#I named him Hansel :3

[eveistdiepommes]

I HAVENT DRAWN MY BOY IN SO LONGGGGG I LOVE YOU NYO LIECHTENSTEIN 🫶🫶🫶

I doodled him in the outfit I’m wearing today! Another outfit doodle yes :)

[orbitariums]

warmth | patrick zweig, art donaldson + black fem reader (pt. 1)

you guys really liked the snippet i posted so it's finally here! this will probably have a second part <3 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for that!)

content: smut (oral f. receiving, fingering, handjob), childhood best friends trope, patrick and art are acting like high schoolers again, reader is rich bougie conniving hippie writer hybrid ...

reader, patrick and art are childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

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warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite. 

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more. 

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end. 

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him, 

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat. 

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered,  already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking over at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat. 

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Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

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“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers. 

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast. 

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway. 

The both of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies. 

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end. 

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead, you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half of that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were practically draped in that baby blue silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school, now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twentysomething industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly sucked you in. 

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently. 

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that clung to his jaw, and the detergent still fresh on his clothes. 

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing. 

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected. 

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh. 

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom, and they fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs inching further and further up, their lips ghosting against your soft skin, had them panting like puppy dogs, only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.” 

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. It was just the process of growing up. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from reintegrating into your life. Your childhood best friends. 

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore. 

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed. 

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.” 

Clink clink clink. 

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options. 

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. 

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that. 

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year,  more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in the midst of their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag. 

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table. 

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly. 

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.   

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied. 

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee. 

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt. 

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips. 

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm)— before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly. 

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal. 

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider. 

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease. 

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken. 

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place. 

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you. 

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes. 

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last, 

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?” 

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five-bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly. 

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. 

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental. Still, the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath. 

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — they were just two pubescent boys all over again.

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“I think we should just go for it.”

Patrick lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling with his hand on his stomach, speaking aloud as if into the clouds. Art, who had been gazing into the distance, sitting up against the wall on his side of the room, shook his head at Patrick’s words.

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

The two of them sat in the room that you had put together. They had showered and dressed in the pajamas that were waiting for them, just as you said they would be. The house was practically silent, it was the dead of night. Though you’d left hours ago, that same heaviness in the air seemed to remain in their chests. 

“You know… I mean, she invited us here for a reason, don’t you think?”

Art glared over at Patrick, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown,

“Don’t be a creep. We’re her friends.”

“Who want to fuck her, and she knows it. Pretty sure she wants to, too.”

“That was high school, Pat. Get over yourself.”

“Like you weren’t getting your dick wet just from looking at her. C’mon.”

Art throws a pillow at Patrick. It lands square at his feet.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m just saying, she’s not innocent. She knows what she’s doing. She’s just as perverted as the both of us.”

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fucking — I don’t know, something. We should just both go over there and knock on her door.”

Art couldn’t help but sigh heavily — Patrick was always creating some elaborate plot or scheme, but rarely did he ever actually go through with something unless Art was onboard. 

“Patrick, she’s not trying to have a threesome with us. I’m not interested in your porn addict fantasies. Plus it’s the middle of the night, she’s probably asleep. Think she’s gonna wanna sleep with two idiots who fucked up her nighttime routine?”

“So then why are you still here?” Patrick retorted. 

“What? What do you mean?” Art tried to sound normal, but his defenses were up, and they both knew exactly why. 

Patrick turned so he was on his side, facing Art, making sure his words hit just right. 

“You know what I mean. You could’ve just gone home. Could’ve told her that we’ll catch her some other time. But look at you, sitting here, feigning innocence. She’ll think we’re cowards, you know. Seven years later and we still can’t come out and say what is that we want.”

Art swallowed, staring blankly into the distance like Patrick’s words didn’t sting his side. He was right. He almost always was, even if his wording wasn’t the most politically correct or precise. It was just how they were — one too careful, the other one so not. Most of the time, they came together to balance each other out: like fire and ice. But sometimes, like this time, they just threw each other out of whack – an oil spill in a pristine lake. 

“I want a friendship. If you want a fuck, go and tell her that. Goodnight, Patrick,” Art spat, rolling onto his side and turning his light off. 

Patrick sighed heavily like a petulant little boy who’d just been denied a cookie. Maybe in college or high school, Art would have been all ears, and they would have risen from their beds like triumphant kings, and gone on the hunt for their king. But maybe he was right — that was high school. They were too old now, and it was embarrassing. At least if Art had agreed, even if he didn’t fully believe in Patrick, they would’ve gone in together. And so, swallowing his disappointment, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, ruminated for just a bit, and then turned off his light, forcing his eyes shut so he’d fall asleep faster. 

1:10 AM. 

That was the time on the clock when Art opened his eyes next. He woke with a start, like there was something he was meaning to do. Then immediately, he was a bit disoriented. This room was far too big. It wasn’t his. He remembered where he was, and just what he had to do. He rose like an automaton and found his feet swinging to the floor. He threw on the Calvin Klein shorts and shirt your assistant had given him (his pair was white, Patrick’s was black), and slid easily into his slippers. 

Only once he stood did he really catch his breath, and seemingly also his determination. It was like he knew what he was doing, and he was completely okay with it. He even peered over just slightly, to see if Patrick was still asleep. And by the slow rise and fall of his body on his side, he could tell that he was. He was stuck in this dream state between idiocy and confidence, making for mindless determination as he sauntered out of the room and down the hall. He had intent, his head was screwed on straight. He knew where your room was, and he practically marched down the end of the hall. 

As soon as he reached your door, he realized what he was doing, truly realized. He stood there stock still, like a rabbit that had just gotten caught eating a carrot from someone’s garden. He was suddenly confronted by the fact that he was completely alone; your room was at the very end of the hall and completely cut off from the other rooms. Now the heartbeat in his chest was loud and clear, and the slight shifting sound of the fabric of his shorts rubbing against his inner thigh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Nervous tics settled in, and he felt a rattle go down his spine at the recognition of what he was doing— the sheer arrogance, the assumption he was making. He thought of Patrick, and the betrayal this would be, considering he had just shut him down so profusely earlier. He thought of the fact that it was so easy for him to be so double-sided, to just get up and attempt it on his own, even making sure that Patrick couldn’t possibly be involved. How easy it was for him to be so unfair. He thought of himself, standing there with suddenly sweaty palms and a dry throat. Like a high school boy with blue balls. 

What are you doing?

He thought to himself. He almost turned around, but he heard humming from the other side of the door. No doubt your voice, and no doubt you were very much awake. He could hear music, albeit muffled. He swallowed, closing his eyes like he was bracing for impact, and sighed. If he could remember the words to recite Hail Mary, he would have. Eyes still closed, he knocked. He heard the slight pause on the other side and imagined you perking up slightly and looking around the room to make sure you weren’t just hearing things. Despite his embarrassment, the knock was firm. It was clear it was someone else on the other side of the door. And so, a few seconds later, you swung the door open. 

“Art,” you said, a hint of both surprise and relief in your voice.

“YN,” he replied, saying your name like it was a period to a sentence. 

You were clad in a cream-colored silk slip with a lace trim. A dainty gold necklace adorned your neck, flush against your collarbone. You’d changed again since the last time he saw you, and this outfit did not make it any easier for him to tear his eyes off of you, starting from the necklace, to your breasts, to your legs. The slip was short and nearly see through, revealing your thighs which looked so soft and plush. The pucker of your nipples sheened underneath the thin fabric. The way it clung to your body was almost maddening. You looked fresh as a daisy — like you’d spent hours in the bath, rubbing countless creams and gels against your skin. Art felt suddenly embarrassed like he had interrupted your girl time with his boyish, base desires. You pulled him out of it though, with a slight smile and kind eyes looking up at him.

“You doing okay?” you asked almost playfully, still grinning slightly.

“Yeah, I just uh… wanted to… talk to you,” Art said, not even making eye contact with you and instead very obviously peering inside of your room. You looked over your shoulder like you were trying to see what Art was looking at, then looked back at him. Finally, he was making eye contact with you. He felt like you were scrutinizing him, searching for something to validate this interaction, to validate him. Your warm smile didn’t look all that different from a smirk anymore. 

“Well. I am the host. Who’d I be if I didn’t indulge a late night chat?”

You stepped aside, pushing the door wide open with your back. You nodded at him like a coach, beckoning him,

“Come in.”

And so he stepped inside, and you closed the door behind you. Your room was how he’d expected it to be — reflective of your personality as long as he’d known you, but a hint more sophisticated. Everything rested on a plush chenille carpet. Your mattress, adorned with plush, deep red and green linens, sat on a large wooden bedframe, above which posters of your favorite bands and writers hung — Audre Lorde, Led Zeppelin, James Baldwin, Khruangbin. Across from your bed, there was an almost bulky yet fitting antique dresser. On top of it sat a 1935 Remington typewriter. In the corner, a leather armchair sitting beneath a scallop shade floor lamp, accented by a magnificent bookshelf behind it that was positively full. A desk, scattered with papers and pens and a pair of glasses, yet still tidy. And a vanity, where Art imagined you’d been just a moment before he came in.  And dim, yet comforting lighting. 

“Wow,” Art couldn’t help himself — he truly was an admirer of the details, the little things. And clearly, so were you. It had gotten you this far. He sauntered over to the typewriter on your desk, fiddling with the keys just a bit and tapping the top. You giggled at his nerdy lopsided smile. “This is sick.”

You smiled, placing two hands on your hips, beaming like a proud parent,

“She doesn’t work, but she’s beautiful. That’s honestly my most prized possession.”

Art grinned, truly touched. He turned to face you straight on, feet away from where you stood at the bed. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The veritas in his voice rendered you bashful for just a moment, looking down and huffing an almost dismissive laugh,

“C’mon, Art, don’t go all soft on me now.” 

Art rose to his own defense,

“I’m serious, YN! Look what you’ve done for yourself… I mean, I couldn’t expect any less, though.”

You waved your hand with a cheeky eye roll, and he started walking towards you, his footsteps causing the floor beneath to creak slightly. It was almost suspenseful, but you weren’t intimidated or in danger, just deeply intrigued and honestly, excited. You watched him, positively ensnared, as he closed the distance between the two of you.  

He took two of your hands in his own like he was putting his life into your hands. That charming smile of his reared its head, accompanied by his blue-brown eyes, sparkling and wet and smiling too,

“We both are, you know. Proud of you.”

You smiled, genuinely at first. Then, it flickered. By the way he faltered momentarily, losing grip of the power trip that he dove into headfirst, you could tell he noticed. Your genuine smile turned slightly smug. 

“Both of you? Why is Patrick not here, then, telling me how proud he is?”

Art did his best to keep smiling smoothly, cocking his head to the side slightly as if to say what can you do? 

“He’s asleep.”

“Right… it is like, one AM. I’m surprised you’re even up, or that you assumed I would be," you kept on prodding.

“Hmm,” he smirked. He shrugged all too casually, so much so that it was cocky. “Guess I’m not that tired.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically. 

The both of you relished in this little game you were playing, a game of so few words but oh so much meaning. You held his gaze for just a moment longer, watching as his flickered from your eyes to your lips and back up. Then you sat down wordlessly onto your bed, never tearing your eyes away from his. You patted the spot next to you, and he followed, taking a deep breath that never seemed to exhale. You were sealing his fate in this one moment. 

“I spend a lot of my time holed up in here. That’s why I make it as peaceful as I possibly can. Beautiful too, but not too beautiful. Otherwise, I’d just be distracted and a bit disgusted,” you chuckled at the end.

“Beautiful. Right,” Art replied, his gaze burning a hole into you.

A beat. 

“So what’d you wanna talk about, Art?” 

He knew he couldn’t be imagining the dulcet innocence in your voice that suggested anything but innocence all the same, nor the flicker of desire in your inquiring, wide eyes. All of it, combined with the slight pout on your lips, seemed to come together to create a face that was almost begging. His entire body softened. His eyes went heavy with the confession that was his utter, depraved need to have you. He slowly pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue and blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was leaning in more and more with every passing millisecond. You stayed put where you were, wanting him to chase you through and through. You kept that poker face, like you didn’t feel your heart racing too. As his face inched closer to yours, his hands started to roam as well, and you stifled a whimpery breath at the touch of those hands against your bare skin. For some reason, you’d always thought he’d have such baby-soft hands, but they were rough and calloused from the weight of the tennis racket that was forever stationed between them. It only made the touch that much better, made you realize how long you’d been waiting for this, his rough hands seeping into your skin like a scar of age. 

“I don’t wanna talk,” he finally said, his voice lilted with need, and his lips nearly flush against yours. 

Finally, he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was slow and languid, but not for lack of passion. Years of distance would do that, would amplify the mutual pining. You thought, in this interaction that you knew would happen with one or the two of them, that you might be more calm and collected, still wearing that disguise of cool nonchalance, but you were on fire. Your hands were quick to wander as well, up to his face, gripping his jaw, one traveling up to his hair and finding itself tucked beneath the tufts of slight curls. And then his hands were traveling up from your knees to your thighs, to your waist, practically glued to the expensive fabric. The room was silent bar for the sound of the two of you panting like crazed virgins, and the wet sounds of your kissing. 

You needed to gain control back, and quickly. So you pulled away, putting on your best smirk. Deep down, you felt like Art knew it was an act, like he was looking right through you. But at the same time, you knew he was far too ecstatic and anticipatory to call it out or really even notice it in full. And besides, you didn’t care. It was you who held all the glory, both back then and especially now. 

“You two place a bet or something? That was quick.”

Art was still breathing heavily, gazing at you like you were the solution to all his problems. His hands were still roaming widely, like your body was an expanse of wild land, his hands gripping your shoulders and caressing your arms up and down. The confidence boost in him was visible and almost amusing. 

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

“What was he saying, hmm?” you placed a hand on his chest and caressed the warmth there. “Why’d you come here, Art? Thought you should close the gap, huh? Answer the age-old question? Wanting to prove yourself?”

You slipped your hand between his legs, grasping the meat of his inner thigh and glaring into his eyes. You felt how he stilled, how his confidence stuttered. Both because he’d been called out, and because if he wasn’t hard before, he was raging now. 

“No…” you squeezed his thigh, your hand ghosting over the erection that sat directly above it, forcing the truth out of him with your touch. He shuddered. “Maybe. Yeah, fuck. Yes. I-I wanted to prove myself.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, slinking towards him like a black cat. You placed one leg over his lap, straddling him. Positioning yourself so your clothed cunt was directly over his erection, which dared to rip through both his boxers and his shorts. You rolled your hips over his cock gently, just once. “This helping you prove yourself?”

You pushed him back, back, back, until his head rested firm on the pillow and you were directly above him, the shape of your entire body clear to him as you straddled him on your bed. He couldn’t speak, only stare up at you in awe, his heavy breaths loud and desperate. You only stayed like this on top of him for a minute before you shimmied down until you were at face level with his crotch. You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest and stomach over his white t-shirt, and then took the bottom of it in your mouth, pulling it up with your teeth in a motion so effortless and tigress-like that Art nearly came on the spot.

“Hmm?” you probed him to answer the question with a demanding hum, the soft fabric of his t-shirt still in between your teeth, gazing up at him from beneath wispy lashes. You let go once he was decently exposed, his tight stomach rising and falling frantically. 

“Fuck, yes,” he rattled, his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

You pushed his hips back down immediately and like a reflex, he started to apologize,

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You ignored him and instead, you practically ripped the shorts off of him and started to palm him through his boxers, admiring the way his cock twitched and jumped beneath the small of your hand. You were attentive, watching as precum started to leak from his tip onto his boxers. You tsked.

“We’ll have to get someone to wash those.”

He squirmed and swallowed a wild grunt in his throat. His head was fully thrown back like he was in the most immense pleasure of his life, and you hadn’t even really started yet. You ground the part of your hand just above your wrist over his erection before peeling his boxers off. You watched as his cock sprung up in the air, thick and red and leaking. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat at his mound, but he was still put together. You sat up just a bit so you could place your hand on his cheek lovingly. 

“Look at me, Artie.”

Your voice was so enchanting and soft that he almost forgot you were fucking his entire mind up, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with the shaft of his cock enclosed in your hand. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, resisting the urge to throw his head back again. 

You maintained eye contact with him as you circled your finger over his wet, pleading tip, spreading the leaking precum around the head of his dick. He glanced away from you and looked at what you were doing, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. It was taking everything in him not to give in completely, and not to cum. 

“No- no - I… I wanna make you feel good first. Please.”

Something in Art’s voice nearly made your heart drop — the wholehearted desperation and earnestness in it. It also made your pussy throb around nothing. The whole night Patrick and Art had been desperate, but now it was like you were finally seeing the extent of it. It was somehow endearing, a reminder of the love between all three of you. Art had always been a giver, and he sought out praise any place he could get it. It came as no surprise to you that he was the same now, but still, it made you indescribably horny. 

You hardly realized you hadn’t responded. That wasn’t supposed to be part of your act, but Art was still pleading all the same,

“Can I? Can I just… taste you or — f-feel you, I-”

You kept your wrist moving in slow and controlled motions up and down his shaft, studying his face as you did: the way his eyes fluttered open and closed with a pleasured squeeze, his mouth perpetually open in gratification.

“It’s so fun watching you fall apart, though,” you replied, but you found yourself working your way up anyway, sneaking your legs up his body like a snake, one on either side of him. 

He grasped onto your hips immediately, groaning at just the sight of you. The moonlight shone through the windows and brightened up the darkness of your room, illuminating your features and painting you under something like a spotlight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, looking at you with hooded eyes. You steadied yourself, your hand reaching out to grab the bedframe and one of his hands gripped the fleshy underside of your thigh to help you. The more you inched up, the more he could see up the slip, catching a glimpse of your cotton panties, cream-colored with a tiny black bow in the middle. The print of your cunt through them was like an outline, a map to promised land. He sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Your necklace dangled just inches away from your neck, like it was teasing him too.

 “Wanna taste me?” you asked teasingly, lifting your hips above his face and hovering there, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up directly at your cunt, still hidden beneath your panties. You rolled your hips, letting your clit brush against the tip of his nose. He was enamored by the scent, had to physically stop himself from taking a deep sniff. “Hmm?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” he groaned, slightly arching his back up off the mattress just to get closer to you. “Please.”

He pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your clothed cunt, his eyes closed. It was such a gentle, delicate touch that you almost wouldn’t have believed how desperate he was if it weren’t for the longwinded moan that involuntarily escaped his lips when he made contact with your core. You bit down on your lip, breathing out from your nose, and started to grind your hips against his face. He kept kissing at your cunt over and over until it was almost indiscernible what was fabric and what was flesh— your panties had gotten so wet from his mouth and your slick. The wet trace made the friction unbearable, and your pussy throbbed through the fabric onto his face. 

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

“You taste so good. Please let me eat this pussy.”

This time, his lips peppered kisses around your inner thighs, soft but quick touches, taking in your musk. You decided to stop torturing him, that enough was enough. You lifted yourself up just a bit, and pushed up your slip. You were about to reach your hand down when you stopped and cocked your head with a smirk. 

“Go on, then,” you said. Softly, like it was a suggestion more than it was a command. And Art took it in perfect stride. 

He practically ripped your underwear off, pushing them to the side with a brute swipe of his hand that contrasted wildly with the gentle kisses he had given you before. Literally pushing your panties to the side. He looked for a second, eyes glazed over at the sight in front of him, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. It looked so warm and wet and inviting, if he weren’t a better man he would’ve had to force himself not to bury his dick inside of you. When he felt he’d gotten a good look of it, savored the moment just enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist, smashing your cunt against his face. His mouth connected with your folds and you felt him sucking vehemently, before slipping his tongue in between your slit, pressing the tip of it against you. You cried out as he collected all the slick from your weeping center, keeping a hand on your stomach to stabilize himself, the other against your asscheek, squeezing every now and then. 

“Oh,” you moaned, immediately starting to grind your pussy against his tongue, your clit once again nudging his nose each time you moved up. Art kept up, positioning the tip of his tongue just right so you rode it each time you wound up, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Yes, Art, just like that.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, the vibrations causing you to clench over his face and around the tip of his tongue. Then he flattened his tongue so he could capture the entire surface of your cunt. This time the grip on your ass grew stronger, and soon enough both his hands were squeezing your ass, supplementing your movements. You kept the time you wanted, Art just assisted you in rolling up. You honestly needed it, the way your thighs were starting to shake. 

Art hummed satisfactorily again, enclosing his lips around your clit and suctioning, keeping his tongue out just enough so you could feel both sensations. You nearly squealed, your hand flinging down to push your panties out the way even more. Your back arched in pleasure, creating a whole new angle for Art to lick at and please. His fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your ass, like he was leaving some imprint. Now it was you writhing and moaning, but Art never forgot who was in control. That is, until he took firm grasp of your hips and used that to flip you over so that you were on your back. It was like he never lost contact with your pussy, diving right back down before you could even register what had happened. He yanked your panties all the way down and threw them over his shoulder. 

“Take your shirt off, baby,” you panted. 

He obliged, throwing his shirt off too, and then leaning back in so he could get to work. His arms wrapped around the inside part of your thighs, spreading you apart for him. Before you even felt his mouth, you moaned at the sight of his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he worked. He placed sloppy kisses against your inner thighs and kissed closer and closer to your mound until finally, he was wrapping his lips around your clit once again, using what he could of his tongue to lap up your juices at the same time. You were nearly trembling in pleasure, your hand flying to the back of his head to keep him secure where he belonged. He moaned in response, and you squeezed tufts of his strawberry-blond hair. 

“That’s it, I want you to feel good. Make yourself feel good for me,” he murmured, his nose buried in your cunt, eyes closed in satisfaction and concentration. You glanced down to see that he was grinding his hips ever so subtly into the bed — getting off by getting you off, and you threw your head back. 

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

This seemed to set him off into a frenzy as he placed open-mouth kisses against your pussy, kissing it like it was a mouth. His tongue lapped you up and sucked you in, making precise, timed movements with the close of his lips around your clitoris. He used his hands to gently push your legs back so they were angled slightly in the air, the new angle causing you to whine. He angled his neck ever so slightly so he was licking the lips, a slender finger prodding at your wet, tight entrance.

“This okay?” he asked, just dipping the pad of his finger in and opening his eyes to look up at you, as if you weren’t lost in your own world of pleasure, eyes shut tight. You opened them momentarily, looking down at what he was doing, the sight of his face engulfed in your pussy and his finger slipping up and down your slit now. You could only manage a moan along with a strangled nod, and he obliged, sliding a slender finger inside of you. Your pussy stretched and then collapsed around his finger, suctioning in like a glove, and now he used his tongue and lips to go from your lips to your clit, all spit and drool and your arousal as he worked his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck,” a strangled grunt left your throat, your pussy tightening around his finger, which made him moan in response. “Art, fuck. I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he replied, muffled as it was. He slipped another finger inside of you with ease, wishing he could watch as he felt your pussy sucking him in greedily. Now the slow thrusts of his fingers became more forceful, pushing deep inside of your walls. You nearly screamed at the addition of his finger and the way he curled them inside each time they came to a stop inside of you. 

“Y-yes, fuck, just like that, Art, don’t stop.”

He moaned something incomprehensible, or maybe it was a groan mixed with a sigh, as he continued the expert deft movement of his fingers inside of you and mouth against you, bringing you to rock your hips against his face. You were muttering to yourself now: “so close”, “gonna come” until his fingers finally hit that sacred spot, his lips closed just right around your clit, spit drooling from his mouth, and you fell apart. That devastating feeling peaked in your stomach as Art brought you to your high and you gushed around his fingers and into his mouth. Your moans were girlish and deliciously sweet, momentarily wiping away that facade you’d been playing so good at all night. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” it was like you were announcing it to yourself, squeezing your legs around his head and practically clamping down on his hair with your hand as you released. He helped you ride out that high, not stopping, but slowing his fingers and easing his lips against your pussy to keep you grounded. 

When you’d finally caught your breath, Art pulled back, his chin and cheeks absolutely soaked.  

“You taste so fucking good, YN,” he said it like it was a fact of life, as simple as “the sky is blue,” trying to ignore the fact that his load was prone to explode any second now. 

“C’mere, I wanna taste,” you implored. Shakily, he pulled himself up and above you, letting you cradle him in your arms, one around his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck, as you captured him in an open-mouthed, sloppy, slow kiss. You could feel his cock sticking out of his boxers and poking your leg and in one swift movement you slipped your hand between the two of you and pulled him out, your hand wrapping around him. He couldn’t help but take notice of how your hand fit him perfectly, like a glove. 

His hips started to stutter, quite literally, he nearly fell on top of you, gasping desperately.

“Fuck,” he drawled slowly, lips still brushed against yours, pinching his eyes closed. “T-this is s-so—”

He spoke between full-body twitches and spasms of his cock. You pouted slightly, running your fingers through his hair,

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

He chuckled, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly,

“It’s just I’m so — fuck,” his words morphed into a whine when you used your finger to circle around his tip, which was positively leaking with precum. “I… I’m so sensitive right now. I’ve been trying not to come for like thirty minutes.”

You both laughed, genuinely amused. 

“You wanna come?” you entreated, gazing at him with a look that almost resembled concern. 

His smile dropped as his face morphed into that of desperation, that of need, and he nodded earnestly,

“Yes, please. Please make me come, YN. Make me come h-however you want me to.”

“Yeah?” you implored, the palm of your hand closing over his tip to gather slick and then spreading it all down his shaft. “Want you to look at me while you come. Can you do that for me?”

Art felt pressure building in his chest as his breaths grew more and more erratic and he forced himself to look you in the eyes, responding with an affirmative albeit strangled whimper that was supposed to resemble the word “yes.” You rewarded him by stroking him faster now, your hand a tight grip around his shaft, the sound of his wet skin and your open hand slapping against his balls overwhelmingly lewd. His eyes fluttered closed for just a minute, and his head cocked to the right, his mouth opening while no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips started to buck up into your hand, supplementing your strokes. 

“F-fuck, YN, that’s– fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Please, I’m gonna–” he stammered, looking up at you like he was pleading with you. You simply returned his gaze and smiled, that warm, all-knowing smile of yours, and he fell apart. His entire body, hot to the touch, seemed to shake uncontrollably as he burst, thick ropes of cum spilling out of him and splashing onto your hands and your thighs. 

“Fuck!” he whined almost pathetically, his hips faltering to an unsteady stop as he released.

You kept your hand there, slowing to languid, gentle strokes as he rode out his high until you were sure he’d emptied the last of his cum in the crease between your thigh and hip. He tried his best not to collapse on top of you, but you knew he was weak. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, and he fell on top of you with a limp thud, groaning as he buried his face in your chest. 

The two of you lay there catching your breaths, sweaty and hot to the touch. When Art finally got up, he laid next to you on his side. His face was red, and not just because of the exertion. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me, probably crushed you,” he laughed apologetically.

You replied by using two fingers to gather what you could of his cum, smiling writhely as you licked them clean. He watched intently, absolutely enraptured. You did it again, reaching down to your thigh and gathering up his cum. This time, your fingers prodded at his lips. He nearly rattled with arousal. Easily, he obliged, opening ever so slightly, and wrapping his lips around your fingers, sucking the taste of himself clean off. You smiled at him admiringly. He couldn't help but laugh around your fingers,

"Fuck, that's so hot. I'm so sorry."

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you looked up at him, amused by this sudden display of responsibility. 

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

“Oh, on the contrary. I just, I don’t know. Aftercare is important.”

So you spend the next half hour being doted on by Art as he soaped down your body in the tub. It’s the most intimate you had been the entire night, and he realized now that this was the most detailed he’d seen your body. He wanted you like this forever, being carefully pampered under his adoration, gazed upon by his eyes only. For a moment, you worried that this was somehow crossing a line, but you swallowed those thoughts just as quickly as they surfaced. The line had already been crossed when you reached out to them. Sure, you wanted to see how your two favorite white boys were doing, and you were excited to rekindle the friendship that had molded your life for so long. 

But like Art walking to your door, you knew what it was that you wanted, and you knew that you were opening up a can of worms. Besides, you really did love Art, and you loved Patrick too. It was the sort of platonic love that could only be understood by people who had been friends as long as the three of you had. The kind of love that was still there for the taking years later. It didn’t need constant stoking to keep the flame. So, neither of you made this routine— this gentle touch in the water, loofah running across your back and Art’s fingers digging into your shoulders to loosen you up — a big deal. 

By the time the water drained, you were absolutely zonked. You didn’t realize how late it was and just how much energy the whole ordeal had taken out of you. Your orgasm was so strong you were surpised you didn’t fall asleep then and there. Art used a towel to dry you off and had to practically carry you to your bed. He was lucky you didn’t see the shit eating, self-satisfied grin on his face — he liked being a caregiver, and throughout all the years that you had been friends, it was rare that you ever let him take care of you like this. 

You threw the sheets over yourself, lashes batting as you looked over at Art, who was kneeling on the floor next to you, at face level with you. He was smiling so wholesomely that you couldn’t help but reach your hand out and stroke his face, your thumb resting on his sharp jaw.

“You’re good to me, Art. You both are. I really did miss you two. I keep saying it but I want you to know it’s true. Didn’t just invite you guys here to live out some old fantasy.”

“I missed you so much,” Art could melt from the touch of your hand on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly to kiss your fingers gently, cupping your hand over his. “I know you, YN. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You yawned,

“I’ve been a rotten friend, though. Don’t know what took me so long to invite you guys to one of these. I thought about it every year, but decided against it every ime.”

Art waved his hand, shaking his head in dismissal of your comments,

“You’re a perfect friend. We’re the rotten ones.”

“See? You’re just the sweetest,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling. “I’d let you sleep with me, but—”

“Patrick,” he concluded.

“Don’t want him to be mad you didn’t tuck him in,” you giggled. 

In the back of Art’s mind, he wondered if it would’ve gone the same way if Patrick had been the one to knock on your door. He knew it would, but it was nice to pretend that it was something he had to think about. He wondered what you would’ve done if they’d both shown up. Almost laughed to himself at how little self-control he had, while you were like a rock. 

“He’s asleep anyway, but I should be there in the morning so things aren’t weird… things won’t be weird, will they?”

You shook your head, though some part of you knew that Patrick would even out the scorecard soon enough. He always did, competitor that he was. He was so hard to resist, and it’s not like you were resisting him very much in the first place — you’d invited the both of them, it was just a quirk that Art had been the one to do it first. You’d half expected Patrick to show up by himself, if it wasn’t the two of them. But one thing about Art was that he wasn’t some stick in the mud — he could be a wild card, and if he was anything like that ball of energy he was back in high school, you knew he could get shit done. 

“It could never be weird. It’s us,” you replied with certainty. 

Art leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. 

“Go back to bed, Artie. I’ll see you at breakfast,” you grinned. 

“Goodnight,” he crooned. 

“Goodnight,” you replied. 

He stood up and walked out the room, though part of him was longing to stay there for just a bit longer, if not the whole night. But he knew this was just a one-time thing, just a way to let out that pent-up tension. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already thinking about showing up to your door tonight, and the next night, spending each warm summer night here buried inside of you, pulling his name from your mouth in pleasured sobs, making you come undone with his fingers once again. But, dutiful as he was, he walked back to their room, careful not to make a sound as he pulled off his shirt and stepped back into bed— staring up at the ceiling while he replayed moments over again in his mind. Like high school all over again. 

[adarkrainbow]

Why was Hansel the meal of the witch?

This is a question I was aked recently, and I thought it would make a good subject for a post. "Why did the witch only try to fatten up and eat Hansel? Why didn't she imprison and fattened up Gretel too? Why did she choose to make Gretel her slave instead of Hansel?"

Which is actually a fascinating question. Now, I do not promise that there is some grand truth or secret meaning behind this. It is just a little detail and some technical workings of fairytales. But it is a point that many authors and rewriters have taken an interest upon, and that if a true well of reinterpretations.

So let's go... Why was Hansel the meal, and Gretel the slave?

If we go by the "canon" of the text (of course "canonical" fairytales do not exist, this is just an expression) - if we go by the Brothers Grimm's text, we... well we do not know. It is not specified anywhere why the witch decides to lock up and fatten up Hansel out of the siblings, and to not do the same thing for Gretel. There is no reason explicitely spelled out or given. Maybe she simply prefers the meat of boys over the one of girls? This absence of justification, and the apparent "randomness" of the choice opens a door for authors who would like to change things: for example in "A Tale Dark and Grimm" (the book, not the Netflix series), it is both Hansel and Gretel that are fattened up by the witch, and she only picks Hansel as the first one to be roasted. The Looney Tunes Hansel and Gretel also were both in the cooking pot of the witch Hazel...

The text only leaves implications for the reader. For example, the need for the witch to have a slave/assistant to help her with the chores is implied by the facts that she is 1) elderly 2) has a very bad sight and 3) walks with crutches (a very important point). So it is understandable she would require a slave to help her - but then why pick Gretel, and not Hansel? Again, the text does not answer. Many people like to portray Hansel as the oldest child of the duo, and Gretel as a younger sister - this is because Hansel seems to be the strongest, bravest and most intelligent one, as well as with how his name always comes first in the text, Gretel being after him. Maybe the witch chose to eat him first because he was precisely older, and thus there was a more developed body to eat? Even if the siblings are of the same age, we can always imagine the very old and present male/female dichotomy that claims that men's body are naturaly stronger, larger and meatier than women's, who have graceful, slender, lighter bodies. Maybe such a concept is at work, putting forward a mindset where a cannibal witch will always go for boys first as a main course, and girls next as an appetizer...

One possible reading of the story is that the witch only had enough place to lock up ONE child and thus had to make a choice. Maybe there wasn't enough room for two kids in her prison for future meals? This interpretation is supported by the ORIGINAL text of the Grimm's fairytale. In the first edition of the brothers Grimm's fairytales (provided by Jack Zipes), there is an explicit mention of the place Hansel is locked in: it isn't some sort of stable or cage as it would later be described, oh no! It is a chicken coop so small Hansel can BARELY MOVE. It is a really tiny prison, in which he barely fits. Of course, on a practical side, it can help with the whole fattening process since having a child eat rich meals without ever moving is certain to make him plump in no time (just look at these horrible industrial farms and how they lock up animals in tiny cages) ; but this detail actually explained why the witch only placed her efforts on one child, and not two: she obviously had only enough to place to lock up one kid, and had to deal with the other in a different way.

But even if we admit all those implications - that the elderly, handicaped witch needed a help, that she had only enough room to lock up one child, that maybe Hansel as an older boy makes a better meal than Gretel - there are still some strange and bizarre logical holes. For example, the witch beats up and starves and exhausts Gretel. This is the complete opposite of what she does to Hansel, who is pampered and fattened up - does this imply the witch maybe does NOT want to eat Gretel? Or does she really have only enough resources to fatten up one child, and can only afford making Gretel more edible once she is done with Hansel?

Again, mysteries upon mysteries. Fairytales are not created to work on practical details or actual psychological processes - they are stories relying on powerful visuals and ancient motifs and a dream-logic-structure. When we are told that the witch locks up Hansel to fatten him up and eat him, and that Gretel is becoming an abused slave, we just accept it, because it works on a set of powerful visuals, such as the malnurished slave sister cooking and feeding her imprisoned and soon-to-be-killed brother. The idea of the sister being reduced to a tool in the process of killing her own brother is a very powerful one, never explicitly stated, but still present and sometimes used by adaptations. There was this German Hansel and Gretel movie released in 2005 that explicitly played on this: the children were never told by the witch her intentions when she locked up Hansel, and for the first week or so of Gretel being a slave and Hansel fattened up, they were left in the dark concerning the real intentions of their mysterious jailers. This was a stark contrast with many Americanized adaptations that have the witch gloating and explaining her cannibalistic desires to her victims, and which opened the door for some interesting plot points - in this movie's case, Gretel being quite jealous and envious of Hansel's new life of feasting and being kindly treated by the witch when she got all the insults and chores. Of course, when they discover the truth, their mutual feelings reverse as Hansel realizes his seemingly "easier" fate is actually the worst of the two.

Still, the text is left ambiguous and open-ended enough for us to imagine TONS of things. There could be a rewrite of the tale where the witch exclusively eats little boys, and hates little girls. One nterpretation of dark poetry of the tale can be found in Znescope's Gretel mini-series. Despite this mini-series having BIG flaws (the choice of the witch's true identity was... quite bad to be honest), it does have a very interestng and morbid answer to the "Why was Hansel the only one fattened up?" question. It chooses to depict this difference of treatment as a sick and cruel game the witch plays with her preys: Hansel and Gretel are both her prisoners, but she fattens up Hansel while she starves Gretel, to make a contrast between the two, simply out of a perverse amusement. There is one particularly striking image of the two children locked in two cages arranged like a weighing scale, with Hansel's cage going lower as he grows fatter and Gretel's going up as she becomes skeletal... It is a nice visual contrast that has been reused by various artists.

Now, I spoke mainly here of the content of the story and of the text itself. However, as I stated before, we must look beyond the story itself to understand why Hansel was to be the meal, and not Gretel. Or rather we need to look at the fairy tale's structure, on a meta-level.

As I said before, the fairy tale works here on a system of duality. Hansel and Gretel are meant to be a yin and a yang, complementary reflections. The boy and the girl, the brave and the coward, the cunning older brother and the crying little sister. The idea that their fates are "split" into the house of the witch not only furthers the anguish of the characters, who at this point were always together but now find themselves separated, unable to face together the same trials, but also keeps on playing on these visuals and motifs. As I said, there is something that many artists read in the tale, in the opposition between a malnourished Gretel and a feasting Hansel. This is part of the same duality of food and famine present all throughout the tale, such as the woodcutter's famished and poor household, opposed to the witch's house made of sweets and with chests full of pearls. The siblings represent two forms of abuse and evilness enacted by the witch, but in complementary forms: with Gretel the witch becomes a domestic abuser and an enslaver, with Hansel she becomes a jailer and an ogress.

One can also read in this an extension of the typical sexist duality between men and women in these old centuries: the fates the witch forces upon the two children can be caricatures of what each gender is supposed to "do" in such a society. Gretel, like women, is expected to do household chores and to cook for her "man" - here it is caricatured into her becoming a slave, and only helping fattening up her brother like some cattle. In return, Hansel, like a man, is supposed to be well-treated and well-fed, but here the caring wife/mother figure is a monstrous hag who only makes him feast so she could eat him later. In fact, it is quite interesting to see how both siblings are dehumanized and reduced to the status of animals - from Hansel being fattened up in the stables like some pig or chicken, to Gretel being fed leftovers like a dog.

All of that being said, there is another much needed argument that must be made: the answer fo thte question can be easily found in the story's structure. This is the most obvious solving of the problem when you consider it all: the story of Hansel and Gretel relies on the idea that the two children must save each other in turn. There is a balance in the tale, which bears the name of the two protagonists as heroes, but one before the other. During the first part of the tale, it is Hansel who takes the lead and the decisions. He is the cunning hero who tricks his parents, saves his sister from the woods, returns home thanks to his plan. Gretel is only seen being scared, and crying, and not doing anything except follow her brother around. In the second part of the tale, within the witch's house, it is Gretel who becomes the hero. Her brother is "out of the race", locked up away and unable to do anything, and it is Gretel who this time has to trick the deadly parental figure, come up with a clever ruse, and ultimately save her brother from death. This creates a perfect balance between the two characters: Hansel starts out as the hero protecting his useless sister, and then it is Gretel who vanquishes her uselessness to become the hero saving her own, impotent brother. The siblings need each other to survive, and thus save each other in turn. This is how the story works. And this is why Hansel must be the locked-up, fattened-up victim, so that his sister can save him. Else it would have been the story of "Hansel", and not "Hansel and Gretel".

All of that being said, a last point must be made about a final theory. A theory and reading of the tale that has been very prevalent and prominent in recent adaptations of the story.

The recent "Gretel and Hansel" horror movie did it. Before the (X horror movie) also did it. Neil Gaiman's Hansel and Gretel also used this idea. The comics Fables toyed with it in a side-way. And this idea is simple: the witch did not want to eat Gretel, but rather wanted to make her a witch like herself. Gretel wasn't the witch's slave, but unwilling apprentice.

This idea is born of course from a reconsideration of what a "witch" is, and the gender questions attached with the figure of the witch. In the original story, the witch is not a witch in the modern sense of the term, in fact she is a monster that is very clearly an ogress by another name. There is no question of learning how to be a witch, or making deal with dark powers, or anything like that. But when you read the tale with the modern sense of "witch", as a symbol of dark and hostile feminity, as a woman of power, who works against the domination of men, or the tyranny of patriarchy - when you consider all the gender questions surrounding real-life witches and the witch hunts, you see the witch's actions under a different eye. Her not wanting to eat Gretel at first, and making her do her chores, and forcing her to live with her, might hint at the fact she still considers her more "human" or more valuable than her brother, who is nothing but food, a mere cattle. Several of the modern reinventions of the tale, such as those stated above, decide to add the twist that the witch actually wants to shape or make the little girl into her image: from a slave doing the witch's chores, she becomes the witch apprentice, who is by her side in everything she does. Some of those readngs remove the elements of abuse towards Gretel, while others do not forget them. Neil Gaiman's take on the story is especially fascinating as the witch is explicitely described as oscillating between periods of sweetness and kidndness, promising Gretel all of her secrets and great powers, and periods of pure hatred and violence where she just insults and beats up the girl - all of it highlighting either the witch's madness, or a form of senility due to her old age.

But this theme of "Gretel as a future witch" or "Gretel as the witch's apprentice" ties in with another subtext well-hidden in the original text, but that many like to weave upon: Gretel as the "daughter" of the witch. In many of those rewrites and reinterpretations, the witch doesn't just treat Gretel as an apprentice, but as an heir or a replacement daughter. This is no surprise since it is very clear that in the original tale, the witch is the dark side of the mother figure, and an evil doppelganger of the wicked stepmother/mother of the siblings. As such, it makes sense for her to impose an abusive and unconsented motherhood upon Gretel - doesn't her forcing the girl to do all the chores not reminiscent of how famous fairytales stepmothers treat heroines like Cinderella? Such a perverse motherhood was already explicit and obvious in her treatment of Hansel: like a mother she nourishes and feeds Hansel (in fact she succeeds where the wicked stepmother failed), but this is all to devour him, in a ritual of "un-birth", she becomes a death-givers who doesn't expel a child out of her womb, but has it return to her stomach. [This is a very common and usual motif among ogres of fairytales, who are all caricatures of parenthood].

More generally, to have the witch act in such a way actually makes the fairytale more "feminist" somehow, but in a quite perverse way. Because in such a reading, we have a women-dominated world. The true active and powerful characters of the story are beings such as the wicked stepmother and the witch, who command, control and influence the other characters - especially the male ones. The father is a weak puppet who can't stand up to his wife, Hansel is reduced to a fat pig in a cage. Hansel did try to escape the tyranny of the wicked woman, but all he could do was push back his doom, and his plans ultimately failed. Gretel, as a woman herself, is given a special treatment - and in the "apprentice/daughter" interpretation, is "absorbed" by this world of wicked, dominating women. But she actually breaks from it, and kills the one that would have "turned" her - and it is telling and interesting that the only one who can have a true an full success, a definitive victory in this tale is Gretel. Hansel's plans work and save them, but only for a brief time, and his last plan fails dramaticaly, before he gets locked up and "out of the story". Gretel meanwhile, when she gets the courage and intelligence to act, proves herself much more efficient and definitive than her brother, as she puts a true end to the threat other them by killing the witch (and by extension killing the wicked stepmother/mother). This is something Hansel couldn't do - all he could was trck the wicked woman, and nullify her plans, but he could not remove the threat of the death and the hunger.

Anyway, as you can see, despite being a quite superficial and silly question, this fact (or rather absence of facts) opens up a whole jar of various interpretations, readings and themes, and proves the hidden complexity of these apparently "simple" stories.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

About A Boy: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Dean gets turned back into a teenager and realizes one thing: his Mark is gone. Is this his salvation or his downfall?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

"Yeah, we have that stuff in the trunk," Sam clears his throat. "So, we'll get you changed back and light Sabrina's ass up."

"About that," Dean chuckles. "It turns out, this whole freak show has an upside." Dean pulls his shirt sleeve up to reveal his arm doesn't have the Mark. "The Mark is gone."

"How?"

"This witch slammed me back into the body I had when I was fourteen. I didn't have the Mark back then. If we reverse this spell, it's gonna come back. What if we don't?"

"Wait a second. Are you saying you want to stay like this?" you ask.

"No, but if it's between a psycho rage monster/borderline demon or a teenager, well..."

"Really?"

"Look, I'm not a fan, either but this is a problem solved. I'm still me. I can still hunt. I'm just, you know, dewier."

"You kind of have a point, but--"

"There are no buts, Sam," Dean cuts his brother off. "Good news is I have a virgin liver. So, what do you say when we're done doing our hero thing, we take her for a spin?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you can drink again in like seven years?"

"That's not funny," Dean says seriously.

"That's kind of funny."

"That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you smirk.

Silence fills the Impala and something comes over Sam and Dean. Both brothers are thinking the exact same thing. If Dean never changes back, what's going to happen when they shove a fourteen-year-old soul back into your body? Did Dean's soul revert back to that age, too? If so, did yours? Does this mean your soul is purely white now?

Sam arrives at the house Dean was kept in and immediately follows his brother to the small window he escaped from. This window is too small for either you or Sam to fit through so you'll have to find another entrance into the basement. There is a light on inside the house indicating someone is home.

"Looks like someone's home."

"We gotta get Tina out first. The window is still open."

"There is no way I'll fit through that," Sam says.

"First time you ever had to say that, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Big talk coming from the dude wearing underoos."

"Okay, good one," Dean nods. "Go find another entrance."

"Come on," Sam says to you.

Sam finds the back door and easily slips in. Tina and the witch might be upstairs but Dean is downstairs in the basement. When you get there, some big man has Dean in a chokehold. Sam hits the man in the back of the neck causing him to let go of Dean. The man falls to the ground and Dean joins your side.

"Don't!" Sam yells when he is about to get up. "Where's the girl?"

"Upstairs. Alive."

"What did you do to us?" Dean asks.

"Nothing. I'm not a witch. I just work for one."

"Shitty gig," you scoff. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Her name is Katja and she's the worst person in the world."

"I don't know. I work with this one," Dean gestures to you.

"Yeah, truth be told, I'm as evil as it gets," you smile.

"I've been with her for centuries. The things I've seen her do. She made my sister and I hurt and kill people. When we tried to escape, she caught us and tortured me, then she made me eat poor Gretel's heart."

"Gretel? Witch? Are you saying you're Hansel? Gretel and Hansel? Like the fable? Like Brothers Grimm?"

"It wasn't a fable." Hansel gets up and dusts off his pants. "It was based on a true story. They just gave it a happy ending."

"Oh, okay. We get to barbecue a celebrity. Cool," Dean shrugs.

"You can't kill her. You're just men and a woman."

"We're more than that." Sam takes out the Molotov cocktail that will be used to kill the witch. "We're hunters."

"Then let me help."

"What's in it for you?"

"Because if you're going to fry that candy-coated bitch, I want in."

"Tell me how to turn him back," Sam says and keeps the gun trained on him.

"Sam, it can wait," Dean sighs.

"Tell me how!!"

"The hex bag that I'm wearing will reverse the spell. Squeeze it and you'll return to your proper age." Sam lowers his gun. "Look, we waste the witch, I give you the cure. Deal?"

Once both brothers agree to the terms, Hansel takes all three of you upstairs. Katja is cooking in the kitchen and Tina is tied to a chair with a gag over her mouth. Katja chops onions up and places them into the large pot that's on the stove.

"Your friend JP didn't have much meat on his bones," she chuckles, "but a good cook works with the ingredients she's given." She tastes the soup and grins happily. "Mmm. Wunderbar!" The witch is originally from Germany so she'll put a few words in German from time to time. Tina cries quietly and Katja sees this. "Oh, don't worry, liebchen. You're too good for soup. I'm thinking of a nice, sweet chili glaze with a few hours of roasting in the oven. Ooh! An apple in your mouth to top it off."

Hansel steps into the kitchen alerting the witch.

"Hansel." You three appear behind him. You have a knife in your hand, Sam has a gun, and Dean has the Molotov cocktail in his. "Well, our lost lamb. I thought we'd have to go looking for you. Maybe even abandon our home sweet home here. I never dreamt you'd be stupid enough to come back on your own. Hansel, take care of them."

Hansel doesn't respond and walks to the right side of you, between you and Tina.

"Yeah, he's not exactly your biggest fan. Maybe you shouldn't have made him chow down on his sister."

Katja smirks and looks at Hansel.

"I never made Hansel do anything."

Suddenly, the knife is knocked out of your hand and Hansel pushes you into the wall behind you. He kicks Sam and grabs his gun, disarming him. Hansel quickly grabs you and places you in front of him, putting the gun to your head. Dean curses and tries to light the Molotov Cocktail but Katja uses her magic and sends it flying against the wall. The bottle breaks which means the spell is useless against her.

"Now, who's hungry?" she grins evilly.

Sam tries to move but Hansel shoves the gun further into your head.

"Don't move or I will kill her."

You're not scared, obviously, but you do value your life. If you were to make a move, he'd kill you. You'd like to live to see another day so you don't move an inch. Katja walks up to Dean and feels his arm.

"Ooh, scrawny. We'll have to fatten you up."

"Don't fucking touch me," Dean glares and yanks his arm away.

"I'm gonna do more than that." She walks back to the kitchen island. "Children. They're so sweet and delicious. You'll see." She looks at Hansel and nods once. "When I cook him up, I'll give you some, hmm?"

"If you like kids so much, why not go after kids? What's with this whole fountain of youth?" Sam asks.

"In the olden days, if a child went missing, it didn't matter. The young died all the time. Now, with all your AMBER Alerts and your milk cartons, a person fillets one rugrat and people get so angry. So, I improvise. I take adults no one will miss and give them back their youth. It's the only way I can eat in peace."

Sam slowly reaches into his back pocket where his knife is. Dean sees this and decides to stall the witch and keep the focus on him.

"Is it worth it? I mean, the word on the street is people kind of taste like chicken."

"A bit. European children are more free-range and gamier. Americans, though, are Heaven... fattier. The meat is so finely marbled that it's almost buttery. I just can't get enough."

"Awesome," Dean rolls his eyes.

"No! I am in awe. This is my first visit to your country, and I have to say, God Bless the U.S.A!"

"Oh, so, you're a tourist?"

"No. It's business, not pleasure. An old friend is causing trouble and the Grand Coven asked me to take of her. Poor, stupid Rowena."

"Rowena?" you bark out a laugh. "That bitch? Does she have red hair and have a thing for ritzy hotels?"

Katja drops the vegetable she is holding in shock.

"How do you know that?"

Sam finally gets his knife out without anyone noticing but you and Dean. He immediately lunges for Katja with the knife while Dean tackles Hansel to the ground. You jumped out of the way just at the right time so you didn't go down with them. You back up and stand next to Tina to watch this unfold.

Katja goes to stab Sam with her knife but he knocks it out of her hand. She uses her magic and flings him into the bookcase by the door, and he crumbles to the ground along with everything else on it. Hansel elbows Dean off him and grabs him by the collar to repeatedly slam him into the ground. Tina looks at you to see if you're going to do anything but you wave her off.

"He's fine," you shrug.

Katja opens the fiery oven, and Hansel shoves Dean three times against the fridge. Dean slides to the ground and looks at Sam who is too weak to get up. He looks at you and sees no regard for his safety in your eyes.

"Now you'll burn!" Katja yells. "Turn them!"

Hansel turns to you and Sam with an evil grin on his face. He grabs his neck where the hex bag should have been but realizes it's gone. He turns to Dean and goes white when he sees Dean has the hex bag. Dean clutches the bag and squeezes it, giving off a pure white light that is too bright to look at. Dean, now in his normal adult body, grabs the knife Katja dropped on the ground and shoves it deep into Hansel's chest.

He stomps over to Katja and shoves the hex bag into her mouth so she can't use any spells against him. She struggles against him but he shoves her into the open fiery oven and closes the door. She screams and begs to be let out but Dean closes the little door that lets the smoke out.

Dean didn't use the Blade to kill someone but he did take two lives. Your Mark is tingling in the most delicious way.

With the witch and Hansel dead, Tina is let go and forced to face the gravity of the situation. The brothers bring her outside the house to talk while you're off to the side picking the bark of a tree.

"That was crazy. Like psycho crazy. You three do this all the time?"

"All the fucking time."

"Not all the time," Sam mutters.

"Can you turn me back?"

"The hex bag went up in flames. I'm so sorry, Tina." She looks disappointed but not as much as she should. "We may be able to reverse engineer the spell, though."

She looks at her reflection in the window and decides to come to terms with who she is now.

"Maybe you don't. I have three ex-husbands, fifty grand in debt, and not much else. I was kind of a shitty adult. Maybe I'll do better this time around. Get out of town and get a fresh start. This is my second chance. Everybody wants a second chance, right?"

Dean looks over at you but you're not paying attention to them. Do you deserve a second chance? When she shoves this soul back into you, you'll remember every horrible thing you've said and done. Does he really want to do that to you? He'll have to make a deal with Death and put a wall in your head to make you forget.

That will be your second chance.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" Dean asks.

"Like I told you, I always am."

"Can we at least give you a ride somewhere?"

"To a bus station would be nice."

You and Tina head for the car and Dean sticks his hand out toward Sam.

"Give me the keys."

Sam and Dean take Tina to the nearest bus station while you stay in the car. Both of them give her all the cash they have so she can use it to get herself out of town. She thanks them and heads into the station, and the brothers return to the car.

"So, Grand Coven. Any ideas?" Dean asks.

"It doesn't sound good."

"It sounds like an 80's hair metal band. You know, a lot of hair spray, a lot of eye shadow, and a lot of keytar." Sam stares blankly at Dean. "No? Nothing? Come on, man. I'm painting a word picture here."

"Is it back?"

Dean sighs and lifts his sleeve to show that the Mark is indeed back on his arm.

"Look, I know what you're going to say, okay? But you were in deep."

"I know. You saved me, Tina, and Y/N. You pulled a Dean Winchester. Thank you."

"Anytime," Dean smiles.

"Do I wish the mark was gone? Yes, of course, on both of you," You roll your eyes, "but I wanted you back more. Here you are and you didn't Hulk out. I'll take the win. As for the rest of it—the mark, everything else--we'll figure it out. We always do."

"Damn right. Let's get out here." Dean starts the car and he smiles when she purrs. "I'm back, baby."

Dean turns on the radio and Taylor Swift's Shake It Off plays over the radio. Sam looks to Dean expecting him to switch the song but he keeps it playing. Sam continues to stare at Dean but the older brother shrugs and leaves it on. He peels out of the parking lot with it still playing.

"I don't know about you two but we need to figure out where the hell my soul went. I want my magic back."

"That's something considering you're out for blood."

"What can I say? I want to switch it up this time."

If you can get them to believe you want your soul back, then you can trick them into giving you the remote for the device on your neck. Your time is up on this ride, and you finally want off it.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[sashkapi]

Do you have an character design about Kendall’s unseen older sister? And do you have any headcanons about her also?

I had designed her quite a while ago and apparently forgot to post. Sowwy QmQ

Linda "Linnie" Perkins :)

She is based on a bg character from "Spelling Bee", and according to Sandro we did see Linnie as a background character so you bet my ass was onto every blonde teen girl in the show jfjxjkdnvkjdv

AW YEAH, HEADCANON TIME

1. She used to be a cheerleader. But then her team found out she cheated on her initiation and got kicked out. (She immediately told a loser she had to date that they would be fake dating. She still didn't tell him about the final step of initiation, so Linnie was being just as cruel as cheerleaders.)

2. After getting kicked out, she actually joined the girl's soccer team and still does gymnastics. Girl genuinely enjoys sports.

3. Just like Brad with Kick, Linnie bullies Kendall, although she doesn't get "physical" often. Linnie would rather get some rats into Kendall's room or pour glue in her shampoo than pulling her hair.

As a note: Linnie still absolutely would pull Kendall's hair. Pictured above.

4. She calls Brad "Car-crash". The first time they actually talked was when Linnie was getting her driver's license and Brad was redoing the test for his. Now guess how Brad's test went.

5. She and Brad are sorta friends. Yes, Brad used to hit on her, but after learning that she used to be a cheerleader he kinda backed out (Kelly trauma). Linnie, of course, wasn't interested in him at all, but their shared "interest" in bullying their younger siblings made them unlikely friends. 

Or "Girlboss adopts a Boyloser"

(Brad still hits on her from time to time. The answer is always no.)

6. Already mentioned in my Kendall headcanons, but Linnie also has a cat named "Gretel". While Kendall dots on Hansel and frequently calls her nice names, Linnie treats Gretel like "Oh lawd, here comes that big fat idiot! Who's a big fat idiot? You are! Who has no thoughts in that little skull of yours? You have!". She does it lovingly of course. She loves Gretel.

7. The reason Kendall was getting a soccer ball in "Tattler's tale"? It wasn't hers, it was Linnie's. Kendall and Linnie used to play soccer in their backyard when they were younger, something they don't do anymore due to their strained relationship. Kendall is quite sentimental girl deep down, she didn't want something that has such good memories connected to it getting lost.

Linnie knows that Kendall got that ball back and while she didn't say anything - she really appreciated it.

Got her pink glitter pen in secret as a thanks.

8. Linnie doesn't have a "posse". She has her soccer team. That is kinda like her posse. After cheerleading and some "practice" when she used to play with Kendall - becoming an ace on a field didn't take long for her.

She is genuinely friends with her teammates tho.

9. She is actually really strong. Physically. Even by athletic standards. She can easily pick up several people without breaking a sweat.

After thinking that she is among the strongest people in her school (and later college) - witnessing Gunther's strength made her low-key terrified of him. ("Like wdym he can pick up several BULLS?! AND FREELY RUN WITH THEM?!?!")

10. Yes, she is beefing with Kelly now. Kelly is the one who found out about her initiation cheating and is the reason Linnie got kicked out from the cheerleading squad after all.

Brad 🤝 Linnie   Fuck Kelly

11. One of her ways to bully Kendall is to ruin her clothes. The reason Kendall's pink-green sweaters are fine? "No matter what I do, I can not ruin those ugly sweaters even more"

12. Linnie knew about Kendall's crush on Kick for a while. She didn't use it in her bullying because she has standards.

And she kinda just doesn't care.

13. Linnie go-to derogatory nickname for Kendall is "sissy". Just in case Kendall tries to snitch like "she calls me names!" to their dad, Linnie can spin it as "Oh my silly sis! I was calling you sis, you silly!"

14. Once Kick and Kendall started dating, Linnie extended her bullying onto Kick too. Only when the two of them are together, tho. Linnie isn't interested in picking on Kick alone, so she just ignores him (unless she's with Brad, in which case she just passively helps older Buttowski).

Don't ask Kick and Kendall how many of their dates were ruined by their older siblings.

15. Additionally, to the previous one: Linnie calls Kick "Pipsqueak" (Perkins' "call Kick "Kick"" challenge: impossible)

[baohanhanesel]

↓Masterpost

Name's Hansel.

She/they.

I am 18! ✋

INTJ 4w3 🤔

COD fandom artist at your service.

My other socials!

Writing List + Drawing List undercut.

→ Writing List

Platonic.

Father TF141 learns about your long-term lover.

Mom of the TF141.

Medic Reader & Ghost, he doesn't want to take orders from you, same goes for you.

Medic Reader & König, you are both scared of the other.

New rookie with a mask, drinking out for the first time with the TF141.

You are an artist, they are your muse.

Karaoke with TF141 + Los Vaqueros.

Father Soap doesn't want you to leave him alone.

Father TF141 witnesses you having a night terror.

Romantic.

You want a private relationship, TF141.

Married life with John Mactavish.

World Praise Day with TF141.

Play fighting with your bf, Soap and Ghost.

Manhandling, Boyfriend Soap and Best friend Ghost.

Calling him by his name, Soap.

Calling them by their callsigns, Soap and Ghost.

Valeria Garza.

Obsessed Reader.

Obsessed Reader 2.

Begging you.

"Understood, ma'am?" She is mad at you.

Reader is a member of TF141. Interrogation scenario.

Reader is Alejandro Vargas's sister.

Ally Reader, Bantering.

Ally Reader, Jealousy.

"Belong to Valeria." Reader is Valeria's right-hand soldier.

→ Drawing List .

My personal favorites have the "<3 next to them.

Ghoap Scribbles.

Valeria w Obsessed Reader/yn/oc.

König w Male reader/yn/oc.

Ghoap, Sneaky forehead kisses.

Morning sight John Mactavish.

Valeria w Vampire Reader/yn/oc.

Ghoap, Valentine's day scribble.

Ghoap, A shoulder to lean on.

Ghoap, Spider kiss. <3

Ghoap Scribble.

Ghoap, Hurt Johnny.

Ghoap, Possessive Hug. <3

Ghoap, Forehead kiss.

Ghoap, Missing one another.

Masked men, König and Ghost body sketches.

Sergeants, Gaz and Soap body sketches.

Giving Gaz some love!

Ghoap kiss, Soap w Ghost's mask.

John Soap Mactavish appreciation from me.

OC - Religious.

Ghoap, Boop.

Ghoap, Ghost in red - Soap in a suit.

Frog Ghoap.

GazGhost Whump.

Ghoap, Domestic Morning <3

SoapGaz, Mwah!

Gaz meet König?

Ghoap, Blood as Lube <3

Dark Ghoap.

Ghoap, "Ah'm alive" "Welcome alive." <3

Ghoap, MerMay.

Gaz, MerMay. <3

Merman Price w Handler Ghost, MerMay.

Merman Soap w Handler Ghost, MerMay.

Merman Gaz w Handler Ghost, MerMay.

Ghoap, To Be Enchanted.

Ghoap, Possessive/Obsessive Soap.

Valeria Garza, in a tie.

Alerudy.

Pricegaz week, May 30 - Sit in Water.

Ghostsoapgaz.

Ghoap, mask bite/kiss.

Ghoap, John service. Simon's shaky. <3

Ghoap, "You got beautiful eyes."

Ghoap, Cowboy.

Soap/Ghost, Colours. <3

Domestic Ghoap. <3

Keegan.

Pampering König.

GazSoap, Bonding time.

Ghoap, Roses.

Ghoap, Vampire Ghost.

Ghoap, Johnny in lace.

Ghoap, Civies. <3

Babygirl John Soap Mactavish. <3

Ghoap, Modeling. <3

Pricesoap, with Ghost.

Dragon Soap with his hoard. (Tf141)

Ghost and Soap, I love my hot turkish gf shirts...

09 Ghoap, Simon Pup eyes Riley.

[little-cereal-draws]

Details I noticed in The Last Wish pt 3

I always get too invested in the story at this point to notice any details so this list is making up for several detail-oriented rewatches. It got so long I'm going to split it into two parts. This is going to cover everything from the pocket full of posies to when the bears are in their cabin. It also includes lines I wish were talked about more lol

I think it's so funny when Kitty and Puss are trash talking Perrito as they go through the pocket full of posies. "Ughh, his path is so corny." "And cheesy." "And lame." "And weird. Like him." "Yeah. Why are you so ridiculous, dog?"

Jack has to push off a baker's face with his foot to pull Excalibur out of his magic nanny bag

When Jack's tank gets stopped by the posies, he says, "Well?? Start chopping!" There's this one baker who says, "On it! You don't have to tell me twice! I'm going to chop the heck out of this Ficus lyra-" He then gets eaten by a flower and another baker falls to her knees and goes, "Jerry, no!!" I think the fandom should appreciate Jerry more; the baker who was overeager at his job and knew a lot abt flowers lol

Jack has basically no eyebrows (they're a very light purple that's only visible in close ups) and crow's feet

When Jack is using the phoenix as a flamethrower, it cries a single tear

Jack also sets one of his men on fire when he's flamethrowing

Kitty has gold embellishments on the end of her sash

Kitty sees Puss scratch at his beard twice before he tries to get her to say he should shave it so she definitely knew he didn't like it

When Kitty's shaving him, there are some hairs that stay longer even after she went over that area. It really gives it the look that he's being shaved by a dagger on a boat lol Not the most precise shave, but it gets the job done

Kitty brushes Puss' fur off her hands as he gets rid of his stick sword after the shave

During the fight on the bank of the river, Puss sneezes out a bunch of confetti after the second unicorn horn explosion

During his panic attack, Puss lightly pets Perrito's head. I'm sure this is common knowledge but I always thought that he just put his hand on his head, not actually pet it too

When Mama bear says that they're a "crime syndicate family," it triggers the map to bug out. Goldi's holding it at the moment and the map could probably tell the confliction between her wish and her reality

The map's message right after also has more foreshadowing for Goldi's wish. "To find your wish, adjust your view. What you seek may be right in front of you." It's trying so hard to tell her that she already has her wish but she doesn't get it lol

It must be winter wherever the bears are from. They keep bringing up hibernation, their cabin is covered in snow, and both Baby and Papa are asleep in a matter of minutes of entering their house

The library stamp in Goldi's book reads "Crying Tears Orphanage Library." What kind of name is that??? Also, it proves that Goldi was at an orphanage first and then probably wandered into the woods on her own accord; her parents didn't leave her there. It does still have lots of angst tho because everyone in the town/orphanage probably assumed she died

The other kids who checked out Goldi's book were Hansel and Gretel

Mama has a scar on her nose. It's pretty big too

I love Baby's line after they find Puss hiding under the table with the map. "Oi! You crime-ing us when we just crime-ed you? No. No crime backs!"

Part one, Part two, Part four, Part five

[adidegmez]

spn s10 spoilers

s10 ep1(black)

i knew we would get demon dean but i thought a demon possessed dean. i didnt think dean would become a demon. he is with crowley and he left sam and cas. sam lost control. cas is not okay. i love crowley's humor. i dont like hannah. Daniel died because of her. Daniel and Cas were talking properly, the others disrupted it. dean wouldnt leave his brother. this isnt dean.

s10 ep2(reichenbach)

dean killed a human! and he enjoyed it. dean is happy, i guess. he doesnt care about his past, so he is happy. crowley misses dean. its just a car?!? i want old dean back. i need him.

s10 ep3(soul survivor)

crowley really loved dean. crowley saved cas. Cas arrived just in time. is dean fully cured? i hope he is. i can see the difference between demondean and dean in his eyes. I miss Dean even if it's only 3 episodes. i'm glad he's back. okay sam calls dean his brother and he cares about him. cas is okay. dean is good. im happy. rowena! this is my first time watching spn but i always see spoilers so i know her name but i dont know who she is and i didnt think we would see her this early. i was just thinking when is Charlie coming. we got rowena instead of Charlie.

s10 ep4(paper moon)

why didnt sam go with dean? he did go. Then why did he say call me if things don't go well? i thought we wouldnt see kate again. I didn't like it when Dean lied. Tasha may be a monster, but Kate is no monster. and we didnt see rowena.

s10 ep5(fan fiction)

we got work to do. he said it. im so excited. The moment they realized it was their own story was priceless. and the looks afterwards. i love deans reactions so much. dean looked at the camera. i hate when they dont believe sam and dean are sam and dean. becky and marie their favorite is sam. How come not a fan whose favorite is Dean showed up? yes, adam when will they save him? carry on was the best part here. and the amulet. chuck🥹.

s10 ep6(ask jeeves)

in some of the earlier episodes shapeshifters did not shed their skin. I was wondering how this happens there too. Then I thought they would probably continue like this and forgot about it. but now they are shedding their skin again. why is this so?

s10 ep7(girls, girls, girls)

i like rowena. angels and demons they ruin the lives of the people they posses. If she was going to let go of the body, why didn't she let go before she destroyed her life? i love dean. he was telling the guy what he wanted to hear. and thats exactly what he did with sam. he means those words. and thats probably true. Just before Crowley said, when the music came on, I knew Rowena was Crowley's mother. wow. I didn't know until the last minute that this would happen.

s10 ep8(hibbing 911)

jody and donna, i like them. dean is hunter he always will be. and he is the best hunter.

s10 ep9(the things we left behind)

i knew kathryn Newton was in supernatural but i didnt think she was jimmy's daughter. its so nice to see winchesters laugh. i love dean and cas' friendship. i dont care what anyone says john was a good father. dean and sam loved him and he loved them. he was trying to protect them. sometimes he did bad things but he always loved them. i love crowley and rowena's Accent. dean lost himself, again. Didn't Cain say that once Dean was done with the mark, he would take it from him?

s10 ep10(the hunter games)

did crowley really trust rowena? The woman with Claire looks like Katniss.

s10 ep11(there's no place like home)

yes, Charlie. I was wondering when we would see her. Dean is innocent next to the dark Charlie. dean… charlie is their little sister.

s10 ep12(about a boy)

yong dean actor is perfect. The actors who played younger Sam and Dean were always excellent. polite dean. He was always polite when he needed to be polite. So Dean's swiftie days started here. hansel and gretel! i knew we would get the last car scene but i think it would be in another ep. but it was great to see.

s10 ep13(halt & catch fire)

i just watched ghostbusters for the first time before watching this ep. they were smart they make Money when they're saving people and people believe there are ghost. i wish people believed monsterrs in this universe and hunters could earn Money while saving people. and they wouldnt get any trouble while lying. they wouldnt even need to lie. but still theyre saving people while living miserable lives.

i love gen x dean. he knows his movies shows and music the rest dosnt matter. he gave up but im sure theyll find something, but idk if its a cure.

s10 ep14(the executioner's song)

dean is so calm after killing cain. he is scaring me. he keeps so much to himself. no one can help him but himself i know but he could at least talk to sam and cas. but he wont.

s10 ep15(the things they carried)

people dont want to see winchesters. where there is a winchester there is a trouble. yes they are not the cause of the problem(usually) but they are always there to solve the problem. and thats why i love them. they are brave sweet caring kind… they are everything.

s10 ep16(paint it black)

crowley loves winchesters. sam cares about dean. i love him again. i love caring sam.

s10 ep17(inside man)

Cas is wearing a tie. i was sure we wouldnt see bobby again. but here we are. i missed him. hello boys, I assume rowena got this from crowley. bobby said what could be worse? i hope we wont learn that. i hope we can see bobby again. dean and crowley in a bar they yalked like they were old friends and i think that was nice. and crowley believed dean instead of his mother well that was the logical choice but still he chose dean. i love crowley. ş hope cas can get his grace back.

s10 ep18(book of the damned)

The hoodie suits Dean so good. first faith then now. It looks good no matter what he wears, but a hoodie is different. i hate metatron. he ran, again. where's the backup phone dean? yes Charlie and cas are bff's now. i thought sam would ask crowley. rowena is not good.

s10 ep19(the werther project)

it was nice to see benny well he wasnt benny but still it was nice. i hope sam wont kill crowley. dean really loves purgatory i think this is because he is a hunter and thats all he knows and he enjoys being a hunter.

s10 ep20(angel heart)

Can't Cas use his powers to find claire? when i started watching spn i was seeing spoilers. ı learnt cas was coming before s3. and i thought he would travel sam and dean everywhere. but he is not. we are seeing him do little. i wish we could see him more in the future.

s10 ep21(dark dynasty)

normally i wouldnt support sam because he is lying to dean but there is no other way yet at least. so go sam save dean. is charlie dead? she cant be. she is not dead cas could save her right? We saw very little of her. I want to spend more time with her.

s10 ep22(the prisoner)

she is dead! she cant be dead. i cant blame sam. He was the one who involved Charlie but charlie idk i just cant blame sam. Couldn't Cas have saved Charlie? no i cant accept charlie's death. i wont. I thought we would spend more time with Charlie. i kill gods. he is not wrong. im glad crowley is alive but he changed. i wish he would stay the way he was. dean lost control again but they were monsters so its okay i guess. Charlie cant be dead. That's all I could think about during the entire episode. dean killed the kid. I thought he would come to his senses while talking to the kid. Dean isn't completely gone, he can be saved. Charlie cant be dead. why didnt cas save her. when she died gadreel brought her back. Why didn't they bring her back this time?

s10 ep23(brother's keeper)

Dean didn't want Rudy to die either, this is the Dean we know, but his attitude when pushing him away must have been mark's influence. my dean wouldnt let rudy die. he would talk and save rudy. i need my old dean back. crowley loves dean. "i think i just killed death"why dean? he usually tries to help you. why did you kill him? dean confuses me. rowena really doesnt love crowley. Dean agreed. Both the world and Dean would have been saved, but now they have to save the world from what they themselves caused. dean why? i was okay, dean was okay sam and even death was okay with the plan and then dean just killed death, why? i know he loves his brother he would never kill him but he summoned death he asked him favor and then just killed him. World is a mess, rowena escaped, crowley and cas are not okay, sam and dean who knows what happened and Charlie is still dead. i cant wait what will happen in next season.

[princesssarisa]

"Faerie Tale Theatre" Role Association: Seasons 1 through 3

To honor Shelley Duvall in a silly yet fun way, I decided to finally do what I've been meaning to for some time: play a complete game of Role Association for the characters of Faerie Tale Theatre.

That is, describing the story using the names of the actors' more famous characters. @thealmightyemprex and I once did this together, long ago. I thought I would try doing it myself now, starting with the show's first few seasons.

The Tale of the Frog Prince

The Genie is turned into a frog, and only a kiss from Inga can break the spell. Odo is Inga’s father, while Debbie Dunham and Kramer are Genie’s parents. Brave Sir Robin narrates.

Rumpelstiltskin

Wendy Torrence is ordered to spin straw into gold for Lots-O’-Huggin Bear after her father Sarge lies that she can. Tattoo agrees to spin it for her, but at a price.

Rapunzel

Olive Oyle is hidden away in a tower by her abusive foster mother Gloria Swenson, until she meets and falls in love with Prince Lir. Cornelius narrates.

The Nightingale

Ned Kelly is the Emperor of China, who learns the value of friendship from Hillary Whitney and a bird with the voice of Wendy Torrence. Commander Adama is the Prime Minister, while Harold, Iroh, and Mr. Wing are other members of the court.

Sleeping Beauty

Rita the Cat is cursed to die by Ellen Griswold, but Grandmama Addams softens the curse to a 100-year sleep, from which Superman’s kiss will wake her. Father Mulcahy and “Hot Lips” Houlihan are Rita’s parents.

Jack and the Beanstalk

Dave Stohler lives in poverty with his mother Jessica Tate, until Blinkin gives him magic beans that grow into a beanstalk, which leads him to the castle of gigantic couple Ted and Edith.

Little Red Riding Hood

Emily Hobbs goes into the forest to visit Grandma Gilmore and encounters Alex DeLarge, who sets out to prey on them both. The Mayor of San Francisco and Ida Sessions are Emily’s parents.

Hansel and Gretel

T.J. and Savannah are the children of poor woodcutter Wimpy, who get lost in the woods and are nearly cooked and eaten by Mrs. Potiphar.

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

Addie Loggins intrudes into the house of papa Mongo, mama Alma Cox, and their son Paco. Dick Solomon and Rosie are Addie’s parents and Randall Peltzer is a forest ranger.

The Princess and the Pea

Stephen Waltham falls in love with Sally Bowles, but to test her worthiness, his mother Dr. Lesh has her sleep on twenty mattresses with a pea beneath them. Dr. Jack Bardofsky is a court jester and Chris Hargensen is a mean-girl princess.

Pinocchio

Pee-Wee Herman is a puppet carved by Saul Bloom and brought to life by Maria Portokalos. Kramer and Rocko are two con artists who lead him astray, and Waternoose turns him into a donkey.

Thumbelina

Two-inch tall Princess Leia is stolen from her mother Berta and nearly forced to marry first Castor Oyle, then the Penguin, before finding true love with Tommy Ross.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

Cora Crawley is taken in by seven dwarfs after fleeing from Julia, who wants to kill her because Nicholas Medina claims that Cora is more beautiful than she is. Eventually Julia poisons her, but in the end, she revives and marries Frederic.

Beauty and the Beast

Janet Weiss becomes the prisoner of Count Dracula and eventually learns to love him. Chief Hubbard is her father, while Morticia Addams and Helen Henny are her sisters.

The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers

John Cage isn’t afraid of anything, so he spends three nights in Count Dooku’s haunted castle with the promise of marriage to Dooku’s daughter Max. Bob Cratchit is an innkeeper, Stu Pickles is a clergyman, and Frank Zappa is a hunchbacked servant.

[loser-bassist]

dearest irl

hedwig headcanons IMMEDIATELY ‼️‼️‼️‼️

yoyrs cruelly,

fimn :3

Gonna do multiple Hedwig characters!!

Hedwig (they/she)

-Gender queer and doesn’t label her sexuality

-She has no middle name

-wears cherry flavored lipstick 100000%

-Switch. (Standing before you in the divide between top and bottom)

-LOVESSSS denim (obviously)

-Before becoming Hedwig, Hansel experimented with his mother’s makeup and one day she sat him down and properly taught him how to apply lipstick.

-Aside from singing and performing, Hedwig has a knack for pottery (remember the detail about their mother teaching pottery to limbless children) and poetry

-Has a soft spot for home made cooking

-As a child, Hansel dreamed of becoming an astronaut, to escape their restrictive environment and explore the vast unknown, much like their later journey of self-discovery.

-Has a small collection of potted succulents and herbs

-Hedwig collects vintage issues of niche magazines

Tommy Gnosis (he/him)

-publicly bi but you never see him dating men

-Does a lot of things for his image

-Tries to present himself as a tortured artist and sort of comes across like a more alternative Harry Styles in the way that he wears women’s clothing so his hoard of teenage girl followers are like “oh em gee he’s breaking gender norms!!”

-Claims to be vegan for the image, secretly loves turkey.

-His producers made him get a black bob to come across as more sensitive

-Tommy somewhat hates what he’s become and doesn’t even feel like himself anymore.. but anything to keep the money coming

-Cut off his family after he became a success

-Has been cancelled on Twitter 4 times

-Truly never got over Hedwig

Yitzhak (He/Him)

in drag: Krystal (she/her)

Canonical fact that seems to get glossed over a lot is that he is Jewish!

I honestly don’t have much for Yitzhak but may update this

[immoonprincess]

Evillious OC: Sloth

~Technical Information~

Name: Sloth

Other Names: the Messiah of Machinery, the Unkillable Demon, the Savior, the Cult Leader of Eve

Vocaloid: Utatane Piko

~Biographical Information~

Birthday: December 8th somewhere in 1480-1490

Age: 10-20

Classification: Robot

Gender: Male (but look Androgynous)

Hair Color: Sliver

Eye(s) Colors: Green and Turquoise (on the left side due to malfunctioning when making contact)

Affiliation(s): North Maistia(Place of birth, formally)

the world that resembling Detriot

Eve sect

Sloth, Born U7a7ane P1k0 are Robot that eventually gaining Sentient and Emotions (but not fully) so When Humans forced him to overwork and when He met with Cryptids Trios, They offer him a clockworker doll which give him power and ability enough to fight back against humanity that forced him to work

so When He goes rampage and chased almost everyone out of building, He faked his death by let himself get shot by cops and then set himself on fire to make sure they think He really dead

7 Years later When New Sinners are united to fight against Heavenly Yard and lose (He was lose to Hansel and Gretel Twins and the fact that He have no predecessor counterpart to fight)

He was sent to world similar to "Detroit: Become Human" with expected result in year later, putting Superpowered being on World where Robot have much power as Humans (which i won't tell too much as it's pretty graphic and brutal in my mind) and forming a cult about Eve Moonlit

so Once He come back to his world after served his time, He have given bigger roles in 2nd War where Worked as Wrath's Partner, Covered up Rollum in Fog, Fight Lemy, try to give Gallerian a sadistic offer (his Fortune or his daughter) and Bring back Dead Sinners with the fact that He is a robot which mean He have no Soul

once 2nd War is over, He choosed to stay with Trios once he realized that the world he was sent is better off without him

Trivia:

He Shared his Original name as his Vocaloid, Utatane Piko

so is his birthday

Sloth is inspired by Kai from Kung Fu Panda 3 as Green Eyed Supernatural Being that keep coming back no matter how much He killed with ability to summoned Other People (in this case Previous Sloth Sinners) to fight for him

He along with Prim Marlon currently the only Sloth Sinner that didn't play by Hatsune Miku

His another Inspiration is Chucky from Child's Play as When his main body got destroyed, He will transferring his Data and Conscious to the Doll and roaming around as Doll until He recreated Body

Sloth is regard to be the Most Sadistic and Brutal Sinner out of the new one as He tend to give his victim Torture especially when He read their crime

[confessions-sm]

Spooky month jjba au stands since the AU idea since it has not left my mind

All of the stand names will be named after songs or albums :3 I dont have ideas for what abilities the stands can do yet but i'll write that eventually So heres what i have so far :3

Skid-Skeleton Appreciation day

Pump-Burn him down

Lila- Goodbye,my danish sweetheart

Dexter-Under my skin

Bob-Blood and Bones

Mort Vivico-Undetaker

Ignacio-Red Mage!

Thin theif-Hansel

Fat theif-Gretel

Eyes-Ruler of everything

Skiddad-Skeleton man

Richard-Business as Usual

Carmen-Blue Velvet

Evermore-This dark town

Gregor-The Exorcist

John-Goddamn these hands of mine

Jaune-Girlpop beat-a-thon

Roy-What if things get worse Robert-Happy face And i also made a spotify playlist with all of the songs the names come from(also im probably gonna change evermore's stand name) :D

.

[possum-quesadilla]

Here is the official chronological playlist for LoopJuice! I can’t link the ones I made because they have my name attached to them, so I suppose typing it out is the next best thing! It goes chapter by chapter and even goes through to the end of Time’s Arrow, so uh. Spoilers I guess for the vibes beyond the current chapter! (And for the possible Part 3)

Time is a Flat Circle:

Chapter One; “Go through the emotions again and again” (The Heroine by Unwoman)

- Rain by Jack Stauber // Hansel by Sodikken // Friends In Low Places by Worthikids // Soft Fuzzy Man by Lemon Demon // Eighth Wonder by Lemon Demon // Charlie’s Inferno by That Handsome Devil // Nothing Man by Sodikken // Mirror Man by Jack Stauber // Is Anyone There by Jack Stauber // Buttercup by Jack Stauber // taixu by lasah/sasakure.UK

Chapter Two; “In heaven, everything is fine” (In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song) by David Lynch)

- In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song) by David Lynch // A Human’s Touch by TWRP and McKenna Rae // Look Who’s Inside Again by Bo Burnham // Burn Him Down! By Kitsch Club // The Sword of Damocles from Rocky Horror Show

Chapter Three; “I’ve tasted dying and it tasted good!” (Dinner Is Not Over by Jack Stauber)

- Mama’s Boy by Dominic Fike // The Wolf Song by Amanda Palmer // Loved by FEiN // Class of 2013 by Mitski // You’re at the Party by Lemon Demon // Hard Sell by The Crane Wives // Home by Cavetown // Sweet Hibiscus Tea by Penelope Scott // Any Day Now by Bo Burnham // Dinner Is Not Over by Jack Stauber

Chapter Four; “Falling doesn’t feel so bad when I know you’re falling this way too” (Deviltown (V2) by Cavetown)

- Oh Klahoma by Jack Stauber // The Moss by Cosmo Sheldrake // Devil Town (V2) by Cavetown

Chapter Five; “Try to hold the breeze within your fingertips, it’s hopeless” (So Long by Tokyo Elvis)

- So Long by Tokyo Elvis // A Mask of My Own Face by Lemon Demon

Chapter Six; “And this time I actually feel them” (The Heroine by Unwoman)

- I Guess by Mitski // Pale Machine by bo en // My Time by bo en // There’s Something Happening by Jack Stauber // Fighter by Jack Stauber // Choice by Jack Stauber // I Deserve to Bleed by Sushi Soucy // Poor George by James Supercave

Chapter Seven; “And I don’t want your pity, I just want somebody near me” (Nobody by Mitski)

- Curses by The Crane Wives // Nobody by Mitski // Shapes by Alec Holowka // Icarus by Bastille // A Sadness Runs Through Him by The Hoosiers

Chapter Eight; “I know you have a little life in you yet, I know you have a lot of strength left” (This Woman’s Work by Kate Bush)

- I’m Your Man by Mitski // Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski // Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths // Last Words of a Shooting Star by Mitski // Pearl Diver by Mitski // Coyotes (alternate vocals) by Modest Mouse // Goodbye by Bo Burnham // Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives //I Am Damaged from Heathers // This Woman’s Work by Kate Bush // Skeleton Song by Kate Nash // What If Tomorrow Comes from Black Friday

Time’s Arrow:

Chapter One; “There’s some kind of burning inside me, It’s kept me from falling apart” (Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski)

- Leopard by Jack Stauber // Dog Nightmare by Jack Stauber // Good Kid from The Lightning Thief musical // Abbey by Mitski // Cop Car by Mitski // The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives // Francis Forever by Mitski // you smell of dead flowers by vslush, cover by Cliesel // Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives

Chapter Two; “Digging like you can bury something that cannot die, We could wash the dirt off our hands now”

- Mt. Washington by Local Natives // I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski // Dead Weight by Jack Stauber // Bug Like an Angel by Mitski

Chapter Three:

- Darren by Jack Stauber // Everything Stays from Adventure Time // Lemon Boy by Cavetown // Ghosting by Mother Mother // Parrot by Stepdad // Snail by Cavetown

BEYOND CURRENT POINT:

- Moonsickness by Penelope Scott // Today Today by Jack Stauber

- I’d Rather Sleep by Kero Kero Bonito // Ain’t It Fun by Paramore // Furniture by Owen Pallett // My Alcoholic Friends by The Dresden Dolls // Hey, Little Songbird from Hadestown // butch 4 butch by Rio Romeo // Harness Your Hopes (Sped Up) by Pavement // Me and My Husband by Mitski // Yr the Best! By carpetgarden // maggot belly by awfultune // Racehorse: Get Married! By Jordaan Mason // No Children by The Mountain Goats // Gross by Penelope Scott // Loving Man by The Little Stevies // Feel Better by Penelope Scott // Good Luck, Babe! By Chappell Roan // All 2 U from Helluva Boss // Woke Up from Adventure Time

- She by Dodie // Just Some Guy from Dead End: Paranormal Park // Green by Cavetown // Jealous by Eyedress // Stray Italian Greyhound by Vienna Teng // Sweet Tooth by Cavetown // Sunflower by Post Malone // Hidden In the Sand by Tally Hall // Washing Machine Heart by Mitski // When He Sees Me from Waitress // I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) from Hercules // She Wants Me (To Be Loved) by The Happy Fits // Strawberry Blond by Mitski // Linger by The Cranberries // I’d Like To Walk Around In Your Mind by Vashti Bunyan // Dear Arkansas Daughter by Lady Lamb // From Eden by Hozier // The Good In Me by Jon Bellion // Like Real People Do by Hozier // In The Middle by dodie // Ultimately by khai dreams // Samson by Regina Spektor // Monster from Adventure Time // Love Like You from Steven Universe

- Two Time by Jack Stauber // Estranger by Jack Stauber // That Distant Shore from Steven Universe // Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine // Love Love Love by The Mountain Goats // Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine // Bugbear by Chloe Moriondo // Lost by Amanda Palmer // Die Anywhere Else from Night in the Woods // Putting The Dog To Sleep by The Antlers // Zombie by The Cranberries // A Deer Mistaking Candles for Headlights by Crywank // Fading Kitten Syndrome by Roar // Neighborhood #2 (Laika) by Arcade Fire // Cheeseburger Family by Jack Stauber // Lonely from Bee and Puppycat // What Did You Do by Jack Stauber // Our Word from 36 Questions // Just Take My Wallet by Jack Stauber // Lima Bean Man by Jack Stauber // Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush // Love Will by Jack Stauber // That’s Not How The Story Goes from A Series of Unfortunate Events // The End by Jack Stauber

[mossytrashcan]

Unrelated but I was thinking about Koschei for reasons (I was reading about proto indo European pantheon and it turns out 'Fire God formed in water' is a myth researchers think they mightve had and it remonded me of Vassa) and am I allowed to say how funny it is that like, Koschei is so directly named after a myth. Like Bone Carvers his own thing and Stryga is technically got like The Three Fates/The Witch in Hansel and Gretel vibes, and then there's Koschei who is basically just the guy from the myth including the title. ALSO protoindoeuropean pantheon speculation is dope BTW you should research it its fascinating

Bold of you to assume I haven’t already researched it. I fucking loved anything protoindoeuropean as a kid, the folklore FUCKS

Anyways, personally I would’ve loved it if SJM combined Lanthys and Koschei together into one character. I think (no shade to ACOSF and it’s enthusiasts) instead of the rehab/whatever plot we got, we could’ve gotten to see a little brief corruption arc w Nesta and Koschei

Cuz like imagine a story where this deathless death god found out about cauldrongate and was like psychologically manipulating Nesta into gathering all of the troves (his soul bits) so that she could 1) become his queen/weapon, 2) make him all powerful, and 3) become a literal shield for him because the gang would have to kill her to kill him

(gonna unprofessionally ramble in the tags because I need to brainstorm about this lol)

[isaterriblebore]

StEx Appreciation Month Day 1: Rusty

Favourite Actor My favourite actor is Max Rizzo! He was the first Rusty I saw live so he will always be very special to me. I also enjoy the current Rusty Max Luca Maus, Adrian Hansel, Rommel Singson, Paul Whitaker, Greg Mowry and... heck I just love every Rusty so much! If you name a Rusty actor there’s a big chance that I will love them.

Favourite Songs/Scenes My favourite song is the Starlight Sequence. The way the Sequence is staged in the current Bochum production is SO beautiful. I also enjoy Call Me Rusty too ☺️

Favourite Costumes My favourite costume is the current Bochum one! I think the hat just completes the costume!

Favourite Ships My OTP is Steam Press which is Rusty and post 2018 caboose! But I also love Rusted Brakes, Rusty and Ruhrgold, and I’ve started loving Pearl and Rusty.

Headcanons I headcanon Rusty to be Italian because my favourite Rusty (Max Rizzo) is Italian and I headcanon him to be Espresso’s cousin! I also headcanon him to be really good at knitting and crocheting.

Unpopular Opinions I don’t think I have any.... which is kinda boring sorry 😅

Photos: Photo 1: Rommel Singson — Bochum 2000 Photo 2: Paul Whitaker — Bochum 1997 Photo 3: Adrian Hansel — London 1999-2001 Photo 4: Michael-Demby Cain — Broadway 1987 Photo 5: Mark Daye — Bochum 1993-1995 Photo 6: Kristopher Harding — UK Tour 2012 Photo 7: Max Luca Maus — Bochum 2023 Photo 8: Max Rizzo — Bochum 2022

[maddyshome]

Persona 5 fans!! Here’s a games rec list for you.

(most of these games are FREE. most are on windows too so if you dont like gaming on pc then guess this isnt for you. Im planning to update this list when I remember more games.)

1. END ROLL by Segawa

This games tells the story of a young boy with no empathy. He is a murderer on the death row. See, the catch is that a group of scientists are studying people like him so he is forced to take part in a experiment where he needs to learn how to feel. If you liked Akechi’s story and you want to read a story with similar themes then you are going to love this game. It’s my most favorite game. You are going to laugh, smile and cry playing this game. And you are 100% going to fall in love with all of its characters. I don’t suggest playing this game if you are in a vulnerable state. Some characters have a shadow self. I’m not going to say who ;) Some characters have shitty dads. I’m not going to say who ;)

2. Alice Mare by Miwashiba  (its on steam too and its very cheap so if you want to support the creator then please buy it. its just 3 euros)

The protagonist of this game is a boy named Allen who has lost his memory. He lives in a orphanage with a bunch of kids that are clearly inspired by well known fairytales (Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood etc). This is a horror game so in fact they are inspired by the twisted version of these fairytales. The story is very surprising because you wouldn’t expect it to go the way it goes. The soundtrack is phenomenal and you can see the love put into this game. I suggest everyone to play this game with a open mind. It has a big cast with various lives and you have the chance to get to know them.  

3. Dreaming Mary by accha

This game is soooo beautiful. I find it breathtaking for a pixel art game. The story is very dark and it has some disturbing sexual themes, but it’s nevertheless a important story to say. The game is about a young, very impressionable, girl. Mary loves to dream, but this time she has lost herself in her dreams. You, as the player, need to help her wake up. Her dream world is just like a Persona style palace. And we are the phantom thieves.