#oddly prescient

[rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world]

Morticia: Ah, it’s such a comfort to have a machine do our thinking for us.

One of those times The Addams Family was oddly prescient.

#morticia addams #the addams family #ai #internet of things #computers #oddly prescient

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

The scene in which Peter and Coco were forced to sing and dance in ‘The Desperadoes’

ended oddly presciently with one of the baddies telling Peter: ‘You dance like a woman!’

#Inspector Spacetime #Signature Scene (trope) #Signature Scene #The Desperadoes (serial) #that one scene #Peter (character) #Coco (character) #Nicola Coates (character) #forced to sing and dance #oddly prescient #oddly specific #one of the baddies tells Peter #You dance like a woman #quotable Inspector Spacetime #the writers seemed to know #that Peter would become Petula #that Peter would undergo a gender transition

[seismologically-silly]

oh yeah i added this to tin’s playlist back when i was still playing him

#oddly prescient apparently #fitting i'm playing a time wizard now i guess! #my D&D!

[omegalomania]

everything is lit, except my serotonin

"what a time to be alive" is probably one of my favorite songs on the new record. that's not really a hard sell, though; i struggle to pick favorites at the best of times and by this time tomorrow, my favorite track will likely be a different one. but there's something about this track that i keep circling back to, for a multitude of reasons.

this one has proven a little contentious. critics don't quite get it, and even people who love the song will say that it's a little off-putting lyrically, primarily because of those lines in the chorus: "everything is lit, except my serotonin / everything is lit but my lightning-bolt brain". i'm not going to say outright that critics scoffing at the obvious earth, wind, and fire influence is one of those delightful instances of antiblack racism that's so common in music criticism, but i'd be lying if i said i didn't suspect that was a factor. but more to the point, that line in the chorus hit me a little harder than i expected it to.

patrick has stressed repeatedly that the majority of "what a time to be alive" was written before the pandemic. the lyrics to the bridge are the only parts that reference the pandemic specifically, but the rest of the song feels oddly prescient as it discusses how it feels like the end of the world...probably because in 2019, for some of us, especially those on the west coast, it did feel like the end of the world. pete wentz lives in los angeles, and thus probably got a very clear picture of this as it happened in real time. wildfires have always been an issue on the west coast, but by 2017, they started picking up in speed and scope, in large part due to the effects of climate change. the year after that, they got worse. the third year in a row this happened, it cemented that this was going to be a pattern, which is exactly what happened. today, the last third or so of the year is generally regarded as "fire season," when risk of wildfires becomes extremely high, power outages are common, and evacuations are anticipated.

i live in a fire zone. every year since 2017, i've had to evacuate my home regularly, or i know someone else who has. at this point, it's pretty well-established as routine. the first time this happened, it felt like the end of the world - watching neighbors' houses go up in smoke, housing displaced family members or friends who'd been evacuated themselves or actually lost their homes. by the time the pandemic happened, fire season hadn't actually died, either; we were carrying out evacuations while masked, and often without power (and thus no easy way to get news as to what was happening).

here's a thing about living in a fire zone. there are nights when you're going off no sleep and you're watching the ember-glow on the horizon at the early hours of the morning and thinking that it could almost be considered pretty, in a dark and dismal kind of way. there are days when the smoke haze is so heavy that you never get to see the sun but it makes the air hot and thick and it burns in your lungs. the smell of smoke becomes choking and omnipresent.

everything is lit, except my serotonin. everything is lit but my lightning-bolt brain.

i don't know if these lines were written about the wildfires in particular. it wouldn't surprise me if they were. there are a lot of moments in the song, the parts written pre-pandemic, that make me think that could've been the case: neon in the night-time and not caring if it's pretty because the view's so pretty from the deck of a sinking ship. livestreaming the apocalypse, because twitter feeds were literally the best way to get your news on whether your house might be next - if you had power and internet, that is. and not everyone did.

everything is lit but my lightning-bolt brain. it's kind of a silly line, and i understand being put off by it. it took me some time to warm to it too (pun absolutely intended). it's also a quadruple-entendre. everything is "lit" in the colloquial sense of being cool and exciting, sure, but it's also more or less how the human brain works. our brains are really just electricity, passing little bursts between all the neurons and synapses. on top of that, the sensation of feeling like electric shocks are passing through your skull, or "brain zaps," are a common symptom of withdrawal from antidepressants (which, among other things, are used to regulate someone's serotonin levels). and then there's the case of the world being on fire, literally. everything is lit except my serotonin. my lightning-bolt brain.

a memory:

i never actually stopped working through the pandemic, as i was considered an essential worker. the fires didn't let up either. a particularly horrible fire tore through a nearby area and that's the thing about fires: they turn the whole fucking sky vivid orange. i drove to work on a chilly autumn morning, the whole sky lit up in an orange glare. i stood for a minute in the freezing parking lot while flakes of ash overhead settled like snow onto my car, my hair, my clothes. somewhere, people's homes and livelihoods were burning, and in a matter of days or hours the wind could change and my home and friends could be next. so i walked through the falling ash and the sickly orange glow of the sky and did my temperature check at the door with my mask pulled up over the lower half of my face, and i got to work.

i remember that moment vividly because it was strange and surreal and eerie and it was probably the moment that felt most like the end of the world to me, or at least it did then. driving through town with the sky on fire and a disease tearing through the world and having to walk into work anyway. that's what this track reminds me of: the sheer, staggering surreality of watching everything fall apart, and then...you go to work, because what else are you supposed to do? you go to work. the world is ending. you go to work.

what a time to be alive.

#*making poasts #*writing #i dont think ive ever used that tag but i guess this counts. its a bit more prosey/personal than my standard stuff #just thoughts i was thonking about this song....lines that hit different when u have lived in a fire zone #its such a bright happy-sounding song but jesus christ. jesus christ. #anyway u are free to rb this or reply whatever i dont care

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Rafal as an Ever Student AU

I think I came up with a decent portion of this right before I read Rise, in the shower, and the rest of it manifested later on, after reading Rise.

Note: This concept is set as if he were in Sophie and Agatha's year.

He gets a different reception than Agatha despite being a bit like her but less coarse and more refined. He’s seen as broody and cool, not “moody,” “grumpy,” “sour,” and “unpleasant.” It is a total double standard for the Everboys that he benefits from.

Yes, he retains his personality from TLEA and Rise, just minus the Evilness. Aloof, grouchy, and quiet.

He’s not entirely an outcast even if he is unconventional, for a prince. The other Everboys hate him because he’s seen as competition. They poke fun at him and call him “as pale as a Crog’s underbelly.”

Some Evergirls are attracted to him. He sets their hearts aflutter, but most think he is the antithesis of Good in its typical definitions and forms. He is cold and pale, and leaner-built than most. He runs cold, unlike the warm-blooded, sweaty Everboys. (And, he and Sophie love each other. Although, being atypical examples of an Ever and Never as they are, they are quite a contrast and quite the power couple. Even though they are an Ever-Never couple, they have lots of commonalities. Maybe, they’d resemble Tophie, but their dynamic would be leagues better.)

Ironically, he performs badly at things that require true Goodness. The other Everboys mock him for being “impure” like the Nevers mocked Sophie.

Basically, Rafal is no good at doing performative Good. In the way that Sophie initially is bad at performative Evil, in practice.

However, he aces the Good theory lessons somehow. He probably got a 90% on Dovey's Good Deeds test. He just knows the Rules and how everything works really well. He's clever. That's obvious enough. (And, he was a prodigy in primary school.)

The two, Sophie and Rafal, are paradoxes. They are (oddly enough) desirable social-rejects.

One of their first interactions, after he performed badly in a class involving concrete action that Sophie witnessed:

Sophie: I thought you were Good.

Rafal: I am. In theory.

His ability to understand Good theory traces back to his Talent: how he already has a full understanding of how the Woods operate, and can read souls and intentions, meaning he can immediately sense who’s an Ever and who’s a Never, is a walking lie-detector, and senses a betrayal days before it happens. His weakness is that emotional attachment to people dulls his senses in regards to them specifically.

He’s also slightly prescient. He is not a Seer though. He can simply predict outcomes and movements with surprising accuracy. Plus, maybe, he's just observant and knows too much, more than he should, of the inner workings of the Schools’ system.

He probably cheats the system with his performance, anomalous with the actual impure inclinations of his soul. Like, he knows the correct, Good answers to the test. He just wouldn't be compelled to do all of it in reality. He doesn't care enough to. He doesn’t care enough for others. He doesn't care enough for what others think, at all, so that's part of the problem.

In reality, he’s on the less pure section of the Good continuum; he’s just incredibly competent at what he does to be tracked as a Leader. So, his morality is already greyish. But, he has no inclination to do Evil without provocation. He’s just capable of thinking exactly like a villain would, which both impresses and terrifies all the Evers. It looks suspicious, and Tedros is certain he’s secretly a Never.

This connects back to his Talent. Rafal can anticipate what Nevers will do. He’s always several steps ahead as a strategic, long-range planner.

Rafal’s Wish Fish vision is of Sophie. (He had seen her at the Welcoming, and cynically chalked her up to delusional Evil in love, like his Never brother once was. He did experience aesthetic attraction though.) He’s startled by the vision, and the Everboys jeer at him for being drawn to a Never.

Meanwhile, Agatha tries to tell Sophie to try and get him to kiss her, and tells her to wait for him to make the first move. Sophie doesn’t listen and approaches him. She had decided to lure him instead.

But she is not the only one with ulterior motives. At first, Rafal had selfish motives in pursuing Sophie. He, ever the control freak, decides to try and reform her. It would surely be an unforgettable accomplishment, and win him fame and influence as the first Ever to convert a Never to Good. Then, he’d take her as his queen.

And, yes, he admits, he does have feelings for her, but he is unable to process or decipher those feelings at the moment, and he stuffs them down, so he can conduct his morally-questionable experiment without interference.

He finds Sophie amusing and intriguing. Sometimes, he smiles knowingly at the lengths she goes to prove she's truly Good. Because, he once tried to love too and failed. His heart and soul failed him. And, it pains him to think about the Evil brother he had to kill in the purest self-defense a year ago. (Yeah, he's traumatized in this AU too.)

Eventually, he’s a prince lured onto Evil's side. She won their game, like a siren. And, both of them were already morally grey.

If the Storian were to write a fairy tale about them, the first triumph of both sides, it would be very radical for lack of a better word. Very good. Ahem. [Clears throat awkwardly.]

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #agatha of woods beyond #sophie of woods beyond #rafal #rafal mistral #sge #sfgae #rhian #rhian mistral #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #my aus #ever!rafal #sophie x rafal #rafal x sophie #raphie #rophie #sofal #safal

[lastflowerofyourhouse]

just rediscovered the beginning of a fic buried in my drafts, imagining ianthe and palamedes's battle in the river as being heavily inspired by the necromancers' marraige season, which predates the unwanted guest by almost six months. suppose i'll post what i wrote here. bits and pieces of it are oddly prescient.

He felt…displaced. As if reality were not quite as it ought to be. Which was strange, because the situation he found himself in was a perfectly normal one. He was sitting down in a crowded ballroom, faced toward the dancing couples in their house colors, flashing blue and red and violet. He went to at least four such gatherings a month. Four, was that right? Four seemed excessive. But perhaps it was five. He had an odd sense of something missing.

-

Palamedes Sextus was struggling to focus. This was his first clue that something was wrong.

He put out a hand, and instantly it found a familiar knee. Camilla. He turned his head. Why had he been convinced she wasn’t here? She sat beside him, straight-backed and composed as ever, in the type of formal wear that she only reluctantly submitted to, when necessary. It was often necessary. Wasn’t it? He felt himself staring at the side of her face. Why wasn’t she looking back at him? Why did he still miss her?

The chair on the other side of  him had been vacant, but momentarily he became aware of a presence to his left, a warmth and breathing that hadn’t been there before. The person leaned in and said, under their breath, “Oh, that’ll be distracting, Sextus. You should’ve left her out of it. You’re already at every disadvantage.”

This was enough to startle him out of his reverie. Ianthe Tridentarius was closer than was comfortable and smiling a pleasant, unobtrusive smile. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you? Interesting. I must say, this wouldn’t have been my first choice of an arena, if I were you. Or didn’t you choose it?" 

 "I'm sorry, Princess, I don't–" He was interrupted by a noise. It wasn't a loud noise, but somehow it cut straight through the music and the chatter. That shouldn't have been—wasn't—possible, but Palamedes didn't have time to think about it. The noise was a gasp. Small, shocked, with an upturn at the end which wasn't quite a squeak. Palamedes looked up for the source of the noise, and there she was. 

Dulcinea Septimus, leaned heavily onto a pair of crutches but hurrying over as fast as was possible for her, an odd and intense look in her eyes. Her eyes. He had never seen her eyes in person before. She was—no matter. No time to think about it. He stood up and met her halfway. Behind him, he heard Ianthe groan. 

Dulcinea was studying his face so intently that he felt his cheeks flush a little, and he was sure she saw it. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. 

"Are you…you?" she asked. 

"I am, Duchess." He could think of nothing to do but answer the question. 

She laughed. "Don't you dare call me 'Duchess,' Pal, you know I hate that."

Palamedes could not account for the loosening in his chest at that answer, he didn't know what he had been holding his breath for. "Dulcie, then?"

She looked at him the way one might look at a puppy who had voluntarily snuggled up to them for the first time. "Perfect. Would you like to dance?" Her eyes were gleaming a little in the light. 

"I'm–not certain that's a good idea." 

"Well, I am. You'll have to hold me up a bit, I think, but nothing is going to happen to me. Trust me, doc, my health has bigger things to worry about."

#my post #my fic #fic fragments

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 13: Check

C’oretta seemed oddly subdued as she left the Quicksand, Iyna thought. Holiday celebrations continued, though the petite Miqo’te hardly seemed to notice.

Iyna had assumed the festivities were the reason C’oretta had taken this particular job to Thanalan; since Gage Acquisitions’ move to the Twelveswood, trips to Ul’dah were not as frequent, even for the teleport-capable employees. There just weren’t as many reasons to return, though Iyna found the dry, sandy air almost refreshing despite the heat, simply because it was now a change from what had become the norm.

Their job was complete, however—a simple courier trip, handling some of those leftover Corpse Brigade that sometimes liked to harass Little Ala Mhigo, when the vile fools remembered their origins to be more than mere bandits—and now they were on their own time.

Still; she had rarely, if ever, seen C’oretta look so…normal. There was none of the spring or pep she usually associated with her pink-clad companion as she walked out of the Adventurer Guild and down the street.

So Iyna followed. Discreetly, at a distance.

It wasn’t difficult to keep C’oretta in sight, nor to find her again when crossing through crowds or around corners. Iyna did not expect to turn a corner and find C’oretta waiting for her, arms crossed, scowling up at her—which was honestly adorable, but Iyna wasn’t going to tell the kid that.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you know and it’s not polite to follow someone off on personal business.”

“I know how sneaky I am, Kitten, you’ve just gotten better at picking up a tail.” Which was, unfortunately, true. Damn the girl’s observation skills, and probably some of that combat-prescient Echo of hers. “And you could have simply mentioned you had something to attend to, instead of trying to sneak off, from a sneak.”

C’oretta frowned more, which looked utterly alien on her typically cheerful face. “Maybe but it’s complicated except not really it just feels that way and it’s been too long since I’ve been back here what with the move and everything.”

“It’s nothing dangerous or illegal, right?” Granted, Ul’dah’s rules in the latter regard were often lax if one had the money and influence. Still, there were some things by general Eorzean agreement one steered clear of.

“It’s not and if you’re so curious you might as well come along and see but no blabbing to everyone,” C’oretta sighed, turning and walking on.

“You know I won’t.” Iyna followed along.

She was not expecting C’oretta to lead her into a sanitarium. The man at the desk welcomed C’oretta warmly, waving off her apologies. “It’s a good day, I hear. She’ll be happy to see you, and meet your friend.” He turned a careful smile to Iyna. “But don’t be surprised if you’re forgotten by the end of the visit, or unrecognized next time you accompany Miss C’oretta.”

Iyna only nodded, as her friend still hadn’t explained what this was about.

It became clear once they went upstairs and into a room, filled with carefully-selected personal belongings that did not hide its hospital functions. A Miqo’te woman sat inside; only just started to reach what one might call middle-aged in the shorter-lived races. She had red, gray-streaked hair, big green eyes, fair skin, and was about as petite as C’oretta, several facial features the same between them.

She looked up from her writing or drawing by the window and beamed as she saw her guests. “Oretta! Oh, and a friend, how exciting, hello!”

C’oretta plastered on a fake smile as she bound across the room with a facsimile of her usual energy. “Hello Mama! Yes this is my friend Iyna we work together and came to check on you I’m so sorry it’s been so long since I stopped by.”

“It’s fine, darling, your schooling is important, but the sun will set soon, and Papa will be home and we can watch the fireworks together with your friend. Won’t that be lovely?”

C’oretta managed not to flinch, but her smile wavered. “That’ll be wonderful Mama.”

Iyna bit her lip, staying quiet as C’oretta visited with her mother, understanding now why the girl kept this to herself.

She couldn’t decide if her own orphaned situation was in the end preferable after all.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2023 #Lyn Writing #Iyna Cauld #C'oretta Khell #C'leiha

[cainsign]

Are any of your ocs oddly prescient? How do they feel about trying to learn the future/divination?

yes! so willow actually has dreams of the future! it's mostly vague impressions but occasionally she'll have really vivid dreams that end up coming true. she finds it distressing. willow feels it's best to go about her life as if she never saw the future to avoid making the situation worse but it happens anyway 👍 my girl who is trapped by fate.

adam knows about willow's dreams and despite generally being a skeptic, believes her when she tells him. but where willow kind of accepts that her future is ordained and it's going to happen the way she saw it, adam tries to fight against it. still happens anyway 👍 they are both trapped.

#willow #my ocs

[gwentrification]

You know that one dangan ronpa 2 character talking about how boys have front tails was oddly prescient but only vis a vis former boys who are now puppygirls i think

[mosertone]

As much as this looks like a prank, this article about the ubiquitous nature of the telephone is one hundred percent real. It’s fascinating. This article from the Tacoma News Tribune, from April 11, 1953, features and oddly prescient prediction about the future of cell phone technology.

The writer, Mark R. Sullivan, notes that people will be surrounded by telephones wherever they go, unable to get away from them even if they don’t want to be around them. He writes:

Just what form the future telephone will take is, of course, pure speculation. Here is my prophecy: In its final development, the telephone will be carried about by the individual, perhaps as we carry a watch today. It probably will require no dial or equivalent, and I think the users will be able to see each other, if they want, as they talk. Who knows but what it may actually translate from one language to another?

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity Chapter 9: Leannan Meets James

1877 words

CW: institutionalized slavery, religious themes, death, alcohol, abuse, choking

Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Titus 3:1

Remind them to be subject to rulers, to authorities, to be obedient, to be ready for every good deed.

~~~

Phineas slit the throat of a laborer walking home after a late night and took his shoes for Leannan.

They fled southward, further into Gauthier’s land, before turning back northeast as the sun rose. They stole a quick nap in the shelter of a loose-stacked stone wall around a cowfield before pressing on.

Leannan didn’t complain once. Not about his ill-fitting shoes or being stuck in one set of clothes, not about walking all night, not about sleeping rough. If Phineas had known that fucking the whore was all it would take to make him shut up they would have done it far, far sooner. Now Leannan offered only prompt little “Yes, Phineas!” and “No, Phineas!” responses to the sniper’s occasional communication, accompanied by devoted, hopeful smiles.

It was almost boring. The previous attitude was annoying, but at least Phineas had been having fun knocking him down when he got too uppity.

Now, the Iowan was downright concerned for Phineas. He piped up on the second evening, as Phineas laid out their bedroll in a grove of pines.

“You seem to have a reputation – Phineas the bounty hunter. Kaŝpafisto. Won’t everyone know that you were the one to kill the King?”

“Of course they will,” said Phineas, unbothered.

“But what if his people try to retaliate against you?”

“They won’t. Because I’m not playing the game, here,” Phineas lay down, folding their hands on their chest. “I’m a weapon, not an actor. My actions are the actions of those who hired me, and I say La Libera hired me. I’m not to blame – and besides, even if someone did blame me, they may still want me around for their own purposes. I expect I’ll be hearing from Gauthier’s underlings and La Libera, both begging to contract me.”

Leannan processed this, sitting down next to Phineas. Phineas supposed it was hard for him to wrap his head around – but then he asked an oddly prescient question.

“But you’re about to become a player. You’re joining the Council of Donda. Won’t that change things?”

Phineas squinted at him. His eyes were wide with innocence, but Phineas wasn’t buying it.

“What do you think?” they turned it around on him.

Leannan tilted his head, the bruises around his lips and on his left cheek catching the moonlight.

“I think you’ll need to be careful.”

~~~

They slept under the trees, Leannan curled up close to Phineas’ side. Like a dog, Phineas thought. Loyal and dumb.

Maybe not so dumb.

They almost ran out of food, having lost Leannan’s share in the sinkhole, but Phineas snared a rabbit and that held them over until their return to Donda Island.

They crossed the river and slunk into the city with little fanfare; the news of King Gauthier’s death had not yet arrived. They said nothing to anyone, heading straight for the Council building.

They followed the same rigmarole as their first visit, escorted to the Council hall by guards, but this time both Councilmen Brochard and Faverolle were quick to make their appearance onstage. As soon as the guards were dismissed and they had privacy, Phineas gave their report.

The King was dead. They had left La Libera’s symbol painted on a tree next to where they had shot from, and it was sure to be found. The Iowan had sustained some injuries, but would recover quickly.

The Councilmen were immediately in a celebratory mood. They called for wine and came down off their stage to drink with Phineas and Leannan.

“To a job well done!” Brochard declared once the servant had left.

“To our new Council… man.” Faverolle lifted his large wooden cup, making his best guess.

“And to your new pet.” Phineas lifted their cup, ruffling Leannan’s hair with the other hand. Leannan tilted his head into the touch with a winning smile.

The newly expanded Council got to talking about the details of Phineas’ estate. Leannan remained quiet and doe-eyed, but listened intently. Phineas would be living in the same Council building annex as the other Councilmen, had two personal servants to rotate, and had jurisdiction over five acres on the northern shore, and all the laborers who lived there.

“Uncle,” Faverolle cut in suddenly, “Why don’t you show Councilman Kaŝpafisto to his room, and I will show the Iowan to his?”

Councilman Brochard hesitated, his eyes darting between his nephew and Leannan.

“Yes, alright, but,” he lowered his voice, leaning to Faverolle’s ear, “Sois doux avec lui.”

Faverolle shrugged him off, nodding at Leannan

“Come with me – what’s your name?”

“Leannan, sir.”

“Come with me, Leannan.”

Leannan glanced at Phineas, but they weren’t even looking at him; they were already asking Brochard a question about taxes and inflation. Leannan had no choice but to follow Faverolle out of the hall, leaving Phineas behind.

“You’ll be living in the east wing, with the rest of us,” Faverolle informed Leannan as they walked the lantern-lit halls, and handed his empty wooden cup off to a servant as they passed. Leannan did the same, his cup still full – he hated the taste of alcohol and its effects more than anything.

“That’s very generous of you, Councilman Faverolle,” Leannan said earnestly.

The servant in question, a short, pale woman with frizzy hair wrestled into a tight bun, gave him a small nod. Leannan returned it. He knew from experience that having a bad relationship with his master’s servants could make his life hell. He prayed he could get along with the staff here.

“Please, call me James,” the Councilman paused, “Master James.”

“Yes, Master James,” Leannan chirped.

James led him up a broad, weathered staircase. They passed where Phineas and Leannan had bunked previously, and finally stopped at a closed door.

“We spent the last few days setting it up for you,” James said as he opened the door and entered, “Just a few things…”

Leannan followed, and stepped into a dream come true.

The far wall boasted two windows, glassless but filled with gauzy curtains that wafted in the afternoon breeze. The floor was covered with a pair of fine rugs. To the right was a bed, bigger than any Leannan had called his own before, pilled high with brightly patterned pillows and blankets. It was flanked by small mismatched cabinets that hosted unlit lanterns. To the left was a wardrobe, and a trunk, and a vanity with a mirror. Leannan gasped and rushed to it immediately, bending slightly to look at his reflection.

“You like it?” James chuckled, closing the door.

“This is all for me?” Leannan spun around, pressing his hands to his cheeks as he grinned.

James smiled at him. “Yes, it’s all yours. There are some clothes for you in the wardrobe as well.”

“Oh!” Leannan cried. His reaction was completely genuine; his heart soared, and he took up his talisman and pressed it to his lips. “Thank God, thank God.”

“Thank me, actually,” James quipped, “I arranged for all of this.”

“Oh yes, of course!” Leannan rushed to him, resting a feather-light hand on the Councilman’s chest and looking up at him adoringly. “Thank you, Master James.”

“You’re very welcome.” James lifted a hand, hovering it over Leannan’s bruised cheek. Leannan searched his eyes, looking for danger, and found none.

“How badly were you hurt?” James murmured.

“I’ll be alright.” Leannan smiled sweetly.

“Were you hurt anywhere else?”

“My back,” answered Leannan.

“Let’s see it.”

Leannan couldn’t complain about escaping the clothing he’d been stuck in for days. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, looking up at his new master through fluttering eyelashes. He knew James’ type – the sympathetic kind, the kind that got off on bandaging his wounds while hearing about all the horrible things that he’d endured. He turned around, showing the Councilman his back.

“Merde!” James exclaimed, “Gauthier did that?”

“Yes, Master James,” Leannan made his voice timid this time. He knew how to play this character well; shy, slightly ashamed, oh-so-grateful.

James set one hand on Leannan’s shoulder while the other ran over the scabbed claw and bite marks. His breathing grew a little heavier, very subtly, but Leannan picked it up.

“As your master… What am I allowed to do to you?” James asked.

“Anything,” Leannan answered, “Anything at all.”

“Even hurt you like this?”

“If it brings you pleasure, then yes.”

“I really prefer women, but this…”

Without warning, James cruelly pinched and twisted the bite mark. Leannan yelped, half in surprise and half in pain, and James’ hands tightened on him to hold him still.

Leannan’s head spun. He’d read it wrong, somehow. James wasn’t a benign savior complex. He was something else, and Leannan needed to figure out what, fast.

James’ breathing was even faster, now. He’d enjoyed Leannan’s cry of pain. Leannan would give him more.

“Master James?” Leannan whimpered, turning his head so that James could see his trembling chin.

That was the right move. James’ hands relaxed, the one that had pinched him moving to the back of Leannan’s neck.

“Did that hurt?” James asked breathily.

“Yes, Master James,” Leannan sniffled, turning to face him.

“I can do anything at all?” James echoed.

Leannan blinked up at him with big, dewy eyes. If he overreacted to the pain, just a little bit, the simple sadist was satisfied more quickly.

“Yes, Master James.”

James’ hands circled Leannan’s neck, and Leannan took a breath in anticipation. He could see the uncertainty in James’ eyes – he wouldn’t take things too far. He wasn’t Ransom.

Leannan’s heart pounded.

He wasn’t Ransom. It would be fine.

James’ grip began to tighten, and Leannan gasped and whined appropriately. He even threw in a strained, “Master James!” reaching up and clutching at James’ wrists.

James flushed and stared, seemingly in awe of his own strength. He released Leannan quite suddenly, stepping back. Leannan sucked in a dramatic breath, pressing his hands to his chest.

“Are you alright?” James asked, as if he’d just seen Leannan get a papercut.

“Oh, of course, Master James,” Leannan said, throwing a bit of extra wheeze into his voice, “I’m made for this.”

James nodded awkwardly. “Right. I will… I’ll be going now. Enjoy your room.”

With that, James turned on his heel and swiftly exited.

Leannan stared after him, a smile creeping over his face. He rushed to the vanity, leaning down and examining his neck in the mirror. James hadn’t even choked him hard enough to bruise. Gullible, stupid man.

Leannan straightened and looked around, taking in the room once more. His room. It was all his. Compelled, he jumped to the middle of the room and spun around in joyful circles before flopping onto the bed, grinning at the ceiling. Then he clasped his hands over his chest and shut his eyes.

“Dear God. I’m very sorry for talking back to Phineas so much. I know you sent Ransom to me because of that, and I’m very sorry. But I submitted myself to Ransom, and to Phineas, and now you’ve rewarded me, and I’m really, really grateful. Like, super. Anyway, now I’m going to be the best concubine ever. I will do everything my masters want. Please, please, let me stay here for a long time. Amen.”

~~~

Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

Let me know if you want on or off the taglist!

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #forged divinity #cw slavery #cw religion #cw death #cw alcohol #cw abuse #cw choking

[tothedarkdarkseas]

A collection of oddly prescient Sims popups. (Would you believe me if I said I mainly enjoy the plot implications WW adds?)

#the last one is a bit nsft but it's everything. ampersands is happening in this game on its own. nature is healing. #the darkseas studoc sims disaster of '23

[magicalgirlartist]

[ID: 3 drawings with 2 characters each, all male, 1 higher and older facing left, 1 lower and younger facing right. 1: the higher one has light green hair with white streaks in a long ponytail, wearing a light green shawl over a dark green jumpsuit and carrying a buzz saw staff, winking with his hand to his chin. Text beside him: "TURAGA MATAU, leader of Le-Koro, most handsome Turaga (according to himself), lovely singing voice. The lower one has tiny green glasses, baggy bright green pants, and an open green vest, and he's smiling and waving. Text beside him: "SANSO, musician, plays a mean flute, can and will talk for hours about music theory." 2: the higher one has a brown scarf wrapped around his head and shoulders, loose brown clothes, a hand on his hip and a grouchy expression, carrying a hammer staff. Text beside him: "TURAGA ONEWA, leader of Po-Koro, friendly, but kind of rude, perfectionist, hates Ahkmou so much it's unreal." The lower one has black hair pulled back by a headband, a light brown tunic over black shorts, and tall gladiator sandals, with one hand by his face and a smug smile. Text beside him: "AHKMOU, merchant, normal merchant, nothing to see here, just a regular merchant selling regular wares." 3: the higher one has long greying red hair and a braided beard, long red vest over red clothes, carrying a fire staff and smiling. Text beside him: "TURAGA VAKAMA, leader of Ta-Koro, oddly prescient, very patient, "First of all let me make one thing quite clear. I never explain anything." -Vakama probably." The lower one is standing awkwardly with one hand raised, with a bright orange tank top, red pants with the legs rolled up to his knees, and a red bandana. Text beside him: "KAPURA, left hand of Turaga Vakama, member of the Ta-Koro Guard, slow and methodical, moves quickly by moving slowly (???)" End ID.]

Finally got around to doing more Bionicle Sports Anime designs! Matau's was the most fun tbh. Either the Toa Nuva or some uniform designs are next. I've been saying uniform designs for so long at this point I should probably do them.

Like to slap Onewa's bald head. Reblog to slap Onewa's bald head.

[Commissions open!]

#bionicle #human bionicle #ahkmou: i'm just a little guy! and it's also my birthday! i'm just a little birthday boy! #art #fanart #bionicle sports anime

[sir-adamus]

You ever heard Billie Piper's songs? They're late 90s af and clearly "inspired" by the Spice Girls.

i'm only familiar with a couple of her songs, namely the one with the oddly prescient music video with her falling out of a spaceship then going to a club and there's an alien rhinoceros, and the one she did for the pokémon the first movie soundtrack

[omegalomania]

last time i did this was oddly prescient so im doing it again and hoping like hell

#fall out boy #fob #*mine #*art #i didnt draw joes guitar strap cause it blocked the shirt -_- #idk why joe and pete are playing instruments and the other two arent #my head is killing me but i am being so brave about it #id is also in the alt text #shoutout to b for the patrick shirt. i needed one and she delivered in like 0.5 seconds #also yes this was an excuse to draw pete wentz in his skirt <3 <3 <3

[denimbex1986]

We didn’t want David Tennant to go, and it was time for Ncuti Gatwa to finally take the Tardis keys, but in a twist we got both of them at once. It was no surprise, though, that Neil Patrick Harris was a scene-stealing romp, revelling in silly accents, closeup card magic and imaginative cruelty.

The Toymaker’s violence-dealing dance scene at Unit HQ to the Spice Girls rivalled the Master’s Rasputin routine in the Power of the Doctor, and seemed like the new Russell T Davies era writ large: bright, bold and knowingly silly, but with an underlying political message.

Shirley Anne Bingham (Ruth Madeley) was back too, and the barb a possessed Kate Stewart (Jemma Redgrave) aimed at her, that she had seen her getting up out of her wheelchair, was oddly prescient. It was filmed months and months ago, but echoed the ludicrous discourse after Madeley’s first appearance about whether a character in a wheelchair could be capable of crossing their legs. Online discourse like that was one of Davies’ real-life targets with this script, with its not-too-subtle messaging that having every human online and 100% certain they were right about everything was a recipe for global chaos.

A return for former companion Mel (Bonnie Langford) meant she finally got to show that her character really had been, as described, a computer programmer, and not just an eternally-in-distress 1980s damsel. And Langford got to use her singing and dancing skills for plot-driven reasons too.

At its heart, for the first 40 minutes, this was about Tennant and Catherine Tate (Donna). At times tender, at times dry or sarcastic with each other – “I’m already running!” – but always friends. When Donna so effortlessly negotiated a future job at Unit, you feared the worst for her – that it would be another fantastic dream she would never get to have, but she ended up with her family life, and an unexpected plus one in the shape of a grounded 14th Doctor.

Gatwa’s entrance, due to the show’s first ever “bi-generation”, appears to be acting as a character cleanse for the Doctor and a potential soft timeline reset for the show as a whole. It meant a huge tonal shift for the final third, leaving the demise of the Toymaker almost an aside as the Doctors stood together, using the 60th anniversary to wave goodbye to the past and usher in the future.

Sum it up in one sentence? The Toymaker returns to drive the human race to distraction with a doll, only to find they’ve gifted the Doctor a home.

Life aboard the Tardis We got the awkward conversation that happens every time a current companion meets an earlier one – “but you’d never mentioned them”. And the Toymaker’s puppet replay of the grisly fates of Amy, Clara and Bill rammed home how life on the Tardis has become a hazardous occupation in the modern era.

Fear factor The scenes inside the Toymaker’s shop had a creepy dreamlike feel to them, with the dolls at times evoking horror movie vibes – albeit a horror movie you can show to eight-year-old kids on a Saturday teatime.

Mysteries and questions The Meeps’s reference to its boss in the first special, and the Toymaker saying there was a thing hiding in the universe that even he was afraid to challenge, but would be somebody else’s game, seem to be setting up a big bad for Gatwa’s first full season. And the Master couldn’t really be trapped for all eternity in a gold tooth? Of course not. That was surely the hand of the Rani picking up the tooth after it dropped.

Deeper into the vortex * There were too many callbacks to count, but the biggest was the Toymaker, who, as briefly glimpsed in colourised clips, first appeared played by Michael Gough in a 1966 story with William Hartnell. Gough was due to reprise the role in The Nightmare Fair, a 1986 Colin Baker story, but BBC bigwigs had other ideas, put the show on hiatus, and we ended up with Trial of a Time Lord instead. The 1966 story has three episodes missing from the archive, but an animated version using the original audio soundtrack will be released next year. Though from the trailer it looks like it was animated in Roblox, so YMMV. * As Kate Stewart, Jemma Redgrave has now appeared in stories featuring the 10th, 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th and War Doctors. That equals or eclipses the number of Doctors that her character’s father, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, appeared with, depending on how pedantically you count them. * Russell T Davies has said that one of the reasons he thought of casting Harris as the Toymaker after working with him on It’s a Sin was because the actor is a magic enthusiast and has done his own standup magic routines before...'

#The Giggle #Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #Russell T. Davies #Neil Patrick Harris #The Toymaker #David Tennant #Ncuti Gatwa #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #Kate Stewart #Jemma Redgrave #Shirley Anne Bingham #Ruth Madeley #Spice Girls #Melanie Bush #Bonnie Langford #Bi-generation #UNIT #The Meep #Amy Pond #Clara Oswald #Bill Potts