#which the stuff with chapel absolutely does.

[ithinktheygotthealias]

here’s your friendly reminder that wanting your ship to be canon is a cool motive, but still bi-erasure

#having short term female love interests Is Something Kirk Does #and this is way more a matter of personal opinion to me but #i don’t mind spock having female love interests #SO LONG AS it doesn’t fly on the face of tos #which the stuff with chapel absolutely does. #not a fan of that #star trek #spock #spirk #jim kirk #james t kirk #whis they’d at least confirm he’s bi/pan though #explicitly #like it’s the bare minimum at this point #i wish spirk would kiss really but paramount is not ready for this discussion yet #it’s been 56 years

[comfortless]

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

[animehouse-moe]

Undead Girl Murder Farce Episode 8: The Banquet

God. Let me say that one more time. God. This episode isn't focused on mystery, or even so much action, but rather story. Exposing the inner workings, piecing together this very unique world and its circumstances, and it does that with the absolute maximum amount of visual creativity possible. I could talk about it all day, so let's just get to it.

Just to clear the air a little bit, our two little insurance agents end up in the chapel alongside Tsugaru, Lupin, and even Erik. We quickly desert them though for Shizuku vs Carmilla, which is amazing.

Not so much in the combat (though it is great), but how they approach the fight. They leave the writing on the wall, wherever possible they point out the fact that Shizuku has Carmilla's blood on her hand.

A subtle yet incredibly great detail to set the stage for Carmilla's venom to set in. And the visual for that? It's incredible. Carmilla's history and recognition as a sapphic vampire is perfectly conveyed as the art style shifts through this sequence and those strands/tendrils that originate from her lips wrap around a helpless Shizuku.

The moment certainly hits the nail on the head with its air of eroticism, but also tries quite hard to assert the control that Carmilla exhibits through it all.

And then there's Aleister vs Holmes and Watson. Clearly, it's far more fun and playful until it nears the end of the fight, as we get scenes like Watson knocking Aleister's tophat off and it landing atop a statue in the background.

In terms of more interesting things though, we get to see Holmes Baritsu (if only for a little bit). However, it's quickly cut short by the appearance of Moriarty, which gave rise to this incredible sequence. I love every bit of it: the camera angle, the loop/repeat, how they replaced specifically the white tiles because of the color matching, and how it perfectly represents Holmes' shock in realizing that Moriarty is still alive.

And then there's this sequence, the long awaited arrival of Jack The Ripper. They absolutely nailed it. The tension, the weight, the feeling of drowning in the weight of his presence, it's incredibly well depicted. And the soundtrack just adds to that in spades. What a reveal.

I just wish they could get away with more. Jack completely decimates Fatima, and while the carnage can't be displayed, the approach is equally terrifying. How he simply caresses Fatima with his hand yet tears her completely to shreds.

Also, really really love the effort placed into continually giving viewers the upper hand/ability in solving the mystery. We get this scene here of Jack holding the diamond up to the light, which becomes important later on in the episode.

More than that though is this incredible piece. Forget a two in one, it seems like it's actually a three in one. It's not just Jack looking at the diamond, it's the viewers looking through the diamond to see Tsguaru grabbing Fatima's heart, and it's showing viewers that Jack is still keeping his gaze trained on Tsugaru behind him. Truly incredible stuff, the storyboards for this series has been out of this world.

Following this we get a very tense fight scene between Tsgugaru and Jack, and I'll just say it's worth every moment. The choreography and planning in regards to the combat is just stellar. The use of environment and space remains such a core tenet to how they approach fights in this series, and I really can't get enough of it.

Anyways, here's a cool visual used as Moriarty explains his motives and purpose.

Also also, super cool parallel between Aya and Tsugaru. Both have been caged by the hands of Moriarty.

Continuing the comparisons and fusion of Aya and Tsugaru's experiences, when Jack questions why Tsugaru's all the way out here, it's in the puddle of his blood that he discovers his reason: Aya. Whether romantic or not, the relationship is undeniably there between the two of them, and is a large step forward for Tsugaru's character. I also feel like with the boarding and direction, it elicits the idea of his motivation existing in the present, whereas the reasons that Jack list are all done via flashbacks which is more associated with the past.

Now, Moriarty's Banquet has left the building with the diamond "in hand", the safe is missing, and all seems lost for the defenders of this night. But before we go any further, this funny moment with Tsugaru and Shizuku.

They're so sibling like it's hilarious. Shizuku is in tatters and has a bit of skin showing, and without a word Tsugaru antagonizes her into being self-conscious about it. A really fun little piece to bring the humor back into focus.

And now, to the most fun part: Tsugaru's reveal. I wouldn't say I was fully confident in it, but I'd also not say I didn't believe. Tsugaru is all about show, sleight of hand, misdirection. Everything he does is an act, a farce. This was reinforced by his earlier fight against Lupin, and you can totally see how it plays into this one. One the backpedal once more, Tsguaru finds a way to exploit his opponent and take advantage of it in a way that has them believe they won. As for how I guessed it? Jack doesn't take out the diamond after that first instance, and it made me feel like something was off.

Finally, at the end of today's episode, we have our new direction: the forest of fangs. The group uncovers the whereabouts of the elusive werewolves, and is now stuck in a race to get there before the Banquet does.

Definitely not what I was expecting, but it 100% did more than just meet my expectations. Each of these episodes goes above and beyond in every facet, and you can truly feel it with each cut and scene. Now, rather than chasing the ghost of a mystery, our detective duo + one is engaged in a race against Moriarty, the death defying man himself, and will most likely be forced to struggle with that monster hating insurance agency. This show always keeps me on my toes, and at this point I expect nothing less than greatness out of these last few episodes. It's really gunning for the top mystery spot in my list of favorites. Though only time will tell if it makes it there.

#undead girl murder farce #アンデッドガール・マーダーファルス #mystery anime #supernatural anime #anime recommendation #anime review #anime and manga #anime

[fluorescentbrains]

God I feel like they’re trying so hard to “fix” chapel in snw and doing a horrible job of it. Like not saying tos wasn’t outrageously misogynistic in many ways but I’m not sure turning the relatively mild mannered nurse in unrequited love with Spock into this (kind of generic) action hero baddie who is Spock’s sexual awakening that he cheated on his fiancée with was really the move. I know one of her major story points was losing her fiancé/teacher which explains in part why she’s so much more subdued in tos but it still feels like she had a seismic personality shift between snw and tos that she never really recovered from? And every development between Spock and Chapel just makes things that happened in tos/tas so much worse. People are allowed to change their mind about commitment and stuff but the idea that Spock at his absolute worst is what gets her to want to settle with one guy is kind of horrifying.

I feel like they did a mich better job developing Uhura in a way that felt organic to her tos counterpart? I’d much rather she and Spock have a romance that resolves on good terms and they stay friends (hypothetically I’m not sure it’d work with Uhura as a cadet).

Or have SNW chapel be a completely new character for the show so she can ditch Spock eventually? I feel like it would have worked out so much better if she was like, TOS chapel’s sister. She and Spock still have a thing but eventually she moves on and leaves, Spock’s kind of torn up about it when tos chapel joins the crew and starts developing a crush on him; Spock can’t return her feelings even if he wanted to because romance in general isn’t something he’ll ever excel at and he has no idea how to balance his lingering feelings with professionalism and hers that he doesn’t return—but presumably they get better and become real equal friends by tmp

that’s the thing that gets me like everything they’re doing with t’pring and chapel is making the already dubious stuff that happens in tos WORSE… the implication that chapel is going to be hung up on spock for like 10 years while the fire slowly goes out of her just sucks so bad.

and it really does reduce her storyline to constant spock drama. they could’ve written her as having a crush on spock without turning it into a love triangle. it could’ve even been genuinely sad and poignant that she knows and the audience knows her feelings will never go anywhere, just as we know what happens to pike… alas. the gods of heterosexuality demand a sacrifice

#anonymous #asks #i agree tho i like seeing cadet uhura

[ichayalovesyou]

I have some questions about Una in SNW - what do you expect her arc/role to be next season? I think Una can be a difficult character for the writers, because her role as first officer is difficult to flesh out. She can only be "in charge" when Pike isn't. While Pike is on the bridge, she can just give general advise, without having specific responsibilities. She is neither Science Officer like T'Pol and Spock, nor a diplomatic link like Chakotay and Kira. And a really big problem is that her personality is kinda really similar to Spock's. So getting a triumvirate dynamic is going to be very hard. How would you tackle that?

Una Analysis!

Based on what your assumptions/judgement seems to be, I feel the urgent and STRONG need to defend Una and how she’s been dealt with thus far before I get into what I think the plan is for her next season.

I don’t get the inference she’s been difficult for the writers to handle or flesh out, I just think they’re saving the juiciest stuff for next season (for reasons I will soon explain). We already know a significant amount about her.

Una’s Command Style

She’s only in charge when the captain is not because that’s how it always works with first officers. The captain is down on the planet getting into trouble, first officer is up on the ship unraveling other major plot threads (like in Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach & Ghosts of Illyria and so on). She frequently takes a helm or weapons systems position. She’s a unique diplomatic tie because she is a closeted Illyrian, which will undoubtedly now bear its consequences. She challenges and serves as a foil Chris’s placating nature by being the more stern and ferocious between the two of them. Although she is deeply gentle with the people closest to her, La’an, Joseph and Chris in particular.

Una’s Unique Personality

She has a different relationship map from Spock or Chris. Spock’s closest relationships are Chapel and Pike, Chris’s are Spock & Una, Una’s are Chris & La’an. Spock has other friendships that get explored such as Hemmer & Uhura, while Una deepens her relationships with La’an & Joseph. Chris, because he is the Captain, is closest to his best friend (and possibly ex?) Una and his surrogate baby brother Spock. Those relationships cast her personality in different lights, lights very different from Spock’s tumultuous identity crisis. She’s tackling the increasing difficulty of hiding her true colors, acting as friend and mentor to La’an, and clearly still grappling with the romantic feelings she likely still has for Chris that were established in The Cage & Short Treks.

Pike is Pathos, Una is Ethos, Spock is Logos

I don’t think she’s much like Spock at all. Other than the fact she is suppressing a hidden nature as he often does. If anything she’s a little closer to who Spock will become more than who he is now in many ways. Whether that is because of her somehow still remains to be seen. She is a tactical thinker yes, but she is as emotional of a person as any non-Vulcan aboard. She takes a very hands on investigative role in Ghosts of Illyria & Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach, it almost got her killed in Memento Mori as well. If Chris is compassion, and Spock is logic, that makes her action.

Every triumvirate has had a Ethos-Logos-Pathos dynamic within it. On Kirk’s Enterprise, he is the ethos to Bones’s pathos and Spock’s Logos. On Picard’s Enterprise, he is the Logos to Riker’s Ethos and Deanna’s Pathos. The SNW triumvirate is a lot more similar to Picard’s Enterprise. Una & Riker are similar as they are both the Ethos or Action in their triumvirate as well as first officer. Although the roles are swapped as Spock remains Logos, but Pike is absolutely Pathos. There is plenty of room for growth in that!

How the TOS Triumvirate Evolved

I feel like people forget how little screentime Bones gets in season one of TOS before they realized Kirk & Spock needed someone to balance the dynamic. DeForest Kelley wasn’t even in the title cards until season two! Kirk had a relationship with Bones and a relationship with Spock, but Spock & Bones didn’t get into the meat of their fascinating character dynamic until the second and third season.

I think it stands to reason that season one put particular emphasis on Chris and Spock’s relationship, and Chris & Una’s this season because those relationships were extremely important to gratify for the needs of the finale, in which Chris gives into his fate to spare Spock, and gets Una unjustly taken away from him. That and, since it is the first season, the writers probably wanted to focus on the characters that were brand new and of plot importance like La’an. As well as characters that were huge draws to the show because of Discovery which means, Spock & Pike.

Since Kirk is going to be featured at least once next season, I’m sure at least some focus is going to be pulled away from the Spock & Chris dynamic for that. If Una is still there (and I’d bet money she will be) that gives much more room for her to develop more complex relationships with Spock and Chris. We also don’t know if La’an or Una will still be gone when the other returns, without the La’an & Una dynamic that’ll give more interesting avenues for either of them to grow. On top of that, I’m hoping next season will feel less need to focus on the two characters we’ve already gotten introduced to (Pike & Spock) in favor of better exploring the rest of the cast, Una included! Who knows what the next Chief Engineer is gonna do to the character relationship map of this series too!

Predictions For Una’s Return

As much as it’s a little bug of anxiety in the back of my brain, and I don’t love the fact that penal colonies are still A Thing. I doubt the story would just throw Una in jail and be done with it, whether it’d take a whole episode of nonsense to lock her up or not. I don’t think it would befit the message Star Trek generally tends to promote which is “prejudice is bad”. Una being a Starfleet officer arrested and removed from duty pretty exclusively based her species would severely undercut the message of Star Trek as a whole, including the darker ones like DS9 & Discovery.

My biggest concern other than the very low likelihood they’d be like “Una’s in jail forever now” after all the amazing plot material brought up by Ghosts of Illyria & Pike’s “this isn’t over” comment is what comes after the trial. I really hope she’s reinstated as first officer and gets no punitive action taken for her standing up for herself and her people, like being unable to rejoin Starfleet. Even if it’s something like she decides she has a higher calling and leaves to advocate for Illyria joining the federation, that would feel kinda abrupt and ooc for her knowing how much she cares about Starfleet and her career. Considering how much promo material had herself, Chris, and Spock advertised as the main trio, I doubt this would be the decision either.

I also just wanna say I DO NOT think anyone snitched on Una, especially not La’an (Ghosts if Illyria was deliberately framed as a learning experience for her, she and Una have a bond, and one of her core tenets is “knowing when yo bend the rules”). What I think is gonna be the big reveal is Batel was sent to confirm suspicions after the events of Ghosts of Illyria, and used schmoozing Chris as a way of clandestinely downloading information that revealed Una’s true species. We’re gonna get a good ol’ fashioned court martial episode in the front half of SNW S2, right down to the betrayal/bitterness of a captain’s former lover like Court Martial & Measure of A Man.

#star trek #star trek strange new worlds #Star Trek snw #Star Trek meta #meta analysis #strange new worlds #snw #snw speculation #una #una chin riley #commander una #number one #rebecca romijn #the triumvirate #the snw triumvirate #spock #captain pike #Christopher pike #PikeUna #the ghosts of Illyria #memento mori #lift us where suffering cannot reach #a quality of mercy #snw season 2 #answering asks #lar trek

[gasolineghuleh]

can i bug you for some random hc's about Jezebel stuff about how she behaves, stuff she does, etc?

YEAH YOU ABSOLUTELY CAN

Just Jezebel Things

She's a maine coon adjacent Satanic cat, so she's LARGE and extremely fluffy, with longer hair than a typical black cat.

Her eyes are bright yellow and have a tendency to glow slightly in the dark.

If Terzo is in his office or chambers, she's hot on his heels. She's his little shadow, and she's hardly ever starved for attention-- mostly by her own devices.

If Terzo is busy or otherwise indisposed (not around the Abbey, out on tour, dead) she'll trot around following whoever she picks that day. She's fond of the Ghouls and Papas, because of the supernatural energy that follows them.

Smarter than she seems, by far. If you ask her to follow, she will. Ask her to stay somewhere, she will. She has a habit of bringing lost socks to Lunaria like a little lioness who hunts wooly escaped convicts.

Prefers to sleep at the bottom left corner of Papa's bed, or in the window seat if the curtains are parted. Kitties love that sun, and Jezzy is no exception.

She loves Saturday mass and you'll find her somewhere in the Chapel. Sometimes she picks a Sister or Brother or Sibling and curls up around their feet during the sermons.

Hangs around the library if the door is left open (which the Cardinal is not fond of) and you can most often find her in the Demonic Studies section... it gets the best sunlight.

Her favourite Ghoul in the Abbey is a split between Special and Swiss. Special loves the attention, but Swiss is still a little bit wary. The cat knows a bit too much for his comfort.

Her collar is purple satin with a Lilith pendant and a small heart with "PROPERTY OF T. EMERITUS. III." on it. She makes sure you see the charms when you pet her, lifting her chin proudly and shaking her head so they jingle.

You'll only hear her coming if she wants you to hear her coming. If not, she just appears, silent as a shadow.

#lorraine writes #fic #fanfic #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost #ghost bc fanfic #ghost fanfic #fanfic author #fic authors #fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo #iii

[hekateinhell]

You say Armand/Daniel weren't your first vc ship, which makes me wonder what *were* your first vc ships? Were you ride and die for Armand/Lestat from the start or did that come later?

I accidentally wrote a dissertation (but it is the holidays and I have time to kill).

The Vampire Armand was the first VC book I remember reading. I may have picked up IWTV when I was 10 or so but I didn't make it very far, because I was 10 and not that precocious so I couldn't really follow along yet. But I just had turned 12 when I read TVA, and at the time I didn't make the connection to IWTV—did not realize there was an entire TVC until I had already gotten pretty deep into the story.

My first VC ships were Armand/Marius and Armand/Lestat. It took a few more years to be able to fully appreciate Devil's Minion and the absolute psychosexual hold it would have on me. I think I was about 16-17 when it... hit.

With Armand/Marius, the savior and student/teacher tropes really appealed to me as a kid who didn't actually comprehend much of those particular dynamics, and I was simply devastated by the way they were torn apart in Venice. As I got older and understood more, I did grow out of loving Marius and that ship altogether unless it's in fic, although I do think I'm able to empathize with him more and see him as a complete character now. I don't have to like someone in real life to feel empathy for them, and that translates over into fictional stuff for me personally. Everyone's different and honestly I don't overthink it lol.

Since I was introduced to Armand via his own book, I got to meet Lestat, Marius, and the rest of the cast through his eyes. I also have a rather peculiar habit (at least people tell me it's peculiar) of spoiling myself for everything I consume. I'll read the wiki pages of every movie and tv show before I watch them; I'll skip to the end of every book before I read the beginning so I'll know who's left standing. I don't like surprises! 

Technically, this is where I met Armand and Lestat:

It was Lestat, and he was tattered and dusty as he had been on the chapel floor. No thoughts emanated from his mind as far as I could figure, and his eyes looked vague and full of exhausting wonder. He stood before us, merely staring, and then as I rose to my feet, scrambled in fact, to embrace him; he came near to me, and whispered in my ear.

His voice was faltering and weak from lack of use, and he spoke very softly, his breath just touching my flesh.

"Sybelle," he said.

"Yes, Lestat, what is it, what about her, tell me," I said. I held his hands as firmly and lovingly as I could.

"Sybelle," he said again. "Do you think she would play the Sonata for me if you asked her? The Appassionato?"

I drew back and looked into his vague drifting blue eyes.

"Oh, yes," I said, near breathless with excitement, with overflowing feeling. "Lestat, I'm sure she would. Sybelle!"

Obviously, this Lestat guy is a big deal to Armand. Then when I went back and read the book properly (binged that baby in a day, took psychic damage that's still painfully evident today), I thought it was so interesting that Lestat really isn't featured in TVA that much and yet Armand doesn't talk about anyone the way he does Lestat. I was enchanted.

TVL was next on my list because I am a chaos gremlin with no respect for chronological order. Maybe this is why in my head I always think of TVL and TVA as companion novels? But I also see them as being the most similar in tone and style than any other two books in TVC. And once again, baby me was riveted by the L/A dynamic. 'Confusion and desire'! A 'monstrous intimacy'! The way Lestat describes Armand as one would a living angel, with all the horror, apprehension, allure, and worshipfulness that would entail.

Just as Armand doesn't speak on anyone the way he does Lestat, the same is true with Lestat when it comes to Armand. There's something so unique to their relationship and how they see each other that's not replicated with anyone else. I was hooked for life. 😔

And like I said, Devil's Minion came later to rearrange my brain chemistry one more time! I definitely go through phases with which ship I'm feeling the most but tbh I could talk about either of them all day long if given the opportunity (proof is in the archive, RIP). 🖤

But yes, I was an L/A girlie from day one, and I'm sure that's at least in part due to the way I started with TVA and TVL. I just love them so much, okay??? It's excellent writing and I think whether Anne meant to or not, she wrote them to complement each other perfectly and I'm gonna die emotional about it 🤧

#tl;dr: armand/marius and armand/lestat were baby's first ships #hekate lore time #i feel like i've answered this before but not in as much detail and i feel like rambling today i apologize #you ask and hekate answers #vc #armand

[thatdesklamp]

Hello! It’s the anon who sent you the ask about Gojo’s POV a few days ago. I meant to respond earlier, but life has been kicking my ass recently, but I’m here now.

I get where you are coming from with Death of the author. An old friend of mine is a writer, so I’m super familiar and have had a lot of discussions about the topic. I ask for your opinion on that stuff because I’m super interested in the way you see things as the writer behind the series, not that it colors my perspective at all. Also never apologize for going on a whole thing about your story, I really love reading your responses. So please, I would love to hear you talk more about Intrinsic Warmth, I’ll probably send you more questions when I reread it.  

I think my main interest in Gojo’s POV is that we get a different perspective of life and the story as a whole from someone different than Hebi. I adore Hebi and the way she’s written, but it's nice to see what Gojo is thinking in certain scenes - in scenes where Hebi’s complete lack of self-esteem clouds her vision. You did an excellent job in making things very slight, but enough to pick up on what other characters *might* be feeling.

I definitely could've missed something in my read through of Intrinsic Warmth, I’ve only read it once (I’ve re-read a few chapters), but I really mean to go back and reread it in full once I get more time for myself. I’m also someone who is really bad at absorbing all the information, so I’m sure I’ll definitely get little hints and signals to where Gojo is “showing” Hebi he really likes her and both me and Hebi just miss it completely. I think another reason why I missed a lot of Gojo's little tells of "I like you Hebi" is because I read Intrinsic Warmth in essentially one sitting, so I was in Hebi's mindset for quite a while (which I find super interesting from a reading perspective).

Personally, I found Intrinsic Warmth through Gojo’s POV of 2007 on here and read it without context. I was *so confused*, because I didn’t know about The Chapel, who Hebi-Hebi was, why Gojo was having a little fantasy about this character, what fight they were in. After doing some searching I found Intrinsic Warmth and read it. So I think when I read it on AO3, I was always sort of looking for hints where Gojo was in love with Hebi and I really thought maybe 2008-2010 they would confess because it reached an explicit warning. Boy,,, was I wrong about that explicit warning AND the confession. So I think the way I was thinking is that Gojo realized he had some sort of feelings for Hebi in 2007, and just decided to do nothing with it because of what happened between them.   [ I, also, thought eventual smut would take place in the chapel, it just felt like such a secret place to the two of them ]

Ultimately, thank you for your answer! I really enjoyed reading it. (and sorry for another really long ask [im also sorry if this ask is all over the place, I'm very sleepy])

HI!

Hello my love--I have taken truly too long to reply to you and I am very very sorry. But yes, thank you for getting back in touch!!

When I've been writing my Gojo POV things, I kind of consciously didn't write many things that were actually directly in IW--the one exception was when he remembers half of the scene where they first met, but other than that, it's been stuff in-between the chapters. I've liked it, because for once I've been able to write something other than tHE SEVENTH OF SEPTEMBER, but even then I've amused myself by leaving some things very ambiguous. It does just make me laugh, but the whole, 'ehhh this is set sometime in winter, probably between these dates, maybe i'll give you a year if i'm feeling generous' just makes me giggle.

I might go back on that rule and double up the perspectives for some scenes, a la the first scene, once I'm a bit further through IW, though. I'm not sure, you know??

But hey, if you do fancy a reread of IW, you can absolutely read it through a very nice fluffy lens of 'yo my girl does not understand that Gojo is DOWN BAD' which makes some things very funny and some things lowkey tragic, lol.

You know, it's actually crazy that you found IW here on tumblr first. In my head, all of these tumblr things are very optional companion pieces, and aren't at all intended as standalones at all--and so I can understand that you'd be confused, oh my goodness! It didn't occur to me at all that anyone reading these oneshots wouldn't be familiar with IW. I truly thought it would be for the established readership and no-one else. Wild!!

And ooh... yeah, I do feel kinda sorry for the people reading from the beginning post-explicit tag change, because damn, it makes sense if you've been reading it chapter to chapter but starting from the beginning must be so misleading, lmao!!!

So many people have the eventual-smut-in-the-Chapel idea... I am keeping my lips sealed. I have a plan and I cannot change it because it's stuck in my head now (spoilers, but I have literally choreographed, but not written, the conclusion to the 'eventual smut' tag. it's set in stone, just not typed up).

And thank you for your ask, and I'm sorry I took so long to get back to you!! <3333 thank youu

#intrinsic warmth #asks from la lamp de desk

[cto10121]

Waking Romeo (2021)—Review Part 1

In which I finally reread Kathryn Barker’s Waking Romeo, a YA sci-fi Wuthering Heights/Romeo and Juliet crossover featuring time travel, Romeo the Death Eater, and *checks notes* Juliet/Heathcliff endgame. Yeah, not even joking. This time around the time travel stuff did make a whole lot more sense. Unfortunately it made everything else all the more ridiculous. Spoilers, of course, because I literally cannot.

So in this latest entry into published R&J fanfic, people have unfortunately discovered how to time travel. Unfortunate because they only knew how to go forwards, and not backwards, leading to a crapbasket hellish present what with Travellers disrupting and changing the past too much. Our Juliet comes from a family of Settlers, those who have eschewed time traveling altogether and created a settlement in London, and they have a feud with the similar Montagues (which—I kid you not—plays absolutely no role in this story whatsoever. Like, none.)

Juliet (now a jaded Jules) has recently recovered from a failed suicide with a dead arm and her Romeo is now in a coma. She visits him every day for the past two years, though, and even begins to write a play in iambic pentameter about their affair—literally, R&J, in the style of Shakespeare, Jules’ favorite author. But of course one day she meets a boy—Heathcliff Ellis, part of a group of time travelers known as the Deadenders, led by a mysterious AI called Frogs. Ellis is a dark-skinned boy from the 19th century and recovering from his own tragic love affair with Emily Brontë, who wrote the tale of their doomed love known as Wuthering Heights. Only she decided to portray a perfectly nice and basic Ellis as a rough bodice ripper alpha male aggressively antagonistic love interest. Ouch.

Rescued from a grisly fate by the leader of the Deadenders (three guesses who) Ellis now has his latest mission: To wake Romeo from his coma, as he and Juliet are the parents of the future Deadender leader. Without them getting together and having a son, the Deadenders would cease to exist and Frogs would be no more. Ellis and Jules team up with time travel shenanigans and of course catch feels. The rest is wild and slightly entertaining bullshit, with alternating Jules POV and Ellis POV. Let’s just get on with it.

[Jules POV] Rosaline takes the stage, all pretty, blond, and clean. She gives an exaggerated sniff, though not until everyone's quiet, so as not to waste it. Even from here I can see that her big blue eyes have just the right amount of wet—enough to prove she's still grieving after all this time, yet not so much that it smudges her coveted mascara.

“It's been two years," she says softly, then gives a dramatic pause. It hasn't been two years, you self-aggrandizing cow. It's been one year, eleven months, and thirty days. […]

The girl really does live for such stuff. I don't know how she managed to spin it the way she did, but serious props for a job well done. Nobody remembers the pesky little detail about how she dumped him and broke his heart. Hell no. In the retelling, she was his one great love and I was just the little skank who killed him. Well, mostly killed him, if you're getting all technical.

Aaaaand right away I want to stab something. It’s arguably even worse at the end, when Jules and Rosaline become friends for no good reason. No development, none at all. And of course there is the anti dumb of any version of Rosaline dating/caring for Romeo.

From behind a wall of dark fringe, I see that Romeo’s besties have spied me. Laurence is keeping it simple with a fairly standard glare. Paris has gone one better, mouthing "crazy" at me from across the chapel. (5)

So this is the first indicator that this Romeo is very different than his canon personality—as in, he is an asshole with asshole friends. Unfortunately Jules is made dumber than bricks and does not realize the red flags until the very end.

[Ellis POV] DEMONSTRABLY SUPERIOR

"Our jumps are—"

ALMOST EMBARRASSINGLY SO

“—are programmed by an AI called Frogs, who is prone to interrupting," finishes Iggy, zooming in on the top level of the bus, where the circuitry that constitutes Frogs is contained.

BUT YOU ALL ADORE ME. DON'T YOU, MY LITTLE FLOCK?

And here we are with an introduction to Frogs, who is Romeo and Juliet’s genius son. Yeah, this is meant to be a plot twist, but on the second rereading it’s clear enough that Frogs is human. Yeah. Casual reminder that in this book where Romeo is Death Eatered and Juliet falls for a nicer Heathcliff, their son is a de facto genius. Because ~drugs, of course.

[Jules POV] Writing what really happened with Romeo and me was all a bit close to the bone, so I changed things around a little. I set it way back in the past, with lots of silly clothes and frilly honor. Then, to top it all off, I wrote it in iambic pentameter. Why? Because when it comes to William Shakespeare, I'm a tragic. Seriously—I'm the ultimate fan. Even as a kid, I couldn't get enough of his plays—the irony of all those timeless themes when time is precisely what broke us. I guess a homage to him seemed only fitting. Not that Shakespeare ever wrote about stuff like teenage love, Montagues versus Capulets, or any of my other real-life dramas. And yet, fool that I am, I mimicked the Bard.

I’m a masochist, apparently.

What you are is bullshit. Even for YA shit, this is too ridiculous to consider. Just the psychological implausibility of a modern 21st century teen girl whatever able to write in 16th century verse about her very modern love affair gives me agita.

[Jules POV] I suppose he's aged—technically, he must have, though sure can't see it. To me, he looks exactly like he did the day that everything went wrong. Fair skin, blond hair, pretty eyes eternally closed—yep, he's your regular sleeping beauty. Except, of course, without the storybook ending.

[studio audience groan] Blond Romeo strikes again. Seriously, what is the appeal??? Hell, even the rationale? Even the first Romeo, Richard Burbage, was not at all blond. Leo DiCaprio has done incalculable damage indeed.

[Jules POV] It sounds ridiculous, but I don't really know if Romeo's seen me naked. We only slept together that one time and it was dark and cold, so there were plenty of blankets. Maybe he didn't see me at all. I wish I knew. In the grand scheme of true love, I know it shouldn't matter and yet I can't help it. Now that there's even a chance he might wake, I'm worried. Right from the start, Romeo bombed me with love—petards of affection, blowing my praise at the moon. He was always comparing me to a summer's day or linking love to beauty. I didn't care back then because I thought I fit the bill, but now? I don't know—I just hope that true love can admit impediments. (62)

Romeo compared Juliet to the sun, not a summer’s day. And that was in his own soliloquy-monologue. To Juliet his metaphors are much more action-oriented. Either way, already it’s plenty obvious this Romeo is a tosser and already I have a dim view of this Jules’ intelligence.

[Jules POV] Looking down, I can't help picturing that scene from my story. The one with Romeo beneath my window, full period costume, gazing up at me with total adoration. But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Those weren't his exact words, of course. It's what he meant, though, more or less. Basically speaking.

What part of “soliloquy” and “Romeo never directed those words to Juliet, those are his own private thoughts” do these people not understand????

Anyway, soon Ellis comes into the picture and we get a series of tedious comparisons and Not Like Other Girls-ing going on.

[Ellis POV] “The bolt cutters are in there,” she says, dropping her backpack on the ground at my feet.

Now, I might have been born at a time when chivalry was thriving, but I have never liked the women who simply expect it. Besides, Jules seems far from helpless. She handled herself very adequately back there with the lads on bicycles. (68)

Because of course a 19th century boy would 110% accept the assertiveness of a 21st century teen girl with no trouble. No thoughts, head empty.

[Jules POV] Ellis smiles. I scrutinize his face, trying to work out what game he's playing. I don't remember him having stubble before. Huh. I guess I'm too used to staring at Romeo's face, always smooth as a baby. (79)

Because Romeo isn’t manly, get it? He is the embodiment of toxic male entitlement and cis het boorishness, but he is also a wittle twink, get it? Meanwhile Ellis is tough and manly but also respectful and sensitive. What do you mean, this makes no sense?

[Ellis POV] Iggy reminds us. “Pretty much everyone still left here is desperate to jump. How are we going to get our hands on any?”

“I don't know,” I say, “though Beth is right.” I look around at my friends, the Deadenders. This is what we have been training for. This is what we cheated death for. “Somehow, we must save Jules. And wake Romeo. They have to be together. Everything—the whole future—depends on the two of them being together.” (84)

So the plan is to get the Cat-9 drug that can get Romeo out of his coma, and a mysterious note that appears on Jules’ book specifies “by first nightfall.” Which means Ellis and Jules spend about roughly the same amount of time as canon R&J in spending time together and falling in love, most likely even less. I’m sure the book won’t try to make their love for each other the true love and disparage R&J only for it to retcon the whole thing and hastily try to claim Jules didn’t fall in love with Ellis, she only loved him later on, right????

[Jules POV] When I arrived in the crypt that terrible night, I thought Romeo was dead. He looked dead. There was a faint pulse, apparently, but I sure as hell couldn’t find it. So, to my mind: dead. And here's the thing—I couldn't imagine anything more awful. Romeo not breathing? Most. Tragic. Thing. Ever. (101)

So I can’t help but noticing that in this AU Jules pretty much takes the role of Canon Romeo, and even appropriates a lot of his lines, claiming she is the one who came up with them. And of course, it’s Romeo in the coma, not Jules. I’m just saying that had Jules been male and Romeo in the coma had been female, this emotional cheating plot wouldn’t have flown for YA readers.

[Jules POV] I wipe some of the vomit off my hair. Then I keep staring at the puddle of sick on the floor so I don't have to look up again.

“Are you finished?” asks Ellis once the dry heaves have stopped. His tone is gruff, but he's moved to block my view of the Picassoed girl. It means stepping in puke, although he doesn't seem to care. Romeo would care. Romeo would find it all very disgusting. He wore nice shoes—loafers. Maybe the last pair of loafers left in all of creation. They were lovely. He took proper care of them. (101)

Because Romeo “I climbed a high-ass garden wall and killed Tybalt and Paris easily even though they are canonically dedicated duelist/older than me and turned into Cell Games Gohan the moment I heard Juliet was dead” Montague would be all precious about his shoes!!! Why can’t he be as manly as Ellis?????

[Jules POV] The old man starts eating hungrily. Ellis gave his last bit of food to a total stranger, I realize. Romeo never once did a noble deed without wanting praise. Yet Ellis tried to hide it?

Because Romeo “I gave my life for my true love and deeply regretted killing Tybalt and asked his corpse for forgiveness in the middle of my suicide” Montague never did a noble deed without wanting praise!!! This Romeo is basically an OC.

[Jules POV] I was wrong before. There aren’t two versions of Ellis, like some dramatic disconnect—Jules versus Juliet. The boy I met in the Chinese restaurant? The one who told me to trust my heart…and who said that I was smart and brave and beautiful and strong…and who died for me? He's the real one. Ellis can pretend all he wants, but I see him now. And once you've truly seen a person…well, unlike with time, there really is no going back.

So Jules met Future Ellis, who of course is in love with her and is all perfectly lovely to her, and so even though Present Ellis is snappish at her, she suddenly ~knows Future Ellis is the true version of this guy she just met two minutes ago??? Fuck you, book. Really.

[Ellis POV] Jules stares up at a murder of crows that have started to circle. After a moment, she says, “Our parents hated each other. Romeo and me being together...it was forbidden."

Yes, I understand forbidden all too well. A dark-skinned brat, a gypsy imp of Satan—that is what Mr. Brontë called me when he read Emily's journal. When he discovered that his daughter loved a boy who was not white. It was October of 1831, in the kitchen of their home. Mr. Brontë waved the journal around in a terrible rage. Emily stood her ground, refusing to apologize. (106-107)

Here we have Ellis’ backstory. Yes, he was supposedly the real-life inspiration of Brontë’s Byronic male love interest. I don’t know much about the real life of the Brontës, but I’m fairly sure this is all completely invented and Heathcliff is not based on any real-life amours of Brontë—I heavily doubt she even had any.

[Jules POV] We wait, frozen, which I guess is ironic. Because hasn't that been my life before today? Frozen in time, waiting for Romeo to wake? A life officially on hold?

I glance at Ellis; he's biting his lip again. It reminds me of a line from my play—this thing that I wrote about two blushing pilgrims. I was describing Romeo's lips. Thinking about it now, I wonder why I chose such delicate, bashful words. If I had to describe Ellis's lips, I'd—

No, never mind. (129)

The two blushing pilgrims is a religious-style metaphor framing Romeo as a pilgrim to Juliet’s saint. They are definitely not bashful at all, but some of the most blatantly erotic lines in Shakespeare. It’s such an effective come-on that the notion of this vapid airheaded Jules coming up with that metaphor is completely ludicrous.

[Ellis POV] "All of them," he says, quietly. "Every single era of humankind—past, present, future. Every time, the color of my skin has been an issue. Hate has been an issue.” (130)

Ellis had been a time traveller for years and yet he has never even heard of the words “Africa, Middle East, South Asia, Latin America” or “Xenophobia is not the same as racism.” And it shows.

I remember the wedding that I gave to myself, like a gift, in my story: quaint little church, flowers and candles, longing gazes, heartfelt vows, full period costume. Then the image morphs into what really happened: church smelling of piss, pews piled tall, graffiti everywhere. Romeo high as a kite, tongue-in-cheek as he slid the ring onto my finger…

I tell myself that the ring doesn't matter, except that’s a huge lie. The band of gold does matter, though not because of its connection to my husband. Romeo never gave me a ring—he forgot, so we used one of mine. It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me back when I was little and we were close. Before she became nothing more to me than a source of dramatic tension. (131)

Again, Jules’ lack of brain cells regarding her Romeo’s true nature is astounding. This is explained later on as a defense mechanism over Tybalt’s death and losing her baby (so she believed). But since Jules rarely if ever mentions Tybalt and the baby isn’t even so much as hinted at, all this delusion and make-believe rings so false. Jules almost died—to any sensible person this would be enough of a wake-up call.

When I first met her, I thought she was like Romeo—that they were peas in a pod. Well, not that kind of pod. Now I am starting to think it is a case of opposites attract. She is the wild one, and he is the conformist. (135)

When Ellis met Juliet, he didn’t even know Romeo, he literally just met him in a coma. He also had no other info about Romeo other than he would be Juliet’s husband and Frogs’ future father. How the fuck could he have gotten “Ah, yes, soulmate vibes, 10/10” out of Romeo lying there motionless???? Or even “Er, never mind, he is clearly the conformist to Juliet’s ~wildness”???? This novel is killing me. I’m just going to stop here for now before I really lose it.

#romeo and juliet #cristina reads #waking romeo #kathryn barker #oh god this book is better and worse than i remember #rj hate dumb #r&j hate dumb #romeo hate dumb #also the fact that jules literally visited romeo every day for two years straight #but ofc they are not endgame

[xplrvibes]

So, Hell Week is upon us once again.

Before I get into this, I want to be completely honest with you all- I had zero expectations going into this. ZERO. I wasn't overly excited, I didn't think it was gonna blow my mind- in fact, after the underwhelming mess that the Trilogy wound up being (sorry to any Trilogy fans out there, please read the "opinion" dieclaimer at the front door), I was a bit concerned about how this was going to go.

So, imagine my surprise when I actually came out of this kind of...really enjoying it? It reminded me of some of the better parts of the so-called season 2, at any rate.

I'll put the rambly stuff behind a cut, but in short- solid start.

Remember my disclaimer: Any thoughts, criticisms, or reviews expressed in this post are my own opinions. The definition of opinion is: “A view or judgement formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge.”

This place has a very heavy story- so heavy, in fact, that snc did have to stop multiple times to issue trigger warnings and disclaimers. I do want to say that I think that is pretty nice that they issued those warnings, and that they used discretion in how they were providing the ugly story being told.

That being said- snc clearly seemed surprised by the fact that a hospital run by nuns and priests could be so evil and have such terrible back stories, and that naivety was kind of sweet, but also caused a little bit of confusion for them throughout the video. Trust an old lapsed Catholic who was taught by nuns and priests when I say that this place having bad vibes and being the site of a lot of cover ups and corruption didn't exactly make my jaw unhinge and roll across my kitchen floor in shock.

As far as the paranormal activity that they caught was concerned- I found a few things interesting:

Absolute power, after all, corrupts absolutely.

I had to laugh when the rem pod thing was going off in the beginning and Nate said, "Why don't you move the bag full of equipment, see if that helps?" They moved the bag of equipment, the rem pod stopped going off, and they immediately developed short term amnesia and were like, "Whoa, wonder why this suddenly stopped going off?!"

I'm not always a fan of the robot voice box thing, but I did think it was extremely interesting how many religious/Catholic words came up in this particular place. Random how things like "contrition," "rapture," "thurifer," "oremace," etc. The fact that they've never heard those words before, to my knowledge, until they were in a Catholic place was kind of compelling.

Thought it was interesting that Colby said earlier in the episode that he felt "wobbly" in the nun room, but when he went up there later, nothing happened. He was even saying that he felt like it was residual energy up there, which sidenote- why does he always casually drop little pieces of knowledge like that out there and then never expand on his thought? How did he know it was residual energy? Explain, please.

The voices they were hearing were kind of cool. And robot voice thing going "Yeeessssssss" when they said they heard a voice was creepy as shit lol.

The fog on the camera was kinda cool, but Nate could've just adjusted his hold on it and just breathed directly onto the lens? Idk.

The double Estes Method. I'll admit, I didn't understand why in the hell they would even attempt this at first. Seems pointless and counterproductive. But once it got going up in the chapel, it was actually interesting. Everytime their answers not only synced up to the questions, but to each other- gotta admit, that was cool. It was also cool that occasionally, one would hear something that the other wouldn't, but that it would still match the question being asked. So yeah, I liked that.

I need them to stop with that drawing planchette thing immediately. It's silly. Stop doing it, stop forcing the scribbles to mean something, stop all of it.

As you all know, I'm not a big fan of some of the more...easily debunkable equipment, such as the rem pod and the whacky flashlight tricks. However, I was just thinking about the flashlights in particular, and I wonder if maybe some of what happens with those flashlights is more of their intuitive nature coming out, than these ghosts just sitting around and flicking the on/off button every couple of seconds. Like, maybe they can already sense the right questions to ask, to line up with the flashlights flickering on and off (cause when you set those twisty flashlights up the way they set them up, they can pretty much flicker off and on at will). Maybe we're looking at the power of the flashlights from the wrong end. Maybe it's the questions, and not the answers, that are paranormal in nature.

Or maybe I'm an idiot who ate too much shrimp today. Idk. Could go either way. I'll consult the flashlights about it.

A few more miscellaneous thing I just wanted to call out:

I was a little confused and suspicious of the tourguide right off the bat (even though we never saw him). They couldn't film the tour because you won't show up in camera? Are you fucking Bela Lugosi? What kind of shit is that??

Everyone already pointed out that the hospital is apparently "invested" with snakes, so I won't pile on and point it out again. Even though I really would like to make a terrible joke about an abandoned hospital investing their life savings with a bunch of snakes...I will refrain.

Nate: "lays down in an old grimey dirty coffin" also Nate: "WTF HOW DID I GET FLEAS?! 😱"

They really backloaded the first half of this video with random clips and jumpscares, like chill out fellas.

Colby Brock, Career Ghost Hunter: "I just shut the camera off cause I got scared."

Colby Brock, Family Man: "The only things that really freak me out are nuns, grandparents, and little kids."

They are so polite to these nun ghosts. Lots of pleases and thank yous.

I've been on the internet way too long- when they were joking about them having babies, all I could think was "mpreg is always possible" lol.

The ending was very...abrupt. And not having a preview for the next video was strange to me.

As i said earlier, this was a solid start. I love their chemistry with Nate and Seth, I enjoyed the editing and the pacing and the solid storytelling, and none of the evidence (besides the planchette) pissed me off, so that's always a plus lol. They didn't get too much, but what they did got was kind of cool, kind of creepy, and surprisingly cohesive. Overall, I'd give it a solid 8/10.

Excited for the rest! Let me know what you thought!

#sam and colby #colby brock #sam golbach #snc video review #snc hell week 2

[curator-on-ao3]

yeah, i'm really happy to see Chapel appearing to be involved in a lot of storylines too. interesting stuff awaits her for sure.

i was wondering why i love Christine so much, and i think it's because she represents everything that made me fall in love with Star Trek characters - curious, open-minded, adventurous, ambitious, humorous, flirty, queer, idealistic but flawed, genius but relatable, down bad for Mr. Spock.

and we know that Chapel becomes not only a doctor, but also a commander in the future, and i think as much as SNW portrays Chapel as inexperienced, it also does a good job making it believable that yes, one day this person is going to grow into an accomplished leader. which is so relieving, especially after Picard that has women just be mothers...

Your love for Christine Chapel is absolutely beautiful, anon, and I enjoy every second of it. 💕

I think you’re right that SNW sensibly shows Christine on a trajectory to the person she will become. She has this line in TOS, something like, “I’m a nurse first and a member of this crew second.” I love that duality about her (which I also think we see in TNG’s Beverly Crusher) — being of the crew but also choosing to exist in a separate place, bound by separate rules. The fact that Christine subdues an enemy by hypospray in both SNW and TOS, to me, is so perfect to showcase that duality. She’ll fight — and win … in her own damn way, thank you very much.

We stan a queen.

#i love asks #anon #star trek strange new worlds #star trek the original series #christine chapel #star trek the next generation #beverly crusher #we stan a queen #especially one armed with hyposprays

[ploppythespaceship]

Strange New Worlds Season 1 Thoughts & Review

Overall, this show was a pleasant surprise, and I found myself enjoying it more than expected. That being said, while there’s a lot of a promise, I think another season or two is still needed for them to really find their feet -- which is typical for Trek. I also think that while the show’s status as a prequel doesn’t completely drag it down, it does hurt more than it helps.

Spoilers under the cut.

What I Liked

Hands down, the single best element of this series is the fact that it has stand-alone episodes rather than an overarching serialized plot. It’s honestly ridiculous how much difference this makes. You can feel it from the first episode. There’s a greater variety of stories and tones, and it’s easier to focus on the ensemble of characters.

I also really appreciate that the show can just be dumb sometimes. With the exception of Lower Decks (which feels like an outlier), new Trek hasn’t had the opportunity to just be silly and stupid for an episode. But this season had two of them, and they were both a lot of fun.

That being said, the show’s not afraid to go to some dark places as well. But it does so without comprising the overall lighthearted nature of the series. It’s very well-balanced.

The cast is solid. I enjoy most of the characters, and they did a good job of creating a unique balance of people.

Anson Mount is excellent as Pike. We already knew this going on, but it bears repeating. He just has this energy and charisma to him that all the best Trek captains share, and he absolutely carries the show as its lead. He also feels different from other Trek captains we’ve had before -- if I had to compare, I’d say he’s an intriguing mix of Kirk’s charm with Sisko’s intense dad energy.

I didn’t care for Spock in Discovery, and I was convinced that I would hate him in this, too. But the writers and performance gradually won me over. I do think that compared to Nimoy and Quinto, Peck is the weakest of the three, but there’s still some good stuff there. It’s clear that both the actor and the writers respect his character, and are interested in fully exploring the dichotomy between his Human and Vulcan sides.

Chapel grew a lot on me, as well. She doesn’t feel remotely like her TOS counterpart, but considering the original Chapel didn’t have much personality to speak of, I can’t really mind that much. Jess Bush completely made the part her own, and I can respect that.

I adored Celia Rose Gooding as Uhura. I love seeing this younger, less certain version of the character coming into her own.

I enjoyed M’Benga, though I would have liked to see him a bit more.

The opening is great. Awesome visuals and a subtle remix of the TOS theme. Not terribly important in the grand scheme of things, but I still wanted to mention it.

What I Didn’t Like

This show really needed to spread the love a bit more, and make sure that all of their characters got at least a little bit of focus at some point. Bare minimum, one focus episode per main cast member would have been enough, but the season didn’t even do that. Chapel, Hemmer, and Ortegas never received any focus episodes, and the latter especially did not feel remotely fleshed out enough.

Also, I cannot wrap my head around the decision to kill off Hemmer. He was such an interesting character idea, and I love that they cast a blind actor for the part. But after only giving him bit parts in a tiny handful of the season’s episodes, they abruptly killed him off and played it up like we were supposed to be devastated. But we barely know this guy! Apparently the writers only created Hemmer to be part of Uhura’s arc, and I cannot put into words how much I hate that. It’s an absolute waste of a good character, and by far the season’s biggest misstep.

Some episode premises also felt repetitive, and I would rather have seen something brand new than explore the same ideas multiple times. I didn’t need more than one Spock and T’Pring episode, for example. Nor did I need two dark Gorn thrillers. It felt like that was just taking screentime away from fleshing out some other aspects that I wanted to see.

Una (Number One) is kind of a non-character. I think it’s a performance issue tbh -- Rebecca Romijn just doesn’t bring much energy to the part. She has very little presence, usually blending into the background of an episode, and I often just forget that she exists altogether. She doesn’t get much to do either, with her single focus episode being one of the weakest of the entire season.

I also didn’t care for La’an. I didn’t mind her at first, but I found her more grating as the season continued. Everything about her feels a bit forced eventually, and she has an edgy OC quality that I can’t entirely connect with. Also, I don’t understand why they made her a descendant of Khan. It adds nothing to the character or the story, and she would be a perfectly fine character with a different last name.

And in the finale, I did not like Paul Wesley as Kirk. At all. I understand not wanting to do an imitation, and other actors on the show have done well to reimagine classic characters with their own spin. But Kirk still needs to have some charm and life to him, which Wesley simply does not have.

My last complaint might be petty, but whatever. I wish this show wasn’t a prequel. Everything is well-executed, and most of it does fit into the timeline well (unlike Discovery). But I also know deep down that I would enjoy this more if it were all-new characters in an all-new setting, and part of me can’t help but be grumpy that we’re exploring old characters rather than creating new ones.

Episode Quick Thoughts

Since we actually got individual episodes this season, I thought I’d give super quick thoughts on each one of them.

Strange New Worlds -- A solid opener that did a good job introducing us to the main characters and the setting. The premise stretched believability just a tad, but the character arcs landed, and that’s the more important thing in the end.

Children of the Comet -- An excellent episode for developing this version of Uhura, but a fairly meh episode everywhere else. Not bad, just not terribly interesting.

Ghosts of Illyria -- A serviceable infection plot but some weak character moments. They really needed to develop the Illyrians some more (I did not remember them from their single Enterprise appearance), and the final reveal for Una felt very forced.

Memento Mori -- A tense, action heavy episode that somehow managed to make the Gorn intimidating without ever showing them. Fleshing out some of La’an’s backstory worked well, and I particularly enjoyed Spock and La’an’s mindmeld.

Spock Amok -- A stupid one! I loved every second.

Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach --  I did a whole write-up on this one. Basically, I think this episode was put together wrong, and the story should have been rearranged to make the twist happen much sooner, to really force Pike into a true moral dilemma.

The Serene Squall -- A really solid start that ultimately took a nosedive. I loved the pirates taking over the ship, and all the tension there. And then as soon as it turned into yet another Spock and T’Pring story with a teased Chapel love triangle I lost pretty much all interest. Everything about it felt forced, with the extremely stupid Sybok reveal at the end just being the icing on the cake.

The Elysian Kingdom -- Another stupid one! I thoroughly enjoyed this, and it’s clear that the cast was having a grand old time. The ending felt rushed, but that’s my only complaint.

All Those Who Wander -- Another tense Gorn episode, but this one didn’t work for me nearly as well. I was mostly just bored and wondering why it felt like we were doing the same story again. Hemmer’s death also did not land for me, at all.

A Quality of Mercy -- A mixed bag. I really enjoyed the concept of Pike seeing a world where he doesn’t make his sacrifice, but they didn’t really sell the horror of that alternate timeline nearly enough for me. It wound up feeling like a pale copy of Yesterday’s Enterprise. And Kirk’s lifeless portrayal dragged this down for me pretty hard.

#personal #star trek #strange new worlds #snw spoilers #i think this will come right above enterprise in my overall ranking #like it's very average trek #nothing spectacular. nothing terrible. just sort of is #but i think it has the potential to grow into something more

[jellicle-chants]

hey girly! i saw your reblog about writing fanfic and quitting because you aren’t getting comments and attention, and if that’s the reason you’re writing fanfic, you may need to take a step back and think about why you’re writing. you’re bound to hate the act of writing fanfic and feel burnt out way faster than those who write for the joy of it by writing in this fashion (speaking as someone who also writes fanfic, and has amassed a bit of a following) and writing for praise misses the point of fanfic entirely. fanfic is fun!! you should be writing for your own enjoyment, not to get the attention of others. also, readers don’t owe you anything, they’re just there to love your work and interact with you (and sometimes they’re not! and that’s okay too). peace and love <3

Hello anon!

Before I start to deconstruct your statement, I'd just like to state the obvious: this ask is very condescending and inappropriate to send to someone you're not willing to reveal yourself to. Don't presume you know anything about me, or why I write, or how much experience I have. If this came from someone I knew, I would have serious concerns about how they felt about me -- this does not read like genuine advice, but more a putdown disguised as such.

First: I'm not quitting writing in any capacity, fanfic or otherwise. Actually, I was considering sitting down over the next few days and putting down on paper (or in various Word docs, actually) every fic idea I have, for as long as I'm interested in each one, just to start them all.

This is because, secondly, my reason for writing isn't to garner attention; it's something I actually really enjoy and want to improve however I can. I literally minored in English in college because I knew I would fill up all of my electives with creative writing classes anyway and wanted that to reflect in my degree. I love writing fanfic especially because it lets me practice writing in different voices, which is something I absolutely love to do (and I hope that comes across in my writing as well). I also have literally dozens of stories, letters, poems, etc. about my D&D characters sitting in my Google drive that maybe one or two other people have ever read. I wrote those for myself, because I love those characters and I love putting them down on paper.

But another thing -- if there is someone out there who only writes fanfiction for praise, then I'm happy for them! At the end of the day, the fics written by writers with "good intentions" will be indistinguishable from those who you would say don't. (We don't ignore the artistry of the Sistine Chapel paintings because Michelangelo did it as a paid job!) Obviously, having an unhealthy relationship with the internet isn't a good thing, and burning yourself out is never desired, but you can burn yourself out just as easily doing something you like as something you don't. The "point of fanfic" is to write fiction of other people's characters/worlds, simple as. No need to bring moral judgements into it.

Also, I'm not really that disappointed in my reach/feedback at all: of the two works I've posted on AO3, my Cats fic has 9 kudos and my Star Wars fic has 20(!!!). There's also plenty of people who reblog my stuff on Tumblr and leave very nice comments and tags, which I also love (y'all know who you are 💕). I write so that someone will enjoy what I've written -- whether that's me, or one of my friends, or someone I'll never meet, it doesn't matter to me.

What does matter, in my opinion, is just knowing that that someone exists. Most of my writing I've read over and over again, so I know that I enjoy it, but if I send out a piece, it's because I want people to see it. Maybe because I think they'll like it, maybe because I think I did a good job and am showing it off, maybe because I want feedback, whatever. But there's something about seeing that other people liked what I did, that it made them feel something, that I do like. And I don't think it's wrong to hope for that, as long as you're doing it healthily.

Of course readers don't "owe" me reactions, but I don't owe them writing either -- I'm perfectly happy to write what I like and just keep it on my computer for posterity. So if you like what I write, and you want me to keep bringing you more, I am going to ask for something back from that exchange. I don't think it's too much to ask for reblogs, when what that small gesture really says is, "I liked this, and I think the people who follow me will like it too." Leaving a comment is even better, but even stuff like people's queue or bookmark tags make me smile, because it still shows interest.

I'm sure all creatives know the feeling of having a work bomb. It sucks. You put a lot of time and effort into something to make it presentable, and then nobody even really pays attention. Obviously, kudos doesn't pay the bills, but you never know whose day you'll make by leaving a nice comment on someone's fic. Maybe they were considering quitting. Maybe they got told they should be grateful for people reading their stuff at all and that they weren't owed anything for their hard work. Maybe they just had a bad day. You can make it just a little bit better.

#asks from the void #long post #my writing #sorry this kinda turned into a rant #but i think it needed to be said #so i hope it's digestible #also to clarify the end: i was not considering quitting #i love writing and i don't think i could stop if i wanted to #i just wanted to make the point #y'all in the cats fandom are the best fans i could have i love you guys <3 #star wars peeps are cool too #and for future reference: you don't get to call me 'girly' if you're on anon lmao #you traded in that right for your sunglasses bub

[nepobabyjimkirk]

Just watched strange new worlds and !!!! I loved. Spoilers under the cut:

I had SO MUCH FUN with this episode. What a joy. What a delight. I loved it

I’m in love with the crew already I want so much more of them. Uhura and Chapel and M’Benga have absolutely stolen my heart

Uhura and Chapel should make out maybe?

There is something so un sexual about Spock to me. Makes me feel weird that he was gonna do sex. He doesn’t do sex he does math.

Uhura talking to the alien they abducted about sports my BELOVED she’s such a people person ugh I fucking love her

I don’t really understand this Noonien Singh stuff but I assume they’ll probably explain it as the show goes on

The clip reel about world war 3 on earth had me feeling some conflicting ass emotions. It was cool and meaningful and whatever but also I’m not quite sure I’m ready to just like…see clips of the insurrection like that. I do hope some trump trekkies (which shouldn’t be a thing but somehow is) get mad tho

Honestly it was really funny and fun I enjoyed like every minute

That admiral is kinda a dilf don’t @ me

When they mentioned lt Kirk coming on board I was like ugh fucking white bread boring ass Kirk gonna make the whole show about him. And then he walks on the bridge in a blue shirt and I’m like ???? and then they say lt Samuel Kirk and I GASPED

I need episode 2 NOW

#kenz watches snw #there are SPOILERY SPOILERS under the cut if you click and don’t want them that’s on you bestie you were warned

[shadowcutie]

Here’s some resources to help you make text-based interactive fiction games!

Totally unprompted!  There’s certainly nothing going on in a certain forum right now (or rather an on-going issue).  Nope, I just thought it would be nice to share some resources.  ;)

-----

Twine

Twine is such an easy tool to use.  It uses its own scripting language Sugarcube (there’s also Harlowe and Snowman, but they don’t have the same functionality and creator support as Sugarcube does to my knowledge), Javascript, and CSS.

Twine is FREE!!!

Sugarcube literally gives you a save function (which does browser and save to desktop)!!!  Be the save-hoarding goblin you were born to be!

It’s criminally easy to make games with Twine.  They make it easy to make stats, relationships, and other info pages.  When setting up the paths you can literally see arrows pointing where they lead, you can move passages around visually so you can group them up by chapter/scene/etc......to be fair once your game gets BIG it can get messy and confusing.

I have coding experience prior to finding Twine, but I’m absolutely certain anyone can make great games with Twine.  If all your doing is making text-based ‘more story than game’ games, then you’ll be doing minimal coding (setting variables, if/else statements, using text boxes, etc) so you shouldn’t have any issues.

If you do have issues I’m 99% certain someone has had your issue before, and the answer is one google search away.

You can use Twine in your browser, just be careful to not mess with the data/cookies or you can lose your games (totally not speaking from experience)....archive your games often if you use Twine in browser.  You can also download Twine, so you can use it offline!

Links:

Twine

SugarCube v2 Documentation - Your new best friend.

With the Settings API you can add a mature filter, different style themes (great for light/dark themes and color blind themes...or just different themes to look cool), difficulty settings, volume control, etc.

HiEv’s SugarCube 2 Sample Code - An ever-expanding collection of code, tips, macros, widgets.  A good mix of fun and useful stuff.

^ Includes a great pronoun widget!!!  To be fair it’s not the most user-friendly widget at first, especially if you aren’t a coder, but in the long run a widget like this is a great tool for customizing pronouns.  It allows you to write a character in the code with one set of pronouns throughout the game ($They $are a great $person), the widget selects the correct word through an switch (aka a fancy if/else) statement when the character is assigned a pronoun......so when playing a female it would display as “She is a great girl”, a male would be “He is a great guy”, and nonbinary would be “They are a great person”.  You can add neopronouns this way too!

Chapel’s custom macros - Chapel has a lot of cool macros, but a lot of them are more advanced.  Very few have been useful for the kinds of games I want to make, but they may be useful for you.

r/twinegames - Twine has some older forums, which are still up (though not active) and have helpful answers on them, but the current forum is found on reddit.

w3schools - When it’s time to style your game, this will be your lifeline.  Even today, like...seven years after first learning CSS I still come back to w3schools all the time. !!!Twine has funky class/id selectors for it’s built in stuff so refer back to the SugarCube Documentation!!!

-----

Itch.io

Itch doesn’t take ownership of your content!

It doesn’t have DRM!

You can host your games for free, paid, or free with donation.

It does take a cut of your sales “The Company shall be entitled to a share of the revenue Publishers receive from Transactions which shall be calculated on the gross revenue from the Transactions“ (I’ve seen 30% but I’ve also seen “Lets you choose what to give them” so I’m not exactly sure how much their cut is).

THERE IS NO RESTRICTION ON CONTENT ASSUMING IT’S LEGAL (though if collecting payment you may be under different restrictions per the payment provider’s policy), so please make all the twisted, dark, disturbing, and/or sexual games you want!!!

Links:

Itch.io

-----

r/interactivefictions

r/interactivefictions is a good place for game recs, coding/writing resources, etc.

Links:

r/interactivefictions

-----

Tumblr

Tumblr is...well we’re all on here so we know how tumblr is like.

Great tags to look at: #interactive fiction, #interactive novel, #interactive game, #twine game, #dev log, #IF, #if game, #upcoming game, #promo post

Tumblr is a great platform, but as every creator knows...Reblog!!!  Reblog!!! Reblog!!!  The lifeblood of tumblr is reblogging.

I’ve found SOOOO many games I would never have known existed through if-creator’s blogs just because they reblogged a post from another if-creator.

@interact-if and @iorifd​ are doing great work!  They collect games, share helpful coding/writing tips, etc.  Go show them some love!  Interact-if runs the subreddit mentioned above, and iorifd is working on a database for visual novels and text-based games.

-----

IFDB (Interactive Fiction Database)

IFDB is a database for interactive fiction games.  You can add new game listings, write reviews, make game polls, make game recommendation lists, etc.

IFDB seems to like their parser games (parsers being where you type in commands like “go west”, “open door”, etc).

It actually has a pretty good filter and ignore system.

Links:

IFDB

-----

Obviously this isn’t the end all be all of dev tools or hosting platforms for interactive fiction.  Ink is a scripting tool similar to Twine I’ve only heard of recently that might be interesting to you.  Ren’Py, although primarily a visual novel engine, can be used to make text-based games.  The only other hosting alternative I know is DashingDon, I THINK they only host ChoiceScript games and I don’t think you can sell through them, but it’s a good place regardless.

Cheers! :D

#Game development #Interactive Fiction #IF #IF game #Twine #I want to start making games...I know the coding part...it's just the story and writing part ://// #lmaoooo maybe some day #for now I will continue to enjoy IFs from the sidelines

[wygolvillage]

REVIEWING EVERY CASTLEVANIA BASED ON HOW CONVENIENT IT WOULD BE TO LIVE THERE

CATEGORIES

-Food: does the castle have a kitchen? a dining room? places to eat? (food items do not count for this.) this is the category most consistently not met.

-Sleeping Quarters: literally any bed, sofa, or anywhere soft to cozy up counts for this

-Entertainment: anything like a library, a coliseum, a ballroom, etc. how fun is this castle?

-Aesthetic Appeal: how pretty is the castle?

-Overall: just overall how good of a life you’d have. also includes anything that doesnt fit into any categories

SYMPHONY OF THE NIGHT

Food: there’s not much here, apart from the dining table in the castle keep, and the table in olrox’s boss room, which don’t have any food on them anyway. they are still recognizable as dining tables specifically, so i will count them though. the table in the observation deck on the outer wall could count as a place to eat dinner, with a nice centerpiece and two comfy chairs, but i feel like counting every table for this category is a bit too broad. if you’re REALLY hungry you could count the room in the coliseum with the gory, bleeding hunk of meat as food, but as it stands the sotn castle doesnt have anywhere to prepare food and hardly any places to eat it. 

Sleeping Quarters: there are plenty of nice chairs, but no beds. the best place to sleep would probably be the two cozy chairs in the library next to the little table with the green flame (i think u get the stone mask there?). they just look very comfy. the outer wall’s observation deck could be a nice sleeping spot, but the only chairs in there are a lot more rigid and not nearly as comfortable. drac’s throne could be ok too tbh, but having to go through the clock tower every time you want to leave doesn’t sound very fun lol (alternatively you could go through the chapel, but theres generally just a lot of climbing going on here). your options arent the worst, but they could be a lot better.

Entertainment: the castle’s got a huge library full of books to read, a coliseum to watch monsters fight to the death, a telescope, boat rides in the caves, and so on. I guess olrox’s quarters also can be seen as a ballroom. tbh i think in terms of stuff to keep you occupied in ur daily life sotn’s got you pretty covered.

Aesthetic Appeal: well it’s symphony of the night, of course it’s gorgeous! obvious points of interest include the marble gallery, the chapel, honestly just the whole thing. this game is very pretty

Overall: eh. ok, but could use some work on the essentials. needs a kitchen and a bedroom

CIRCLE OF THE MOON

Food: i’m actually impressed. there’s absolutely nothing that fulfills this category even in the broad sense. even if we were counting food items it’d lose out since they’re all stupidly rare drops.

Sleeping Quarters: ehhhh... maybe the throne room? other than that ive got nothing

Entertainment: ballroom in the observation tower, i guess using the observation tower in general could be counted as entertainment. there’s also some bookshelves in the warehouse, but going into a dingy old storage room to do some light reading sounds not very fun. the battle arena could be fun to watch though

Aesthetic Appeal: this castle leaves a lot to be desired with its drab color scheme. I think the chapel tower and eternal corridor are probably the nicest looking areas of the castle, and some paintings on the walls look pretty nice. probably the worst castle for this category lol

Overall: the worst. carmilla wtf. also may i please bring up the safety concerns of the extremely contaminated water and the huge hole in the floor with a potentially fatal drop

HARMONY OF DISSONANCE

Food: not much here, but juste’s decoration room does a lot of heavy lifting. there’s a table to dine at, silverware, plates and tea. not much, but it’s there, and more furnished for a meal than the ones in sotn. a decent choice. no place to actually prepare food, however.

Sleeping Quarters: thank goodness there’s an actual bedroom!!! up in the throne room, where lydie was kept. not only that, juste’s decoration room also has a delightfully comfy-looking bed. one of the best choices of castles to sleep in.

Entertainment: THIS CASTLE HAS A GIANT PINBALL MACHINE which surely counts for a lot. there’s some books, a radio, and a phonograph in juste’s room. other than that, not much. but its pretty decent!

Aesthetic Appeal: this might be divisive but i think harmony’s castle is really pretty. standout places include the wailing way and the chapel.

Overall: decent! ...if you spend most of your time in juste’s room, lol. If we disqualified it, hod would be much less appealing... and of course, the convenience is certainly hindered by the constant locked doors and weird interconnecting teleporters. not the worst though

ARIA OF SORROW

Food: there are drawers full of plates and stuff in the inner quarters, and waiter skeletons to serve you food. (i hope you like curry!). the basement underneath the dance hall also seems to have barrels full of food, as well as meat hanging in there. i think we can call that a kitchen area, right? there are even butchers to help prepare it. The garden could also be used to grow produce. your food situation is very good.

Sleeping Quarters: there are some comfy looking chairs in the inner quarters- and a very nice chaise lounge in the headhunter’s boss room. this is your best option for sure, and not bad at all!

Entertainment: there’s a pleasant garden, a ballroom, a coliseum, a study full of books, and so on. on par with sotn, maybe even better

Aesthetic Appeal: it is a nice looking castle, very pretty. i find harmony’s more visually appealing, but aria is pretty good. standout areas include the chapel, the gardens, the forbidden area,

Overall: pretty good! necessities are covered, there’s a decent room to sleep in, and there’s definitely stuff to keep you occupied. It’s also the only castle that actually has a bath! I considered making this its own category but i think aos is the only game that actually hits this requirement so it seems superfluous

DAWN OF SORROW

Food: similarly to aria there’s a garden where you could grow your own food, other than that there’s not much which is unfortunate. had the lost village been populated it’s possible you could’ve bought food from local sources, but that’s sadly not an option. the waiter skeletons are back though! enjoy your curry.

Sleeping Quarters: a sofa or two in the demon guest house, and most importantly- a couple of GIANT BEDS :D

Entertainment: there is a giant piano!!! and ballrooms!!! there’s like... slot machine thingies, also? there’s also nice walks through the garden, and there’s at least one toy duck iirc.

Aesthetic Appeal: very pretty castle imo, the pinnacle, dark chapel and the demon guest house are the prettiest areas imo

Overall: not bad but a step back from aria’s high caliber. very clear winner in the bed department though

PORTRAIT OF RUIN

Food: portrait comes with the important distinction that the titular portraits don’t count. areas outside the castle proper have been disqualified- it must be considered to be the same map (otherwise ooe would win immediately via having a nice cozy village, lol). the reason i bring this up is because the “city of haze” portrait has shelves upon shelves of food and a cake shop AND a bar, but because of this criteria i have chosen to disqualify it- the portraits, in addition, are not real locations, but manifestations of the artist’s will. it is hard to quantify this. anyway, portrait’s got a nice dining room where you fight the vampire sisters, piled high with fancy food, but there’s no real kitchen (a running theme, you’ll notice, lol). on par with harmony.

Sleeping Quarters: this castle has a pretty comfy looking throne room imo. other than that, not much. there are beds in the forest of doom iirc, if you count portraits, but i dont, and it seems kind of inconvenient to travel through dimensions just to find a place to sleep.

Entertainment: this castle has motorcycles which rules. surprisingly lacking in entire sections that could qualify, though. not even the usual library! behemoth’s boss room is a mini-coliseum though so i shall count it.

Aesthetic Appeal: it’s decent. not my fav looks-wise, but i think the great stairway, the throne room and the master’s keep are pretty nice. the windmill at the tower of death is also a highlight. and there’s definitely plenty of paintings to look at, lol

Overall: eh? not as good as dawn. im kinda questioning my decision to disqualify the portraits themselves but i think its fair.

ORDER OF ECCLESIA

Food: THERE’S A KITCHEN!!!! there are butchers to prepare the food, too, and lots of it. if anything ooe definitely wins in this category

Sleeping Quarters: pretty much just the throne room lol, yet again

Entertainment: the library is absolutely flooded with books, and eligor’s arena... exists. honestly if anything ooe’s castle seems more set up for war than day-to-day pleasures, with areas like the weapons depot and barracks being more utilitarian. as a result, it suffers in this category.

Aesthetic Appeal: HOT TAKE but i think ooe has THE PRETTIEST CASTLE IN THE SERIES. The entrance and the library and the view from the mechanical tower and just asdkjsdfhkjsdf its all so good.

Overall: it has its pros but definitely its cons, the biggest among them being no real place to sleep. mixed bag.

FINAL WINNER: ARIA OF SORROW

#castlevania #long post #this is very silly.