#did i do a web weave correctly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glaciertea · 11 days

Text

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Notes: Miguel is letting those barriers drop, ooohh. And the attraction is most certainly there.

CW: Sexual daydreams, Masturbation

Chapter 7: Even if It's For One Night

Word count: 4.1K

Nearly a week passed as you scoped out the door whenever you heard the chimes.

You two maintained your everyday messaging, as you refrained from distressing him about stopping by, taking in what he told you.

Yet, a part of you still hoped he strolled through that door.

“I appreciate the donations, but not when there are so damn many of them!”

A woman a few years older than you stumbled out with an enormous box on both arms, her wild, wavy hair peeking out from the sides.

“Remind me to never take donations unless cash is involved!”

“A charitable donation is a charitable donation, Ronnie. Rather you like it or not.” You didn't look up from your phone as you giggled at something on the screen.

“Money is also seen as a charitable one! So make it easier for me!”

Ronnie peered over to her employee, whose head still refused to rise from the device.

“Who are you texting?”

“Take a guess.” You tilted a bit to acknowledge her.

“Ah yes. Him.” She teasingly piped.

Ronnie plopped the cardboard box of fabrics and other accessories on the counter.

“When will you tell me more about him?!”

“What is there more to say that I haven't already said, Ronnie?” You sighed and began to scoop out the cute clothes.

Rompers seem to be back in style.

“Uh, besides the name and that he's a ‘great guy,’ not much is being fed to me! I need the buffet, the nine-course meal!”

You gave her an impassive face. Your boss placed a hand on her forehead, dramatically but carefully, flopping her back on the check-out countertop.

“I'm practically starving! You're just letting me fade away! You dangle the sandwich, yet reel it back whenever I'm in reach!” She exaggerated, making sure to enunciate. Every. Single. Word.

“I thought you wanted a full thirty-course meal? Why did it get reduced to a sandwich?”

“Don't change the subject!" She stuck her tongue out. “And it was nine, but come on! Just tell me something! You always smile at your phone when you tell me you're texting the guy!”

She threw her arms up in a very animated manner.

“Ronnie, you'll survive.”

The woman grumbled and wrapped her arms around her chest like a pouting child who didn't get their way.

Then her face did a one-eighty.

“As your superior, I command you to tell me!”

“Oh for fuc- Ronnie, that's abuse of power! That's in the work guidelines for beginners!” Your hands slid down your face in pure agony.

“Nuh-uh! Um, um, obstruction of the peace!” Ronnie countered.

“I don't think you're even using that correctly!”

“Obstruction of the peace!” Ronnie's batty grin only disconcerted you more than before.

“Oh my gosh. He's tall, dark, and beautiful! There! Has the appetite been fed?” You began to dump the clothing back into the box, already exhausted from your "leader's” shenanigans.

“Hmm, let me think–no.” Ronnie frivolously perked her elbows up, her balled-up fingers smushing her cheeks. “Not until I see concrete proof! Hard evidence!”

You groaned, plucking the box off the wooden surface. “I swear you are just a handful. If you need me, I'll be in the back sorting clothes.”

“Aw, you're going to do that for me? You are so sweet! But don't think this conversation is over! We are jus-”

Before Ronnie could finish, you zipped off in the opposite direction, yelling that you were ‘too far away to hear the rest.’

You unleashed a lengthy exhale after that agonizing ordeal. You were aware that Ronnie didn't want to organize, so she found a cheeky escape route. And you couldn't criticize her curiosity.

When the dead workdays pop up, you're usually on your phone texting him. Giggling like a schoolgirl who somehow was able to obtain their crush's number.

He manages to make your knees all jelly, so flimsy. The grasp he has you webbed in is ridiculous. How you're caught up in the bewitching netting. Is it wrong? Is this an inappropriate way to envision someone you're admiring?

Spinning one into a web is usually viewed as distasteful, deceptive, and abysmal.

Sickening. Revolting.

Yet this web, like most, is silky and luscious. You don't seem to believe you're the prey–far from it. Restrained in the powerful strings is something that beckons you. What you seek.

Awaiting him, trusting him. Knowing that the mesh is used to protect. In a way that serves not only him but you as well. You don't sense any threats. No harm from him to you. You're confident about it. It's as if you fully know. Comprehending it in all of its certainty.

Besides, the only time you'll undoubtedly feel threatened, afraid is if you are bound, dangling exposed for him to take in every part. His claws and fangs grazed, scraping across your delicate skin, leaving tiny scratches all over.

His eyes locked on yours. Mouth gagged as you wouldn't be able to beg, but your body does it for you. His hands will grope every inch... his full lips kissing down so slowly, so hungrily until he reaches right in between your trembling, soaking thi-

You slapped yourself mentally and physically.

“Stop it, you pervert!” You quietly hissed and began to sort through the clothes, struggling to remove all those thoughts from your mind.

Pretending that the tingly sensation isn't sparking in-between said thighs. He shouldn't have this effect on you. But the state he put you in speaks otherwise.

Ronnie was skimming through a stack of books she's been purposely evading for the past week when she heard the hanging chimes near the front entrance jingle.

“Oh goody. A person.” She mumbled in a snarky tone before putting on her half-assed customer service voice.

“Hi there. Welcome to Adequate Antique Aaa–Abs-o-licious!”

Ronnie was fully astonished by the colossal, hunky model of a man standing in her tiny shop.

She continued to stare as Miguel stood there uneasy, his eyes covered, but the expression was undoubtedly frigid.

Soft rock played on the overhead speaker as the gawking from Ronnie lasted another thirty seconds until Miguel cleared his throat, breaking that unwarranted silence.

“Oh! Right! How may I help you, my good sir? Anything you have particularly in mind? You're also very, very welcome to peruse our many, many trinkets.” Ronnie shoved the books aside. An overly flirtatious grin crossed her lips, her eyebrows bouncing up and down.

“I'm looking for somebody who works here. They should be in today.” Miguel's stoicism refused to leave.

Ronnie's attempted wooing fled as she scrunched her face at him. “Someone who works here–oh. Oh! You're tall, dark, and beautiful!”

Miguel was taken aback by the sudden exclamation.

“Tall, dark, and beauti-”

She interrupted Miguel before he could even question what she could possibly imply by that.

“Yeah! No, I'll go get her for you!”

Miguel was blurred by the woman and the situation as a whole.

“I can go look for her–”

“I have someone up here to see you!”

Miguel slightly flinched as Ronnie shouted and whacked both her hands on the hardwood counter before turning her attention back onto him.

“She'll be up here soon.” Ronnie beamed at the even more exhausted Miguel.

A few seconds passed when a new voice emerged from the side.

“Why bother giving me this beeper if you're never going to use- oh! This is a very pleasant surprise!”

You internally screeched and flipped around. A smile spread across your face as you took a few steps toward him. He was actually here.

Miguel softened. His body unwinded as he warmly gazed down at you. “I managed to sneak in some free time and wanted to take a peek at the store myself.”

“I'm so glad you stopped by. You okay? They didn't harass you about this, did they?”

Miguel's stomach had those metaphorical butterflies floating endlessly. His own smile forming over your worries.

“Ah, no, not as much.” He had to lie. He didn't want you fretting over him.

“Good. That's good. I'm glad they're easing up on you.”

You didn't mean to come off as nosy. It was a sudden switch for you. A new defensive mode whenever something was visibly agitating or troubling him.

The sensations he brings.

Ronnie darted between the two, seemingly drifting into each other's eyes. Even if Miguel was wearing sunglasses, Ronnie knew what was up. Coughing loudly to break the ogling, they both jumped back as Miguel scratched his head, and you turned your attention to your employer.

“Sooo, are you going to introduce me?”

You puffed some air out, disregarding Ronnie's shit-eating grin.

“Ronnie, this is Miguel. Miguel, this is my boss, Ronnie.”

“Hm, so this is the famous Ronnie I've heard about.”

“Gasp! I'm actually talked about outside of work? I knew you secretly adored me!”

You groaned as the humiliation settled almost instantaneously. Miguel just offered half a smile before dropping it a second later. He honestly didn't know how to react.

“And I prefer infamous!” Ronnie pumped her chest with way too much pride.

“You do know infamous isn't a good thing.”

You tried to clarify, but Ronnie bolted to the next thing.

“And Miguel! My my, aren't you a gorgeous man? Girl, you didn't tell me he also had an inviting, buttery voice!”

Your right eye twitched. Miguel tensed from this encounter.

“Actually, she didn't tell me much about you besides your name and that ‘you're one great guy.’” She indiscreetly winked, as you were ready to slam your head down on the counter. Maybe hard enough for a concussion.

“But I do know how happy she gets whenever she's talking to you. I swear her face lights up with this adorable twinkle when her Migg-”

“Okay, that's enough!” You stumble your body in between Miguel and the timber furniture.

Miguel and Ronnie stared anxiously at your sudden outburst. The music continued to whisk over them for a couple of seconds until you gulped audibly.

“I didn't mean to yell. That shouldn't have come out like that. I'm sorry, Ronnie.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“Nah, it's all good. Go ahead and take your break. I'll finish up your tasks. And hey, it was nice meeting you, Miguel. Take care of my girl.”

Miguel blushed before bobbing his head. “Of course. Nice meeting you as well.”

You scampered to grab your things as the two headed out. You called out a goodbye to Ronnie and went to enjoy this time.

You both decided to head on over to an Asian street food restaurant. Thankfully, it was slow, as only three people preoccupied the other tables.

“Have you ever been here before?” You scrolled down the digital menu, figuring out what you wanted.

“No. I don't think I've even ventured this far out of work.” Miguel observed the area, taking note of all the different Asian cultures plastered on the walls.

“How far is your job from here?”

“It’s about a thirty-five, forty-minute walk.”

You began calculating the distance from there. “So around two miles? Twenty minutes is equal to a mile, right?”

He nodded. “But I bought it down to ten. I'm sure you can figure out how.”

You blinked until it hit you. “Ah yes, you swung on by.”

Miguel shot you a disappointed glance as you goofily grinned. “Are you sure you aren't secretly a spider person?”

“I don't have that terrifyingly stellar intelligence.” You lightly tapped your noggin.

Eventually, you two ordered, plunging into that soothing silence. The warmth he cascades upon you has your stomach in knots. You squeeze your legs together, trying to furiously distract your mind from something else.

Then Miguel took a sip of his water, some dribbling down the side of his mouth. You squeaked as your subconscious pried its way through, wanting those certain thoughts to emerge.

“I remember you telling me that you have sensitive eyes. Is that why you wear sunglasses even indoors?” You locked those feelings back.

“Si. That, and I don't think many would find my eyes appealing to gaze into. Why I've been called ‘vampire’ so much. ¡Esa mierda se vuelve tan molesta! ¡No sé por qué sienten la necesidad de bur-”

“Your eyes are appealing to me. They are very breathtaking. Like staring into two dazzling rubies.”

He reclined back in the seat as the compliment caught him completely off guard. He can't remember the last time a flattering remark was made. Maybe as a joke, or when Peter bizarrely proclaimed he has ‘very ravishing red orbs,’ but not genuine praise.

You purse your lips, chastising yourself secretly for even blurting out something like that.

“I-I'm sorry. I should've been more mindful of what I said.”

He removed his glasses and placed them on the table.

A string snapped.

You glimpsed at the shades, then back at him, before a smile took over. You leaned forward as you both got lost in each other's words.

The food was steaming hot, emitting heavenly scents of herbs and spices. Mouth-watering, you promptly begin to chow down, humming in satisfaction.

“Always the best to come when no one is barely around.” You declared, stuffed with a mouthful of udon.

“No need to rush. They're able to be precise with the cooking.” He mindfully slurps some of his miso soup and sighs out.

“Mhm!” You gladly agreed, gulping down the tasty noodles.

“Oh! I was meaning to ask. Are they finally used to you taking well-deserved breaks? They must be if you took an afternoon one versus your usual night ones.” You held your bowl of udon up, offering some to him before he politely declined.

“Yeah. I told them I needed to pick up a few pieces for this upcoming project I'm working on, and they were fine with it.” He took a swig of his condensed glass of water.

Lies. Miguel recollected the events that led up to this spontaneous outing.

He was already seething when an anomaly nearly threatened to disrupt a canon event due to ridiculously cocky rookies who took the situation too carelessly. He doesn't enjoy shelling out verbal lashings. In fact, he can't stand them. But if others refuse to understand the dire conditions they're in, then it's the only means necessary to get the point across.

And on top of that mess, he still wasn't at the shop. Every time he would pluck up the effort to go, he would repeatedly hinder his opportunities.

Internal excuses after excuses. If he's not present, disarray will happen. If he's not here, who will scrutinize the multiverse? Who will conduct sweep checks to make sure the technology is in proper working order? There was too much on his plate, and each day he wasn't there, the more his temper was easier to set off.

But a few hours earlier, something possessed him as he requested Jess and Peter B. to come to his office.

“The other day, I stumbled upon an ample amount of curios I exactly needed for this new project I'm undertaking.” Miguel's back turned as he searched, trying to remember the name of the store.

“So you need one of us to pick up the par-”

“No! You two will stay here and keep an eye on things.” He hissed as Jess folded her arms over her prominent, protruding belly.

She decided to let that rude, interrupting outburst slide. For now.

“Miguel, are you okay? You've been seeming more, um, what's the word I'm looking for?”

“More of an ass?”

Miguel scowled at Jess as she held that unshakable glare whenever he got this way.

“Uh, no, not necessarily that. More piqued, disgruntled! Yeah, that's it!” Peter patted where the sling for Mayday usually was.

“Look. I'll be gone for about a couple of hours and then back with the goobers.”

Peter was perfectly fine with that response, but Jess's skeptical eyes and frown practically dug into his skull; however, she opted to take his word with a pinch of salt.

The accumulated goggles of spider-people ticked Miguel off as the murmurs of their superior, nonchalantly walking out of the lobby, was going to be next the buzzing topic.

Though it didn't matter, as far as he was concerned, getting to you was his main priority.

“Miguel? You okay?” You rested your hand on his, which would dwarf yours, as concern registered all over your face.

“What?” He rocked a bit, skimming the area, before his awareness landed on you.

“You seemed lost in thought for a good while. I thought it was because you were enjoying the food so much that I decided to let you be. But it started to scare me when you wouldn't answer after five minutes.”

He peeked at the table that lay nearly empty dishes. Did he become so absent-minded that he managed to finish his entire meal without uttering a single word to you?

And yet, you remained poised, uncomplaining.

“Here, let's get back to the antique shop. The lunch rush hour is starting to pick up.” You whirled around, minding the influx of hungry customers piling in.

You paid for his meal and yours as Miguel tried to intervene, but you heavily insisted. In a battle he wasn't winning, he let you be.

Jostling out and heading back, you made small conversation. You were still quite concerned, wondering what was dwelling in his mind.

“Did you enjoy the meal?” You swayed your arms back and forth in no particular rhythm.

“Yes, it was delicious; the flavors blended well. And I will pay you back for my half.”

“You don't have to! It was my pleasure to-”

“I insist. Tell me the cost, and I will pay you back for it.” He instructed more than asked.

A surge rushed through your veins and directly to your lower region. “I-I will think of something instead.”

“Good gi- good. That's fine, just let me know.” He caught himself before that inappropriate comment slipped. He didn't know what seized his mind to nearly exclaim that.

You didn't catch it. He thanked the universe, as he would never forgive himself if you did hear that disgusting phrase from him.

The remainder of the stroll was mute until returning to the shop. Ronnie fanatically welcomed you both back, questioning and teasing about the outing.

“Did you enjoy yourselves? I know I sure would if I were by this godly, glorious man!”

Reprimanding her, you swiped up Miguel's forearm, leading him away as Ronnie cheekily yelled not to destroy her things.

“Don't get too handsy, if you catch my drift!”

Ultimately overlooking that, you and Miguel browsed the many knickknacks and ornaments encompassing every cranny. Miguel was in awe of the countless artifacts and objects.

Though it didn't beat the liveliness from you as you described the items, elucidating the sea of stories behind a chunk of the goods.

He got lost in your love for this.

How you're able to enjoy the simplest things in life. How you manage to discover the inner beauty and soul in things, no matter how dented or defaced they appear. How you make it look so easy. Yet, how would you react to the heinous crimes he committed? Would you still find that same beauty and soul in him? No, clearly not.

He convinced himself otherwise.

Plucking an electronic gizmo from a stand, you brought it up to his face when you noticed him wearily zoning out. There was something draining him, and your instincts to alleviate it kicked in.

“Miguel, do you think this piece will help with the project you're working on?”

He inched his head down to see a gear with a tiny motherboard covering the surface.

A crooked smile tugged from him as fingers curled around the miniscule tool, brushing against your palm. “Yes, this will be fine. Thank you.”

That electrical touch he gives never fails to give you shivers.

That softness you hold never fails to bring him to his knees.

“I know how you can pay me back.” You shifted through some bins in search of more gear for him.

“Oh, and how is that?”

“There's a botanical garden near here, and I pass by it every time but never get the chance to go as I use my off days to rest up.”

“So, like a hangout or a date?” Miguel rummaged in the bins with you.

“Whatever you want it to be.” You grinned, carefully headbutting your head on his bicep.

His breath hitched, cheeks heating, as his stomach began to twist. He shouldn't. He shouldn't.

“Deal then.”

A string broke.

That joy never wavered from either one.

“Oh, and by the way.” Miguel pulled himself out of a trance.

“Hm?”

“Tall, dark, and beautiful?”

“...Ronnie!” You jerked yourself to your feet and began to admonish your guilty leader, as Miguel held in his laughter.

Saying his farewells with a container stuffed with gadgets that he'll cram somewhere to find uses for them later, a hunger bellowed within. His thoughts were rampant. Never ceasing. Not even the rosy pink and sunset orange skies wouldn't sedate his brain from going back to you.

A date… no, you are only hanging out. That's it.

He doesn't imagine the bright smile you'll have as you stroll by an array of flowers. Or how beautiful the hues from them and the sun will bring out your skin tone. Or what adorable outfit you'll choose to wear. Or what you will chat about…

He doesn't think about you lying on the ground, hidden from the public eye, enclosed by Mother Nature's blossoming fluorescence. Your stunning legs folded around his waist, nails dragging down his back as he strenuously thrusts into you when he–

A sudden thunderous clap roared from above, knocking him back to reality. To Miguel, the dark clouds arose to freeze that line of lust. Miguel closed his eyes. You mustn't have them as well. It was only his sick, perverted imagination going in that direction.

He decided to just dawdle the rest of the way back, even if the rain caught him. He'll deal with the plethora of complaints from Jess later. Right now, he craves that alone time.

Halfway there, Miguel eventually accepted that you would never cross the path he chose. Especially for a man like him. And he wouldn't blame you one bit...

You grasped your pillow for dear life as a finger plunged deep within your folds.

“Mi-Miguel! Deeper!”

Your faint whimpers were drowned out by the thunder. You leaked on your fresh, crisp sheets. Just as the nightly rain drips, so do you.

“Don't stop; please never stop! Oh Miguel!”

You gasped out his name. It felt so sinful on your tongue, yet flowed out like smooth, red wine.

Adding another finger, your eyes rolled in the back of your skull. The only thing that plagued, no, graced your mind was the thought of his long digits pumping into you.

The more you imagined, the more your pointer and middle fingers slipped in and out in rapid succession. Your velvety, wet walls clenching so nicely.

Could you take him? Will you feel every part? Every throb, every vein? How warm would it be? Cozy? Or burning due to the desires you'll both share?

You whined in sync with the roaring bolt. You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't.

But you couldn't stop.

Unbeknownst to you, in the middle of the city, in the middle of it all, a grunt sprang out in his own room, the walls concealing his impurity.

“Yes, just like that. You're such a good girl.”

Miguel lay spread on his mattress as he vigorously pumped up and down. His unrestrained clawed hand moving at speeds that no human will ever be able to keep up with.

Veins coursed all over his girth, no matter which angle one peeked at. He was burning, his length on fire.

He squeezed, emitting another grunt. Globs of precum ran down as he tugged brutally and madly. He imagined it was you riding him for dear life.

“Montas a papi tan bien, bebita.”

He groaned as rumbles from the sky joined in. His mind crossed you with every jerk.

How tight would you be? Would he be able to force every inch? He would make it work. He wants to mold you just for him, that you can take it all.

Will you spill over as he thrusts into you at a swift pace? Squirting out all over his tongue or cock?

He growled as his imagination ran feral. His palm slapping against his balls, propelling his hips at irregular tempos. He hears the rain violently drumming against his window, overlooking the ones who look up.

Yet, the only thing he wants to gaze down upon are those pretty lips wrapped around him. Looking up at him.

Looking up with lust and love. Genuine love.

The downpour can cover his wrongs, but it won't matter. His thoughts for you will fall from him.

He could not stop. He knew he could've.

Yet he should have. He knows he shouldn't stop. The flames spread, shining more within the concealed darkness.

#miguel x reader #tales the songs weave #Miguel o'hara #atsv #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n

20 notes · View notes

bomberqueen17 · 2 years

Text

yet *more* weaving nerdery

So I’m to the point with inkle weaving that I reach on a lot of things, where I understand the technique well enough to just kind of do it, which is good because most of my difficulties lie in attempting to follow patterns. Understanding the principle means that if I thread up my own thing, I’m likely to have it work because I’m not misreading a pattern I’m just doing it so it’ll work. Now, are my patterns as good as those designed by experts? No. But they work. And I’m getting there.

Here’s a thing I’m finding as I web-search for information about inkle weaving specifically: most of the people who write posts and make videos don’t actually know that much about it. Many of the instruction videos are long and rambly and feature the person doing things that even I with my scant experience can tell are inefficient or won’t yield that great a result. So it’s frustrating to have to rely on that for information, and I really should just buy a published book, but also, I struggle with following book instructions. I have one pamphlet printed out from the 40s and it is literally impossible for me to follow-- it’s the one I warped a design from only to realize that they had not explained their method of notation and so I had put in like a hundred white threads that they’d merely meant as spacer blocks in the pattern notation, not white threads at all. Most of their instructions are like “see fig 4″ and then it’s mislabeled which figure you’re actually meant to look at. So anyway.

I’m trying to learn pick-up, now, which is the technique by which you can make finely detailed figures, even letters, but again, the videos on this technique are overly long and not done by experts, and there are some blog posts that are reasonable but I’ve warped up a pattern and realized my threads are so fine it’s nearly impossible to pick them up in the correct order and also I was working in a dim corner last night and so could not see what the fuck I was doing and this was a terrible idea. I’ve done most of my weaving in terrible lighting and it hasn’t mattered, but when you need to look at the threads, and it’s too fucking dark to tell the yellow from the cream border, that’s not a recipe for success. So that’s on hold until the sun comes up at least.

Here are some assorted pics of my most recent weavings, which I’ve done without using a pattern. I need some more colors, is a mild hang-up; I lack cobalt blue, true orange, and of all things black. I mean, I have black in carpet warp but if I’m doing a whole band in crochet thread then it’s too coarse. Except I think it would work for pickup, and meant to try it but I couldn’t find a weaving diagram for that-- the instructions that said use a coarser thread for your design did not have a diagram, so the one I’ve copied uses three threads per block of design and that is obnoxious because I keep losing count. I don’t do counting, you see. And you don’t have to count for this technique, it’s all “next” and “next” and following a grid chart, and I can count “every other” and “first and last” and such, but saying okay pickup one drop one, pickup two drop two, pickup three drop three for every single block? i lose count. (Of course you can’t do all three as a chunk, you must pick up and drop them in order so they stay correctly arranged, and with crochet thread it is far too fine. so this experiment is going to be hell, but i’ve warped it on so sunk cost fallacy means I’m gonna make myself do the whole thing and hate it the whole time.)

so here’s my first self-drafted pattern:

I found out how to make that central chain-- it’s two wavy lines next to one another-- and did that in carpet warp, and the rest is crochet cotton.

Next I did a shades of green one, with a gold dashed line down the middle; I have an idea in mind to use this as trim on a kind of crazy quilt panel, so we’ll see how it does like that.

Experimenting with the visible weft, I rather like it but it’s hard to keep disciplined and make it perfectly even, and you often wind up with two little bits showing, sort of unevenly. So I see why all the directions say use the same color weft as border, but a bit of that is that the people giving the directions are so frequently inexperienced weavers themselves!

Then I warped this one on, and realized at the end that I’d just made stripes and there was going to be no pattern, so like an idiot I added warp threads in the middle which involved taking some of the heddles off and fucking up the tension and spending forever repairing it and I don’t know how in heck I got it all back together but I did, and wove it, and it worked.

(yes this is the very beginning, I was using matches as spacers to stabilize it before I started weaving. Later I switched to using a weft that matched the borders but about half of it is done with purple flecks in the border, I do like the effect.)

And then I did this one, can you see what’s going on with it?

It’d be better if I had black crochet thread instead of that beige I used there, but it was a proof of concept.

Yes-- it’s variegated thread, which I warped on to the number of pegs that meant that the color repeat lined up. So the whole band is a spectrum along its length, as well as across its breadth. This is an idea I’d been wanting to do for a while, and I did see that someone had but now don’t remember where or what technique and can’t find it again. But I was obsessed with the notion of it, and am going to use this as background for like, a bunch more ideas I have for designs.

I think it turned out pretty great! But the beige, eh. Black would work better, and I need some slightly more carefully-chosen colors for the spacer threads. (The threading diagram is pairs of the variegated threads, then a pair of spacers that’s one beige and one of a solid color that matches the vareigated spectrum, though you can see for example that dark red thread is not matchy and rather too bold instead.)

Anyway there’s my weaving update, and i know that looks like I’ve been weaving a lot but actually that’s two weeks of work in one post. It’s not nothing and I’m progressing but man hafving several day jobs is slowing me way down.

#about the author #weaving #fibercrafting #undescribed

63 notes · View notes

autisticandroids · 2 years

Note

sastiel

i actually do enjoy a certain amount of sastiel but i don't generally enjoy sastiel as it is enjoyed by sassies. like obviously i do see cas being in love with dean as a core element of his character so that's an impediment, but lots of sastiels enjoy a bit of tragic semiunrequited sastiel.

but i'm more talking about like... i enjoy sastiel that's toxic on its own merits. because i think that sam and cas could never really have a healthy relationship with each other, platonic, romantic, or otherwise, while dean or even the ghost of dean hung over them. like he's been so destructive to both of them in entirely different ways, and they would need to unpack that before they could even vaguely understand each other. cas being in love with dean is a part of this but it's only one part.

also i love like. toxic midseasons bunkerfamily, and i think sastiel would add a lot to that dynamic. like first of all i think sastiel would make dean so happy, because he's weaving the web of his family tighter. if sam is invoolved with cas, sam can never leave; if cas is involved with sam, cas can never leave. and then also the aforementioned toxic dynamic re: them both still centering their lives on dean.

then also i enjoy a certain amount of sam sexuality crisis because i think the shape of his realization that he likes men would be shaped primarily not by the fact that that makes him queer but by the fact that he's terrified of men. which is fun to me.

also there's a sastiel fic that i'm never going to write but love thinking about sometimes where the premise is that dean is dead and jack is god (but functionally dead, whatever he is is in no meaningful way "jack" anymore) and sam THINKS that cas is dead and so sam just like. kind of runs away. he changes his name and moves to a new city and gets a real job and starts... uncoiling. he deletes all his contacts and stops speaking to anyone he knew before dean died. it's not rational, but it's something about the combination of grief and freedom. he makes a life for himself. but he also doesn't really have like tools to make new relationships. there are people he says hi to, and he's cordial with his boss and coworkers, but he has no clue how to involve anyone in his life. so he has no real relationships.

anyway, like five years after dean dies, there's a knock on sam's door. and sam opens it thinking it's the postman, but on the other side it's cas.

so it turns out that jack resurrected cas from the empty as soon as he became god. he also resurrected all of the other angels, told them to figure out governing themselves but NO apocalypses, and left them to their own devices. the first thing they did was throw cas in the heavenly dungeon, to await trial for war crimes. that trial has now been completed. the angels were going to execute cas, but a few pled for mercy on cas' behalf, suggesting permanent banishment from heaven instead. the angels accepted this, since a lot of them realized, correctly, that this would probably actually be a more torturous punishment.

anyway cas shows up on sam's doorstep because he really has nowhere else to go. like, he's still an angel, he could go sit in a cave for a few milennia, but sam is his friend. he's lonely. he's alone.

so sam listens to this story. sets him up in the guest room. and then doesn't hear much from cas. he knocks on the door about once every two days, and usually gets a polite answer. a couple times he thinks he hears cas going out while sam is in bed, but he doesn't check on it. when curiosity finally overwhelms him, he sticks his head in the room to check. and finds cas just. lying on the bed. eyes open. staring at the ceiling. big blown up kinkos printout of a photo of dean on one wall, the same of jack on the other.

and sam just. flinches back.

because here's the thing. sam loved dean. he did. but sam's life began when dean's ended. he's so much happier now that dean is gone.

and sam cared about jack. he did. but he was okay with jack becoming god, he didn't worry about it. didn't miss him too much.

and the guilt of all that just hits him like a truck, seeing how disabled cas is in his grief.

sam leaves cas alone a lot more after that.

a few months later, sam wakes up to find cas making coffee in the kitchen. when cas is done, he doesn't drink any himself, but he does hand sam a mug. sam is overjoyed. maybe cas is healing a little.

cas still doesn't talk much, not that he was ever a chatterbox, but he does start emerging from his room and trying to complete small domestic chores for sam. doing the dishes, scrubbing the sink, unclogging the shower.

eventually, they're spending time together. cas isn't all there, but he is someone to talk to, someone to be with, and sam is so terribly, deeply lonely. he's free now, but he's lonely.

over the next few years sam and cas end up like. boybestfriends, basically. but they don't get together mostly because it hasn't occurred to sam that you can be gay yet. and cas is at this point too utterly passive in his life. like cas was already a deeply passive person but grief and the extreme depression it brought on has left him with a pretty extreme lack of interest in Doing pretty much anything. like he does what sam asks and what he thinks sam wants, because sam is his friend and also sam gives him company and affection which he craves. but he doesn't make any decisions on his own.

anyway sam gets cas to go help garth or somebody on hunts sometimes, since he's an angel and all. sam's out of the life, but cas doesn't have to be. but on one of these hunts, cas doesn't come back. the hunter he was with says there was a big burst of light and then cas' vessel was empty on the ground. so obviously, sam thinks cas is dead.

this... isn't great for sam. he freaks out. because cas is still pretty much his only friend (and maybe something more) at this point. he has a big breakdown.

and then two days later there's a knock at the door and a strange woman is on the doorstep. and it's cas, of course. he wasn't killed, just ripped from his vessel. and he can't get back in, because jimmy is dead and can't give consent. so instead he approached a terminal cancer patient. promised her a painless death where she wouldn't be struggling to breathe every moment. took her body, and let her soul fly to heaven.

anyway, the combination of the thinking cas was dead and the vessel switch make it so that sam asks cas on a date no more than a month later. so they kind of... fall into a relationship.

sam feels like intensely guilty over the fact that he only wanted to date cas once he was in a female vessel for a while. especially since cas already at some point admitted to sam that he was in love with dean. that that was his greatest secret. that that was how he died. it's kind of irrational on sam's part but there you are. this is actually a big barrier for him in terms of asking to date cas at first. but then he does some self-examination and is like wait. i actually was into cas before i just had heteronormativity brain. guess i'm bisexual? anyway.

sam also starts feeling weird about the fact that cas does all these domestic chores now that he has a female vessel but it's not like sam asked him to do them, and if he doesn't let cas do chores cas just sits and stares into space (cas refuses to leave sam's apartment under any circumstances).

anyway sam and cas have this relationship. eventually they decide to have a baby.

and name it dean.

obviously.

cas remains listless and absent but is still the baby's primary caretaker. but he's still like obsessed with grieving dean and jack. additionally, cas is tormented by guilt because he feels like he replaced jack, so the baby makes his depression even worse. baby dean is extraordinarily well cared for physically but kind of gets shafted in the emotional department. sam tries to make up for it but he has, like, a job. he can't be there for little dean all the time.

sam has had the job of being cas' emotional caretaker for most of their relationship, but little dean starts sharing in the burden. which isn't great for a kid.

anyway, the thing about nephilim is that, like angels, they're immortal. and they go to the empty if they do die.

the final beat of this fic is sam, in heaven. there's been a certain amount of opening up, but not as much as in canon. you can see other people sometimes, but you're still trapped alone with your soulmate 98% of the time.

so dean says, i heard you got yourself a girl. a kiddo, too! even named him after me. i can't wait to meet 'em. and sam just... grimaces. him and dean are gonna have eternity together. he's gonna have to explain this to dean someday.

down on earth, little dean is trapped with cas. neither of them will ever be able to enter heaven. neither of them will die. cas is still an empty shell.

eternal torment for everyone.

#spn #asks #anonymous

60 notes · View notes

hermesserpent-stuff · 1 year

Text

youtube

Right, so this is shaping into another au of au story. woof. but also, i love tomby and Montana and peter so this is great. the only thing that would be better is if quentin were tossed in. but I'm holding by for my own sake. lol.

building off of the post Devil Doesnt Bargain. ]

tag: Cracking Windows au

Peter ended up passing out not too long after Tombstone started patching Montana up. The businessman moves both into the spare bedroom he has, along with a lot of medical supplies. It would probably distress Peter to wake up with his uncle and that would be counter to what he currently wants. He notes that Peter's tooth has stopped dripping, but puts ice on Peter's face anyways. He gently sets both down and goes to grab food and cancel all his upcoming appointments and clear his schedule. Rain still taps on the window. He takes a moment to stand in the kitchen.

Anger coils through his frame. How long had Montana known Spider-Man was a child? How long had he known it was Peter? Why would Montana allow Peter to keep going out, so reckless and defiant against the odds. Tombstone has to be careful not to crack or break anything with his hands. Did Montana play a role in Peter saying no to his deal or did the child ever mention that to him?

As a subordinate, Montana had always been reliable. Never asking too many questions, unless they were pertinent to getting the job down correctly. The Brice family was well known in the underground and the thought of having one of them in his employ had appealed to Tombstone even early on. And the man had done very good work. But the line in the sand seemed to be around Peter. Montana had not even given the slightest hint that he had any ties to the hero.

How many people knew about this? Surely the other Enforcers. But did it go further? Beck? Mason? Dozens of questions swirl as he drops off food in the room and checks it for escapes.

The windows are more durable than those in his office and not even tossing furniture would break them. The door is heavier and more solidly built than standard. That is true for most things in his apartment to prevent damage when he is weary and his control slips. But he makes sure to remove any potential weapons from the two. Peter is fairly easy with just the devices from his wrists that appear to be built to shoot webs. Montana is a little harder. The man has quite a few hidden weapons beyond the suit. Tombstone stores them elsewhere in his home and locks the spare room from the outside.

Peter wakes up in a place that overwhelms him with the smell of not home. Okay. Not the best explanation. It smells like cold, rain, metal, and faintly of mint around the edges. And not of earth like Montana’s or of May’s faintly sweet perfume. He shivers and cracks open his eyes. He immediately feels the urge to get up in the air. He often felt that way in Montana's home and had a hammock to do so in. But this is a foreign bedroom. He is suddenly hit with memories and panics. Where is Montana?

Right beside him, as it turns out. He sighs in relief and reaches out a hand to touch Montana. The man is breathing steadily. But still injured. Escape is not an option yet. The itch to get up in the air presses harder at him, but he hates the idea of leaving his uncle down here. He would just have to make a big web. Though, a quick glance at his wrists reveals no web-shooters. Hmm. This would be a lot more natural webbing than normal. But he wants to be up. He slips out and crawls up to a corner and starts spinning and securing. He drags up pillows and blankets to weave in and finds it to be a very calming activity. He then hauls Montana up and sighs in relief as the itch to get up high fades. He curls beside Montana, cold. The room is so cold. He tugs on the blankets and presses against his uncle and slips off to sleep, feeling a bit secure. His wrists ache just a little, but he can ignore it.

Tombstone is concerned when he reenters the room to find the bed empty of both of the previous occupants. He can admit to his heartbeat spiking slightly as he looks around the room. But then he spots the large web in the upper corner of a wall. Peter peaks out over the edge of the web-nest and blinks slowly at him. Tombstone sits down on the bed and looks up at the child. He can vaguely see Montana up there too. How best to get Peter to speak? The child seemed rather dedicated to his uncle. Enough to drag him up into a protective web.

“Is Montana alright?”

Peter blinks and shifts a little, fingers pressing against some of the web strands.

“He… He hasn't woken up. But he’s breathing fine and his heart’s good.”

Peter sounds worried.

“Any injuries that I missed? I have more medical supplies here.”

Tombstone wants to keep Peter talking. Peter glances back at Montana and then back at Tombstone with a slightly confused look.

“He’s… No.”

“Montana mentioned something about a machine made by Ock?”

There is a flash of rage in Peter’s eyes.

“Yeah. It was bad.”

The kid takes a breath and then resettles in the web and watches Tombstone. Time for another topic.

“Is there anything I can bring you for your… web?”

Peter hesitates, shivers a little, and asks in a very small voice.

“Blankets? It’s cold.”

Peter sounds unsure of his own request. Tombstone is happy to provide something so easy.

“I can do that. Would you like me to move the bookshelf to be under it?”

Tombstone worries about the structural integrity. Peter looks at him with confusion and a little bit of concern. There are still the edges of fear but far less than when Peter was last awake.

“I… I…”

“Just in case the blankets add too much weight.”

“Oh, okay.”

Peter sounds very unsure, fingers twisting and pressing at the web strands to twist them into each other. They are quick little movements that display nerves that tremor in Peter’s voice. Tombstone nods and quickly sets about moving the mostly empty shelf. He can feel Peter’s eyes watching him closely, so he makes sure not to make any movements towards the web aside from moving the shelf. He does not want the kid to think that he is trying to grab him.

#spider nephew au #cracking windows au #tssm montana #tssm shocker #tssm spider man #tssm peter parker #tssm tombstone #hermes speaks #Youtube #tssm

17 notes · View notes

oletus-carousel · 9 months

Note

[ 🕸 ] Is there a Theseus to your "Ariadne?"

"Ariadne" paused what she was doing, whiling away the time by weaving some silks as she always had. These, however, were not those connected to Fate - they didn't glimmer with dew and pathways, but somehow retained the same strength of the special webbing holding up the blank realm where she sat.

"A Theseus? If there was or is, then I'm afraid I've forgotten about them. If I recall correctly, the mythos from which my name is taken dictates that Ariadne was abandoned by Theseus. Why should I care for someone who'd taken my help and then, despite everything, become selfish?"

There was an unprecedented bitterness to the woman's tone as she spoke, but it flattened out into indifference just as soon. She needed to remain the impartial judge, as much as it pained her not to have opinions.

"I have a mortal's memory when it comes to my own Fate. Sometimes this is a blessing, and sometimes this is a curse. I cannot truly decide which. Assuming this Theseus did exist, then... I wish them the best on their journeys. This will hold for as long as they stay away from me. I do not want another petty attachment, nor do I have one."

#🎠 > idv exile #🎠 > exile answers #🎠 > 🕸️ fate's release 🕸️#🎠 > oletus carousel

2 notes · View notes

isabellehemlock · 1 year

Note

back at youuu ✨

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Thank you love!!

There's actually a few more pieces tied into some fandom events that won't be released to later in the year, but when I reflect on my last six months? Here ya go - let's start with visual, and I'll also share fics and memes lol ~

Since this is a long post, I'll put everything under the cut 😎

Here are the listings for the above, with some commentary below, and each individual post also has image descriptions 🤗

1. "Your eyes, like a church window." - Louis

This was technically my second piece of IWTV art (if I recall correctly lol) but it's one of my faves because of the religious subtext of the lights forming a cross, and the darkness lurking just beneath with the blood splatter on the clothes. When I think of Louis I think layers upon layers upon layers. And I really wanted to capture that with this piece: that of course there's the first impression, but there's some details, too that once you put it all together conveys a deeper complexity, kind of like Louis 🤗

2. "He found you lost, and guided you." - Armand

And probably my most popular art piece to date, that I can't imagine topping any time soon - my Muslim!Armand piece. Thanks to my own fandom history and getting to know many people, I personally can vouch that some queer religious rep is meaningful to not only me but several of my friends. All rep is important of course, and though I'm not personally Muslim, I thought of the friends in my past who this might mean a lot to as I was working on it, and also tried to honor his history by giving it Renaissance and a sort of Da Vinci sketchbook vibes - and I was grateful and humbled that it's resonated with others as well.

3. "Would you like me to play for you?" - Rockstar!Lestat

This was my first time drawing leather, and I listened to Maneskin the entire eight hours this took to draw. That's it, that's the vibes with that one lol!

4. "You're his destiny, Louis." - Loustat

I'm fairly certain this was my first piece for IWTV - I went in hard lol. Religious allegories? Check! Blood and violence? Check Check!! You got Saint Louis, blood tears that remind me of Marian statues crying blood (and I may have already made some commentary about that here), and then of course sacrificial love - the whole inscription that reads "suffering feels religious if you do it right." Like I went so fucking hard yo lolll.

5. "Eddie's Favorite Jacket" - Eddie Munson

Switching gears because I am capable of other fandoms lol - Eddie! I did this one just last month, and I think it might be one of my favorites 😍 I adore Eddie, I vibe with the ND coded energy (allow me to project lol). And getting to draw this for a friend's fic was a bonus!

But also, reflecting on the last year of fic writing ~ that would mostly be my dark fic for The Old Guard! You can read more about it here, but also my precanon fic, which you can find out more about here, I also really enjoyed the covers I made for them which you can see below (including the Joe and Nicky manips!) 🤗

And finally, memes, because I'm a crack humor sort of gal!

My VDay cards:

And assorted, but also the bottom two are for the IWTV BB 💕

However I'll also direct anyone seeing this post to also feel free to check out "my IWTV web weaving" tag for a few pieces I've done - more to come! But essentially I love words, and poetry and a theme, so I have a blast with those as well!

This was super fun to reflect on, thank you love!!

#answered ask #self love creative ask #Thank you Soi!

3 notes · View notes

dash-n-step · 2 years

Note

thank you, and to cut to the chase, i am never not confused by the attempts to expand the hs fifty air quotes franchise. and thats less due to any inherent quality or content or the like. its more just seeing this constant cycle of "we're going to do something big", "we're going to try and weave this grand narrative into this thing", and then said thing stopping and being buried.

oh yeah the franchising (or attempts to do so) of homestuck is really interesting to look into, especially when you factor in Dantae Basco

My favorite example being the now deleted "Homestuck 2.0" video

youtube

Huge plans for community outreach, possibility of side projects and announcements, "celebrity" endorsement, and just by this being a reupload clearly something went wrong pretty quickly, and nothing came out of it.

Then you have everything involving Viz Media

A big name publisher taking a web comic and redistribution it into a physical media for even more people to read, especially considering the huge popularity of homestuck, it leaves a lot of room for growth, and it almost makes me think of how One Punch Man/Mob PSycho 100 became as huge as it is now.

Then despite that, it gets fucked over by Viz repeatedly letting the site break, the absolute failure that was letting the mspaforums go down, and they currently have no plans on actually finishing adapting the comic into a physical medium.

Like, this is the webcomic that broke records with kickstarter: if cultivated correctly it should've led to easy growth, but as anyone who's seen anything about the development of hiveswap, a lot of factors came into why the "franchise" didn't grow outside of its niche.

I like to imagine that in some world where hiveswap's development wasn't fubar'd, or at least was slightly less fucked over, it could've been baby's first gateway drug into homestuck.

First part being played by big name youtubers (markiplier and jacksepticeye at the least

Music by the (at that point) well known Toby Fox

relatively normie safe compared to homestuck "more colorful" language and references

nostalgia bait with being set in the 90's

Overall, from a business standpoint, Hiveswap had the ability to learn from Homestuck's mistakes and lean into what worked. But as mentioned, it just didn't work out.

None of these youtubers ever went back to play part 2.

Toby Fox didn't even make a tweet about it coming out depsite a track he worked on being in it, but he did tweet about sales about part 1

all the nostalgia bait is gone because they fucked off to an alien planet

all of the concepts on said alien planet are only going to be familiar with established homestuck fans

And that's not even getting into the more recent developments, where even trying to pick things up, they just end up dropping the ball again.

Remember when they made a twitter to answer questions sent to them and then they stopped almost immediately?

Or how they made that "Homestuck is rated M" post and then deleted just about every other post they've ever made?

Around the activity of Pesterquest, they had a couple of decent publicity moments where they'd make "funny" replies to random big names/brands and it's pretty standard online engagement stuff but it still got the word out.

But unfortunately, everything was just poisoned either by HS^2 being a main focus that wasn't being received well, or the team behind what pumpkin either being targeted for drama or driving it themselves.

I think the core issue is that Andrew Hussie and the people they surrounded themselves with just didn't know what they were doing, knew what they were doing but didn't understand that what they were doing wasn't good, or even when they were doing something right then something outside their control screws it up.

Speaking of Toby Fox, I'm reminded of a post I made like two years ago about the huge contrast between the success of Toby versus everything that happened with Homestuck.

It could just be the nature of selling video games versus selling a multimedia webcomic, but there's something to be said about the vast difference in success, from Andrew Hussie's basement to Smash Bros and Pokemon.

#dashingposts #asks #Anonymous #homestuck #long post #andrew hussie #dashingthoughts #dashingreplies #dashingedits #undertale

19 notes · View notes

imingrief · 1 year

Text

prompt i free-wrote:

You were not looking in a mirror.

It might have seemed like it. There was a familiar splash of orange freckles; a rounded chin and half-moon spectacles standing sideways on the bridge of your nose. Dark stains covered onto one of your many borrowed sweaters, and every upturn of your mouth failed to lift into a full smile.

It should have been a ghost.

The house was recently renovated—newly built in the late 1960s, if the details were correctly obtained. The previous landowner had moved in with a relative, combating with all the fickle illnesses that came with old age, but nevertheless alive and woefully present. Perhaps it was something cursed upon the ground we walk on, amongst a fearsome weapon fully poised for combat; the slaughter of unjust vindictiveness. But it had nothing to do with you, didn’t it? You lived well and complacent; subordinate and guilt-free.

It is a then that a question often falls onto the shoulders of humans—what did I do to deserve this undeserving means?

The answer could never be simple, and so you walked around the isolating chambers looking for a hint of understanding. Maybe if you looked a little closer you could see you were being watched. You are always being watched. The subconscious knows things that stay in hidden webs, never unraveling but thickening their strands of entanglement. The end of the world has already happened—your death has already begun the moment you are born. The killer is never without its eyes closed, and we are the most tiring of beings yet to be created.

You were looking at yourself, always.

Two yellow eyes followed in the warm, golden glow of morning. Hands that were always bony and fragile gripped your wrist with surprising strength, tugging you forward.

“Come,” they said, cutting into the air but keeping the silence. Perhaps they were not even here.

You followed your friend who was also your enemy into the next.

“It will be better,” they promised.

And it was.

The light was so bright that one could not begin to match their surroundings. People came and went in the midst of the gathering, souls colliding and weaving so closely that if there were shackles, they all would have wounded together as one—and fallen as one. Moons and suns orbited around their heads like the ceiling was an aquarium glass, and you stood as God amongst the undiscovered, never knowing the full extent of your creation.

“Have a gift,” one voice said. And your mother gave you love.

“Take my hand,” another spoke after. It was your father giving his peace.

Grandparents and great aunts all lined up, bestowing likeness of serenities to your arrival.

“Stay,” they all pleaded, and you danced into the fires.

Time was like if a second became a year, and you did not know what became of your youth. All you knew was the beginning of age and weariness that slowly started to creep in, hovering like worried hens imploring obedience.

Sleep felt like relief to the lights.

One day you woke up, wanting to run.

You felt the cool air, and it was chilling. You smelt the salt of a nearby vessel of water, and your lip curled against. All your senses were screaming, and so you kept moving, but there was another instinct that birth gave—preys and predators alike.

There’s always something giving chase.

It was no mirror; you were running with your eyes closed. If you were still dreaming, you didn’t know, except you always woke in the place where you died.

“Stay,” they all prayed.

You blinked open your eyes to meet your own face staring down, tears sliding down their face.

“Please,” you begged, realizing they were your own tears. “I need to leave. I want to go home.”

“Come,” they said.

You hesitated.

“It will be better,” they promised.

And so you followed them. They did not take you back, but through the thicket of trees and foliage you could spot your outcasted home upon the hillside. Weeds towered tall, years' worth of lack in maintenance, and you and your other self stumbled toward the steep path.

“Who are you?” You whispered it at the door because you had no plan in mind to invite them in.

“Why do you ask?” they say instead.

“You follow me. You guide me. You’re always here, somehow, and I want to know if I’ve gone mad.”

“I have no choice,” the other you said. “You wanted me dead, and so I died.”

You paled. You denied it heavily but could not bear anymore confrontation—the door swung open and you stepped inside, quickly closing it behind you. Any source of light had fled from the obscuring darkness, shrouding every nook and cranny with its dominating presence. You fumbled around like a newly born doe, reaching for walls and coming up empty-handed. No table nudged your knee, no elbow grazed a nightstand. It was as though everything had disappeared into the shadows' opening jaws.

Days meshed together, and now you were ancient. A slight pinch of your face told you it was moving rapidly, growing wrinkles and beauty marks upon your mask; an enrichment of dry skin peeling. Was this beauty?

Or was it because only monsters were birthed in the darkness?

“Come,” your voice vibrated.

“I want to go home.” There it was—a wilt in your chest.

“You are already home,” your other self said.

And then you awoke again.

It was no longer dark; the sky was still nodding along glumly to the gray colors, facing early morning gloom. The house was your house, and the world spun the same, and so you continued on as everyone did in the end.

Every morning you drove to work, talking amiably with all the passion of a dying spark. Sometimes you would stop for breakfast at a local bakery, always keeping the change stored in your hollowed out compartment. Someone would then bump into you, give a noncommittal apology, and wander onto the rest of their day while your own felt like it had never even started.

Perhaps you should get a pet. It was lonely, sitting around an empty house, avoiding mirrors and talking to the television as though they could hear you.

What would they say if they could?

At night you dreamt the same vision you always did, but never could quite recall vividly. You just know it’s there behind your closed eyes, almost like a waiting ghost.

Snap.

Your head shot up, besotted with sleep and embraced with tiredness. Deep in your bones there is an alarm, but it could have been from the clock design.

Tick.

You awoke again the next night, dripping sweat.

“Hello?” you call into the void.

And like clockwork, the week passes with interrupted sleep and the feeling of dread curling in the pit of your stomach. You begin to stop eating dinner, because you know you’ll throw it up again.

Morning comes and goes, and work follows. Everything is normal. Everything is fine.

Later that night you stand in front of the mirror, gazing desperately at the face staring back.

“Please,” you say, although it might have been a scream. “I just want to go home.”

For a moment, you thought you were simply speaking to no one. Even yourself was missing.

Then—

“Come,” they said.

And so you follow once more.

They take you away from the house, crossing the field and bypassing the dirt trail leading into the hedgewood forest. Stepping stones lay folded into the ground neatly, leading toward the rickety bars of an old enclosure, railings wrapping around the tomb.

It was a grave.

“Yours?”

“No,” the other you said. “Yours.”

The air was colder than it had been before, but it always did that. You met their eyes and this time there was truth in them.

“What do I have to do?”

“To get home you must die first.”

Was it thrill or a flicker of fear that shot through your throat?

“You must do it with your own hands, where you can plead to no one but yourself. You can give yourself the mercy or the condemnation of your own choosing—you will be your own master. Can you comply?”

You swallow. “I don’t know if I can do that… My own hands…? I don’t know.”

The smile that came was almost surprising. “Why do you think I’m here?” they said. “I will do it myself.”

Because you are me. I am you.

In the end, you agree.

In the end, you die once more.

You take the grave of the person wearing your mask, at home with the darkness you knew too well. Whoever wanders around in your stead is but a stranger - a shadow like any other.

One might wonder if you were ever even here to begin with.

#writing #prompt #unedited #death #identity #idk what i was going with honestly #under 30 minutes was all i had #the theme was kidnapping but i forgot half-way through #original #my writing

0 notes

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #I live for their tension #that flick scene undid me #when they kiss I might lose my shit #they'll hear me scream in Korea #and Italy #I love teasing #Chazenzo #that's what I've been calling them #joo sung is their deer #🥴🥴

149 notes · View notes

unproduciblesmackdown · 4 years

Note

currently t posing as hard as ever thanks to also being stuck in [i can't believe i have to create what i want to create] mode... comradeship... ✨🔮🍺⚡

ugh smh at all of us attempting to create anything......comrades in this mess for sure B/ when will we learn

✨ Favourite aesthetic?

i can enjoy some like Muted Atmospheric type palettes......like, dim lighting / atmospheric distancing, maybe some monochrome-leaning stuff, Desaturated Colors which is wild as i never use this aesthetic myself lmao and am being unusually “restrained” if i choose Non-100% Saturated Colors.......i like some nighttime / dusk type Visuals although then within that i like both like, more ~realistically~ muted/dark stuff And Also like stylistically brightened / more saturated blues than you’d Really see at night, plus maybe some Warm Lighting from some source, don’t have to lean full thomas kinkade with it or whatever but it’s good. and Sunset type lighting where there’s both like, some colorful Lighting but also more desaturated shadows.......i don’t go so much for earth / jewel tones really like, either Lighter & Brighter or Darker & More Muted is my like Palette sensibilities apparently

🔮 Any advice you would have given 10 y/o you?

i have to like count out like what year of school are people in at whatever age....that’d be circa 4th/5th grade i guess?? not much going on. 4th grade was that one [several scenes from julius caesar] where it was like oh this is pretty clear You’re A Theatre Gay (which i only put together v recently for how obvious it was lol) and also of Course You’re Trans lmao like, may as well explain not only what Being Trans is (i don’t like, particularly remember when i became aware of That Being A Thing was?? like i know i knew by 14 but...) and go ahead and explain being Nonbinary coz it Was a good few years before i like, heard of that as a concept.....speaking of the Circa-’10s Dialogue i could’ve explained “you aren’t obligated to like, lgbtq-dom to Come Out to your family” b/c my Attempt at that only inconvenienced me and it’s just not a good/true sentiment for anyone lol........took a minute to like, get Perspective on things where i had this assumption that i’d Age Out of what turned out to be more inherent issues like [you are autistic, and also queer, and ppl don’t always just Make Friend Groups by high school age lol] and [family dynamics are not all Like This and it seems like the ‘rents approach is Wild b/c it is and it’s not Really going to fundamentally change so just don’t worry about the Continual Strife lol not on you actually] like, there’s a real On The One Hand But On The Other matter where my getting to go away to college gave that chance for some crucial Distance / Perspective on things about myself and my existence, but also forever in “i kind of hate school despite whatever parts are alright-to-good” club and did i need to rack up the tuition-etc Costs, would i have been able to get the Perspective in high school? probably in part but i also would’ve probably hated the [academic] part more and also would’ve been around most of the same ppl since kindergarten and yet i was sitting at the Odds N Ends lunch table probably just reading, so even though i was also not magically Socially Thriving in college, it was better from that angle too.......maybe could’ve told myself to do Backstage Theatre Stuff, since there was that issue of “i like to Perform but didn’t quite enjoy Family Members seeing it lmao”......compromise about your theatre gayness? who knows. generally tell myself to not worry about being Not Unruly as much, see: [the conflict is inevitable and too fundamental] lmao from many angles......who tf knows what primers on [Political Awareness] i could give a 10 yr old, that’s sure developing more in those years............idk like there’s Much 2 Consider but at the same time even Theoretically i’m not pressed to mess with the timeline lmao. like really just Maybe the small tip like “people are trans and specifically being nonbinary is A Thing and you are not obligated to Come Out To Parents” like, lord knows you get enough of their [i suspect and resent my progeny is not gender &/or sexualitying Correctly] without even bothering to confirm it for them

🍺 Favourite drink?

damb.......i like a Coffee alright for like, non-practical reasons i.e. all caffeine is likely to do is make me even sweatier than usual........tea can be pretty good, i like fruit / mint flavors (separately...).......sweet tea / lemonade combo (or just sweet tea ft. like a lemon wedge) pretty much fucks, or just regular lemonade on its own lol.......orange juice is okay, teresa was talking abt orange juice And apple cider last night like yeah apple cider’s okay, i went from liking apple juice to finding it intolerable and now i think i Can power through it w/o enthusiasm but apple cider is always great. grape soda is good and so is orange soda, sprite, ginger ale......and also Grape Juice is rly good......s/o to Water, idk that anyone’s enthused or anything on average but thank you for the hydration........idk i’m just out here like Sipppp........just wanna avoid anything Overall bitter really (tea / coffee always gotta be sweetened.....if i’m having Alcohol it’s gotta be like some cocktail and even then i've like multiple times tried and failed to just power through a pina colada. various unsweetened Teas have also just been like, i’d rather have the plain water. oh yeah and sparkling water, tf is going on there, Gross......avoided it wholly for years but last i checked cherry juice Specifically is intolerable 2 me) but idk i guess yeah if you take the Average of everything the answer is just like. water.........this just epitomizes my Asks Answers lmfao there’s no real answer but i take forever writing down whatever thought crosses my mind in the course of figuring it out and go tl;dr n/a or [the most boring answer possible]

⚡ Ever had a Greek Mythology phase?

i feel like i’m sort of forgetting some aspects to the “not really but kind of” answer like, most summers i’d Partake in some sort of daytime 2-3 week Activities camp lmao and i feel like one of them of yore mayyyybe had some kind of greek mythology theme to it b/c we had yknow like these smaller groups and i think we had to come up with Skits explaining greek myths b/c our like 4-5 person group did Arachne and i’m fairly sure that everyone else’s was along those lines lmao nothing Completely Different.......most of what i really remember was like, first of all it’s that “i cannot simply Think Of An Idea” problem lmao like tf do you mean Create A Skit......but it wasn’t just Me so we worked around it lol. and anyways the most Memorable thing was like, the day before we were gonna Present these skits we were like “uh how are we gonna have a Visible Spider’s Web” and one of the people were like “i have like a sheet with a spiderweb design on it” and we were like are you gonna forget to bring it though, and then she forgot to bring it, and when someone in our group like told An Adult like “uh what do we do if a sort of essential prop is Unavailable” we were unhelpfully brushed off with “you’ll just have to use your imaginations” and so we bitterly were like Oh Is THAT The Sentiment Then............and what we did is like, i don’t remember what [sort of chorus / narrator] greek god i happened to be playing but i was the one to hold up the “web” like wow amazing weaving here, as per the myth of arachne, and since we didn’t have anything and were told to just use our imaginations to rectify the issue, i held up the corners of Absolutely Nothing and announced it was sure an incredible woven spider’s web, i.e. the audience had to Imagine It.........a real memorable event of Inspired Pettiness from us like 9 yr olds or whatever the fuck. lmfao. of course nobody would’ve given a shit either way but we were somewhat pressed about it so it was fun to just like, get that Stress brushed off and in turn go “ah fuck it then” lmfao

3 notes · View notes

zpms · 4 years

Text

24/4/16

Honey, you made a mistake- you fell in love with a writer. And now be prepared to live forever in the web of her words! Ah- you see what I did there? Web-of-her-words Tsk, a metaphor. How are you not used to these by now? The metaphors, the similes, the sarcasm and oh so many hyperboles! Remember a writer's words are her babies, and her memories her assets, so be prepared, she will use them to her fullest. Don't you know that when a writer falls in love it is the intertwining of two souls. So don't hesitate whilst opening up to her. Tell her how you feel, trust me, she longs for those hour long intimate conversations. She will savour it, bit by bit. I promise you, she will listen to every word you say. Don't be shy with the details, tell her how you feel, she'll probably already know, but she wants to hear it from you. Sneaky Sherlocks, I tell you. Again...saw what I did there? Alliteration, pft. Anyway… That’s the thing about writers, they're souls who love to empathize. They'll be there to hear you out, to give you different point of views, and to annoy you with their sarcasm when your weak grammar skills make her cringe. I mean come on, who wouldn’t know the difference between “you’re” and “your” or “their” and “there” right? She loves teasing you. She does it quite often, doesn't she? Just be careful, you obviously don’t want to deal with a grammar Nazi again now, do you? But what you’ll have to deal with is a lot of drama. I’m not going to lie to you, writers are overly dramatic drama queens, living in their own fantasies, and that’s alright. Isn’t it? You need understand that whenever she’s falling apart, or bursting with joy, or raging with anger, she will write. Words are what she feeds on, stories are what make her, her…reality is merely a nightmare!Yes I'm well aware of the fact that this doesn’t sound sane, but you love a writer, don’t expect this to be sane. Trust me, you’ll be driven to a point of insanity too. Which brings me to my next point… Expectations. They're really not that much. Send her a text message to check up on her, pamper her, shower her with snuggles. They work- I guarantee. Here's the thing about writers, they usually tend to conjure up life long stories in their tiny little minds. Stories that include, impromptu ice-cream trips, cute dates, and long walks on the beach while watching the sun set and the horizon fade from pink to blue. That’s all she wants. Is that really too much to ask? However, you should also know that writers can switch from being hopelessly romantic to being completely misanthropic. There will be times when all she’ll want to do is curl up in her hammock with a good book and her cup of coffee. Those are the days she’ll want to be away from everyone and everything and live in her own little fantasy. Let her. Give her her space, she’s a writer, she needs it. Some days you'll have to hear about people and places you've never know of, she obsesses over fictional characters. Leave her be. It’ll take her time, to snap back into reality. At first it may even take her time to get used to you, and trust you enough to show you this side of her, but don't worry that’s just part and parcel of who she is. IF she does fall for you, and I'm pretty sure she already has (it doesn't take her too long) you'll be the lucky one. She tends to fall in love with the tiniest, most simplest things. Like the way your eyes light up when you talk about some thing you love, or the way you sing to her in your croaky voice, the way you confide in her and the way you crack those stupid senseless jokes. She'll paint you with her words- your freckles, your flaws, and every scar that tattoos your body. To her you are art. She will love you for the way you laugh mid kiss, And admire you when you praise your mother, and be a strong man like your father. She will love your habits, and make them hers. Her lungs will be filled with the smoke that burns yours, Her coffee, dark and bitter just likes yours, And when she sleeps, she’ll sleep for longer hours, with her sheets covering her face, just like you do. From your likes to your dislikes, your family to your friends, every minuscule detail will she embed in her mind. Don't be afraid, she isn’t a stalker, she's just head over heels for you- she’s just a writer, she's bound to explore and find out more. Exploring is essential for a writer, in every sense. When she falls in love with you she will explore you at first, then your body, your skin, the way you taste, your touch...everything; And she will write about it. Yes, be prepared to hear details…intimate details. Don’t be embarrassed, it’s just the way she is. You’ve probably already guessed by now, you’ll be one of her muses too. You may not recognize yourself, but you’ll be there, weaved in some way or another. She may even invent a whole new you, because of course replicating you wouldn't be enough. She will picture the things you could’ve done, and the words you could’ve said, but don’t get me wrong. She’ll always love you for the person you are. Even when times are rough, she’ll stand by your side. When you choose to ignore her, she’ll choose to write about you. She’ll bleed ink, but she dare not show you her work. She's just afraid. They’re a piece of her – like her pouring out her soul and all her emotions into words. It’s very difficult to express yourself and find the right words. Emotions and words go together for a writer. So remember to use your words correctly, say what you mean and mean what you say. The words you say will be her gospel, and walking away from them will be absolutely soul crushing. Honestly if you’re not willing to deal with all of that, I advise you not to fall in love with a writer. And if you’ve already fallen in love with her and are thinking of breaking her heart, good god…you’re in for a lot! Trust me you will be immortal. Be prepared to hear a lot about yourself, because like every other girl she will breakdown and cry, but she will also write. Smudged mascara and ink, crumpled tissues and paper- it's her way of letting go. She will write about you. Relive every moment to remind herself of you in every possible way – the first meeting, the first date, the first kiss, the first fight. Then, the last meeting, the last date, the last kiss, the last fight, and finally the heartbreak. As much as it will break her reminiscing about it, it will help her heal. She is a warrior. Don’t be fooled, she’s not afraid of love or you, she’s afraid of running out of words, and thankfully you’ve given her enough to write about. When you read this I hope you remember it all, I hope you know how much you meant to her. I hope you find yourself in pieces of her work. I hope it takes you back to those days when laying in each other's arms, and being loved by you is what she imagined to have been the best possible thing to have ever happened to her. And I hope you realize, that you don't have that any more, and all you are in that moment is just words. Immortalized forever. Again, you made a mistake. You fell in love with a writer. You fell in love with me. -zps

1 note · View note

animebw · 4 years

Text

Binge-Watching: Monster, Episodes 55-57

In which holy shit, holy shit, and furthermore, holy shit.

Holy Shit

So, is there a way to overuse the phrase “holy shit”? Because that’s where I’m at after this last stretch of episodes. Everything I could or want to say is subsumed with the desire to comically slap both hands on either sides of my head and say “holy shit” over and over again until the phrase loses all meaning. Holy shit, folks. Holy fucking shit, even. We just got our first goddamn flashback to the childhoods of Nina and Johann. We just got our most explicit deep dive yet into the life these two lived in the fateful days before Tenma saved Johann’s life in Dusseldorf. Sweet buttery Jesus, we’re getting answers! Actual goddamn answers! This whole dark web is finally unraveling right before our eyes! Not that it makes it any less gobsmacking; a good sixty percent of these episodes was just me receiving a new piece of the puzzle and losing another good two inches of my shit as I frantically tried to rearrange my thoughts and make sense of what was going on. Good fucking god, what do I even say? Everything is different now. Everything is coming together. Everything simultaneously makes far more sense and far less sense than it ever did before. And just to top the whole damn thing off, this deep plunge into the belly of Monster’s backstory finally brings us up to speed with the imagery and scattered moments from the OP that have been haunting us from the first goddamn episode. We’re really approaching the crisis point now, folks. There’s nowhere left to hide, and that’s really goddamn exciting.

There are so many sources to draw from- a notebook from Venderman’s father, Nina’s memories slowly returning, some knowledge from a creepy puppet maker, a final testament from General Wolf, and even a brief appearance by the Pretty Boy Bastard himself- and the tapestry they weave together is a dark and bloody one indeed. So let’s stop beating around the bush and dive right into parsing out just what all these revelations mean for the story we’ve been following.

Bonaparte’s Book Club

First, we’ve finally got some more information on Fritz Bonaparte and his mysterious Mansion of Red Roses. The father of the prodigal twins was a bizarre, graceful fellow, obsessed with the unsettling picture book stories he would write. He would invite children from across the village to be part of his book club, students at his reclusive mansion where he would read his stories to them and press them to figure out the messages behind each work. It seems I pegged him correctly in an earlier post; he saw his picture books as a way to express his experiences and understandings, an outlet for telling his stories to the world in a form they could actually understand. And as if the tale of The Nameless Monster wasn’t proof enough, he had some very fucked-up thoughts swirling around in that head of his. His tales are all tragedies, dark and sorrowful and ending with the lead characters suffering and/or alone. Why anyone let him keep writing for kids is beyond me; surely some parents would have wanted him burned at the stake. Never mind the fact that he apparently had another fucking kid we didn’t know about; the creepy puppet maker who was a member of this fucked up book club was apparently also a son of Bonaparte. But is he only a half-sibling to Johann and Nina, or does he share their fraternal bond? Because either answer would mean drastically different texture to Bonaparte’s eerie legacy.

But what truly sticks out to me after getting a chance to read more of his stories is how fundamentally hopeless they all are. The monster wants to get a name, but the only way he can do so is by devouring everyone around him, and once he finally gets a name, there’s no one left to call him by it. The demon offers to make a deal with two men, but no matter if they accept or refuse, they end up starving and destitute. The god of peace does so many things to help the people around him, but when he takes a moment to reflect upon himself, he sees inescapable darkness within him that must be snuffed out. Time and time again, his characters reach for good things, only for the attempt to leave them with nothing left to hope for. I can 100% believe Johann’s nihilism was a product of such a parentage; if my parents were reading stories like this to me every night, trying to make me understand and internalize the hopeless messages they portrayed, I’m sure I would have ended up a very different person. It’s a legacy of despair passed from father to son, a message that Johann now carries on for his dear departed dad. Whether Bonaparte with his books or Johann with his crimes, both of them want to make the world understand its inescapable entropy.

The question is: why?

The Massacre of Red Roses

And the answer to that question can only lie in the moment where, as the third Bonaparte child, the Monster itself was born: the massacre at Red Rose Mansion. Forty-six men of unknown distinction were killed and buried in the back garden, their blood seeping into the floorboards, and in that maelstrom, the Monster was born. But why then? According to the scattered sources we gather across these episodes, Bonaparte and his cohort of mysterious men were engaged in some sort of terrible experiment, but what kind of experiment would lead to so much bloodshed? Was the birth of the Monster their intention? And if so... what, even, is this mysterious Monster? Because the more information we get on it, the more certain I am that there is something... outside of nature going on here. The way everyone talks about this Monster is almost like it’s a demon, some supernatural force risen from the blackest pits of hell to wreak havoc upon the moral world. And then, Nina spends so much time talking about how Johann was the one taken to that mansion and subjected to Bonaparte’s book club, but somehow she’s getting flashes of that experience like they’re her own memories returning to her. She’s literally retracing the path Johann told her he took when he was taken away from the apartment above the three frogs, but the memories that flow back to her... are her own. Hell, that’s even true of that moment some ways back where she remembers Johann being taken away, but then she remembers herself being welcomed back by, well, herself.

It’s almost like... like she’s seeing through Johann’s eyes.

What, exactly, happened on the night of forty-six deaths? What was achieved? What power, if any, was brought forth? Why does it seem like Nina and Johann are somehow psychically linked? Because this can’t be a case of simple psychopathy anymore. There’s just no way all this is tied to a single troubled mind with a death wish. And then, just to make things even more head-turning, we get an honest-to-god flashback to the night Nina and Johann’s adopted family was killed, with explicit confirmation from Johann that it was the Monster who killed them in order to take the kids away... and there was someone else in the house that night. Someone else walked in through the front door, someone who could have just as easily pulled the trigger as Johann. And his body was nowhere to be found when the cops arrived. But if that man was the Monster, then what the hell is Johann even doing? Or did the Monster somehow transfer to him at some point? Is Johann a victim of circumstance, or did he take this calling of his own volition? Where did this evil come from, and is it a force beyond the minds of men? What was Bonaparte hoping to achieve by making children understand his stories? Did Kinderheim occur before the massacre of the Red Rose Mansion? After? Somewhere in the middle? My head is spinning with a million different possibilities, each one making less sense than the last. All I know is that right now, I am less certain of what’s really going on in this show than I’ve ever been. And that thought terrifies me.

A World With No Names

That said, for all the chaos and confusion of this peering into the past, there’s one thing it makes very abundantly clear: Johann genuinely loves Nina. He may be a sociopath hell-bent on a nihilistic vision quest, but his sister is the most important person in the world to him. He sees them as two halves of the same whole, and given the possibility of a mental link between them (and if I remember correctly, didn’t the nameless monster in the story split himself in half to look for a name?), he may be more literal than I thought. As a child, he speaks of giving the world to her, acorns and shopping malls and the blue sky above all for her. When they escape the terrors of the Czech regime and make it to the windswept border, he refuses to leave her behind, even as he feels them both sinking to their deaths of exhaustion. And when the Monster comes knocking at their door once again, like the God of Peace, he asks her to destroy the darkness inside him, promising her that even dead, he’ll still be with her. Because I am you, and you are me. Two halves of the same whole, two nameless monsters stripped of their identity and clawing to find new ones so they can return to being one, being whole again.

Names are such an important part of this show’s darkness. Johann and Nina were stripped of their original names as part of Kinderheim’s darkness, molded into blank slates without identities of their own. As they ran across the border, Johann couldn’t answer Nina as she begged him to say her name, even as she called him by the new moniker he had been given. It was only when Wolf confirmed his new name as Johann that he accepted that title, turning it into a badge of purpose as he began his quest against the world. In his darkest moment, he saw a world with no names, where he was as lost and stagnant as the nameless monster from his father’s fairy tale, grasping at straws in an empty world as death slowly overtook him. Names are akin to existence itself in the language of Monster, and those stripped of their name become representatives of the darkness underlying all humanity. They are the forgotten, the unspoken, the voiceless screaming silently in formless rage. And according to Wolf, with Johann’s mission reaching a fever pitch, it won’t be long before those nameless hordes- maybe the last of the lost Kidnerheimers, maybe the former children scarred by the Red Rose Mansion- come scrabbling back to the surface to feed. Munch munch. Gobble Gobble. Gulp. Until they finally have names to call their own once more.

At least, that’s a theory. At this point, there’s no telling just how off base I am. All I know for sure is that Johann is searching to complete his name. To find the other half of the nameless monster he sees himself as, and grant her the same grace he’s fighting for himself. Because that’s the only way he sees to make sense out of... everything. In a world that’s as hopeless and inescapable as the loneliness of the nameless monster, she’s the one guiding light he can still see. And he wants to keep that light burning as long as he possibly can.

Find Your Happy Ending

And that leaves the twins at a crossroads. Their legacy is one of darkness and despair, of countless tangled threads and shards of broken glass. They are the nameless monsters wandering a cold world with no one to speak their names. So where do they go from here? For Johann, the answer is to literally burn the past to the ground, to wipe away all remnants of the person he no longer is until the shadows are no longer cast over him. Speaking to the portrait of his mother, it almost sounds like he’s beginning to find closure for the darkness in his past, making peace with where they came from and where they’re going. He wants to understand, to let the rest of the world understand, and let that understanding purge it all away. But Nina hasn’t given into that despair just yet. Not with Dr. Tenma’s words still echoing in her mind: “Tomorrow will be a good day.” Tenma as an agent of hope is the one force that can hope to stand against the Bonaparte’s broken legacy saying that no, the world isn’t doomed, the future isn’t set in stone, and your path still awaits for you to make of it what you will. And if there’s nothing but bad memories waiting for you in the past, then all you have to do is make better ones in the present. The sins of the past weigh on everyone in this show, from Tenma to Nina to Johann to Venderman to everyone in between, as they try to make sense of the mistakes of their forebearers that still color them today. But the melancholy stories Bonaparte wrote are not the only stories they’re able to tell. If there are still happy ending out there, then they’re worth tracking down, no matter the risk.

And that light is what drives out protagonists forward. As Johann burns away every shred of who he used to be, Nina and Tenma and everyone else look to build up everything they have the potential to be. Even nameless, they hold fast to the names they’ve come across, the people they’ve become giving them new names to speak as their own. We are lost to the strands of time, but even forgotten, there’s always the chance to find yourself anew. To remember the names you once held, or hold onto the names you now have. The conflagration will pass, the fires will die, and the sun will rise tomorrow. As long as that faith holds fast, then tomorrow will be a good day. And god willing, we can hold on long enough to see it through.

Odds and Ends

-”I find myself coming up with a theme for each of my trips.” Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.

-Over the Rainbow. Of course that’s where he hid it.

-”When you start a long journey, you gotta have something in your stomach or you won’t last to the end.” This guy gets me.

-”It’s all beginning to spin out of control!” Oh, we are far past that point, buddy.

Good god, man, this show takes me places. See you next time!

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #monster #naoki urasawa's monster

8 notes · View notes

flying-elliska · 5 years

Note

This is really random and I'm kind of a new follower, but from what I could gather you have such a strong opinion on different topics, which I kind of admire bc I find that so important but can't really apply that to myself oftentimes idk. Is it part of your personality or are you trying to be consciously aware to not just 'consume numbly'? Hope that makes sense. And you're giving such good advice?? But an anon has already stated that correctly. Have a lovely day 🎃✨

hey new follower, welcome to you then, glad to have you around <3 that’s a very beautiful compliment, thank you. idk if you were looking for advice too but here it is because it’s late and i can’t help myself apparently lmao. (with the caveat that I too am a moron frequently like anyone)

...

i am sort of a chronic overthinker, so maybe it’s natural. that said, i used to think i didn’t really have an opinion for a long time. i found it difficult to express myself. and i looked up to people who i thought did it well for guidance. so i feel you

i went to a school where we prided ourselves on being able to talk convincingly about things we had zero knowledge about so eh (not that this is a good thing lmao) but i grew past that

i think i realized at some point i just tend to have opinions that are very long winded because i like looking at different sides of an issue. i think part of that is me being a contrary bitch, i don’t like going for the obvious meaning (maybe it’s residual trauma from being raised by someone who had a quasi cult leader type of approach to parenting lol). we are so easily tempted to disappear into the group, or a relationship. i feel like knowing your own mind, defining your own self image, seeing past the easy judgments and surface meanings, being able to understand reality on your own terms, is one of the deepest, most urgent forms of freedom. also empathy - which does not automatically mean endorsement - and trying to understand things and people from their own logic.

we tend to assign error or folly or bad intentions very easily. but it’s often because of the limits of our own understanding. and well, i have a weird brain. i grew up feeling like some sort of alien, often misunderstanding people, social habits, my own mind. so constant overanalysis is to me, the survival strategy that came the most naturally. and so as not to let my brain eat itself, i have gotten pretty good at figuring out what’s relevant and what’s nonsense ( i still could get better at it tbh). but part of me is constantly checking myself so i don’t do something terrible or terribly embarassing. wouldn’t wish that on anyone tbh. i am increasingly learning not to oversimplify myself for public consumption. my mindscape is a jungle, so be it. what’s the shape of yours ?

i also grew up in a lot of different social spheres. i met people from all sorts of social backgrounds, from billionaires who owned private beaches and designed jewllery for fun to people living in trailers without electricity or in the street, from prissy heiresses who believed using the wrong fork was a sin to best friends who had to work since middle school to help their parents. from all sorts of creeds, from wayward soldier priests baptising people in streams to new age ‘shamans’ whose houses smelled of pee, from staunch atheists to adorable nuns living in stone villages in the mountains and wild mama bear witches. from all sorts of politics, from faithful anarchists to political exiles fleeing dictatorships to crypto-royalists and decrepit neo-colonialist conservatives. from all sorts of cultures too. i think that’s the fave part of my childhood. people are just so interesting. but everyone operates within their own specific world, and you can’t judge people from your own perspective. of course there are things that are universally right or wrong but beyond that, you have to get into the world in which they move, understand its rules. see how it intersects with others. a lot of social interactions are role play. once you get that, you get the codes, you can move in any circle. (also : very rich people can be so unbelievably boring. they buy into their own hype so much, like spoiled babies. nothing to be very impressed about.) People wear façades and play different roles to different people; that’s not always a bad thing, after all parents have to be strong for their kids even when they’re scared. But now you’re an adult (or getting there) don’t let yourself be too mystified

also : power. dynamics of power are everywhere all the time. if you’re not aware of them, that’s a mark of privilege. ( in the end, who profits ? is this building empowerment for people and communities or is it stripping it away ?) but they’re not totally all consuming either. there’s also always agency, and chaos, and possibility. and compassion.

i think it’s important to accept that it’s okay not to have an opinion on everything. and also that it’s always growing, evolving, deepening. it’s possible you taught yourself, out of survival instinct or habit or something else, not to trust your own heart/brain/intuition/experience. I don't think it's anyone's natural state to just consume numbly. i’m sure you can step beyond that, everybody can. also ; learn how to embrace being destabilized. there is always this one moment between knowing something, learning you don’t really, and then getting a deeper perspective, that is scary, but it’s okay. you can come back to your center. like any sort of growth, really engaging with difference implies discomfort ; bear it, it’s worth it.

i think any opinion that is too static is likely to turn into bullshit in the long run. like a good wine, it should gain in complexity with age. also : read up on sociology/anthropology if you haven’t already there’s just so much good stuff in there (and a lot of bullshit too lol) about what it means to be human and cultures and how minds work and symbols and etc etc. and find good news sources because it can be very easy to feel disgusted by the world otherwise. and read as much and as diversely as you can

find things to love about thinking ? for me it’s ; i don’t believe in this binary between mind/body, feelings/reason etc, i think it’s bullshit and they all influence each other. and so does our environment. we learned to think by looking at and interacting with nature. some of our neurons are in our stomach. we’re made of star stuff. we grow by engaging with others. and not to sound like a hippie but that shit is breathtaking bro. we encoded the world with stories and symbols and use them to tell ourselves and each other stories and built community and we’re all the time engaged in this web weaving. so i see and i want to see more and more thinking like this organic, tangible process.

in the end, what is it important for you to have an opinion about ? i think it’s about passion, and love, and justice, and truth. what do you want to be moved by ? what do you want to honor with your possibilities for learning and knowledge ? where you invest your energy and time, you invest your life.when you have something you are passionate about, it will be much easier to express the subtlety and depth of a meaningful opinion about it. and then you can apply that to other areas of your life.

personally i want to (i have to) live like a diplomat, as a balancing act, with elegance and the ability to make tough decisions with grace, moving between all the layers of life and bearing gifts from one to the next. and i want to be able to move people, and give them the kind of stories and knowledge that are tools for them to heal and be happy and make the world better.

i have my work to do, like everyone else, of sorting through my shadows and making the dream stuff intelligible. in the end it’s all about finding an authentic life. your own inner logic. the bonds that nourish it, and what you want to give.

and i think once you find that is for you, i think finding your voice, an opinion that is truly yours and not copy pasted from some one else, will be much easier to start weaving. but don’t worry ; it happens in small steps. i bet you’re already on your way.

2 notes · View notes