#writing this before class and i feel revived

[fatuismooches]

SMOOCHES imagine. Zandik realizes you're giving him so much, all this love and attention he's never received before, and he... doesn't like that. He's hardly given you anything, why do you give so much without asking for anything in return? So he begins trying to match your energy. He wants to see what will happen. Will you get overwhelmed? Will you be accepting? He's curious.

This backfires for him, because you double your efforts in loving him. Every time he tries to match you, you up the ante. When he asks why, he's flabbergasted by the answer.

"I want to make sure you always feel loved, no matter what."

Zandik considers himself a logical man, one of reason and science. He believes the way to truth is through hypothesizing and experimentation. Which is why he finds himself pondering and thinking about your actions far too much. Are you perhaps conducting an experiment on him? Is that why you are being so doting and loving? Is that why you love him so much and try so hard for him despite his lackluster actions? Are you trying to see how long it'll take for him to let his guard down, and then take advantage of him? (He knows he's lying to himself, but he can't help it.) Interesting, very interesting, and quite intelligent of you to be honest. He has to applaud your perseverance, not many would take it this far for someone like him. Alright, then he will do the same thing, You will become his little test subject as well, and then he will see how you like the tables being turned. Sure, it's going to be a bit of a struggle for him to be as affectionate as you, but he will do it, for the sake of the experiment. Yes, the experiment... that's totally what this is for.

Unfortunately, the variables of this experiment were far out of his control. Zandik genuinely didn't think it was possible for you to be even more lovey dovey, but here he was now, practically being smothered by how affectionate you were being. For once, Zandik is completely and utterly... outclassed. He simply can't hope to match you in this area... now he just has to know, for his notes and future reference, why do you go so far? Especially for him? Your answer is laughably simple, and he too would have laughed if he wasn't so shocked. You just wanted to make sure he felt loved at all times. How dumb, Zandik thinks. How dumb... how stupid of you to waste your time and energy on something like that...

But this was the only experiment Zandik has ever been glad that it resulted in a failure.

[yanyandam]

helloo! i hope you're having a nice day and you're doing well<33, is it alright if i request hcs for draken mikey being friends w sort of social recluse/lonely reader? i totally understand if you aren't super interested in writing this, take care!!<3

Hey!! Hope you're having a nice day/evening too! here, I hope it'll make you happy! love yaaa, as a pretty lonely person I recognized myself a lot in this lol Btw. i am ALWAYS interested in writing stuff to comfort people. Dont worry hehe

DRAKEN AND MIKEY WITH A SOCIALLY RECLUSIVE!READER

DRAKEN thinks you’re quiet. Not in a bad way; like ‘doesn’t talk if unnecessary’ quiet’, which he thinks is a good thing. He gets it, he also only speaks if needed. He watches, he notices small things, and he’s pretty sure it’s the same for you. Your eyes seem smart, and soft: which worries him. This world doesn’t go easy on soft things. Oh but if anyone tries to mess with you…they’ll learn pretty fast that softness doesn’t mean weakness. Not with him around.

-He gives you quiet protection. You catch people backing off when you're near him, even though he doesn’t say a word. You once heard a guy mutter, “That’s the one Draken watches over. Don’t mess with them.” -He shares food with you like it’s nothing. You're sitting alone eating your lunch, and he silently places some warm food next to you, sits down, and says, “Yours looked sad.” -He lets you hide behind his rep. When a teacher tries to call you out for skipping class, Ken appears behind you. One glare from him, and the teacher just… walks away. -He teaches you self-defense (gruffly). He notices you flinch when people get too close. One day, he grabs your wrist (gently, despite his usual vibe) and shows you how to break out of a hold. “Next time, don’t freeze.” -He sits next to you silently until you open up. When you’re feeling particularly isolated, he finds you on the rooftop. He doesn’t talk, just sits, legs hanging off the edge. After a long silence, he says, “Let’s just not give a fuck about anything” like it’s the wisest thing he’s said -He deadpans with a sly smirk when you surprise him. You make a clever jab at someone, and he stares at you for a second before letting out a low chuckle. “Didn’t know you had fangs. Nice.”

You still remember that one day. The rooftop was empty when you pushed open the rusted door. You come up here a lot to avoid people, the way they stare, the way they expect things from you when you don’t even know how to exist properly. You don’t realize he’s already there until you hear the soft crunch of a chip bag. Draken.

He’s leaning against the wall, one leg propped up, eating shrimp chips like he’s been here forever. His eyes slide to you, expression unreadable, but he doesn’t say anything. Just scoots over slightly, barely noticeable, and goes back to munching. You hesitate. Then sit. Minutes pass.

“You come up here every day, is it for the dead plant over there?” he says, deadpan. You blink at the plant. “Trying to magically revive it or bury it?”

“Uh…Who knows…” you mutter. A beat. He leans back, tilting his head to the sun. “It’s stubborn. Like you.” You glance at him. “Is that a compliment?”

He smirks faintly. “Wouldn’t waste my breath if it wasn’t.” The silence that follows isn’t awkward, it’s calm. Like he’s giving you space without making it feel like space. Before you leave, he tosses a sealed juice box at you. “For the plant,” he says. But you know better.

Mikey thinks you’re like an XL cat! (A stray one. Who’s been through a lot.) You gotta sit real still and not make eye contact or they’ll run off. But when they do come close? Dude. It’s like winning the lottery. He thinks you’re super cool and wonders if you realize that! He wants to make you laugh more often. He thinks you really, really deserve it. Doesn’t care how many dumb jokes and games it takes. You’re like his friend forever, and ever. No choice.

-He treats you like a rare Pokemon. “You’re laughing!” he’d yell across the classroom. You hide your face, dying inside. While he laughs uncontrollably, it’s honestly cute. -He drags you everywhere like a backpack. “Come oooon, we’re going to the arcade!” Before you can say no, he’s already got your hand and is running, laughing like a maniac. No chance of escape. -He gets way too excited when you talk. You speak up in group convo, and he gasps like you just performed a magic trick. He fist bumps you so hard it nearly dislocates your shoulder. -He defends you without even knowing why. Someone tries to mess with you and he instantly goes full pitbull. “Got a problem?” Then turns to you like, “Were they your friend or somethin’? …Oops?” -He tries to make you laugh every chance he gets. Falls dramatically in the hallway, pretends to be dead. “This is how I die. Tell Draken I think all the women at his place are hot” You try not to smile. He definitely saw it. -He offers affection!! “You looked kinda down, so here!” He hands you a candy wrapper with a smiley face drawn on it. “It’s magic, it’ll keep bad vibes away!”

…

“Just trust me, okay?!”

Mikey’s dragging you through a glowing maze of arcade lights and screaming machines, his energy way too big for the narrow walkway. People move out of his way like he’s a tank. “I don’t even play games,” you protest.

“That’s a lie. You’re gonna DESTROY this one. I can feel it.” He plants you in front of a dance machine. “Go on. Just follow the arrows!”

You blink. “I’m not doing this.”

He gasps. “You have to. It’s life or death now.” You roll your eyes, but step up. He squeals like it’s Christmas. And when you stomp awkwardly through your first song, cheeks burning, he claps and yells, “THAT’S MY FRIEND!! LEGENDARY!!” like you just won gold. He laughs like a maniac again.

Somehow… you’re smiling.

[acid-ixx]

update and story excepts

guys i swear if i post chapter 4 sooner for my series: again &. again, soon, will that revive the yandere batfam/dc tag because i swear i've been consuming less content of it both lately and sadly 💔 like it's a bit dead ngl. ill reply to asks once i'm done with ch.4 istg

and yes, i'm back from my short hiatus again to announce this. and it's 3:30am but i dont care teehee. anyways, if i do post a new chapter expect it to be this week and that's final for once, since i've kept all of you guys waiting so long, i'm so sorry :(( i swear it's me trying to gain confidence through my writing and i don't know if i like chapter 4 or not. all i do know is that it's one of the most emotionally draining chapters so expect triple the angst, yippee!

anyways, excepts from the chapter below the line break:

DICK'S THOUGHTS:

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

CONNER'S SCENES:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you."

BATHROOM BREAKDOWN P.T.2 PRIOR TO CLUBBING

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted.the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

(spoilers: expect shit to go down with jason todd with you, and him with the family, and a good 4k words of you flirting with conner before actual shit goes down)

leave comments down below if you do like the direction this story is coming to! otherwise, thank you all for reading my series and supporting it from the start !! <33

[randomhealer]

⇢ ˗ˏˋTaking care of a tamagotchi together ࿐ྂ

writing this since 3am and now it's five, unreviewed, neutral reader

~♡

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is a needy father... he already has a tamagotchi so as soon as you found out about this you automatically became the tamagotchi's mother/father along with him.

Malleus is so happy that his little virtual pet has someone else to take care of him along with Malleus, Malleus also uses this to spend more time with you, you are like a little family...

He will also demand that you spend time with the Tamagotchi, claiming that the pet misses you and feels neglected, he will get upset and pout if you don't spend time with him and the Tamagotchi.

There would definitely be another tamagotchi if you let him have one...like a little brother or sister for your tamagotchi...

but he is content with just one while you take care of him with him there is nothing else that would make him happy.

Jade Leech

Jade just looked at you with his usual smile as you explained about the virtual pet for him to take care of for you before saying a light "oya? if you wanted a child just ask me to make one with you-oh? don't you want to?" It's okay, I was just joking" but after giving him the tamagotchi, he seems to take seriously the idea of ​​being you tamagotchi's father.

all the time he keeps the little thing away from Floyd, feeds him only healthy food, always bathes him and leaves the tamagotchi playing in the virtual park while he works on Lounge, after he comes back he gives the tamagotchi another bath and puts him to bed, Even though it's a virtual pet, he takes care of it as if it were real. After he gives you the tamagotchi back he explains everything that happened, what he ate and what he did, after that he will always take care of your virtual pet if you ask, occasionally you will have discussions about what would be healthy for the "child" of you or not (you saying that the tamagotchi needs to eat more sweets than mushrooms and fruits)

"too much sweets can end up giving them a stomach ache, you know I only want the best for our baby, besides I know you keep feeding him cakes every time you take care of him..." Jade says while talking to you at Mostro Lounge, smiling when he saw you trying to explain yourself.

...Meanwhile, Azul accidentally overheard this little part of the conversation and spent a week thinking about how he was going to ask Jade if he has a child with you or something...

Deuce spade

Deuce was more than happy when you gave him the tamagotchi, he looks at you with those eyes saying 'I'll be the best father in the world, I won't disappoint you' but he ends up forgetting about the tamagotchi and letting him starve to death the same day.

Poor boi...He even took care of him in the first hours, gave him food, bath and affection but the day went on and he was busy studying for a test, he went to the basketball club and even had extra classes with Divus... at the end of the day while he was almost asleep he was scared and remembered the virtual pet... when he saw the dead pet on the screen he was scared and in shock, he didn't know they could die...

he was literally in shock as if he had broken an egg... (old reference lol)

but in the end he knows he wouldn't be able to sleep without telling you this, in the end when he tells you he's almost in tears as he apologizes to you, until you explain that everything was fine and that you could revive another tamagotchi...he stays relieved but still continues to apologize and promises to take better care next time.

(Later Trey and Cater find out about this and help him take care of his pet in the meantime Ace is just laughing in the background)

Floyd leech

Floyd got a little irritated when he saw that you were paying more attention to that thing than him when he came to visit you, so he did the great feat of throwing you Tamagotchi through ramshackle's window.

(just joking about Floyd's part, I was going to do something more detailed but all that comes to my mind is either him throwing the tamagotchi somewhere and forgetting or him trying to eat the poor tamagotchi and not being able to and getting angry about it and ending up breaking lol, I was finally going to sleep but I couldn't without getting it out of my mind... Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it)

[poledancingghostson]

To put it into perspective, the same number of people texted me asking if I was okay when William Finn died as they did when I was a single mile away from the evacuation zone of the worst fires in LA history.

I found out while I was at work. I work in service, and I managed to stay professional, to swallow my emotions, for a grand total of ten minutes before a customer was slightly mean to me, and I immediately broke down crying. It’s embarrassing to explain to all the kind people who tried to comfort me that, actually, it wasn’t really the angry, unforgiving customer that had caused this reaction, but the death of a man in his seventies who I had never met.

The thing is, I can’t totally explain why this struck such a blow to my foundations. I knew he wasn’t young. I knew, to some extent, that his health was failing. And, once again, I didn’t know him. But I think he’s the reason I know myself.

As a lonely high school student with no real sense of my own identity, I found myself and the community I desperately needed in the very queer and very Jewish online fandom that formed around the 2016 Lincoln Center revival of Falsettos. My connection to Judaism, my gender and sexual identities, they all trace back to what I learned from that community.

As a lost college student slipping into deeper and deeper depression, my joy revolved around an obsession with the New York theatre scene that had its roots firmly embedded in the deep dives I had taken into William Finn’s works and the history that surrounded them.

As an aimless college dropout, I remembered the musical theatre class I had taken with In Trousers’ own Alison Fraser, the lifetime of musical theatre that I had done with the person who had introduced me to Falsettos in the first place, the way it felt to perform, and especially the way it felt to perform a work of genius like Finn’s songs. I auditioned for musical theatre school with “Love Me For What I Am,” from the original 1979 version of In Trousers.

As a frustrated musical theatre student, whenever I felt my love for the artform slipping away, as it can when a passion becomes an obligation–when your favorite songs become graded assignments, and your excited analysis becomes an essay with a deadline–it was Finn’s work that reignited that fire.

No other body of work has embedded itself so deeply in my life and my soul as William Finn’s. None have felt so intertwined with my being, and with the trajectory of my life.

I have, over the years, met most of the 2016 Broadway cast, flown cross-country to see a production of A New Brain, and of course made everyone in my university class groan over and over again by bringing up Falsettos for the thousandth time (I swear it was just relevant a lot). I could tell a hundred stories of friendships and accomplishments and survival that only happened because of the inspiration brought by the songs and stories of William Finn. They are a part of me. Irreversibly so. What breaks my heart, what will never stop breaking my heart, is that I never got to tell him any of those stories. That I never got to thank him for altering my brain chemistry–for changing my life.

I hope he knew anyway. I hope today, and will always hope, that he knew how much his art meant to so many people. People who felt seen, maybe for the first time–-people who found community when they thought they had none–-people who found themselves and found their way–-because of his shows, his music, his characters. I hope he knew that his bravery and boldness, the stories he chose to spotlight, changed Broadway, and by extension the entire media landscape, forever. I don’t think he gets enough credit for that. But I hope he knew how true it was, and how true it remains.

The grief I feel today is bigger than it has any right to be. As I sit here writing this eulogy for someone who never knew I existed, trying to put into words everything these shows have meant to me over the years–-as Mr. Bungee rides around my TV screen on a Razor scooter, courtesy of the bootleg recording of the Encores! Production of A New Brain–-as I try to come up with a way to feel okay-–to create something that can somehow honor his tremendous legacy-–the one thing I keep coming back to is the most cliched conclusion possible. That the source of this grief is a wellspring of immense gratitude that I will never be able to fully express. But I’ll try my best. In whatever ways I can.

And I’ll start here. Sharing these stupid, complicated, unexplainable feelings with whoever is willing to read it. I’ll start here. With a deep, emphatic thank you.

Thank you, Mr. Finn. For getting me here. For making me who I am. Thank you.

[olderthannetfic]

Any way you could recommend some sort of intro guide to fantasy for dummies to me?

I'd like to have a couple of magic related elements in my fics sometimes, but I'd like to sort of, sidestep the world building part if possible.

So is there some kind of bare bones universal structure I could borrow from as a reference point for like, a magic system? I don't want to embarrass myself by showing i know so little of the rules I'm breaking them all over the place. And I know tons of people have fun figuring out how things work mechanically, so I'd love being able to outsource from them so to speak because that's not what up my street at all.

--

Hah! There are so many versions of "fantasy". Right now, I'm brainstorming for a very elaborate secondary world fantasy that's heavily inspired by wuxia but not claiming to actually be wuxia. I'm trying to figure out what Western elements I want to work in and how I can come up with names that don't make me cringe.

There is no one bare bones guide and there cannot be because different subgenres have nearly nothing to do with each other. In fact, even calling it collectively "fantasy" and thinking that these subgenres belong in one category together depends on location and era.

If you want to know about magic systems... oh dear... I'm going to have to recommend... you all know it's coming... Brandon Sanderson's lectures. There are some on Youtube.

--

But before you go look at a guide, I think it's important to understand the parameters and discourse around this subject. Sanderson is the poster boy for unnecessarily complex systems that appeal to the kinds of guys who fill out wikis of canon minutia and complain that the grain harvest and export policies don't make sense in derivative fantasy doorstop #57. This kind of fan annoys the bejesus out of people who care about theme and allegory. Also the many people who've noticed that Sanderson's books would probably be better at 200k than 400. >;D

Sanderson himself is much less of a dumbass about the topic, thankfully. He talks about how there are systems that work like real world science: put in X grams of magic thing one and Y grams of magic thing two, and you get a predictable potion result. But there are also systems that are more numinous. In the same book, you may find magic that's your most boring physics homework and magic that's essentially a religious experience where strict categorization and the logic of the laboratory have no place. There can also be systems that are unknowable and systems that your characters don't understand but that the audience grasps are perfectly logical to an expert.

--

If you're using magic as set dressing in fic, decide what the vibe is and pick a system that supports that. Don't bother going full Sanderson.

Fairy tale: Magic works on feels. Twu wuv will revive dead people for no reason, and you do not need to justify anything as long as it feels right. Hanahaki fic rarely bothers to explain the science. We all know it isn't about that.

Harry Potter: Unholy mix of fake-science and rule-of-funny. You should probably pick only one to copy. If it's fake science, just write about the characters half remembering chemistry class and replace all the words with technobabble.

For another example of rule of funny, check out The ABCs of Spellcraft by Jordan Castillo Price, a gay romance series where all of the magic is puns and stupid wordplay and the general tone is extremely silly. In book 1, a villain tells his magically compelled goon to take the hero outside and "pound" him. The hero takes one look at all those muscles and is like "You know, that instruction can be interpreted multiple ways!"

Some systems are full of stupidass levels out of a video game with actual numbers. This gives fans of stories about leveling up a massive boner, but it is undesirable in most fic. Instead, treat magic like intelligence or learned skills: You know some people are naturally smarter and some people have learned more, but measuring it with a precise number is both impossible and obnoxious.

--

Decide if your magic is hereditary or learned. Western fantasy is full of hereditary magic, including magic with a simple on-off setting: you're either magical or you're not. Eastern fantasy tends to go with highly variable natural aptitude but systems that anyone can theoretically learn.

Decide if your magic is extremely literal and science-y, even if the characters don't know how their laptop works, or if it's more of a metaphor for love or social forces or if it's just a witchy aesthetic because who doesn't love a coffee shop with a punny name and pentagrams on the cups?

A lot of backdrops for shippy fic are vibes-based only. They don't stand up to the world building police, and they don't need to.

Just don't tag the fic as 'magical realism' unless you actually know what that means and are actually writing that.

[aquasarsstuff]

Valentines Day gone wrong, ft. Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Author's note: I feel like there's not much Lilia fic or I literally just read all them. Anyway, content for me to satiate my simping self because he came home 3x when I pulled for him on the stitch event banner. (This more like me trying to revive my passion in writing after moving on from my cringe writing phase.

If there were any word you would use to describe Lilia Vanrouge, a 3rd year from Diasomnia, he would be close to eccentric. His reactions to things were unpredictable, though that was the reason why your troubles has lessen this past few days. He would randomly appear randomly or sometimes when chaos was about to ensue between your first year friend. While you were anxious of the tension, Lilia just smiles, amuse at the situation and doesn't even seem bothered about it. Nevertheless, before he even leaves, he gives you advices, though some of it were questionable, parts of it we're pretty helpful when it comes to handling Grim and the Adeuce duo. And here you are troubled with another thing.

You've heard of a festivity celebrated here in Twisted Wonderland while Rook was busy rambling about Vil. It was called Valentines Day. You only have a pretty limited information about it, but all you knew is it's about giving gift as a form of gratitude. You already have gifts in mind to give to your friends, and since you have gotten pretty close to Lilia, you've been thinking of also giving him a gift.

---

Well, this shouldn't be hard at all. You know Lilia's love for sweets so you decided to pick a box of chocolate for him from Sam's shop. It was wrap neatly in a red cloth with a golden ribbon. Holding it close to your chest, you silently recite the words you'll tell him when you give this to him, but looks like you don't need to do that.

You almost smack yourself to the ground when Lilia appeared infront of you, hanging upside-down on a branch of a tree around campus. He laughs at your reaction, as usual, though it morphs into a smirk after seeing the parcel in your hand. You gulped hard at seeing that expression, out of all the time he has to make that face, does it really have to be now. You suddenly feel embarrassment creep up your face.

"Having trouble finding someone? I can help with that," He says before jumping down and properly facing you. "Or just uncertain about the gift? I have a lot of recipes in mind-"

Your mind turned into utter horror after hearing his next words. You've already heard of his infamous reputation so you already stop him. "No. I," You sighed.

"I was looking for you."

"Ohoho? May I inquire why?"

"This is for you," You handed him the gift as calmly as you could. His eyes slightly widen. Those crimson doe eyes look at you unblinking that it was almost adorable if it weren't for the fact that his face was morphing to that one every time he starts to tease you for something.

"This is my gratitude for last week, Lilia. If it weren't for you I would probably get another earful from the Headmaster. When you are with me, It's like the world is painted in vibrant colors. Happy Valentines day, Lilia. I hope you like my gift for you." You walk away from him before he could say another word. When he was already out of sight, you ran to your next class while covering your face. When you reach your seat, your friends huddled around you like bees. Seeing your flustered face, you were bombarded with questions about being sick.

"Im fine guys, really," you said, brushing off all of their words. Your friends however didn't believe the reassurance you gave them, but stop pestering you after Trein entered the room. It was only then that you notice how strong and fast your heartbeat was. You probably shouldn't have run that long earlier, under the heat of the sun.

___

Bonus:

Later that night, Malleus came to visit and he bluntly ask about the gift you have given Lilia. Apparently, the mischievous bat has been bragging it to his sons. You sighed, before remembering that you have also prepared a gift for him. You ask Malleus to stay outside for moment. When you handed him the gift, he was silent.

Malleus: Prefect tell me, do you really understand what this day means?

You then proceed to tell him what you know. Instantly, it clicks to Malleus and he laughs whole heartedly.

Safe to say, you tried to avoid Lilia for the whole week. (keyword: tried)

-----

I dedicate my 2nd fic to @hanafubukki. Hi, I'm a big fan of you and Lilia ehe. Okay, but no way I'm reading this again. The idea was delicious, but after writing it, my perfectionist self just decide to possess me and now its cringe. Btw to all my readers, I hope you enjoy this.

[bbr0wni3]

Late Night Comfort

(one shot)

♡ -> Charlie Dalton x Reader

Summary: Everything has changed since the loss of a good friend. Everything is quieter, silent suffering that can't be contained, at least not for Charlie, who seeks comfort at a very late hour of the night.

-> Content & warnings: female reader, fluff, angst, love confession, narrated in 1st person, DPS spoilers!, secrets feelings, girls are allowed on Wellton, reader is part of the boys group

-> word count: 1.7k

-> (a/n): hii, a few days ago I watched DPS, and let me tell you that I NEED Charlie Dalton, he's so cute and sassy I just love him, the movie is so so amazing and beautiful, absolute cinema, so I figured I could write a one shot for my baby ♡♡♡

Sorry in advance if there are some misspelled words, bad grammar/phrases,etc. English is not my first language!!

Divider by @/anitalenia

It's been a week since Neil's passing. The atmosphere at Wellton isn't the same anymore, everything is quieter, and without Professor Keating our poetry class lacks meaning and passion. We stopped learning anything really, there is no class like Mr Keating's classes.

The boys, the whole group also changed, it's clear that we are all dealing and coping with Neil's death.

I sometimes go back to the Indian cave where all our “dead poets society” meetings were. But every time I go back I swear it feels colder than before, wetter than before and sadder each time. To think back and remember how we used to all laugh here, how we talked and listened, how we bounded like we have never before, and how charlie played the saxophone in a way that warmed my soul.

Now there's pure silence, and our laughs are trapped in the walls, faint whispers of all the poetry that has been read inside this dark cave.

Inside the cave I sometimes encountered the other boys, and usually they were always the same ones, pitts, knox, meeks, charlie and of course me; at the end the ones who were still going to the cave wanted the same, to revive the feeling of those old days, to feel the nostalgia of what could've been if something like the loss of a friend didn't happen.

I close my trigonometry study books as I prepare to go to bed, I get in the soft winter blankets my grandma crocheted herself, I lay my head on the pillows and turn my body to turn off the lamp I have next to my bed. I watch the ceiling for a while trying to fall asleep, and I eventually do.

A small and hesitant knock on my door, I tap the lamp again to turn it on and I look in complete silence in the direction that the sound came from, i wait and another knock is heard again, I glance at the clock that marks exactly 2:00 am and with a confused expression on my face I put on my slippers and get off the bed to open the door.

I open it, and I see Charlie standing there, with his usual light blue pajamas, I focus my eyes on his face, he looks tired and sad, but at the same time he's glad to see me.

“Hey, can..can I come in?” He is the first to speak and he does it almost in a whisper as he doesn't want the whole corridor to hear. He looks at me the whole time, and I cannot handle the way his eyes remind me of the ones of a puppy.

I nod and he comes in, I close the door with my hands behind my back to get a look of the situation in front of me, it worries me to see him like this.

“What happened chars?” I grab his hand softly and I guide him to my bed so we can sit and talk, as I do my heart beats loud, I can't contain and I can't deny anymore the way he always makes me feel when we're this close. I almost feel guilty to be thinking like this when he looks like he is on the verge of tears.

“I can't sleep, I keep seeing this images, this memories when I close my eyes, I just, I need someone to be here next to me” he is open about his thoughts with me, he's always been, whatever it is he's always been honest with me and straight to the point, and that is how I would describe our relationship.

“Do you want to stay again? you can rest here, we can talk if you want” I suggest to him while I look at the floor and then at him, he was already looking at me, the glimmer of the lamp paints the room of a warm yellow, and in his eyes it shines in the form of a small star, they are watery and a little red on the sides, but he looks dreamy under this light.

He nods in response, so I get up off the bed and grab some blankets from the top drawer of my wardrobe. I started making the bed that's on the right of the room, since I was not assigned with a roommate that bed is always empty.

In the walls I see my big shadow making the bed for him, I feel how he is looking at me the whole time, I'm nervous just thinking about it, even though it's not the first time he's going to sleep in the same room as me.

Once I finished making it he gets up my bed and walks towards me as I go back to my own bed, I get inside the blankets again, I place my hand on my cheek to look at him and how he gets on the bed, he only looks at the ceiling, i look at his side profile and i trace his features in my mind, I decide to break the ice.

“What's on your mind that doesn't let you sleep?” he turns his head and looks at me, he matches my current position and turns his body so he is completely facing me.

“Neil” he says as I expected, sighing as he says his name, even from this distance of the room I can see how a tear began to fall and followed the bridge of his nose.

I grab the side of my blanket and I extend it in the air, opening it as a way of telling him that he is welcome to come and lay down next to me, he gets up when he notices and scoops next to me on my bed, his chest is warm but his feet are cold.

My back touches the wall as I try to make more space for the both of us, but we are still very close to each other. I turn my body to look at him, he does the same.

Another tear falls from his eyes as we stay in silence, with my thumb I hesitate but I get on time to dry it before it reaches his lips. His expression changed slightly when I did, his eyes grew a little bit bigger, he breathed deeply and his lips parted slowly from each other.

“Am I so in love with you, to even notice the smallest details of your actions, charlie?” I thought to myself at that very moment. I very much knew the answer.

It's not the first time we seek comfort from each other, that we seek our company for various reasons. But tonight, tonight is different. He is different.

I've never seen him cry like this in front of me, I've never seen him so vulnerable and sensitive next to me. We did see each other cry, but from laughter or when the whole group was there, tonight there's privacy, there's an intimate moment, there is a cozy and comforting feeling between us.

I know he feels it too, because he is leaning towards me even more, he looks for my touch as he rests his head on the creek of my neck, from a moment to another he grips the fabric of my pajama shirt, he snuggles his face deeper in my neck and I start feeling the wetness of his tears before I hear his pain.

I stay still for a moment, I can hear how my heart beats louder in my ears, and how he Is choking on his own sadness. With my left hand I caress his cheek, his hair, and his ear. He starts to calm up with my touch, he stops crying but he still grabs the side of my shirt in the most innocent way.

I think of him when we were kids.

“I'm sorry, I didn't expect to explode like that” he says, still buried in my neck, he's embarrassed and his words almost come out as a mumble.

“don't be sorry, it seems like you needed to cry out loud so you did” he raises his head and i look at him, smiling without teeth.

“Do you feel better?” I speak again

“yeah I do actually, thank you” He lets go of my shirt and accommodates his body so that his head rests on my pillow, I do the same, and we both look at each other for a moment.

“you're very special to me” He says out of nowhere, making me blush, not only is he looking at me like he is searching in the depth of my soul but he also says something like this.

“I'm going to explode.” I say in my head

“you're very special to me too, Charlie, you always were.” I respond, I fear that my body keeps pushing me to finally confess to him, it's like a sudden impulse, but is it really the moment?

I keep looking at him, going from one eye to another, I try to search for me in them, I see all of the memories I have of him, the every moment that he made me fall in love with him even more, and in that very moment I find it, I find the bravery to follow this sudden impulse.

Carpe diem.

I get closer and I kiss him right on the lips, I close my eyes and I make it the faster I can to not regret it after. I taste the salt from his dry tears. I pull apart once the impulse is gone from my body and I go back to being embarrassed.

I see how he slowly opens his eyes, he looks at me, his pupils are dilated and he smirks before grabbing the back of my head with his hand and pulling me closer again.

The kiss he gives me is deeper, like he waited a long time to do this, like he imagined every single detail the same way as I did.

We separate, he places his forehead on mine as I listen to how he breathes.

“I like you, I like you so much” he says desperately, like if he was holding these words on the back of his tongue, like it was burning him every minute that passed without being able to say it.

“I like you to chars, a lot” I look up at him as I separate our foreheads, he looks beautiful as always.

I never imagined that this night could end up like this.

Thank you for reading!

[gumballavocadoharry]

Front door delivery:

The days that followed were a blur of relentless pressure. Professor Weaver’s words echoed in Yn’s mind, a constant reminder of the chasm between the person she presented on the page and the person she was in reality. She revised her story, trying to inject the raw, messy truth Weaver demanded, but the words felt flat, controlled, scrubbed clean of genuine pain. The effort was exhausting, layered on top of the gnawing physical fatigue that came from subsisting on the bare minimum.

Harry, true to his protective nature, had started a quiet campaign of care. He didn’t pry directly, didn’t demand explanations. Instead, text messages would arrive, casual check-ins disguised as questions about her day or sharing some mundane detail about the restaurant. Then, small, carefully packaged containers of food began appearing. Sometimes he’d drop them off at her apartment door with a quick text saying, "Just a little something I whipped up. No pressure, but thought you might like it." Other times, he’d catch her near campus and press a warm pastry or a small pot of soup into her hands with that gentle, knowing smile that both comforting and terrifying.

She appreciated it, more than he could ever know. Each gesture was a tiny, fragile bridge across the gulf she felt. She’d open the containers, inhaling the rich, savory scents – a creamy tomato soup, a hearty lentil stew, a perfectly baked scone. For a fleeting second, the craving would surge, a primal need her body couldn’t entirely suppress. But then the familiar anxieties would clamp down, the voice of the illness whispering accusations, tallying the calories, dissecting the ingredients, turning an act of love into a potential threat. Most of it ended up discarded, a gut-wrenching waste that fueled her guilt, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it. The small amounts she did manage to consume felt like victories, followed swiftly by the familiar need to compensate.

Her writing courses were intense, demanding not just intellectual rigor but emotional vulnerability she couldn't afford. In her Advanced Fiction seminar, surrounded by peers who debated symbolism and character arcs with passionate intensity, Yn felt increasingly detached. Her brain felt sluggish, wrapped in cotton. The words on the page swam, the professor's lecture a distant hum.

The room began to tilt. Not metaphorically, but literally. The fluorescent lights seemed to pulse, then dim. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Her stomach churned with a sudden, violent emptiness. She gripped the edge of her desk, the wood rough under her clammy fingers. Voices seemed to recede. She tried to focus on the professor, willing the dizziness to pass, but it intensified, turning the room into a spinning vortex. The faces of her classmates blurred into indistinct shapes.

Panic flared, sharp and cold. She couldn't collapse here, not now, not in front of everyone. That would draw attention, questions, concern she couldn't handle. Taking a shallow, shaky breath, she focused all her energy on staying upright, on projecting an image of calm attention. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them, the world slowly righting itself, leaving her trembling and nauseous. The professor’s voice filtered back in, discussing narrative structure. Yn nodded, feigning comprehension, her heart still pounding against her ribs, the near-miss leaving her shaken to the core. She needed to be more careful. She needed to maintain control.

Dragging herself out of class felt like an Olympic feat. The cool autumn air did little to revive her. She walked slowly, her legs feeling wobbly and insubstantial beneath her. Her apartment felt miles away, a distant sanctuary where she could finally collapse without scrutiny.

Just as she turned the corner onto her street, a familiar figure stepped into her path. Harry. He was leaning against a small, nondescript car she hadn't seen before, holding a container. His green eyes, usually so full of light, were clouded with a gentle concern that tightened something in her chest.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm and low. "Thought you might be coming this way. Just finished tweaking this new sauce for the putanesca, wanted a second opinion from my favorite discerning palate." He offered the container, a small fork resting on top.

Yn hesitated. The dizzy spell had left her weak and vulnerable, her defenses lower than usual. The smell wafted towards her – rich tomatoes, briny olives and capers, a hint of garlic. It smelled… real. Grounded. Not terrifying.

"Oh, uh, hey Harry," she managed, trying for a casual tone despite her shaking hands. "That's… that's really thoughtful."

"Just trying to get it perfect," he grinned, though his eyes still held that worried flicker. "Go on, tell me what you think."

She took the container, the warmth seeping into her chilled fingers. The sauce was thick with chunks of tomato, olives, and capers, tangled with perfectly cooked strands of spaghetti. She lifted a small spoonful, her hand trembling slightly. Bringing it to her mouth, she tasted it.

It was incredible. A burst of bright tomato, balanced by the salty olives and capers, with a subtle kick of chili and the depth of garlic. It was vibrant, complex, alive. It tasted of comfort and skill and warmth.

She swallowed. And for a moment, there was no guilt. Just the pure, simple pleasure of a genuinely delicious bite of food.

"Wow, Harry," she breathed, a genuine smile touching her lips. "That's… that's amazing. Seriously. It's perfect."

His face lit up, the worry lines easing. "Really? You think so? I wasn't sure about the balance of the olives..."

"No, it's spot on," she insisted, taking another small, hesitant bite. This one felt a little harder to swallow, the anxieties starting to creep back in, but the taste was still undeniable. "It's really, really good."

He seemed genuinely pleased by her reaction, the chef’s pride evident. "Well, that's high praise from you. Listen," he paused, looking from the container to her face, his expression softening further. "I know you're busy with classes and everything, but I made a big batch tonight. There's way too much for just me. Would you consider… having dinner over at my place? Just a relaxed evening. No pressure, just good food and maybe some terrible jokes."

The invitation hung in the air. Her mind raced. Dinner. At his place. A real meal. The illness screamed a resounding no. It conjured images of losing control, of calories consumed, of shame. But another part of her, the part that craved connection, warmth, and the simple pleasure she'd just experienced, felt a desperate pull. And after the dizzy spell, the terrifying reminder of how fragile her body was, the idea of being in Harry's safe, warm space felt powerfully appealing.

She looked at him, at the genuine kindness in his eyes, the hopeful tilt of his smile. He wasn't asking her to explain anything, just to share a meal, his way of looking after her without making it explicit. It was an olive branch, a bridge offered across the chasm.

Swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat, she heard herself say, "Yes. Yes, I'd like that, Harry. Thank you."

Relief washed over his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, radiant warmth. "Great! How about… seven? My place isn't fancy, but it's comfortable. And I promise, the spaghetti is even better fresh."

Dinner at Harry's apartment was everything she hadn't realized she was starving for, emotionally if not physically. His place was cozy, filled with cookbooks and art that spoke of his passion and free spirit. The aroma of garlic and tomato filled the air, warm and inviting. He put on some quiet jazz, poured them both glasses of red wine, and the conversation flowed easily.

He talked about his day at the restaurant, funny anecdotes about customers, his plans for new dishes. He asked about her classes, her writing. He didn't probe about her personal life, didn't mention her paleness or the food she hadn’t eaten earlier. He simply created a space where she felt seen, heard, and accepted.

She ate. Not a lot by normal standards, but more than she had in days, maybe weeks. The spaghetti, perfectly al dente, coated in that magnificent sauce, was truly glorious. The wine, a smooth, berry-forward red, warmed her from the inside out, dulling the sharp edges of her anxiety just enough. She felt herself relaxing, laughing, connecting with him on a level that felt profoundly real and deeply comforting.

The evening deepened. The jazz played on. They talked about dreams, fears, silly things, serious things. Harry listened with that intense, gentle focus that made her feel like the only person in the world. His hand rested lightly on hers across the table, his touch sending a ripple of warmth through her. The atmosphere grew softer, more intimate.

The quiet hum of the city outside Harry's apartment window was a gentle backdrop to the jazz that still played softly. Yn’s head rested on his shoulder, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against her cheek. His arm around her felt solid, a comforting weight that grounded her in the present moment, away from the swirling anxieties that usually occupied her mind.

“So,” Harry murmured, his voice low and warm, a vibration she felt through his chest. “We talked about spaghetti and restaurant woes. What about the big stuff? Dreams? Fears?”

Yn’s breath hitched slightly. The big stuff. Her dreams felt fragile, her fears immense. She’d poured so much of herself into her writing, into the intense demands of her college courses, partly as a distraction, partly as a desperate attempt to prove her worth in a world that had often made her feel inadequate.

“Dreams,” she said slowly, drawing the word out. “Honestly? Sometimes my biggest dream is just to finish this novel. And maybe... maybe have someone actually read it. And like it.” She could feel the slight tension in her own body, the vulnerability of admitting such a core ambition.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound rumbling beneath her ear. “Just finish it? Just have someone read it? Yn, from what you told me about your courses, you’re tackling heavyweight stuff. Finishing your novel isn't 'just' anything. It's building a world, creating life on a page. It’s huge.” His arm tightened gently around her. “And someone will read it. And they will love it. I already know I will.”

His simple confidence in her was startling, a balm to the persistent self-doubt that often plagued her. She smiled into his shoulder. “Okay, maybe it’s a slightly bigger dream than ‘just’ finishing it. What about you? More restaurants? A Michelin star?”

“Oh, definitely more restaurants,” he said, his voice lighting up. “Maybe one day, a little place by the coast. Fresh seafood, local produce. Super casual, sun-drenched tables. And definitely not chasing stars. Just good food, happy people.” He paused. “But the real dream, I think, is simpler. It’s about connection. Food does that, you know? It brings people together. Feeding people, really feeding them, in body and spirit… that’s the dream.”

Feeding people. The words resonated differently for Yn. She thought about the plate of spaghetti she’d eaten, the quiet relief it had offered, the way Harry had simply placed it before her, no comment, no pressure, just pure, simple nourishment offered with warmth.

“Fears?” she prompted, a tremor in her voice she hoped he wouldn’t notice. It was easier to talk about his fears than her own.

He was silent for a moment, considering. “Hmm. Burning down the kitchen on a Friday night is a recurring low-level fear,” he joked, then grew serious. “Honestly? My biggest fear is probably… losing the joy in it. Letting the stress, the business side, squash the passion. Or… failing the people who work for me. Knowing they rely on me. That’s a heavy thought sometimes.”

His fears felt solid, external, rooted in responsibility and creation. Hers felt internal, insidious, tied to her own body and worth. She hesitated, the comfortable silence stretching slightly.

“What about you, Yn?” he asked gently, sensing her stillness. “Fears?”

She swallowed, the dryness in her throat making her voice scratchy. “Mine are… maybe less dramatic. More… personal.” She shifted slightly, pulling her knees up onto the sofa cushion, drawing herself in. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m not strong enough. For… for life. For the things I want.”

He didn’t press, just waited. It was a different kind of waiting than she was used to. Not the impatient, expectant silence of someone waiting for an explanation or a confession, but the patient, open quiet of someone simply offering space.

“Fear of not being strong enough?” he murmured. “Yn, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

His sincerity was disarming. She wanted to believe him, to trust the warmth glowing in his eyes.

He smiled, a soft, comforting smile that reached his eyes. “Hey,” he said, lightly bumping his forehead against hers. “Silly things now. What's the most ridiculous thing you've ever done?”

The abrupt shift caught her off guard, pulling her out of the heavy thoughts. She blinked, a watery chuckle escaping her lips. “Silly things?”

“Yep. Balance is important,” he said, winking. “Come on. Spill. Did you ever accidentally dye your hair green in high school? Or try to bake a cake without flour?”

She thought for a moment, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders. “Okay… well, in my first year of college, I signed up for a modern dance class thinking it would be an easy credit. I have absolutely zero rhythm. The final performance… I basically just flailed around in the wrong direction for five minutes. It was mortifying. And hilarious.”

Harry burst out laughing, a rich, joyful sound that filled the room better than the jazz. “Oh my god, I wish I could have seen that! Mine was trying to make a soufflé for a date when I was eighteen. Opened the oven, it promptly collapsed into a sad little puddle. We ended up eating cereal.”

The conversation shifted easily then, flowing between shared embarrassing moments, silly hypotheticals (what animal would you be? what superpower would you choose?), and lighter dreams. They talked about books they loved, places they wanted to visit, the simple pleasure of a perfect cup of coffee.

Even as they talked about silly things, the undercurrent of the earlier, more serious conversation remained, a quiet acknowledgement of the vulnerability they had shared. Harry’s hand never left her, his touch a constant, reassuring anchor.

After dinner, they moved to the sofa. He put his arm around her, pulling her gently into his side. She leaned her head on his shoulder, tired but content in a way she hadn't been in a long time. The illness was still a whisper at the back of her mind, but for now, the comfort of his presence, the lingering taste of the food, the warmth of the wine, was louder.

His fingers tangled in her dark brown hair, stroking softly. He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin up gently. His green eyes, warm and searching, met hers. "Yn," he murmured, "you're amazing."

And then he kissed her. It wasn't a passionate, demanding kiss, but soft, tender, full of the same care and warmth he poured into his food and his interactions. She kissed him back, letting herself feel the connection, the longing, the simple rightness of it in that moment.

Leading her hand-in-hand to his bedroom felt like the most natural thing in the world. His bedroom was simple, dominated by a large, comfortable bed. In the soft lamplight, surrounded by the lingering scent of their dinner and the comforting weight of his presence, the anxieties receded further. Harry was gentle, attentive, protective even in their intimacy.

He moved with a tenderness that made her feel cherished, desired without feeling judged. It was beautiful and comforting and deeply human. She allowed herself, for a few precious hours, to just be. To feel pleasure, connection, warmth, safety. She stayed that night, curled up in his arms, the soft murmur of his breathing a lullaby against the quiet roar of her internal battles.

Waking up was like a splash of cold water. The morning light filtering through the blinds illuminated the stark reality. She was in Harry's bed. She had eaten a real meal. She had drunk wine. She had been intimate. The initial flush of warmth and contentment from the night quickly evaporated, replaced by a tidal wave of shame, guilt, and fear. The illness roared back, louder than ever, a furious siren screaming about lost control, about weakness, about impending disaster.

She slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, needing to escape before the full weight of it crushed her, before Harry woke up and saw the panic she knew was etched on her face. She fumbled into her clothes, grabbed her bag, a desperate need to get away propelling her. She scribbled a hasty, flimsy note – Had to run, thank you for everything, call you soon – and placed it on his bedside table.

She practically ran the few blocks back to her apartment, the cool morning air doing nothing to calm the frantic beating of her heart or settle the roiling in her stomach. She burst through her front door, shedding her bag as she went, heading straight for the bathroom.

Leaning over the toilet, body shaking with a mixture of physical distress and emotional turmoil, she purged the warmth, the comfort, the connection, the food – everything she had allowed herself to feel and experience the night before.

Tears streamed down her face, silent and hot, as she emptied herself, trying desperately to regain the sense of control the night had stolen. The messiness Professor Weaver spoke of wasn't just in her writing; it was inside her, raw and terrifying, and for one beautiful, fleeting night, she had dared to let someone see a glimpse of it, only to retreat into the familiar, hollow despair of the aftermath.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/24/2024

you might be wondering “is my dear friend tumblr user girlfriendsofthegalaxy still unemployed?” the answer is yes. take this cat off my hands please i don’t think he’s causing the unemployment but he certainly isn’t helping

listening

via Wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers, Huoy Meas' ប្រគល់ក្ដីស្នេហ៍មកខ្ញុំវិញ. figuring out what this incredibly zippy Cambodian rock song is named and what it's about was really difficult bc spotify is a bane upon this earth and won't let you fucking copy-paste and OCR was not working on the Khmer script. i ended up listening to the first couple seconds of each of her songs on apple music, and finally figured out this roughly translates to Give Me Back My Love and is about begging a fuckboy for closure.

via the spotify discover weekly, Night Club's Pretty Girls Do Ugly Things. all Night Club's songs sound the same so if you like one, great news! i had this song on for a full gregorian hour bc, i am only a tiny bit ashamed to say, i was storyboarding a The Man With No Name fancam to this. i think it would go pretty hard.

Smoke you like a cigarette Choke you like a lariat Fatalistic tourniquet Do you want more?

-

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i did not Adore any of these comics from the library. i sort of enjoyed Night of the Ghoul, a one-volume TPB by Scott Snyder and Francesco Francavilla. i think ive blogged about this before but every once in a while i'll get a bee in my bonnet to read some horror comics even though i am a giant baby about horror movies.

Night of the Ghoul is about how you can't save your dad from PTSD but also about a lost horror film and also about the extremely dad behavior of tracking down every scrap of info about an auteur. there's also a monster.

the subtle art changes from present day to the remains of the film to the non-film flashbacks are well done, imo. the cover screams mignola but the inside pages are really fun pulp nonsense. i love a piece of genre writing that rolls around and delights in being a piece of genre writing.

im doing my level best not to get sucked into tiktok but i DO love watching this lady revive antique nail polish and look for dupes for shades from like the 20s. she found an almost exact dupe for a shade produced during wwii which is crazy insane to me!!!

-

watching

The Asphalt Jungle (1950, dir. Huston), it's a very painterly heist noir. i even like Sterling Hayden in one of the more prominent roles, even though i think he generally has the appeal of undercooked dough.

much like Fritz Lang's M, it presents the criminal element of the city as its own class with its own reputation and reference systems. it got in some trouble with the censors for having a VERY clearly laid out heist plan and execution. it's also got the babiest Marilyn Monroe in one of her earliest roles

this was such a gloriously messy movie. everyone is such a fucking mess. this woman only known as Doll is heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with Sterling Hayden's character. she's a little flighty and bumbling and silly, but determined! they're constantly orbiting the gravitational weight of her desire for this man and desire for a real life with this man. and that's just one subplot! she has maybe five minutes total screentime! she should have gotten a supporting actress oscar!!! everyone acted their fucking hearts out and it was so much fun to watch!

-

playing

monument valley is in the netflix games library this month (i don't actually know what their liscencing agreements would even look like, they and the studios they worked with were very tightlipped about that when they were rolling this out three years ago) but i assume it's going to be on the service for a while. i have never played this game, which makes me feel a little bit like a bad gamer. you can tell it's ten years old from some of the color and texture choices, but WOW did literally everyone take inspiration from this game.

this is the platonic ideal of a phone game. i get why everyone went insane about it and there was a brief boom of geometry-based puzzle mobile games. it is MUCH much harder now to get people to pay money to play a game that has a planned endpoint and planned number of levels, so netflix is a good home for it.

i was often frustrated but always delighted. the level below involves making something happening that made me genuinely gasp out loud in glee. well worth the annoyance of downloading the netflix app and scrolling through the poorly labeled and poorly sorted carousel of games.

great retrospective, a bit about how you need to have tiny teams go off and just kind of fuck around and bring weird stuff back, and a lot about how they actually designed the levels

The end result had a pixel-perfect axonometric aesthetic that not only went hard on its references to Dutch master artist and printmaker Maurits Cornelis Escher, but also dug deep into classic video game design, going right back to early arcade machines and 8-bit titles. Each of the ten levels is like a piece of fine furniture, built with invisible dovetail joints and inlaid with marquetry, stuffed with secret compartments and little design flourishes. Gray cites the world of theatre and stage design, as well as graphics, as important keystones in the way the levels were constructed. ‘Ken would always talk about flower arranging, and how you frame a silhouette of a level on the screen,’ he says.

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making

update on the Phantom Menace fabric: pinked the raw edges and threw it in the laundry again with a very large quantity of vinegar. 50% poly was too high for it to really do anything, which is interesting. it didn’t lessen the seam edge effects either, which is a little annoying bc the seams were so gigantic and that’s a good chunk of fabric to lose. i am going to buy a camp shirt pattern at some point when i have money again but for now it goes in The Box

also! thrifted a pack of o-rings for jars for a dollar and finally put my grains etc in my pretty jars. they’re going to live in the pantry but today they live out on the countertop

[yamayuandadu]

Hey, I just got done reading your amazing write up about Nanaya. I honestly didn’t expect to find the best information yet on Tumblr! I did have one question though: given that Nanaya was heavily influenced by Inanna/Ishtar, do we have any information concerning whether her cult had similarly third gender/gender non-conforming parts of its clergy?

Gala (Akkadian kalû) are mentioned among Nanaya's clergy in Kish (during the reign of Ammi-ditana; Drenowska-Rymarz, The Mesopotamian Goddess Nanaya, p. 67), in Larsa (during the reign of Rim-Sin I; p. 69), and in Uruk (historical note in an inscription of Simbar-Shipak from Nippur; p. 70). Pretty sure only Borsippa is missing out of her major cult centers. Given that the evidence pertaining to clergy of Nanaya is relatively sparse overall, especially before the first millennium BCE, it seems safe to say it was a fairly common phenomenon. However, as gala were by no means "priests of Inanna" as commonly incorrectly claimed online, and their much debated gender identity had nothing to do with Inanna (as they also occur in the cults of deities who were essentially paragons of gender conformity; plus even when ambiguity occurs in the case of Inanna, it's not really making her identity gala-like... in fact, other than Lumha no deity is really described as a gala - and Lumha was essentially a personification of the profession), I feel the question is a bit misguided. Gala were professional lamenters, and not really any less common than ritual purificators or temple scribes. Any deity major enough to have multiple types of specialists attached to their temples had gala. They were a core part of the religious landscape of Mesopotamia basically to the same degree as the āšipu, and by the first millennium BCE these two specialized priestly professions are in fact often mentioned side by side (Uri Gabbay, The kalû Priest and kalûtu Literature in Assyria, p. 116). With that in mind, it's safe to assume the presence of gala in the cult of Nanaya has nothing to do with association with Inanna, all it shows is that she was worshiped commonly enough to warrant the existence of multiple types of clergy in multiple cities. To further demonstrate that gala were a class of clergy like any other as opposed to "priests of Inanna": Ninurta's cult involved gala (Wolfgang Heimpel, Balang Gods, p. 583; "chief gala" mentioned among the staff of Eshumesha in Nippur alongside a "chief singer"), as did Ninazu's (Paul-Alain Beauieu, Remarks on Theophoric Names in the Late Babylonian Archives from Ur, p. 170; influential enough for the name to be spelled in emesal as standard in late sources), or Nanshe's (Gebhard J. Selz, Untersuchungen zur Götterwelt des altsumerischen Staates von Lagaš, p. 205-206 discusses members of Nanshe's clergy in ED Lagash); even the late invention of an "antiquarian" cult of Anu involved gala (Julia Krul, The Revival of the Anu Cult and the Nocturnal Fire Ceremony at Late Babylonian Uruk, p. 31), the examples keep piling up. It's also worth noting even the arts of the gala were believed to be an invention of Ea (Uri Gabbay, The kalû Priest and kalûtu Literature in Assyria, p. 116), same as most other professions. I think connecting Inanna's gender nonconformity (which occurs primarily in association with her military role) or occasional ambiguity (which is best attested in astronomical context) with the presence of gala in her cult is an issue in itself (even without going into the mess that is the common trend of connecting gala with the sexual aspect of Inanna specifically, for no particularly strong reason) but I will cover these matters (and more) in a separate long post soon.

[densi-mber]

A/N: Here we have one of my least favorite storylines for now it was handled, but one of my favorite to write about for this very reason.

***

The Wrong Kind of Help

“C’mon, Deeks! Give me one more! Dig deep.”

Deeks glared up at the instructor, sweat dripping off his nose, his breath rushing in and out in short, loud bursts.

“You said that twenty minutes ago, sir,” he pointed out, snarkier than he would normally risk.

“Yeah, and you’re still standing,” Instructor Hardy said, remaining Deeks vaguely of Sam when he got in SEAL mode. He pointed to Deeks and then to the ground. “So, get to it.”

The physical training instructors rode everyone hard, but often it seemed they singled him out for extra reps or to spar against the largest and most fit opponent. At first, he’d thought it was intended to showcase his shortcomings and age. Now, he didn’t know what to think.

The torture continued for another ten minutes when Hardy blew his whistle and waved his hand at Deeks midway through a push-up. “Alright, that’s enough. I don’t want you to actually die on me.”

“That’s—comforting, sir,” Deeks gasped out.

“You’re hilarious, kid. Have some water and hit the showers.”

Getting to his feet, Deeks accepted the bottle of water Hardy offered him and grabbed his bag. Thank god he’d gotten in the best shape of his life before all this, but he’d still be aching tomorrow.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Hardy said, patting Deeks on the shoulder, and walking off, likely to inflict his brand of training on some other poor, unsuspecting soul.

Fortunately, the dorm was pretty empty when he got back. Jack and Charlie were in the common room though, and as soon as he walked in, they descended.

“Dude, what did you do to piss Hardy off?” Charlie wondered. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

“Stop interrogating the man and get him some water,” Jake interceded, sighing in apparent disappointment at Charlie’s lack of regard. Normally, Deeks would find their antics amusing, but he didn’t have the energy, or breath for that.

Sitting down, Deeks put his head back, completely exhausted. He had another class in about an hour, but all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Here you go.”

Something cold nudged Deeks’ hand and he slowly opened his eyes to Jake standing over him with bottles of water and Gatorade. Deeks took the Gatorade, gratefully drinking a few sips.

“So, what happened?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Deeks sighed. “Maybe he’s hoping if he works me hard enough, I’ll quit.”

“If that’s what he’s going for, you definitely proved him wrong. I don’t think anyone else could have held up that long,” Charlie said encouragingly.

“It has been pointed out before that I can be stubborn.” Deeks smiled wryly.

“Marty Deeks stubborn? No way,” Jake drawled.

Chuckling, Deeks patted his shoulder as he stood up again. “Thanks, guys. I’m going to go shower and feel less like death.”

***

The shower did go a long way to reviving Deeks. In a fresh set of academy approved clothes, Deeks ran downstairs, intending to grab something from the cafeteria before his next class. On his way to back through the common room, he saw Hardy standing by the exit doors, arms crossed over his chest.

Deeks sighed internally, continuing towards him even though he wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction.

“Deeks, I was looking for you.”

“I’d love to chat, sir, but I have to get to ethics,” Deeks told him.

“This will only take a moment,” Hardy said. He scrutinized Deeks with narrowed eyes. “I bet you’re wondering why I had you run all those drills today. Why I keep using you for examples during group training.”

“The thought has occurred.”

Hardy nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re a smart guy, Deeks. You’ve got more experience than anyone here who isn’t on staff and despite your age, you’re flying through every course with top marks so far.”

“I’m sure it’s a great disappointment for anyone thinking I’d fail,” Deeks said lightly.

“It’s damn impressive,” Hardy countered to Deeks’ surprise. “Oh don’t look like that. At this point, I think everyone wants to see you earn your agents badge. I’m trying to help you get there.”

“By running me to death?”

“No, by showing you and everyone else just what you’re capable of.” Hardy actually poked Deeks in the chest. “You gotta be better than good for NCIS to believe you’re a better candidate than one of these barely out of college 24 year olds. You need to stand out.”

Deeks could honestly say he’d never expected that. He was oddly touched Hardy seemed to care about him in his own way, even if he went about it completely the wrong way. He could see where he was coming from too. To an extent.

“With all due respect, I don’t think running me into the ground is the best way to achieve that result,” Deeks said, and Hardy smiled now

“I think I know what’s best for my students, and this is going to help get you the results you want.” Apparently satisfied with having said his piece, Hardy clapped Deeks on the back. “I’ll see your bright and early tomorrow morning.”

As he left, Deeks sighed, wishing he didn’t have such an infamous past hanging over his head.

[lizhly-writes]

Miss Liz, you got me hooked into GSGW and now I'm dying because I caught up to what's been translated and need more to read. Please, help me, do you have any other novel recommendations?

Haha, is that so? I feel like I didn't say very much about it, but thank you for letting me be your voice of influence!

If you haven't checked out anything from the SCP Foundation, then I recommend There is No Antimemetics Division. Like GSGW, we have a secret agency devoted to dealing with anomalies, but in this case, we're dealing with antimemes -- self-censoring ideas. This is a very cleverly written piece that deals with anomalies that affect your memory and perception.

My second recommendation is A Forum for Patients of Fourth Hospital, which is about a ward of girls with terminal illnesses that get thrown into death games -- "treatments", as the hospital calls them, which the girls need to complete in order to survive. While it's not "shady secret agency", I feel like it fits a similar vibe, with the "constantly having to complete dangerous scenarios".

After this, I have to go into unfamiliar territory -- stories that I haven't completed or aren't completely translated, so I can't guarantee quality all the way through, but I feel the need to mention them anyway.

Debut or Die is written by the same author as GSGW, so if you're particularly into that writing style, then, well, here's another shot at it. It's about a guy who, after failing the civil service exam, wakes up in the past as a different person, and gets a system message: debut as an idol, or, you know, die. Aside from the system, we do start off very classic showbiz drama novel, but then there are some mysteries attached that I haven't read yet, because there's a good portion of chapters that are locked and I don't have a Tapas account....

If you read A Forum for Patients of Fourth Hospital and enjoy that, then there is Girl's Dormitory Escape. Similar setup, except it's a dormitory instead of a hospital ward and 'classes' instead of 'treatments'. It's got a "true girl companionship" vibe, you know?

If you happen to like Debut or Die, or at least, showbiz novels, then I'll recommend Assistant Kim Hates Idols, which is about a salaryman who wakes up in the past as an idol trainee. He's told to debut successfully -- if so, then he can revive his dead older sister. If not? Then he'll have to serve a lifetime contract at a company he hates. I'm actively reading this one, I'm on Chapter 147, and I have sixty chapters to go before I run out of chapters and have to wait pitifully for more chapters. So far, I actually like this one better than Debut or Die -- I just find the main character... funnier. Quirkier. He's got a very obvious and distinctive personality. We certainly start off slower, but his dynamics with the rest of his idol group are such that I have two chapters saved in my tabs because he's ridiculous. Again, this can't really be a fair comparison since I haven't fully read Debut or Die or this novel, but.... well. There you go.

Now, I'm going into stories that I've recommended before. If you want a character that is the diametric opposite of Kim Soleum, then you've got What's Wrong With Seeking Death? This one is about a girl who transmigrates in to become the villain character of a horror/romance novel... except she misunderstands the system instruction of "seeking death" (AKA doing brainless villainess things to fl/ml) as "performing suicidal actions" -- which she has no problem doing, because she is incapable of feeling fear. So she ends up repeatedly charging into death game scenarios, because, well, as far as she can tell, that's what her system is asking of her!

By the same author is Urban Demolition Office, which is about a girl who falls into death game/horror story scenarios and fucking bluffs her way out. This story also has multiple agencies that deals with anomalies -- and this girl lies her way out of situations by pretending to be from the Urban Demolition Office, AKA a name she just fucking made up because she's full of audacity.

Anyway! I hope you like at least one of these!

[books-and-strawberry-tea]

An Education in Malice: Review

★★⋆☆☆☆ 2.5/5

This book was like a road with speedbumps. It stayed steady for a while, then an event would happen, and finally! The story was taking off!…only to find that no…it was back to the steady road. I just finished this book, 20 minutes ago as of writing this. And I feel like I'm left wanting more, and not in a good way. I felt like this book missed the mark in so many ways. Spoilers and explanation under the cut off:

Warning: this book is 18+, has graphic sex scenes and horror/gore.

The book follows Laura and Carmilla in a dual POV. They both have travelled to attend Saint Perpetua's Academy to study poetry under Ms (Evelyn) De Lafontaine, a professor well known for her skills in poetry. The book goes on to explore the rather fround upon relationship between Carmilla and Ms De Lafontaine. De Lafontain takes Carmilla under her wing after Carmilla tracks her down and demands to be her pupil, and not daring to take no for an answer. By the time Laura comes along, Carmilla is in her senior year and has a well established and secretive relationship with De Lafontaine. Laura stumbles upon this one day after spying on Carmilla and De Lafontaine after being reprimanded for being late to class. THrough a crack in the door, she watches as De Lafontaine and Carmilla argue, before gently De Lafontaine hold Carmilla and drinks from her neck. Yup, De Lafontaine is a Vampire. With time, Laura comes to accept that Vampires are real, Carmilla and Laura have a blossoming romance, and De Lafontaine's jealousy grows to new hights.

A trio of possessive woman, a Vampire with dark secrets, and a sapphic romance. What could possibly go wrong?

Unfortunatly, the way the big events in the book just miss the mark. They arn't as impactful as they should be. Chapter 15 got really exciting. From Chapter 15 to Chapter 17, is where the first major events take place. De Lafontaine takes the girls into the bowls of the school, underground and into a crypt. Turns out, De Lafontaine has been searching for her lover and sire for 40 plus years, and she has finally found her. She is sleeping in a tomb, and to wake her, Isis must drink of human blood. De Lafontaine asked of Carmilla to help her revive Isis. And because of Carmilla's devotion and admiration, she obeys. Letting De Lafontaine slice her palm and poor her blood into Isis' mouth. The whole situation goes south when Isis awakes and attacks Carmilla. Ripping out her jugular and leaving her to bleed out on the floor. De Lafontaine is frantic and in a moment of desparation, feeds Carmilla her blood…starting her transition to the dark life of a vampire. She awakes and as most vampires when they turn, she ravenous. With much reluctance, Laura is convinced to let Carmilla feed from her. And this is where I have the first problem with this book. Before hand, although Carmilla and Laura have a budding romance, they are still rivals. Fighting for their teachers affection. Being snippy and rude to eachother. Well…mainly it's Carmilla to be honest. Nevertheless, they still are not what you'd call sweethearts. But once Carmilla turns, she is suddenly sweet on Laura, being possesive, and wanting to be next to her 24/7. And yes I understand it's probably because Laura is now her source of food. But this is not explained, it's not acknowledged. It just sort of…is. It feels rather jarring to be the reader.

Further in the book, now that Isis is awake, students in the school are winding up dead. The bodies brutalised and left around to be found. This of course puts the school into a frenzy. Laura and Carmilla are obviously concerned and start to piece together why. Isis is around and shes hungry. De Lafontaine tries to ease the girls minds by telling them she'll fix the situation. Except who knows what she does. If De Lafontaine does anything at all, you wouldnt know it. As this part of the story is not only kept from the characters, but also from the reader. You have no clue what is happening behind the scenes. This does not fill the story with mystery, it just leaves you without a reason to care about later events in the book. There is nothing written to get the reader emotinally invested in the story of De Lafontaine and her lover. So when suddenly, De Lafontaine tricks and kills Isis in the last few chapters, you don't 100% care about the sacrifice and loss De Lafontaine is going through. Yes, you find out Isis want to have Carmilla, and De Lafontaine is protecting her. But at this point in the book, it's already at the end of the story. The reader does not have a chance to connect with De Lafontaine on an emotional level. To the reader, she still remains a strict and standoffish professor that has an obsession with Carmilla. You don't see Isis with De Lafontaine in a way that makes you see the struggle that De Lafontaine is experiencing. You don't see her heart breaking for the lost love that she had with Isis. It's all hidden away. How is the reader meant to care about Isis dying, and De LaFontaine's sacrifice?

After Carmilla turns and Laura is established as her lover, there is a rather graphic sex scene. That normally I wouldn't care about. But honestly I don't even feel like the sex scene deserves an explanation. It's just straight up bad. Not because I don't like sex scenes. But because of how forced it felt. Carmilla, previously stating that she wants to have a proper chance at being with Laura, just ups herself over to a vampire at a party and starts low key having a 3some with a male vampire and another human woman. Laura, of course, is not happy about the situation. And marches over there, but is suddenly okay with it if she is telling Carmilla to kiss this guy? She's suddenly okay with public sex even though earlier in the book it explains shes a virgin and has kept her secret passions (old lesbian porn) away from most people? She suddenly okay with her lover proceeding like this as long as she's telling her what to do? Before too long the male vamp and the woman leave to another room, leaving Carmilla and Laura to have sex…IN FRONT OF DE LAFONTAINE! You know, the Vampire that is not only their teacher, but the one who is also extremely possessive over Carmilla? And she just walks off the play cards? Rarely ever mentioning that she didn't like what she saw? The whole scene just felt off, forced, and out of character.

I feel dissatisfied with this book. I was intrigued and unfortunately became victim of poor story telling. I was also disappointed by Carmilla's Bi representation. I don't normally care about representation personally. When I read a book, I want to read about other people rather then seeing myself in something. But as someone who is bisexual, Carmilla's sex scene really annoyed me. Saying she wants to be with Laura, and then jumping off to the male vampire without even a second thought? It just felt very typical of the whole 'bisexuals aren't faithful to their partners' garbage. It was just another example that left me feeling uncomfortable.

It's unfortunate, becasue some of the quotes I really liked. Here is some of the quotes:

'Nature, with all her airs and graces, attends on her favourites, painting cheeks with a rosy bloom, filling lungs with the sweet breath of life. Youth, in all her splendour, gleams on the skin of girls who process, heedless of death, towards beauty's consummation.' Poem Carmilla Recited

Love turns some people into birds or beggers, but you make me into an architecture. Into a sancturary of soft holy spaces shaped to catch the sound of your voice. These eyes: rose windows bathing you in light. These arms: alcoves open in shadow embrace. This heart: a confessinal dark enough for your sins. This mouth: a bell driving away demons and calling you home. Poem Laura Recited

'Love and pain grew in a thorny grove inside me, impossible to disentangle from one another.'

'But this girl, this Carmilla...she undid all my domestication. One smile from her and I wanted to loose my hair and chase her barefoot through the woods, I wanted to knock her to the ground and pin her like a butterfly, I wanted to dig my teeth into her plush lower lip, I wanted, I wanted.'

"Please, will you slow down?" I asked. "I'm not trying to make fun of you. I'm just..." Dangerously preoccupied with you. Bereft of any sense of pride that might keep me away from you. "Concerned."

"We were happy for a time. But love rots and spoils, it disintegrates with time like a rose in a vase, and soon there was nothing between us but animosity and arguments and the resentfulness of having to rely on each other."

"Well, what a miserable little band we all are. Bound by blood and secrecy, with no recourse to anyone but each other. It would almost be romantic, under more advantageous circumstances."

A sensible girl would leave. A good girl most certainly would. But I was tired of being sensible, and I was tired of being good. I couldn't walk away from what I was being offered: the chance to live an exceptional life.

She kissed me with a martyr's agonized desperation, like I was the only sword she ever wanted to fall on. I kissed her right back like the cutting edge of a blade, trying to inflict as much damage as possible. I wanted her to be able to think of nothing but this kiss when she was alone in her bed at night. I wanted her to feel just how much I reviled and desired her, to what maddening brink she drove me. I wanted her to want me so badly it hurt.

"You'll understand, in time. The way we suffer. The way the undying life tears everything good and beautiful from us, Sequestering us to a solitary existence of a thousand sleepless nights."

I felt certain that I could perish like this, suffocated by her thighs, and die perfectly happy.

[lifeiskentastic]

Colt Seavers x Driver. - pt. 1

A/N: So. I'm back!!!! I know my last post was almost a year ago about a fangame with Ken that was like a fever dream... And now I remembered about this account and decided that maybe I could revive it :P. Anyway, remember that my English is bad, love you guys!;

Summary: "Hey. Do you want to come with us to the bar?" Colt didn't even hope for a positive answer, but his own manners and upbringing didn't allow him to pass by. Imagine his surprise when his colleague, after a second pause, nodded.;

Words count:  2774(omg);

I feel unsure about that one, but it took me out of writing block so I wanted to show it. Hope you enjoy!

Colt himself did not expect to return to work... In fact, in this life. Was it an impulsive decision? Maybe. Would he have preferred to stay at home, estranged from all his old friends and licking his wounds? Absolutely.

It was just that one day, Colt woke up and realized that his life completely, literally, sucked. Was this what he had dreamed of so fervently as a child, spending countless hours in front of the fuzzy screen of an old TV? But at the same time, Colt didn't want to go back to his old friends, in front of whom he had almost died some time in the past... It would have been the most embarrassing situation in his career, and even in his life. Yes, even more embarrassing than the time he got the wrong film sets and acted like a child lost in a supermarket.

But at the same time, the desire to be set on fire, hit by a car, beaten to death (on screen, of course) grew more and more. Maybe he just wanted to forget his problems, his past, at least in that moment when there was only him, the props and the director's shouts in the speaker. When moral pain is washed away by physical pain.

Despite the reasons, Colt has already found a reliable job for himself. Some kind of C-category debut movie, whose stunts can only be matched by its name. Seriously, "Heavy Metal" sounded like they were making a cocktail of the Terminator and Fast and Furious at its worst. But it was exactly what Colt needed at the time. He immediately flew to picturesque Los Angeles, or rather, to the most abandoned part of it. Covering his eyes with a sleep mask and leaning back in a comfortable economy class seat (because like the movie, like the transportation), he wanted to think only about the stunts to come and the bruises they would leave.

***

Colt settled in on the set pretty quickly. From the beginning, he didn't plan to get close to any of the crew, but innocent conversations about nothing and going to the bar almost every night isn't really getting close, is it? In any case, there were some really good guys here who had never heard of the tragically sensational name "Colt Seavers," and that was to Colt's advantage. There was also one silent guy who gave Colt shivers down his spine. There was just something about this emotionless look and leather gloves that Colt had never seen before. It was like meeting a block of ice in the African desert. And he wasn't even exaggerating. But Colt had to admit that all the stunts related to cars were so easy for this guy that the old stuntman even felt a bit jealous. Nevertheless, the work was going on, they were already halfway through the final scenes, which meant the final stunts. And just at that moment, when the scenery for the third act was already set up around the perimeter, and the stunt team was already discussing a grand celebration of the end of filming, Colt realized that he hadn't gotten what he had come here for in the first place. He got hit in the face (and not only in the face), set on fire, and hit by a car (all at the same time), but the feeling of emptiness, of being broken, of being eaten up from the inside... It did not disappear. One day on the set, he heard Jody's name mentioned, and that's how he found out that she was now a debut director with the bookies' movie of the year. He thought about Jody, who had moved on from their relationship and was now building her career, her future, fulfilling her long-held dreams. And here he was, working on a godforsaken movie in the back alleys of a forgotten city of dreams. He could not think of a greater irony. But of course, Colt was genuinely happy for Jody, except that the fact that she had managed to forget the past made him even more broken than he was when he arrived here.

As he waited for the director's cue before the next trick, Colt already knew that tonight he would get drunk beyond recognition. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he didn't mind solving problems with marathons of alcoholic beverages either.

At least in this place, he had company for that, and after gathering everyone, they headed to their trusty bar right after work.

But this time, everything was a little different. Not only the fact that on this particular evening Colt had decided to drink himself into a state of habitual alcoholism, but also the fact that for some unknown reason he had stopped in front of his silent colleague. Their eyes met a moment before, when Seavers was leaving the set with his company, and suddenly something drew him in like a magnet. He was like this sometimes, gazing the other stuntman for unknown reasons. He blamed everything on curiosity.

It was as if the stuntman's lips opened on their own, saying words against his will:

"Hey... Do you want to go to a bar with us?" Colt spoke slowly and carefully, as if he was not sure that the person in front of him understood human speech.

In fact, Colt did not even hope for a positive answer. And the pause that hung between them after his offer only fueled his confidence that he would be simply rejected. Probably, it was just manners and upbringing that did not allow him to pass by, and no mysterious magnetism in the clear blue eyes of the nameless stuntman.

Imagine his surprise when his colleague nodded after this strange, long pause. And without another word, he joined their company of unhappy stuntmen on their way to the bar. To say that everyone else was also shocked would be an understatement.

But since it happened that way... Well, Colt had asked for it, so why did he feel like he'd rather not?

With these thoughts in mind, he opened the majestic wooden doors of the bar (which looked more like a tavern from a fantasy movie), revealing to his friends an unlimited paradise of alcoholic pleasures. Stepping inside, Colt's gaze once again met the nameless stuntman. He would be lying if he said he didn't think about him... from time to time. Severs was fascinated on a subconscious level by the mystery of the guy, maybe also by his hair... he just wondered how he kept it so neat when he himself was a mess.

Colt was about to take his usual place at the very center of the long bar when he noticed his silent colleague sitting at the very end. In one impulsive move, almost as impulsive as decision to work on this movie, Colt sat down on the seat next to him. At first, the nameless man did not seem visually pleased with his presence, as one could tell by his deliberately frowning face. Whether it was because he was really so silent, or because deep down he didn't really mind the company of the bigger stuntman... either way, he didn't tell Colt to get the hell out of here.

Drink after drink followed as evening followed day. Colt drank whatever he could get his hands on, stirred, shook, and drank again. First he had a headache at the thought of a future morning hangover, now he just had a headache. And the only thing you need to know about Colt if you're going to get drunk with him is that alcohol works on him in the most banal way - it loosens his tongue and makes him an even bigger idiot than he already is. And this time, a silent stuntman became his victim.

Everything was quiet, they didn't touch each other and seemed to have forgotten about each other's existence for a moment. Until Seavers decided to turn his face, red from the amount of drinks he had drunk, to his neighbor and ask him something that had been on his mind for an annoyingly long time:

"How do you..." Colt made incomprehensible gestures above his head. And this action could not but attract the attention of the machine stuntman. "How do you keep your hair like that?"

Colt spoke extremely slurred and quietly, and if it weren't for the short distance between him and the other stuntman, he wouldn't have caught his mumbling over the noise and music of the crowded place. And honestly? He would have been better off not hearing anything.

Hesitating whether to pretend that he didn't hear the question or to please this stranger with his answer, the young man suddenly chose, unexpectedly even for himself...

"Like what?" ...to answer in a monotone tone, not even caring if the words would reach the other person through the background noise.

"So beautiful." Answer followed almost immediately after the question. Without even a slight hesitation.

Well... Colt really thought his hair was beautiful, is that a crime?

But the expression on the silent stuntman's face screamed "are you an idiot?" so unbearably that Colt couldn't stand it and turned away from him.

It was obvious that the conversation was not going well.

But that was not the end. There was one more moment that seemed simply impossible in light of recent events, but it happened.... Colt's neighbor exhaled heavily and muttered a sluggish:

"I take care of it."

Colt nodded, staring stupidly at the man across from him. As if he'd just seen an alien, by God. But no, it was just the effect of the added joy of a successful conversation and the degree of alcohol.

And, of course, Colt didn't realize what he was doing. Perhaps his instincts to talk with everything around him (in this case, his unfortunate colleague) as soon as his body crossed the threshold of the bar were awakened.

After a few more drinks, when Colt's head became physically heavy and he had to bang it against the bar (either it was his imagination or there was a crack in the table after that), Seavers decided to open his mouth one more time:

"You know..." Even in his state of intoxication, Colt realized how pathetic his mumbling voice sounded. "You're good. I don't know you, but you're good."

Another thing you should learn before agreeing to get drunk with Colt Seavers is that you can never tell if he's telling the truth under the influence of alcohol or if he's making up some nonsense under the influence of alcohol.

Colt's neighbor seemed to completely ignore his feeble attempts to find a common theme. Perhaps it was for the best...

But still, what could stop a drunken adult with a complete mess in both his head and his life from talking to a semi-stranger one more time?

"Why are you still here?" a logical question, since all his colleagues have already left, having more important things to do than drown their sorrows.

For a second, the scorpion-jacketed stuntman looked surprised by this question, but then shrugged without looking up from the suspicious substance in his hands. He had no idea what he was doing in the middle of the night in unknown bar next to his unfamiliar colleague. He was probably just bored.

Colt nodded almost in understanding, his eyes fixed on the other man's face the entire time. Was he delusional, or was there a strange connection between them? A bond between two lonely men in the middle of a raucous bar, unable to strike up a conversation but exchanging quiet glances.

Colt didn't drink again that night, but instead began to examine this random companion more closely. They were similar in some ways, in fact, but Colt's attention was drawn more to the small things about him that he had previously ignored. For example, the toothpick that had been dangling from the corner of his mouth for the entire evening. Or how mesmerizingly long his eyelashes were...

"You're a damn good stuntman..." A sharp compliment broke the silence between them. Colt did not give up trying to squeeze a word out of this stuntman. And this time he succeeded.

"Thank you." It was fabulous, as unexpected as the look in those clear blue eyes that followed.

It was like a game, where Colt's prize was to get an answer from the mysterious man.

"Do you want a toothpick?" was another unspoken gesture to which Colt nodded uncertainly. How was he to know that giving someone a thin piece of wood meant the highest peak of respect from this guy...

The younger stuntman couldn't help but wonder how he could still tolerate Colt's behavior. he slid his gaze over the broad features of the man's face as if that would give him an answer. He wasn't usually this friendly, but that little voice in his head was making him behave politely around Seavers, just as it had made him stare at the newly recruited stuntman longer than he should have.

Now Colt also had a toothpick sticking out of his mouth, which he was chewing on, thinking how dignified he was acting for someone who seem to be passing out from the amount of alcohol in his blood. Which meant it was time to do something horrible and shameful to end this party on the right note.

"Didn't I tell you you had nice hair?" Colt muttered, 

Is Colt hallucinating or did the other stuntman smile with the tip of his mouth at this question?

But that still wasn't awkward enough, so he started whining. Alcohol is a good excuse to blame your problems on someone else, right?

"Y'know... I was, like, successful..." And then Colt began to tell his story from the beginning of the incident. He remembers the details of that day and the day that followed with the utmost precision, leading up to this moment. To this point in his life, where he was making friends with by telling his private tragedies.

The other stuntman seemed to be drawn into the conversation, even though he hadn't said a word the whole time. He was a good listener, that's for sure.

"Jody, she..." Colt's face twisted, not in contempt, but more in the pain of realizing the enormity of what he had done.

He didn't even need to finish his sentence, it was already clear that he had ruined his life.

Seavers tilted his head back, gazing up at the ceiling with its characteristically dimmed lamps, probably contemplating the meaning of his existence.

And what about his colleague? He sat silently, somewhat puzzled by the sincerity of a man with whom he had never expected to speak. And normally he would have sat there, not worrying about someone else's complicated fate. What was different this time? Perhaps the compliments on his hair had made enough of an impression on him to make him feel a little compassionate.

And without knowing any better, he cleared his throat and spoke, as if he hoped in the depths of his soul that he wouldn't hear him:

"Do you want a ride?"

Colt didn't even flinch at this question, although a few minutes ago he would have been pleased by such friendliness from his new acquaintance. He was too exhausted to even register the question in his mind. Without moving, he purred in agreement.

The stuntmen began to get up from the bar, and Seavers's gut told him that he was in for a painful betrayal of his own legs. Standing up from the chair he had almost grown to over the past few hours, his limbs immediately buckled and, stumbling around in them, he came perilously close to falling face first. Until he was picked up by his friend (who didn't really look happy about the situation he had gotten himself into).

Now it so happened that this little-known man was the only one in this place to whom he suddenly decided to open up. And who now knew the real and tragic Colt Seavers. What a strange turn of events.

"How much did you drink?" Colt muttered in confusion, leaning closer to the man who had become his literal support.

"Not much."

For some reason, this made Colt giggle, as if the voice of another stuntmam tickled him.

They made their way to an inconspicuous car in a simple parking lot near the movie set. What a blessing that it was only a few unsteady steps from the bar to the place.

The trip was going to be a long one...

[iamthekaijuking]

Curious on this if I may ask, what are the reasons that you like the Amphiterra Project by @citysaurus-art? I also like it too, and would love to eventually see new clades, expansions, and revisions to the project as a whole, stuff like the Salamanders or other lineages

So my love for amphiterra actually goes way back and starts with early highschool kaijuking.

Back around 2016 I found the spec evo forms, and while I never joined them and only officially joined the internet in 2017 when I made this tumblr account (dear god don’t go digging for 2017 kaijuking I was a much different and cringier person than I am now), I liked surfing through the forms even though the website was broken and being abandoned. It was a good time killer when I was stalling in class.

Through that I found Warren Fehy’s Fragment (writing a review of which is next on my to do list so I should probably get started on that), Trollmans’ Diyu, and amphiterra. Diyu is among one of my favorites, but Amphiterra grabbed my attention since it was colorful, had a website, and was the most in depth spec evo project I had seen at that point. It offered not only descriptions and illustrations for creatures but anatomical diagrams as well which just tickled my not fully formed teenage brain. I also just liked the designs.

So I was a pretty big fan of the project from the onset and not long after its inception too, way before Curiosity Archive’s video on it. I think I actually even made the first amphiterra fanart on the internet too… which has aged like sour moldy milk because it was a “dat boi” meme reference. I actually personally asked Citysaurus to not put it up on the fanart section of the website. God I feel old.

I would definitely love to see the project revived and maybe we might get that in the future. One day.

…

Also did you know that citysaurus made some illustrations and concept art for Fall Guys?! Crazy right?