#Shell Scripting Training

[on-leatheredwings]

Second Chances 18+

Yandere! Older! Damian Wayne / AFAB Reader

> romantic, 18+ > tw/cw: dub-con, manipulation into sex, gaslighting(?) > request: Can we get damian gaslighting and manipulating a fem reader into sex when she tries to leave him please :? Like the typical "we've never talked about (insert issue) you know I wouldn't keep doing it if I knew it was upsetting you" and "let me make it up to you" > a/n: this reader is captain fix-a-hoe i can't > word count: 2187 > damian wayne is 21

You crane your neck away, but he takes it as an invitation. 

“Damian, I…” you struggle. 

His hands slide forward underneath your arms, kneading your chest. It does feel good, you regret to admit. 

“Okay, okay,” you sigh, trying to inch away but his hands drag you back once more. Not by force, just by suggestion. By pulling the invisible strings that play your body like a fiddle, and it seems this morning Damian wants it to play his favorite song. You shrugged on your flimsiest robe on your way out of bed this morning, and nothing else. So here you were, paying the consequences. 

“Mm, maybe later, Damian. I have–” you gasp at a wandering digit “–to run errands today.”

You hear a huff, feel an exhale hit the shell of your ear.

“Errands? Where? With who?” 

The questions, absolutely dripping with disdain and suspicion, make something in you snap. 

“Oh, that’s it– I want to break up!” you cry out, throwing your hands up. You bound out of his hold, whirling around.  

Damian flinches backward as if struck. He had snuck up behind you in the kitchen, peppering kisses along the column of your neck. A sweet gesture, but too little, too late. Fuck waiting until you were better prepared – better scripted – to break up with Damian. You just can’t take it anymore. 

Damian stares at you in disbelief.

“You... What?”

You sigh, annoyed at the squeeze of your heart at his dismayed expression. Life as Damian’s girlfriend had been great at first. Like, really great. 

Despite his surly exterior and sharp tongue, Damian proved to be nothing less than devoted, adoring, and awfully caring. He was giving and generous. During dates and every minute besides, he was a perfect gentleman. None of your exes had ever opened doors for you. Or pulled your chairs out. Or guided you gently through a crowd of paparazzi with a protective hand on the small of your back. 

Maybe it was his unique rich kid training that made him the perfect lover for you: the presence of a British butler in his developmental years paired with the strict assassin upbringing. Or maybe, as your friends claimed, you simply had standards below sea level and were lucky enough to fall for a man who could throw money around without blinking. 

You didn’t listen to them, didn’t question your good fortune. You had been glad Damian was in your life. You had been.

“I want to break up,” you say, nearly a whimper. You look away from his shell shocked face. He must have seen this coming, right? How could he not see this coming? You two seemed to barely be getting along these days.

You recall green eyes narrowing after a glance over your outfit. “... I never liked her,” from a sneered lip, when you mention you’re going to your friend’s birthday party. The guilt tripping that occurred once you got home. The unsaid accusations of entirely untrue infidelity. You recall many more instances identical to that. How draining it all was. How you rarely seemed to go anywhere without hesitation, a niggling feeling bidding you to see how Damian felt about it first. 

Without missing a beat, Damian’s jaw hardens. He folds his arms. 

“You want to break up,” he responds in a clipped voice. “Why.” 

‘Why,’ he asks. Though it was hardly a question. He was demanding you answer for yourself. Answer for your crime of daring to maintain agency in your life. How dare you dump him? You narrow your eyes.

“You… you isolate me,” you say, folding your arms and mirroring his stance. You wish you could get angrier. Damian could really bitch out in an argument when he wanted to. Fights felt more balanced if you decided to get angry too. If you didn’t let him kick you around. But any lingering fury has simmered into hurt at this point. Decayed into you prematurely grieving a good thing gone bad. 

“You accuse me of things. You don’t trust me! Or worse, you do trust me, and still want to monopolize me because I’m something you own. I… That’s not good,” you blurt.

Damian isn’t moved. He taps his foot, and your eye twitches. “Is that all?” he says.

Perhaps you did have enough anger, after all. Before you can curse him out, Damian takes a step forward, like a piece on a chess board. 

“If I had known I would have stopped. Immediately,” Damian presses, not looking very apologetic or thoughtful. He instead looks determined. He seems entirely like his old self, at the very beginning of your then-tenuous friendship. That was three years ago, and you liked to believe he had grown a lot since. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay. Good to know,” you return flatly, unsure what he expects you to do with that information. 

Another step, and he grasps your arm. Had it been anyone besides him, you would’ve felt fear. But Damian – for all his faults – could never hurt you. Even if he already has, you think drily.

His grip trails down to your hand, and brings it to his chest, above his heart. Your own heart skips a beat at the gesture. “I would have. You’re everything to me.” His heart beats under your palm. It beats for you, he always liked to say.

You cringe. Not at his words, but because of how they’re said. Damian wields them like a weapon. And they’re effective. You already feel guilt begin to fester.

You swat your hand away, scoffing and shaking your head. “It feels like half of the time, you say that to make me feel like shit. It’s… it’s manipulative.”

“Manipulative? So every time I’ve said I… care for you, you felt manipulated?” He looks at you, in a pitiful expression crossed between crestfallen and offended. You sigh, exhausted. That’s not what I meant, you want to interject, but he continues. “I feel… very deeply. For you.” 

Even now, sharing his feelings was hard for him. You feel proud that he’s trying. You feel angry that he’s trying. You feel angry that you’re the bad guy. The croak in his voice makes you want to reach for him, but...

“Feelings… feelings aren’t enough,” you say mournfully. You hug yourself, because you need one. And giving one wasn’t his place anymore. 

You two stand in silence in his kitchen, which you’ve shared together for a year now. You glance around. You spy your colorful cooking sets, the couple's aprons that hang beside the pantry, the photos of you two at Wayne family holiday parties stuck to the fridge, and other paraphernalia.

You haven’t even left yet, but already you can see the ghost of you that will haunt this house. The hollow chill of guilt sweeps through your body, but you ignore it. You instead tread to one of the kitchen barstools under Damian’s watchful eye and settle on the seat.

“I’ll… I’ll stay at a friend’s,” you say, fighting admirably to keep your voice from cracking. “And I’ll have all my stuff packed within a week.” And you can keep the cat, you want to jest, but you luckily were born blessed with the skill of reading the room. Damian blanches, as if realizing, finally, what you were saying.

“You’re leaving.” God, his utter shock was not making things easier on you. 

“We fight all the time now, Damian,” you reason, almost pleading with him. Why was he making this so hard? The entire situation seems so … undignified. ‘Unlike him,’ is what most people would say. But no, this is entirely like Damian. Always deceptively more delicate than what meets the eye. Always trusting you to hold his heart gently. Not rend it to pieces. Guilt swirls once more, while Damian’s shock yields to insistence. 

“We fight because we’re in love,” he asserts, confessing. You are in awe of his cheeks flushing - what a pure display to be had during a break up. “People fight when they’re in love. Sometimes.” You frown, knowing he’s referring to his father’s failed relationships. What great role models, you scoff inwardly. You had zero desire to emulate that dysfunction.

“... Don’t you?” he says, a desperate lilt in his voice. You bristle. “... Love me?” And the way he says it breaks something in you.

You respond, the words like ash on your tongue, “Of course I... I do love you, Damian. But–”

“I love you, too,” he says quickly. “... so please, don’t leave.” You start to get up from your seat, unable to withstand anymore of this, when Damian falls to his knees in front of you.

You fill with mortification that Damian may start begging. And you don’t know if you can withstand that. He’s Damian Wayne. He who does not beg. 

“... Please,” he begins, as if the word was physically taxing. For him, it probably was. Damian bows his head, dots kisses on the expanse of your thighs. Each kiss is loosening your resolve. Each a balm over bitter wounds. 

“You haven’t given me a fair chance to correct myself. That… that’s not fair. That’s cruelty,” he whispers, along with other such mutterings that drive knives into your heart.

How heartless you were being. Were you going to give up on him so easily? Had he not shown he could change? The guilt swarms into an evil, dark monster. One you know you cannot defeat. You throw back your head, trembling from his butterfly kisses.

“Let me… let me make it up to you,” he says after he finds you writhing under his lips. You don’t know what to say, mesmerized by the need in his eyes and the promise in his words. “I can be better. I will be better.”

No, your mind begs you to say.

Yet looking into those green eyes, lost in its dark forest, you can’t deny him.

“... Okay,” you condone. Your okay is barely audible, weak and helpless like pollen in the wind. But it’s enough for him. It’s going to be enough for you, too. It’s okay. He’s going to change. He knows if he doesn’t, you’ll leave. You’ll leave.

You sate yourself with these thoughts, numb to Damian’s continued affection. You finally do realize he’s still licking at you, when a pair of hands gently separate your knees. 

“Damian!” you exclaim, snapping your knees shut. Your robe flutters with the action as you look at him with disbelief. “D-Damian,” you say. His eyes flutter open at the calling of his name. You sharply inhale at the lustful glaze over his pretty eyes. 

“Let me show you how deeply I feel for you,” he requests. 

But you know this is … strange. Maybe even wrong, if the uncertainty in your gut meant anything. You had just agreed to mend your relationship. You didn’t need the throes of an orgasm to complicate and muddle your feelings.

“... Please.” His voice mutters into your thigh. You’re so close you feel the vibration of the sound, and your skin prickles over with goosebumps. That’s the third ‘please’ he’s said within the hour. It's usually three a day. “Unless," Damian says, brows pinched, "you do not want me anymore.” The look on his face makes you feel sick. 

You don’t know how you can ever leave him in good conscience. Damian’s grown, yes, but he’s still that confused, frustrated boy from when you met. Still searching for acceptance and belonging.

“Yes,” you blurt. “I want you, but–”

“Then, ‘but’ nothing. You are mine.” You fill with heat, from irritation as well as arousal. It’s not as though you’d stopped being attracted to him, after all.

“I–” am not yours, you begin to combat, when Damian licks a hot stripe up your cunt that makes your mind blue screen. 

“And of course, it goes back the same way. I am yours.”

Damian lowers his head, wasting no time in suckling on your clitoris. He knows exactly how you like it, after all. Your hands leave your side and find his hair. You pull on short raven locks, enough that it’s probably painful, but Damian doesn’t protest. 

Damian hikes your legs onto his shoulders, and he’s off to work as if you hadn’t been about to break up with him just ten minutes ago. You feel whiplash. It’s all back to normal. You’re together. He’s between your legs. And despite his administrations feeling great, amazing – it also somehow feels like punishment. 

He may need you, but you need him as well. Only he can make you feel like this. Only he has ever made you feel like this. The heavy tongue that’s probing into you, the hands whose thumbs draw circles on your skin – they’re his. The pressure building in your body, the pleasure being wrought from you – he causes it. The devotion, safety, security and love you have in your life – it’s due to him. 

When you eventually finish in his mouth, you come with a whimper, eagerly being lapped up by the boy before you. He's right. You do belong to him.

And a growing part of your mind is having a hard time finding that so wrong.

[xinganhao]

playing for your number 🎾 challengers!seokmin x reader x vernon.

“for about fifteen seconds there, we were actually playing tennis. and we understood each other completely. so did everyone watching. it's like we were in love.” lifts/rewrites from the challengers (2024) script, orig. by justin kuritzkes + happy seokmin & vernon day!

SET ONE

C. VERNON: 0 - 0 

L. SEOKMIN: 0 - 0

EXT. A TENNIS COURT IN GANGDONG, SEOUL  –  LATE EVENING. THE YEAR IS 2015. 

VERNON, 17, wearing a black Kenzo hoodie. He has a mop of wavy brown hair that he keeps pushing out of his face. You could almost be fooled that he’s bored, with the way he pointedly tries not to look at you. Almost. 

SEOKMIN, 17, wearing an orange sweatshirt with white stripes. His hair is kept better than Vernon’s, cropped closely to accentuate his features. He keeps glancing your way, as if checking to see if you’re still watching, or if you’re actually there. 

YOU, wearing a yet-to-be-released Adidas Tennis Y-Dress. You sit looking out at the court with one leg over the other, grinning with amusement at the sight of the two men looking like they are about to fight to the death. 

There is no one else in sight. No one to witness this allegedly load-bearing match, held between two men who are much more used to being on the same side of the court. The look on Vernon, Seokmin, and your face suggests that this is about something much more than tennis. 

YOU (exaggerated) Lee to serve. 

Vernon goes to serve. Thwackkk! The ball comes scorching off his racket. A rally ensues. Seokmin sends the ball out wide. 

YOU OUT!

SEOKMIN Aw, c’mooon!

YOU Fifteen - love. 

The two reset. Vernon sends in another scorcher. Thwackkk!

YOU Out!

VERNON Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. 

Vernon resets, steps back up to the line. Finally, finally, he looks at you. He doesn’t smile too wide, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he readies to serve. 

SEOKMIN Any day now, ‘Nonnie!

VERNON Excited to lose, are you? 

Vernon doesn’t look away from you. When he throws the ball up, it almost looks like he’s going to serve it for you. In a way, he is. That’s the point of this ‘friendly’ match, anyway. The winner gets to text you. He’s intent on making sure that will be him by the end of the night. 

Thwwackkkkkkk!

CUT TO BLACK.

SNAP.

The crowd gasps. Seokmin gets to his feet. 

You are SCREAMING IN PAIN. A trainer is already on the floor with you, trying to calm you down. You writhe around, sobbing, holding your knee. You’d been off your game the entire match, and that was what led to the slight miscalculation. The slip. The attempt at correction. The crash. 

Seokmin pushes through the shell-shocked crowd. He feels the burn of his phone in his pocket, the one with the text from Vernon. “not coming. we had a big fight. it’s wtvr.” 

INT. SPORTS THERAPY ROOM  –  NIGHT.

Seokmin is sitting at your bedside. Neither of you are speaking. You stare at the wall, your expression devoid of emotion. You look like you just had the life sucked out of you. 

Vernon appears in the doorway, his face pale. You turn, see him.  

VERNON Babe— 

YOU (deceptively calm) Out. 

VERNON Hey—

YOU OUT. 

VERNON (distressed) Please, just— 

YOU OUT! OUT! OUT!

Vernon looks at Seokmin. Seokmin knows he has a choice, here. In this very moment. He chooses— 

SEOKMIN You heard her, Vernon. Get out. 

EXT. A TENNIS COURT IN YONGSAN, SEOUL  –  LATE AFTERNOON. THE YEAR IS 2025. 

VERNON, 28, wearing a dirty white tee. He is ranked 218 in the world. He has no sponsorship deal, no team to rep him. He’s just a guy playing tennis, aiming for the KRW11,000,000 tournament prize. At least that was the initial goal. Now, there’s something else to win. Something more. 

SEOKMIN, 28, wearing head-to-toe UNIQLO. He is the biggest men’s tennis star South Korea has seen in a generation. There are speculations he’s training to represent the country in the Olympics. (False.) There is no reason for him to be at this amateur tournament— except, maybe, for the man on the other side of the net, and you. 

YOU, wearing sunglasses. Seokmin’s head coach-slash-wife. You sit over by the bleachers with both feet planted firmly on the ground. You look somber. Like this is a funeral of some sorts. 

The spectators are tennis enthusiasts, tourists, and residents alike. Everyone is here to watch this weird matchup. Two men so different in status, supposedly dissimilar in their motivations. They are more alike than anyone would expect.

The look on Vernon, Seokmin and your face is the same as from a decade ago. This is about something much more than tennis.

THE NIGHT BEFORE —

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[blackcatlesbo]

𝜗𝜚 where my good girls at?

Billie Eilish/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, collaring, aggressive!billie, strap sucking (b receiving), oral (b receiving)

Words: 1.11k

Masterlist

You hear her before you see her—the soft shuffle of socks on the hardwood, the low click of the wine glass against the countertop. Billie doesn’t announce herself. She never does. She doesn’t have to.

You’re already kneeling when she enters the room, just as she trained you to be—spine straight, palms resting on your thighs, eyes lowered.

“Good girl,” she purrs, voice honey-slow and dangerous. It slips down your spine like silk and steel. “Stayed quiet, just like I asked.” Your heart pounds. You don’t dare speak. Not yet.

She circles you slowly, bare feet ghosting over the rug. The energy in the room is a live wire—thick, vibrating with control. Her control.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, crouching behind you now, close enough that her breath grazes your ear. “You’ve earned something.”

A small, black box appears in front of you. Velvet. Elegant. Her fingers nudge your chin up gently, forcing you to look at it. “Open it.”

You obey. Inside lies a collar—deep black leather, soft-lined, with a silver tag shaped like a razor blade. Etched into the back in a delicate script: Billie’s. Your breath hitches. You don’t touch it.

“Do you know what this means?” she asks, moving to kneel behind you now, chest pressed to your back. Her hands rest on your hips, holding you in place.

You nod, slowly. “That I belong to you.” A low, satisfied hum rumbles in her throat. “Say it louder.”

“I belong to you, Billie.”

She picks up the collar with care and fastens it around your neck—not tight, just enough to feel the weight of it. Her fingers linger at the clasp a moment longer than needed.

“There,” she whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Now everyone will know.”

You feel it—her pride, her possessiveness, her dark adoration wrapping around you tighter than the leather ever could. And as she pushes you gently down to your hands and knees, one thing is certain:

You’re hers.

You sit, your eyes stuck on her form as it hovers above you intimidatingly. Your mind buzzes with want and desire, the material around your neck only adding to the yearning.

She rises slowly, walking around until she’s standing in front of you. She towers over you from your position on all fours, her silhouette framed in the low amber lighting of the room. She’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Studying you.

“Where’s my good girl at?” The question is low, dark, almost a growl. A whine escapes your throat, your eyebrows lacing together in a pout. To this, Billie smirks, latching a finger around the collar wrapped around your neck—pulling roughly.

“Are you a good girl?” ‘Yes,’ you nod. You raise your head, eyes wide, back arched ever so slightly —presenting yourself. Submitting. “Prove it to me.”

Billie yanks you back down to the ground, her hands reaching from your collar to the zipper of her pants. Her hands dip into her boxers and pull out her black strap-on she’d been conveniently wearing this whole time.

Grabbing ahold of it, Billie taps the silicone against your lips, waiting for you to open your mouth so she can slip it in and watch you gag around it.

Almost immediately, you open your mouth wide to take the length of her strap down your throat, your eyes locked on hers the entire time. Billie grabs the back of your neck, a finger lacing under your collar. She pushes your head down onto her pelvis, groaning at the resulting gag.

The force of her hand that’s leading your head’s movement increases, saliva pooling down your chin, neck, and onto the hardwood flooring. Your hands grip onto her thighs, the intensity getting the best of you. The tag of your collar jingles loudly with how fast Billie pushes you up and down on her strap.

Billie pushes you down onto the strap one last time, keeping your head down for a moment before pulling you off and watching you gasp for air, strings of saliva following your abused mouth.

You’re still gasping, throat raw and lips swollen, when Billie grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head up to meet her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed with heat and something dark. She unbuckles the strap with one hand, the sound of the leather releasing sharp in the silence between your panting.

“You wanna make me cum?” she growls, tossing the slick strap to the side without even looking. You nod feverishly, the desperation to please the woman above you taking over your thoughts.

Before you can respond with words—before you can even fully catch your breath—she’s shoving you backward, sprawling you onto the rug beneath her. She straddles your face without warning, her bare thighs trembling slightly as they frame your vision. The scent of her is overwhelming, intoxicating, and it hits you in the chest like a drug.

“Open up,” she commands. And you do. Eager. Willing. Needing. She grinds herself down onto your mouth with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. Your tongue flicks out instinctively, lapping and sucking with frantic desperation as she grabs the headboard behind her, one hand buried in your damp hair, anchoring you right where she wants you.

“That’s it,” she pants, hips rolling hard against your face. “Fucking eat me.” You moan into her, and the vibration makes her curse under her breath. Her taste floods your tongue—salty and sweet and raw—and you lose yourself in it, licking with everything you have, chasing her reactions like oxygen.

Her thighs tighten around your head, the pressure dizzying, but you don’t stop. Not when she bucks harder. Not when her grip turns brutal. Not even when your lungs scream for air.

She’s loud now—uncontrolled gasps and filthy praise falling from her lips between curses. “God, your fucking tongue—you’re so good like this, baby. This is where you belong.” You nod as best you can, groaning against her, and she feels it—hips stuttering, thighs trembling. Her whole body tightens, and then—

She shatters, hips jerking as her climax rips through her. She holds you in place through all of it, forcing you to take it, to ride it out with her. And only when she’s shaking—breathless and spent—does she finally lift herself off your mouth, slowly, leaving your face soaked and ruined.

She looks down at you, chest heaving. She flicks at the tag of your collar, the metal clinking quietly. “That’s my girl,” she murmurs, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “Knew you’d learn eventually.”

[veephoenix]

the first time | samurai!noah

Pairing: samurai!noah x his princess | Words: 6.2k | Reading time: 20mins aprox. | Series masterpost 🤍

Summary: noah and princess' first intimate night.

Can be read as a one shot ✨ but it’s part of the samurai!noah fic (this takes place before the main storyline and before "let me worship you").

Tags & trigger warnings: forbidden love, clandestine rendezvous, fluff, loss of virginity (both f. and m.), reader is 18 and noah is a few years older, sexual content including fingering and f/m intercourse (p in v, unprotected) NEVER DO IT UNPROTECTED ON YOUR FIRST TIME!!! Condoms did exist in feudal Japan and they were called kawagata/kabutogata, but considering they were made of leather, animal intestines, or tortoise shells, I preferred to go for unprotected sex in this one 😶‍🌫️. There are also allusions to Noah and her having had sexual encounters before, meaning that she was a minor when they happened, but it was always consensual.

Author's note: This is based on an idea (aka brainrot 🤭) from @somebodyels3, so say thank you to her and send some flowers because she deserves to be showered in them. (I love you, Kells 🌸 all the flowers and hugs and smooches in the world for you 🌺🌹🌼🌷💐 thank you for always keeping me motivated and loving my stories sm 🥹).

I've also shared the first few paragraphs from the epilogue (part one) at the end, where Noah and his princess are about ten years older than in this one shot :)

THE FIRST TIME 🤍

I was less than five minutes into my eighteenth birthday when a sharp knock on the balcony doors of my room startled me, prompting me to turn my head quickly toward the sound. 

My heart skipped a beat, but I instinctively turned my gaze toward the doors leading to the hallway, half-expecting my father’s soldiers, who often patrolled outside, to come and investigate the noise. If they had heard it, they might barge in any second. 

Two minutes passed, and when no one appeared, I threw back the sheets, slipping out of bed. My fingers brushed the curtains aside, just enough to see the balcony overlooking the village. The moonlight cast long shadows across the stone floor, but no one was there. However, a small rock lay conspicuously in the center, tied with a thin piece of string.  

Cofusion might have overwhelmed me—had this been the first time I’d received such a delivery. But it wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was looking at. I stepped outside into the cool night air and knelt to pick up the stone. Attached to it was a note, yelllowed and slightly crinkled. My heart fluttered. Before I even unfolded the paper, I knew whose handwriting awaited me on the other side. 

Standing outside in the moonlit stillness, I carefully opened the note, biting my lip. The sight of the familiar script nearly brought tears of elation to my eyes. Noah’s handwriting was beautiful—elegant strokes that had, over the years, become more than just letters on a page. His hours of studying calligraphy, forced upon him by my father’s insistence on training even his soldiers in the art of refinement, had not been in vain. I couldn’t help but wonder if, one day, the hands of a samurai might possess more grace than those of a princess. There was something poetic about the idea, about the balance of strength and delicacy in Noah’s fingers. For the past two years, he’d sent me notes like this, and each one meant more to me than the last.

I kept each of his letters hidden beneath my futon. He would send two every year, timed precisely with the solstices, as if marking the turning of seasons mirrored the unspoken passage of time between us.

I still remember the day I stumbled upon him in the woods when I was thirteen, disobeying my parents’ strict orders to stay within the castle grounds. Noah was a few years older than me, already tall for his age, with the quiet strength of someone training to be a samurai. I found him sitting under an ancient oak tree, hunched over a piece of parchment, deep in thought.

When I greeted him, he startled—springing up with the reflexes of a warrior-in-training. In his rush, the paper slipped from his fingers and floated down at my feet. I remember the curiosity that had sparked within me, the rebellious streak that had always simmered just below the surface. Without thinking, I picked it up and read it, never realizing in that moment how that small act would change everything between us.

The letter had been meant for me, but he’d never planned on delivering it. 

Sweet how it turned out. 

I could have fallen for his charms just from how delicate and thoughtful his prose was, but truth be told, I already had eyes for him from long before. The letter only deepened the feelings I’d been trying to suppress for the forbidden soldier boy.

For years, my mind had been a battlefield of thoughts, fantasies, and a thousand impossible scenarios. As a kid, and then as a teenager, I had wondered what it would be like to hold his hand, to let him hold me, kiss me. What it would be like to lay next to him in the grass and let him play with my hair until I fell asleep. I wondered what it would be like if we ever ran away, if we ever battled for a life together. 

I had wondered so many things. I had had so many dreams… Still had them. 

Tonight one of them was about to come true. Noah was going to end this endless waiting, this dread of wanting something I thought I could never have.

The message this time was short and simple: 

Meet me in half an hour at the old heiya by the river.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the note as if it were some rare treasure—like the words themselves were a gift, even though the real present, the one I had been waiting for, was the promise of what Noah had planned.

Quickly, I slipped back into my room and closed the door behind me, pulling the curtains shut to ensure no one could see in. My heart pounded against my ribs as I hurried to the lacquered chest at the foot of my bed. I opened it, my eyes falling on the delicate kimono I had carefully chosen for tonight—a deep red silk embroidered with golden cranes and blossoms. I thought it was a good representation of my youth but also a hint at the woman I was becoming.  

I dressed quickly, sliding the obi around my waist and tying it in place. The silk was cool against my skin, but it did little to soothe the heat rising within me. I reached for the kanzashi combs adorned with tiny jade flowers and secured my hair in a loose yet elegant style. I kept it simple, knowing he loved when I left it flowing freely, but tonight, I wanted to look a little more grown-up—more like the woman I was. I didn’t want Noah to doubt that I was ready. 

I carefully slid open the door to my balcony and stepped out into the night again. This time I paid notice to the air, fresh and fragrant, carrying the scent of summer blooms mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest that bordered the castle grounds. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and began my descent down the side of the castle.

It wasn’t the first time I had done this. The vines that clung to the stone walls had become familiar, their sturdy stems and leaves providing enough cover for me to climb down without being seen. Still, I moved cautiously, aware that one wrong move could send me tumbling to the ground considering the kimono I was wearing. It wasn’t heavy, but the length of the folds could give me trouble if I wasn’t careful. 

My heart raced as I neared the bottom, my feet finally touching the soft earth of the garden below.

I hesitated for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate a guard on patrol, but there was nothing. The castle was asleep, unaware of my departure. With a final glance back at the towering structure, I turned and slipped into the shadows of the forest.

The path to the heiya was one I knew well; well enough to know it was alive. The rustle of leaves, the chirp of crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl… Each sound kept me on alert, but it wasn’t fear that quickened my pace. It was anticipation, a heady mix of nerves and excitement that spurred me forward.

As I walked, the soft rustle of my kimono joined the night sounds, my sandals barely making a sound on the forest floor. The trees gradually thinned, and I caught my first glimpse of the old heiya by the river. It stood there, half-hidden by the foliage and under the moonlight, a relic of a time long past.

The heiya was a simple structure, built of wood and thatch, its walls weathered by time and the elements. It had once been a place of worship, a shrine to the spirits of the forest, but now it was abandoned, replaced by a bigger and more fortified one closer to my father’s estate, and left to the mercy of nature.

There was something different to it that night. A soft glow emanated from within, as if there were candles burning up inside its walls. I could see the flickering through the windows. My breath caught in my throat as I approached. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open slowly, stepping inside.

The interior was warm, the air thick with the scent of wax and wood. There were a few candles all placed in safe spots, their flames dancing in the darkness, casting long shadows on the walls. In the center of the room, there was a simple futon covered with soft white bedsheets and pillows, its mattress suspiciously new, as if it had been placed there with purpose. The rest of the room was filled with the remnants of the past—cracked wooden beams, broken pottery, and dried flowers that had once adorned the place.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in, my heart pounding in my chest. 

“Noah?” I called softly. 

The silence that followed made me doubt for a moment that he was even there. 

Before I could turn, his breath brushed against my ear. 

“Happy eighteenth birthday, princess.” 

His voice was low, roughened by the years and the nights we’d spent in secret, and it sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t suppress. I turned quickly, elation bubbling up inside me, nearly giggling as I spun around and threw my arms around his neck. He caught me easily, pulling me close, his arms wrapping around my waist.

The scent of him—fresh pine, the tang of steel, and something uniquely his—invaded my senses. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric. He was strong and solid, a pillar of strength that kept on growing and that I had come to rely on more than I should have. 

I didn’t care. 

I was safe here, in his arms, far away from the duties and expectations that awaited me back at the castle.

The joy of seeing Noah quickly faded into a familiar fear. I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, feel it in the slight tremor of his fingers as he held me. No matter how hard we tried to forget it—if only for a few moments—the fear of getting caught was always present. Tonight was no different.  

“It’s okay,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his brown eyes. My hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. “It’s just us. Nothing can ruin tonight.” 

“I know,” he said, but the hesitation in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t believe his words. But he would try his darmnest hard to believe mine. That’s how it had always been. He would do anything to turn my hopes and dream into reality, as if my faith alone was enough to make the world bend to us.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, savoring the warmth of his skin, then pulled away slightly, my hands still flat on his chest as I looked around.

“How did you…? When did you prepare all this?”

Noah stayed quiet, his responses measured, guarded. It wasn’t just that he was worried we would get caught. Even now, in this stolen moment, he clung to his samurai discipline—always the soldier, trained in control and restraint. He’d been a soldier officially for a few years, but he’d been mine for far longer.  

“I wish I could’ve done more,” he murmured, not quite meeting my eyes, as though ashamed. 

That’s when I understood. 

It wasn’t just the fear of being discovered, or the burden of his samurai duty. 

It was also the fact that tonight would be a first for him, too. 

I could sense his nervousness, for it mirrored mine, and I found it unbearable sweet. My heart ached at the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. 

I smiled, tilting my head to catch his eye.

“This is already enough, Noah. I wasn’t expecting anything more than...” My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my gaze to my fingers resting on his chest. “I just wanted to be with you.” 

After a moment, his fingers found my chin. He lifted my face until our eyes met. His gaze was intense, as if he was searching for something. 

“I want to make this night memorable. For you. For me. Just tell me if you’re ready. Otherwise, I will wait. I will wait as long as you need me to.”

My heart swelled with an overwhelming love for him—this man who would give me everything without asking for a single thing in return. He had always been this way, even as a kid—selfless in the quietest of ways. 

Standing on my tiptoes, I kissed him softly, letting my lips brush against his with a tenderness that carried the weight of all the years we had spent longing in silence. 

When I pulled back, I guided his hands to the knot of my belt, my eyes never leaving his, steady with certainty, with the answer he had been waiting for. 

“You already know I am.” 

What followed were slow, hesitant movements; unsure ones.

We had touched each other before—months ago, I had practically begged Noah to explore me with his fingers, guiding his hesitant hand beneath the folds of my kimono. But tonight was different. This wasn’t a moment of curiosity of rebellion. It was more. 

Noah’s hands shook slightly as he fumbled with my obi, his fingers clumsy in their nervousness. I had to stifle a giggle, the tension breaking for just a moment as we both realized how unpracticed we were at this. But there was something endearing about it, something pure and tender about the way we navigated this new territory together.

Slowly, the layers of my kimono slid off, the silk whispering against my skin as it fell to the floor. Noah took his time. His gaze intense, heated,  filled with a mixture of awe and desire as he revealed more of me to him. When I stood naked before him, I felt my cheeks flush with both shyness and anticipation. I was not a girl but a woman now, and I wanted to be his. 

Noah was too shy at the time to let his gaze linger down at my breasts or at the spot between my legs. Instead, his breath hitched audibly, and rather than look, he bent down and kissed me with a softness that made my heart ache.

It was his turn now. I reached out to help him, my hands steadier than I expected as I untied the knots of his hakama. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the lean, fit body that had been hardened by years of training and that now belonged to a man rather than a kid. I was certainly more unashamed than he was. My fingers grazed the ridges of his chest as my breath hitched at the sight of him. A couple of tattoos adorned his chest and his ribs—the last one he got, a design of sakura flowers that looked so undeniable pretty on his fair skin. The tips of my fingers patted tentatively the area around his navel, right above where a trail of dark hair descended until it joined his pubic hair. I already knew the size of his length and how hard he could get, but now I could see it. 

I swallowed. 

Noah’s fingers grazed my cheek, calling for my attention. I saw the worry in his eyes, and I shook my head, dismissing him.

His breathing grew heavier as he pushed me back gently, laying me down on the thin mattress. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at me. He wasn’t much more experienced than I was. As I would later learn, his “knowledge” came only from overheard conversations between soldiers—their crude jokes and dirty confessions about what it felt like, the things a man could do to a woman, what women were supposed to do. Noah just wanted to make sure that whatever we tried tonight provided pleasure not just for him, but for me, as well. 

Under his soft, brown gaze, I felt like something out of a dream—my long hair spread around me, my pale skin glowing softly in the flickering candlelight. A sudden wave of shyness rushed through me, and for a moment, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the ceiling instead, my heart pounding in my chest. 

Then I felt his hand, tentative and slow, exploring my breasts. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched them, but it was his first time doing so while having me totally bare under him. His touch was curious. He squeezed gently, as if trying to memorize their shape, their softness. His fingers traced over me with a reverence that made me feel worshipped. 

He leaned down, his weight carefully balanced on his arms as he positioned himself between my legs. He was strong, yet his touch was still so gentle, making me feel safe beneath him. He kissed my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my lips—before I felt the soft brush of his erection against me. He rubbed himself against me a few times, making sure I was aroused enough and eliciting the first of my moans. 

But as Noah began to press into me, a sharp, increasing sting made me tense. The pain was unexpected, and I couldn’t stop the discomfort from showing on my face. He noticed immediately, his movements halting as his eyes filled with concern. 

“It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Keep going.”

But Noah shook his head, his jaw set. “No. There has to be a way to do this without hurting you.”

He moved slowly, carefully, trying to find the right angle. I could see the concentration on his face, the way his brow furrowed in thought, the layer of sweat that was beginning to coat his forehead. Every movement, every pause was for me. He was trying so hard, and it only made me love him even more.

After what felt like an eternity, something shifted. His length eased inside, every inch sliding in until it felt like my body had molded to his. My body relaxed, and the pain began to subside, limiting to a sweet stretching. My eyes fluttered open, meeting his, my face glowing with relief. He was fully inside me now, buried deep, and it was okay. I was okay. He was…

“Noah?”

He let out a shaky breath. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he confessed.

“Me neither,” I whispered back, my hands gliding over his shoulders in a soothing rhythm. “You can lean on me. I’m okay.” 

I saw the reluctance on his face, in the way he looked down at where our bodies joined, as if we were some delicate puzzle he was afraid to break. But as he shifted again, slowly, tenderly, I smiled up at him.

“Let me—Just let me make sure…” he continued.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “We’re doing this together. It’s all right.”

But he was so careful, barely letting his weight press against me, his arms supporting him as he moved. 

Each thrust was slow, his focus never wavering from me, watching for any sign of discomfort, reading every expression on my face. As we continued, I could hear the soft groans slipping from his lips, feel his sharp, unsteady breaths as he fought to maintain control. I had never heard him like this before—so unguarded, so raw. The muscles in his back tensed under my hands, and I noticed the thick vein on his neck pulsing with effort. 

His eyes squeezed shut, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to restrain himself. But I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him to let go of the walls he had been taught to keep so carefully built around himslef. This was our moment, and I wanted to share all of him. 

Then, before I realized it, Noah let out a deep, throaty groan, the sound so intensely erotic it sent a wave of pleasure through me. Instinctively, my body tightened around him. His breath came in ragged gasps as his composure began to crumble. I could feel him struggling, trying so hard to prolong the moment, to give me as much pleasure as he was feeling, but his body had other ideas. He let out a low curse, his fists clenching the sheets as his control finally slipped.

With one final groan, he pulled out just in time, his release spilling onto the sheets beside me. For a moment, the air was filled with heavy breaths and the faint scent of sweat and something else—something new. Then I saw the look in his eyes—flushed cheeks, his face clouded with embarrassment, guilt pooling in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with shame. “I didn’t mean to—,” he swallowed and cursed under his breath, struggling to meet my eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I frowned, then a soft giggle escaped my lips as I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him down to me to kiss me. 

“It’s okay. It was… beautiful.”

He pulled back, clearly uncomfortable, looking at me with disbelief and a hint of anger aimed at himself. 

“How can you say that? I didn’t make you come.”

There it was again, the hard, determined expression of the Samurai, etched into his face. He was so serious, so focused on what he thought was his failure, as if pleasure could only be measured in a single way.

I shook my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “We were together,” I said softly, my voice filled with warmth. “That’s what matters to me. It was perfect just as it was.”

No matter what I said, nothing could have soften the disappointment Noah felt in himself. I could see it in the way he shook his head, the way his eyes locked onto mine, almost scolding me for trying to ease his guilt. I should have recognized it then—that fierce, unyielding determination in him. Raised as a soldier, surrounded by discipline, commands, and roughness, Noah needed control in everything he did, even here, in the most intimate of moments. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this would be the last time he allowed himself to lose that control.

Before I could speak again, Noah silenced me with his lips closing over one of my taut nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. A gasp caught in my throat, but before I could release it, I felt his fingers sliding down my belly, tracing the line of my body until they reached the wet warmth between my legs. Without hesitation, he sank them inside me, and my body responded instantly, arching off the bed.

My hands instinctively gripped the bedsheets as his fingers moved inside me, matching the slow, deliberate rhythm of his tongue teasing my breast. Every movement was calculated and precise, as if he was determined to make up for what he saw as his earlier mistake. His free hand reached for my wrist, his fingers sliding between mine. He intertwined our hands, bringing them up beside my head, pinning me in place as he continued his ministrations.

 And he held me, his grip firm, until I bit down on my lip as hard as I could when my body tensed and trembled with release. 

A while later, Noah’s tension seemed to finally have melted. I was wrapped in his arms as we lay together on the futon. The candles around us had burned low, their flames flickering in the dark, casting a golden glow over our entwined bodies. His embrace was warm and secure, and for the first time that night, I felt him truly relax.  

His index finger traced the tender spot on my lip where I had bitten down too hard. 

“Don’t do that again,” he said. “I can’t stand the sight of you bruised.” 

“It was for a good reason,” I teased, tapping his clavicle with my fingers. 

But Noah wasn’t convinced. 

“I was too rough, wasn’t I?”

I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. 

“If I say no, you won’t believe me, so… yes, you were rough. But what if I like rough?” 

He held his breath, studying my face, clearly struggling wether to accept his own beliefs or my words. After a moment, he exhaled, letting out a huff of frustration 

“I should have—”

I pressed my finger to his lips, his hand falling to the curve of my left shoulder, where he adored the skin there with his fingertips. 

“You should stop thinking I’m made of glass.” 

“That’s not—” He paused, taking a deep breath, as if searching for the right words. “Look, I’m a man. I’ve been trained for battle. My hands are rough. I’m used to being…”

I cut him off before he could finish. 

“Whether you’re a soldier or not, you’ve always taken care of me, Noah. Just like you did moments ago.” I pressed myself closer to him, my lips brushing against his jaw, where a faint stubble had grown. “I felt safe and cherised. And I enjoyed every second of it.” I smiled up at him. “I want to do it again.”

He let out a deep sigh, his arm sliding around my waist to pull me even closer. He kissed my forehead, a promise in the gesture. 

“We will,” he said softly. “I promise.” 

“So… can we do it?” I asked, glancing up at him, hopeful.

He frowned, looking down at me in confusion. “Now?”

I nodded, grinning. “Now.”

He hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. 

“I don’t think we should. You might be sore, and I wouldn’t want to make it worse for tomorrow.”

“I’m okay, Noah,” I reassured him, almost whining, but he shook his head.

“No.”

I pouted, pressing him with a soft, pleading tone. “Please?”

He was firm. “No.”

“It’s my birthday,” I repeated, my voice taking on a firmer edge as I moved just a little away from him, letting the sheet slip from my chest. His eyes dropped immediately, taking in the sight of me, and I saw the faint blush creep up his cheeks as he quickly glanced back up, embarrassed but undeniably affected. Beneath the sheets, I could feel the tension in his body, see the evidence of his desire stirring right between his legs. “You said you would get me anything I wanted,” I reminded him. “I want you. Again.”

Noah’s voice dropped into a warning tone, slow and deliberate as he said my name. 

“…You’re pushing it.”

But I knew him too well. Noah had a temper, sharp like the blade of a Samurai, and his resolve was formidable. But no matter how stern his exterior, I was his weak spot, and deep down, I knew he would give in to anything I asked for, especially tonight.

“Pretty please?” I added, my voice soft and coaxing as I reached for the bedsheet covering his body. I began pulling it away with slow, deliberate tugs, my eyes wide and innocent, a contrast to my intentions. He fought to keep the sheet in place, trying in vain to hide his obvious erection, though it was impossible to miss the way his body responded beneath the thin fabric.

I bit my lip, amused. If this was how he wanted to play it, I was okay with it.

With a burst of determination, I pushed at his chest, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling back onto the mattress. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise, but there was no mistaking the desire that flashed through them. I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, the sheet completely forgotten.

“Now,” I whispered, leaning down so our faces were inches apart, my breath mingling with his. “Let me have what I want.”

“You’re provoking me,” he said, his voice adopting that familiar Samurai tone—commanding, serious. But the flush in his cheeks was a nice contrast to it. 

“I’m not. It’s just my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, his fingers dug into the skin on my hips, his breathing growing heavier as I ran my thumb over the tip of his hardness. I could see how much effort it took him to stay composed, but he wasn’t fooling me. 

“You’re going to…” he started, but his voice faltered when I gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

“I’m going to what?” I teased, tilting my head playfully. I could tell by the way his muscles tensed beneath me that he was fighting to keep his composure.

I loved the surge of confidence that came over me. Noah made me feel that way—secure in the knowledge that I could be fully myself without ever worrying that his feelings for me might change.

They wouldn’t. I had learnt by now that he would love me completely no matter what, with all my flaws and virtues.  

His gaze hardened, and his grip on my side tightened, enough to send a flicker of pain through me—just the way he intended. “You know what,” he replied, his tone sharper, more serious. “Keep behaving like that, and you’re going to make me go all Samurai on you.”

I raised an eyebrow at his challenge, daring him to follow through.

“Do. Not,” he warned, squeezing my side.

But instead of obeying, I shifted my hips and lowered myself onto him, gasping at the sensation of him filling me completely.

Noah’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“I need to be gentle with you,” he said, his voice strained as he watched himself disappear inside me. His words were laced with concern, but I wasn’t interested in gentle. I wanted him—all of him. 

“Life isn’t gentle,” I said as I adjusted to the now familiar fit of myself around him. 

Suddenly, Noah sat up, his arm snaking around my waist as his other hand gripped the nape of my neck, pulling me close until our noses brushed. His sudden movement took me by surprise, my pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto mine. His expression was intense, unreadable, and it made me feel exposed and vulnerable.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, every word carrying the weight of a promise. “At least until our bodies learn each other, until you’re used to me and I’m used to you.” His eyes searched mine, and I could feel the power behind his words, the way they lingered between us. “I promise,” he continued, his forehead pressing against mine. “One day, I’ll give you a gentle life. I’ll never hurt you. That’s why you need to trust me. Let me do this my way. Let me take care of you.”

His words wrapped around me, pulling me into the depth of his devotion. There was something about the way he spoke, the quiet conviction in his voice, that made it impossible not to melt in his arms. Despite my teasing and my attempts to provoke him, this—his way of caring, of promising me a future where I would always be safe in his arms—was what I had always wanted.

I clung to him, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders as our bodies pressed together—skin against skin—his hardness filling me, my thighs tight around his hips. The closeness made it hard to breathe, the intensity of it all overwhelming. 

“I am letting you,” I whispered, my voice trembling, not just from the heat between us, but from the certainty I felt in every word. “You can take care of me.”

His eyes searched mine, still cautious. He moved some hair from my shoulder to my back, as if he needed to focus on something, anything that wasn’t how good it felt to have me wrapped around him. 

“Then you have to let me set the pace. This is new for me too… and I won’t risk losing control, doing something I’ll regret.”

I tilted my head. I understood his worry, but it was needless. 

“What could you do that would be so bad when it’s just you and me, like this?” I whispered, shifting my hips ever so slightly against him—not to tease, but to remind him how perfect this felt, how right. His breath caught, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he bit down on his lower lip, the sight making my pulse quicken.

Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear as I watched the tension in his face. His chest rose and fell in a deep, uneven sigh, before he let his head drop to my chest. The weight of his vulnerability, pressed against me, was both intimate and tender.

“I don’t know,” he finally murmured, his voice filled with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re just... so precious. I’ve heard things from other soldiers... things I don’t ever want to hear again… things I definitely don’t want you to go through. I want to make sure you’re enjoying it, from beginning to end.” His grip on me tightened, as if to anchor himself in that moment, to prove to himself that this was different. 

“Noah…” Brushing my fingertips along the strong line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, I leaned in to kiss the tip of his sharp nose. “You’re the most disciplined soldier I’ve ever known. I’ve heard my father say it, too. I have no doubt that you’ll never hurt me. You might be a samurai, but your nature is gentle. No matter how fierce you are with a sword or how vulnerable we I am here, your true self always shows when you’re with me.”

His eyes flickered with doubt, still wrestling with his own worries.

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

“Because I’ve seen your heart,” I said, laying my hand over his chest where I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I know who you are beyond the armor, beyond the weapons. You’ve always been kind, patient, and careful with me. You made us wait until I turned eighteen because you wanted to do things the right way. You don’t need to prove anything to me, because I already trust you completely. It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are. And when I’m with you,” I said, leaning in so he could hear every word clearly, “I am not afraid.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between us, thick with emotion, and I could see the weight of my words settling into him. His hand moved to cover mine, pressing it against his chest as if to show me that he felt it too.

Soon, I found a rhythm that made him moan beneath me. I watched him, watched the way his eyes glazed over with pleasure, how his hands gripped my hips with a force that made me hope for bruises, something physical to carry with me as a reminder of tonight until our next rendezvous. 

Above him, my hair spilling over my shoulder and again cascading past my breasts, I could see how the sigh of me—of us— seemed to overwhelm him. His eyes widened, his breath uneven, but even then, beneath the haze of desire, there was resolve. Noah was determined to pace himself, to be in control not just of his pleasure, but of ours. It was his silent promise, one I could see written in the lines of his expression and feel in the steadiness of his touch. This wasn’t just an impulsive surrender to passion; this was us learning each other—learning what felt right, what drew us closer with every passing second.  

That night became the start of an intimate journey we would embark on side by side. In the coming months and through the next years, we would learn the map our bodies were, we would learn to satisfy every desire and sate all the hunger in our bones and souls. We would come to understand what we needed from each other. What we wanted to give and receive. We would learn this wasn’t just about passion but about trust, vulnerability, and the delicate balance between control and surrender. 

But even in the closeness of that moment, the reality of who we were remained present, like the distant rumble of a storm. I was the Shogun’s daughter, a princess entangled in a web of duty and expectation. He was a samurai, bound by loyalty and honor, sworn to serve a cause much larger than either of us. Our love wasn’t just a secret—it was dangerous. 

For a few minutes, while we moaned into each other’s skin and my nails dug into Noah’s shoulders, it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the way we fit together, both in body and in soul.

In his arms, I wasn’t just a princess bound by tradition, and he wasn’t merely a warrior sworn to obedience. We were two souls defying everything that tried to keep us apart, daring to carve out our own path in a world that had already decided our fates.

The implications of our love loomed over us, but with every touch, every kiss, and every whispered word, we reaffirmed what we couldn’t yet say aloud: that this was only the beginning.

[venomwrites]

Caitlyn and Vi cuddling with each other in a free morning, telling each other their love and other sweet things

“I have something for you,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi lifts her head from Caitlyn’s thigh. Its early morning and sunlight is pouring through the windows of her apartment. It’s more sunlight than Vi ever has had access to. Even though Caitlyn’s suggested blinds, Vi can’t make herself hang them up. 

“It’s not my birthday,” she points out. 

“Have you ever gotten a present on your birthday?” Caitlyn asks, “beatings don’t count.”

“Good point,” Vi sighs, “but that was tradition.”

Caitlyn makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. It’s weird to be given presents. It’s weird how people give them all the time up here. Like all the time. You moved house? Present. Having a kid? Present. Hurting? Get well present. They even name some of them. When Vi secured the apartment people just showed up with shit. It was bizarre. Before she owned the clothes on her back. Now she owns enough plates to invite people over. 

“Do I have to sit up for this present?” She asks. 

“Probably not,” Caitlyn says, “give me your hand.” 

The box is small. She’s never gotten a box like this in her life. There’s a hinge tucked in the fuzzy back so it’s easy to thumb open. Inside is a little cushion. Cut into it are two slots. Each one has a piece of metal in it. They don’t glint in the sunlight like she would expect. But Vi is not fooled. Even though they aren’t shiny she’s sure they are the most expensive thing she’s ever held aside from her gauntlets. 

She sits up and lifts one out. Caitlyn’s chin settles on her shoulder as she turns the earring over. It’s grey and impossibly light. As she rotates it, she sees it hides a secret. The script is very tiny but she can make out Vanders name. Two impossibly tiny chips of gemstone, one gold and one blue, frames the letters. The second one is textured. On the inside scrawls Powder’s name, this one framed by chips of blue and pink. 

“How—“

“While you were training,” Caitlyn says, “I thought you might like new ones.”

She says it easily like she hasn’t just deposited the most expensive, meaningful gift Vi’s ever received in her lap. Vi’s earrings are pieces of metal she’s more or less jammed into her ear. Once they were in, they sure as shit weren’t coming out. Caitlyn has two mostly healed over holes in her lobes. So even though she looked horrified when Vi explained, Vi’s piercings are still usable. 

Vi knows there’s no point in protesting. She learned that the hard way when Caitlyn dragged her to buy non-Enforcer clothes. By the fifth protest Caitlyn had simply marched into the dressing room, bundled her existing, perfectly good, clothes under her arm and walked back out. Those had been one of those random presents that had no name. Caitlyn called them a necessity and pointed out two pairs of pants was the most Vi had owned the entire time she knew her. It was hard to argue with that. 

“These are really nice,” Vi says. It’s not just the metal which she’s sure is. Caitlyn’s really fucking good at the gifting thing. She feels Caitlyn smile. The way she does when Vi accepts gifts. The smile that makes Vi feel worthy of them, “I don’t know how to get mine off.” 

“Hmm,” Caitlyn runs her thumb along the shell of Vi’s ear, “stay here.”

Caitlyn returns with a pair of pliers and a determined look on her face. Vi has no idea how she manages to pull that off wearing nothing but a purple slip that’s high enough to show her thigh scar. But she’s not going to question it. Caitlyn returns to the bed and Vi settles her head back on her thigh. Caitlyn peers over her and Vi admires the way the sunlight cuts through her hair. Instead of trying to twist and see how it plays along all the skin her nightgown reveals. There’s a few tugs and the old pieces of metal slide out. 

“Did I tell you I did those myself?”

“Yes, it looks like it,” Caitlyn replies. She dabs at the skin with antiseptic which feels awesome, “which one here?” She asks, brushing the top of Vi’s ear. 

“Powder,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn slides the earring into place. It feels weird but not in a bad way. Vander goes next through the lower hole. Caitlyn brushes the antiseptic over everything again which leaves her ear tingling. Caitlyn squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’s a bit red but see what you think.” 

They look so similar to her old ones Vi has to stare before it registers. But it feels good. Like some piece of her family is still there. 

“They look good, thanks,” she says. Caitlyn blows out a breath. 

“Good, because I have no idea how we would get these back in,” she admits, holding the misshapen pieces of metal that represent Vi’s old prison life. 

“Actually I’ve got something for you,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn looks surprised. Vi is not the best gift giver. She’s never had the chance to learn. But every time she manages to find something to give to Caitlyn, her whole fucking face lights up. It’s adorable and it catches Vi off guard with how proud it makes her feel. She goes over to her nightstand and pulls out the keyring. Caitlyn looks surprised as Vi offers it to her. A cupcake charm dangles from the ring.

“I know the guy downstairs just lets you in because you’re you, but I figured you should have the option of not talking to him.” 

Caitlyn gets to her knees and kisses her in a way that has Vi pushing onto he toes to make up the height difference. Caitlyn’s the better gift giver but damn. 

If the way Caitlyn is kissing her is any indication, Vi is getting a hell of a lot better at it.

[purrassicjet]

Based on @venusfe-art's observation that Jupiter associates being an adult with being frustrated, boring, busy, setting rules, and other typically negative things, here's why I think he's like that (tm) (aka a possible Jupiter's childhood situation)

Jupiter's parents were rich and strict. They had a child to secure their place in society, with little consideration put into whether they actually wanted to raise a child or not. They wanted a child who was seen, not heard, but Jupiter was not that. He was, what some would call, difficult (coughADHDcough). He wouldn't sit still, he was outgoing and loud, and worst of all, he threw tantrums at every party he went to (extreme overstimulation because he was a baby Witness living in Nevermoor). His parents constantly chided him for ruining their good reputation with his "misbehavior".

It seemed to get better once they realised he was a Witness, he started wearing an eyepatch to big events and training to manage his sight with another Witness, but then came the issue of having a child who knew everything. Who was nosy. Who, whenever patchless, looked at you like he knew something you didn't. A child who was still loud and outgoing, and now also blunt and nosy. They made him keep his patch on as often as possible, and punished any behavior they didn't like.

Jupiter very quickly internalized that he was never going to be good enough for his parents, so he decided to stop trying. He caused trouble on purpose. He learned all the things that caused scandal and how to identify them, and then how best to reveal them. He buried the excitable child who just wanted to help people and replaced him with cunning and ruthlessness. The adults were more likely to see him that way. He liked the feeling of all eyes on him, Divine Thing knows he wasn't getting enough attention at home. Even negative attention was attention.

Then Bid Day comes and he receives a bid. Everybody is politely surprised. The North boy, really? The loud mouthed, disruptive, pot stirring North boy? His only bid. Mr Smithereens of the Wundrous Society.

Mr Smithereens promises him what he wants. A family who wants him as he is, no change required, and Jupiter realises how hungry he is. How much he wants that kind of family. He wants to go back to who he was, who he is around other children. He sees it within reach.

He passes all three trials, arm in arm with Mr Smithereens' other candidate, Bertram. The Jupiter who cheers Bertie through the trials and listens excitedly as he explains his inventions is not the same Jupiter who goes home at night, only speaking to his parents in short sentances.

When the show trial comes, he flips the script on even his patron. He was supposed to demonstrate his abilities by explaining the origins of a group of items, explaining who owned them before, but at the last minute, he changed it up.

He stood on the Trolleseum platform and aired out the scandal of The Elders for all to hear. Whatever he could see, he revealed. He went straight to Number 1. They admire his cunning.

Jupiter goes to Wunsoc and everything that made him bad suddenly made him good. He wasn't disruptive, he was good at distracting. His lessons were tailored to his interests, so there was no need to create intrigue for himself (though that didn't stop him entirely). The shell he built up of cunning and ruthlessness melts away in an instant, revealing the bright and excited child. Wunsoc gives him the confidence to bring the real Jupiter back home. To be loud again. To take up space.

His parents tried to squash him back down, but he just stopped coming home. He traveled through Bertram's door and spent more and more time with Mr Smithereens, who adores the confidence inside of him. Mr Smithereens didn't like an adult, he felt like a friend.

It isn't long until there are eight doors on Platform 895. One door disappearing after a year without use.

So he held onto the belief that adult stuff was boring. Adult stuff was shoving parts of yourself into little boxes to placate others. Adult stuff was wearing an eyepatch even though all you want to do is use your gift. Adult stuff was being yelled at for speaking even slightly out of turn. Even as he got older, he refused to become the kind of adult his parents were.

In fact, he'd rather not be an adult at all.

[evilsoup]

Nearly 20 years ago I did an "ICT" GCSE (uk qualification at age 16) which was basically how to use microsoft word and so on; it was only semi-useful, but could be made better if the curriculum was built around like encouraging students to understand the computer as a human-made thing that is under their control. Teach the distinction between plain text and rich text, demonstrate multiple different software suites to achieve the same or similar ends. Microsoft word and libreoffice and a normal plain text editor (teaching the standard text manipulation shortcuts, ctrl+right-arrow to go to the next word etc) and vim and something like pandoc. Get the kids thinking about using keyboard shortcuts, and in terms of macros. A little bit of shell scripting -- just basics, variables and for loops and wildcards. Admin work power user training, basically.

[digi-lov]

Digimon & Tamagotchi

Bandai V-Pet Crossovers Part 1 (Part 2)

In 1996 Bandai and WiZ inc. released the original Tamagotchi. To their surprise, the toy proved to be popular among boys as well, despite it being mostly marketed for girls. And in 1997, as a more targeted approach to this demographic, Digital Monsters was born!

A huge virtual pet boom followed and not only did Bandai and Wiz release new versions of Tamagotchi and Digital Monsters, and try multiple v-pets with a variety of styles within the next couple of years, but other companies also tried to bandwagon on the success of these virtual pets!

(Such as Nintendo in 1998 with the Pocket Pikachu-)

While the Tamagotchi was shaped like an egg (jap. tamago) with a crack in its shell where the screen is, the Digital Monster was shaped like a brick cage with bust-open bars! It also featured the ability to connect and battle! Otherwise they both use the same three button layout and similar menu icons. On the Tamagotchi, the toilet icon is portrayed by a duck themed potty, which is also used as the look for the Portable Potty items in many Digimon games.

Now with how closely these two franchises were developed, there's bound to be more that connects the two, right?

One such thing is Tamagotchimoji and Digimoji/DigiCode!

You can see that the two scripts are basically identical, just stylized differently. While Tamagotchimoji got used sparsely until they stopped using it in 2004 (But had a surprising comeback in one social media post on April 10, 2023?!), Digimoji has been used, and still is being used everywhere in the Digimon franchise! There is also a separate set of characters for the Latin Alphabet.

[Tamagotchimoji on the left, Digimoji on the right, respective Hiragana above the character]

Just like we know it from the Digimon Franchise, the Tamagotchi also grow through evolutionary stages along a branching path, depending on how well you take care of them! The original line of Tamagotchi as well as Digimon owe their designs to Kenji Watanabe! Generally all Tamagotchi's names end in "-tchi" or "-chi", similar to how Digimon names end in "-mon".

In these evolution charts, the Tamagotchi and Digimon are arranged by how well they've been taken care of / how good they are, with the top line being the best, and the bottom being the worst.

But that Tamagotchi chart is actually just the international version, which had "Bill" (aka Gaijintchi/Ketotchi) as secret character past the adult stage. Instead the Japanese version featured "Oyajitchi" (jap. oyaji means "old man").

But wait, doesn't that face look familiar...?

According to the Digimon Reference Book, Nanimon's true identity is unknown and it in fact came from another dimension, where it was known under the title OYAJI. In order to survive in the new environment of the Digital World, Nanimon had to go through a lot of training and battling.

Nanimon's name is also a play on its bizarre nature. In Japanese, "nanimon" is a casual abbreviation of "nanimono" which means "what (thing)". So, with intonation indicating a question, "nanimonda" can mean both "What are you?" or "I am Nanimon".

This joke is even included directly in Digimon World when the player encounters Nanimon.

「ん？なにもんだ？！」 "N? Nanimon da?!" “Huh? What are you?!” 「ナニモンだァ！」 "Nanimon da!" “I’m Nanimon!”

Nanimon's nature as an alien to this World is also reflected in his trait in the Card Game being "Invader".

Nanimon BT6-058 by Kenji Watanabe from BT-06 Booster Double Diamond

So yeah, Nanimon is supposed to be Oyajitchi who came from the Tamagotchi World to the Digital World.

Stay tuned for next friday when we talk about another World connected to the Digital World!

Special thanks to: tamagotchi wiki, gotchi-garden and tamatalk for being great resources!

If you're interested in more Tamagotchi stuff, go check out @tamapalace !

[theholmwoodfoundation]

THE HOLMWOOD FOUNDATION PILOT EPISODE CAST/CREW - PART ONE

REBECCA ROOT - MADDIE TOWNSEND/MINA HARKER

Rebecca trained at Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts. Theatre credits include A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time for the National Theatre (UK and Ireland tour); Rathmines Road for Fishamble at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin; Trans Scripts at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Massachusetts; The Bear / The Proposal at the Young Vic; and Hamlet at the Gielgud Theatre and Athens International Festival. TV, Film and Video Game credits include Monsieur Spade, This Is Christmas, Irvine Welsh’s Crime, Hogwarts Legacy, Horizon Forbidden West, Heartstopper, Annika, The Rising, Sex Education, The Gallery, The Queen’s Gambit, Finding Alice, Creation Stories, Last Christmas, The Sisters Brothers, Colette, The Danish Girl, Flack, The Romanoffs, Moominvalley, Hank Zipzer, Boy Meets Girl, Doctors, Casualty, The Detectives, and Keeping Up Appearances.  Radio credits include Clare In The Community, Life Lines, The Hotel, and 1977 for BBC Radio 4. Guest appearances include Woman’s Hour, Front Row, Loose Ends, Saturday Live, and A Good Read.  She plays Tania Bell in the award-winning Doctor Who: Stranded audio dramas. Rebecca has also recorded numerous documentary narrations, audiobooks, and voice-overs. Rebecca is also a voice and speech coach, holding the MA in Voice Studies from Royal Central School of Speech and Drama.

SEAN CARLSEN - JEREMY LARKIN/ JONATHAN HARKER

Born in South Wales, Seán trained at the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama. He has worked extensively in audio drama, television, theatre and film.  Seán is perhaps best known to Doctor Who fans as Narvin in the Doctor Who audio series Gallifrey and has appeared on TV in Doctor Who - The Christmas Invasion and Torchwood. Recent TV credits include Mudtown (BBCiplayer/S4C), Dal y Mellt (Netflix), His Dark Materials (BBC1), All Creatures Great and Small (Channel 5), A Mother's Love (Channel 4) and Series 5 of Stella (Sky1).  Films include supporting leads in Boudica - Rise of the Warrior Queen, cult horror The Cleansing,  the lead in Forgotten Journeys and John Sheedy’s forthcoming film ‘Never Never Never’

SAM CLEMENS - ARTHUR JONES

Samuel Clemens trained at the Drama Centre London and is an award-winning director with over twenty years’ experience. Samuel has recently written and directed his debut feature film ‘The Waterhouse’ with Take The Shot Films & Featuristic Films and represented by Raven Banner Entertainment, which is due for release this coming year.  In addition, he has directed fourteen short films, winning awards all over the world including shorts ‘Surgery (multi-award winning), A Bad Day To Propose (Straight 8 winner 2021), Say No & Dress Rehearsal’. Samuel also directs critically acclaimed number one UK stage tours and fringe shows (Rose Theatre Kingston, Swansea Grand, Eastbourne, Yvonne Arnaud, Waterloo East Theatre) and commercials include clients JD Sports, Shell and Space NK. Samuel is also a regular producer and director for Big Finish Productions & Anderson Entertainment. He has cast, directed, produced and post supervised numerous productions of ‘Doctor Who – (BBC), The Avengers (Studio Canal), Thunderbirds, Stingray (Anderson Entertainment), Callan, Missy, Gallifrey’& Shilling & Sixpence Investigate’ and many more. Samuel has directed world class talent such as, Sir Roger Moore, Ben Miles, Tom Baker, Sylvester McCoy, Alex Kingston, Frank Skinner, Rita Ora, Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley, Rufus Hound, David Warner, Celia Imrie, Samuel West, Youssef Kerkour, Sophie Aldred, Ian McNiece, Colin Baker, Olivia Poulet, Stephen Wight, Jade Anouka, Mimi Ndwendi, Michelle Gomez, Peter Davidson, Paul O’Grady and many more. Samuel is one of the founding members and directors at Take The Shot Films Ltd and is Head of Artistic Creation and Direction. Lastly, Samuel is a regular tutor at The London Film Academy, The Giles Foreman Centre for Acting & The Rose Youth Theatre and is a member of The Directors Guild UK. As for upcoming projects, Sam is currently in pre-production on his next feature film “On The Edge of Darkness”, which is based on his dad’s stage play “Strictly Murder”.

ATTILA PUSKAS - DRACULA

Attila Puskás is a native Hungarian Voice Actor born in Transylvania – Romania, so Romanian is in his bag of tricks too, but most of his work is done in English, in a Transatlantic Eastern European Accent, but is quite capable of Hungarian, Romanian and International Eastern European accents, plus Standard American. His voice range is Adult to Middle Aged (30-40+) due to his deep voice. Vocal styles can range from authoritive, brooding to calming and reassuring and much more. He’s most experienced in character work, like Animations and Games, but his skills encompass Commercials to Narration as well. He’s received training through classes and workshops, pushing him to the next level to achieve higher standards. Now on a journey to perfect these skills and put them to good use!

PART TWO: HERE

PART THREE: HERE

[regaliasonata]

Headcanon Time: Kevin’s Family, the Wainauki Family💙🌊💙🌊

Wainauki comes from a few things I thought of, Wai being the Hawaiian word for water, as well as Njoki and Naki(Njoki is Kenyan name that means “precious” or “beautiful” while Naki is a term meaning “pure” or “without”

-The family is the third biggest when it comes to influence, with Shiba being the first and the Watanabe being in second.

-Like the other families, they deal in exports and other business that has been going on for centuries. Such as aquatic studies, port trades and even swimming affairs worldwide.

-Despite claims of the Shiba Clan uniting the allying the other families together against the nighlok, the Wainauki family was the first to discover their Symbol Power give or take 800 to 1200 years before due to their understanding of nature and water.

-Members of the family can breathe underwater for longer periods and even have slicker skin near their legs to swim faster, this is due to their adept training with the ocean but also has gandered the legends of mermaids being within the family.

-Kevin himself is the oldest of five other siblings. He has two brothers and three sisters with two of the sisters being twins. The youngest child, being a sister, is said to be a visionary who connects to water with her cognitive abilities. (Name wise Brother One-Kain, Brother Two-Caspian, Twin Sister One-Hali, Twin Sister Two-Ria, Youngest Sibling/Sister-Amaya)

-He also has three cousins who annoy him, which is why he tends to stay near the team to get his own privacy

-Fashion-wise, the family has a lot of blue and related colors within their wardrobe, some tend to wear cream white with their outfits while others have cool aquatic-style clothes with gill-like features and patterns. Another staple in their fashion is the usage of sea shells and pearls that are mainly placed in their hair or as jewelry.

-The Wainauki house is set into a few homes but there are three main buildings around the globe, the first said to be in the Caribbean, the second being in a seaside city within West Africa, and the main house said to be an underwater kingdom like city that can travel throughout the ocean.

-Kevin’s relationship with the Shiba Clan is mixed due to some individuals in his family not aligning with them while others tend to look up to them due to the centuries-old alliance. He questions their aid due to their elements being opposites but also has a soft spot for Jayden mainly because he may have picked up the idea that Jayden might’ve had Lauren as a sibling and with him having to take all the responsibility as family representative…years ago one fateful night, Kevin lost his mother and nearly lost his siblings when he forgot to watch a gap to the Netherworld forming in one of their houses and a banshee-like nighlok attacked the family. He took charge and killed it but has a lot of resentment for letting his mind slip, sometimes he feels his father blaming him for what occurred and it’s just best for Kevin to not allow any more tragedy to befall the people around him.

-He will shoot his hydro bow at any siblings and cousins that try to imply he has a thing for Mike or Jayden, of course, they’re too fast to hit but Kevin hates the implication(despite finding himself staring at Mike from time to time…).

-Like the Shiba Clan, the other families have a set of ultimate techniques. The Wainauki family has three, the first being based on Ryūgū-jō(The sea palace of the water dragon god Ryujin), the second said to be a song that calls upon the “wrath” of all mermaids and nereids, and the third being unknown as half of the script for the symbol power has been lost over 700 years but it was said to be powerful enough to cast an entire island or country into the ocean.

[skierisa]

Lloyd x Valerie (oc) headcanons because I'm bored :)

they're very different people, ngl, but they do have a lot of things in common too, so I'm using this post as a way too explore them as a duo/couple

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

met during the tournament of sources, but she barely payed attention to him

they actually hated each other at first, enduring the other due to a bigger good

both are night owls. Even before getting along, they would be awake in the middle of the night due to insomnia, and would bond since they can't fall asleep (and the silence was awkward)

because of this, they have almost daily midnight conversations (may or may not post a comic about this... i mean i wrote a script, i have to use it!)

comic nerds. However, Valerie likes horror (and romance), Lloyd likes sci fi. Therefore, i heavily think they'd look for horror sci fi stuff to read/watch together

just imagine this two watching serial experiments lain, ghost in the shell or paprika. OR ALIEN!

once they start dating, they'd be going to music and comic store dates. I think of them as a very casual couple, soo they'd have simple dates that don't even look like dates

"wow, this date was so nice!" "Wait, it was a date?"

Valerie would teach him to play guitar

Lloyd loves to ramble to her about Star Fairer comics, and she loves to listen, despite not understanding a thing

She tried giving the comics a chance, but only felt entertained by the movie/tv seires of it

i headcanon Lloyd having 2a wavy hair, but he has no idea how to properly take care of it. Valerie, who has 2c wavy hair, would help him and teach him how to care for it

he tries to help her overcome her pyrophobia. the results are disastrous, ofc

"how are you so afraid of fire yet owns a lighter that you frequently use?" "*shrugs*

sometimes during their midnight talks they end up falling asleep together

they hug each other while sleeping

Valerie's love language is touch, so i think she hugs Lloyd a lot. He fucking loves it

both are punk and listen to punk music when hanging out or training

she made him try brigadeiro (or brazilian truffles, brazilian fudge balls, or idk how y'all call it) mochi, and he's very much addicted to it now

they both run on energy drinks and hate coffee

she DID write some songs about HIM

She also showed him a few of those after a while, and she cringed every single second of it. However Lloyd felt super appreciated and loved it

Valerie comforts Lloyd when he cries or when he has panic or anxiety attacks. She usually hugs him, caresses his hair and lets him cry (although I can imagine her singing to him too aaaaa)

She is aware that Lloyd has never been in a proper relationship before her, she tries her best to make him comfortable

Also they're the kind of couple to forget their anniversary, mostly due to "the world almost ending" every day it's kinda hard to remember

Okay, I think I covered everything I could in one post (and I'll definitely make more, just don't know when)

[spaceorphan18]

Umbrella Academy Thoughts

So. I did end up finishing Season 4 last night.

I need to preface this with -- I actually really do love this show. The first season of it is still one of my favorite TV stories. I love the characters. I love the sibling dynamics. I love superhero element - where the powers feel fresh or interesting spins on old things. Five and Klaus are just everything.

I didn't love love Seasons 2 or 3, but they were solidly good.

But they could have left things be after Season 3. They could have left well enough alone. Because Season 4, man. What???

Okay, onto spoilery things.

I will say, I really love the concepts and ideas the season had. The strange alien goo stuff wiping everything out while enhancing powers? Sure, fine. The train station that went to different time lines -- inspired, loved that. Even the idea behind the ending -- I could get behind if done correctly.

They had six episodes to tell a really compelling story and just... didn't. Most of it was a waste of time, a bunch of it didn't make sense, and some of it was just plain stupid, and it really breaks my heart that a show that was so, so, so brilliant when it started descended into this mess.

One thing I did like was Nick Offerman and Megan Mullally as the two cult leaders. They were fantastically cast, and did a great job even when the scripts descended into nonsense. I wish they had a stronger ending, but great choice in the casting department.

I have to wonder - the first episode is pretty solid, and I actually like the idea of their lives kind of sucking in their happily ever after era, which thematically makes sense when they wrap around to being erased. Another great idea. But I wonder -- did they get the note that it'd be six episodes after they started writing? But there's a definite shift after the first couple episodes that started to feel like both they were trying to cram in too much to the episodes and that there wasn't enough plot to really make an interesting story. The pacing was incredibly weird.

So... let's talk about the rest of the characters, shall we?

Luther -- I honestly loved his characterization in this season. He was great! He also had really nothing to do, and the whole thing at the CIA's office was a waste of time. Why did we need that sequence, especially when it took up an entire episode?

Diego -- I feel like they made him a little too much of a loser? I also kind of missed his banter with the other siblings. He just felt like a shell, which was intentional, but never got any redemption? Which -- like, if you're going to erase the characters, and this goes for everyone, give them some kind of satisfying growth or ending before they're gone.

Allison -- I'm amused that everyone just kinda let it go (honestly, I don't even remember what she did do, I only watched Season 3 once, but I remember it was bad) but I am glad she got to not be the bad guy this season. Finally. She had some nice moments. Again, didn't really do much ultimately.

Klaus -- my god, the biggest waste of time during the whole season. I love where they started him. But why did he get the stupid subplot of him being a medium? Why did we go there? It's like they needed him out of the way, and buried in a box. You can see the -- how do we get there of it all. But none of it was needed. And it's clear they had no actual idea of how to get him into the main plot. Because he does nothing. And it just... breaks my heart because I love his character so much.

Five -- *sigh* Five is my /favorite/ character, and just... what?? The biggest BIGGEST wasted opportunity was not having more shenanigans related to the train station. Could you imagine if he brought everyone and they all had to timeline jump? It would have been so cool! The concept was brilliant and amazing and just... what?? I did love the diner of Fives. That was inspired and a taste of what i really wanted. But instead they waste all that opportunity on a love triangle. And I get that maybe they were going for Five having character growth of thinking about more than himself? Kind of? But then they missed idea of their whole character who spent three seasons trying to save EVERYONE and not himself, I just... I can't with it. I can't.

Ben -- I'm fine with the Ben stuff, mostly. He was the main plot, it worked until the end when it dissolved into stupidity and shit monsters.

Victor -- At least he got to be part of the main plot in a meaningful way. I did like he and Hargreeves teaming up. It was one aspect that did work for me. I've always felt they never gave Elliot Page enough to do, when he's one of the stronger actors, but at least he didn't get the worst things to do.

Lila -- Oh my god. back to the love triangle stuff. I don't mind her, or the fact that she and Diego had a shitty life. It's fine. But the love triangle was so uninspired. So felt like I've seen this kind of thing a hundred times before. It was so terrible that they needed to waste their time on it. Why? What did any of these characters do to deserve it? It's like, the show, every time it diverged from interesting sci-fi concepts and attempted human drama just kind of failed. And it's sad.

Jennifer -- I... still have so many questions. How did the anti-marigold stuff get into her in the first place? Why was she in a squid? Just... what??

Regi and his Wife -- They've always been so vague about them. I wish they had explained just a little bit more. Just have a little more context and I think it would have gone a long way. The characters just didn't ask enough questions of them, and the story felt thin and unrealized as a result.

Okay... The ending...

When you get to the point in your story where you're CGI'ing a giant shit monster, don't you think it's time you're probably done, done? Like if you are doing this creatively? You've run out of ideas and you're just scrapping the bottom of the barrel. It's just... kind of sad. Everything about it is sad.

As for being erased, I don't actually hate the concept, but man do I hate the execution.

There was a way that could have been incredibly narratively satisfying. You erase them, and then go back to the beginning, and the kids get to live and grow up on their own. Then for the last sequence (loved that they brought I think I'm alone now) you have seven strangers pass each other in the park not knowing each other. And that would have been fantastic, you know? A way for the characters to live on and still uphold the ending.

But what we got? It just felt... so muddled? Like -- how is Claire's kid alive when she never existed? Same with Diego and Lila's kids? I don't understand it!! And the cameos were cute -- but why not bring back everyone? I just don't think it makes a whole lot of sense the way it plays out.

The entire season needed a rewrite, better editing, stronger character focus, and it would have been brilliant. Because the ideas are there. The concepts of this season are great. But maybe they ran out of time? Maybe Netflix switched things on them last second? Or maybe the powers that be aren't that great at their jobs?

Idk, idk. I don't blame the actors (or the crew) they did what they could to salvage the messy, messy script choices.

But I think what makes me the saddest is that it's such a botched ending, this show, that really was so good in the beginning, will end up being forgotten by time because of its ending. In ten years, people will probably forget this show ever existed because we've all moved on not wanting to go back to it.

What a disappointment.

[covington-shenanigans]

cat names

so I'm in an a cappella group which is part of a queer community chorus and one of our members works at an animal shelter. today she posted in the a cappella discord: "About to have to name forty cats for the next hour I’ll be collecting wherever unhinged names you can think of"

this was two hours ago. we are still coming up with cat names. the list (SO FAR) is under the cut. tag yourself, I'm Permanently Exhausted Pigeon

we think many of these would be excellent baby names also. as one of our sopranos said, "what is a cat but a baby with claws?"

(note: stuff in parentheses after the cat name is commentary from the person who came up with the name)

Permanently Exhausted Pigeon

Xena: Warrior Princess

Deke Sharon

George Foreman ("and name the next five George Foreman Jr")

Samantha the Evil Twin

Magical Mr. Mistofelees

Stephen

Kelsey Hightower ("this is not a celebrity, but he is well-known in my industry, and his name is a fuckin banger")

John Cena

The Onceler

Pig

Madison

Nancy

Olivia Newton-John

Blake Carrington

The Purple Principessa

Rubik's Cube

Zaphod Beeblebrox

Owl

Fido

Rover

Mystery Incorporated

Quark

Agatha

Vetinari

Evil Grand Vizier

Horatio

Juno

Bob Loblaw

Juniper

Mrs. Shirley Jenkins

Michael Scott

Spot

Jermaine

Churu

Tia and Tamera Meowry

Soup Spoon

Kleenex

Mug

32-Inch Curved Monitor

Shitty Fourthhand Dell Laptop

Taco Bell Hot Sauce Packet

Don't Worry About What Number of Coffee That Is

Hot Sauce

Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Gideon Nav

John

Pussalitus

Shell Script

Bob the Drag Cat

Slay

Right Meow

Pawl McCartney

Fuzzmeister ("something my ex-roommate used to call my cat")

Fuzzbucket ("another thing my ex-roommate used to call my cat")

Furry Bastard ("ibid")

Jessica! [ed. note: yes, with the exclamation point. I asked]

William Shakespeare

Thursday

Laura Jane Grace

Billy the Kitten

Cat 5 ("I CRACK MYSELF UP LOLOLOL this is a nerd joke don't worry about it")

Pixel

The Child

We're Calling About Your Cat's Extended Warranty

Ibid

Ketzeleh

Absolutely not stop eating toilet paper ("Or just TP for short")

Get Down From There You Little Shit

Stop Eating Plastic You Fucking Gremlin

Feather Boa

Matilda

Nectarine

The Trunchbull

Blender

Vlad the Impaler

Jackie Daytona

Zoom Call

Scrungle

Synthwave

Shoegaze

Disco

Sandstorm

Pancake

Cursed Skull

None Pizza With Left Beef

Regular Skull with no Otherworldly Implications

Sardine

Doggo

Blobfish

Monarch Butterfly

Wage Theft

Hidden Fees

Labor Solidarity

Tax Fraud

McNugget

Class Action Lawsuit

Daniel Tiger

Tony Hawk

Treacherous Knave

Simone Biles

Sodium Bicarbonate

Unflavored Seltzer

Francesca

Strawberry With A Flat Battery

Boop

The Thong Song

Eurovision

Queen of the Underhill

Beaver Nug

POSSUM

Space Lollipop

Chocolate Napoleon

Dessert Drop

Madame Iris

Happy Tartan

Tiny Assistant Antonia

Biscuit

Rim Tim Taggi Dim

Fortinbras

Baby Lasagna

Elderly Lasagne

Duck

Middle-Aged Shark ("doo-doo")

Batman

Greek Chorus

Bertie Wooster

Jasper

Gomez Addams

Morticia Addams

Beeswax

and the sibling of Beeswax: Mind Your Beeswax

Roomba

Particle Board

FYP

Mr. Murderbritches

Baked Potato

Delulu

Ampersand ("'&' for short")

Your Mom

Booticall McStuffins

Munch

Shoelace

Bubba

Bye Felinecia

Sillybutt

Charles

Christofur Walken

Train Heist

Doc

Oscar The Crouch

Elmo ("for a ginger cat")

Furmit the Crog

Shrek

Beck

Pauline

Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia

Soleil Moon Fry

Moon Unit Zappa

Trout

Unholy Bargain

Rick Astley

Comic Sans, Ariel Bold, Dingbats

Professor Scrungle McDingus

Bumoley

Dante’s Inferno

Chairman Meow

Pride and Prejudice

2 Factor Authentication

Blue Wheel of Death

Clippy

Circle back

A Meeting The Should Have Been An Email

Chat Offline

I Need To Speak With You In My Office

Wild Thing

Doofus McGroofus

Thneed

Meowzart

Thelonious Meownk

Turnip Face

Dumpster Fire

Santa Claws

Munchkin (Munch for short)

Parsnip

Illegal Pete

Petit Francois

Neck Pillow

Error404

Itty Bitty Kitty (Committee)

Freddie Kruegpurr

Jason

Chad

Chadwick

Silly William (Billy)

Goose

No-Nonsense Billy ("prefers William")

Experimental Jazz

Sibling of Thelonious Meownk

Gulf of Meowxico

Lake Meowchigan

Meownica Lewinsky

Meowchigan State Spurrtans

Buffalo Pam

Cat-herine

University of Meowchigan Wolferines

Bad Band Name

Meowtallica

Joan Pett

Cat Activation Noise

Alanis Meowissette

Petty LaPone

Mayonnaise

The Sauce

Farrah Pawcet

Burger

Topo Chico

Buns ("brother of Burger")

Onion Ring ("sister of Burger and Buns")

Catsup

A Dish Best Served Cold

Revenge ("short for A Dish Best Served Cold")

Small Forestry Man ("or just Small Man")

Helen of Troy

Trojan Cat

Bean

Spatula

Aunt Irmintrude

Worm Off The String

Worm On A String

What Crimes Will He Commit?

Crimini Mushroom

Saffron

Garbage Truck

Louise

Hashbrown

Sir Violence Fourth Of Their Name

PhD

We Can't Afford That

Euphonium

Spork

Doctor Zhivago

Antoine-Joseph Sax

Lump Sum

Chiquitita

Mothman

The Winner Takes It All ("That one the person doesn’t pay for the adoption they win a wet tee shirt contest")

Catniss Neverseen

MacGruber

This Is The Skin Of A Killer Bella

Loca

Haskell

COBOL

Theodore

Rewrite It In Rust

Rock Lobster

Love Shack

Trampoline

Peas Turnip The Beet

Subarubarubaru

Crime

April Showers Kill The Flowers

Ford Fiesta

Sharon

Rodrick

Felony

Jaywalking

Dipthong

Fun With Phonics

LMNOP

RFTM

Quilt

AEIO

AEIOU and Sometimes Y

Consonant

Verb

O R B

Gandalf's Big Naturals

OA

Refrigerator

CatGPT

Feral Beast

Feral Pawcet

Air Filter

Antithesis

Synthesis

Onomatopee-er

California Pizza Kitten

Floor Wax

Shamalamadingdong

Murphey’s Oil Soap

I Can't Believe It's Not Butter

Mysterious Figure

Mouse ("And her sister Shady Character")

Trackball

The Real Slim Shady

Recessive Jean

[transformers-mosaic]

Transformers: Mosaic - Fragments Mike Priest

wada sez: Alright, kicking things off for our week of scripts, it's Mike Priest! You should recall that he was a major contributor to the Beast Wars - Second Chances fanproject, but he also had a couple-dozen Mosaic strips to his name before that. Mike was kind enough to provide a sampling from his back-catalogue of unrealised scripts—apparently he had swathes of the things, but he seemed a little sheepish about the quality of most of the material, so this is just the stuff that actually entered production. We've had preliminary art and titles for a few of these, but these scripts have never been seen before outside of the Mosaic backchannels! Mike has also provided his own comments for most of these. Let's dive in!

"Direction" (Onslaught) w/ James Cox [2007-05-12 (file date), 2007-04-22, 2007-04-23, 2007-05-03, 2007-05-06, 2007-06-04]

wada sez: We actually do have some art for this one, by talented fanartist Blitz-Wing, best known in Transformers fandom for having his artwork stolen by TakaraTomy for their Sixshot reissue. I suspect the lineart on this was close to done, but Blitz alas couldn't find anything more than these scraps originally shared to deviantART.

(Open on extreme close-up of Onslaught’s face, specifically his visor.)

Text box- It has to be perfect.

Text box- It can’t be wrong.

Text box- This, my latest masterpiece.

(Next panel- a furious Onslaught pointing accusingly directly at you, the reader.)

ONSLAUGHT: Wrong! Wrong! Wrongwrongwrong!!!

(New panel- setting; the idea of some kind of training area, or “Danger Room”, if you will. Onslaught’s finger is pointing at his fellow Combaticons, Brawl, Swindle, Vortex, and Blast-Off. You get the idea that they have just completed a battle sim- there are smoking and twisted turrets here and there on the walls and a large combat droid in ruins on the ground laid out in the middle of the four Combaticons.)

ONSLAUGHT: Fliers- you deviated from your established attack run! And ground support, you weren’t supposed to flank until 8.6 kliks into the exercise!

(Next panel, Onslaught turns his back to his troops, outstretching his arms to the heavens in frustration as Swindle and Vortex share an exasperated look.)

SWINDLE: (Aside, to Vortex, annoyed) You know, we DO have names…

ONSLAUGHT: (In the background, arms outstretched skyward) Primus, SEND ME SOLDIERS!

(Next panel- Onslaught whirls around and clenches his fist.)

ONSLAUGHT: From the top! And this time try to not embarrass yourselves!

Text box- It has to be perfect.

Text box- It can’t be wrong.

"Safe" (Thunderwing) w/ Grimlock79 [2007-05-16 (file date), 2008-02-13, 2008-02-13]

wada sez: Again, we have a tiny bit of artwork for this one, but apparently the artist didn't understand the brief, and drew Mike's script across four pages. These were then condensed down into a single, incomprehensible page which bears no resemblance to the script. Mike recalls that this was the second strip he ever submitted.

(Open in blackness. We become aware that Thunderwing (inner robot/non-Pretender) is present. Close-up- he appears nervous…paranoid.)

THUNDERWING: Where am I?

(We pull out to show that he is floating alone in an infinite limbo of blackness.)

THUNDERWING: (Small word bubble as we get the impression he’s utterly alone, wherever he is.) Am…am I safe?

(We pull out of the darkness; as we catch a gleam of piercing light which becomes the blazing optics of Thunderwing’s “Stormbringer” Pretender shell. In the next panel, we see Pretender Thunderwing, wreathed in the flames of his destroyed laboratory, and holding a gutted and charred Decepticon in one hand. Another unidentifiable Decepticon stands before Thunderwing in awe and horror.)

DECEPTICON: Thunderwing, what have you done? What have you DONE???

(Thunderwing roars as energy pours from its blazing optics and mouth.)

Text box- Am I finally safe?

(This scene is a fleshing out of the brief burst of flashbacks Thunderwing had in Stormbringer # 4 upon landing on Cybertron’s surface. Use it for reference as far as the two unidentified Decepticons who encounter him.)

"The Least Likely" w/ Casey Coller [2007-07-21]

Mike sez: "This script is way too long for one page and I almost vaguely remember being requested to write it by someone, maybe one of the editors. Someone wanted a Goldbug story, cuz I'm not sure it was me. I threw Sunstreaker in here cuz I love writing him (me and HdE certainly had a Mosaic or two of Jerkass Sunstreaker) The ending is very "Martin Fisher" on-the-nose."

(Open on some deserted alley in a dangerous part of Cybertron. A large, scary-looking Decepticon (just a generic, unnamed guy preferably), is bullying a much smaller, weaker-looking Autobot (also a generic, unnamed guy). The cruel Decepticon grabs the small Autobot by the neck and holds him up, smirking.)

AUTOBOT: (Terrified) Pluh-please! I’m just a courier! I-I can’t fight!

DECEPTICON: (Cruel smile) That doesn’t matter. You’re an Autobot and you got in my way.

DIALOGUE BOX (GOLDBUG’S NARRATION): I’ve seen it happen a thousand times.

(The Decepticon roughly throws the Autobot to the ground.)

DIALOGUE BOX: Heck, it’s happened to ME a thousand times.

(We see a flashback panel that is exactly in the same style as the previous panel of the Decepticon throwing the Autobot to the ground, except this time it is Sunstreaker (in place of the Decepticon) shoving Bumblebee (in place of the nameless Autobot) aside. The parallel between the two scenes is evident.)

SUNSTREAKER: (Disgusted look on his face) Out of my way, half-pint.

(Next panel, the Decepticon is pointing a gun downward at the terrified smaller Autobot.)

DIALOGUE BOX: And I’ll never stand for it again.

DECEPTICON: Any last words, short-stuff?

GOLDBUG: (Off-panel) LEAVE HIM ALONE.

(The Decepticon whirls around to see Goldbug standing at the end of the alley, small in stature, but totally collected and calm. The Decepticon smirks and turns his attention to the newcomer. Goldbug looks up into the larger Transformer’s face as the Decepticon looks down into his optics.)

DECEPTICON: (Menacingly) Alright, hero. You can be first then.

GOLDBUG: (Not flinching at the threat, but tilts his head in an amused manner) Really? I’m touched.

(Snarling, the Decepticon tosses his gun aside and reaches for Goldbug, but the smaller Autobot deftly ducks under the Decepticon’s reach.)

DIALOGUE BOX: They always make the same mistake. The mistake I used to make.

(The Decepticon swings a backhand at Goldbug, but he ducks it again with ease and moves in close to his opponent.)

DIALOGUE BOX: They assume that strength and size of body is what matters most. And they couldn’t be more wrong.

(Goldbug leaps up and grabs onto his opponent’s neck in a chokehold and manages to shift the Decepticon’s weight so the larger Transformer begins toppling forward.)

DIALOGUE BOX: It’s he who has the greater determination that wins the day. Prime taught me that.

(The Decepticon keels over with his head in Goldbug’s hold and face-plants violently into the ground. He won’t be getting up for awhile. Goldbug stands and dusts his hands off as the other smaller Autobot looks upon him with a mix of shock and admiration.)

DIALOGUE BOX: But there was one thing I learned by myself…

AUTOBOT: You-you beat him! But how-?

GOLDBUG: (Begins walking away) “The least likely can be the most dangerous.”

"Dirty Work" w/ Richard Chang [2007-11-21]

Mike sez: "Always loved Repugnus with his Ronald McDonald-ass colors and his super-cool Transformers Universe profile. Back then, there weren't a lot of Autobots that were morally-dubious to the extent he was, so he always fascinated me. Someone eventually executed this story concept much better in a Mosaic piece titled "Double-O" that actually saw completion, only utilizing Tracks instead of Repugnus. Have no idea where the name "Manthaze-Zero" came from."

(Open on a view-screen, displaying the Autobot symbol.)

COMPUTER DIALOGUE: Incoming video transmission.

(The view-screen changes to an image of Repugnus from the chest-up, robot mode, wearing a half-smirk on his face. We cannot see who he is reporting to.)

VOICE: (Off-panel) You’re late.

REPUGNUS: (With a cocky grin) Sorry, got carried away. In any case, mission complete.

VOICE: I’ll need confirmation of that.

(Repugnus’s grin grows wider, he reaches down off-screen for a minute, then pulls up the severed head of a Decepticon- establish it’s a ‘Con by putting a tiny Decepticon symbol on the forehead or such. Optics gouged out, mech fluid still staining it, jaw hanging half off- this ‘Con did NOT die pretty.)

VOICE: Was that level of carnage necessary?

REPUGNUS: (Predatory smile) You shoulda seen what I did to the sub-commander…

VOICE: I’ll pass, thank you. Doesn’t it bother you at all?

REPUGNUS: Does it bother you?

VOICE: What?

REPUGNUS: (Still amused, but more subdued) I’ll freely admit to being something of a violent scumbag, but you…sanctioning these oh-so un-Autobot-like missions…that’s gotta eat at that squeaky-clean spark of yours.

VOICE: Some things simply need to be done. I’m willing to take responsibility.

REPUGNUS: (Wide feral grin again) And what about Prime? Does he know what you have me do?

VOICE: Assassination would seem…below us, to him. If he does know…he chooses not to acknowledge it. If he doesn’t…I’d rather keep it that way.

REPUGNUS: (Knowing look) Ashamed, are we?

VOICE: …We’ve spoken too long. Proceed to the next target. My information puts the next Decepticon unit on planet Manthaze-Zero. Infiltrate and eliminate.

REPUGNUS: (Mock two-fingered salute) Sure thing, “squeaky-clean”. I’ll be in touch.

(The video message cuts out. Next panel, a door is shown opening and Wheeljack sticks his head in a dark room.)

WHEELJACK: Ah, there you are. Prime wants us in the war room ASAP.

(We see Prowl sitting at a console where he just received Repugnus’ message. He gets up from his chair and walks to the door.)

PROWL: Thank you, Wheeljack.

WHEELJACK: No problem. Hey, what were you doing in here, anyway?

PROWL: Just…some work.

"The Hammer Falls" w/ Matt C. Adams [2008-05-30 (file date), 2008-10-11]

wada sez: Another one we have a bit of art for, in the form of a preview from Adams.

(Open on Ultra Magnus, standing with his arms behind his back, looking out a large window in his personal quarters on the Elite Guard's ship. We can see a bit of the Detroit skyline from our view of the window, and we get a look at the relatively-Spartan décor of his room. His "Thor" hammer is respectfully hung horizontally on a wall. Perhaps a G1-styled Magnus rifle is also hung on a wall, if the artist is feeling easter egg-inclined.)

(Next panel, close-up of Magnus's face, a stern expression. This panel bleeds into the next image-)

( -a "flashback" shot of Starscream blasting Magnus point-blank from the episode "Mission Accomplished".)

(Next panel, Magnus's hand touches his chest- his Elite Guard Autobot insignia, which still bears a tiny, but visible scorch mark from the attack.)

(Next panel, Magnus turns and touches a button on his desk- to activate a radio transmission.)

ULTRA MAGNUS: Jazz, have Optimus Prime report to the bridge. I’ve made a decision.

(Final panel- Magnus casts aside his doubts and sets his face into a mask of grim determination.)

ULTRA MAGNUS: It is time the Elite Guard lived up to its name.

"Motion" (Ironhide) w/ Rick van den Akker [2008-12-31]

Mike sez: "Ha, this one is kinda pretentious and probably unworkable in a single page without some severe editing. Maybe I was trying to be pretentious and "deep" on purpose, to balance out the actual content of the first Michael Bay movie, I dunno. Or maybe it's just that I always thought Movie Ironhide looked cool and that one scene this script references is a standout."

(The setting is the city battle at the end of the 2007 movie. Use the actual scene as reference- it should be on Youtube somewhere. Open on IRONHIDE, driving in truck mode down a busy street.)

IRONHIDE DIALOGUE BOX: This is where I live.

(Ironhide transforms and leaps into the air as two missiles (fired by Brawl, although we can’t see him yet) narrowly fly under him. Next panel, Ironhide flips upside-down and fires his own missile launchers into the ground- a crude means of propulsion.)

DIALOGUE BOX: I exist in the state of motion. Action and swift, violent reaction. When I’m motionless, things are gray and dead. When I enter my world, the vibrancy is intoxicating-- blinding.

(Ironhide lands from his flip and leaps again, over a screaming, terrified woman. More missiles pass in-between him and the ground. As he flips over the woman, he regards her for a split-second.)

DIALOGUE BOX: Those that pass through my world, albeit briefly, usually find no beauty, nor grace.

(Ironhide lands again and begins to dive forward and twists his body sideways as yet another missile sails by him. Ironhide briefly regards the missile as it misses him by inches.)

DIALOGUE BOX: I suppose it takes a certain type to find art in the trajectory of a well-aimed missile.

(Ironhide twists all the way around in mid-air and fires off one arm-mounted cannon after the other as he spins around.)

DIALOGUE BOX: This is where I live.

(Next panel, almost from Ironhide‘s perspective- the two bursts streak in and strike Brawl, who recoils from the impacts. Final panel, extreme close-up of Ironhide’s face and what could be considered a “smirk“ of sorts, from an odd angle, as if he’s still in mid-leap.)

DIALOGUE BOX: Welcome home, Ironhide.

"Mosai-Ick" (Thundercracker & Megatron) [2009-03-03]

Mike sez: "Good-natured (?) mockery of some common themes I felt popped up a lot in Mosaics. The caption box overload is probably a little too ambitious for a one-pager. Actually feels a little mean to me in the present, but eh, still makes me chuckle. This one was for me."

(FIRST PANEL; THUNDERCRACKER, standing amongst the ruins of what appears to be an Earth city. He looks ANGSTY.)

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I’m so conflicted.

(SECOND PANEL; A straight-forward shot of Thundercracker, still looking conflicted. The caption boxes surround him.)

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I’m so confused.

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I’m so misunderstood.

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I’m so apprehensive.

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I’m so…not into this.

(THIRD PANEL; Same exact shot from the second panel, but now Thundercracker is completely crowded in by caption boxes. They threaten to crowd him off the page.)

THUNDERCRACKER CAPTION BOX: I like humans.

CAPTION BOX: I hate humans.

CAPTION BOX: I’m loyal to Megatron.

CAPTION BOX: I have doubts in Megatron.

CAPTION BOX: Starscream’s cool.

CAPTION BOX: Starscream’s a jerk.

CAPTION BOX: Skywarp’s my best friend.

CAPTION BOX: Skywarp’s an idiot.

CAPTION BOX: Angst, angst, angst.

CAPTION BOX: Angstangstangstangstangstangst.

CAPTION BOX: Wonder where Prime’s trailer goes?

CAPTION BOX: Did I step in something?

CAPTION BOX: Wouldn’t it be cool if I switched sides?

CAPTION BOX: I’m Scourge.

CAPTION BOX: I’m Cyclonus.

CAPTION BOX: I’m Galvatron…wait, that doesn’t make sense.

(FOURTH PANEL; Same staging as the last two panels, but a massive energy blast has hit Thundercracker from behind, throwing him half out-of-panel. Humorously, the blast is also blowing away or shattering most of the random caption boxes from the last panel.)

(FIFTH PANEL; MEGATRON stepping on Thundercracker’s face-down form, looking angry, his fusion cannon smoking.)

MEGATRON: BLAH BLAH BLAH! SHUT UP!

MEGATRON: (Linked bubble) BE MORE AWESOME! LIKE ME!

MEGATRON: (Linked bubble) FOR EVERYTHING I DO IS AWESOME!

(SIXTH PANEL; Overhead shot of Megatron, still standing on Thundercracker’s downed form, with his arms upraised and screaming at the sky.)

MEGATRON: GAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!!!

wada sez: Thanks to Mike for providing these scripts, and for all his support on the project!

[n3v3r-trust-th3-living]

And finally....the moment of truth...

So ive been working at a movie theater over a year now and used one of my movie passes to see Beetlejuice beetlejuice and my short review of it?

SPOILERS BELOW

3-3.5 out of 5 or 6-7 out of 10 so good/pretty good like slightly above mid.

But I still liked and enjoyed it a lot, it was fun and I liked the nostalgia fuel being a fan since childhood in the late 90's and 00's and I plan to see it 2 more times, once in 4DX (thank you employee discount). I also have merch put aside for me at work lol

The good

It was fun, well acted, practical effects were great, music was well implemented into their scenes and great choices of music, Catherine O hara stole the show as Delia, sets looked amazing, especially the netherworld iim glad we get to explore more of it.

I liked the jeremy twist (although the hints were kinda obvious to me At least to me). Their parallels to Beetlejuice and Lydia were good and i also felt a parallel between Jeremy and Beetlejuice's teen death rocker alter ego he used to trick lydia from the original unused script, Maybe iits just mee tho.

It is sad to see Lydia become a shell of herr self over the years not tto mention addicted to pills but i think its an interesting way to go especially with her ptsd from beetlejuice, I can see it. (I just wish they used this more as an explanation on her current state and the rift in her relationship with Richard and Astrid as well as as lydia's powers)

I enjoyed the parallels too the musical seeing lydia sort of adopt Charlie's role and astrid be in the shoes that musical Lydia was interesting. Not sure how intentional it was with that or if it was intentional at all tho.

the not so good

The begining slogs a bit, and once we pick the pace up it feels rushed especially during the wedding after the musical number (which Was good), other parts seem rushed too, it feels like a lot going on at once like they pushed multiple ideas for sequels all together which also gave a lot of new characters barley anything to do and made me feel liike they're kinda useless.

I love Delores, im absolutely self shipping with her but it feels like shes just there for eye candy and to be the ficy "other woman" trope.

Willam Defoe's character is fun in theory especially a cocky actor/stuntman playing a cop who died from a scene and is a wannabe cop in the afterlife but in execution he feels pointless.

I wanted to like Astrid more, im glad she wasn't like horribly written, I LOATHE when activist characters especially young ones are written by people who make them unlikable and obnoxious but she felt kinda .... boring sorta like a bit of a rehash of movie and musical lydia (with a dash of cartoon) in one but we only get glimpses into her interests and a lot of it is similar to Lydia even the activist part. And yeah obviously she can share interests with her parents I get she probably got it from them but i wanna know other stuff about her. Although a thing i do like is she is a sceptic while Lydia knows the paranormal exist.

Sorta related to that above there's a bunch oof cool ideas i wish weren't rushed through or they'd explore more.

we also get more netherworld lore which is cool and good but some of it leaves more questions then i had for years with the original.

lastly because this is my biggest Tim Burton beef is that there was still racial stereotypes in the film, he has learned bit over the years with Wednesday but it's still obvious he has some way to go with the Asian dry cleaner and the Soul Train scenes where we see most of the black characters in the film mind you probably the most black people we've seen in any Tim Burton film LOL (speaking as a black fan)

WOW uh I wrote way more than expected lol i have more thoughts but that's it for now, hopefully I will be posting here more in the near future.

[spellcasterlight]

what do you do when you feel really sad?

Hi there Loveable Lion Anon! 🦁

First of all, I get the feeling you maybe sent this ask because you're feeling sad yourself? If so, I'm so sorry to hear that 😔

For your question, what do I do when I'm sad? Gonna put this under the cut so people can scroll by!

Warnings: Crying. Brief Mentions of Dying.

Firstly, Anon, this is just what I do and probably won't work for others. Sadness is hard to deal with and so personal. One person's coping methods are not a script for someone else. I can only reply with what I do!

Now usually I will be the first to admit I'm quite a cheery person so when I am sad it usually tends to hit me like a train.

I deffo have my cry. I've never been a yeller or a social media ranter or anything like that, but I do cry. I don't know if it's the air quotes best thing to do, and I would never tell anyone to do this, but I do. I have a sit down somewhere private (usually my bedroom) and just have a little therapeutic cry to compact and release the overwhelming feelings that come with something seriously bad happening.

But after that, when I'm on the comedown of releasing all that sad energy, I always think, "Is this a heart-stopping moment?" and the answer is always no.

I won't go into details. They aren't pleasant, and no one wants to read them. Still, basically, just over ten years ago, I had a "this is it, this is how I die" moment and not in a sarcastic going to die of embarrassment or someone exaggerating a hangover, but what I thought was the real deal.

So, whenever my logical thinking starts to kick back in after that first burst of crying, I travel back to that point, to my very lowest, to the point where I thought my mother was going to come in and find me dead, propped up in bed by pillows like a lifeless doll because my body had simply given up, nothing but a shell and, part of me knows it's a horrible thing to say, but, it puts whatever made me sad into perspective.

Even when my tears are still flowing, I can accept the realization that I'm okay, I'm still alive, and I will still be alive after it. I can handle whatever felt so overwhelming ten minutes ago.

(That might all sound a bit dramatic to someone just reading it, but yeah, that's what happens.)

The world isn't ending, so what do I do now?

I always want to do something about it. For example, a few months ago, I panicked that I was wasting my life, that I was achieving nothing, and that there was so much I wanted to do, but I was a complete failure because I wasn't doing any of it.

I cried, had my moment of clarity then googled around for some ideas on how to tackle. I now make a monthly calendar of all the stuff I want to dabble in (writing, digital drawing, hand drawing, reading, more exercise, my course etc) and I have it so every evening I will do one of those things. Sure, I won't be the next Picasso or Einstein or anything, but I'm doing something. Being both productive and getting a little joy in creating at the same time.

I also try to put a little goodness back into the world even if I'm really not feeling very happy at that moment.

I'll send a message into the girlie chat telling them how wonderful they all are. I'll tell my friends who are parents how adorable their children are. I'll leave a big tip the next time I go out to eat or if I see a cool musician playing on the street. I'll send some Tumblr asks just telling people they're awesome. I'll speed up my walking so I can hold a door open for someone struggling with a pram or a walker. Buy my parents some flowers or my boyfriend some ice cream. That kind of thing.

Because the only thing that would make me feel worse is if my crappy mood brought down someone else. Seeing other people happy helps make me feel better as well, you know?

It's also good to plan something, even a little something, to look forward to. A holiday, a meetup with friends, a day at the beach, an afternoon with nothing to do but sit in a coffee shop, even a lie-in—whatever makes you make a note in your calendar and think, "Can't wait!"

I honestly don't know if this is helpful or not 😂 Maybe some others would like to be brave and share what they do as well?

If I'm right, and you did send this because you're feeling sad, I hope things turn around, and you feel better soon!

Sending all the good vibes your way! ✨