#I'll use self-ship when applicable

[nyssasorbit]

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[nortism]

Nor's Ultimate BBC Ghosts Fic Recommendations

I decided to put my obsessive AO3 bookmarking to good use and recommend you all some of my favourite ghosts fics (not all, there will likely be a part two). I tried my best to include a variety of fics centring different characters and ships as well as lesser known fics. Please feel free to reblog this post and add your own recs (self promo very much allowed). I've tried to add tumblrs were applicable but if you wrote one of these fics or know who did, please let me know and I'll edit the post. Happy reading!

It by Scriblit

Rating: M

Ships: Mary/Robin, Julian/Robin

Summary:

You lose three mates, ten babies, both parents, all your siblings and then every friend for scores of millennia and still entertain the concept of being 'sweet' on a dead woman still consumed by her own pain. Doing It never had much meaning to Robin, even when he was alive. Now that he's dead, it's really just something to while away all the years. At some point, he's asked most of the ghosts if they want to do it. Some said no, some said yes. His only rule is, they have to genuinely want to do it, too. And, they mustn't be too sad. One of the ghosts was too sad, for so long, so he waited. And waited.

Notes: The first two chapters of this fic are an amusing exploration of caveman sex and the boredom that comes with eternal purgatory but the last chapter is where it gets really, really good. Genuinely one of the most poignant and devastating explorations of grief I've ever read, I cannot recommend it enough.

The Curse by Scriblit

Rating: T

Ships: Robin/OFC, Humphrey/Sophie

Summary:

Over the years, the centuries, the millennia, the residents of, and visitors to Button House and the land it's built on have experienced strange things, and heard strange tales. Multiple mysterious, macabre deaths. Unruly electrics. Blurry shapes in photos. St Elmo's Fire. Burning smells, a mysterious, singing voice in the cellar. Rumours of witchcraft, an ancient amulet and visions of Satan himself. Is the land truly cursed? Or is this just a place of 250,000 years worth of human sadness?

Notes: I only wanted to include one work from each author but I couldn't take this off my list. The only way I can describe this fic is clever. It's one of those things you just have to experience for yourself. Criminally underrated. Just read all of Scriblit's work, I'm their biggest fan.

Family, Family, Family by MadameReveuse

Rating: T

Ships: Primarily gen with side Julian/Robin

Summary:

Green Party Fundraiser Time! Rachel Fawcett comes to Button House, despite struggling with her feelings regarding a certain extremely unfortunate death there. Ghosts and the living alike are thrown into turmoil, especially when it begins to look like someone at the event may be attempting to harm the up-and-coming young politician. Can Julian stand idly by? Well, he's a ghost, so yeah, he has to.

Notes: This fic has it all; father/daughter bonding, a murder mystery and plenty of tory bashing. My entire perception of who Rachel Fawcett is comes from this fic, I was almost glad we never met her in canon as the author does such a fantastic job characterising her.

Ten friends total by notupforpolo (@notupforpolo)

Rating: G

Ships: Mary/Annie

Summary:

After the initial shock of dying wore off, Kitty was so excited to have Mary and Annie as friends. Kitty would notice how they spoke and gossiped just like Eleanor and her friends would do. They were potential friends until they just became friends. Then, when Annie was sucked off, Kitty was there to comfort Mary. Until Mary followed.

Notes: There is a severe lack of both Kitty-centric and Mary/Annie fic in this fandom and this fic covers both bases. Just a really excellent Kitty character study and a great exploration of grief

House Share by Sheepyblue (@ginevralinton)

Rating: G

Ships: Alison/Mike

Summary:

In which Mike makes a New Year's Resolution, with varying degrees of success (Or, a story of Mike spending time with the ghosts)

Notes: I've read a few variants of Mike spending time with the ghosts but I really like this one. My favourite chapter was definitely the Humphrey one, I won't spoil it but it's very funny. This author has far too many Ghosts fics for me to include in this post so I'd recommend you look through their other works

...And A Rainbow! by Spineless_Lobster (@spineless-lobster )

Rating: G

Ships: None

Summary:

Alison buys the Captain some pride merchandise, Kitty gets very excited that an entire room in the house is covered in rainbows. The two ghosts decide to have a sleepover to celebrate the (gay) occasion.

Notes: For all my Cap & Kitty lovers, this is pure fluff. Made me giggle.

Nothing Like a Round on 'The Krypton Factor' by neverfaraway

Rating: T

Ships: The Captain/Pat

Summary:

Wedding season approaches at Button House and, for once, everything is going off without a hitch. Of course, there’s the slight issue of Pat’s recent epiphany about his sexuality, Kitty’s determination to get her hands on as much badly-written erotica as possible, and the peasants becoming decidedly revolting. Still, if only the ghosts can refrain from murdering any of the builders, Alison is fairly sure they can pull this off. Or, Pat and the Captain negotiate coming out, even if it's only to each other.

Notes: Even if you, like myself, aren't a Patcap shipper, this fic is worth the read solely for the the subplot about the Plague Ghosts staging a leftist uprising. The perfect blend of comedy and heartfelt moments, this fic feels like it could have been an actual episode of Ghosts.

Don't Let The Good Life Pass You By by Impossibly_Izzy (@impossiblyizzy)

Rating: M

Ships: The Captain/Pat, Alison/Mike, minor Robin/Julian

Summary:

When the ghosts are mysteriously resurrected, life at Button House only gets more chaotic. Asking, how do you live in a world that wasn't built for you? How do you find meaning in a cold uncaring universe? And what does the Captain eat for breakfast?

Notes: Crack treated seriously is one of my fav AO3 genres and this fic is the cream of the crop. Despite being a Patcap fic, all the characters reactions to living in the modern world were explored in a detailed and hysterical way. I think about the scene where the whole gang goes to the pub constantly.

Queer Eye (The Captain Edition) by swimmingfox

Rating: Not Rated but I'd give it T

Ships: Past The Captain/Havers

Summary:

In a miraculous world where they have the ability to see ghosts, the Fab 5 descend upon Button House to transform the Captain (and, well, everyone).

Notes: Exactly what it says on the tin. Just pure hijinks, I can't fault it. Don't let the script format put you off, the author has done an excellent job of characterising everyone's voice

Fabrications by SwaggerStick

Rating: T

Ships: The Captain/Julian

Summary:

"It's true," said Julian. "You lot couldn't lie to save your lives." The Captain took personal offence at that statement. So, apparently, did Pat. "Oh give over," he said. "Like you can do better." ---------- The ghosts decide to figure out which one of them is the best liar. Competitively.

Notes: Another fic that really feels like it could be an actual episode. Very funny and also provides an explanation to the ghosts' pee turning to dust thing that has been bothering me since last Christmas so honestly you should just read it for that. Ship content is minor if Julicap isn't your thing (it's not really mine either)

Good Boy by Ailendolin (@ailendolin)

Rating: T

Ships: Mike/Alison

Summary:

"I’ve been thinking – Robin saved my life, didn’t he? Last week when I was out in the storm.” “Because of the stupid bear,” Alison couldn’t help but remind him. “Yeah, whatever,” Mike said with a roll of his eyes. “So when he redirected the lightning I saw him for a brief moment and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.” Alison felt her eyes soften. “Oh Mike, why didn’t you say anything?” “No, it’s not like that,” Mike waved her worry away. “I know we’ve thanked him for what he did but with the gatehouse burning down and the whole insurance mess it feels like we haven’t really appreciated it enough, you know?” Mike and Alison plan a surprise for Robin.

Notes: Very sweet addition to the season 4 finale. Would have loved to see something like this in season 5 but this is almost as good.

fieri sentio et excrucior by oui_oui_mon_ami (@sunshine-soprano)

Rating: T

Ships: The Captain/OMC

Summary:

It all begins when the Captain meets the Roman centurion ghost next door.

Notes: An absolute fandom classic, I couldn't not include it. Not normally a huge fan of ocs but this one is vey well done. You can tell the author is very passionate about Latin and roman history which I always enjoy seeing (the passion not necessarily roman history).

The Moneypot by someplsloverobbierotten (@caps-clever-girl)

Rating: T

Ships: Julian/Robin

Summary:

Julian bet Robin a tenner over Heather getting sucked off. He of course tries squirrel his way out, but Robin’s not letting him off that easily. OR: Robin and Julian like their bets, but what's a ghost to spend imaginary money on?

Notes: Another fic that is basically canon to me. The author absolutely nailed Julian's voice. Overall just a fun read with some genuinely sweet moments.

Thanks, Skipper by NaughtyBees

Rating: G

Ships: None

Summary: Button House gets a visitor, someone specifically looking for Pat.

Notes: No 1 trans ally Pat Butcher, what more could you ask for? The definition of short and sweet

smoke gets in your eyes by sidelined

Rating: T

Ships: Alison/Mike, The Captain/Havers, minor Julian/Robin

Summary:

Alison and Mike move into Button House and, completely unintentionally, teach the ghosts valuable lessons about love. (In which Alison worries about a first date, Robin and Julian discuss marriage, Thomas accidentally humbles himself, Kitty discovers that romance can live everywhere, and the Captain ponders his loneliness

Notes: A really sweet set of vignettes about the ghosts and love. The Mike and Alison first date scene is canon to me, the author nailed Mike.

[death-in-a-handbasket]

I swear to myself I am done making idv ocs,,,,, but I have an obsession with character design & making ocs and here I am AGAIN with my next one so I can build a nice big story where all my ocs are definitely happy ٩( ᐛ )و

He is finally the 'staff are a part of the manor' concept you inspired me with,,, hes the key holder ,,has the key to every room in the manor and is just kinda there in the background of everything,,, he brings that 'fading away into the flowers' vibe to the function that the haters just can't understand yknoe

I swear I don't abandon my original ocs they are all very loved and I'm trying to stop this creation addiction now💯

His name is Lavinia (or Vinnie) but he doesn't really share his name aside from theoretically some of the other workers? Raghhh,, sorry it's late by me so this is probably senseless rambling. I think he'd get along somewhat well with your character staff (I think that's the. Only way you've reffered to them,,, idk I cannot remember rn I'm sorry I need to go sleep, the one with luca)

He's not really shipped w anyone because he's very averse to most relationships in any way but,, yea

I enjoy him greatly !! he's rather solemn and gorgeous, I fuck with this. ALSO KEYMASTER JOB IS SO BALLER >>> I approve 10/10 he is canon 2 me. I'm imagining anyone who has been accidentally locked out of their room damn near falling over in surprise as this guy manifests next to them like he spawned out of the floral wallpaper and asking very morosely if they need some help. he just pulls an absolutely massive ring of keys out of his pocket and as he's unlocking their door for them they ask very nervously how he manages to keep track of all of them but when they look back he's fucking gone

also don't worry about relentlessly making ocs, I do the same thing, I love making self inserts and I have a shitload of fandom independent ocs but I fear I don't attend to them often enough </3 I am an absent father for sure I fear

as for staff, don't worry, they don't have a name, staff IS their only name, that's the only one they give out to people and they stubbornly refuse to give themselves a name or have anyone else give them one. they have a complex of sorts surrounding not existing, where because of their status as a non-human and their deep seated feeling of mundanity they consider themself not applicable to the title of being real

him and luca have a whole dynamic surrounding names that I'll put below the cut if you wanna read :0 !

okay. okay. so.

their dynamic to start involves staff trying to keep luca at a distance and luca trying to learn more about them and their non-human design as is his curious nature, thus they have a stubborn vs stubborn type feud that isn't really addressed as a feud but is there nonetheless

staff calls luca by his last name to enforce a sort of social distance and hold that divide of human vs non human, they are nameless and he is not, it’s also meant to hold him at an emotional distance because to use his first name would imply closeness. staff enforces this distance this because all they know as their identity is being separate from the manor guests they serve--further yet, sometimes when they do it it’s out of rudeness and to deflect him from them and sometimes it’s more out of self destruction than anything, such is the refusal to acknowledge one’s own being as worthy of humanity

on the other end of the situation it is a double edged sword of sorts for luca, being called by his last name has become strange to him as it’s been a long time since any part of his name has been spoken with even the slightest air of politeness, after being in prison it feels good to be referred to by any name at all, especially without ardent malice and disgust. however he’s aware of the separation they are creating which stings a little because he really would pay to hear them call him by his first name, even once would be pleasant. plus being called by his last name solely makes him feel a bit like his father, which stings in its own right,,,,,,he has mixed feelings on his last name for this reason

circling back once more, staff prefers not being referred to at all because it enforces the idea that they are in fact nothing, and while being called staff is a vague compromise of sorts, they are still off put by being given any title at all, not just for the humanity implication, but for the strange feeling that not referred to at all feels more comfortable and in tune with who they are (non-existence complex aside) than any name they could possibly have, such is the indecision of someone struggling to decide whether to be real or not

luca struggles in both situations, both options feel degrading to him, especially in the eyes of someone who has felt degraded and sub-human while in prison, to place someone in the category of less than human makes him feel oddly guilty despite the fact that he’s not the one enforcing this standard

he still finds it degrading to see them as nothing, names are very very important between these two and their choices of which moments they decide to address each other has its own subtext to it

that's all !! have a good day :33

[the-creative-lounge-blog]

The Creative Lounge v2.0

While we continue to prepare the community for a full launch, I'll post a little more about what's different in this version.

The Creative Lounge is a Discord community of creators and lovers of different genres, crafts, and talents that, together, foster a positive creative environment.

A good portion of this community is dedicated to content creators who work with different mediums. That's by design. We inspire one another and often collaborate. I hope The Lounge makes it easier to do both!

There's also room in here to play. I'm arranging the ability to stream art and video games in here, as well as host virtual tabletop games (these adventures are fantastic fodder for art, animation, stories, and audio works)!

Art and storytelling have been part of the human experience since our beginnings. They withstand disease, war, natural and unnatural catastrophes, and most impressively, time. Be proud of what you contribute.

There have been some changes to the community rules (beneath the cut). Please review them while you wait for The Creative Lounge to launch!

Rule #1: Be Aware. This is a shared space. You must be at least 18 years old to join this server. Individuals from all places and all walks of life congregate here. The sharing of personal information (name, location, etc.) is discouraged. Don't share personal images of anyone under the age of 18.

Rule #2: Be Respectful. Any disputes between members ought to be resolved privately. Disruptive behavior is not tolerated! No racism, sexism, hate speech, trolling, abuse, spam, picking fights, harassment, etc. Direct and indirect threats towards any other person are strictly prohibited and will incur an instant ban. Avoid discussing sensitive topics (examples: religion, politics). Try to keep the conversation relevant to the channel you are in. This is a multi-fandom, multi-shipping community. Hate directed at fandoms, characters, or ships is not allowed. While age gap ships are welcome, teacher/student ships are not (if characters are portrayed as teacher and student in canon material, do not share fanworks of those ships here). Don't steal content, or ideas. Do not repost or share anything found here without the permission of that content's creator. When sharing content by others, they must be credited in your post. When sharing links to your content, ensure that it is thoroughly tagged in your post. Any NSFW content should be shared in the gated channels. No underage (less than 18 years old) or incestuous NSFW content (in ANY form, regardless of how brief it may be) is allowed in this server. Use tags and spoilers (if applicable) for “trigger warning” kind of content. Examples of warning tags: -Graphic depictions of violence -Character death -Rape/non-con/dub-con (A/B/O works are considered dub-con) Other things such as phobias, body horror, blood, etc, should also be tagged. If you would tag it on AO3 or a social media post, tag it here. If unsure, ask a mod for help!

Rule #3: Be Creative. This space was made so that content creators may meet and interact with each other and with fans of transformative works. It is encouraged (but not mandatory) to participate in Lounge events and challenges. Use this space to discuss your content and ideas, share tips, ask questions, etc.

Rule #4: Be Kind. This is meant to be a community. Remember to encourage and support one another. Visible support such as reblogging/retweeting, commenting, giving kudos, etc., ought to be considered part of being a Lounger. Do not simply use this server (or myself) as your marketing platform. Self-promotion is not only encouraged, but expected. However, when you promote your work, stick around to throw some support and encouragement at others.

[souji-upseta]

yo my name is nyx, it's my birthday today (2/3). my birthdays have sucked SHIT the past few years for reasons that are depressing—

—cringe is also dead, i killed her myself, and i'm still grieving her loss. its been very hard for me—

—since i am the protagonist of Me and can do st abt this, this year i turn 31, and i will at some point turn 31.4, with all of this in mind, what do i want for my birthday? i'll tell you:

to talk about homestuck.

i'll do that, anyways, but you'd be doing me a gift by giving me a prompt to follow, and to feel slightly more validated in my inability to shut up about my hyperfixation.

so i'm asking YOU to talk about homestuck with me.

talk to me abt homestuck? ask me my headcanons. my thoughts. my relationship to the work. tell me yours. expect nothing that's profound, and plenty that's stupid.

i'm even turning anon on, for the first time in 6 fucking years. where making this happen.

this never expires btw. today is my birthday, but, for story purposes, let's say that it's still my birthday after it isn't, bc i will still want and, if i am honest, NEED you to talk to me about homestuck for years onward. i'm very metatextual like that.

i get the feeling it's going to be a long day.

>Nyx: Be the other guy.

You are now the other guy! What will you do?

>Web Tumblr User: Inbox Tumblr user souji-upseta?

>Mobile App Tumblr User: Do that, but hyperlink is unavailable?

=(n×∞)>

FOURTH WALL BREAK!

you are now nyx again, and i am now me, and i need to exposit some lore.

as in, some starting points to get u going, since "homestuck" is a very broad subject:

•i'm a massive massive slut for the epilogues and post canon content/hsbc. pesterquest is too good for this gay earth.

•dirk is my fav, ALL of the dirks, all of them, and it isn't even close. my fav relationship is the canon platonic/familial one between dirk and dave. i fucking love the striders. dave is my 1.5th fav.

•im more invested in dave's relationship to corndogs (and corn dogs) than you even know.

•mspa reader is my second fav after the striders, bc they are a good thembo friendsimp and also bc they are me and they are You. i might be biased. i love You. i love me. i love us. we're fucking gr8.

•im pretty canon-compliant, so my fav ship is dirkjake as exes (for now), and my fav ship as not-exes is panquadrant (canon) davekat.

i'm also really fascinated by rosemary and would welcome more opportunities to learn abt and talk about them but if homestuck makes a statement about anything it's to let the women and the sapphic characters tell their story (thats a joke, talk to me abt them too)

•june eg(g)bert real.

•i'm fascinated by classpects and the applications of paradox space's classpecting and extended zodiac system when applied to real life, since our only experience of those fictional systems is in linear dimensions of spacetime, and our only experience of astrology is as a species that in-universe cannot experience the sign caste system the same way the fictional aliens that created our species in their own image do. skaia knows, but we sure as fuck don't.

•i'm a former prince of heart (2012-2020) and a current knight of space, and my aspect is light. that is a thing that actually makes perfect sense for the reasons i just said.

don't ask me about vriska serket or (vriska) serket. not bc i'm not willing to discuss dark or problematic characters (hello, lanque bombyx) but bc:

for one, she can speak for her damn self, and has, tyvm.

for two, talking at length about a problematic character in any positive capacity marks you as an enemy of the state if that character is a woman, and being an enemy of the state is way too much fucking pressure for me for reasons i already explained as soon as i told you i'm a knignt of space. i wouldnt make a very good enemy of the state. it'd be an unhealthy blackrom relationship to the detriment of us all.

for three, i can just give you all my opinions/headcanons on vriska that matter:

•JOHN HUGGING VRISKA IN HSBC YESSSSSSSSSS

•she's greasy and gross and unkept af but not unclean or unsanitary, like, she bathes, she smells fine, she changes her clothes, but she's got the troll crust punk aesthetic absolutely on LOCK. she doesn't comb her hair.

•it would have been funny if she did even more bad things

•aradia did nothing wrong. vriska did but the meme is funny even if someone needs to take that meme out back and shoot it for the good of humanity.

•she should beat up ultimate dirk, and my reasoning for that is bc that would, also, be really fucking funny if she did

•john has both punched her in the face and hugged her, and now that john has punched aranea in the face, all that's left is for june—i assume she will have come out of her egg(bert) by then—to hug aranea and complete the circle of stupidity.

•she is trans yeah but she doesn't wanna get into it, she doesn't have to, and neither do i.

•vrisrezi most important relationship in homestuck.

there. you already got me to talk about vriska at length, and you didn't have to try. moot issue.

[ask-normal-guy-bob]

About!

Blog is run by @xx-cupid-xx01 (blog creator, thats me!!) with help from @zombiedeers <3, I (Cupid) go by any Pronouns :] (He/She/They+)

Note: This blog takes place in an AU! Main course of events will different from that of canon Spooky Month (but if I had to place a time frame just for simplicity, after SM 6)

Extra note: Some asks may take a while for me to respond, I may be straight up forgetful or lose motivation, if I need to take a break I'll make posts updating you guys about the current status of the blog (ex "taking a break for [xyz amount of time] cause [xyz explanation]") so please be patient with me!

About the muse:

Bob Velseb

-nicknames: most were given to him by his family but most commonly used is "Bobby", doesn't prefer to be referred to as this unless it's from close people/family members,

-Sexuality/Gender: Cis, He/Him, MLM

-Age: 50 years old (old fart)

-Diagnoses: Self-diagnosed with audhd, professionally diagnosed with clinical depression, P.O.T.S., and Bi-Polar (last two are from his father)

-Some(Special!!)interests: Cooking and baking (main reason he opened up his own diner), and analyzing + dissecting old slasher movies

Tags that'll be used:

#Bob answers

-For whenever Bob is answering an ask

#Bob replies

-For if I reblog something for a sort of rp interaction that happens

#mod replies

-For when I, Mod, respond to something in the inbox

#ooc//

-For when I'm talking in tags

Rules and regulations:

-Will allow NSFW asks, but try being normal about it and ask whenever it's appropriate/applicable, you use this to try and be weird or invasive to me you'll be blocked.

-RPing and interaction from other blogs is more than welcome! I mean, it's an ask blog after all, so go on ahead! Have fun! You can also discuss ships and interest in characters Bob might have, as Mod is a multishipper

- DNI anyone homophobic, transphobic, ableist, anything of that nature. And pro/comshippers I don't want you near this blog either.

[fandomanimatic-tournament]

Fandom song animatic tournament: Bracket 1 Side B

Saint Bernard - Lincoln

"Hung pictures of patron saints up on my wall To remind me that I am a fool Tell me where I came from, what I will always be Just a spoiled little kid who went to Catholic school"

Line Without a Hook - Ricky Montgomery

"Baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you I need you here to stay I broke all my bones that day I found you Crying at the lake Was it something I said to make you feel like you're a burden, oh And if I could take it all back I swear that I would pull you from the tide"

Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)

Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:

Saint Bernard - Lincoln

Propaganda:

Its got that sick clapping for smooth frame changes, and it's got all the applications babeyy. Low self esteem hero? Sure! Sympathetic villain? You got it! Morally grey character? Come on in. "Make me love myself so that i might love you" can be about god, friends, a partner, a found family, you name it. "Dont make me a liar cause i swear to god when i said it i thought it was true" can be about anything. Your best friend is evil now? A betrayal?? A disillusioned hero??? "Neither of us will be missed" girlies i am peeing from how good this song is for angst.

"the st. bernard sits at the TOP OF THE DRIVE WAY" makes for a very cool and sexy shot transition. you seen the beau lionett animatic set to this?

tik tok picked up the audio a bit cause the drop into distortion is great, but also the vocals and imagery as they stand are excellent. there's at least four ace attorney ones alone and they all focus on different characters (Blackquill/Sahdmadhi, Klavier, van Zieks, and Edgeworth) and the van Zieks one was posted shortly before the official localization was released. also idk if it's on youtube but there's also one for bass.exe on tumblr which is also excellent

Animatics with the song:

Omori

Five Nights at Freddy's Michael Afton Animatic

3rd Life Impulse Animatic

DSMP Revivebur Animatic

The Owl House

Line Without a Hook - Ricky Montgomery

Propaganda:

This is song genuinely feels me with such raw and powerful emotion; I know it's kind of annoying to say a song "makes you feral", but. this song genuinely makes me feel feral. Pairing up a song that already makes me pretty emotional with ships/blorbos that already make me emotional is such a good mix that leaves me crying on my bedroom floor

Animatics with the song:

Ace Attorney

BNHA Kiribaku Animatic

Omori Hero x Mari Animatic

Adventure Time Bubbline Animatic

The Owl House Lumity

Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.

Please keep in mind that I don't know all the media and fandoms of the animatics provided as examples and I don't have the time (nor the will) to research them all. Don't come into my notes or my ask box complaining about them being included, I will simply block you. If a ship animatic included is about an adult and a minor, do tell me and I'll take it out of the post

ALSO keep in mind that I don't know all the artists submitted; in fact, even if I do know them I do not know absolutely nothing about them as people (I do not have twitter nor tiktok) and I could not POSSIBLY have the time to research ALL of the artists' controversies and what came of them so PLEASE don't flood my inbox with the artists' entire crime list.

[free-for-all-fics]

Here’s my first Oldies but Goodies Crossover Prompt! Main pairing is Captain Louis Renault x Reader, but there are some other Claude Rains characters that appear. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 🥘💚🍲

Rick Blaine is the owner of Rick’s Café Américain, an expensive and chic nightclub which possesses an air of intrigue. It’s the most popular joint in Casablanca, even more popular than The Blue Parrot, one of its competitors. Everybody comes to Rick’s. As such, Rick Blaine is a very busy man. Both his days and his nights are sacrosanct. Time is money, and his time is of the utmost value. He’s not an easy man to impress and is very peculiar about who he hires. Everyone under his employ must know how to multitask, think on their feet, and work under stress. They must come into work without the assumption that it’ll slow down or die off eventually. No matter how busy a workday gets, it can always get busier, even as it gets very late into the night and turns into the early hours of the morning. Employees must be able to single-handedly manage all the needs and demands of their jobs, including the wide variety of customers, all of whom are unique characters with their own specialized set of needs, wants, and demands. They must do all of this without the expectation of being able to rely on others to help or pick up the slack. That’s a luxury, not a right. He must be able to run a tight ship to keep his establishment afloat, or else he’d sink from bankruptcy. If his employees take care of him, Rick will take care of them in return.

Which is why he almost lost it when his newest cook that he just spent two weeks training quit without warning or notice. Apparently she got lucky and bought an exit visa from Signor Ferrari. She was leaving on the next plane to Lisbon to pursue her career as an aspiring playwright or actress or whatever nonsense opportunity there supposedly was in America. Rick didn’t listen or care to know. He needed to find someone to replace her and quickly. Except Rick couldn’t seem to find a single woman in town that was willing to leave the house or work long hours pouring over a hot stove. Most of them were married, with husbands that wouldn’t allow it. As he crossed off names and the list of applicants dwindled down, he began to get nervous that he’d never find anyone suitable for the job…

…until you walk through his door. You’ve been living frugally for many months but, even though you’ve been saving and spending your money wisely, pretty soon you’re running extremely low. To keep a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your stomach, you go to Rick’s Café Américain to apply for a job. Upon entering, your senses are assaulted and almost overwhelmed. The lights are bright and there’s a heavy scent of smoke wafting through the air that nearly makes you cough. A middle-aged black man sits on a stool before a small salmon-colored piano on wheels, playing and singing while accompanied by a small orchestra. They’re going through warmups before opening to the public. You’re greeted by a fat, jovial German man with spectacles. He appears to be getting trays and glasses ready.

"Good morning."

"Morning, miss. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here about the cook position that’s open in the kitchen. I’m supposed to meet with Rick Blaine at 7:00."

The man pulls out his pocket watch to look down at the time and back up at you. "You're early. We’re not quite ready to open.”

"My father used to say that if you're right on time, then you're late."

“Respectful and self-conscious of others’ time. Rick will like that. Come with me.” He introduces himself to you as Carl, the waiter. He shows you to an empty table and has you sit down. "Have a seat, I'll let him know you're here and he’ll be with you shortly.”

"Thank you." You smile at him and sit where he tells you to and wait. You watch as Carl, dinner tray in hand, goes up the stairs and knocks on a private door. It opens and he speaks to someone on the other side who you cannot see. He comes back down a few minutes later, followed by a man in a fine suit. He sits down across from you and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it. Carl leaves the two of you alone.

“Here to be the new cook?” Rick asks as he looks at you, blowing out a puff of smoke as he leans back in his chair to get a good look at you.

"Yes, sir."

Rick clears his throat and sits straighter in his chair. "I was told that you had culinary experience?"

You nod. "That's right."

"Can you manage multiple incoming orders at the same time? Can you manage a kitchen full of people?”

"Yes."

"How do you feel about long hours?" He crosses his arms over his chest.

"I don't mind."

You smile again and Rick almost has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too. You seem like a promising applicant. During the rest of the interview, you’re able to maintain eye contact and answer all of his questions, no matter how difficult. You carry yourself in such a way that demonstrates you’re prepared and respect his time. You have all the skills he’s looking for in an employee. But now comes the question that will determine whether he’ll hire you or not.

"Your boyfriend is okay with you working?" He furrows his brows. "Last thing I need is a man walking in here and causing disturbances in my place, all because he believes his woman has neglected or jilted him.”

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Husband then."

"Don't have one of those either."

"Well, you're not missing out on anything. I promise you. Can you start today? Right now?"

"I'd love to."

"Great. You're hired.”

You examine the incoming ingredients. Damn suppliers, always trying to get one over on Rick. You turn the aubergines in your hands to look for the sallow brown spots, tossing your rejects into a separate bin with a grunt. Then you pick up the basil and look at each leaf like an art appraiser, taking in the minutia of the details, sniffing a ripped leaf before chewing it. The truck driver scratches at his stubbled jowls and checks his wristwatch for the fifth time in two minutes. You continue, no faster, no slower. As far as you’re concerned, he can check the time a hundred times in his indiscreet way, huffing and puffing like the nuisance he is. Timetables are inconsequential to Rick unless it affects his opening and closing times or wastes the time of his staff when they’re on the clock. Your boss will only accept ingredients that are of the utmost quality.

And what this man has brought you looks like picked over scraps more suitable to feed to the stray dogs you’ve seen wandering around than for human consumption in a fine establishment. After you’re done taking what’s usable, you warn the truck driver in no uncertain terms that the next time he comes to make a drop off, he better bring you what you ask for and not attempt to cut corners like this again. If all he has is food he wouldn’t dare feed his own wife and children, then he shouldn’t show up at all. You won’t tolerate him wasting your time. If he dares to insult you in such a manner again, he and his bosses will have to deal with Rick directly. You tell him to trust you when you say that he doesn’t want that to happen. An insult to any employee of Rick’s is an insult to the man himself.

You pick up the chopping knife and cut the vegetables into perfect matchsticks in the time it takes most people just to peel the carrots. Every motion is precise from intense repetition and you pride yourself on the machine-like perfection of your shapes. Everything is even, uniform, perfect. You look over at the sous chef and scowl. So slow! So inept! You’d been born faster than that! Your eyes narrow as she applies the seasoning and your mouth tightens to a thin straight line. “Too much, too much!”

As Prefect of Police in Casablanca, Captain Louis Renault knows everyone. And everyone knows everyone. He puts everyone at ease, draws them into liking him and wanting him to like them. There's a familiarity amongst both locals and tourists which forces him to put on a facade of efficiency within his administration. If he wants his fellow officers and the rest of the populace in Casablanca to listen to him and respect his authority when he gives orders, he has to round up twice the usual number of suspects and make out reports that reflect said efficiency. If he doesn’t take these measures, it’ll be absolute chaos in the streets and any violations of neutrality in Casablanca will reflect on him. Or so he claims. But you’ll sooner shoot Captain Renault than trust him, because you know the truth.

He’s a handsome, middle-aged Frenchman, debonair and gay, but withal a shrewd and alert official who’s embraced the corruption and vice that comes with his police uniform. He agrees to do whatever will impress his Nazi superiors and help maintain his cushy position of power. He’s perfectly fine with his normally extremely controversial behavior of opportunism, but only out of self-interest. He has no conviction. He often blows with the wind and the prevailing wind happens to be from Vichy. He has no qualms about who his actions hurt in the process. To him, they’re circumstantial collateral for what he considers a necessary evil. Captain Renault is a tough man to please, both at work and in life. He’s very peculiar not only with the way he runs things in the Palais de Justice, but with women too. He may call himself a romantic who gets by on charm and charm alone but, to you, he’s a rake, an indomitable playboy, a scamp, and so on. He’s a hedonist who’s gone through women faster than cigarettes and only ever seems to care about nothing and no one but himself.

While lower ranking officers deliver critical documents that they need him to sign off on, men and women desperate enough for an exit visa swallow their pride. They try to sweet talk him with praise and admiration. An honest man would feel bad, they'd be terrible at his job, but he loves it. It’s a thrill for him to listen as they gush about what a great man he is, only to have to act apologetic when he says his hands are tied and he can’t provide them an exit visa. No matter how much he wants to help, he just can’t. Compliments don’t pay the bills. They only serve to stroke his ego. While he does take great pleasure from that, there’s something else he’d rather have stroked by such beautiful women. His price can only be paid one of two ways: Monetary compensation or sexual favors.

And indeed, many beautiful women with very little pocket money have come to him in hopes of obtaining an exit visa. He’s taken out countless breathtaking blondes and brunettes for dates at Rick’s while they grin and hang on his every word, willing to do anything for him in exchange for an exit visa, regardless of their marital status. No one is indispensable to him and everyone in his life fulfills a purpose. In the years he’s worked for Vichy, you’ve never seen a genuine emotion from him other than greed. You pity him just as much as you do his victims. He knows the importance of give and take, but other people are simply pawns to him. He always keeps his word and fulfills his end of the bargain by procuring the exit visas, but it’s not just money or sex he’s taking from these women. It’s their bodies, their pride, and other precious things they hold dear. Once his price has been paid one way or the other and he’s filled out the exit visas, all the promises he might’ve made while engaged in the throes of passion die on the wind that he blows with, the very same wind that dries the ink on his signature. He gets everything he wants as an officer, everything he needs.

You know that Captain Renault and Rick have some sort of mutual agreement or understanding that involves Rick paying him in bribes so that he’ll turn a blind eye and look the other way, permitting Rick’s establishment to remain open while illegal gambling and other underhanded dealings are taking place. You sometimes notice Emil handing him roulette winnings when you walk into work. You thought nothing of it at first, but you eventually caught on to what was really happening. No man could ever be as lucky as Captain Renault is, unless the games were fixed in his favor. No wonder Rick bought this place for a song. But it isn’t your place to speak up or complain about it. Even if you do, who’ll believe you? It’s not always honest work, but it’s work. As long as he signs your paychecks, what Rick decides to do with his money is his own business.

There’s much activity at the various tables and far worse things occurring, such as black market dealings, human trafficking, and sexual extortion, which seems to run rampant due to the corrupt officials who participate in such shady activities. All about you there’s the hum of voices, chatter and laughter. The occupants of the saloon are varied. There are Europeans in their dinner jackets, their women beautifully begowned and bejeweled. There are Moroccans in silk robes. Turks wearing fezzes. Levantines. Naval officers. Members of the Foreign Legion, distinguished by their kepis. And your least favorite of all, the Germans who are loyal to the Nazi Party. Everybody comes to Rick’s.

Everyone seated at the table looks at the dishes that have been prepared upon Rick’s request. Many of the dishes are unfamiliar to Major Strasser and Herr Heinz, but Rick’s place doesn’t provide free food samples. Carl gives them recommendations, and they have very little reason not to trust the opinion of a fellow German. The first time Captain Renault sets eyes on you is when Major Strasser wants to summon you in front of his comrades so he can thank you in person for the fine meal they just enjoyed after the appetizers and main course is over.

“Why don't you send for her? Bring her here so we can thank her ourselves.”

“I'm sure she's too busy.”

“I doubt she's too busy to answer a summons from you.”

“I don't want to embarrass her. Carl?”

“This is the busiest time of the kitchen staff’s day, sir. Er, maybe it'd be better...”

“No. Fetch her.“

“Very good, sir.”

And then you come from the back, pink in the face, your hair pasted to your forehead with either steam or sweat. You’re child-like in your demeanor but clearly an adult. You smile in the way inconvenienced people do. It’s likely you have orders to fill and now some big customer wants to speak to you in person. While you smile at the suited men, your fingers are being crushed in the rhythmic grip of your other hand. You look like a woman who’s done all but given up on life. Your once white uniform is stained and your hair greasy. Your eyes have a strange sunken look and are threaded with scarlet so densely that they appear pink. Your cheeks glow under broken veins, your actions are slow, clumsy.

Even though you’re a total mess, Captain Renault thinks you’re beautiful. He barely focuses on anything the men seated next to him are saying, too busy watching your every movement, listening to your every word. He wants to commit everything about you to memory. The way you pick at your fingernails, the way you sweep stray hairs behind your ear, the way you maintain eye contact and speak of your work with pride even when you’re flushed and out of breath.

“ls something wrong with the dinner, boss?”

“Not at all. No, we apologize for interfering with your duties in this strange and inconsiderate way. Major Strasser and Herr Heinz here just want to thank you for tonight’s meal.”

“Before we left Germany, we hadn’t had much opportunity to try foreign delicacies. We were a little apprehensive at first since most items on your menu were unfamiliar to us, but your waiter gave us some recommendations and we trusted his word. We’re glad we did. This was one of the finest meals we ever had outside of Berlin. Very well done, miss.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you fine gentlemen enjoyed it. Mr. Blaine was kind enough to give me this opportunity. He’s opened my eyes to a world of knowledge I knew nothing of. Maybe I'll stay a cook all my life, but I have choices now. Interests, facts at my fingertips. And I'd never have had any of that if I hadn't come to Casablanca.”

“Well said. Quite a testimonial.”

“May I go, boss? Only I’ve still got the dessert and the savories.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

You make a small awkward bow and retreat, the smile vanishing from your diminutive features and your pace stretched out wider than what looks comfortable.

Ever since that day, Captain Renault has requested that a special table at Rick’s is kept reserved for him, one that allows him the best view of the kitchen. He loves to watch you through the kitchen window. You’re an artist of food. He sees your great mind so immersed in every sense, using that expansive intelligence you call intuition. He sees the love you have for this way of giving to others, this deep avenue for self expression. Here in the kitchen you’re at one with all this, the food, the spices, the flames, and a feeling of music even when none plays. He would sit here all day just to watch you, to feel your smiles and those facial expressions that are the hallmark of a genius at work more than see them. As a chef, you see brilliance in food, a potential to help and heal others, a way to show them how the sublime is simply a mixture of the ordinary. It’s your genius at play, seeing what the rest of them don’t. He’ll even make small talk when he can, usually when you ring the bell to alert Carl an order is ready to go out.

You’ve noticed something else that’s strange about Captain Renault. Every time he comes here, he seems to get free drinks. But you’ve never once seen him eat anything after that first night. No matter how long he stays, no matter who’s seated with him at the table, no plate is ever set in front of him. Only the occasional glass for any alcohol of his choosing. Why doesn’t he ever get himself something to eat at Rick’s? In his own words, as the Perfect of Police, he’s constantly busy and often doesn’t have time to take care of himself. It’s not unusual for him to get home late from a long day at the office and fail to do basic things like eat something or take a shower. He either forgets or just puts it off until the morning when he wakes up and gets ready for the day.

But he doesn’t always realize that eating something that would qualify as a snack instead of a meal quickly in the morning and warming up leftovers in the evening isn’t enough. He takes a lot of time training his secretaries because they need to be the grease to keep the wheels turning while he demonstrates the efficiency of his administration to his superiors by arresting twice the number of usual suspects. They need to be on the same page so that the monotony of filling out paperwork can be done as soon as possible. Not because he wants to take credit for all the work that’s done, but to make sure that the work that's put out is always believable and plausible, whether or not the reports made out are false or not. Training someone takes a lot of time, energy and money, none of which he has.

Over time, you find yourself wanting to take care of him. You don’t like how he keeps odd hours and hardly eats anything. And when he does eat, he has the cheapest meal on the menu, usually the same soup night after night, week after week. So you cook him better, more savory meals using whatever’s leftover in the restaurant and still fresh enough. There’s a roast chicken in the pantry and a previously made broth you found on the stove, so you make do with what you have. You make him another soup, but one that’s full of cooked meat and vegetables. You store it in a thermos and pack it in a bag. Sitting beside it in a Tupperware container is a chicken sandwich. You’re unsure if he even drinks coffee, but still make him a cup with sugar cubes and cream on the side in case he wants to add either.

You bring it to him personally while he’s in his office, and he devours the whole thing in seconds. Quickly setting the soup aside, he picks up the sandwich and savors the taste of the chicken, bread and mustard as it all comes together inside his mouth. When that’s finished, he happily over-sugars his coffee and drinks it down, feeling contently full for the first time in years. You worry he’ll get a stomach ache and make himself sick from eating so fast, but you’re glad he enjoyed it. It seems he doesn’t eat a great deal, and that worries you. Even though he doesn’t take his job all that seriously and doesn’t work very hard, he’s still human and should be eating and sleeping well. To work in the kitchens is to work for the love and nourishment of others, to give of yourself, to put your soul into the food. He’s very grateful to you.

Every Monday and Friday morning you come in early with a basket of freshly made baked goods that you leave in the break room for everyone to enjoy with their coffee. You always separate them into two batches, one for the night shift who are about to leave and one for the day shift who are starting their day. Needless to say both shifts appreciate having a little something to either start or finish their day on a good note. You make him and his fellow gendarmes all so happy, and food does that, right? It feeds the soul, brings smiles and bonds, makes everything so much better. Even if you think you're being subtle, everyone knows that every week you have a little something special for Louis whenever you bring him homemade lunches. He doesn't have the time nor the energy to cook for himself and by bringing him his lunch he doesn't have to eat at Rick’s. He pretends like it's not a big deal but you can see a difference in his mood and confidence. There's a twinkle in his eyes that didn't used to be there and you hope he never loses it again. You've heard him make comments here and there about his shape and the way he looks. You think he’s perfect the way that he is, and you know that he’s only teasing and not being self-deprecating.

"Sweetheart, you need to stop bringing me food or else my trousers will cease to fit.” He looks at you as you walk into his office with a very familiar brown paper bag in your hand.

"Are you going to start bringing yourself food?" You arch a brow, knowing the answer before he even says it.

“You know I don't have the time."

"Then I won't stop bringing you food." You put the paper bag on his desk. He shakes his head and tries to give it back but you don't take it. "Just say thank you, Captain."

He sighs and gives up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." You smile brightly at him.

“I fucking love you, babe.”

“Of course you do.”

“Any chance?”

You flick out your tongue from the side and curl it upwards, as if you’re thinking about it. You place your hand to palm him through his uniform pants. You give him a quick squeeze before walking backwards. “No, you can wait. I've got a red-hot Russki with her finger on the trigger if I don’t get her lunch order in. Sacha is talking her down by distracting her with drinks and conversation so I could get away just long enough to hand you your lunch. But now I gotta go deal with it.”

“I don't mind the two of you.” He grabs your arms and pulls you back into his embrace.

“Go on, fuck off!” You put your entire hand over his face and push him away. You blow him a kiss before leaving his office.

It's the same fight every week and you win every week. He scares some of the locals and tourists, gruff and intimidating on the exterior, but he’s softer towards you. He insists that you move in with him, wanting privacy with you so he can indulge in showing you just how much he cares for you, but you politely decline. You like having your own space and he respects that, so you come up with a compromise instead where he’ll come over to your place certain days of the week and you’ll come over to his place on the other days. Rick has noticed how close you and Louis have become and he's not sure how he feels about it. He's known you for months now, so he recognizes the look in your eyes whenever Louis is around. You like Louis and there's no denying it. He makes you laugh and he's always sweet to you. You've become close friends and it's not rare for people to see you out and about with him.

It isn’t long before people start whispering about the two of you. It starts when they notice you eating lunch together every day and it only gets worse when word gets around that you’re officially dating. You do your best to ignore the lingering looks or the not so discreet whispering wherever you go. Louis tells you it’s just jealousy or, more likely, resentment and hatred towards him for how he treated women in the past. He’s a changed man now, but they don’t know that. They can gossip all they want. Neither of you care. Your friendship is more important than the opinion of the bored housewives of Casablanca.

You’re working late, which isn’t unusual for either of you. Your jobs make it sometimes difficult to spend time together. There are times when he'll work all day until it’s well past midnight and the early hours of the next day have arrived, without having a second to sit down. Other times he'll work until the middle of the night and, on some occasions, it’s both. It’s the same for you. Usually whoever gets home first just lets themself in and makes themself comfortable, or goes straight to bed if they’re so exhausted that they can’t keep their eyes open. Tonight is no different, as you tell Louis he can just let himself into your place with the spare key and make himself at home until you get off of work since he’ll probably finish his shift before you. You tell him not to wait up, and he teasingly tells you that he’ll wait up if he wants to.

In your apartment he pulls out a cookbook that he purchased. He stands at your kitchen counter and starts flipping through it. He doesn’t look up as he keeps turning the pages and frowns as his eyes move across the page with the recipe he decided on. He had gone out to buy some alcohol and cigarettes, and found this book in the Arab market. It had been an impulse to buy the thin leather bound volume. You both agreed that he should leave the grocery shopping to you since you’re the expert in that regard. You always know what to look for to determine if something such as bushels of potatoes are of good quality and how to bargain for a fair price.

You’re a wonderful cook. Always making hearty and filling meals that taste delicious. It’s hard to eat food from the Blue Parrot or his own god awful attempts at eggs and toast after being spoiled by the food you offer. Captain Louis Renault is a man of many skills and talents, but he isn’t well-learned in the arts of the kitchen. Before you came into his life, he didn't do much more than toast cheese over bread and add a slice of already cooked meat to it since he’s just a poor, corrupt official and couldn’t afford much else. There may or may not have been past incidents where he accidentally started small fires, making him apprehensive about using the oven. But he tried. And he wants to try again. He wants to do something for you. Something that in some way will thank you for all of those past meals. Something that requires more time and effort than just eggs and toast.

He isn’t sure where you keep your ingredients, so he opens almost every cabinet in his search of what he needs. As he rummages through your pantry, he finds something hidden in the very far back of the shelf. Arsenic, cyanide, strychnine. Poisons of varying levels of toxicity. He starts to panic internally as he thinks back to all the lunches and dinners you made for him in the past. He wonders if you had put any of these poisons in his food. But you couldn’t have. He never once felt ill nor did any of his gendarmes. But why are these here? If neither he nor they are your intended target, who is? You don’t plan on committing suicide, do you? You seemed so happy in all the time he’s known you, but now he’s doubting his own perception of the past. If the demands of the culinary job at Rick’s is getting to be too much for you to handle or you’re plagued by invasive thoughts that are making you miserable, you would tell him. You wouldn’t keep these bad things close to your heart, locked away so he couldn’t see, just for his sake. Or would you? He’s not so sure anymore.

It won’t do him any good to get all worked up about it now. For his own peace of mind, he decides to focus on the task at hand. Before he assumes the worst and literally worries himself sick, he’ll bide his time and let you decompress from your long shift at work. He’ll ask you about his discovery after dinner. Once the timer goes off, Louis stands back and displays a grumpy look, muttering to himself as he admires his work. The meal he prepared looks okay, but still he worries that you won’t like it. He hates this. Never before has he worried about pleasing or impressing a woman outside of the bedroom. But now he’s afraid that you won’t care for his efforts, or worse, he’ll fail horribly. He sets the table as he waits for you. He keeps the food warm on the stove until you finally come driving up the road. Your smile when you see him makes his heart thump wildly in his chest. His expression doesn’t give away his nervousness, but his fingers twitch against his thigh as he resists the urge to meet you halfway.

"What's this?" You ask, curiosity sparkling in your eyes as you notice the crockpot on the oven and the casserole pan on the kitchen counter.

Louis’ eyes slide over to the still warm dishes before muttering his reply, “I made dinner."

"Really?" The surprise in your voice makes him tick nervously.

"Yes. You’ve been working so hard at Rick’s and have always made meals for me and my gendarmes at work, as well as for us when we’re both home, so I wanted to try my hand at cooking something for you instead. To show that…that I love you.”

You set your purse down and walk up to him, but he’s not looking at you. Your arms slide between his and go around his back. "Thank you, Louis. I know you’ve been very busy lately too, so I appreciate you doing this for me. I really do. I love you, too.”

He rolls his eyes and begrudgingly puts his arms around you. "It's probably going to be vile,” he warns. Your laugh makes his stomach flutter, filling him with a sense of lightheartedness.

"That's okay," you assure him, giving him a quick kiss. "I’m proud of you for making an effort and doing this all by yourself. It was so thoughtful of you, darling. You know how they say it’s the thought that counts. And you didn’t set the kitchen on fire, so you’ve already exceeded my expectations,” you tease as you kiss him again.

You’re all soft smiles and loving eyes at him throughout the course of the dinner as you tell him about your day.

“When I got off of work, I pushed the door open and walked outside. Unfortunately I could see a group of women, wives and mothers, all gathered around and gossiping like they always do. I could feel their stares on me, making me feel uneasy. I ignored them. I could tell they were talking about us. I had to walk past them to get home.” You take a deep breath and shake your head, as if to shake off your nerves. “I was almost out of earshot when I heard them say my name and laugh. I stopped walking and huffed, annoyed. I slowly turned around and looked at them. 'Anything I can help you with, Mrs. Mayhew?’ I said as politely as I could. Usually that makes them lose all their courage and fold immediately, not wanting a confrontation, especially so late at night. Not tonight though. Apparently whatever alcohol was in their systems was making all of them feel brave enough to be catty. ‘Aren't you even a little bit ashamed of yourself?’ Mrs. Mayhew said, her voice laced with an accusatory tone. Her question surprised me. Ashamed of myself? Why would I be ashamed of myself? That’s exactly what I asked her. ‘You're throwing yourself at Captain Renault every single day when he’s so much older than you. Desperate, much?’ She looked at me, almost disgusted. ‘As if you’ll be any different from all the other women he’s taken to his bed. Don't kid yourself, honey. Way before you came along, there were a lot of women who thought they were special too, only to be tossed aside like a used toothpick. They all came and went, most of them aren’t even in Casablanca anymore. You really think you’ll be lucky enough to be Captain Renault’s woman? No. You’ll just be his whore. Once he takes what he wants from you, he’ll get bored of you and move onto the next beautiful young woman that catches his wandering eye.’ Mrs. Mayhew rolled her eyes and shook her head disapprovingly at me before she turned around, putting an end to the conversation—” You used finger quotes when you said the last word. “—If I can even call it that. It’s true you’re so much older than me. But we’re both adults and unmarried, so it’s nothing scandalous. I don’t care about our age difference, darling. And I know you don’t either. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not really sure why I even told you. They aren’t going to ruin my day, darling, not when you went through so much effort to make tonight a romantic night for the two of us.”

Usually he loves listening to you tell him about your day but, this time, it only makes his blood boil. Not at you, but at those odious women for harassing you. But he can’t get angry now. It wouldn’t do you any good. All he can do is hold your hands and squeeze them reassuringly to comfort you. He wishes more and more that he didn’t have to question you about the poisons in your cabinet. He trusts you, he really does, and he knows that you know that. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s tricked you into an interrogation or is threatening you into making a confession, but he’s just so worried about you. He doesn’t care where you got them from, but he needs to know why you have them. Once the table has been cleared and the dishes have been washed, he broaches the subject gently or, at least, as gently as he’s able. He’s not the Prefect of Police looking for a reason to arrest you. He’s just Louis, your Louis, your concerned lover who doesn’t want you to wind up in a concentration camp or dead.

By this point in your relationship, it’s pretty clear to you Captain Renault has no love for the Nazis. He never did. He never went all that far out of his way to help them out. There were subtle hints that you picked up on indicating that Louis had been quietly sabotaging Strasser’s agenda this whole time. While he and Strasser were in his office at the Palais de Justice, he told his Nazi superior there was no way Rick would hide the letters of transit in his café after Strasser suggested a raid to get them. He subtly reminded Victor Laszlo that obliging Strasser’s offer of an exit visa in exchange for the names and locations of anti-fascist leaders across Europe would be helping the Nazis destroy Europe. Strasser looked at Renault sharply, but saw only a noncommittal smile on his face.

Still, when he voices his concerns, you can’t help but let out a small scoff. It comes out involuntarily, almost like a reflex. You immediately apologize for your reaction when you see the wounded look in his brown eyes, making him look like a kicked puppy. You know Louis means well and you don’t mean to brush him off so coldly. His fears are very much valid in this scenario. It’s just…tragically ironic, isn’t it? He wants to protect you from a fate you’ve already suffered once before and another fate you’re not afraid of. You regretfully tell him that it’s too late for you in regards to the former and you’d welcome the latter with open arms so long as you believed you did everything you set out to do. He doesn’t understand what you mean, so you sit with him and hold his hands as you tell him the truth, the whole truth.

It all started when you and your twin sister were eleven going on twelve. It was 1927, and your parents just divorced. The court said that children should stay with their mother and, while your mother agreed that children should, she believed neither of you would be very happy staying with her since you both loved your father so much more. Your father was no hypocrite and was glad you did. But your parents knew perfectly well that if either you or your sister were miserable, your mother would be miserable too. So she asked your father to talk to the both of you, see how you felt about it. He was glad to do it. He took you and your sister out to dinner, but the three of you hardly ate anything.

“You'll see. You'll be very happy with your mother. Your mother loves you. You know that, girls, don't you?”

“Yes, Daddy. But you love us too, don't you, Daddy? Why wouldn't we be happy with you too?”

“Well, I don't know if I can explain this to you, girls. You see, your mother and I are of different faiths.”

“I never noticed any difference, Daddy.”

“Me neither, Daddy.”

“Well, I mean, religious faiths.”

“You believe in God, don't you?”

“Oh, certainly, I do.”

“Well, so does Mommy. She told us so.”

“Oh, honestly, we don't see any difference.”

“Well, girls, it's... uh, you see... l'm Jewish. Your mother is not. Now, if you stay here with your mother, you will never know what it is... I mean, if you come to Europe with me, it's different there...and people may look upon you as... Oh, this is very difficult to explain to children.”

“I suppose it's easier to explain to grown-ups, isn't it?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, if you don't want us, Daddy...”

“…I suppose we can always live by ourselves.”

“Oh, my darlings!”

“Oh, Daddy. Daddy. Please take us with you, Daddy, even to Europe!”

“We won't be any trouble. we promise!”

“Shhh. Girls, girls—“

“Oh, please, Daddy. We promise!”

“Well, darlings, there are wonderful schools in Switzerland.”

“And mountains. Oh, Daddy, please speak to Mother. Maybe she'll say yes.”

“She will, darlings, she will. Shhh.”

“Oh, Daddy.”

“Daddy... Do you think Mother will be very lonesome?”

“Not too lonesome, darlings.”

Over the years, you received handwritten letters from your estranged mother, who was probably enjoying being the center of attention at all her fabulous parties and having a series of affairs with lovers much younger than herself, living well on the extremely generous settlement your father left her - half his fortune - and hardly giving a thought to you and Fanny, her daughters. She was probably relieved to be free of the encumbrance of her children, since she didn’t make any effort to see either you nor Fanny for many years. All you ever received from her were sporadically sent letters.

“My darling daughters...where does the time go? I thought I could surely see you this summer…”

“My darling daughters, it is terrifying to think...that so many years have passed and we still haven't seen each other...but Mother misses you, and...”

You were a nineteen-year-old woman when imprisoned alongside your father in a concentration camp. He urged you to flee to safety with your twin sister and return home to your mother in New York while you still had the chance, but you refused. Although you could, and he even told you that you should, you wouldn’t just leave your father behind in Berlin. You didn’t want to just abandon him to whatever fate the Nazis chose for him. You were frightened of the Nazis just like your sister was, of course you were, but you could conceal it better than she could. You turned that fear into power, into motivation to survive in spite of the odds that were stacked against you. The Nazis didn’t frighten your father, so you wouldn’t show fear in the face of your oppressors either.

Your father was stripped of his entire fortune, his freedom, and even his eyesight. You were forced to watch as they tortured him, helpless to do anything against the armed guards. Knowing that you were watching and couldn’t look away unless you wanted to get shot, your father tried to put on a brave face for your sake despite being in excruciating pain. He tried to be quiet and just bear it through gritted teeth, but he still involuntarily let out sounds of anguish which was music to the Nazis’ ears. Though the Nazis didn’t touch you that day, you flinched. Every cry, every whimper from your father felt like the lashing of a whip against your skin. Your heart felt like it was being squeezed so hard you couldn’t breathe. As you were forced to listen, you stared at the Nazi commander, burning the image of his face into your memory. He had to have felt your eyes glaring daggers into the back of his skull, but he didn’t care. Your father’s blood stained his jacket, but he didn’t stop torturing him until he was completely blind and half-dead. Only then was the inhuman monster satisfied. He looked so smug as he took everything from your father except his life. You nursed your father as best as you could with whatever supplies you could get your hands on. Materials were scarce and often makeshift, but you’d find whatever you could use and get creative if it meant you and your father would live another day. No matter how abysmal the conditions were, you had to hold onto hope. The Nazis wouldn’t kill you that easily. They could very well try.

You keep a diary and in it you’ve written about anything and everything, from your time in Switzerland all the way up to now. You’ve done well to write using an encoded language that only you understand in case it ever falls into the wrong hands. Your time in Berlin taught you that. Everyone was under surveillance and nobody was safe. You’ve worked extra hard and taken extra precautions to keep your secrets safe ever since you were stripped of your right to privacy.

You had friends and neighbors who were outright killed, while others died from suicide, starvation, or disease. The Nazis wanted you to feel like you were alone. Nobody to help you. Nobody to protect you. They dehumanized you. They took your freedom from you. They took your property and possessions from you. They put you in a cell and took everything they could take except your life. And you believed that was all there was, didn't you? The only thing you had left was your life, but it wasn't, was it? You found something else. In that cell you found something that mattered more to you than life. It was when they threatened to kill you unless you gave them what they wanted...you told them you'd rather die. You faced your death. You were calm. You were still.

Whenever you felt your hopes of freedom dwindling, you traced the message that was carved above your bunk in your cell and read, "It is time to remember. If there is a God, he will have to beg my forgiveness.” You would never know who carved that message. A past prisoner who was more than likely dead and had been before you and your father ever arrived. But whoever they were, you hoped they were at peace. Their message filled you with determination to survive every damn day until you either died, were liberated, or escaped. That message from a ghost motivated you to endure. You vowed to the dead that you would keep fighting. No matter what the Germans had at their disposal, no matter what contraptions they used to torture you and break you down mentally, physically, and emotionally day in and day out, you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of witnessing your surrender. Come what may, you and your father would endure this Hell together. You would resist the evil that operated these death camps. Even if it killed you both.

Even you’re not exactly sure how you managed it, but you and your father escaped around the same time as Victor Laszlo. Since he was a much more prominent and influential figure as the leader of a rebellion group who supported the Resistance movement, he was Public Enemy Number One. The Nazis focused all their attention and energy on recapturing him. Taking advantage of their distraction, you and your father slipped through the cracks and were able to get away. Now your father is back home safely with your mother in New York City while your twin sister is married and with her husband in Seattle. But not you. Following your escape from the concentration camp, you spent years hunting for the camp commander who took everything from you and your father. You went all the way to England, where you ended up working as a cook for a Free French garrison stationed way out in the countryside, with no street signs to tell you where you were for miles and miles. With cows, hay bales, and barns, it was a quiet place that looked more like a dairy farm than a base of the famous squad, Victoire. To think that all those incredible bombings came from a quiet place like that. It seemed a strange environment for one of the deadliest squadrons in the service, but the French didn’t mind the quiet. They rather enjoyed it.

In 1941 you finally received some very valuable intel from Captain Freycinet, a liaison officer who was in charge of the whole operation, on the whereabouts of the Nazi commander. With his help, you assumed a new identity and traveled to Casablanca in French Morocco, North Africa. You found him. Major Heinrich Strasser. You made sure to change your appearance enough so he wouldn’t recognize you. And indeed, he didn’t, not even when you were stood inches away from him at Rick’s. But you’d recognize him from miles away.

Your escape didn’t change the fact there were millions of children and their family members who died every year in concentration camps since before the war even began. Even now as you speak, more are dying every day from malnutrition and starvation, in a world able to produce more than enough food. Who would be their voice during this holocaust? Artificial famine is still being used by the Nazis as a weapon against whoever they consider undesirable. Their agenda needs challenging, those starving kids need champions. Who will answer their call? Who will take effective action? Who will free them from this inhumane torture and give them good health? You can’t just sit around twiddling your thumbs and wait for the war to end. You can’t just bear witness to the suffering around you and do nothing. You got out. You want to help others get out too. You want your survival to mean something. You won’t leave Casablanca until Major Strasser is dead by your hand.

Hitler is a vegetarian. He never eats any meat. And Hitler is so paranoid that the British will poison him — that's why he has fifteen girls taste the food before he eats it himself. The food is delicious, only the best vegetables, asparagus, bell peppers, everything anyone can imagine. And always with a side of rice or pasta. But this constant fear — those girls know of all those poisoning rumors and can never enjoy the food. Every day they fear it’s going to be their last meal. But neither Major Strasser nor Herr Heinz nor any of the other Nazis have such a luxury in Casablanca.

Death by arsenic is heavy-metal poisoning, meaning it would have to accumulate in the victim’s system to kill them. A massive dose would be immediately detectable, as arsenic has a bitter, nasty taste— Imagine getting a mouthful of powdered aluminum. No one would have gotten past the first bite before spitting it out, and a residual mouthful of arsenic, while not the greatest thing for one's liver or kidneys, is not fatal. Even if the victim could choke down such a large direct dose, death would be a slow, agonizing process over a period of days as their organs slowly shut down. You tell Louis that you’ve been using a different poison, one that’s odorless, nearly tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid, making it untraceable. It’s among the more deadly poisons known to man and you’ve already begun lacing Strasser and Heinz’s food with it. Nobody has noticed, not even Strasser or Heinz themselves. They’ve accredited their illness to Casablanca’s climate or some sort of virus going around and spreading through the air. You tell Louis he can either help you or not, but it makes no difference to you. Nothing he can say or do will convince you to change your mind. You emphasize to him that what you’re doing isn’t revenge. It’s retribution.

You and Louis both watch the Nazis drop like flies in the aftermath of your grand scheme. The deaths are spaced far enough apart that the uptick in illnesses and deaths are blamed on something going around in the air, like influenza. Herr Heinz dies before Major Strasser. He takes a turn for the worse and just never wakes up again, despite attempts at resuscitation. When the doctor examines him and an autopsy is performed, nothing is found in his system that would indicate foul play. His death is ruled as being caused by his heart, attributed to his diet and alcohol intake. He was rather fat, after all.

While the Germans mourn, you bide your time and get cooking, waiting for an opportune moment to slip Major Strasser the final dose. His immune system and metabolism are stronger than Herr Heinz’s was, so it’s taking longer for the poison to work, but it matters not. Major Strasser, angered that he and his fellow Nazis are drowned out while singing a patriotic German tune by "Marseillaise," a Free French anthem sung by the club's other patrons, led by Victor Laszlo, orders Louis to find a reason to close Rick’s establishment until further notice. The Germans think they’ve won a battle against the French Resistance in doing so. Major Strasser has since worsened considerably, but he’s a very stubborn man who refuses to display weakness, so he keeps working.

Come that fateful morning in which you’ve planned for yet another name to be listed in the obituaries, you make coffee for yourself and Louis. He nearly takes the thermos with the poisoned tea by mistake, but you’re quick to let him know, stopping him just in time before the poison even touches his lips.

“Don't drink that. Never.”

“My dear, do we have to do this? Must we?”

“Yes. You have no idea what they'd do. I would be taken from here. Locked away. Tortured until death by hanging or firing squad. Made an example. And if they ever found out, if they ever even suspected you were a part of it, you’d suffer the same fate as I. I’ve come too far to be interrupted now. I can’t turn back. We can’t turn back. We either succeed together or we fail together, there’s no other choice. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. And I trust you to know what you’re doing too. Don’t get cold feet and turn on me now.”

Around lunchtime, you pay a visit at the Palais de Justice under the pretense of bringing food and drink to Louis and the gendarmes again, like you’ve always done. Everyone says they can smell blackberry pie and, indeed, that’s what you’ve baked as a special dessert for them. You pass it off to Lieutenant Casselle before entering Louis’ office, the door closing firmly behind you with a soft click. Louis is with Major Strasser, who remains seated while Louis prefers to stand at his desk. Major Strasser’s strength is failing him, but he does everything in his power to hide it. Louis is drinking coffee and eating whatever's left from the baked goods you brought him last Friday, but Major Strasser looks as if he hasn’t eaten a single bite since he woke up this morning.

“Major Strasser. I’m surprised to see you’re up and about. Your landlady said she found you at the bottom of the stairs this morning. Are you feeling any better?”

He doesn’t respond, but his expression gives away his displeasure at his landlady having loose lips. Clearly he was hoping that nobody else would find out about what happened this morning.

You hold up two thermoses. “I brought you some homemade broth. Do you think you can eat?”

“No.”

“Then you must drink something at the very least. Here, I also brought you some herbal tea. It should clear up all that congestion in your throat and in your chest." You open the other thermos and slowly pour him a cup. You guide it into his unsteady hands. "It will help with building your immunity,” you assure him. “You must get stronger.”

He takes a sip of the hot tea, but grimaces at its acidic taste. "It's just a little bitter."

"I'm afraid that's the medicine. I tried to put as much sugar and honey in it to lessen the bitterness, but I see that my efforts were to no avail." In actuality, what he’s tasting is the laced sugar powder. In small amounts it kills the victim slowly enough that nobody will notice.

“I can cope." He continues to take small sips of the tea as he readily watches you.

Major Strasser is very sick. He’s dying. Of course he’s dying. He didn’t eat the broth. Doesn't matter. You put the poison in the tea too. In the evening, you’re told by the landlady that Major Strasser has retired early and won’t be taking anymore visitors. Louis uses his authority as Prefect of Police to create a believable distraction that allows you to sneak upstairs and into Strasser’s room. He’s laid up in bed and startles at your sudden appearance, but is so weak that he can barely move or speak louder than a hoarse whisper. He can’t even muster up the strength to pull himself into sitting up.

“What are you doing here? I told my landlady I didn’t want to be disturbed. How did you get in here? Doesn’t matter. Get out.”

“I tended Father in a bed. Though, now that I think about it, it wasn’t much of a bed. More of a cot, really. The man who put him in that cot was a brute. He hated Father. He tortured him, beat him within an inch of his life. The cruel and unusual punishment inflicted upon him rendered him completely blind. He never quite healed. He was bedridden for a long time. But I cared for him. Fed him. Bathed him. Combed his hair. Rubbed liniment on his scars. I made him better. I'll do the same with you. I'll make you better. You’ll be out of this bed soon. I promise.”

The more you talk, the more perturbed Strasser becomes. He looks at you as if you’ve gone insane. He has no idea what you’re rambling on about. Everything you’re saying sounds like utter nonsense to him. He hides it well, but you can still see it. The thinly veiled fear in his eyes. He’s little more than wholly paralyzed, incapable of moving a muscle beyond twitching his fingers, blinking, and, of course, moving his lips. He can’t call for help. He’s at your mercy, what he believes is the mercy of a madwoman, but you have none to give. Not tonight.

“Look at me.” You force him to maintain eye contact with you. “Do you know who I am?” It’s a rhetorical question and he doesn’t answer, only stares at you. You need to refresh his memory. You weren’t expecting anything else. “No. You still don’t know me. Well, can’t say I’m surprised or disappointed. I’ve been beside you all this time and you never once recognized me. But I can’t fault you entirely for it. The years no doubt have changed me, Major. But then, I suppose the face of a Jewish banker’s daughter — the face of a prisoner in a concentration camp — is not particularly memorable. I’ve had my eyes on you ever since you took away my father’s eyesight.”

Major Strasser’s expression, usually that of hardened iron, morphs into one of horrified realization. No… You can’t possible be… Both you and your father died. He wants to deny what’s right in front of him but, as he looks upon you now, really looks at your face, your eyes… he sees so much of your father in you and realizes he was gravely mistaken. His voice is laced with unbridled hatred when he seethes through his teeth, “Y/N Skeffington!”

You shake your head. “No. That’s the name given to me upon my birth, the name I had to abandon before I came to Casablanca. The immigration official on Ellis Island wasn't a good speller, and ‘Skeffington’ was the closest he could get to ‘Skevinzskaza’. That’s the name I want you to think about as you die. Give Herr Heinz my regards when you see him in Hell.”

You listen closely as Major Strasser lets out his last feeble gasps and then stops breathing. Nobody notices you leave as you close the door behind you and go back down the stairs. They’re still distracted by Louis. After you leave, Louis strays behind for a few minutes longer to convincingly sell the deception before making an excuse to leave. When you get back to the safety of your apartment, you stand for a long moment, sweat dripping from your face, exalted. Then you sink to your knees, overcome. You did it. You finally did it.

You and Louis have your bags already packed and ready to go. You’ve already gone through everything in your apartments with a fine tooth comb so that no evidence tying either of you to your crimes would accidentally get left behind. The plan is to get in and get out, as if you’re both ghosts and nobody ever lived in these apartments. Once you decided on what Strasser’s death day would be, it was go time. So you and Louis have been prepared for this day for days, possibly even weeks in advance. The poison is untraceable and undetectable once it enters the human body. It’s highly unlikely it’ll come back to you, that’s true, but neither you nor Louis want to take any chances. Your work here is done, so you have no reason to stay in Casablanca a minute longer. Nobody will check on Major Strasser until the morning, so you have a few hours to get away before anyone discovers his body or reports his death.

“There’s a Free French garrison in Brazzaville. I could provide us a passage. Rick has already used his letters of transit to travel there and join the fight on the side of the Allied cause. I could cable him and—“

“That’s not a bad idea, darling. But I have an even better one. My godfather is the owner of a mining company that specializes in diamonds. He’s based in South Africa. I can cable him ahead of time so that he knows we’re coming. He and my father started off as business partners, but became very close friends over the many years they worked closely together. When Fanny and I were born, he was unmarried and had no children of his own, so Daddy made him my godfather. I’m confident he’ll welcome us with open arms. I’m his favorite godchild.”

“Are you his only godchild?”

“Yes, but the point still stands. His morals may be gray at times when it comes to business, but he would never give us away. He loves me and respects my father too much to even think about betraying me. If there’s another man in the world who would help me get away with murder apart from you, it’s him,” you joke at the end to try to lighten the mood and calm Louis’ nerves.

When Louis takes your hand and helps you step off the train, your godfather is stood there on the platform, waiting to greet you. You let go of Louis’ hand and your godfather immediately pulls you into a crushing hug. He kisses the side of your head, mussing up your hair a little bit.

“There she is, my darling girl! I'm so glad you're here. It’s been so terribly long since I last saw you. Too long. Let me get a good look at you.” Not letting go of your arms, he steps back and looks you up and down. “You look healthy. So you’ve been sleeping well? Eating well? That’s good.” He hugs you again, then wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you? Tell me all the news. Did you have a good trip? I got your cable but, tell me, is your father worse? I was just beside myself, nearly sick to death with worry when I heard the dreadful news that the Germans captured the both of you. If I could’ve, I would’ve used all my money and influence to get the both of you out. But money had completely lost its power over there. The only thing that motivates those devils is the thought of total extermination. Then to hear that you escaped, but that poor Job was rendered completely blind…”

“Dad is doing just fine. I won’t lie, It’s been an adjustment and isn’t always easy for him, but he and Mother have reconciled and are living together again. I believe they’re happy now. I’ve called and written letters to home as often as I’ve been able, though it isn’t nearly as much as I’d hoped. I’ve been very busy lately. I’m sorry I haven’t had many opportunities to write or call you to keep you informed on what’s been happening. I know how frightened for Dad and I you must’ve been. The not knowing must’ve been the worst. After Dad and I escaped, he went to New York. Uncle George found him sitting on a park bench, sunning himself. He immediately took him back home to Mother. I went to England and stayed there for a while, then traveled to Casablanca. But I had company all the time. Speaking of which, Uncle Fred, may I introduce you to Mr. Louis Renault? Louis, this is my godfather, Fred Martingale.”

The men act cordial and shake hands.

“How do you do, sir?”

“I’m doing very well. Thanks for asking. You both must be tired from your long journey. Come, let’s all get in my car and I’ll show you to my house. I’m sure you’re both eager to get settled in. There’s guest rooms ready for the both of you. Or if you’d prefer, I could arrange to have you share a room. Just make sure to lock the door first whenever you use it.”

“Uncle Fred!” You sputter, your face heating up from embarrassment. You know exactly what he’s implying, but your admonishment isn’t serious. You can’t help but laugh.

You load your bags into the trunk and get in the car. You want Louis and Uncle Fred to use this time to bond, so you sit in the backseat while Louis sits up front in the passenger seat next to your godfather. As he drives along the desert roads, you’re the first to break the silence and make conversation. You want to help Louis to get comfortable and build rapport with Fred. The sooner you can all get past the awkward part, the better.

“So what have you been up to, Uncle Fred? How’s the diamond business going? Have there been any major changes since we last corresponded?”

“Oh, for the most part it’s been business as usual, I would say. Though we did have a bit of excitement for a time. Do you remember that man I told you about, Michael Davis?”

“Yes, I remember. Wasn’t he the one who came across a cache of diamonds in a prohibited mining area located somewhere in a remote region? He was caught by the mine's police, but refused to reveal the diamonds' location, even under torture at the hand of the diamond company's security chief, Paul Vogel. But I thought Davis left South Africa?”

“He did. For some time. But then he came back. To make a long story short, he came back because he wanted the diamonds and had no reason to believe they wouldn’t be in the same place he left them. I hired Suzanne Renaud, a trollop from Cape Town, to seduce Mike so he’d tell her where the diamonds are, information which she would relay back to me. Unlike Vogel, I wanted to use guile rather than force. Suzanne, or whatever other aliases she went by, was a talented actress and I trusted her to get the job done.”

“And then what happened?” Louis asked, intrigued.

“Mike made me a deal that appealed to me. He said he’d trade the location of the cache of diamonds he found in the desert if I helped him save Suzanne from Vogel. The diamonds for the girl. I personally didn’t think she was worth it, but they were in love and there was no changing his mind. He shot Vogel dead, sailed off somewhere with Suzanne to start a new life, and I got my diamonds.”

“Good riddance, I’d say. I never did like Vogel. That horrible man was always so power hungry and sadistic.”

“You know, in his way he was quite a remarkable fellow. Nasty, but remarkable. Your timing is impeccable, actually. When I got your cable, I had just recently got back from holiday. I had an early flight the day before yesterday and haven’t yet had a chance to unpack my bag.”

“Pleasant holiday, Mr. Martingale?”

“Very nice, yes. When we get to my house, you can fix yourself a drink there, if you like, Mister...uh, Mister...? I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Renault. Louis to you, Mr. Martingale. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Fred. If we’re to be on a first name basis, you should drop the formality and use mine too, don’t you think? After all, we are practically family, Louis.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“You are attached to my goddaughter, are you not? You’re her…her lover, her boyfriend, her beau, whatever you’d like to call it. Why else would she bring you here? Then you must also know that I cherish the woman sitting behind us as if she were my own flesh and blood. So from now on, call me Fred.”

“Then I’m Louis to you, Fred.”

“For now. I imagine it won’t be much time until you’ll officially be like a son to me. Am I right? Will there be wedding bells in your near future? I never know what to think anymore. I'm being constantly disillusioned. Has money completely lost its power? Is everyone motivated now by love? First Mike and Suzanne, and now you two.”

“Why do you think I agreed to come here with your goddaughter? Why do you think she asked me to assist her in her goals? From the moment when I first set my eyes upon her, I knew I'd met the one woman that I wanted to be my wife. Even though she was a mess and smelled of sweat, grease, and oil, I was a little overwhelmed by her beauty. It’s a gross understatement when I say that she was the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in Casablanca.”

“Well put, Louis. When the time comes, I can provide you with any diamond of your choosing. I have a fine selection here. The Starlight, The Eureka, The Cullinan Dream, The Kazanjian Red, Tiffany… Nothing is too expensive for my goddaughter’s hand.”

You piped in, “Just as long as it’s not too gaudy.”

“Gaudy? Impossible. Any diamond you wear could be nothing but glamorous, my dear.”

Once you’ve settled in, you use the phone to call home.

“Number, please.”

“Long distance, please.”

“Long distance.”

“I want to put in a person-to-person call to...Mrs. Frances Skeffington, New York City, 2926.”

“2926?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Hello?”

“Mother. It’s me. I know it’s been an awfully long time since we last spoke, but—“

“My darling! Oh, where have you been? Where are you now? Your father told us that you were going to England, but we haven’t heard much of anything since!”

“I’m currently in South Africa and staying with Uncle Fred. He’s more than willing to provide me with room and board until the war is over. As for everything else… It’s a long story, Mother, but I promise I’ll tell you it in person as soon as I’m able to come home. Though I feel I must warn you now that it likely won’t be until after the end of the war is announced. Traveling isn’t safe for me right now. But I promise I’m perfectly safe here. May I speak to you for a moment about something else? Something very important?”

“Of course, darling. Yes?”

“After I left England, I spent nearly three years in Casablanca, North Africa. While I was there, I got a job as a cook in a café and…I met someone. Someone I love very much. His name is Louis Renault, and he and I are going to be married after the war is over.”

“Louis Renault. Well... I had no idea. But, darling, have you known him very long?”

“I've known him several months, longer than I've known you.”

“But don't you think you should have talked it over with your mother?”

“Have I a mother?”

The line is silent for a few moments, and you wonder if maybe your mother hung up until-

“That's not kind of you, darling. I've always loved you very much.”

“Sort of a long-distance love, wasn’t it, Mother?”

“I never wanted you or Fanny to leave me. It was just that... Well, just that you loved your father so much.”

“And it was just that our father loved us so much.” You pause for a few moments as you gather your thoughts. “Oh, Fanny and I know you had a difficult choice to make. You couldn't be both a beauty and a mother.” You pause again as your words sink in. “Oh, Mother, we used to worry about our looks too...when we were thirteen and all arms and legs. Fanny used to hate that brace she had on her teeth. I hated the acne on my face. But Father would always comfort us. ‘A woman is beautiful only when she's loved,’ he'd say.”

“Yes, he said that to me once too. I didn’t understand or appreciate it then, but I do now. Darling, do you suppose it's too late for me to be a real mother to you now?”

“It would have to be a long-distance love again.”

“I'm willing to try.”

“It wouldn't work out, Mother. Once the war ends, Louis and I want to move back to his home in France. I’ll get a job as a cook, and Louis’ been expressing interest in leaving behind his law enforcement career and pursuing other fields where he can find more honest work. Though I do want you to come to my wedding. I really do. Well, I suppose you wish me luck.”

“Of course, darling.”

“Is Dad at home? I’d love to speak with him, if I can.”

“Yes, he’s here. I’ll pass the phone to him.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, darling.”

You hear the sounds of the creaky armchair as your mother gets up. You listen to her faint voice in the background as she tells your father that you’re calling. You listen to the armchair creak again, this time a bit louder from your father’s heavier frame as he sits down and gets settled. Hearing your father’s voice fills you with immense relief and elation.

“Daddy… forgive me for not calling you sooner. So many things have happened since we parted ways, some unexpected, some wonderful. But I just had to hear your voice. I just had to tell you… I am engaged. Rejoice for my mind is made up.”

“Engaged? My goodness, sweetheart. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I hope that, in time, you’ll understand. My prayer is that you’ll accept that this is my decision, my free decision. I know I went about this backwards. Forgive me and Louis for not asking your permission first. But we—“

“Permission? You don’t need my permission, silly girl. You’re nearing twenty-six, aren’t you?”

“I know. But I would like to have your blessings, Dad. Do I h—”

“You don’t even have to ask. Wherever you go, you may take my blessings with you, whatever that means.“

“Oh, Daddy. It means more than anything. More than anything! I promise that I won’t be married until after the war is finally over. Once France has healed, I’ll leave for Paris with Louis to marry. We don’t want a big affair, something quiet with just close friends and family. But trying to convince Uncle Fred of that is proving difficult. He’s accustomed to the life of a bachelor, and the overindulgence in the world’s finest luxuries that comes with it.”

“I always thought he spoiled you too much. Well, I do hope you get your way, darling. But your godfather can be just as stubborn as he is charming. Don’t let his charm persuade you into letting him plan your entire wedding. It should be your day, not his.”

“I know you didn’t get to see Fanny’s wedding to Johnny Mitchell, Daddy, but I want you to see mine. You, Mother, and even Fanny and Johnny too, if possible. Please, Daddy, will you come over for the wedding? I want you to give me away.”

“We'll see. We'll talk about that later. I don’t know about your sister and her husband, but I promise your mother and I will do everything we can to be there. I promise I won’t let you fall, but you must promise me the same when we walk down the aisle together.” His voice has a teasing quality to it near the end. You’re relieved that he hasn’t lost his sense of humor after all the horror he suffered.

“It’s not just a promise, it’s a deal! Goodbye, Daddy. I promise I’ll write or call you whenever something interesting happens in my life until next we meet. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Goodbye.”

[s4no]

Peeking in to ask about your self ship with Levi

💭: where did you two meet?

❤️‍🔥: how does your love languages differ?

And hanma

🥰: have you met their family? have they met yours? talk about tit!

😠: what's the worst fight you've had? (if applicable)

anddddd Ran

😯: have you two ever taken a road trip/vacation?

👄: talk about your first or best kiss thus far

hahahahhahhahha also feel free to not answer any of these but I'm nosy and I wanna know

omg thank you for sending this in but also fuck you (': selfship ask game

levi:

💭: where did you two meet? erwin actually introduced us! erwin was the head researcher at the bio lab i used to work at during my undergrad years in college and we got pretty close despite the age gap. he invited me out to a bar to celebrate his birthday one year and he ended up dragging levi along. and yes he was grumpy the entire time (shocker i know)

❤️‍🔥: how does your love languages differ? our love languages align pretty well tbh. both him and i value acts of service and it's usually the smaller things. like if he's had a stressful day at work, i'll make him a cup of tea or massage his shoulders. or if i'm busy studying for an exam, he'll cook dinner and wash the dishes afterward.

hanma:

🥰: have you met their family? have they met yours? talk about it! i've met his mother a handful of times— on the off chance she invites him over for a holiday like christmas. and he's met my family. charmed the living fuck outta them while teasing me under the dinner table.

😠: what's the worst fight you've had? (if applicable) oof well. he has a habit of coming home late at night with obvious signs that he's been in a fight. one night, i waited up for him. when it got to be around 3am, i started to worry but he didn't answer any of my calls or texts. so when he walked in the door with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, i lost my shit.

ran:

😯: have you two ever taken a road trip/vacation? yes!! he took me to bora bora for our two year anniversary! we spent practically all of it on a private beach. totally tried to convince me it was a nude beach at first.

👄: talk about your first or best kiss thus far our first kiss was actually during a game of spin the bottle. i definitely tried to get out of it but he was insistent i play fairly 🙄

[phoenixyfriend]

Someone had an interesting question yesterday, so I'm going to add some clarification on that point.

A lot of companies in North America and Europe have their products made for cheap in Asia. Looking at fast fashion brands like H&M (Swedish) and Zara (Spanish), a lot of their products are made in Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Vietnam, and so on. Those products are then shipped around the world, including to the United States, to be sold.

The question I got was: when a Company (in the EU) has a product made by a Factory (in Sri Lanka), for sale in the United States, which tariff is applied to the product? Do we apply the rate that the EU receives (where the Company is) or the rate that Sri Lanka receives (where the Factory is)? The EU bloc is now taxed at 20%, and Sri Lanka at 44%, so that's nearly double the cost.

And I'm sorry to tell you all that it would indeed be Sri Lanka's rates here. Products are taxed at the rate of the place they were produced, rather than the place that made the order for them.

I talked above about how the two big justifications for tariffs are government revenue and protectionism. There's a third, which is negotiating leverage, but that seems to be less of an issue now than it was in Trump's first term.

Donald Trump is leaning quite heavily into both justifications, but especially protectionism. This is probably because it's easier to argue that it's a net good for the working class, while the government revenue is easier to turn on him as 'steal from the poor and give to the rich' since the main reason increased government revenue is a question is because of the 2017 tax break and coming extension.

Anyway, since we have protectionism as a stated goal, we can apply that logic to the application of tariffs here. Under this theory, the goal of the tariff is to move production back to the United States, as outsourcing has removed a number of jobs to cheaper pastures and thus shrunk the work opportunities for Americans. For that reason, you want to disincentivize moving those jobs abroad: increase import taxes until it's just as expensive to import as it is to produce domestically.

If it costs $8 to have something made in Sri Lanka, and you ship it to the US with that 44% tariff, then it costs $11.52 total.

If the domestic rate is that it costs $11.50 to produce, and you don't have to pay tariffs on it, then it now makes more sense for a company to look for a domestic producer.

(I know that overseas pay is garbage and that's why they do this, but the tariff is on the value, not just on the labor. The raw materials like cotton, the packaging, the shipping, etc. that all factors into the value cost. So even if the labor costs are way smaller than 'about two-thirds of US minimum wage,' a lot of the other costs aren't. These numbers weren't chosen based on current data for a given product, just picked out of a hat to illustrate the point.)

I have my own opinions on how protectionism should or shouldn't work (you need to subsidize domestic industry until it can stand on its own two feet again, both carrot AND stick, because the costs will be disproportionately felt by small businesses, rather than Walmart or Zara or what have you), but hopefully this explains how the tariffs are set to work at this time.

The other comment I wanted to address, I'll just copy wholesale from my exchange with @hussyknee:

Um. Isn't that the rationale behind closed communist economies? Self sufficiency and full employment through domestic production?

Nooooot really; the Third Reich did something kind of similar. Globalization was much lower when the Great Depression hit, but they did have foreign companies owning factories in Germany. The state removed those industries from foreign control, and passed it back into private, German hands a few years later (I am greatly oversimplifying, but the point was to avoid foreign investment from having control). They did also raise tariffs starting in around 1930, for that same reason (page 2 has a really interesting chart).

In fascist regimes, bringing industry back to a domestic labor force is viewed as 'taking back' something that was 'stolen.' It's not "we want to make sure everyone is gainfully employed," but "we can't let those Evil Foreigners have our jobs and steal our wealth."

Which is ironic because the very capitalism that helped bring about the fascism is what sent those jobs away to cheaper pastures in the first place, and ALSO what brutally oppressed those places into being so cheap (i.e. unable to negotiate for better pay with any real power) over the course of centuries.

(Gotta love the Dutch and English East India Companies for absolutely destroying just… so many economies in order to get cheap supplies and labor for the West.)

Anyway, prompt me on ko-fi! I'm trying to move out of my parents' house.

Ko-fi prompt from @liberwolf:

Could you explain Tariff's , like who pays them and what they do to a country?

Well, I can definitely guess where this question is coming from.

Honestly, I was pretty excited to get this prompt, because it's one I can answer and was part of my studies focus in college. International business was my thing, and the issues of comparative advantage (along with Power Purchasing Parity) were one of the things I liked to explore.

-----------------

At their simplest, tariffs are an import tax. The United States has had tariffs as low as 5%, and at other times as high as 44% on most goods, such as during the Civil War. The purpose of a tariff is in two parts: generating revenue for the government, and protectionism.

Let's first explore how a tariff works. If you want to be confused, then you need to have never taken an economics class, and look at this graph:

(src)

So let's undo that confusion.

The simplest examples are raw or basic materials such as steel, cotton, or wine.

First, without tariffs:

Let us say that Country A and Country B both produce steel, and it is of similar quality, and in both cases cost $100 per unit. Transportation from one country to the other is $50/unit, so you can either buy domestically for $100, or internationally for $150. So you buy domestically.

Now, Country B discovers a new place to mine iron very easily, and so their cost for steel drops to $60/unit due to increased ease of access. Country A can either purchase domestically for $100, or internationally for $110 (incl. shipping), which is much more even. Still, it is more cost-effective to purchase domestically, and so Country A isn't worried.

Transportation technology is improved, dropping the shipping costs to $30/unit. A person from Country A can buy: Domestic: $100 International: $60+$30 = $90 Purchasing steel from Country B is now cheaper than purchasing it from Country A, regardless of where you live.

Citizens in Country A, in order to reduce costs for domestic construction, begin to purchase their steel from Country B. As a result, money flows from Country A to B, and the domestic steel industry in Country A begins to feel the strain as demand dwindles.

In this scenario, with no tariffs, Country A begins to rely on B for their steel, which causes a loss of jobs (steelworkers, miners), loss of infrastructure (closing of mines and factories), and an outflow of funds to another country. As a result, Country A sees itself as losing money to B, while also growing increasingly reliant on their trading partner for the crucial good that is steel. If something happens to drive up the price of B's steel again, like political upheaval or a natural disaster, it will be difficult to quickly ramp up the production of steel in Country A's domestic facilities again.

What if a tariff is introduced early?

Alternately, the dropping of complete costs for purchase of steel from Country B could be counteracted with tariffs. Let's say we do a 25% tariff on that steel. This tariff is placed on the value of the steel, not the end cost, so:

$60 + (0.25 x $60) + $30 = $105/unit

Suddenly, with the implementation of a 25% tariff on steel from Country B, the domestic market is once again competitive. People can still buy from Country B if they would like, but Country A is less worried about the potential impacts to the domestic market.

The above example is done in regards to a mature market that has not yet begun to dwindle. The infrastructure and labor is still present, and is being preemptively protected against possible loss of industry to purchasing abroad.

What happens if the tariff is not implemented until after the market has dwindled?

Let's say that the domestic market was not protected by the tariff until several decades on. Country A's domestic production, in response to increased purchasing from abroad, has dwindled to one third of what it was before the change in pricing incentivized purchase from B. Prices have, for the sake of keeping this example simple, remained at $100(A) and $60(B) in that time. However, transportation has likely become better, so transportation is down to $20, meaning that total cost for steel from B is $80, accelerating the turn from domestic steel to international.

So, what happens if you suddenly implement a tariff on international steel? Shall we say, 40%?

$60 + (0.4 x 60) + 20 = $104

It's more expensive to order from abroad! Wow! Let's purchase domestically instead, because these prices add up!

But the production is only a third of what it used to be, and domestic mines and factories for refining the iron into steel can't keep up. They're scaling, sure, but that takes time. Because demand is suddenly triple of the supply, the cost skyrockets, and so steel in Country A is now $150/unit! The price will hopefully come down eventually, as factories and mines get back in gear, but will the people setting prices let that happen?

So industries that have begun to rely on international steel, which had come to $80/unit prior to the tariff, are facing the sudden impact of a cost increase of at least $25/unit (B with tariff) or the demand-driven price increase of domestic (nearly double the pre-tariff cost of steel from B), which is an increase of at least 30% what they were paying prior to the tariff.

There are possible other aspects here, such as government subsidies to buoy the domestic steel industry until it catches back up, or possibly Country B eating some of the costs so that people still buy from them (selling for $50 instead of $60 to mitigate some of the price hike, and maintain a loyal customer base), but that's not a direct impact of the tariff.

Who pays for tariffs?

Ultimately, this is a tax on a product (as opposed to a tax on profits or capital themselves, which has other effects), which means the majority of the cost is passed on directly to the consume.

As I said, we could see the producers in Country B cut their costs a little bit to maintain a loyal customer base, but depending on their trade relationships with other countries, they are just as likely to stop trading with Country A altogether in order to focus on more profitable markets.

So why do we not put tariffs on everything?

Well... for that, we get into the question of production efficiency, or in this case, comparative advantage.

Let's say we have two small, neighboring countries, C and D, that have negligible transportation costs and similar industries. Both have extensive farmland, and both have a history of growing grapes for wine, and goats for wool. Country C is a little further north than D, so it has more rocky grasses that are good for goats, while D has more fertile plains that are good for growing grapes.

Let's say that they have an equal workforce of 500,000 of people. I'm going to say that 10,000 people working full time for a year is 1 unit of labor. So, Country C and Country D have between the 100 units of labor, and 50 each.

The cost of 1 unit of wool = the cost of 1 unit of wine

Country C, having better land for goats, can produce 4 units of wool for every unit of labor, and 2 units of wine for every unit of labor.

Meanwhile, Country D, having better land for grapes, can produce 2 units of wool per unit of labor, and 4 units of wine per unit of labor.

If they each devote exactly half their workforce to each product, then:

Country C: 100 units of wool, 50 units of wine Country D: 50 units of wool, 100 units of wine

Totaling 150 units of each product.

However, if each devotes all of their workforce to the product they're better at...

Country C: 200 units of wool, no wine Country D: no wool, 200 units of wine

and when they trade with each other, they each end up with 100 units of each product, which is a doubling of what their less-efficient labor would have resulted in!

The real world is obviously much more complicated, but in this example, we can see the pros of outsourcing some of your production to another country to focus on your own specialties.

Extreme examples of this IRL are countries where most of the economy rests on one product, such as middle-eastern petro-states that are now struggling to diversify their economies in order to not get left behind in the transition to green energy, or Taiwan's role as the world's primary producer of semiconductors being its 'silicon shield' against China.

Comparative advantage can be used well, such as our Unnamed Countries (that are definitely not the classic example of England and Portugal, with goats instead of sheep) up in the example. With each economy focusing on its specialty, there is a greater yield of both products, meaning a greater bounty for both countries.

However, should something happen to Country C up there, like an earthquake that kills half the goats, they are suddenly left with barely enough wool to clothe themselves, and nothing for Country D, which now has a surplus of wine and no wool.

So you do have to keep some domestic industry, because Bad Things Can Happen. And if we want to avoid the steel example of a collapse in the given industry, tariffs might be needed.

Are export tariffs a thing?

Yes, but they are much rarer, and can largely be defined as "oh my god, everyone please stop getting rid of this really important resource by selling it to foreigners for a big buck, we are depleting this crucial resource."

So what's the big confusion right now?

Donald Trump has, on a number of occasions, talked about 'making China pay' tariffs on the goods they import into the US. This has led to a belief that is not entirely unreasonable, that China would be the side paying the tariffs.

The view this statement engenders is that a tariff is a bit like paying a rental fee for a seller's table at an event: the producer or merchant pays the host (or landlord or what have you) a fee to sell their product on the premises. This could be a farmer's market, a renaissance faire, a comic book convention, whatever. If you want to sell at the event, you have to pay a fee to get a space to set up your table.

In the eyes of the people who listened to Trump, the tariff is that fee. China is paying the United States for access to the market.

And, technically, that's not entirely wrong. China is thus paying to enter the US market. It's just the money to pay that fee needs to come from somewhere, and like most taxes on goods, that fee comes from the consumer.

So... what now?

Well, a lot of smaller US companies that rely on cheap goods made in China are buying up non-perishables while they can, before the tariffs hit. Long-term, manufacturers in the US that rely on parts and tools manufactured in China are going to feel the squeeze once that frontloaded stock is depleted.

Some companies are large enough to take the hit on their own end, still selling at cheap rates to the consumer, because they can offset those costs with other parts of their empire... at least until smaller competitors are driven out of business, at which point they can start jacking up their prices since there are no options left. You may look at that and think, "huh, isn't that the modus operandi for Walmart and Amazon already?" and yes. It is. We are very much anticipating a 'rich get richer, poor go out of business' situation with these tariffs.

The tariffs will also impact larger companies, including non-US ones like Zara (Spanish) and H&M (Swedish), if they have a huge reliance on Chinese production to supply their huge market in the United States.

If you're interested in the repercussions that people expect from these proposed tariffs on Chinese goods, I'd suggest listening to or watching the November 8th, 2024 episode of Morning Brew Daily (I linked to YouTube, but it's also available on Spotify, Nebula, the Morning Brew website, and other podcast platforms).

[woke-himbo-tamaki]

Welcome, dear monarch...!

[PT: Welcome, dear monarch...! /end PT]

I am Tamaki Suoh, and this is my introductory post! Do read on...

About Me (RP)

[PT: About Me (RP) /end PT]

Call me Tamaki, unless we attend the same school. In which case, you should probably stick to the applicable honorifics. I will do the same where necessary.

I am a second year at Ouran Academy, and the reigning king of the host club. Proud holder of a seventy percent request rate... until a certain nature came into the picture...

My pronouns are he/him, and I am a cisgender man. (What, you didn't expect to hear that from me? Did you read the blog URL?)

I've recently discovered that I am asexual, aromantic, and autistic, and I am grappling with the repercussions of this. I am also trying to be a good ally where possible, so please do correct me if I say something too far out of line.

If you are a guest, feel free to request my services through an ask! Being given a gendered terminology preference would be ideal. Otherwise, you will be referred to with neutral pet names and as a "monarch."

If you are a fellow club member... hi!!! Please reach out! I love you!!!!

No s3xual content. None. Got it? Thank youuuu!

About Me (Fictionkin)

[PT: About Me (Fictionkin) /end PT]

I am... also Tamaki! Really! Please do not invalidate me; I am a permashifted fictionkin who has been Tamaki Suoh for at least a week now

I'm aroace and autistic outside of the RP as well! But here, I'm actually transmasc! Please still use he/him pronouns for me

I am a queerplatonic selfshipper for kin coping reasons! Haruhi and I are in an imagined QPR together... Please do not discuss any other ships that involve her around me. Romantic sharers are iffy, but other selfshippers are okay to interact! (As the tags indicate, I would prefer if pr0shippers/variants did not interact. Go do your thing away from me, as long as you aren't hurting anyone...)

Boundaries are much stricter when talking to me than with TamaRP (as I will refer to him when OOC). Feel free to make him sulk in his little corner or get him riled up, but if you specifically wish to talk to me outside of the RP, please do be nice... I am a fragile little guy...

To make it clear when I am not RP'ing, I will likely include "OOC" at the top of posts so that people avoid treating me like a character when explicit permission has not been given

Other Ouran kins/fictives/IRLs are welcome to interact! Doubles are iffy at this point, but I'll allow them for the time being

I am a college student (Haruhi has aged accordingly with me, if you were concerned about that), so keep in mind that I have a life outside of Tumblr. In addition, executive dysfunction means replies might be slow on occasion. Feel free to ping me/ask about things if it's been a few days; I won't be mad at you :)

Tags!

[PT: Tags! /end PT]

#👑 a message from the king 👑 = TamaRP

#🍄 behind the curtain 🍄 = OOC/kin ramblings

#💌 a letter? for me? 💌 = ask responses

#📕 reblog 📕 = self-explanatory

Oh, hi! You made it to the end!

Would you like to check out my main? It's @femboy-luigi :)

[cmiyczine]

I'm an artist that applied and I think you both have points. 1. My own feelings don't hold any weight compared to the suffering of the Palestinian people. I appreciate your compassion but many of us (not all, but a significant amount and possibly majority considering this was introduced as a Palestine charity zine right out the gate) do acknowledge that our personal internal hurt feelings don't matter when considering actions to aid Palestine, much like our own grief fatigue shouldn't be used as an excuse to quit or take a long, long break in the name of self care. It's a common principle among pro-Palestinian activists. 2. Given the aid we're intending to provide, we do want to get this out as fast as possible. HOWEVER. 3. You're right about this timeline being loose. We must have it be somewhat flexible to allow for the best possible quality in order to turn the most profits from the people who wouldn't otherwise actively choose to donate to help Palestine. Plus higher quality will mean we can raise the prices a tiny bit without it seeming out of line to those who want this for the product and not the donation.

I admire your compassion and our ethics vary when it comes to personal feelings in the wake of mass tragedy of, supposedly, strangers. But the fact that you're making this at all isn't something to be ignored. It's still a donation campaign. I think, should you attempt this kind of charity zine again, if the guilt of rejecting people is still overwhelming, have a template to fill out where the blanks you fill in make it personal, and add a unique comment about their work in there somewhere. That might be a workable balance that doesn't compromise the principles of many involved.

I say with this big a project there's no one predominant mindset, but a handful, and I'm not just going to jump ship if I get accepted since it's very much worth it. There are other charity projects that are more prompt and seemingly more experienced, but I'm not qualified for. Not to mention this is the serious version of "holy shit, two cakes". I have my personal beliefs about how this should be operated, but whatever is done is done and money will be made anyway, and it'd take longer to get the money if I started my own zine, something I have no knowledge or experience with.

Whether what you're doing is the right way to do it or not, it's still right that you're doing it at all.

And, frankly, you were explicit about the cause of the delay and it didn't appear to be anything affecting the organization and release of money, so I'll foreseeably disagree with that anon on that front; there is no clear correlation.

This project shouldn't devolve into passionate emotional arguing this early. What's important is that it's a project in the first place and since it's started it'd be an immoral waste to drop it. The only other important thing is that anyone who leaves, as they are not profiting off of this, foes so by choice and is able to by choice.

Thank you for your message. You are right about one thing : This project shouldn't devolve into passionate emotional arguing this early. Nor it should EVER.

It is is so easy for you as an outsider to say that most participants should not put their emotions above that of the suffering of Palestinians. Which I evidently completely agree about. But you were not the one going through the applications. I've read every single one, I've read their name and pronoms, saw their galleries, read about them gushing about the characters theyd want to draw, read their suggestions for the project. Each of these person, just like each palestinian, is one whole universe. And It was completely out of the question for me to just bcci everyone with a copied and pasted message of rejection.

If you think I am displaying too much empathy, You wont believe what fuelled me to sacrifice a significant amount of my time and sanity for this project in the first place. I do NOT want to be the cause of hurt for anybody. And You might have nerve of steel and brush a rejection easily, But it is an issue and a struggle for many others. I dont know the psychological profile of the people who applied. And you know wat ? I dont care. Were it any other project I would have done the same. I do not want to cause hurt to anybody. People can feel empathy for Palestine while feeling hurt about a project they were enthusiastic about too. There is no hierarchy in emotions.

I cant believe people are getting ok my case for a delay of a few days because I couldnt bring myself to be NOT be empathic toward participants, when it is litteraly that same empathy that has my heart bleeding for Palestine everyday. I am supposed to be humanitarian toward the people of palestine but not toward the people whom sent applications ? I dont know how you function but my empathy doesnt have a filter nor a hierachy. I feel for everyone, wether the hurt is small or unbearable.

If you do not approve of my methods, I beg you to please unfollow this project and move along. Make your own Palestine project. I am no one, I am irrelevant, I've only organized one zine, I just have friends whom have taken care of big projects. If someone like me can orgazine a charity project then so can you.

Come back in a few months and see the results as well. Maybe you'll realize that gettting on my case for a few days delay was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

[vilfy]

aheehee. answer all the prompts on the meme u reblogged

Aha. This will be going below, for all our sakes.

Why were you named the way you were? Is there a special meaning behind your name (or middle name if applicable)?

My mother was a scholar on Shakespeare's work, so my siblings and I all shared namesakes in the form of plays.

When I decided to go into medicine, my father suggested I honor my grandfather by taking on his name as part of my disguise. I liked being Simon better than Ophelia. So, Simon I stayed.

When is your birthday? What is your ideal birthday?

The 19th of September, 1875. I'm not sure what would constitute "ideal" though... party weather, maybe.

What is your sexuality/orientation? How did you discover them?

The funniest thing about pretending to be a man for medical school is that sometimes you find you're happier as a man than you ever were as a girl. And you still prefer gentleman callers.

What's usually on your shopping list?

Oh, household essentials. Oil for the lamps, fresh candles, blood bags from the plasma centers around town.

Sometimes, if I'm feeling especially lively, I'll even buy groceries.

What are some general hygiene things you do? How do you normally do your hair? What kind of products do you use?

What I use isn't legal to produce anymore. But I learned to tend my curls- what loose ones there are- from my sisters. I've been told I'm a priss about baths, though. I always take too long.

What is in your pockets/bag/etc. right now?

A cigarette book, a bottle cap from my first night out after my hibernation, and... a single penny. Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid. I don't keep much on me when I leave the house.

What is it like where you live? How does it compare to where you grew up if it differs?

It's quiet here, mountainous in a very different way from home. Just as isolated and misty- far less rain but much more latent humidity. The states are interesting that way.

Do you have a favorite food? What's your favorite breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert?

O-

Do you have any other family members? Parents, siblings, grandparents, cousins, etc.?

If I have any little great nieces or nephews, I don't know of them. I could check in on the old estate... I'm afraid to find out if it's even still occupied. Or standing.

How do you feel about makeup? Are you any good at putting it on? Do you wear it often?

Ahaha. I had to adapt to the changing fashions- once the deathly pallor of consumption was out of style, I had to keep up with the times to look less like a corpse. Not much of a problem these days, it seems.

Would you say you are an introvert, or an extrovert?

I've been described as a "tipsy stray" before for how friendly I can be. I suppose you'd call me an extrovert. Gun to my head, I might agree.

If someone were to invite you to a party, would you enjoy it?What would you do during?

Of course I would! And what else is there to do at parties but mingle and partake. Not many mortal-made substances can stagger me, despite my stature. I don't tend to metabolize things much. It's won me several contests, actually.

What scares you the most? And if it really happened... how would you deal with it?

I'm beyond that point, I'd say. All my life, my greatest fear was death. And then I died! I'd say I've been dealing with that admirably well thus far.

My second greatest fear was ships sinking, so you can imagine my mood when I found myself cancelling my visit home after the sinking of the Titanic.

Have you ever raised a weapon towards someone? Was it in self-defense, or was it purposefully? What happened afterwards?

On a hunting trip with my uncle, I put a round in his backside and told my father I thought he was a wild pig, the way he was speaking to us.

I didn't get to go on any more hunting trips.

Do you honestly believe that you are funny? Tell us your best joke!

I find my humor tends to run dry by modern standards.

To quote Beau, "drier than a Popeye's biscuit."

Not that I get the joke, but it was terribly funny to him.

Tell us about something that's happened recently.

Goodness. I've awoken from a coma to find the world around me about 98 years and a handful of wars different, and I still managed to catch someone's fancy as a floundering fish out of water. That's all of my recent news.

If you were to describe yourself in a few words, what would those words be?

I never did like these ice-breaker questions in university.

Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names? What are they like personality-wise? Can we see them?

I used to. There were hunting dogs of my father's, though the particular breeds escape me... and Gertie, our darling nanny. She tolerated a bonnet better than I ever did.

What is something you care desperately about? Something that you just couldn't live without?

I try not to throw myself into such exaggerations, but I really do think I would be lost without my books. There's so little to do in the daytime.

Have you ever broken a bone? Have you ever had surgery?

I've never broken a bone or had surgery, but I was quite a sickly thing for a time. My mother always called me her impossible one. It's funny, I think, that I was the child everyone expected to die before I could walk- now I may live forever if I can help it.

How often do you cry? Do you happy cry, or do you mostly cry in sadness?

Frankly, it's embarrassing how often my eyes mist over. It's one of the precious few things my body recalls how to do, and it does so often, with only slight provocations.

Have you ever lost someone close to you? Who was it? How did you cope with it?

My entire family is dead, and I am all but a hermit.

You're welcome to guess.

What is your favorite holiday? What makes it your favorite? Is there something in particular that you enjoy most about it?

I do miss Juliet's eggnog on Christmas...

But Halloween was always my favorite.

Do you have any crushes at the moment? If so, do you think you will ever tell them? Has anyone ever had a crush on you?

Crushes? Are we in primary school? No, I don't believe I fancy anyone at the moment. Nobody who would fancy me, anyway.

Are there any certain scents, sounds, or textures that you like? What about ones that you dislike?

Vanilla, rose, jasmine, silk, goose down blankets, and the sound of the tea kettle in the kitchen as heard from the parlor are some of my favorite sensory delights.

Would you ever consider starting a family? How do you feel about getting married, having kids, and potentially settling down?

I can't have children, and I can't see myself forcing someone into eternal life for my sake, nor am I a strong enough man to build a family and outlive them all again.

No.

... Not at the moment, anyway.

What are a few things (or one thing) you want to do before you die? Why?

...

Moving on.

Are you happy in your own skin? If you could change something about yourself, would you, and what would it be?

I would like to be able to age again. I think I've earned a few wrinkles.

Oh, thank goodness, that was the last of them. I've been writing so long I think my spine has a new natural curvature.

[wahlpaper]

The Floating Feldmans Review

The Floating Feldmans by Elyssa Friedland

CW: Cancer, Off-Page Death, Family Stress, Toxic Relationships, Vomit, Tourism and Cruise Culture, References to Harry Potter, Drinking, Underage Drinking, Drugs, Fire, Injury, Violence, Internalized Fatphobia, Money Problems, Self Esteem Issues

4.5/5

I'll be honest, I only added The Floating Feldmans by Elyssa Friedland to my TBR because it's Jewish and had a fun cover. I only decided to read it because I asked my friend to pick a book at random from my list while I was on hold for Radio Silence by Alice Oseman. This book is a casual read. It's not there to change your life or hook you into a series. There are either 9 or no main characters depending on how you look at it, and it feels a little light for some of the serious matters addressed. It's not my kind of genre, but if I was going to read a casual story, I'm glad it was this one. It's progressive, it's Jewish, and it's a little queer too!

The Floating Feldmans centers around a cruise being taken for Annette Feldman's 70th birthday. Her family is practically estranged and highly dysfunctional, but her husband has cancer and she's not sure how much time they have left to bring the family back together. Everyone has at least one secret and a whole lot of feelings about other members of the family. Will the Feldman descendants and the charming cruise director be able to make this a good vacation for Annette? Should they?

This book is structured in a mostly-linear fashion. The prologue contains a scene most of the way through the story, but it then pops back in time to the start. From there it goes forward as best it can. There are vivid flashbacks throughout, telling stories from anytime in the lives of the characters. As this story is told from 9 different points of view, sometimes the chapters overlap in time. I like a unique story structure that I can still follow and that's absolutely what Friedland has created here. I normally don't do well with a lot of POV characters, but the structure kept me engaged with the characters and helped me to keep track of the plot.

The Jewish representation in The Floating Feldmans is gentle but not barren. It isn't important to the plot, but it's woven into the personality of the book. Yiddish is used, characters have Jewish names, gefilte fish is mentioned a few times, and Jewish holidays/celebrations are brought up. While I don't think anyone was mentioned as keeping kosher, it did initially matter to Annette that her daughter married a Christian man. I would say that this book was written for a Jewish reader, even if it can be enjoyed by those of other religions. It assumes you'll get the cultural references.

When I put The Floating Feldmans on my TBR, I had no idea that there was queer content within! So this is me telling you about it! One of the 9 main characters is the cruise director, Julian. He's worked on the ship for over a decade and loves his job, but he's skittish when it comes to his personal life. His boyfriend wants to get married, but Julian isn't sure that's for him. I wasn't fully rooting for their relationship because of this, but I knew I liked Julian from the start. His character arc was one of my favorites in the novel.

I mentioned previously that The Floating Feldmans isn't a life changing story, but that it is progressive and addresses some serious matters. It's a character driven book that centers around the vacation more than a specific plot. Included and handled well were a shopping addiction, poor communication between husband and wife, cancer, self image issues, college application stress, a problematic secret relationship, and more. You'll find that nothing is idealized, it's all told with realism.

The Floating Feldmans by Elyssa Friedland isn't the right genre for everyone, but if you're looking for a cool-down book or prefer casual reads in general, I highly recommend it. You'll be treated to silly adventures, lots of family drama, and a book that can make you laugh. Are you ready to set sail?

[theheadlesspoet]

Bet you could sure use that extra $50 you blocked a gal over huh? Choosy beggar.

Responding this way because once again you block before anyone can get a word in- her "abuse" (telling you off) came after you blocked her over a free fifty dollars you begged for along with several other previous donations, in which you recieved nothing but politeness per her dms, without so much as a fucking THANK YOU. In what world is that not a slap in the face? I see now why people accuse you of twisting narratives. Lisa Richard ass shit.

No matter how desperate your reasoning is, some people aren't just going to quietly roll over and take it when they give you something and you spit on them. It's a part of business, a part of life.

She never saw a thank you, only her money vanishing and no way to ask if you even got it. "Trigger you"? Don't flatter yourself, I'm just spreading the word that fifty dollars isn't enough, you should be grateful.

And now you want to drop her name??? Astonishing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Stalker/obsessed" such self flattery, you wish you were famous enough for such attention. More like still rightfully angered by the blatant disrespect you can't seem to accept. DARVO yourself, maybe fill out some job applications. Irritating ingrate, you sure owned me. Hopefully it makes you feel a little better about yourself to take and take and take. I'm the one who's lost here, falling for your years and years of sob stories.

Idk, if I was a choosy beggar who couldn't take the heat of people being angry at such a waste of their goodwill, I wouldn't slap my personal info up everywhere I could in hopes of a grift. But you and I clearly don't think alike (thank fuck for that, I can't imagine such low functioning).

The nerve of you to accuse me of stalking and being obsessed and simultaneously apologizing for a slight you don't even recognize is wild. Absolutely unbelievable. The self awareness that takes is abysmal. It's unrelated but I lost several old accounts on several apps thanks to getting a new phone some months ago, but go ahead and tell yourself I did it just for you if it'll make some shame go away.

I honestly would have taken it better if you'd mustered the gall you have now and told me that what I'd given wasn't quite enough. I may have even given more, despite not being rich myself. Oh well, that ship's sailed. Maybe I'll blaze this post out of spite, who knows.

Keep burying your snide replies with your spammy begging posts, you have no right to expect me to let this go- and maybe I never will just for how unprofessional you are. If being a choosy beggar nets you more cash than your honestly mediocre paintings, then more power to you.

Why won't you reblog this version with all the deets for a little zinger? Grifters really don't like being called out, huh?

As starved as you claim to be, you've certainly got the strength to be entitled.

I'm feeling so hopeless.

I ate the last of the soup I made last night. I literally have two dollars.

And I owe my landlord $6700.

I don't know if I can get through this anymore. I'm trying to tell myself I can but I'm afraid I cant.

[lucifer-but-better]

Season 3 love triangle should have been Pierce and Chloe competing for Lucifer. I said what I said. Not only is Piercingstar a better ship name than Deckerpierce, but Pierce and Chloe had virtually no chemistry together. It hurt my eyes to see them in a relationship because that whole ordeal was just not it.

This is gonna be a long post so if you're just here for the shit posts, feel free to scroll past.

It would have made much more sense to have the season 3 love triangle this way because Lucifer already had chemistry with both Pierce and Chloe throughout the early season. We already had 2 seasons of Lucifer and Chloe getting closer and even having romantically intimate moments so there was a strong foundation for that possible relationship.

Although Lucifer and Pierce had less time together, they had quickly established a strong relationship based on their shared experiences and motives. Obviously I'm gonna bring up the married couple episode because it's perfect evidence of what I'm talking about. Aside from the domestic fluff, the two made a great team on the field. Their chemistry together was so good that they managed to convince a whole town that they were having a marital spat when in reality they were arguing about how to kill Pierce permanently. Lucifer and Pierce proved that they have good communication in this episode, each apologising for their mistake and setting the boundaries of their partnership.

Not to mention, the jealousy between love rivals was also present way before Chloe and Pierce got together. Of course, I'm talking about when Chloe was jealous of Pierce and Lucifer working together without her on various cases. She even ranted to Dan about this because it had bothered her so much. Being rivals with Pierce for Lucifer's love would also add on to the workplace rivalry Chloe already had with Pierce, expanding their relationship beyond just being a plot device. Additionally, this would have been an excellent opportunity of self reflection for Chloe where she would be able to realise the value of her relationship with Lucifer outside the workplace and within it.

Season 3 could still more or less go the same way in terms of Pierce's character development. We know that once Pierce established an emotional connection with someone he valued highly enough to sacrifice his goals for, the curse was broken. This sacrifice could easily have been for Lucifer instead of Chloe and I'll elaborate on why. Originally, Pierce broke up with Chloe before she could confess her love because he couldn't bring himself to make her go through the pain of losing him, even if it meant he could never break the curse. This form of self sacrifice resulted in the curse being broken nonetheless, meaning that it wasn't Chloe herself responsible it was Pierce's emotional development. As such, this plot device would be applicable in the case where Pierce was in love with Lucifer instead of Chloe. For example, Pierce realising that Lucifer cared for Chloe above all else and thus giving up the chance to be with him, essentially sacrificing his own happiness in exchange for Lucifer's. Or simply and in the same way with Chloe, Pierce could prevent Lucifer from falling in love with him so that he would never go through the heartbreak of losing him.

This love triangle would serve each character much better than the original. First, it wouldn't reduce Chloe's character to simply being a love interest to be passed around between men in the show. Secondly, it would highlight Lucifer's bisexuality in a more meaningful way beyond just having male lovers by showing that Lucifer can establish an emotional connection with both a man and a woman. Finally, that whole character 360 Pierce went through to give us that God awful finale wouldn't have happened. Which would mean that Charlotte survives and goes to live the life she deserves with Dan. Maze doesn't become a tool for Cain to manipulate and has the chance to reflect on her behaviour without the need to endanger and betray all her friends. It would also allow Lucifer to prove his real identity to Chloe on his own terms. Essentially meaning that we wouldn't have to suffer through the first half of season 4 and we could get Chloe's true and meaningful reaction to Lucifer's truth.

In conclusion, Piercingstar and Deckerstar >>>>

What are your thoughts on this?