#toilets with threating auras

[noxspost]

it is not weak to cry after tragedy

it was weird in the cabin of Ares because there would be some form of music like rock or some of band. yet this once threating place that was filled with the aura of tough and strong Ares kids, felt hollow cold and sad there was darker since they black out the windows that makes it seem like it was a cave cold and big. frank was staying for the sake of trying to help the grieving warrior who was in the bunk in the corner.

she looked like a worm. she was staring into nothing and her eyes were glossy thanks to her tears which haven't fallen yet and she just cutch her cocoon tighter.

Clarisse was wrapping herself back into a cocoon of her blankets and cloaks. mark and Sherman looked at each and Sherman walked over and sat down next to his sister "well how are you fairing?" he looked at her eyes don't have her usually spark but are now dull and theirs is dark with hurt, regret and guilt, she looks at him and spoke her voice broken like she had been screaming for a long time.

"They took the only meaning of my life and killed her before my very eyes." her brother nodded and then he wraps a arm around her and said, "hey it is okay to cry and mourn the loss she fought bravely."

this makes her looks at him with a wide eye looks and she spoke sounded scared and trembling which was mixed with guilt "i should have fought sooner and maybe she wouldn't have died. i fucking failed and she had paid the price i fucking fail!" her voice was choked and she just broke-down crying as if that her breaking point and then Mark went to his sister and said "you did not fail." she was leaning into his touch as all of her tears fell.

she was shaking and she was now grabbing her hair which Frank let go and his face was twisting in fear and worry as he was trying to help but Clarisse was trying to hurt herself and sparrow one of the daughters of Ares was now holding her hands in her scared hands. "Listen to me Clarisse don't pull on your hair. you are not in danger you are safe in the cabin." her voice was low and soft as she was rubbing Clarisse's knuckles.

Mark was looking to the others, and he walked to grab a vulture plushie which was sitting next to a trans egg. this was a gift from Ares. he was smiling as he gave it to Clarisse, and she took it fast from him. 

Clarisse was breathing heavy and she was still looking at her and she looks at them "why do you care i am a monster." this makes her just snarl as she was trembling and then her other sister spoke "why do you think that?" her voice was kind and soft but Clarisse knew why foxglove was dangerous, she was more of the Cabin mother than a fight but her bracelets on her could turn into the twin fist of Malphon a gift from Zagreus. 

"Well i killed so many people when i pulled an Achilles and i am a Ares kids and trying to tell others that i am not a monster... it like getting the boulder up the hill."

they all looked to her with empathy as they knew that too the strange and annoyed looks from the others and sure the toilet thing was a bad thing to do. Foxglove and Sparrow didn't get those looks but they had seen those looks which were always at their siblings.

"well if they treat you like a freak and a monster might as well be the monster they so much want." spoke Frank who looked at them with eyes fill with sad and shame then Clarisse spoke her voice was gruff and low "you are not a freak not at all why must you put yourself down."

she sounded more tried and like she had given up on trying in the world and it had 6 days since they buried Silena. Clarisse only drank water and maybe a few crackers. then Sherman spoke "okay that is enough of starving yourself." she was shocked, and her jaw tighten.

he was holding her in a hug from behind and he had felt how thin she was. it had been 4 months after the battle she did eat but enough that she wouldn't die but still it worrying.

Sherman always gave the best hugs with his muscular build and sparrow was the best spar partner and Mark was the best at being the annoying brother that would have your back and was best at making you smile yet here was Clarisse who the most like her father a monster and funny enough both of them were trans.

Ares was aggressive spiteful and fought and he wasn't one to not getting dirty. he was a freak and a asshole, Clarisse was a freak and a monster, so it made sense that she got a bit of his curse, and his anger and wrath and she hated it...

he then went to grabs from bread since she hadn't eaten in while he gave her something small. Clarisse looked down in shame and remorse. Sparrow didn't have pity but she did hold fear and anger in those green pools but not at her sister but herself.

"well Clarisse you are not weak only grieving and i believe Silena doesn't want you to die." she was careful of her words but all that did was make Clarisse cry more but then she tried to stop saying "i am not weak and shouldn't be crying."

when Foxglove looked at her then Frank went to the door making sure it was locked and she spoke as she pushed gently Sparrow out the way and she did move getting the hint and then Foxglove held the other girl in her arms which was hard since Clarisse had done a move called pulling a Achilles.

Foxglove met the other glazes and then they got what she was wanting and they went out of the cabin and locking it behind them leaving Foxglove and Clarisse alone "look people don't cry cause they're weak, they cry because they've been strong for too long."

she was crying more and Clarisse spoke "i know but i can't protect her and Beck..." she was so shakily and Foxglove didn't speak but only bushed the hair out the way of her sister's face. "Yet all of them don't respect us and our dad even though he does most of Athena's dirty work in the wars and he was in the middle of the 2nd world war!"

she was nodded and Clarisse spoke again "why does everyone think that i am a monster and i didn't ask to be a bully and i just a hug from dad... but of course i am failed so many times that he hates me and he did said that he was disappointed with me."

she said as Foxglove who had Ares's white and peach hair, her eyes looked like her mother's one was a blue and the other one was brown and she was had Ares's dark skin.

"i think maybe you will," spoke Foxglove as this makes Clarisse to turn to her and she looked the most confused and angry "listen how can that happen? our dad is busy and he--" 

"well i don't where you got the idea that i hate you is beyond me." spoke a familiar voice which was sharp yet calming "dad?!" they both see Ares who was wearing a tank top and a pair of jean legging and his black combat boots. he had some of Deimos's hair clips in the white and peachy colored hair which was long and buzzed on one side but the other side was buzzed and shaved, his eyes were they normal pools of black and red like apples. 

his skin wasn't cloaked to be white or white passing but it dark and rich color. his bird bee was on his shoulder where a shoulder amor pad was. he looked at his kids and sighed "i was disappointed since you didn't tell off that Percy kid for making those comments about me not being controlled by Kronos in that fight."

he walks to them and sits down and he was now next to both of them and he had his messenger bag and his face was sharp and he had a resting bitch face but his eyes sparkle with worry and he spoke "Clarisse come here, out of the cocoon i want to see all of you." she did and she was in her pjs which was sweats and a bagged short sleeve shirt.

"okay dad." then he grabbed both of her hands and he said "now you are going to shut up while i will tell how you are wrong to doubt yourself and yes i can felt it rolling off like waves."

Clarisse was smiling bitterly and then asked "why you have better things to do, i am just being weak and not strong." she got a look from Ares and he wasn't trying to anger her but comfort "well for one, when i look at you i see myself and just with less family trauma you still have those metal scars and wounds from us. yet you haven't let the other hurt you all the way you still show kindness and trust just not to all like if i was you with my mental shit... now tell me what you see that you think bad about yourself?"

Clarisse felt the warmth in her father's hands and there were the semicolon tatts on both hand on the back. "Well i hate my hands and arms they look to big and scared. look at how the arms look so many scars and big i have seen the looks some of the kids who see me and i hate some of the kid starting a rumor about me being..."

Ares sat down and listen "well what i see with your hands and arms well it shows how strong you are, and those scars shows that you have gone through the dumb bull shit that we have through at you and so what my daughter who were amazon were strong women and there are the spartan women were strong and powerful women who were clever. i don't see a monster only a strong battle beaten teen who loves like her father. you should have been 16 teen age year when you should have be trained and yet i glad you haven't change."

this makes Clarisse cry, and he hugs her in a strong beat hug "well i was born a boy how do you feel about your "daughter" being a freak born in the wrong body?" her voice was muted by her face in his shirt, and he had his hand in her hair, and he had another arm around Foxglove as he held both of them in his arms. his wings were out.

he was shielding both of them in his wings "well Clarisse that is enough out of you! you are a girl not a boy you know that better than your mother's family and i am glad you told me and another thing do you see me as a woman since i was born with woman's parts?" he asked and Clarisse sniffed and then she spoke "well no you are Ares the god of war?" 

this makes Ares laugh "well when i look at you i see a daughter not a son. a woman can have muscle." this makes Foxglove smile as she speaks "yeah and also dad why in the photos you wear the dresses and skirt and more traditional femmie things?"

Ares smiles "well i don't have dysphoria with that type of clothing. also, men have worn dresses and skirts and makeup. it is fun to dress like that." he was holding Clarisse and then he spoke "well Clarisse i am sorry that you lost Silena. you would have my blessing if she ever asked for your hand and trust me when i said it is okay to grieve but not okay to hurt yourself i have been down that road and it got Artemis and mama Hestia so scared and mad. Mama Hestia never let me go from her home till i was better. grams got involved." 

Clarisse nodded and she spoke "it is just so hard to not being it is my fault that she died, she let herself get killed because i had to not fight, i wasn't trying to be labeled as a blood thirsty freak... by some of the Athena kids." Ares sighed "same kiddo, Athena is the worse and she acts all high and mightily when most of the time she acts just like Zeus, and she makes me sick... i can said that since i am also like that but that she choice because she wanted you to live trust me i visited her trying to stop it but then Athena tried to be an ass."

this makes Foxglove laugh which was like bone snapping "also i am not a complete blood thistly freak too because it is pointless without the chance of death. Clarisse us gods die but is temporary some of gods come out of the Styx or the celestial pools. i crawl out from the Styx into the house since i got disowned by Zeus." this makes Clarisse speak "so we are all rejects of the gods, mortals and fate?"

"well no you have a family of a coffee addict Hypnos and a kind god named Zagreus and siblings." Ares said as he was smiling "well yeah i guess we do..." Clarisse was feeling better as she was eating some more bread and drink a water bottle "also don't tell Percy this but i was about to kill Kronos or at least try since back then i was a wreak when i was trying to find Thanatos since mortals were dying but not free so i could feel the pain and panic. i am glade Thanatos was saved from this again."

Foxglove nods and Ares spoke "welcome them back in and yes frank too."

---

after they were talking more the other kids came back in and Annabeth see Ares asleep with his kids and also Frank shielded in his wings and arms and Clarisse was hidden in two thin blankets and her dad's arms.

this was strange for her to see and Ares looked peaceful and calm no longer fighting and killing. he looked too mortal for her since she saw the scars and then Chiron walked in "so i heard Ares was here--oh since he needed some rest. too much panicked for him glad he is a better than his own family." then he walked out with Percy standing in the door frame.

"Wow Ares looks a lot like Foxglove." Annabeth rolls her eyes as she walks to him "well seaweed brain, that is his real form he just hid because it was easier for the gods." they were soon closing the door to the den of warriors resting after war. they got the glares from the birds and boars which sit at the door.

#ares pjo #ares cabin #my au #angst #comfort #gods #hades game #affection #clarisse la rue #clarisse x silena #pjo hoo toa #Ares being a good dad

[panchvastu]

Top 10 Best Vastu Tips For Health To Promote Well-Being And Happy Life

Vastu tips for health are essential for your life and the components in your home. The practice of Vastu Shastra for Health allows you to concentrate on particular aspects of your surroundings to improve positive energy flow.

Healthy living starts at home. Vastu elements provide a variety of defences against disease and unhealthy energies. The complexity of modern living has increased as a result of modern technology.

To maintain good health, we must all strike a balance between our personal and work lives. You can create a foundation for a healthier body and mind in your own house.

Vastu Shastra contends that a person’s ties with their immediate environment are crucial to their health and well-being.

This blog has catered to some easy-to-do vastu tips for health that will make your life prosperous and joyful.

Why Are Good Vastu Tips For Health Important For You?

Vastu, a cosmic science, utilises the natural rhythm to enrich your life with a sense of well-being. You can change your life to focus on your proper excellent health by simply organising or improving your surroundings.

Your life will be peaceful, cheerful, healthy, and prosperous if your home has good Vastu.

Your environment has a direct impact on your health. In the home, a poorly designed environment could lead to health problems.

Even though good Vastu Shastra for Wellness can’t cure every ailment, it can assist you in improving your physical and emotional health.

It can help you re-energize your body and mind, recover from illnesses more quickly, reduce problems, and promote overall health.

A harmonious house plan increases the vibrational frequency of the energy field that sustains your physical body. It takes more than medical insurance to protect your health.

Healthy individuals maintain healthy environments. You’ll probably be more productive and aware if you take better care of your environment.

What Happens If Your Home Is Not Vastu Compliant?

Poor Vastu might make you more prone to illness, stress, and low energy. According to a study, a poorly organised home could pose an even more significant threat to your health than smoking.

If you experience a health crisis, it will affect both your personal and professional lives. Sick individuals reside in a sick house.

Living without medications and painkillers is impossible because some ailments are chronic.

However, only a select few know that every issue has a root cause concealed in the given instructions, clues, and locations. Every event in a person’s life is drawn to them from the universe.

How Are Vastu Tips For Health Related To Bathroom?

Your bathroom location is one part of the house that may harm your health. Vastu believes it has a harmful aura since it is a trash site.

By including remedial items like plants, Vastu salt, bathroom crystals, Vastu energy walls, and bright colours in your bathroom, you may balance this negative aura that is polluting the positive zone.

Ensure the bathroom door is always closed and the toilet seat cover is always down after use.

Additionally, ensure that your kitchen and bathroom energy is not mixed. Keep the door closed and use a partition to block any bad energy on the door frame if your bathroom is right across from your kitchen.

This will help to separate the two opposite energies.

Make sure your bed is not precisely beneath a toilet on the upper floor, if feasible. The kitchen and fireplace should not be on the lower floor or above your bedroom.

Placing Vastu energy plates under the bed will preserve your physical and emotional health if you cannot change your bed arrangement.

If you have a bathroom in the northeast direction, it can lead to cancer, confusion, neuro diseases, indecisiveness, delayed decisions and so on. If your bathroom is placed in the fire direction, you may notice energy drain from your body.

In the northwest, it can lead to depression. Other disorders because of elemental balance are:

Vata — depression, gas, lower back pain, nervousness, arthritis, paralysis and nerve pain, constipation, dryness in body and dizziness.

Pitta — gall bladder and liver disorders, acidity, high BP, anxiety, stomach, sleeplessness, skin diseases.

Kapha — diabetes, depression, asthma and excessive sleep, thyroid, cold, cataract.

How Are Vastu Tips For Health Related To The Bedroom?

Sleeping in the wrong direction in your bedroom may negatively affect your health. Many healthy immune individuals are aware of proper sleeping direction.

If your bedroom is in the west north-west, you may face depression, health issues and immunity disorders. If placed on the east side east, it can lead to anxiety issues.

Sound sleep is advantageous to sleeping with your head turned to the south because it encourages quiet and tranquillity. It leads to improved health.

Sleeping with your head turned to the west causes depression and disrupted sleep.

Never sleep with your head facing north. According to Vastu shastra, the head serves as the north pole of a human body magnet. The earth and the North Pole of the body will oppose one another, impacting blood circulation and resulting in significant illnesses or diseases like high blood pressure, insomnia, viral infections, and blood disorders.

Mirrors in bedrooms that mirror a person while sleeping may cause an energy drain issue. It causes morning sickness by bringing unhealthy energy into the bedroom.

Additional Vastu Tips For Health For You

Plants

Nothing is better than having plants at home to purify the air and enhance mental health. They also help to bring life to your surroundings. If plants are planted in the east direction, then it strengthens your air element and you will not have any respiratory diseases.

Rock Salt

Rock Salt removes dullness; for this, leave the rock overnight and sweep it the following day for best results.

You can effectively improve the indoor environment with pink rock salt. These crystals eradicate bad energy because of the potent wind element they contain.

Place a bowl of rock salt in each of your room’s four corners. Additionally, you can use the salt to scrub the floor once a week, removing any bacteria and viruses in the air.

You can put the bowl close to someone ill to generate positive energy. Please note that you should periodically change the Salt crystals.

Store Food In The Right Direction

The kitchen should be stocked with grains and other foodstuffs facing the southwest since this brings luck and wealth and, as a result, encourages healthy eating habits that are much needed today. Make storage in Northwest for best results, and in the kitchen, you can keep food grains anywhere.

Water For Birds

Water is a significant source of health and prosperity, according to vastu, and its waste can lead to serious health problems. Maintaining a water bowl for stray animals and birds is an excellent vastu treatment to improve your health.

Camphor

It can be beneficial to burn camphor at least once a week to get rid of bad energy. Neem or lemongrass mixed can effectively filter the air. It creates and vibrancy of mind.

Keep Fruits

A fruit basket can make you feel better. A lovely basket filled with colourful fruits in the middle of the table can inspire occupants to lead healthier lifestyles. A picture of the same might be mounted in a visible area of your home to encourage positive energy. Fruits in the northeast keep you health-conscious and help you maintain a proper diet.

Clutter Free Entrance

A neat, tidy, and clutter-free entrance promote positivity inside a house. Every day, wipe the door with water infused with rock salt to keep it from becoming a neglected area that draws terrible energy.

Abundant Lights

A well-illuminated entrance guarantees a positive atmosphere within the home. You can add a structural window close to the entrance or place a lamp or Diya outside the door to provide adequate lighting.

Decorative Art Pieces

Remove all the artwork that features images of pain, sadness, or suffering from blocking the negative energy flow in the living room.

Additionally, to avoid the accumulation of negativity in the home, any broken items like mirrors or picture frames, as well as any electronics that no longer function, should be removed immediately.

Conclusion — Vastu Tips For Health

To sum up, nothing is more significant than a person’s health. Take a step in the right way and build your home using Vastu principles to live a happy, healthy life free from illness, disease, and medication.

It is advisable to seek detailed vastu recommendations from a top vastu consultant during a personal consultation.

For the best vastu consultant, reach out to Panch Vastu and get a detailed vastu done by Abhishek Bansall.

He has 15+ years of experience providing valuable vastu insights to millions of people across the globe.

For more information, visit our website.

#panchvastu #vastutips #vastu tips #vastu shastra #vastu #vastuconsultant #vastushastra #business #spirituality #vastu for house #vastuexpert #vastu for home #vasturemedies #vastu for office #residential architects #architect #builders #interior designer #real estate #vastuforfactory #vastu consultant #vastu dosh #industrial vastu consultant noida #vastu for business #vastu for money #vastuforwealth #vastuconsultation #vastuforbusienss #vastu for health #vastu tips for health

[pansatyrical]

#cursed #toilets with threating auras

[amenomiko]

Thank you for the request @ashavazesa 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖!!! I'm sorry for the lateness and.... For you to have that kind of creature to work with.

He followed her to the future, as she wanted to settle things before living with him in the Sengoku era. Other than meeting her family, she had to complete the procedures with her workplace too.

"....*Sigh* Okay. I can do this."

He asked her why, and so she tell him about her asshole boss; clearly stressed about it as she sighed for the... Well, he lose count. Looks like this boss of hers is the exact copy of Yoshiaki Ashikaga.

------

Nobunaga :

-Death stare all the time.

-Murderous aura when asshole boss being super mega asshole mode.

-LITERALLY pull out his sword, saying "Say your name and I will make sure your ancestors die by my hands."

Result = Le boss peed in his pants.

------

Hideyoshi

-Ask for permission before entering since he is a proper man.

-Trying to understand le asshole's circumstances but he refuses to let le asshole go further as MC has gotten more stressed than ever.

-Trying to negotiate this time, just like what he did to the lord that's about to betray his lord last time.

Result = Negotiations successful as asshole is defeated.

------

Masamune

-No negotiations whatsoever.

-SHINGGGGG there goes a sword to asshole's neck.

-Asking other staffs around the office if they still wanted to work for this type of boss.

-Somehow ignite the fire of bravery in their heart.

Result = Boss got kicked out from the company on the same day.

------

Mitsuhide

-Boss went completely speechless to Mitsuhide's foxy grin and his ways of talking back to him.

-Make him lose his composure by reading his next actions and words, resulting in the boss to try and escape from the room.

-Says "I've read all the history that you've made throughout your life of breathing. So how about we make a special agreement to keep such secret?"

Result = Boss quits job on the same day.

-------

Ieyasu

-Another one to make the asshole feel like he is not worth existing with his contrary remarks.

-Endless feedbacks to asshole words.

-Silently inserts diarrhea poison in Boss's coffee.

Result = Took the chance to delete information about MC and all important documents in asshole's computer when the asshole is stuck in the toilet for hours and hours.

-------

Mitsunari

-Boss is speechless +1.

-But it's because the asshole couldn't get through Mitsunari's obliviousness and angelic face.

-Distracted from main point why they are there in the first place and keep on asking other things instead because Mitsunari is curious with future stuffs.

Result = Boss ends up stuck with Mitsunari and teach him things and somehow he slowly gets into a good mood and let MC go.

-------

Kenshin

-........

-Death threat +1.

-For both him and his ancestors, +his wee wee so he can't reproduce in case Kenshin couldn't find his ancestors.

-ATTACK BY BUNNY ARMIES!!!

Result = Boss K.O from lack of oxygen because the bunnies jumps on his body and bites his face all over.

------

Shingen

-Boss silently gulps to his broad figure.

-Try to negotiate +1.

-Failed anyway. Especially when Shingen casually take the food (given by boss's PA for the boss) and eats it.

-Were kicked out but then again when he notice the staffs there are majority with women....

Result = Uses his charisma to negotiate with them instead and walah boss got kicked out from the company on the same day.

-------

Yukimura

-About to wait outside but burst into the room when asshole boss raised his voice at MC.

-Not the type to argue but will do so once someone threaten his beloved.

-"You have no right to call her like that. She may be a wild boar but she is my love--"

Result = MC couldn't take it anymore and head butt both Yukimura and Boss until they passed out. Problem solved.

-------

Sasuke

-"(´・ｪ・｀)...."

-"ಠ_ಠ...?"

-"Ninpou, sleeping spray no jutsu." *PSSSSS*

-Asshole fell asleep and he deletes all important datas by using his skills. When they made an escape, he told MC that he had hacked the security camera.

Result = He left a card like those Phantom Thief on Boss's table but meme version.

------

Kennyo

-Just like Yukimura, he tried not to get involved since it's future matters but eventually he did when MC got threatened.

-Try to negotiate.

-Fail anyway.

-*Pop!* His murderous side come out and threaten Boss with the blade in his staff.

Result = Boss peed in his pants +1.

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku mc #ikemen sengoku imagines #ikemen sengoku hideyoshi #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku mitsunari #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku sasuke #ikemen sengoku yukimura #ikemen sengoku ieyasu #ikemen sengoku kennyo

[conduitandconjurer]

I can’t believe I forgot to share this but: how ghosts look to Klaus at various stages of “dead”: 

The fundamentals:

--There are four discrete stages to Klaus’s powers. Each is more difficult than the last.  He can speak to the dead (ghosts that are already there--such as in the bathtub, or when he’s being tortured by Hazel and Cha Cha). He can conjure the dead (recall a spirit/ghost that isn’t already in the vicinity); we see him do this when his fists glow teal and he conjures Ben at Ben’s funeral.  He can physically manifest the dead as the conduit for their energy, such as when he makes Ben a physically solid, glowing teal form of himself in the s1 finale, or the soldiers in the never-happened battle in s12 e1.  Finally, he can be possessed by the dead, if they want to experience the physical sensations of a living being, such as taste or sexual arousal (see Ben possessing Klaus).  

--Klaus has always seen ghosts, from the moment he was born. When he was a small child, they didn’t frighten him, because he couldn’t distinguish them from living people, and he had no sense of death or physical injury, so their often mangled appearances didn’t register as a threat or revelation of mortality.

--At about age three to four, Klaus realized something was wrong with a little over half of the people he interacted with, because nobody else saw them.  What was once the comfort of a kind of army of “imaginary friends” began to get frightening.  Grace gave him a stuffed Gonzo to cling to to cope, and helped him string fairy lights in his bedroom (because the ghosts seemed to congregate more vividly in dark places).  Reginald learned of this and began drilling Klaus by leaving him in mausoleums for hours or even full evenings to “conquer his fear of the dark.” It never worked.  Klaus still hates dark spaces and fills his living  spaces with lamps, night lights, and fairy lights. 

--Klaus has ADHD but his medications, which helped him thrive socially and academically, dulled his ability to speak to the dead, so Reginald took him off his medications...then punished him for the uncontrolled ADHD symptoms.  His siblings also tended to ostracize him from training and play time because of his uncontrolled hyperactivity. This is an issue of unresolved resentment for Klaus, with all six of his brothers and sisters, but he rarely speaks of it. 

--Reginald also used to take child Klaus to murder scenes and funeral parlors where strangers’ bodies were being memorialized in order to force Klaus to “practice” conjuring and talking to the dead. 

--The ghosts are always present. Night and day, 24/7, 365/year.  When he’s on the toilet. When he’s talking to someone living. When he’s trying to sleep or have sex. Literally always. If Klaus is sober, the ghosts are there.

--They are usually desperate, angry, scared, and coercive (because they’re beginning to realize they’re dead, and stuck between planes of existence, and he’s the only person who can see them, and they want help).  They have no sense of personal boundaries, and the primary reason Klaus has used drugs and alcohol in the past has been to muffle them, and establish those boundaries. 

--This has only gotten worse since Ben discovered he could possess Klaus without Klaus’s consent. Other ghosts have now tried this, too. Most of them have been unsuccessful, if he has established enough of a mental block.  Sometimes Klaus has found ways around these boundary violations by befriending ghosts who are stubbornly unwilling to “move on.”  He even has a Tuesday evenings meditation group comprised entirely of ghosts. Sometimes when he chats with ghosts who are receptive, he convinces them it’s okay to let go of what’s keeping them stuck, and they “move on.”

--Ghosts who are “stuck” (usually violently murdered) appear to Klaus like living people (no blue aura), but in whatever state they were at the moment of their death. He has gotten better at recognizing who these people are (some are subtle, like gun shot or poison victims), but one of the reasons why he is so physically demonstrative is that he still gets startled once in a while, and he wants to be certain his loved ones (aside Ben :( ) are still alive.   Ghosts who have just died are erratic, pale, and translucent. Ghosts who have moved on appear to be whole. It’s VERY hard to conjure someone who has moved on (like Dave Katz), and he has almost never succeeded at it. 

#headcanons #Klaus Hargreeves #Klaus #The Seance #TUA #The Umbrella Academy #Number Four #Robert Sheehan

[levihantrash]

new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

#aot #SCATSA #tell me what you think!!!! #levihan #fanfiction #my writing #levi hange erwin #levi and hange #ao3 #attack on titan #levi x hange #erurihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith #hange and levi #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #onyankopon #pieck #moblit

[hibiscuswrites]

16. “Control your anger or you’ll have me to worry about.”

Request:  Rio coming to your aide with an angry customer 16. “Control your anger or you’ll have me to worry about.” First time meeting

Pairing: Rio x Reader

Warnings: Threats of violence because...it’s Rio

Word count: 920

It was only 2 PM and you were already so frustrated you could cry. Customers were shitty year-round. This wasn’t anything new. Dealing with customers when there was not a single roll of toilet paper on the shelves, however, was different. For as angry as certain customers would get when you didn’t have the product they were looking for or when they tried to ask for refunds and exchanges without receipts, this was something entirely new. You were stressed out, overworked, and underpaid. Your patience and sanity were at an all-time low and your body felt like it could give out at any second. As luck would have it, the universe felt that things just weren’t irritating enough for you and decided to step it up. 

You were ringing up the groceries of canned food and some produce for a patient elderly woman. Toward the end, she grabbed a few candy bars from the shelf and tossed them in. Patting the Snickers, she smiled. 

“For my grandbabies.” 

You smiled in return. Your first genuine one all day if you were being honest. She was adorable and her fluffy, white curls warmed your heart. That was until the sweaty, middle-aged man in a suit that was waiting in line behind her decided to open his mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah. Have your girl talk after hours. I got things I need to do.” 

He made a shooing motion with his hands and the smiles dropped from both your and the elderly woman’s face. She grumbled something that you could not hear and tossed an unsavory look over her shoulder so show her displeasure. You, on the other hand, had to plaster on a fake smile and act as is everything was fine. As if you didn’t want to choke the disrespectful man. 

The old woman left the checkout area with her cart and in her place now stood the rude man. 

"Good afternoon." 

You extended the small greeting, hoping that maybe showing him some kindness would curb his salty attitude. 

No such luck.

He ignored you entirely, simply tossing his groceries down onto the conveyor belt. You rang them up as fast as you could. Not because you cared if he had to wait, but so he could get out of the story and away from you faster. Ringing up the total, you told him that he could swipe when he was ready. You looked around as you waited, eyes locking with the good looking man standing patiently behind him. He had a lax aura about him, no hurry. His shoulders were relaxed and he wore a small smirk, nodding to you when he caught your eyes. You smiled warmly and he returned it, the moment cut off by the angry man suddenly getting even angrier. 

"Declined? What do you mean declined?!"

You looked down at the screen and nodded, confirming. 

"The card declined, sir. Try swiping it again."

The customer did so with an impatient huff, only to receive the same error. 

"That's bullshit! Do you know how much money I make?!"

His comment was laughable and you had to fight the pleased smile that was trying to work its way onto your face. 

"I'm sorry, sir. Would you like to try another card?"

Your words seemed to piss him off even more and his face grew red. 

"I don't need another card! I've got thousands in my account!" 

You weren't exactly sure how to respond to that. If it were true, those thousands seemed to be taking a vacation. Not knowing what else he wanted you to do, you offered a suggestion. 

"Could you possibly pay in cash?"

If life had been a cartoon, you swore smoke would've started coming out of his ears. 

"Let me speak to your manager! I guess you're too stupid to fix the problem." 

You opened your mouth to explain that it wasn't an issue that needed to be fixed on your end, but the man behind him beat you to the punch. 

"Or maybe you're too stupid to transfer your funds."

You both turned to face the ballsy stranger. 

"Excuse me?"

The man's smirk stayed in place and he took a slow step forward, looking the older man over. 

"I said, maybe you're the stupid one. Yelling at old ladies and mouthing off to innocent, beautiful cashiers."

He allowed his eyes to lock with the man now and his smirk was nowhere to be found. 

“You're getting mad at people that ain't got nothing to do with your mid-life crisis. So, control your anger or you’ll have me to worry about.”

His voice was low as he delivered the thinly veiled threat. No one knew this man, but from his language and demeanor, it was a safe bet that having to deal with him was probably not good. The angry man looked back at you, both rage and fear in his eyes and he huffed. Making a dismissive motion, he flailed his hands and hissed at you. 

"I don't even want this shit anymore. You can keep it." 

And just like that, he was walking away from his groceries, clutching his declined MasterCard as he stomped out of the store. You pushed his bags off to the corner, a true smile on your face now as you came face to face with the knight who talked shit to him when you couldn't. 

"Thanks for that."

Now that smirk was back as he looked at you, head tilted back. 

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm Chris."

Rio taglist @belle82devart  @existentialvacuum  @hermionetriskatniss  @thickemadame @aria725  @glimmerglittergirl  @juul4jesus  @tashawar   @issa-lici-kuwonu  @tcailin-00  @gemini0410 @sweet-babyangel @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @uhlxis @redcup90 @smoooore @asapkyndall @icyyy-diorr

General @a-dorky-book-keeper  @jigsawlover10  @titty-teetee @crushed-pink-petals-writes @felicity-x0 @vibranium-soul @ateliefloresdaprimavera @preciousbarakat

#rio x reader #rio good girls #nbc good girls #manny montana #drabbles #rio imagine

[graysmiles-world]

Okay, angsty idea

@starrynighttime - you did this to me

WHAT IF at the end of mark of Athena, Percy somehow grabs Annabeth and with a last bout of strength, pulls her up but he falls in alone instead.

In the river of misery or whatever, he survives for Annabeth and imagines their life together and gets through it

but without Annabeth to calm him down and stuff (which we can see that she’s done for a while if we’re going by percy’s anger at Leo at the beginning of mark of athena) he fully explores his��“dark side”

he’s able to manipulate damsen into helping him instead of using kindness like Annabeth did. 

and he completely posions misery until she’s a shadow of herself.

and when he makes it to the other side, he’s bloodied and bruised and when Annabeth looks in his eyes, she can only see her own self reflected back, but with a broken gaze. and she can’t help but think that his eyes have gone from the color of a calm sea, to a hurricane, more dark and grey than she remembered. 

but then he smiled and whispered “annabeth,” and she thought: there he is. there’s my seaweed brain. 

but when they get back on the ship and things slowly start returning back to normal, everyone can notice the little things piling up. whenever he strikes down a monster, his expression is a little too gleeful. when he gets even a little annoyed, the pipes start to burst. once jason said something that contradicted him, and the toilet blew up and ruined the plumbing for two days.

but there was one time that annabeth realized that percy wasn’t okay, and may never be again. there was a group of harpies that attacked the ship one night that percy was on patrol. when annabeth woke up the next morning, she found them still alive, but in endless torture. they were convulsing on the deck, letting out anguished cries. it was only when annabeth looked at him with tears in her eyes that he let them die.

they didn’t tell the others about that time.

annabeth started sleeping with percy. not like that, but she would sneak in at the dead of night and just sit with him. he would talk to her in whispers about how scared he was, of what he went through and what he had seen. annabeth didn’t understand, but she would sit and listen and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep in her arms. she would press kisses against his hair and dampen it with her own tears. 

when the gods came from the heavens during that fateful battle, poseidan kept his distance from percy. all the gods did actually. it was as if percy’s aura had..changed. soured. zeus was the only one who would look at him in the eyes, the lightning in his eyes flashing. it was obvious he wanted percy dead. but percy just stared right back, and eventually zeus looked away. 

it didnt happen for a while. but annabeth just woke up one day, and she knew

percy had left. 

she didn’t see him again for a while. he still laid in her heart, the memories of the boy she had fallen in love with locked away, only released when she was alone. 

they heard whispers of a new threat, and once more - annabeth knew.

months, maybe a year later, it was time. annabeth loved him. she loved him with everything she had. and seeing for the first time in such a long time, it almost broke her. she knew that she couldn’t run up to him like before, to threaten him and him to bubble up with laughter. those days were gone.

and when the battle was done, when it was just her and him. he pleaded. his sea eyes have turned stormy and broken, but annabeth hoped they would turn back. he loved her, she knew it because of the way that he pleaded and cried for her to come. 

and in that moment, more than ever before, she hated the gods. she hated them for all her heart for ruining the boy in front of her. for turning the loveable idiot who had collasped on the big house porch all those years ago into this monster. they had done this,  they had done this to him. 

they ruined her life and his. and more than ever, she wanted to say: yes. yes and go with him, try to change the world for the better. and she knew that was what he was doing. he honestly thought that the gods would destroy them, he was trying to save them. in his own twisted way. because that is what the gods have done to him, they twisted his mind and heart until she couldn’t see the boy she fell in love with.

annabeth felt 16 again. it was at the end of the battle against kronos. luke was before her, begging for percy to give him the knife. but now it percy before her, begging her to come with him. annabeth could kill him, he would let her. 

and annabeth did. she killed him with snot and runny eyes, but she did. she couldn’t help but think of the boy she met, with the crooked smile and bright eyes. with the bubbly laughter and fierce loyalty. 

this was the second boy she’s loved. and the second one who died in her arms. and while percy’s eyes turned back to green for a moment and annabeth saw him for the first time in a long time, she cried. she sobbed. she mourned for the boy with the gleaming eyes and warm hugs. she cried for the boy she had loved. the boy who had teased her and stood up for her. 

she thought of luke too. his mother, specifically. she wondered if she was still making burnt cookies and sandwiches. if she was still waiting for her loving boy to return home. and now she has the answer. yes she is. because annabeth knows - that she would have never stopped waiting too. 

#percy jackson #pjo #house of hades #heros of olympus #annabeth chase #percabeth #angst #percy jackson au #hoo #hoo au #hoo fanfic #pjo angst #percabeth angst #percy jackson angst #major character death #tarturas #trama #!dark percy #!dark percy jackson #house of hades au #darker house of hades #house of hades was honesty underwhelming #angst is the only thing i can write

[enby-hawke]

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence                     

Category:F/M

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, exploration of race and class dynamics, eventual smut

So here it is after 3 years of talking about it and then trying to turn it into a comic, I’m kicking it out because it doesn’t pay rent and I have other stories to tell. Here it is. Hope you enjoy. 

----

“I still do not understand what taste is,” the spirit somehow huffed. Malcolm knew it was a mistake to respond at all. The red specter hovered on the edge of Malcolm’s bed, it’s angry red glow a contrast to the murky green that the Fade was hazed in. It had somehow got in again, into the sanctum where he allowed his mind to rest as he guarded the dreamers of Kirkwall. Malcolm could have made his sanctum look like anything, but he didn’t bother giving himself the illusion he was anywhere else but his Circle cell. The thin sandpaper sheets did nothing to soften the metal bed underneath him. The cell had barely enough room for his dresser and desk that he used to do his studies, which he spent more time doodling on than learning. Even here he could still smell the faint aroma of the toilet that was next to his bed. Still, as unpleasant as his sanctum was, he needed a strong sensation to anchor his body, especially if he was going to battle a demon tonight.

Malcolm took in a stale breath, held it for 4 seconds, and gently let it go. It was important that no matter what happened, he remained calm.

The shimmering of the phantom became more urgent, more vibrant. Malcolm continued to ignore it, even turning his head and body away to make a point, but it didn’t seem to stop the creature from trying to dart into view, insistent on having his question answered. After the third turn of his head, the demon reached and gave one of Malcolm’s pointy ears a firm yank, screaming, “Can you hear me?”

On instinct, Malcolm swiped at the demon with a crackling fist, but the demon darted away. The sparks in Malcolm’s hand arced wildly as he leveled it at his target. “Fuck off, demon. I told you, one question.”

The wraith started to warp along with the Fade as anger emanated from Malcolm’s body. Claws started sprouting from it’s fingers and through it’s translucent skin, he could see it’s teeth starting to jut out at odd angles, but the demon made no move to fight him. “Were you listening? I am not a demon. I’m a scholar. And you are the first somniari I have come across in ages.”

The demon kept it’s distance but became more animated, gesturing with it’s gangly arms. “The last somniari only survived long enough to tell me about eating, but though I’ve tried it, the phenomenon remains perplexing.” Malcolm jumped as the demon inched closer. “Sometimes eating brings joy. Sometimes eating brings sorrow. Sometimes eating brings no emotion at all.” Quivering in curiosity, the demon then sprung forward so close to Malcolm could easily punch it. “Why somniari?”

The sparks in Malcolm’s hands died down as his eyes glazed over, caught in a memory. He saw his mother, with dark freckled brown skin, and beautiful curly hair that cascaded down her back, but her face was blurred as he failed to recall the details. Still, he remembered the smell of the plate of piping hot pancet that she placed in front of him, how the steam coming off of the unending noodles made his mouth water. She brushed his mop of curls from his eyes and kissed his forehead with a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Malcolm.”

The creature sniffed at his head as if he was about to take a huge bite. “Oh, what is that? That smells delicious!”

Malcolm swatted at the spirit as if it was an annoying fly. “Stay out of my head!”

But the spirit had already plucked the memory out of his head and dashed away a safe distance from the room. It wiggled in delight of it’s prize, and in it’s hands it materialized into a bowl of pancet. Malcolm felt a sick twist of envy as the spirit grabbed a handful of long fried noodles and shoved it into it’s mouthless face, slurping it down with wet smacking noises. “This,” sluuuurp, “memory tastes both,“ sluuuurp, “happy and sad, though the sadness is fresher.”

Malcolm, quaking in anger, rose to his feet, summoning threatening flames so high, they licked the ceiling. “Were you not warned of who I am?”

The spirit continued to eat in bliss, Malcolm’s threat no more than an annoyance. “The wisps call you,” sluurp, “Spirit Slayer.”

Malcolm raised a thick eyebrow, wondering why this spirit had no sense of self preservation. Or was this demon stronger than he thought? “So why do you risk pestering me?”

At this, the demon lowered the bowl, a mess of sauce dripping down it’s face. “Because only you can answer.”

The demon looked sadly at it’s last noodle and picked it up between it’s claws. “I, too, have lost much, somniari. I had a name once. I’ve given up trying to find it.”

“I’ve asked every stone, every wisp, but so much was lost after The Sundering. What I am, is what I have left.” The demon turned to Malcolm and though it had no eyes, he could feel it looking through him with earnest that he could feel thrumming in his heart. “So if this quest is my end, so be it.” Then it ate the noodle, looking oddly like a worm being sucked through a hole.

The flames died in Malcolm’s hands, his anger deflating with plumes of smoke. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to spare a moment.”

The words had barely left Malcolm’s mouth before his pocket started to buzz with a generic ringtone, that vibrated the air of the Fade like a tinging glass. The spirit cocked his head, confused as Malcolm dug through his pajama pockets and fished it out. “Sorry, demon, duty calls.”

“Scholar,” the spirit corrected, but Malcolm shushed him as he put it to his ear.

A terrified voice began sobbing through the speaker. “Help! Somebody help!”

Malcolm didn’t recognize the voice, so they weren’t one of the Circle mages being plagued for a meal. An apostate perhaps?

“Hello? It’s going to be alright,” Malcolm began like he always did. He raised his free hand to feel the cords of the Fade that were weaving together, trying to connect to the dreamer who rang his phone. The air around his hands shimmered like sparkling dust, faint harp-like threads connecting from the tips of his fingers.

“Hello?” the voice answered back, full of confusion. “Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?” He stepped off his bed and towards his bedroom door.

“Where I am?” the voice repeated, slick with tears. “I’m…I don’t know.”

He could feel that she was panicked, confused, disoriented, and that there was a dark aura surrounding her, stronger than he had felt in awhile. Malcolm had been sure that he had cleansed this area of the Fade of demons, but this just meant that more would come in to feed on the remnants. Malcolm closed his eyes, reaching through the phone to try to peek at her dream. “Yes, you do,” his soothing voice taking a commanding tone. “Just open your eyes and describe what you see.”

He heard her gasping for air as she struggled to breathe but eventually she sputtered out. “I’m in my bedroom. It’s filling up with water, fast. You have to hurry.”

He put his hand on the door. Through the darkness of his eyelids he began to see light, and the running rush of water filled his ears. “Describe your room to me.”

“What would it matter!?”

“It matters if I’m going to find you.”

A beat of silence registered on the phone, before she continued. “Well, it’s a room…with a closet and a bed.”

“Helpful,” Malcolm snorted before he could stop himself. Still, a misty silhouette of a closet, which was more like it’s own room, and a grand bed with a flowing cloth canopy started to form. There was a body tucked within it, nestled on a throne of pillows.

“Well I’m in a state of panic right now! Can you blame me? My clothes are getting ruined. It’ll cost a fortune to redo these carpets, not to mention-”

Malcolm sighed, trying to press on as she chattered. It never did any good to argue, but this monologue wasn’t helping. “What color are your blankets?”

“Cream…embroidered with gold thread.” The vision in his mind began to fill in with color.

“And the pattern of the embroidery?”

“Really?”

“Messere,” Malcolm gritted his teeth. “It’s important you stay calm. The more you panic the faster the water will flood.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also needed her to hurry.

She relented with a sigh, and said, “a gold-leaf rose spread.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually Malcolm got her to describe her wallpapers, floral and pink, and her carpet, which she insisted before the flood was a beautiful white color. She also described a bookcase, her lute, and a vanity mirror where she would get ready for the day each morning, a family heirloom, made from wood of the grove of the Emerald Graves, with brass knob handles and the symbol of her family’s crest that was carved into the wood, that showed either two ravens perched in angular stone columns, or a dragon head, depending on how you looked at it. Soon he could see the room, and could finally solidify the flimsy connection.

He pressed his forehead against the bedroom door, eyes still closed, the hard metal cold and unforgiving. “Now I need you to walk up to your door and let me in.”

“Are you crazy?” she shouted so loud that Malcolm had to take his ear away from the receiver. “It’s going to let all the water in!”

“No,” Malcolm said calmly. “Because I will be on the other side.”

“You know that makes no sense.”

“You’re talking to a strange voice in your head, your room is flooded, and from my estimate about the cost of that vanity mirror alone, you live somewhere in Hightown. Does any of this make sense?”

This time she whined, which sounded more cute than annoying. “But I’m going to get wet.”

Malcolm burst out in laughter. He had run into a lot of dreamers, but while most were suggestive, she seemed to easily resist the strings connecting them. He could see deep into the pit of her heart that she was as stubborn as he was, which was saying something. It was intriguing really, but before his curiosity could run away with it, his sensible self reminded him that she was in danger. And with how long it took for him to find the location of her dream, the demon had now sensed him coming.

“Look, the door is locked, and only you can open it.”

“Can’t you just break the lock open?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, “but that door represents the connection of your body to your slumbering mind. If I break it open, it would hurt…a lot.”

Silence filled the air except for the splash of rising water and the slurping noise of Scholar licking the last remnants of sauce from their bowl.

“You promise you’ll be on the other side?”

“Promise.”

She heaved a huge sigh and after a few moments, he could hear the sloshing of water as she started to wade her way through her bedroom, but Malcolm could not only hear it from the speaker, but the other side of the door as well. Malcolm shoved his phone back into his pocket and placed his hand on the doorknob that would normally be electronically locked, but right now, it was just another illusion of the Fade. As the lock clicked open, Malcolm turned the doorknob, blissfully unaware of how his life would change until he met the girl’s black doe eyes.

Read more on A03

#dragon age fic #da fic #hawke #malcolm x leandra #leandra hawke #malcolm hawke #my writing #It's finally here and I'm nervous as hell #I'm going to work on Chapter 3 after I feed my animals #Yes I'm in Chapter 3 #yes I can't stop writing #yes I need to do other things my life is falling apart

[cheemers-writing-archive]

Crusader of Life 3: Chapter 1

“Don Giovanna, there’s a message for you.”

“Who’s delivering it?”

“Andrea, sir.”

Giorno furrowed his eyebrows. Mista was on a mission with Andrea, and the two of them were told only to come back once they completed that mission. Mista wouldn’t have let anyone come back until the job was done.

“Let him in,” he said. “I need to have a word with him.”

After some time, Giorno’s bodyguards finally delivered Andrea to the main room.

“Why is it that you came back without Mista?” Giorno demanded. “If he hasn’t returned, it means the mission isn’t complete.”

“Forgive me, Don,” Andrea bowed. “Our target saw us coming, and… well, this is what I’ve come to tell you, but… Mista… Mista was killed.”

“What?” Giorno shouted. He shot up from his chair. “No, there’s no way anyone can kill him! He’s our best gunman!”

“I don’t know how it happened, Don,” Andrea shuddered. “It was like an invisible force killed him. I’m sorry, but I ran in fear. I’m not equipped to deal with the supernatural.”

As Giorno tried to hide the tears in his eyes, he calmly sat back down. “You’re forgiven,” he murmured. “You can go now.”

As Andrea bowed and left, Giorno slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “Send this message to the strongest Stand users in our organization:” he ordered the bodyguards, “find the man who killed my last living friend.”

***

It was a very busy day at Naples’s biggest airport. Not much busier than normal, of course, except for a girl pushing her way through the crowd. The girl would normally stop and apologize, but there was no time for that right now. She couldn’t slow down, not even for a second. Not with the threat at stake. The girl’s bright red hair flew as far as it could from its owner, given it only reached down to her chin. Her blue eyes darted around, looking for somewhere to hide. That’s when she saw an open door following into an empty room. She ran towards the door, and slammed it behind her. Breathing heavily, she hovered her head over the toilet and gagged.

A knock on the door startled the girl. “Emily?” a man asked. “Did you make it?”

Just as Emily was about to answer, her stomach turned inside out as she threw up in the toilet.

Outside the bathroom, two boys stood waiting. The taller one shared a resemblance to Emily, with his fair skin and red hair, but with purple eyes instead; the shorter one was strikingly different, with short, jet black hair that was pulled away from his similarly-colored, almond-shaped eyes, but he still shared a similar shade of skin.

As Emily walked out of the bathroom, she muttered, “I hate plane rides.”

“At least you didn’t barf on someone this time,” the shorter boy snickered.

“Daichi!” the older one scolded.

“Sorry,” Daichi said as he dipped his head and cracked a smile.

When the three finally pushed their way through the crowd, Emily breathed in fresh air, basking in the clear, Italian sun.

Then, her stomach growled.

“Dad, can we stop somewhere to eat?” Emily asked.

“Not yet,” the older man said. “We need to get our stuff to the apartment first.”

Emily grumbled. “Fine.”

“Lucky for us, we have a person ready to drive us there,” the man said. “We just need to find him… ah! There he is.”

The man pointed to someone holding a sign reading Noriaki Kakyoin.

As the family approached the sign holder, Kakyoin gave a friendly wave.

“I take it you’re Kakyoin?” the man asked.

Kakyoin nodded. “These are my kids, Emily and Daichi.” He put an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Well, I can see the resemblance in the girl, but what happened with the boy?” The driver started walking to his car, and the family followed.

“Adopted.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” The driver started up his car as he got in. “What are you here for?”

“Celebrating this girl’s eighteenth birthday,” Kakyoin pointed his thumb back at Emily. Who gave an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, well, happy birthday!” the driver said.

The rest of the drive was silent, with quiet music through the radio and the occasional clearing of the throat.

“Well, this is your stop,” the driver said. “Have fun in Italy!”

“Ari- er, thank you,” Kakyoin replied as the car drove off, then sighed. “Ah, home sweet home. At least, for a couple of weeks.”

“Okay, now that I know where we’re staying, can I please go find some lunch?” Emily begged.

“Only if you take Daichi with you,” Kakyoin chuckled. “I don’t want you running around a big city all by yourself, you know.”

“Yes, sir.” Emily grabbed Daichi’s hand and pulled him along.

“Hey, don’t pull me so suddenly!” Daichi exclaimed. “I almost fell.”

“That’s what you get for bringing up the time I threw up on someone, Daini,” Emily retorted.

“You know I don’t like that nickname,” Daichi mumbled.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Emily teased. “It’s only fitting for you to be called second instead of first, since you’re the second born.”

Daichi grumbled a bit, but stayed quiet after that. While they were walking, a boy slid up right beside Emily.

“Hey, what’s up?” the boy asked. He had dark skin, black hair, green eyes, and a grin that annoyed Emily to no end. “You’re really hot, wanna go on a date?”

Emily said nothing as she continued walking past.

“Don’t know me, huh?” the boy tried again. “Thought you might not. You look like a foreigner. My name is Lucio Bianchi.”

Still no response.

“And you are…?”

“Look, are you just gonna try to pick me up all day long?” Emily scoffed, finally turning her head to look at Lucio. “I’m not gonna be in Italy forever, so I’m not looking for a relationship. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna get some food. Come on, Daichi.”

“Playing hard to get, huh?” Lucio ran up and blocked Emily’s path. “I like girls like you.”

Suddenly, Lucio felt a strange energy emerging from the girl. Before he knew it, he was floating up in the air, being held by some strange force. Then, without warning, he flew back into a wall.

“If you really must know my name, it’s Emily,” she told him, not even turning back to look. “Emily Kakyoin. Now, get lost.”

While Emily continued walking, she suddenly had a chill down her spine. A cold and menacing aura was creeping up behind her, and a low laugh came from Lucio.

“It was a mistake to use your Stand abilities on me,” Lucio said. “You should have kept them to yourself, so I didn’t know to interrogate you.”

When Emily turned around, Lucio had a companion next to him, a light blue colored, human-like creature with no mouth, eyes that looked like speakers, and hands with something resembling small suction cups on the fingertips.

“Daichi, run,” Emily ordered. “Get back home, and tell Dad what’s going on when you’re safe.”

“But-” Daichi started.

“Just go! Run!” Emily interrupted. “This fight is between me and this jerk here.”

After some hesitation, Daichi slowly backed away before turning around and sprinting.

“Good,” Lucio said. “Now that the kid’s out of the way, I won’t feel bad about involving any bystanders. Seven Nation Army, take this girl down!” The second he finished his sentence, his Stand put its hands on the ground, and sent something akin to a shockwave through it. The sidewalk around Lucio was cracking and forming into spikes, and the effect of the shockwave was getting dangerously close to Emily. If she lost balance, which was surely inevitable, she would fall over and be impaled by the distorted concrete.

“Walking on Sunshine!” Emily shouted. Her Stand manifested itself, with its golden, human-shaped body, bug-like eyes, and long hair that formed into its head. Emily jumped when the shockwave reached her, and instead of falling back to the ground, she stayed in the air.

“Don’t think you’re safe up there,” Lucio grinned. Seven Nation Army moved its hands up to face Emily and shot another shockwave straight at her. She flew out of the way, but she wasn’t completely out of Seven Nation’s attack radius. She was pushed straight into a wall, and it knocked the air out of her. She lost control of Sunshine, and fell on a smooth part of the ground, to her relief. However, before she was able to get up, a foot slammed down on her chest.

“Now, then,” Lucio said with a glare in his eyes, “this won’t hurt at all. I’ll just make you pass out. And maybe, if you’re not the Stand user we’re looking for, we can get some lunch sometime.”

“Don’t get cocky, now,” Emily taunted. Lucio felt the energy around him again, but this time, he was thrown straight up. Emily followed him, with a huge chunk of the damaged concrete trailing behind her. When Lucio started falling back to earth, she hurled the chunk at him. It hit Lucio on with full force, making him cough up a little bit of blood. Seven Nation Army was ready, though, and sent another shockwave through the concrete chunk, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. Then, when death by being crushed wasn’t a problem, Seven Nation used its shockwaves to slow Lucio’s descent. Once both him and Emily landed on the ground again, the girl picked up two more chunks of concrete with Sunshine and threw them at Lucio.

Why isn’t Emily just controlling the concrete the whole way before it reaches me? Lucio thought to himself as Seven Nation crumbled the cement in the middle of its path. Better yet, why isn’t she just picking me up?

That’s when it hit him. Walking on Sunshine’s range doesn’t go that far! So long as I stay out of that range, I can win the fight. But the new question is how far Sunshine can reach.

On the other side of the damaged sidewalk, Emily saw the ah-ha moment in Lucio’s eyes. I need to stay on my guard, she said to herself. He’s figured something out.

Lucio sent another shockwave through the ground, this time intentionally making it easier for Emily to pick it up. She flew above the wreckage just like before.

“What do you think will happen if you keep trying the same thing over and over?” she shouted. She picked up another piece of pavement, about five feet away from her, and threw it at Lucio, who shattered it before it hit him, just like before.

“Same thing you think will happen, since you’re also trying the same thing over and over,” Lucio shouted back. He watched Emily pick up more concrete, this one about three feet away. While Emily was still in the air, Lucio used Seven Nation Army’s shockwaves to force the girl further into the air.

In the air, Emily just barely avoided Lucio’s attack as the waves came closer to her feet. If she lost control at this height, she would be as good as dead. When the waves finally stopped, she looked down at Lucio. He was bent down to the ground, breathing heavily. So, too much usage of his Stand will wear him out quicker, she thought to herself. Well, since he can’t defend himself, I should try to take him out now.

Back on the ground, Lucio was watching Emily closely as he regained some of his strength. She dived back down to earth, but stopped to pick up another loose chunk of cement as soon as she could. Once again, she was about five feet away.

Now, Lucio was sure. Walking on Sunshine’s range had to be five feet. So, I can get close enough to knock her out, and she still can’t hurt me. With his new information and his regained strength, he rushed in to fight Emily head on. However, when he got close enough, she let go of the pavement and grinned.

“I knew you would let your guard down,” she said. Lucio found himself suddenly floating yet again.

“What?” Lucio exclaimed. “But, I was keeping careful track of how close I was to you when you used your-”

“I know full well what you were doing,” Emily interrupted. “I could tell you were watching to see how far my ability could reach. That’s why I intentionally shortchanged it, so you would get close enough for me to bash your head into the wall!”

Lucio chuckled. “Alright, you win in that area,” he said, “but you forgot to notice that I wasn’t just testing your range, I was also testing other limits of your Stand. And now, I know exactly what to do to get away from you.” Seven Nation Army used its shockwaves again, and Lucio moved a little bit while still being held by Sunshine. Emily clenched her teeth together, and Sunshine pulled Lucio in more, to balance it out. Lucio noticed, pushing harder on the shockwaves to get himself out of Sunshine’s range, and Emily did the same to keep him in. Each Stand was using more and more force by the second, pushing themselves to the limit in hopes of the other breaking first, while the two users had sweat pouring down their faces, fixed with an expression of agony, feeling the effects of using so much power at once.

Then, Emily’s pained frown turned to a smirk. “You also didn’t know about my other ability, did you?” In an instant, she switched from Sunshine’s iron grip on Lucio to an anti-gravity bubble surrounding her. Like a stretched rubber band that was just let go of, Lucio flung backward, hitting a building so hard that the bricks he hit had cracks in them. He sputtered out some blood from his mouth as he fell to the ground.

From the vague, blurry shapes that Lucio could make out, he saw something human-shaped with red around the head. Although he wanted to say something as his last words, he couldn’t make anything out other than shallow breaths and small grunts. At least dying in the hands of a cute girl isn’t the worst way to go, he thought to himself.

However, instead of being held in midair like he was expecting, Lucio was picked up by Emily herself, the first time she used her actual hands on him. Lucio’s vision was starting to go dark, but he heard Emily’s words before he was completely out:

“I don’t want to kill you, you know. I was simply defending myself. Once you heal up, don’t bother me again.”

As Lucio closed his eyes, Emily frantically checked his heartbeat. She sighed in relief when she heard a steady thumping in his heart. Right after, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She floated it up to her face to find that the battle shattered her screen, and that Daichi was calling. Still holding Lucio, she poked the call button with her nose and brought her phone up to her ear.

“Emily, I can’t find Dad anywhere.” Daichi was breathing heavily through the phone.

“What do you mean, you can’t find him anywhere?” Emily asked.

“He’s not picking up any calls,” Daichi said with a wavering voice. “He’s not home, either. Emily, I’m scared. What if Dad’s dead?”

“Hey, Daichi, don’t worry,” Emily reassured him. “Dad’s probably fine. He wouldn’t just disappear and die like that. I’ll try contacting him after I deal with that guy who attacked me.”

“You’re still fighting?”

“No, I just need to get him somewhere where he can be taken care of. Daichi, listen, everything will be okay, I promise. I’ll meet you back at home, hopefully with Dad, alright?”

Emily could hear Daichi’s breathing get more steady. “Alright.”

“Love you, Daini,” Emily said. The minute she was done calling Daichi, she got another call, this time from the police. Confused and concerned, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Emily,” Kakyoin’s voice called.

“Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, I promise,” Kakyoin quickly told her. “It’s just… I’m in jail.”

#crusader of life #golden wind #jjba

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.6

a/n: uhm... a lot happens here tbh xD its pretty long tho ;)

warnings: this cannot be read solo, a bit of harassment

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 7

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​​ @infinite-universe-love​​ @dirtypride​ @blackymomo03​ 

The ride was quick and you were now facing the entrance of the hotel. The facade of the hotel looked like it was fresh from a Gatsby movie. Golden lights illuminated every few meters of the hotel making it glow ethereally. Counting the floors from your window, you estimated it to be 8 or 9 floors. It was extravagant. Nothing more to it.

When the car drove to the entrance, the doorman was quick to open the door once the car came to  halt. It was a surprise when Overhaul offered his arm to help you get out of the vehicle, in those killer heels, you had to accept. Biting your inner cheek, you had to admire how solid his arm was and how classy his tux felt.

The contact was short. Once he saw you were out, he wasted no second of removing his arm from your hand. Walking 5 steps ahead, you didn’t bother complaining with his actions. Somehow, it was also better this way. This gave you more opportunities to move freely.

The same doorman quickly opened the main entrance and even asked for your coat.

Once the coat was gone, you felt the chilly wind graze your back. It wasn’t too much to handle, of course. Your body just had to adjust. As you were thanking the employee, you failed to see how your companion did a double take when he saw just how classy you looked in your outfit. He would never say it but, he caught himself just before his jaw could drop any further. Thank goodness he had the mask.

“You clean up nicely.” He commented.

You matched his pace effortlessly and realized that he had just complimented you. Facing him, your mouth formed a small ‘o’ and once again, you blinded him with a smile. Strangely enough, even for him, it was satisfying.

“You just complimented me~” Your voice was playful and the cheeky grin on your face was something you just couldn’t hold back. “You look sanitized yourself.”

Underneath the mask, he couldn’t fight back the developing smirk. This would be an interesting night, he was almost certain.

Calling to mind the invitation, the event would take place in the biggest event hall the establishment had. Once you were inside the elevator, the built in LCD screen monitor showed to you which floor you had to go to. As soon as the screen was tapped, the elevators went up and the music began to play.

Of all the things your mind could have thought of, you recalled what Gei said. On how if he were to ever disappear when the food would come, you could find him in the men’s toilet. Lowering your head, you tried to hold back your laughter. It all backfired when you ended up snorting.

“What’s so funny?” Overhaul asked. His eyes remained focused on the LCD screen.

“Nothing that concerns you…” You replied. Fingers covering a portion of your mouth. Curse Gei and his imagination. Clearing your throat, you quickly changed the subject. “So, what exactly is going to happen in the gala?”

“From what I have gathered, the head of the Fukuo Kai wants to gather a few villains to join him.”

“How would he do that though?”

The doors opened and both of you were now facing a hallway, letting you step out first, he followed shortly. Both of you walking side by side, with a safe distance in between. The hallway floors were carpeted red and the entire area smelled of roses. Noticing that he was still silent, he was probably thinking what ways the boss could gather people.

“It would probably depend on his mood.” He finally answered.

When the event hall was now in front of you, rope barriers lined up showing you where to go. Though there was really no need since it was just a straight walk from where you stood. There was a golden podium with 2 uniformed staff ready to greet you both.

“Names?” The taller one asked.

“Shinoda.” Overhaul answered.

Now that you heard him saying a name, it had dawned to you that the profile you had for him did not include his real name. Surely that wasn’t his real name. The way he said it so nonchalantly made it look so natural. What was his name? It would be a rather personal question to ask and that was something you weren’t ready for. Not yet, at least.

When the doors were open, the soft classical music serenaded your ears. The lights were dim but the spotlight on the stage was bright as ever. Tailing behind your partner, he brought you to a high top bar near a large window. He thought it would be a good vantage point to quietly observe people.

A waiter came by and filled your water goblets up. Observing the room, there were still plenty of vacant tables. It had only been 20 minutes since you left the house, so there was still 40 left to kill.

“How did you get the invite, Shinoda?” You asked him. It was weird saying that name. Somehow, it just didn’t fit his face. “It was sent to the Shie Hassaikai.” He replied as he began to remove the strap from his right ear. Holy shit. He was actually going to take his mask off. Except, there was a gut feeling in you that didn’t want him to.

“Wait…” You managed to speak. He froze in place, his smooth cheek now partially exposed. What you'd give to see all of him but things just felt off around here. It was as if a pair of eyes were watching your every move. Playing it off as a normal conversation, you broke eye contact and surveyed the area once more. “Don’t take your mask off.”

How you told him subtly hit different. He didn’t really care if people saw him without the mask during an event like this. Yes, he’s the Shie Hassaikai boss but he preferred to stay away from the limelight. Were you actually thinking of his safety despite him being more than capable of defending himself? Either way, he placed the strap back on and watched as the hall became packed.

With the hall now jam packed, the both of you went separate ways but agreed to come back after 30 minutes.

Blending in with the group was basic to you. What made things difficult was the possibility of Akuji catching your train of thought. Trying to look for a familiar face, you were only met by stares from the guests.

“Looking for me, pretty lady?” A voice said from behind you. Turning around you were met with a man with piercing gray eyes. His hair kept back and his stubble framing his jaw. Stretching a hand, you accepted it out of courtesy. “Name’s Akuji.”

Swiftly transferring his grip to your wrist, he pulled you towards a secluded high top table. Yanking you even closer, he snaked his arm around your waist and held on to your side firmly.

“So what’s a fine lady like you doing in a gala like this?” His face, a little too close for your liking.

“I’ve heard about you.” There was no room for thinking. Whatever came to your thoughts, you had to say it. “You have a pretty strong quirk. What brings you here?”

“I have some business to deal with. You with someone, sweetcheeks?”

“My boss.”

“And who might that ‘boss’ be?” He brushed his nose on your cheek. Feeling you trying to push yourself away, he tightened his grip on your waist and pulled you in even tighter. The faint smell of mint and cigarette was not the best scent.

“Shinoda.” You promptly answered. Saving no room for complaining thoughts. “Though, he will be displeased if he sees you groping me like this. He’s quite known for his anger issues.”

“A threat?” His eyes widened with delight. Just as he was about to talk, a deep voice introduced itself. Turning both of you around, you stared at an old but muscular man. His hair gray, face a tad wrinkled, but his frame showed years of hard work. “Ah. Just who I wanted to see.”

“Still cornering women, Akuji?” The man said. He rested his elbow on the bar and eyed you. A satisfied nod followed as he looked at the man still touching your waist. “What’s your name?”

“I was instructed not to casually give my name.” That was a good one. But was it good enough? “He says not to trust anyone here.”

“Fair enough.” The old man replied. Looking back at Akuji, he cleared his throat and reached for something in his breast pocket. Extending his hand, a business card sat snuggly in between his index and middle finger. Akuji stared at the card and hummed.

“Well, it would be a pleasure~” He shortly tucked his hand and the card in his pocket. “Till then.”

It had barely been 5 minutes and the two men had already gone separate ways. Akuji, however, still kept his hold on you. His actions had changed from groping to steady up and down movements. It was evident he was enjoying the sensation of touching another woman.

“Sir,” You finally had enough. This would be the second time someone defiled you today and you were not living. “If you don’t let go of me I swear, there will be consequences.”

“Feisty.”

“Did you not hear what she said?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you were more than relieved seeing his face. But, the look in his eyes and the aura he was giving was something you had not felt before. His usual calm features were replaced with his eyebrows pulled down together. The same golden eyes you came to adore were glaring at the man holding on to you. His fingers began to play with the hems of his left hand’s glove.

“Shinoda-san!” Akuji greeted Overhaul. His palms remained glued to your dress. “What happened to that previous secretary of yours? The one with blue hair? Was he not to your liking?”

“Akuji.” Overhaul’s voice was deep and his jaw clenched. You watched as he freed his hand from the rubber confinement. “Let her go.”

You felt your mind lighten. His grip on your thoughts was now nonexistent. If your hypothesis was right, Akuji was now focused on reading Overhaul’s mind. Perhaps that was his quirks downfall, he could only do it one person at a time…

“Someone’s protective of their employee~” Akuji taunted Overhaul. Either this man was dumb or just plain fearless. Attempting to hold on to Overhaul’s wrist, he managed to read his mind and went with the left one instead. When his hand made contact with Overhaul’s exposed skin, he saw the look of hatred and disgust in his eyes.

“This is why I don’t like attending events like these.” Lifting his other hand, you saw how he had overhauled his left hand’s glove. Not wanting to catch attention or to cause a scene, you immediately ran and wedged yourself between the two men. Your palm resting on his chest as you pushed him ever so slightly.

“Enough. Shinoda-san.” You tried to calm him down. He was still focused on Akuji. Finding the courage, you managed to snake your hand and cup his masked cheek. Your hands were shaky as you had literally just invaded his personal space even more. When you managed to make him face you, you stared into his pupils and gave him a small smile. “Calm down. Not here. Please.”

Feeling his chest lower as he exhaled, his eyes darted back to Akuji.

“Don’t touch me.” Pulling his wrist away, his free hand held on to your waist as he tugged you closer towards him. “And do not ever touch her with your filthy hands.”

Putting his palms into the air, Akuji took a step back. The picture in Overhaul’s mind was one he would rather not want to read again. Ogling one more time at you, he lowered his head with a smirk before he left the both of you alone.

Allowing yourself to be dragged by him all the way back to your table, you kept stealing glances at his face. He was still angry but his level-headed state was slowly coming back. Upon arriving at the table, he still hadn’t let you go from his hold. Craning your neck to look at him, you waited for him to talk.

“Explain what the hell just happened.”

“I was trying to look for how he would gather people but then I remembered that Akuji would be here. I recalled that he could read minds and I think he used his quirk on me.” You explained. Heart beating rapidly in your chest. “I wanted to think up something but I realized that it would only result in failure.”

Now that you were talking about it, you remembered the exchange they had.

“But I got something out of it. There was this old man who gave him a business card. Perhaps it could be related?”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his left hand, he reached for something in his pocket and presented it to you. Your eyes widened when you saw the same one from before.

“That man you just saw was the leader of the Fukuo Kai.” Placing the small piece of paper on the table, he looked at you once more. The look and feel of his anger, gone. “Be more careful. It would be most troublesome to have to clean up any sort of mess.”

Noticing that the skin on his wrist was inflamed, you chewed on your lower lip and felt your guilt rising.

“You’re breaking out.” You pointed out.

“What are you talking about?” The arm wrapped around your waist was feeling fine.

“Your wrist. Where he touched you.”

Right. He forgot about that. Shaking his head, he brushed your statement and told you he could fix it in an instant. Freeing you from his arm, he took a step back and began to heal himself. It was only a small patch of skin so it was gone in a matter of seconds.

Taking the card, you placed it in your purse. Telling him that you got what you needed, he reached for his phone and called for the car to pick the both of you up. The air between you two began to grow more and more tense as the seconds flowed by. It wasn’t long before he received the message that the car was now waiting at the drop-off area.

Inside the elevator, the silence was killing you. The music was nothing but a nuisance.

“Are you mad?” Breaking the silence. He did not answer nor bother to look at you. “Look. I’m sorry, okay? I lowered my guard down for a few seconds and it led to all of this.”

“Learn from what just happened, (L/N).” His eyes eventually found yours. “I might not be there to help you.”

“Thank you, though.” Heat was now rising to your cheeks, you knew it. “For saving me back there.”

The doors opened and you stepped out first. As the both of you walked towards the lobby, you saw the car on the opposite side of the door. The doorman recognized you and immediately went to the back to fetch your coat. Accepting your clothing, you wished him a safe night before exiting the hotel.

Seated in the car once more, you let out a long sigh and leaned onto the backrest. Your trench coat, jacket, and your boxed heels laid in front of you. With everything that had happened, you failed to get any food in your system. The WcMac you ate had already vanished.

“Overhaul.” You were really going to do it.

“Hm?”

“I’m hungry…”

“You’re really burden, do you know that?” Lowering the partition by 2 inches, he faced you once more. “What do you want to eat?”

“Mendy’s…” If you could melt into the leather chairs, you would.

“And stuff your face with grease?” Whatever you could see of his face was etched with annoyance. But the way his pupils were a bit dilated told you otherwise. “Nemoto. Shipotle, now.”

“Shipotle?” You questioned as the partition closed. “You seriously think they’re healthy?”

“No.” He replied flatly. “But they have a decent menu offering healthy meals. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. I won’t complain.”

After the short drive thru in Shipotle (Nemoto and Chrono also ordered but they didn’t tell), your hands were now full and Overhaul was carrying both your jackets. Quickly opening your door, you placed your food on the small table beside the door and took both your jackets from him. When you saw the jacket your boss defiled, you felt like puking and seized it in your hands.

Overhaul was standing in the lobby. Probably to say farewell.

“I have one last favor.” You lifted the piece of clothing and gestured for him to hold it. “Destroy it.”

“May I ask why?” He wouldn’t mind tearing it apart but the request was all too sudden. Something must have happened a few hours ago, he knew it.

“It’s filthy.” That’s all it took. Witnessing his quirk in action, you saw how the cloth morphed and seemingly exploded into nothing. “Wow.”

“Any more favors?”

“None that I can think of.” You beamed. Once again, you couldn’t see it but his jaw dropped underneath the mask.

“In that case,” He bowed. “I shall take my leave.”

“Good night, Overhaul.”

“And to you, (L/N).”

-----

so.... did yall like the smol interaction with bird daddy? feel free to message me if you have any questions or if you wanna be tagged :) take care!

#overhaul x reader #overhaul #bnha overhaul #mha overhaul #chisaki kai x reader #bnha chisaki kai #mha chisaki kai #chisaki kai

[pansatyrical]

#cursed #horror #wtf #toilets with threating auras

[archiveofprolbems]

Digital Art NFTs: The Marriage Of Art & Money by Julia Friedman & David Hawkes

Over half a century ago, Marshall McLuhan identified a ‘moral panic’ that continues to roil Western culture today. In his now-canonical Understanding Media (1964), McLuhan discussed the mixture of fear and snobbery exhibited by ‘many highly literate people’ in response to the dramatic rise of ‘electric technology’— the telephone, the radio and above all, the dreaded television.

Since these new media ‘seem[ed] to favor the inclusive and participational spoken word over the specialist written word,’ McLuhan argued that they posed a threat to established hierarchies of culture and class. As he pointed out, elitist systems of cultural knowledge and power extend all the way back to ancient ‘temple bureaucracies’ and ‘priestly monopolies,’ and the cultural elites have always worked to keep their domains exclusive.

A strikingly McLuhanesque spasm of outrage followed Christie’s’ procured sale of a digital art non-fungible token, or NFT. Everydays: The First 5000 Days, an NFT created by the savvy operator known as Beeple, fetched an eye-watering $69 million at a recent auction. That kind of money always guarantees mainstream media attention which, of course, is part of the point. Another part is the furiously hostile response to that kind of money being splurged on such a radically innovative art form: so innovative that a large part of the cultural elite questioned its status as art in the first place.

It doesn’t help that Beeple’s content is resolutely demotic: puerile cartoons, defaced logos, ironic emojis, frat-boy fantasies. Writing in Spike magazine, Dean Kissick remarks that ‘the old gatekeepers have been losing their power for a while now,’ and he counts the entrance of NFTs into the artworld among the costs, denigrating Beeple’s ‘triumphant procession of popular things’ as a violation of art’s privileged autonomy. In the ‘collective-hallucinatory firmament’ of postmodern hyper-reality, artists no longer express ideas but rather present empty ‘images of images,’ which Kissick defiantly dismisses as ‘tired art, recycled pop, bad taste, political spectacle, and hyper-speculation.’ As J.J. Charlesworth observes in ArtReview: ‘What really seems to disconcert ‘our’ current artworld is the sense that a form of largely unregulated, DIY mass culture has spawned beyond the reach or control of cultural gatekeepers.’

The twentieth century was replete with artists questioning the relationship between art and money. Their difference from Beeple was that they were looking for ways to uncouple the pair, rather than fuse them.

Beeple (b. 1981), EVERYDAYS: THE FIRST 5000 DAYS. Minted on 16 February 2021. non-fungible token (jpg). 21,069 x 21,069 pixels (319,168,313 bytes). This work is unique.

It is tempting to see the cultural gatekeepers’ protests against digital art NFTs as the grousing of a critical establishment at its own loss of influence. The snobbery of the self-appointed elect was challenged decades ago by Marcel Duchamp, in what looks like a premonitory contribution to the current NFT discourse. In his 1957 paper ‘The Creative Act,’ Duchamp rejects the elitist exclusion of ‘bad’ art: ‘art may be bad, good or indifferent, but, whatever adjective is used, we must call it art, and bad art is still art in the same way that a bad emotion is still an emotion.’ Yet Duchamp also rejected the idea of equity in artistic value: ‘Millions of artists create; only a few thousands are discussed or accepted by the spectator and many less again are consecrated by posterity.’ Three conclusions follow for our own day: (1) Everydays is indeed an artwork, (2) it has passed the approval of the spectators (buyers) by garnering such a high bid, (3) only posterity will determine its ultimate aesthetic value. Nowhere does Duchamp mention professional critics.

This omission is especially glaring since the late 1950s were the apex of critical influence on contemporary art. These were the years when a pair of New York critics—Clement Greenberg and Harold Rosenberg—wielded an almost dictatorial influence. Such critics did not just evaluate already-existing art; their pronouncements determined the forms of future works. Because the relationship between artwork and art criticism has been mutually determining for most of the twentieth century, one of Beeple’s many transgressions is his deconstruction of the polarity between the two. The media response that his oeuvre evokes is not something external to it, but one of its most vital components. The outrage increases the price, and the price is not an addition to the art but its very essence. In the form of the NFT, the ancient opposition between art and money is finally abolished. So perhaps the consequent eruption of indignation and disbelief throughout the artworld is more than defensive elitism, and there are reasons other than snobbery to be suspicious of the NFT’s fusion of aesthetics with economics.

NFTs also represent the ultimate aestheticization of exchange-value—a process on which artists and art critics have meditated for most of the last century.

Marcel Duchamp, Henri-Pierre Roché, and Beatrice Wood, The Blind Man No. 2, 1917, “The Richard Mutt Case.”

Before the twentieth century it was a simple matter to own a piece of art. One simply bought it, took possession of it and, if one chose, locked it away in one’s cellar. Ownership gave exclusive rights to access the artwork (albeit not to its copyright). That changed in the age of mechanical reproduction, and by the twentieth century anyone could view the same image as the artwork’s owner photographed in a book or magazine. What ownership brought was now access to the original, the bearer of the mysterious, pseudo-scarce ‘aura’ described by Walter Benjamin.

The relationship between art and money has always been symbiotic. It has been equally true with papal patronage in sixteenth century, and with the interwar European avant-garde whose fortunes, according to Greenberg, were inexorably linked to the market ‘by an umbilical cord of gold.’ After all, art and money are basically similar phenomena: both are valuable and significant systems of symbols. The twentieth century was replete with artists questioning the relationship between art and money. Their difference from Beeple was that they were looking for ways to uncouple the pair, rather than fuse them. As early as 1914, Duchamp’s revolutionary concept of the ‘readymade’ had undermined the process of commodification that had engulfed the artworld. Along with his Dadaist allies, Duchamp succeeded in redefining the fine arts, moving away from the given of physical painting and sculpture and towards serialized, de-commodified, temporary or even traceless performances and manifestos.

By insisting that a fictitious ‘R. Mutt’ had the right to anoint a urinal as art because ‘whether Mr. Mutt with his own hands made the fountain or not has no importance. He CHOSE it,’ Duchamp initiated what the late David Graeber called the ‘aesthetic validation of managerialism.’ A lowly plumbing fixture can be art, as long as someone (who did not even create it) calls it art. The task of validation, and the creation of value, later devolved from artists to curators, who could throw ordinary objects into the mix along with bona fide artworks, confident that no one could legitimately object. Today this function falls to auction houses which, in Graeber’s words, use ‘money as a sacral grace that baptizes ordinary objects magically, turning them into a higher value.’ That is exactly what happened to Beeple’s opus on March 11, 2021 when the sale closed at $69,346,250.

Subsequent movements like Fluxus and Conceptual Art continued Duchamp’s efforts to separate art from money. Their methods included relying on performance instead of painting or drawing, and using DIY kits instead of traditional cast or carved sculpture. They documented events with sets of instructions or certificates of authenticity, and these took the place of paintings and sculpture as the physical manifestations of art that was otherwise disembodied. The remarkable Piero Manzoni created works such as Merda d’artista (Artist’s Shit, 1961), and advertised his ‘product’ by standing in a toilet with a tiny tin in his right hand and a coy smile on his face. Manzoni commented on the relations between art and money in Sculture vivendi (Living Sculptures, 1961), which consisted of living people ‘authenticated’ with different colored ink stamps designating various body parts, or the entire person, as an artwork. He incorporated cheeky pricing systems into his artworks: the price of the shit-tins corresponded to the price of gold, the color stamps on the living sculpture were priced by body part and so on. Manzoni documented his works with photographs, making the record part of the process, and proving their uniqueness, just as the blockchain records the uniqueness of the NFT today.

If aesthetics and economics are not merely analogous but actually identical, we must bid farewell to aesthetic experience itself.

Piero Manzoni (1933-1963), Merda d'artista, 1961. Tin can, printed paper and excrement, 48 × 65 × 65 mm, 0.1 kg.

Yves Klein (1928–1962), Performance Transfer of a "Zone of Immaterial Pictorial Sensibility" to Michael Blankfort, Pont au Double, Paris, February10, 1962. Photo : © Giancarlo Botti. © The Estate of Yves Klein c/o ADAGP, Paris

At around the same time, Yves Klein was inventing, performing and documenting his transgressive classic Zone of Immaterial Pictorial Sensibility. Performed on February 10th, 1962, it involved Klein throwing half of his payment into the river Seine. The work’s buyer then burned the receipt for the transaction. This performance presaged the NFT in several respects. The artwork included the physical destruction of the artist’s remuneration, provocatively suggesting an equivalence between the two processes. As Klein gnomically explained: ‘For each zone the exact weight of pure gold which is the material value correspondent to the immaterial acquired.’ To be authentic the event had to be witnessed—Klein specified by ‘an Art Museum Director, or an Art Gallery Expert, or an Art Critic’­— in a manner that anticipates the authentication provided by an NFT’s imprint in a blockchain. Klein even included a provision to prevent resale: ‘The zone[s] having been transferred in this way are not any more transferable by their owner.’

Klein had first made his point about the arbitrary value of art in 1957, when he placed eleven identical paintings in Milan’s Galleria Apollinaire. These were to be purchased at various prices, according to what the buyer felt each was worth. Thirty-five years later, the British duo K Foundation performed an artwork by burning banknotes to the value of a million pounds sterling. By the twenty-first century, when Banksy’s $1.4 million Girl with Balloon dramatically shredded itself to pieces in front of a stunned audience at Sotheby’s, and Maurizio Cattelan taped a perishable fruit to the wall at Art Basel, the venerable system of exchanging enduring artworks for money had been thoroughly and irretrievably deconstructed in theory. It continued to flourish in practice, however, and it blooms anew in the parodic form of the NFT.

The confusion and scorn with which the general public has responded to the sale is no mere backwoods Luddism. It may be true, as the influential dealer and gallery owner Stefan Simchowitz recently pointed out in a Clubhouse chatroom, that NFTs are just another commercial platform based on a new technology. But they also represent the ultimate aestheticization of exchange-value—a process on which artists and art critics have meditated for most of the last century. NFTs are the apotheosis of the tendency described in Guy Debord’s 1967 book The Society of the Spectacle, whereby alienated human labor-power attains an autonomous, performative force by taking a symbolic form. Debord had nothing but scorn for the society of the spectacle, but it would surely be rash to dismiss his prophetic diatribe as cultural elitism.

The real ethical objection to the rise of NFTs involves the elimination of aesthetics itself as a discrete sphere of human experience.

NFTs’ dramatic entrance into the art market announces another stage in this process. It is not access to the artwork that has been sold: anyone with an internet connection can view the content, which has in any case been dismissed by Beeple himself as ‘trash.’ And there is no ‘original’ to which the owner might enjoy exclusive access. What the NFT’s purchaser has bought is not the image itself, or even the copyright to the image, but ownership of the image. Furthermore, this ownership is entirely conceptual or, if you prefer, financial. It does not consist in exclusive rights to view the image; it consists in exclusive rights to sell the image. Ownership of art has become identical with art per se, just as an artwork’s price has become part of its essence. Art has become money, it has turned into currency. The real ethical objection to the rise of NFTs involves the elimination of aesthetics itself as a discrete sphere of human experience.

This erosion of the border between aesthetics and economics is also visible in the financial sphere, where most value now takes the form of ‘derivatives,’ a hyper-symbolic mode of representation whose manipulation for profit looks more like artistic than economic activity as traditionally understood. Meanwhile, artists like Beeple assimilate the market dynamics which give their work value into their art itself. He is a true heir of Kaws, whose current retrospective at the Brooklyn museum was characterized by the New Yorker’s Peter Schjeldahl as ‘a cheeky, infectious dumbing-down of taste’ where ‘blandness reigns.’ The content of Beeple’s work is unimportant. Its images are self-consciously banal, proudly lowbrow, deliberately jejune. But it is not images that Beeple is selling. They’re not even what he’s creating. What he’s creating, what he’s selling, is ownership: financial value. The advent of the NFT renders the distinction between art and money obsolete.

Does McLuhan’s dismissal of the mid-century cultural elite and their suspicion of the new media as a ‘moral panic’ apply to the widespread critical suspicion of NFTs in our own day? There is surely an element of elitism, and even envy, behind the cultural gatekeepers’ dismay at Beeple’s success. But that does not mean there are no reasonable or ethical objections to the NFT’s forced union of art and money. If aesthetics and economics are not merely analogous but actually identical, we must bid farewell to aesthetic experience itself. Art will no longer be even theoretically autonomous of the market. There will be no sphere of experience that can meaningfully be separated from finance. The prospect of Beeple’s $69 million will undoubtedly encourage many to tie the knot (as evidenced by the upcoming Sotheby’s and Phillips auctions entirely dedicated to digital art NFTs), but the marriage of art and money may well turn out to be fraught, fractious and ultimately unfeasible. And divorce is always expensive.

Source: https://athenaeumreview.org/essay/digital-art-nfts-the-marriage-of-art-money

[whumpinparis]

Catharsis Avenue Part One

1900 words. Ashton || Eli || Catharsis Avenue

Content: Kidnapping, Bloody Nose, Intimate Whumper.

Bloody Nose : @badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

Motor vibrations caught in Ashton’s throat as he eventually came to. His entire body ached with exhaustion, jolted to the surface at each movement he made.

Tape wrapped his wrists together behind him -- he could feel it. The adhesion to skin was impossible to ignore once he’d noticed it. Ashton twisted his wrists, tugging and yelping as the tape stayed put. A panicked glance around the van revealed nothing useful -- no indicator of -- of anything. Several more desperate tugs of his wrists, a soft sob exhaled as he managed to loosen just one piece of the tape.

He could feel everything slowing down again. The engine quieted and it only pushed Ashton to try at the tape one more time. One more jerky movement of twisted desperation. To no avail. Then the vehicle stopped. Halted. Ashton spotted someone getting out of the driver’s seat.

Someone familiar.

Eli.

Ashton did all he could to contain his stunned silence as Eli crossed the length of the van and crouched in front of Ashton. Hair pushed out of his face with a pair of sunglasses resting on his head.

“Morning,” Eli spoke softly, as if anything louder would shatter Ashton’s sanity. “How’d you sleep?”

He blinked away confusion at Eli’s words. Sleep? That was what he wanted to know about? That… That was ridiculous. He couldn’t mean that. That had to be code for -- for something else.

“What did you do?” Ashton asked, “You -- what did you do to me?”

Eli pressed a finger to Ashton’s lips and it took all of Ashton’s self control not to bite him.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Ashton,” those words should have been comforting but they were spoken with so much malice that Ashton couldn’t believe that.

“You did -- you -- you --” Ashton couldn’t even accuse Eli of anything as he twisted his head away from Eli’s touch.

“Hm? What did I do?” Eli asked, standing up and taking a pair of scissors from the nearest drawer. Ashton didn’t even allow himself to move as Eli cut the tape from behind him.

The moment Ashton regained use of his hands, he stumbled to his feet and began shaking his head wildly. Eli stood and they were once again eye to eye.

“No. No -- I didn’t -- what are you doing? We -- we had a good thing.”

“We have a good thing, Ashton. We’re just taking it to the next step, you want that, don’t you?”

Ashton had no viable response to what Eli was suggesting. He couldn’t even work out what this next step was supposed to be, damnit! At his hesitance to accept, Eli let a hand rest on the side of Ashton’s face, wiping away a trailing paint stain from his freckled cheek.

It was anything but a sweet gesture.

“I don’t get it,” Ashton reiterated.

“Don’t worry, you will.”

“That -- what does that even mean?”

“You’ll work it out.”

Still anything but reassuring.

“You’re probably hungry, aren’t you Ash?”

Ashton kept the expression on his face as blank as possible. Whatever he said would be wrong. Eli had gone off the rails, even if this seemed tame. It just… wasn’t.

“So, because I’m an attentive boyfriend, how about I make you lunch while you go and take a shower?”

“Boyfriend?...”

Eli paid no attention to that question. “How do you feel about fish for lunch?”

Ashton just sighed at first, before realising that Eli wanted an answer from him. An opinion.

“Fish is great,” he mumbled, the exhausted ache coming through in his tone again. Now he’d had the time to process, it all felt like it could fall apart. Eli’s agreeability could be snapped with one wrong move. “Where’s the shower?”

A shower felt like one of the more dangerous options. He’d seen Psycho. But Eli wasn’t like that -- he was sweet, and attentive, and devoted. This was just -- it wasn’t him.

Eli took a moment to gesture towards the bathroom, before also handing Ashton a set of clothes. A set of his clothes. Where had Eli even gotten them? Stunned, Ashton took them, along with a towel, into the bathroom.

Several feet by several feet with just a toilet and shower. He dumped the clothes onto the toilet seat before turning and bolting the door. Locking himself inside -- away from Eli who was obliviously in the next room starting lunch.

Ashton stood in that spot for a while, frozen in a whirlpool of anxiety. Already tight walls closed in as he turned on the shower. Listened to the water pattering against the tiles and flooring.

He considered not doing it at all. Not moving at all, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d showered, but it sure as hell felt like a while. Ashton dropped his clothes onto the floor and stepped into the shower, tilting his head up so the water fell into his face, pushing lilac hair down over his forehead.

Swirls of purple dye dripped down his chest and back, down onto the white plastic of the shower floor. He didn’t spend any longer than necessary in the shower, twisting the faucet and letting the shower run dry.

Ashton sighed as he stepped out of the shower, wiping his face with the towel first. He flinched away from it as he spotted a smear of bright crimson streaked across the material. At touching his hand to his nose, he jerked it away. Another smear of blood.

He used the towel to wipe away the blood, spotting himself in the mirror on the back of the door. God, he looked pathetic. Blood smeared over one side of his face, bags under his eyes -- hair sticking to his face.

As he dressed, he flashed a forced smile at himself in the mirror. Momentarily, Ashton felt better.

If Eli could play pretend, then Ashton could too.

The blood trailing down his face eventually slowed as he caught it in the towel, dropping it onto the floor when he finally felt capable of leaving the bathroom. He tentatively opened the door and stepped out into the main living area of the van again.

Eli had his back to Ashton and didn’t look around as the bathroom door swung closed. He was busy doing -- doing whatever it was. More tentative steps, this time away from Eli, towards the door of the camper. In one swiftly panicked movement, he lunged towards the door. Twisting the handle, only to find that it was locked. Immobile.

A flurry of motion arose from behind Ashton as Eli closed the few metres distance between them. Then a blade pressed to Ashton’s throat. All of his walls came tumbling down and he pressed himself further against the door.

“I swear to god, I’ll kill you if you ever dare try and open that door again,” Eli snapped, pressing in the knife subtly further. “I swear, you’ll regret it. This is for your own good. Isn’t it?”

Ashton didn’t dare to move.

“Isn’t it?” Eli repeated, tone hardening.

And all Ashton could do was nod, almost imperceptibly as the knife fell away from his neck. It left no physical impression, but the impression it left on his fear was far more vivid.

“Lunch is almost ready, just take a seat babe,” Eli made a vague gesture before returning to the kitchen counter and continuing to prepare the meal. Continuing with the same knife he’d had to Ashton’s throat just moments earlier.

Entranced by Eli’s threats, Ashton did as he was told. He pulled out the closest chair and practically collapsed into it, elbows on the table and head in his hands. Vaguely, he was listening to Eli behind him, plating up food, but it wasn’t even like he had the capacity to be hungry right now. That -- that was too much to ask of him. Ashton only looked up when Eli slid a plate onto the table in front of him.

“You need to eat,” Eli said softly as he started on his own food. “I wouldn’t want you to get ill because you’re stubborn,” he smiled fondly and fell into silence, as though he was waiting for Ashton to speak first. When he didn’t, Eli placed a hand on his wrist.

Immediately, Ashton pulled his hand away.

“Listen -- I -- I think you’re -- I don’t think this is what you meant to do,” he finally strung a sentence together. Just one sentence.

“This is what I meant to do,” Eli confirmed. “You just haven’t got it yet,” his eyes narrowed for a split second, “You’ll get there soon.”

Ashton focused his attention down and pushed food around his plate in a circular motion before finally managing to speak again.

“Eli -- this -- us -- it shouldn’t have gone anywhere,” he whispered. “We -- we don’t have that kind of relationship,” he tried.

All Eli did was click his tongue in response. He didn’t have a verbal argument to Ashton’s statement.

“Please -- I -- I can forget this -- we can still see each other,” he tried again.

“Just eat.”

Ashton lowered his head and forced himself to take several bites of the food in front of him. It was as if Eli wasn’t listening to him -- as if Eli didn’t care about listening to him. In the silence between them, Ashton cleared only half his plate before feeling too nauseous to continue.

Beside him, Eli got to his feet.

“Finished?”

Ashton nodded.

Eli took both plates back over to the kitchen side, threw away the leftovers and left both dishes and the accompanying cutlery in the sink. Tense and on edge, Ashton waited for Eli to pick his next fault, but nothing happened for a good few minutes. Water running and cutlery clinking before all went silent. Eli returned to Ashton’s side once more but didn’t sit down.

“You should relax for a while, babe, hm?” Eli’s voice held an aura of soothing -- Ashton almost appreciated it. “I picked up some books for you. We’ve got a long drive.”

By now, Ashton was too tired to argue. Too tired to find every flaw and pick apart what Eli was saying.

“How long?”

“Until we find a good spot, that’s all you need to know,” Eli seemed to have his answer prepared. He leant down until he was almost even with Ashton, gently kissing his forehead. “It’ll all work out for us. Trust me on that.”

Ashton couldn’t trust Eli. Not after this. Not after the erratic behaviour. Was he really thinking straight? That question really could be applied to either of them. And the answer was likely ‘no’ on both counts.

Eventually, Ashton got up and pulled the first book from the shelf: On the Origin of Species. Charles Darwin. With an uncertain glance back at Eli, he eventually let himself sit on the couch at the back of the van, as far away from the driver’s seat as he could get.

As the engine roared back to life, Ashton forced himself to flick through the dog eared pages of the book, using the sounds of the paper to subdue the encroaching silence as trees and skimmed past every window.

Ashton, after much conflict with his own thoughts, managed to fall into the familiar book. Allowed himself to be anchored by it, no matter how briefly it may be for.

#whump #kidnapping #blood cw #whump blog #whump community #whumpee #whumper #intimate whumper #bthb #bad things happen bingo #physical whump #threats #knives #my ocs #ashton #eli

[huntsman-ash]

RWBY V8E2 LiveThoughts

And now, for episode 2; same deal as last time, spoilers for this weeks episode. 

RT getting a wee bit too real with the “curfew in effect” sign on the side of that building in the opening. Least here its a visible noticeable threat and not Corona. Still.

Oh, heh. “Hope has no place here.” Always did love that line. But that might just be the grimdark fan in me.

Overall Im not a huge fan of this seasons opening, it doesnt sound as melodic as the last couple ones. More...chaotic. I think thats intentionally but Im still not a fan.

Dude, Qrow, thats unsanitary. Seriously, clean that shit off. You’re gonna get like, tetnus or something.

And Robyn complaining to Qrow. I mean shes not WRONG but at the same time SHE was the one who decided to pass out during the crash. Dont go throwing blame around Hill, you were just as useless and dumb as everyone but Tyrian in that whole section of last season.

Correction, shes talking to Jasque Scnee who is SOMEHOW in the same prison as they are. Additional; hardlight cells with no visible emitters, no toilet or other commodities. This must be a holding cell of some kind. Unless the bed they all have is ALSO a toilet. Ew.

Yeah you sure about that Schnee? Indirect murder is still murder.

Whh...WATTS IS IN HERE TOO?! WHAT THE FUCK IRONWOOD. You dont have a maximum security like, ICEBOX lock up? Dude this is just ASKING for trouble.

Watt’s black eye is still there. Maybe there is something to him not having his aura fully unlocked. Or...something else. Im really confused about that.

Odd cell structure. Impromptu? Or is this whole room just modular. Cause its WAY too big to house just this many prisoners. Im getting the feeling this is impromtu, yeah.

Schnee thinks hes getting out, sucker. 

Mad props to the Atlas soldier for the brutality. NOW HIT HIM AGAIN.  Robyns smirk gives me life.

And Qrow suggests Operation Valkyrie. Im down. Ironwoods proven useless at this point, maybe his replacement will be more tactically viable.

Alright, Atlas has pulled all military forces out of Mantle. Guess that means Ash and CAMO would be out too. Officially anyway. Making note for future threads...

Cute about the news guy, but I LOVE the fact you can hear the former masculinity in May’s voice here, like she isnt fully finished transitioning. If its intentional, bravo. If not, still cool.

“Its time to show your teeth, Mantle.”  HELL FUCKING YES THATS THE KINDA SHIT IVE BEEN WANTING TO HEAR!

Ah and there’s the hoverbikes from the teasers. I really dont get why they’re so goddamn big. Surely you can miniatruize hovertech...right?

They’re big enough to have weapons installed IMO. They should have.

Ah okay here’s the rest of the trailer

Hey look more lesbians. Boy that one on the left is MAD.

I cannot believe these Grimm are dumb enough to not go AROUND the dropwall (and Im going to call it that until I get something else, its literally the equipment from Halo Infinite’s release trailer). I get Grimm are dumb but damn bro.

Ah okay, THATS the split. All the faunus live in the slums down in the crater. Mantle proper is the mid-level, and then Atlas is humans for the most part. As far as I can tell anyway. Literal stratification. 

Ugh, that whole conversation was so expositiony. Jesus fucking christ.

Holy shit this crews moving slow. Like, good fucking lord.

Personaly headcanon; that tiny fox toy Oscar rides past on his bike is later retreived by Ash. That is actually his bootprint on it too oddly enough.

Unity in this situation, Ozpin? Not likely. What you need is miltiary intervention and firepower.

Still not sure why there’s smokestacks in Mantle if everything on Remnant runs on Dust. Maybe its steam vents for the heating system.

So the Crater is literally a divide. Like a circular diamond mine or one of those “rabbit hole” gold ones. Literal wall holding its outside. 

Snowshoe Shipping. New company. Full autonomous workforce from the looks of it. SDC related of course. And its still running despite everything. The drones here are literally AKs. Motherfucker, I think I know where the idea for them came from. SDC literally just weaponized its fucking worker robots. 

And apperently Dust is refined in the Crater. Okay that makes sense. Does it come from outside or are they still mining it there I wonder.

Oh pnumatic elevator. STEALING THAT

“That isn’t relevant at the moment.” WAY TO DODGE THE QUESTION RT. YEAH BECAUSE THERES TOTALLY NOT OTHER COMPANIES OUT THERE RIGHT?

What the fuck happened to Penny? Did becoming the Maiden make her emo?

Lol yeah people are gonna die, its WAR Penny, eat shit and get over it. Fucking weaklings...

Your the maiden. Get over it. Go kill some people, you’ll feel better. Relish in power.

And Weiss is now dead from either pressure shock, thermobaric style lung implosion, forceful impact, or just being crushed flat. Oh, and asphyxiation.  Seriously that was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. REALLY NORA.

Oh hey, a banjo in the crater. It really is hicksville.

Fire dust crystals right into a metal container to keep it  going. Holy shit it only took us 8 seasons to see Dust used physically again...

Sheep nom map. Nom nom. 

Wonder who this Crimson she mentioned is.

Lil hops. Oh no shes too cute.  Also it seems Mantle is divided into sectors. Useful information. Wonder what designates them.

Hahahah Fiona’s uncles a mole XD

And good to know “crap” is a swearword on Remnant.

Sounds like Crimson is a person with the Huntress’s. With his accent Im going to personally imagine his a grizzled former veteran, like Sergeant Stacker from Halo.

Note; the map says “Mantle City”. Interesting. Wonder what the other option is. Crater?

Ohhh and a spudmasher. Wait...no thats not a grenade. Some kind of gravitational surge thing. Again. Okay seriously RT is it so hard to just make a FUCKING WEAPON? Nothing fancy, no special features, just something that kills the fucking enemy. 

Okay...what the hell. Those Grimm cleared out like they got a retreat signal...

Ohho whats this now...this thing looks a LOT more interesting. And SAVAGE. Damn, its beating the SHIT out of Oscar! I think I like this one.

It transforms. Like the Zeta Gundam. FASCINATING. So it must have a rapid transport/assault form of the original dog one then changes to this new one for close in? Or carrying I guess, its stealing Oscar. This must be the thing that Salem sent.

Yeah kinda looks like a werewolf.

Soooo why were they just standing there watching this thing beat up on him? It was open for a couple of seconds. Surely it cant be they were worried about Oscar, the best thign to do if an enemy is grappling your friend is to get in and take advantage of it. 

Its smart too, used Oscar as a meatshield. Apperently just long enough to distract Yang and then yeet her. 

Its got ONE HAND with Oscar in it you idiots, hit it all at once! Go for the legs and the other arm, knock it down, blow its head off. COME ON, its OBVIOUS.

Oh hey it talked. Good. That means it can probably feel pain.

There is no way those legs should work like that. They’re too small and its torsos the wrong shape. This things breaking physics. 

The arms are also way too long.

Also why are you just standing there watching it grow wings? Kill the fucking thing already.  Gotta admit the movement and screaming makes me think it feels pain. Interesting. Good to know.  That or its just body horror/squick.

And thats the episode. I like how Fiona calls them “kids” though shes probably about their age. 

#rwby #spoilers #rwby spoilers #rwby v8 #volume 8

[joe-england]

Working on this last Zebra Girl book is hard.  It’s taken a lot of my focus, I haven’t had the motivation to simply make art for months.  It’s depressing, but my muse finally perked up when I got the strange urge to do like I never do and draw serious. I’m going to bare my soul here.  Okay?  I want to be honest.  That’s me up there.  Notice the baggy jeans, hanging from my belt because I lost weight years ago and I tend to wear old pants that are too big for me now.  I’m fairly slender at this point, but I’ve still got a slight spare tire I have yet to shed.  See?  Well, I may have taken liberties with the ears and such. More to the point, you may know that my brand is “Obsessive Thoughts”.  I chose that term as a label because it’s not just a name, it’s a lifestyle.  I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the tendency to… well, to compulsively obsess.  And not about important things, usually, but in response to a universe full of gremlins.  You feel like you have to do certain things, like it’s necessary to do them, like you’re holding the world together, and dropping the ball will have urgent existential consequences.  It’s a persistent source of stress. So I’m going to describe my perspective, and bear in mind that on a conscious level I’m well aware of the inherent nonsense.  But I want to get this out into the open.  This is what some part of my psyche tells me is happening, if not all the time, then for most of my waking hours: I move through the world surrounded by contaminants.  I must constantly be on guard against spiritual infection.  I dodge, react, and cleanse myself through tiny rituals performed hundreds of times a day.  Nearly every part of my body is involved in a clumsy dance.  Repetition of movements is cleansing.  I move haltingly as my extremities catch on contact points which demand my instinctive tactile attention.  My fingers mostly lead, forced to twitch and touch and straighten and flex, casting towards acceptable directions (I observe the spasms as I type this very sentence, words punctuated by stops and starts as a fingertip lightly taps an extra key, or jerks to the side, or briefly hovers in place, or just wriggles a bit towards empty space, all obeying some ritual I can no longer decipher).  Like guns, pointing them in the wrong direction at the wrong moment risks compromising myself since they relay the sickness.  They are primary soldiers but also prime targets, and they must hide themselves whenever deviant sights or sounds threaten my purity. Objectionable surfaces must also be avoided, such as pictures of people I don’t like.  I have to touch some things.  I have to avoid touching others.  My feet do their part too, tapping the front boards of stairs as I climb them one by one or intentionally bumping a crevice or some panel around my desk in order to banish the bad mojo running through my system.  I scuff the bottoms of my shoes as I walk to insure that the ends of my being make appropriate contact with separate boards of wood or concrete panels, whatever I happen to be walking on at the time. Meanwhile, up top, my head is kept on constant alert, my eyes a busy terminal of positive and negative input and output.  Abstract moving imagery tends to be a threat, for If a subversive pattern appears before me I must vibrate my sight by summoning pressure through my skull, defeating its hypnotic effect (and a diminutive voice in me frets even now that I am spilling my secrets to the tired old conspiracy running its tendrils through all electronic devices). Meals are more of the same.  If dirty energy ever infects my food with stray data (for instance, if an offending name is uttered while I’m looking at what I’m about to eat) then I must negate the pollution by holding the offending morsel up to my eye and matching its transparent double image against an acceptable surface to banish the corruption before I allow it in my mouth (a technique which also applies to my fingers, and which happens often when I watch the news during meal times, horrid politicians constantly threatening to invade my essence with their ugly souls).  Whenever a contaminant aura does slip inside of me then I must cough it lightly out, willing it from my guts and off the tip of my tongue.  Noises issued from my throat contribute to regular maintenance, further warding against evil spirits.  My nostrils serve a likewise function now and then. Similar duties are assigned to my knees, my toes, my elbows, or whatever piece of skin is ever exposed to undesirable elements and conscripted in my never-ending war with the invisible forces.  Beside my shuffling feet, my shadow must also avoid contact with any and all acknowledged threats, including my own dialogue.  Any word uttered risks assigning its deleterious quality to any part of me caught in my sight at the time of its mention (spoken or otherwise).  This includes the insides of my eyelids, which often disrupts my  efforts to sleep at night as I must force them open to expunge toxic  names that cross my mind. The campaign extends to inanimate objects, which constantly suffer the touch of my overworked fingers “wiping off” phantom sediment, or which serve as conduits for various energies, or as goal posts which must sometimes be met before an arbitrary time limit has expired (for example, a turning point in a song).  This was worse when I was a child, and had to race onto a carpet or couch whenever a toilet began to flush.  I thankfully managed to shed some of the more overt habits over time. But it should go without saying that the very inner monologue running through my brain must abide by its own arcane set of rules, because words and names cannot be used carelessly, even in my thoughts.  As for that, two particular words have special functions in my mental arsenal:  “Not” and “Narf.”  “Not” is a mantra, since it is a pure expression of expulsion, and I throw it constantly at negative influences, especially bad imagery or text that gets out of hand.  Conversely, “Narf”, a noise coined by a cartoon lab mouse named Pinky, is a safety mechanism, since it means nothing, thereby safely absorbing any malign concept and allowing me to make idle unspoken noise without risk.  Both words are subject to distortion as the situation requires, ghosting through the roof of my mouth in various ways, shapes, and forms, a single altered syllable sometimes called into play, expressed through the smallest push of saliva hitting my teeth.  “Nt, nt, nt.  Tt.  Unt.” I could go on. Looking at this stuff, it’s hard to believe that I’ve lived with it my entire life.  Typing it out really makes it sound crazy.  I don’t want to be insensitive to other people with issues like this, but it’s hard not to have that reaction when I put it into writing and recognize that this is what I’m actually doing all the time.  I always knew it was odd, but I always figured that I would grow out of it, and when I didn’t I just tried to mitigate it.  And I thought I was doing alright, because it used to seem worse!  I beat it back when I was younger, and my ego encouraged me to accept what was left as part of my genius, or something.  But looking at all this, I find myself wondering if I didn’t just make it more subtle through complexity.  Or maybe it’s only gotten worse with the stress of the past few years.  I don’t know. But I want people to know about this.  Now I’m not sure why I always tried to keep it to myself.  I feel like bringing it out into the open might help, might serve as a spark to finally burn away the web and let it all go.  There are definitely people out there who have it worse than I do.  Maybe you’re one of them!  We all have our crosses to bear.  And like I said, I’ve managed to cut some of it off.  But now I think it’s time I started fighting it again.  God only knows how much of my time I could get back if I wasn’t twiddling my fingers. Hey.  Thanks for listening.

-Joe

#self portrait #obsessive compulsive disorder #mental health