittersweet smile to Tony's lips. He picked up the small doll.

“Thank you for making this for him,” he said, his voice solemn.

“I meant it as a gift to celebrate him finishing junior year,” May said softly. “But I never seemed to get around to it, and then… last year, when that… I just stopped working on it.”

Tony's mouth felt dry. “So why did you finish it now, after all this time?”

May shrugged.

“Because we're still here,” she said. “Because we're the only ones who remember Peter as spider-man. Because we owe it to him to pass it on.” She paused, before giving Tony a brief smile. “That's why it's not for our Peter.”

Tony frowned. “Our Peter?” but then he got it.

It was for his Peter.

Tony took the doll and lowered his head, so neither May nor the two kids could see his eyes. Then he stood up, and let the suit spread over his skin. He ignored the gasps and cries of surprise from the other customers. He made sure to keep the doll in a safe compartment.

“Thank you,” he said. With the suit, he could be sure his voice didn't sound too-tight. “Thank you, May.”

She smiled again. “Say hello to him for me.”

He nodded, stepped out of the restaurant, and took off.

————————————————————

“What's up, Mr. Stark?” Peter called out as he bounded into the lab. “What are you working on?”

Tony, being Tony, didn't answer. Instead he gave a vague wave of his hand and dumped the current design blueprints onto Peter's Starkphone. Peter was used to this, so he happily hopped onto a Hulkbuster model, and began swiping through the information.

“Woah,” he said, grasping the gist in barely a minute — brilliant, as usual. “You're trying to create a nano-arc reactor with vibranium at its core! That's so cool!“

“Trying is the key word, kid,” Tony said fondly. “Don't think it'll happen in the near future, not unless I can convince Wakanda to share some of its technologies and resources.”

“I'd like to go to Wakanda sometime,” Peter said wistfully.

“You and me both, kid. I even hear they have a Princess your age. Come on, get down from there, Hulkbuster's not something to play on.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, reading further into the file and ignoring Tony's admonishment. “Mr. Stark, do you think the vibranium could work as an alloy or does it have to be pure?”

“We'll have to try to make do with an alloy, otherwise it'll never be feasible. I swear, it's more expensive than that thing from what's-that-film, the one with the blue people —“

“Avatar,” Peter said. “And it was called unobtainium. But they could've come up with a better name, at least!“ the teen plopped down on the Hulkbuster's head, draping himself over the eyes. “Hey FRIDAY, can I get something to drink? I'm so parched.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Parker. Milk or OJ? Or perhaps beer? We have whiskey, too.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony warned.

“Sorry, Boss.”

“OJ, please,” Peter said, too engrossed in the data to notice the banter. Tony smiled and shook his head.

“By the way, kid,” he added. “Tell me when you're finished reading that. I've got a project for ya.”

“Really?” the teen said, looking up — looking down — at Tony, at once bubbling with excitement. “I'm done reading! What's the project ab—“

The boy's voice stopped. Slowly, the lab faded away. Tony stood up from where he had been watching and looked around, somewhat disoriented. A second later he spotted Pepper at the door, arms crossed.

“You have a meeting tonight,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, blinking away the bright lights. “Very astute, Mrs. Stark.”

“You told me you were taking a nap.”

“I woke up.”

“You said you weren't going to use BARF anymore.”

“I wasn't. FRIDAY must have forced it on me.”

“Boss…“

“Leave her out of this,” Pepper snapped. “Tony, you can't keep doing this. Especially not today. You promised.”

“Stark promises aren't worth very much,” Tony said, chuckling. “Runs in the family.”

Pepper strode over and yanked him to her. Then she kissed him.

“Come on; if you aren't going to sleep, and it doesn't appear you are, let's go check on little Mo. He's gonna wake up soon.”

Mr. Stark knew there was no use in arguing with Mrs. Stark at the moment, so he sighed and allowed her to grab his hand. She guided him over to their room, where a high-tech crib stood in the corner, monitoring everything from vitals to blood sugar to the state of the diapers.

Tony peered down at his sleeping son. “Morgan,” he whispered softly. “Morgan. Morgan Peter Stark.”

The full name alone sent him to the edge. Pepper patted his back, as if she could soothe his tensed muscles back down.

“The best Stark there ever was,” she joked. Tony kissed her.

“I met May Parker today,” he said, not wanting to leave the warmth of her lips. “She… she knows of Mo.”

“Well, the entire world knows we had a baby,” Pepper said, smiling.

“No, Pepper.” Tony said. “She knew his name… she knew his middle name.”

“Oh,” Pepper said. Her hands stopped caressing his back. “There must have been a leak. Damn it, they've been digging for the baby's name for months — those press people will never let go once they sniff out a story. Tony, I'm so sorry, I know you didn't want her to know, I'll get someone to check where it got out —“

“She thanked me,” Tony said, cutting her off. “I — I named my son after Pete, without telling her, and she thanked me. Jesus, Pepper, what did I do to deserve to be — I killed him. I killed him, and she thanked me.”

“You didn't kill him,” she said.

“I couldn't — I tried to protect him —“

“Tony…“ Pepper said.

“I put everything I could think of into that suit,” Tony continued. “I tried, Pepper, I thought I was ready — I couldn't —“

“Tony, please —“

Tony turned away from the crib, feeling like he couldn't breathe. “I couldn't,” he croaked out. “I couldn't protect him. I watched him disa—“

“Anthony Stark!“ Pepper shouted. “Stop that right now! You didn't kill him, you hear me? You did not kill him.”

Tony was trembling all over. He knew she would kiss him, so he let the kiss happen. Pepper's fingers dug into his palm.

“Breathe,” she said. “That's it, Tony. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

Gradually Tony was able to gather himself, like grasping the shards of a glass house and putting it back together… piece by painstaking piece. Pepper combed his hair, pressing him to her, whispering encouragements all the while. Finally Tony gave a low chuckle, exhausted.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“We're always here for you,” she replied. “Mo and I.”

Tony kissed her. He looked down at his sleeping son. “Mo wouldn't be here without him, you know.”

“I know,” Pepper said, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

They stood by the crib for several minutes, just listening to the steady quiet breathing. Tony reached down to nuzzle the baby's rosy cheeks.

It wasn't long before Mo began to stir. Tony withdrew his hand, abashed, but Pepper laughed.

“It's okay,” she said. “He should be waking up around now anyway.” She reached down to tickle the little tummy, and the baby's dark eyes popped open. “Hey Mo!“ Pepper said. “Look who's here? Daddy's here.”

Mo's plump little face beamed at Pepper upon hearing her voice. Then he turned his head towards Tony, and chortled.

“Hey Mo,” Tony said. “Hey.”

We owe it to him to pass it on, May had said.

For our Peter. For my Peter.

Tony closed his eyes, and reached into his coat pocket to pull out the spider-man doll.

“Tony?” Pepper said. “Tony, what's that?”

“May Parker made it,” Tony replied wearily. “She wanted Mo to have it.”

“Wow! That's adorable!“ Pepper took the doll from him, and moved the arms as if she were controlling a marionette. She made the doll wave. “Hi, Mo!“ she said as she peered down at the baby. “I'm spider-man! And I hear you're a very brave boy.”

Mo let out an incoherent noise of interest, and reached up for the doll. Pepper let his tiny hands grab the doll's arm, and Mo's grip tightened instantly, as if making introductions. Pepper laughed and tickled the baby a bit more.

Tony watched them play together. He tried to ingrain the moment in his memory, but all he could think was, I wish you were here, kid.

I wish you were here, Pete.

Once again, credit to the artist ~

#areias fic #iron dad #spider son #iron dad and spider son #pepperony #tony/pepper #dad!tony #son!peter #peter parker #tony stark #pepper potts #may parker #spiderman #iron man #spider man: homecoming #infinity war #fanfic #fic #morgan stark #tom holland #rdj #iw spoilders #fan art

[chrono-logy-blog]

Ativision/Blizzard layoffs and community DoomSaying

There have been a lot of discussions and emotions in the world of Activision and Blizzard Entertainment in recent days, and events have sparked a lot of thought and responses from the business world and the gaming community. For those who are unaware, on Tuesday, February 12th, Activision/Blizzard laid off approximately 8% of their workforce, around 800 workers, this coming after the company reported their quarterly profit analysis for the 4th quarter of 2018, as well as the yearly report for 2018 as a whole. There were a lot of layers to the report and the decision to lay off so many workers, so it is understandable that people may be unable or unwilling to process all the information provided to them. Like many others, I myself had a very emotional and passionate reaction to the whirlpool of information and misinformation that surrounded Tuesday. While pondering my own feelings and how to best express them, it became clear that there was a lot to say, and that a blog post would be the only appropriate and efficient way to get out both information and my reactions. So I am going to take a brief moment to introduce myself, give you a little background, and then we will get to breaking down the profit reports, the layoffs, and what all of this information means for Blizzard in the future. If you wish to know more about me, I am an open book in DMs or comments, as well as available on multiple other social media platforms. This introduction, however, is focused on the information you need to know about me for the relevance of the topic at hand. My name is Michael, and I am known over gaming social media outlets as "Chrono." I have been playing World of Warcraft since 2009, specifically near the release of Patch 3.2.0, otherwise known as "Call of the Crusade" during Wrath of the Lich King. After playing WoW for a few months, I fell in love with Blizzard storytelling and began expanding my interests in the company. 10 years later I have played every game produced since then, fallen in love with countless other Blizzard stories, specifically Starcraft II: Legacy of the Void and the original story of Diablo III. I am something of a staunch defender of Blizzard and the decisions they make, and it that will probably become more clear as the article goes on. In the interest of full disclosure, yes, I love Blizzard Entertainment and I always will, and I think they do a much better job than their community gives them credit for.

That being said, let's dive right into the information that probably had the most emotion attached to it on Tuesday, which was the layoff of about 8% of employees at Activision/Blizzard. There is nothing one person can say to ease the pain of so many lost opportunities. I have read several tweets and statements from former employees, expressing their sadness about what happened to them. Nothing I write here is meant to diminish the struggle those people and their families now face. Every single person who lost their job as a result of these layoffs has my sincerest and most heartfelt sympathies. I wish every single one of them the very best, because they deserve it. I don't know anyone personally affected, but I can imagine none of them will ever be able to replace their work at Blizzard. I know I wouldn't be able to if I was in their shoes. With that in mind, it's a struggle to witness. I know companies have to make hard decisions like these, but at the same time, I personally cannot help but believe there is always a better path. I would never presume to know better than the leaders of the company, but it is frustrating that in 2019, we still cannot find a better way to restructure a company aside from scrapping such a large portion of the workforce. At the same time, it is important to remember that these lost jobs were not overly about money and profits. Granted, its big business, everything ultimately comes down to money and profits. We'll get to the profit analysis in a moment, but suffice it to say that 2018 overall was a very good year for the company, profit-wise. So these layoffs are about the structure of the company and bringing in fresh blood and new ideas on how to grow into the future. This is not to say that there is a viable excuse for huge cuts to jobs, especially when these people worked day and night to get the company where it is now, but Blizzard seems to understand this, and is doing some small gestures to try and ease the pain of their decisions. After the layoffs happened on Tuesday, Blizzard President, J. Allen Brack, had this to say:

"This was an extremely difficult decision, and we want to acknowledge the effort of everyone who has contributed to Blizzard. To assist with the transition, we are offering each impacted employee a severance package that includes additional pay, benefits continuation, and career and recruiting support to help them find their next opportunity. These people are members of the Blizzard family—they’ve cared deeply and contributed greatly to our work here and we are extremely grateful for all they’ve done."

This does not, of course, instantly absolve the company of the layoff of about 800 workers, but at least there is an acknowledgment of the struggle of their former employees. It is also important to note that quarter 1 of 2019 is the first real business quarter of the Presidency of J. Allen Brack, who took over for Mike Morhaime towards the end of 2018. This is important because historically, when you have a change of hands like that at such a high level in a big company, the change flows down the corporate ladder and positions will change. Again, this is not an excuse or a justification, but before the intolerable Blizzard fan base starts screaming about their world being on fire, it's important to take a breath and look at the facts.

Speaking of those facts, these layoffs came at the heels of the company's earnings report for quarter 4 of 2018 and the year overall. This is the part where a lot of the misinformation occurs. There is a lot to this report, and admittedly, I am not business savvy enough to understand every aspect of it, but there are some clear defining points, and plans by Blizzard for 2019. First and foremost, so that no one misunderstands this one simple, indisputable fact: Blizzard made more money in 2018 than any year in their history. This seems on the surface to conflict with the layoffs that occured at the same time. If the company is on strong foundations, why would they layoff so many people? There are a couple answers that seem to make the most sense and likely a combination of them is the truth. First, even though 2018 was an amazing year for Activision/Blizzard, the fourth quarter of 2018 did fall short of expectations. The reasons for this are entirely speculation, unless someone has some insight into the minds of the corporate board and CEOs. Likely, however, everyone speculating on why the fourth quarter was a strugglebus experience is simply speculating based on their own broken experiences. Another firm reason for the layoffs despite record profits is, as previously mentioned, the change of hands at the highest level of the company is often met with countless changes flowing down the ranks. The third reason, and the one the company is putting forward the most, is the simple fact that they are reimagining every team and all their development and marketing tactics. Put simply, Blizzard wants new people involved, and cannot or will not hire waves and waves of people without first cutting jobs. Again, none of this is supposed to make anyone feel better about the layoffs, but it is meant to state one thing very clearly: The company is not falling apart. Their PR struggles with Diablo: Immortal or Battle for Azeroth are not tanking the company. There's no impending doom for Blizzard games, and there's certainly no reason for "fans" to abandon ship or throw around their usual doomsaying attitude. The community responses to just about everything since the release of Battle for Azeroth has been atrocious, and if by some miracle this article catches the eye of any Blizzard game developer, I appreciate the fact that you are too nice to lash back at the community, so I am going to do it for you. The sheer disrespect towards people who spend their entire lives making games for us to enjoy, almost entirely over senseless and trivial matters, is ridiculous and unacceptable, especially in the wake of serious matters like 800 people at the company being out of work. One of the Warcraft content creators I have the most respect for, The Lost Codex said it best with a Twitter post aimed at inspiring positive feedback for the developers, mere days before the layoffs occurred:

"The vitriol from the Community has been heartbreaking to witness. Passionate & beautifully creative people have been demonized & instead of spiting at every tweet, let’s cheer them on. Remind them why they started their career path & acknowledge their passion that we all share."

So what does this mean for the company going forward? Well, according to their statements, Warcraft, Hearthstone, Overwatch, and Diablo will all see an increase of around 20% to their development teams. This means more hires and supports the idea that Blizzard is looking for new people and new ideas, rather than hitting the big red button over money problems. It also means that at a minimum, these 4 franchises are continuing into the foreseeable future. As for the other Blizzard IPs, its likely they will conversely take a seat on the back burner, with Starcraft II's WCS the highlight of the other IPs, which is unlikely to die given its massive global following. It's also important to note that World of Warcraft has a set content timeline that cannot and will not be affected by the massive employment changes. Warcraft and Overwatch are clearly set to be the highlights of 2019, with the 3 major Warcraft projects still in motion, and the emphasis on eSports in 2019, which Overwatch has become a pillar of in the Blizzard community. This is about all we know beyond the layoffs at the moment. As a huge Starcraft fan, I'm disappointed that the prospect of the franchise dying after falling in love with the characters and plot lines. I also, however, believe that Blizzard will continue to develop into the future if we the community just give them a chance. They are not evil, they are not out to spite anyone.

Finally, a special message to the Diablo community. Now is the time to quit the whining. Diablo is getting so much future attention. Regardless of what people may think of Diablo: Immortal, there have been no cancellation announcements. Neither have there been any such disappointing news on the subject of Diablo 4, which we know is in the works. The Diablo community is getting everything they want from Blizzard, despite the selfish reactions to Diablo: Immortal and the wait for Diablo 4. (Obviously people have already forgotten how long the wait was for Diablo 3) So, in short, now is the time to be optimistic and give the Devs a chance to please your inflated egos.

To sum up, it was a sad day for the company and the community on Tuesday. I cannot stress enough how much my heart goes out to the 800 workers who lost their jobs. I would be lost in their position, but I know they are stronger people than I, and they will bounce back. It's going to be an off year, a disappointing year to some, but no one should simply be a fan of Blizzard when everything is going well. If we want to call ourselves part of the Blizzard family, now is when the company needs our understanding the most. You can be against the layoffs, you can have constructive criticism of game mechanics, marketing plans, and IP franchises. But I ask... I implore everyone reading this to stay positive and not lash out. Be the Blizzard family everyone deserves. No matter how bleak things seem at the time, I can hold my head high with tears in my eyes, and be proud to be a fan that knows Blizzard will grow from these sad times and create even more amazing gaming experiences in the future. I hope you will join me. Thank you for reading. En Taro Adun, Lok-tar Ogar, and Cheers, Luv.

[sol1056]

Since a statement is out of the question bc of franchise stuff, what is something you think DreamWorks could do that would show that they understand what went wrong and *why* people are upset, and are planning on doing better in the future? The JDS letter was a start, but it wasn't really enough, and seemed to be based on some fundamental misunderstandings about the nature and origin of our objections. What would be something we could ask for that would actually be realistic?

I want action items, with a plan and explicit goals. 

I want a follow-up letter from JDS (co-signed by the staff) to make clear that now they’ve realized they can do better, that they will do better. And I want specifics.

I want JDS to state explicitly he realizes his first letter implied our community’s pain was for his benefit, and to clarify that he recognizes that doing better is on him, not us.  

I want JDS to affirm the fandom’s anger was motivated by more than one character’s death and a single malicious trope. I want him to acknowledge the depth and breadth of the audience’s objections as valid and justified. I want to him to recognize that while progress moves slowly, he’s not bound by that, and there are things he can do in the meantime.  

I want JDS to give us his plan. I want to know what he – and everyone on his team – has formally pledged that they’ll do in all future projects.

I want JDS to say that part of the pledge includes volunteering with ERGs*. Help with outreach, like assisting at a design camp for at-risk kids in the community, or volunteering with a local non-profit. Something. Anything, but not distanced. Get out there and meet the people they were trying to represent. 

[* An ERG is an Employee Resource Group, organized by employee-members and employee-allies of a particular community, such as disabled, Black, female, LGBTQIA+, Latinx, Indigenous, non-white, etc. Comcast and NBC both have ERGs. Dreamsworks should, too.]

I want JDS to tell us he’s held — and to actually hold — open and honest self-critiques. That the team worked with ERG facilitators to understand the fandom’s critiques of the story, and where their story-choices disrespected the characters and the audiences that identified with those characters. 

I want him to acknowledge examples such as Lotor as an abuse survivor; Keith and Lotor as mixed-race; Allura as a non-white woman; Shiro as disabled, neuroatypical, and queer; Pidge as nonbinary/agender; Coran and Allura as survivors of genocide; Lance as a non-white man; Hunk as an indigenous man. I want JDS to acknowledge the story has not lived up to its promises of respectful and inclusive characters.  

I want action: from now on, when they have a character with a disability, that they’ll reach out to that community and ask for input and insight from someone who’s lived it. Same with a character who’s queer, or of color, or female, or some other definition that the writers haven’t personally experienced. 

I want JDS to acknowledge that a significant factor was the ethnic, gender, and cultural uniformity in the writer’s room. That he and the team looked at shows like B99 and recognized a lot of the staff’s blindspots could’ve been prevented if they’d had diversity behind the scenes, and not just on-screen. 

I want JDS to pledge that from now on, he’ll aim for some percentage of women and some percentage of non-white, and that the minimum must be two, not a lone token. I want JDS to pledge he’ll actively seek out and empower non-male, non-white, non-straight, non-abled writers to be part of his team. 

I want that action to extend to the production team, too. 

I want it co-signed by the entire production staff and writers staff. 

And that brings me to Dreamworks. 

I want a public statement from Margie Cohn, co-signed by Robert Winthrop at minimum, that the recent season of VLD has regretfully fractured and hurt one a community that’s also one of their dedicated fanbases. I want them to state that while they cannot go back and undo what happened, they can make damn well sure it never happens again. 

I want DW TV to acknowledge its audiences cut across all classes, ethnicities, sexualities, ages, genders, abilities, and creeds, and that it promises to work harder at representing the breadth of that audience with fairness and respect.

(Go ahead, let them shift the impetus onto JDS for spearheading it. I don’t care anymore. I just want to see something change, and if that’s what it takes, fine.)

I want DW TV’s leadership to affirm JDS’ statement and extend it beyond one particular production. That DW TV from now on will expect every project to increase diversity behind the camera as well as in front of it, and to make connections with – and listen to – those communities they’re seeking to represent on-screen. 

I don’t want platitudes about teaching some vague life lesson. If we got stuck being their teaching moment, then tell me what’s on the final exam. I want to know the standards by which DW TV can say it’s preventing any repeat.

And while we’re at it, I want DW TV to make its diversity pledge public, on its site, with its outlined action items. My company’s got one, and I assure you, we’re big enough to make Dreamworks look like a mom-and-pop shop. If we can do it, so can Dreamworks. 

I want a designated place for complaints from a community. When a show fails at a level like VLD, we shouldn’t have to scream into the void on twitter or tumblr or facebook. Open those lines of communication. If DW wants to use us in its stories, have the decency to give us a place to speak out. If that happens, I want DW TV to hold up its end and listen to us. 

Will that take effort and time and money on DW TV’s part? Of course it will. Is that worth it? As opposed to, what, simply dismissing all audience members that are neuratypical, abuse survivors, queer, disabled, non-white, or female? 

Is it going to be hard to increase the PR/communications team, shift the budget, establish the processes, and open those lines of communication? Of course it is, but what’s the alternative? Having the Dreamworks brand dragged across twitter, tumblr, instagram, facebook, and a number of news outlets? 

Change is hard. It always is. But DW TV failed to supervise its projects and catch offensive material before it reached the screen, and that brought us to this point. DW TV needs to see it’s time to change, to acknowledge it’s aware, and to do something concrete to get there. 

Or DW TV stays the same, and we all choose some other animation company as the recipient of our time, loyalty, and money.

#vld #voltron #television production #representation #sol thinks about stuff