#because 'opinion' no longer flies there

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

You guys need to stop apologizing for having alternative feelings about something, I'm serious.

[justthoughts1310]

Sokka may not be a misogynist, but the Netflix live action ATLA is:

There really is no cartoon/anime for female empowerment like the OG ATLA and LOK cartoons.

The creators of ATLA wrote the manifesto on how to create a masterful series on female empowerment and equality that is not cheesy or hocky.

In this show, women and girls are not a monolith but immensely diverse. There's no correct way to be a powerful, talented and bold woman or girl within the avatar universe.

You can be hyper-feminine like Ty Lee and Asami.

You can embody more traditionally masculine qualities like Korra and Toph.

Or you could just be a typical woman or girl falling more in between like Azula, Mai, or Suki.

You see the exact same thing for the male characters. There's no right way to be a man. There's many ways to be a man, and this idea flies in the face of patriarchy.

I say that the Netflix version is misogynist, because it's not enough to be a powerful woman. One must be allowed to be unapologetically, unabashedly and boldy powerful.

Which is what happens in the OG ATLA. Sokka's misogyny was actually a part of his character arc, because every time he was misogynist his misogyny was met with the answer that women and girls are phenomenal, that women and girls are living their lives and largely unconcerned with the opinions of men.

If you read the Kiyoshi novels, you learn that surprisingly enough, the least patriarchal amd misogynist nation in all of Avatar is the fire nation, and the misogynistic nation in all of Avatar is the northern water tribe.

The reason I say that the women in these shows are unabashedly powerful is because aside from Sokka and the master from the Northern Water tribe, no one ever questions why or how they are powerful. They expect it.

Zuko is Ozai's first born son, yet Azula is his pride. When Ozai imagines the future, he imagines it with Azula as the fire lord. He names her after his father. He trusts her to go find the avatar once he knows the avatar has returned.

Sokka and Katara effectively lost both of their parents, but Katara the youngest steps up as the mother and becomes the glue of the group. She's the one who becomes both an immensely powerful bender and healer.

Suki loves Sokka, but when we are introduced to her. She is unconcerned with him. Her and the other Kiyoshi warriors are the protectors of the village who go out into the world to do good into the world.

We see the revseral of all of these tenants in the Netflix show.

Ozai has hope for Zuko at the expense of Azula who he sees as a nuisance. She is no longer am obvious prodigy.

Katara is seen as a child who will not grow up by her brother who is now behaving as a father figure.

Suki is infatuated with Sokka and she follows him around Kiyoshi island when he arrives.

These woman are powerful but restrained and undermined in this power. Suki becomes concerned with the opinions of a man, and a random man at that.

What the OG ATLA taught to all women, girls, boys and men is that you never have to apologize for being powerful, intelligent, kind empathetic.

This is a very critical point that cuts to the heart of the OG ATLA that Netflix has missed.

[poorlittleyaoyao]

An Exhaustive Explanation For Why Qin Su Took Her Life Of Her Own Volition

(Or: For God's Sake, Please Just Let Her Have This One Thing)

Okay, so let's leave aside the fact that Wei Wuxian is an unreliable narrator. At the point in the novel at which he insists that Jin Guangyao must have forced Qin Su to kill herself somehow, Wei Wuxian has also insisted that Lan Wangji would totally hate it if he knew they'd made out while drunk. Let's also leave aside that Wei Wuxian himself will reassess his opinion of Qin Su's death later on, and IIRC says nothing about it either way in the drama, because the people who insist that JGY Definitely Killed Made Her Do That sure do. A narrator being unreliable doesn't mean we can't trust anything they tell us, after all; it just means we need to compare their views to outside evidence, the way you would with a primary source document.

AND WHEN YOU DO THAT

IT STILL MAKES ZERO SENSE

Picture all this from Jin Guangyao's standpoint. Let's assume for funsies that you don't care about your wife who is also your half-sister, and have no compunctions about killing her to keep the incest secret. Wouldn't you just... do that? Wouldn't you kill her the second that little paperman flies away and you hear the alarm?

"He obviously couldn't do that! The paperman saw her alive so it'd be weird if she suddenly was gone!" Yeah, and everyone at the cultivation conference saw her alive when they came into the treasure-and-torture room, and it would be even weirder if she suddenly stabbed herself to death in front of them.

"Ah, but he needed to know who sent her the letter! He can't afford to kill her!" Wow, hey, that's right! You, Evil Jin Guangyao, have just spent the preceding scene wheedling and then threatening Qin Su so she'll tell you who send the letter, and she stood firm the whole time! So forcing her to kill herself in front of everyone when she still hasn't told you that important piece of information would be PRETTY DUMB, wouldn't it? (Almost as dumb as giving her the opportunity to interact with all the people you're trying to keep the secret from, but hey, maybe it took you longer to hide da-ge's head than anticipated.)

"Maybe he'd given up on getting her to tell him anything so her killing herself was to divert suspicion away from him!" Okay, first of all, how is "your wife (whom nobody but you has seen recently) kills herself with no warning" going to make things look LESS suspicious? Second of all, things were going JUST FINE. You hid da-ge's head. People were buying your "this cursed cabinet is where I keep my former boss's soul-stealing knife" story. You haven't even subtly brought up Suibian to change the subject. The narrative misogyny means that nobody has directly talked to Qin Su and "of course my wife also hangs out in our house, lol" is flying just fine as an explanation. You had almost put out this fire! Why would you throw gasoline on it by making Qin Su kill herself?

Honestly, the smartest thing for you to do in this situation would be to knock your wife unconscious and move her to her sleeping chambers or a couch or something in the main part of the palace. That gets her out of sight and renders her unable to talk in a way that won't raise suspicions, and gives you the option of going "omg guyyys my wife is sleeping :( this totally unwarranted search of our home is gonna wake her up :(" to make people leave!

But, okay. Let's shift our perspectives here. Jin Guangyao has a history of making deranged choices when he's in Panic Mode. Maybe his brain short-circuited and, somehow, he decided that MAKE QIN SU KILL HERSELF IN PUBLIC was the best course of action. Wei Wuxian himself tells us that she wasn't under the influence of talismans or anything, so somehow Jin Guangyao convinced her to do this with his words. Never mind that we just saw Jin Guangyao deploy an ungodly combination of feigned ignorance, gaslighting, actual sincerity, veiled threats, and manipulation with zero impact. Somehow, he used his words successfully.

What could he possibly say?

Picture all this, now, from Qin Su's standpoint. Your entire world has been shattered. Your husband who is also your half-brother has been lying to you for your entire marriage, has done nothing to reassure you that he didn't murder your son, and has sealed your meridians to prevent you from fleeing. He then brought you into a secret room in your home that you didn't know existed and which, you discover, houses his sworn brother's severed head. All you know is that you cannot tell Jin Guangyao who gave you the letter because you're certain that he will have her killed. Shit's real fucked and you have nobody to help you.

Now every sect leader in the jianghu--including your husband's remaining sworn brother, your young nephew, and your nephew's maternal uncle--has shown up to search your husband's home. His top priority in this moment is quashing their suspicions so they leave him alone enough to regroup.

One of three things must be true for you.

1.) Your top priority is survival. You don't want to die. If you care about your reputation, you know that you're as screwed as he is if word of this gets out, and unfortunately the only way to survive is to play along with your husband's weird shit, at least for now. In that case, the best way to assure him that you're on his team is to help him assure the other sect leaders that Everything Is Normal And Fine. If you don't want to die, then you're not going to be susceptible to any insistence that you kill yourself.

2.) You're so furious that you don't care what happens to you or your reputation as long as you take Jin Guangyao down with you. In that case, you'd tell him whatever he wanted to hear and then IMMEDIATELY scream to the other sect leaders where Nie Mingjue's head is currently located, or you'd drop the incest bomb yourself hoping that the paperman is somewhere in that room and can back you up, or you'd grab that dagger and stab your husband, or some combination of all three! You're not going to quietly kill yourself at his request, because you've suffered enough for his bullshit!

"Well, maybe he didn't threaten her. She's going to be worried about Bicao and her father. Maybe he threatened one of them!" Yeah, maybe, but that's a threat to get someone to cooperate. You can't make sure they're still alive if you're dead! And if you're convinced that this guy has lied to you constantly for the past 10+ years, you're not going to believe him when he says"kill yourself and I'll be niceys to them." There is nothing at all that he could say to make her harm herself if she hadn’t been so inclined.

And that leaves

3.) You're in such despair that you actively want to die. You can never trust your husband again. You can never trust anyone again, honestly, because he wasn't the only person you loved who kept this secret from you. You don't trust that the other sect leaders will do anything to help you, just as your mother didn't trust that anyone would do anything to help her all those years ago. (When they barge into the palace and walk straight past you as though you were a piece of furniture, your distrust is confirmed.) Maybe, despite everything, you still love your husband too much to kill him. Maybe you fear that, without evidence, he will be seen as an innocent victim and you will be seen as his mad, murderous wife. Maybe you don't care what happens to anyone else, but you know that you don't want to deal with this anymore, and you are the only one you trust to help yourself escape it.

The tragedy of Qin Su is that she is never permitted to make a fully informed decision about her life. At least let her final action be something she knowingly chooses.

[jewish-vents]

post 10/7 jewish culture is straight up no longer believing your goyische friends actually like you and are in for the long haul. immediately after 10/7 I lost a few people who were disgusting assholes, but ever since then my goyische friends on this website have been slowly "un-friending" me (unfollowing, soft-blocking, and blocking). I'll have other goy friends who stuck around this long say nice things about me, compliment my fics, my blog, and even me, and I just... don't believe it. I know that's a common social anxiety fear, but I never struggled with social anxiety that badly. if you asked me if I thought my internet friends really liked me last september I would've said yes and meant it. but now, after months and months of my friends dropping like flies (and I almost NEVER lost mutuals before 10/7, not in almost 4 years on this website), I don't really believe them. I just can't. I'm waiting for them to realize they don't want to put up with my jewish ass anymore.

I've decided to stop talking about i/p because of this... I'll see posts on my dash (like from jewishlivesmatter) which I think are good and I wanna put on my blog, but I feel like every post about it pushes my goyische friends a little further away, a little closer to the block/unfollow button, so I'm just... not. I used to be scared to talk about i/p, from may 2021 when I learned just how antisemitic most goyim were because of the riots, to oct 7. but now I no longer fear getting doxx'd or getting swarmed with anon hate. I just know that talking about it is the number one way for Jews to lose friends.

"do you even want to be friends with these people?" yes. if I held goyim to the standard of i/p opinions I think everyone ought to have, I'd have no goyische friends. at this point as long as they agree that hamas is a terror org and a 2-state solution is best, I'm down to keep being friends, because even that is a godsend for people my age (20s).

it's even started to affect me in real life. the other day I had a talk with a goysiche friend of 15 years about i/p (knowing where they stood, obviously, by this point). we got into a mild argument, but they had stuff to do so we had to stop. I sent them an unrelated text an hour later, and when I got radio silence for the rest of the day (our argument was in the morning) a part of me genuinely believed that was it for us and braced for losing an irl friend who means so much to me and I thought was going to be in my life until one of us dies. they'd be in my wedding party. we've penciled in figuring out some honorific my future kids can use for them instead of aunt/uncle because they're nonbinary. I caved and texted them to make sure we're still friends, and they said yes, thank fucking gd, because otherwise I might've just had a full mental breakdown.

anyone else waiting for their remaining goyische friends to leave them?

.

[teamatsumu]

Helloooo! I'm just thiiiiis happy you're open to hearing requests because I adore your writing so much!

I'm flying a lot this year for work and weddings and whatnot, and I'd love your take on Haikyuu characters travelling solo overseas on a plane! How they react if they're seated next to a cute reader and do/don't make any moves, or they're a complete mess and somehow miss the flight - whatever your thoughts may be on them as passengers 😊

Akaashi, Suna, Osamu have been on my mind but I'd honestly eat up anything you write about anyone really ❤️

Ohhhh my god i love this idea my thoughts are RACING

AKAASHI:

He is very quiet on planes, I think. Keeps to himself, doesn’t bother anyone. Definitely gets a window seat, doesn’t get up to use the bathroom unless it’s absolutely necessary. His flights are uneventful at best, and he manages to finish that one book he was slowly reading over the last few weeks.

If he is seated next to someone he finds cute, he doesn’t say anything about it. He will look at you from the corner of his eye, tiny glances every now and then, but he won’t bother you. But if you initiate conversation, he will definitely engage in it. And quite enthusiastically too. You nearly fly off your seat when you realize he works as a manga editor, and Akaashi happily answers all your wonderous questions. He thinks you’re enthusiasm on the subject is contagious, and he feels elated when you ask for his number near the end, because he is not sure if he would have the courage to.

SUNA:

Suna also minds his own business. He has his laptop, his phone, and a good pair of noise canceling headphones. He is set for the trip. He is someone who puts his comfort above all. Meaning his own pillow and blanket, and even more comfortable slippers for longer flights. He is about to have the time of his life.

But then he notices that his neighbor is cute, way cuter the more he looks, and he can’t help but have half his attention on whatever you’re doing. He might comment on something too, and if you respond positively, that can spark conversation. He doesn’t talk more if he thinks it’s bothering you. Suna knows his boundaries. But he is not shy, and he is sure he can use his wit to create a little friendship and maybe get your number by the time you two get off the flight.

OSAMU:

Osamu is a patient flier by all means. Between him and Atsumu, he always guns for the window seat, and often gets his way too after a few choice words and winning a few petty bets. When he is traveling alone, he exclusively gets a window seat, even if he has to pay extra. And of course, he needs to know what they are serving on the plane.

Okay here’s my Osamu headcanon, he does not like plane food. And he has a habit of mumbling under his breath about it. Usually, people who complained about it would annoy you, but the boy next to you has this thick accent and is speaking in a dialect you haven’t heard before, that you find extremely funny.

You indulge him, and he opens up immediately. He complains about the food and you echo his opinions. Before you know it, you are having a fiery discussion on food, and Osamu is seconds away from kissing you on the spot when you say that you think Udon is the best noodle.

Time flies by with him, and you get off the plane with promises that you would visit Onigiri Miya for a free meal soon.

[acourtofthought]

Do you think Elain will get gwydion? I remember Sarah posting Blodeuwedd on her pinterest in association with Elain. The name Gwydion continues to show up in the story of Blodeuwedd

I don't think Elain would end up with Gwydion considering her character does not seem set up to become a warrior but, I do think there is something to her being tagged in a photo of Blodeuwedd and what it means for the sword.

Lucien, as Elain's mate, seems connected to that fairytale as he is the substitute for the role of Llew considering Llew was the one who had a wife created for him out of flowers, "the most beautiful maiden anyone had seen". And it was Llew's uncle "Gwydion" who created this wife for him.

"The name Gwydion is a boy's name meaning "born of trees". A name from Welsh mythology. In the Mabinogion, Gwydion was a powerful magician who made his nephew a wife from flowers (Blodeuwedd, meaning "face of flowers").

So we have the name being connected to the Blodeuwedd tale and that name means "born of trees" which is how Autumn Court males are often described. Lucien was a "son of the forest and he looked crafted from it", in SF we have similar imagery for Eris.

Those are two really big points in favor of Lucien getting Gwydion, in my opinion. Not to mention the sword is a symbol of the first High King of Prythian and if anyone is going to take up a symbol of that role, the one who helps maintain the peace across the lands of Pyrthian, human lands and the continent, there really is nobody more suited than Lucien.

The sword is also a Made object and we're told in SF that through Helion and his reaction to the Mask, Lucien has a possible connection to items of the Made variety.

I also really like the symbolism of Lucien having Gwydion and Az having Truth Teller. In the fairytale it's Az's character "Gronw" that tries to kill Llew (Lucien's character) with a spear which LLew evades when he turns into an eagle and flies away (interesting how Helion's beast form seems to match that description).

We have Az who holds all this jealousy towards Lucien, believing that he's not a good male and not deserving of Elain which is sad because the two actually have a lot in common and could have shared a decent connection had Az not let his bitterness get in the way.

If by the end of the series Lucien has Gwydion and Az has Truth Teller, it comes full circle. Where, because the blades were like two long lost friends catching up in HOFAS, Lucien and Az will always find themselves reconnecting over the years because of those blades. I think Az is acting like an ass at the moment but they're always going to be in one another's lives. Elain will always be Feyre's sister and Lucien will always be Elain's mate and Feyre's friends so there's going to be holidays spent together, children birthday celebrations spent together, and so on. I doubt SJM will close out these books where the two males share in animosity and this solution is one way to set right their past, how a friendship of sorts can take shape.

I also really like the thought that Nesta would bestow Gwydion to Lucien after the way she acted towards him once they all realized he was Elain's mate. It would be an acknowledgement from her that he is her brother and a worthy male for her sister. Editing after a conversation with @crazy-ache and an idea she had. It would always be symbolic of Nesta to pass the torch of Lucien taking care of her sister through the sword. I have no doubt that by the time her story is finished, the others will acknowledge that Elain is capable of taking care of herself but, Nesta will always want to know someone is looking out for her. Since I imagine she won't be the one to have that role any longer, it would probably give her peace of mind to have Lucien looking out for Elain (as Elain will look out for Lucien) especially with the knowledge that he has a Made weapon. Nesta has the Trove, Ataraxia, Narben is still out there, the dagger she created, it actually doesn't make sense for the members of the Night Court to keep all made weapons for themselves when Lucien and Elain are supposed to be equals to the members of the IC, just in a different court.

Other than that possibility.....

I don't know that I see Gwyn ending up with Gwydion as Az had a strange reaction when the blades were near one another. I can't imagine him dealing with that day in and day out. Gwyn also named a sword, unprompted, "Silver Majesty" and both Gwydion and TT have black blades (I think Narben will be hers).

If Lucien does not end up with Gwydion, I could see it going to Mor considering her family was the original ruling family of the Night Court and she could possible be a female descendant of Theia's. Bonus points if Az gives up the first Illyrian hero's dagger to Emerie, the first female Illyrian to complete the Rite.

As for Elain, I could see Lucien gifting her a dagger the way he once did Feyre. Something lovely and beautiful that she can keep for self protection and that does not have the bloody history that Truth Teller does.

[ctitan98official]

Alcina is flustered by a tall and muscular Y/N part 4

Read part 3 here! Let’s get into it!

The bee situation was totally humiliating (Thank you, Dani).

Fortunately, the Lady of the castle’s regeneration instantly healed up all of the stings caused by your freak out. Plus, none of the other servants got stung. That’s definitely a win. You would have felt horrible otherwise. Alcina made them hide in the servant’s quarters until everything was safe.

The girls got stung, but… They are taking a longer time to heal than their mother for some reason… Bees are stronger than flies, apparently.

Honestly, you only feel guilty about letting Bela get stung. Dani and Cass deserved it in your humble opinion.

You and the Dimitrescu daughters are currently getting medicine and ointment put on your bee stings… By Alcina.

“Ow, fuck!” Cass curses as Alcina dabs some medicine on her.

“Cassandra.” Alcina warns her daughter.

“Sorry.” Cass pouts before she thinks about something. “I wish we turned into bees! They have built-in swords!”

“And they look way cooler than flies!” Dani chimes in.

“Heh, and they have the fattest of asses. That’s an attractive quality.” You blurt out. Smooth Y/N. Right in front of Alcina…

The girls immediately burst out laughing, but Alcina’s cheeks flame in response to your comment.

“I-I mean! I’m not insinuating that anybody should try to clap those cheeks or anything! They’re bugs, you know? I just like fat asses! But, like, on people! People only!” You say, trying not to be weird… Mission… NOT accomplished.

Dani is laughing so hard that she falls off of Alcina’s bed. Poor Bela is trying to conceal her laughter so as not to upset Alcina… And Cass is just making things worse.

“Well, not to dunk on bees or anything, but I think I have a juicier ass.” Cass brags.

You and the girls collectively lose your minds over this. You can’t help the laughter that bursts from your lips.

“CASSANDRA!” Alcina roars… But… Her heart flutters gently as she looks at the joy on your face. Hearing you laugh is now one of her favorite sounds… She finds that she desperately wants to be the cause of it. You deserve to be happy.

Whereas normally she would scold Cassandra more for her inappropriate jokes… Alcina can’t help but be thankful to her daughter for introducing her to your giggles. She sighs as she hopelessly simps over you. “Alright, Cassandra. You’re fixed up, my darling.” She says.

Cass shoots up, happy to be able to move around again. “Thank you, mother!” She says.

Now Alcina’s heart is racing. She’s medicated all of her daughters, but… Now it’s time for her to help you. She hopes she doesn’t look like a complete fool. “Y/N, come here. It’s your turn.” Alcina says with a blush.

Your cheeks burn intensely. Damn it. Now, you’re going to probably screw things up with Alcina even more because of your crush. At least the girls are here to keep things from getting awkward.

“Well, we’ll be heading on out now!” Dani calls and swarms out of the room with her sisters not far behind.

Traitors. You should have known they would do that.

As the girls leave, now it is just you and Alcina. You try not to stare at her beautiful face, but… She’s all you want to look at anymore.

“Umm… Take your shirt off, Y/N.” Alcina says… And realizes how bad that just sounded. “I-I m-mean so I can put the medicine on! For the bee stings!” She says.

Your mouth goes dry. You like the idea of her telling you to take your shirt off. “O-o-okay.” You stammer. You had ripped it off earlier when the bee attack was happening, but once you were safe, you had slipped it back on, not wanting to look like a ruffian. You pull your shirt off again and Alcina’s eyes widen as she really takes in the site of your muscular body.

Those rippling abdominal muscles, your strong and toned arms… Alcina is literally drooling.

“Uhh… Is this okay?” You ask, feeling nervous as Alcina is silent for a moment.

Alcina snaps out of her trance and shakes her head. “Yes! Yes, that’s perfect.” She says.

You sit down in front of her and Alcina gets a handful of ointment to put on you. She feels a spark of arousal as she touches your warm skin… She can’t help the soft whine that she makes. You’re so gorgeous.

The sound Alcina makes sends a bolt of desire right through you. Oh yeah… You want to be able to get your Lady to make that sound again.

As Alcina works, flustered and totally embarrassed, you think back to what Dani and Cass said. They implied that Alcina was interested in you. Should you… Just shoot your shot and see what happens? You hate yourself for thinking it, but if there’s even a chance Alcina will reciprocate how you feel, you’re going to take it. That’s a ballsy move, Y/N… And yet, your impulse gets the better of you.

You suddenly turn yourself around to stare into Alcina’s eyes.

Alcina goes rigid as she sees you looking at her. “Is something wrong, Y/N?” She asks, hoping she doesn’t have something on her face.

You silently begin to lean forward, curious what she will do. Alcina, to your surprise, begins to move forward as well. You close the distance and press your lips against hers. You kiss her.

Oh, shit… There’s no going back now, dumbass.

Masterlist

[acti-veg]

someone told me animals don’t actually experience emotion or pain; they’re just programmed to act like they do but they’re not self aware so they can’t? i don’t agree but looking it up it seems some scientists agree? are we just projecting our own feelings onto animals?

This was very much the prevailing philosophical opinion in the past, proliferated by the likes of Descartes and conveniently kept up far longer than it should have been because it was convenient in justifying the horrific animal experiments of the 19th and 20th centuries. While you'll certainly find 'scientists' still parroting this stuff, it's a viewpoint that has been directly contrary to the evidence for at least a century.

We can prove sentience beyond any reasonable doubt. The idea that animals have evolved nervous systems and brains that look and behave very similar to our own, complete with clearly observable pain responses and avoidance, but both the biological apparatus and the behaviours are all just a pointless farce that do not have an actual function in providing or processing a pain response, flies in the face of basic biology, as well as everything we know about animal psychology and evolution.

This is a viewpoint that is just plainly anti-scientific, held onto only by the kind of fringe 'scientists' telling us that the world is flat and that COVID was invented by Bill Gates. It’s just not that hard to get a science degree and call yourself a scientist, and it in no way makes your batshit opinions more authoritative. This is why peer review exists.

I am ususally willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume they've seen information I haven't, or may just be getting confused. In this case though, the person who told you this is either outright lying or just hasn't got the slightest clue what they're talking about. This is science denialist, conspiracy theory nonsense, and you should take it as a good indication that this is not a person whose opinions you should treat with any degree of seriousness.

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

come with me- Crutchie

(Note: I know, I’ve already written like three oneshots that are just letters from Crutchie, but I absolutely adore his character and letters are one of the best forms of expression in my opinion- it’s just something about someone’s heart poured out onto a page that inspires me. This is in a world where Jack moved to Santa Fe after the strike, leaving Crutchie and the others behind. Enjoy!)

    Dear Jack,

    It’s been a while hasn’t it? Almost ten years now, if I remember right… damn, it’s almost surreal to think of all the time that’s passed since I last saw your face. We miss you, all of us do, Racer and Dave and hell, even Spot Conlon. Santa Fe’s a long way away.

    I guess you really had to go away, though. It was a long time coming, I’m sure- you’ve been dreaming of the plains and desert of New Mexico since we were ten. Right now, I’d guess that you’re settled somewhere outside, sketching the landscape with a broken charcoal pencil and a scrap of stolen paper as the world flies by you, your heart full of happiness and relief. 

    No more talking about that, though. I need to ask you something, something that’s been eating at me since the moment we said our goodbyes. I’m sitting in Miss Medda’s theater, where you used to paint sets for her, because I can’t keep wondering any longer. 

    Do you miss us?

    Do you miss the days when you were free, when all the responsibility you had was to survive until your next meal? Do you miss the fights, the jokes, the laughter and the tears, all experienced under the roof that nurtured the man you are today? Do you miss us newsies and everything we went through together? 

    What about Katherine?  Do you think of her often, that girl with the fiery red hair and a way with words that would make Shakespeare tear up with awe? Do you miss the days you spent reminiscing about that first kiss up on the rooftop, the fit of passion and anger that made you fall in love for the very first time?

    Davey- that beautiful boy, shaking like a leaf when you first met him, growing into the bravest and most dedicated leader Manhattan had ever seen- do you still love him? He never moved on after you, Jack. He’s got a job with the Journal, editing articles and making enough to support his family now. He’s got enough money to have a nice house in the suburbs, a wife, and a litter of youngins, but I think he’s holding onto the hope that you’ll come back.

    We all are, if I’m honest. It’s been different around here without you.

    You’d be proud, if only you were here to see how well we’ve done. Race made it big betting at the races and now he and Spot have got this little business opened together, living off of the winnings plus the profits. Specs has got himself a job working on a steamboat and now he’s seeing the world, and JoJo’s a pastor now, preaching every Sunday. You wouldn’t hardly recognize us, I don’t think- we’ve all grown so much, so far past the scared little kids we used to be.

    Sometimes I wonder if you ever changed that much.

    I have to go now. If you ever get this letter, please respond. I’d love to know that you’re okay, that Santa Fe was just as beautiful as you thought it would be, that you’ve got a lass and a good sum of cash in your pocket. If you haven’t already forgotten us, please write back. I miss you.

    Your brother,

    Crutchie

[tobiasdrake]

Do you think Uub would have a positive relationship with the other main human martial artists - namely Krillin, Tenshinhan, Yamcha and Master Roshi? What would those interactions look like, in your opinion?

It's an interesting question. By the time Uub comes along, most of those characters have retired from martial arts - and the one who hasn't doesn't socialize. (At least, before Super changed things up so much.)

Roshi, of course, was more or less retired already when we met him. He just couldn't help himself but take on a new pupil when he saw Goku's talent.

Once Roshi was content that the new kids were going to be fine, he was more than happy to return to the easy life from whence he came.

Roshi loves the art but also, despite his 300 years of age, has respect for the passing of generations. His time in the sunlight ended a long time ago, and the future belongs to the children who came up after him.

With that in mind, I think he'd be happy to see that his pupil Goku has now taken on a next next generation pupil, and is passing down his teachings just as Roshi once passed his own to Goku. Goku has come full circle, and when his day in the sun comes to an end, it will fall to Uub to take Goku's art and make it his own, as Goku once did with Roshi's.

I mean. If Dragon Ball allows him, given that this is the story's third attempt at giving Goku a successor. Grumble grumble.

Yamcha's a pretty cool bro who's easy to get along with, as long as he isn't robbing you at gunpoint. ...honestly, even then.

"I know I blew your car up with an RPG and then tried to rob you with a machine gun but WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE AMIRITE?"

Yamcha also has a passion for martial arts - Specifically, the sport of competitive fighting. He knows everyone who is anyone in the martial arts space.

Dude legit didn't even know Goku was going to be at this tournament. He's just here to compete.

Despite never getting very far in the tournament itself, the Tenkaichi Budokai is Yamcha's environment. He doesn't care if he's participating or not; He just wants to be here.

But Yamcha also hit his limit. During the fight with the Androids, Yamcha decided to bow out and retired into the role of being a utility character.

He doesn't outright say, "I quit martial arts," but this is the end of his career. He's still a pal, though. He flies the plane to chase Cell, tends to Goku while he's out, all that good jazz. He's still one of the gang.

And he still loves the Tenkaichi Budokai environment, continuing to turn up to the tournaments long after he's given up on competing.

Even if he isn't participating, Yamcha is a great sport and he retains his love of the game well into his retirement. With that in mind, he'd probably be excited to see Uub develop.

Krillin's in about the same boat. He attends the 25th Tenkaichi Budokai because his wife wants that prize money.

But he's already retired by this point. Finally letting his hair grow out was a consequence of his decision to bow out of martial arts. By the time of the 28th Tenkaichi Budokai, he doesn't even bother entering.

I'm not sure how Uub and Krillin would get on. I think Krillin would find it neat that his pal Goku has an apprentice. But also, that isn't his world anymore. His wife and his daughter are what's important to him now, so he'd probably approach Uub from a "Oh, cool, you do you" sort of distance.

That leaves Tenshinhan.

The thing about Ten is, Ten is not looking to make friends. Given the opportunity to become One of the Gang, he refuses. Tenshinhan walks a different road.

After the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai, Ten and Chiaotzu decide to forge their own path. They are no longer students of Tsuru-senryu but they also refuse to associate with Kame-senryu. Instead, Ten and Chiaotzu create their own martial art and continue cultivating their skills themselves.

For a time, they do take on higher training together with the Kame-senryu students.

But he's here for the opportunity to undergo godly training.

And, of course, he joins the others in resisting huge planetary threats to the safety and wellbeing of the Earth.

But not out of kinship for the others. Tenshinhan isn't a member of the Found Family; He's more like a work colleague. Once Cell is defeated, he outright tells the others that without a common cause, this relationship is over.

He's friendly about it but still. "We'll probably never see each other again" doesn't exactly telegraph an intent to remain in contact. He's a man of his word, too; Gohan excepted, this is the last they ever see of Ten. He never competes in the Tenkaichi Budokai again, and he only briefly shows up to lend Gohan a hand against Majin Buu after all of the others are dead or devoured.

For Ten, it's all about the art. He's nice enough to the others, but he gets all the companionship he wants or needs from Chiaotzu. Hermited away in the mystical realm of Wherever He Fucking Lives, he'll continue developing his style independently from anyone else until the day he dies.

I think Ten would be friendly enough to Uub, but would mainly see him as a new rival to match himself against, for the purpose of developing his art.

[alexanderlightweight]

Heyooo first lemme just say that your writting is amazing. Even your darkish prompts are kinda fluffy at the end.

I imagined my prompt in a marriage of inconvenience but it kinda goes on any if yours.

Magnus flies into a rage and destroys either the NYI or alicante itself because Clary attacks Alec because of the secret marriage. Alec ismt hurt or anything but because she dared to do it our favourite high warlock shows the shadowworld that you really shouldnt touch what is his.

Thanks in advance and im looking forward to all your writtings so i can curl up in a corner wispering my precious like Gollum

Ah thank you so much! i really appreciate that and yeah, i'll write something super DDDNE and dark and then write the end and saeth will read it and go 'awww thats cute' but... that's also @saeths. who is @alxndrlightwoods and their opinion of cute things can be a little skewed.

so i'm never really sure until i post where my stuff falls tbh

kay so this is totally random but this is actually going in 'all your cracks i'll paint gold' the deruned alec verse. because it just fit best there and also, it's a bit of a plot twist because clary doesn't care enough about the institute or alicante for her to be bothered or affected in season 1 or 2 by it being destroyed.

i hope you've been enjoying them and enjoy this, thank you for this lovely prompt

<3 lumine

-

Clarissa Fray is the last person Alec expected to meet on one of the rare occasions he ever leaves Magnus’ loft. The only reason he’s even where he is, is because one of Magnus’ friends is healing an acquaintance of Magnus’. Which means that when asked to go with him, Alec of course said yes.

However, he was not expecting the small redhead that charges into the hospital rune and is seething at him.  If not for the wards and magic on this floor of the hospital, Alec imagines that Fray would have caused an incident.

“You, why are you here?” She yells when she sees him and Alec reminds himself that he can’t just rip the stupid little girl’s heart out, even if she is yelling at him like she isn’t the one whose fault is everything that’s happened to him. “You’re supposed to be dead! Everyone is acting like you are. Your mom threatened me! Izzy hates me and Jace is practically a ghost! This is all your fault Alec!”

“My fault?” Alec scoffs because he’s not touching the rest of her statements and is about to argue when he realizes it’s pointless. He can’t argue with someone caught in a delusion and Clary Fray is caught in a delusion of her own grandeur and self-righteousness. “Forget it, Fray. I didn’t come here for you. You’re not even supposed to be here.” 

“Well, I didn’t come here for you either, but that doesn’t matter. You’re going to help me save my mom, Alec. The warlocks won’t listen to me without Magnus, and I heard all about it while Dot was being healed. You ran to Magnus. You’re the reason why he stopped helping me, why no one can solve the potion.”

“Actually, I stopped helping you because you disgust me, and I have better ways to waste my time.” Magnus says and Alec relaxes, watching him come out of the shadows, the gold of his eyes a deadly promise in the dark.  “In fact, watching pond scum form is a far less a waste of time than listening to you.”

—

Magnus binds her easily and throws her through a portal, following leisurely with his arm around Alexander’s waist, his boy pressing kisses to Magnus’ temple. 

“How does she know I’m with you?” Alexander asks him, worry in his voice and Magnus regrets trusting Dot as much as he and Cat have. Apparently, she’s not nearly as trustworthy as he thought, if she thinks sharing information about her High Warlock’s lover is acceptable.

Because Alec is no longer a shadowhunter and he certainly doesn’t have any ties to the clave, not like Clarissa now does. Yet for some reason, Dot shared something that she only ever heard because Magnus lowered his guard enough to share with Cat while he helped heal her.

It’s such a disregard for Magnus’ privacy as well as Cat’s and also, means that Magnus and she can no longer talk around Dot freely. Which is disappointing on many levels.

“A small mistake on my part, darling.” Magnus assures him, “I’ll handle it. She won’t be able to share it around anymore and if it looks like they’ve tracked us, I’ll simply move us again. The clave won’t be able to take you from me, darling. Not even if they begged or bribed me.”

They’re on a roof by a mundane college, an artistic one and while Magnus could feel pity for all the lives he’s about to ruin, it’s hardly his fault that Clarissa Fray doesn’t consider the consequences of her actions.

“I normally try to avoid mundane losses, even just their structural losses. However, even if you should decide not to be a shadowhunter, Clarissa Fray. Remember that because of your greed, this avenue will always be lost to you.”

With a flick of his power the fire alarm goes off and Clarissa is struggling and yelling against the magic keeping her quiet, eyes wide as the last lingering vestiges of the college flee and, as they all watch, Magnus lights it up. 

Several parts of the building suddenly imploded. Little clouds of smoke and bright bursts of flames, mortar and ash and debris raining down as Clarissa screams and cries.  She’s showing more emotions for the idea that the college brings than when her little friend died or when she’d been supposedly grieving the pain, she caused Alexander and Magnus rolls his eyes.

“How tragic. Who could have predicted that a gas explosion would take down the school you hoped so dearly to join.” Magnus tuts and he pulls Alexander closer, and he sighs in contentment when his boy leans back trustingly. “Perhaps, you should learn to watch where you step, little shadowhunter. Not everyone will be so kind as to light the way and the world of shadows is a very dark one.”

Magnus portals away, leaving her to watch the place burn down and without really any interest in staying.  She’ll either manage to free herself or be found by her blond shadow and Magnus doesn’t care either way, not beyond getting Alexander away.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Alexander.” Magnus tells him, when they’re back on their roof and Alexander is sitting on the moss, his knees tucked to his chin as he stares at the pond with waterfowl and koi that Magnus keeps.

Magnus very sneakily magics a little dish of tidbits to Alexander, and he’s given a weary but grateful smile before Alexander throws out the pieces. The koi dart over even faster than the birds, greedily gobbling as much as they can from the surface before following the sinking pieces down. The few birds that there are ignore them, coming straight to the edge, spoiled little creatures that they are.

They come right up to Alexander and snack out of his hand, ignoring Magnus with glaring orange eyes and ruffling their bloodred feathers.

“I can’t believe they all like bones so much.” Alexander murmurs, “it’s a good way of disposing of it though.”

Magnus hums in agreement, because that’s exactly why he has these variants on their roof.

"I loathe her." Alexander finally whispers, "I wanted to rip her heart out. She was talking to me just like she did when she first showed up. Ungrateful, demanding, like nothing in the world matters compared to what she wants. I just wanted to kill her. Make sure she can't cause any more damage to my life, Magnus. I can't I lose anymore."

“It's alright darling, I have you and I’ve taken care of it. Clarissa will be unable to speak of where you are or that she’s seen you. Or that you're with me. Dot has also been taken care of, as apparently, she was under the impression that she enjoyed certain privileges that she does not.”

Which simply meant that she was relying on their precious dalliance to smooth things over and hadn’t expected Magnus to actually be serious about his boy.

A misunderstanding of course, but a grave one on her part. Not, however, an unforgivable one.

As long as she keeps her mouth shut from now on.

[bookishfeylin]

I was looking through your recent reblogs, and I wanted to ask specifically about the issue of framing. You’ve written extensively on how Rhys and Tamlin fail as foils (and I agree), but I’ve repeatedly seen the argument that because the author *meant* only Tamlin to be an abuser, Rhys canonically *can’t* be abusive. As well as the fact that Feyre is happy/forgave Rhys. Therefore: Tamlin’s red flags form a pattern, while Rhys’ “bad acts” cannot by definition be abusive, and are unrelated incidents of a good person making mistakes. Is there any credence to this? What do you think of the idea of there being only one way to read a text? Of having to imagine the author on your shoulder telling you how to appropriately feel about what is written, and that any alternative interpretation is wrong because that wasn’t what was “meant,” that the reader has to therefore be dumb and/or simply wants the story to be different than it is, and so interprets it that way? Is there a “correct” way to enjoy a story?

I spent a while on this ask because I think it’s a complex question with no easy answer, so I’m sorry for the wait 😅

An author can have whatever intentions they want when they write a piece of media, but once it's no longer confined to their, uh, imagination, and is actually out in the world, they can’t necessarily dictate how other people to engage with the text. The context of their society's culture and time period and the individual experiences of the audience are always going to impact how a work is interpreted, understood, and the impact it has on the culture at large. An author may not mean to incorporate certain stereotypes or write harmful tropes, for example, but if they make all the Black people villains to an all white cast of heroes and they kill off all the gay people while all the straight couples get to live happily ever after, their intentions are kind of irrelevant—they objectively wrote and perpetuated harmful ideas. And furthermore, media doesn’t stop being engaged with or enjoyed when the creator dies, and not all media engagement is meant to agree with the intended message. Sometimes we read and analyze books to argue that the author's worldview was wrong or to argue that their messaging is flawed. (One example that comes to mind is an article I recently read about Lord of the Flies and how the author was wrong because humanity is NOT inherently violent based on discoveries of a real life shipwreck of some teenage boys who, left alone on an island, actually cared for each other and survived together until being rescued, unlike the insanity of Lord of the Flies. I wish I could remember the name of the article I read that discussed this, but I suggest looking into it!)

So no, there is no one correct way to engage with media, and an author's intentions, while certainly meaningful, and definitely eye opening into their thought process, are not necessarily the sole truth.

Now as for ACOTAR specifically: if the sole metric for abuse is not the actual behavior itself, but rather whether the author thinks the character is abusive, the story fails as a discussion of abuse and red flags. If something is abusive only because the author has decided, in their subjective opinion, that it is abusive, and something is not abusive because the author has decided it is not, then no analysis of abuse or red flags can be made because the author is not trying to actually comment on domestic violence but rather is using domestic violence as a convenient plot device to demonize the characters they don’t like. I’ve mentioned before many a time that the same standards that are used to render Tamlin and/or Nesta abusive also would render Rhysand and Co abusive as well were these standards applied uniformly to every character. But the author and stans alike refuse to. And if they want to do that, then fine! But don’t declare this work as a feminist one discussing domestic violence and abuse, and don’t proclaim that all people who like certain characters and ships support abusive behavior if there is no clear standard for abusive behavior outlined in the books. And that’s the problem a lot of fans fall into.

[wolfpawzjakey]

https://www.tumblr.com/wolfpawzjakey/749043622098370560/jercy-mpreg-its-such-a-good-opportunity-for?source=share

One day, Jason feels especially stressed and does not want to disturb Percy, [he had just started a period of toxicosis, he vomited so that he would not eat and the inability to get out of bed did not improve the situation at all].

After saying goodbye to Sally, who arrived on time to visit her son, he leaves to meet with Thalia.

They buy beer and sit on a bench in an almost deserted park, next to his sister, silently understanding and still dearly loved, Jason breaks down.

He cries and wheezes softly that he is afraid of becoming like their father, - suddenly after the birth of the child, something will jam in him and after a few months he will leave Percy alone with the baby and maybe come back in a couple of years to make a second child and leave this time forever.

Thalia kisses him on the forehead and says that all this is impossible even theoretically, Jason, according to her, is too good and perfect.

by the way, your thoughts are great :)) - Anon

Thank you anon thank you

I think Jason’s cycle of self hate needs to be abolished (but god do I love to cause some hurt on these guys, it’s just too interesting and fun). It’s true in all ways that Jason’s nature would never allow him to do such a terrible thing. He knows in the back of his head but his fears of the what ifs’ are just too much for him to believe in himself. No matter how much his sister believes, or Percy, or Percy’s mother who should have the most distrust (just out of nature to protect her son no matter what), he can never fully believe in himself. Not for a long time.

It can split two ways from here me thinks. Jason either gradually believes in himself, bettering himself the longer his child, the beautiful person they have been born to be, is in his life. He learns truly that he can make mistakes and not be terrible like his father was because just as he does, Percy makes mistakes too. And their baby loves them just the same, and that continues as time flies by and as their child grows into their own little person with their own thoughts and opinions. He realizes, he could never, ever be that way. Not with how much love he has.

The second path is the path of failure, Jason is never a bad dad. At least he wouldn’t have ever been one if he’d lived to become one. But he couldn’t be a good one either, never got that chance either. He dies in a puddle of his own blood, tears streaming from his eyes because he’d never get to prove himself wrong. A revelation hits too late because he knows his worries were just that. No one is ever afraid of being terrible because they actually will be. Terrible people do not fear being terrible, they do not fear being the worst. But more often than not, good people do, he knows he would’ve been a good parent. But he’ll never get the chance to prove that to himself.

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (iii)

synopsis: time flies on north island, and at an unofficial dagger movie night, nora and jake call a truce. sort of.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, existential dread, belligerent sexual tension, pop culture references, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers! (wc: 6K)

note: so... i drafted this back in november and then, accidentally spent three months rewriting it. my bad, y'all!

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

tagging // @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @emorychase @hangmanbrainrot @its-mara-darling @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @frenchyjuju @chicomonks @lostinwonderland314 @cursedtobe @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

Time flies on North Island, and after almost three weeks, Nora is starting to find her footing here. She has a routine now – and even better, a new favorite coffee shop to frequent on her way to the base. 

After seeing Nora choke down the Ready Room coffee during the first week, Natasha sent over the recommendation. They don’t charge any extra for oat milk, and Nora doesn’t have to drink lukewarm battery acid.

Morning is clear and blue outside, bright and beautiful, and Nora is in a good mood. She walks across the North Island base with a smile on her face, cheeks pink from the sunshine, sipping an iced coffee.

Caffeine doesn’t do much to ease the sudden lurch of surprise when Nora checks the calendar and sees the name Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin on the interview schedule, slotted in under Thursday AM.

Not 30 minutes from now. 

“Shit,” Nora mutters under her breath – or at least, means to mutter under her breath.

She must’ve been a little too loud because Technician Chris sends her a questioning glance, lowering the clipboard to make sure that Nora hasn’t knocked over a camera or something dire. 

He is one of the two technicians that arrived at the end of the first week. Both are mild-mannered and easy to work with. Nora couldn’t have managed the interviews without them.

Even if Captain Mitchell had asked her to limit the number of interviews per week and schedule them out in advance, not allowing her to do more than one or two a week in the name of, quote, minimizing unnecessary disruptions and distractions.

“Something wrong, Nora?” Technician Chris asks.

He sets the clipboard aside and crouches, clicking a leg lock into place on the light stand. And noticing the conversation, Technician Ethan pauses mid-way through the usual audio checks and pulls the headset down, a line between his bushy brows.

Nora is quick to reassure them, giving them a nod and a tight smile. “Everything is fine. Looks like Lieutenant Seresin will be the next interview. He’s the…” What is a more professional description than obnoxious, yet somehow charming pretty boy? Handsome pain in the ass? “You’ll recognize him. Hangman.” 

And since Chris and Ethan are not the ones who’ve been half-heartedly avoiding Jake Seresin for the past two weeks and change, neither is fazed. Technician Ethan absorbs the information with a nod and slips the headphones back on, and Technician Chris goes back to the clipboard, switching the lights off and on. 

Meanwhile, Nora mouths a curse and drains the rest of the coffee. 

Interviews are par for the course in her line of work, and after years of experience, Nora could probably do a good interview in her sleep and wake up with a dozen viable sound bites. She is prepared, armed with the same set of questions for all the Daggers to answer, along with three or four that are more personalized, drawn from their service record. 

All of the questions are light and open, crafted to encourage the Naval aviators to give longer answers and more importantly, tell the personal stories that elevate a film. And as a bonus, Nora gets to learn things that Naval Aviation wouldn’t include in a cut-and-dried file. 

Like Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia has passionate opinions on the new Star Trek films. He loved the first two, liked the third fine, and flat-out refused to watch the fourth if Chris Pine isn’t confirmed to return as Captain Kirk. He was persuaded to bump up the rating of Star Trek Beyond from aggressively mediocre to good-ish when Technician Chris reminded him about the ‘Sabotage’ scene in an off-camera aside. 

And Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch earned his call sign from an inescapable and self-proclaimed ‘dark time’ during P’cola Flight School when the Southern man had adopted an action hero-like catchphrase. And when Nora, of course, couldn’t let that go without a follow up question, Reuben repeated it for the camera, “It’s payback time, y’all,” with a charismatically self-effacing grin. 

Interviews aren’t always second nature, not even to a Naval aviator who flies a multimillion dollar plane. It is a different kind of hot seat, framed in the lights and camera, and Nora makes a point to run through the basics with them, wanting them to be comfortable. 

She isn’t really surprised that Jake gives a damn good interview. 

Unlike Mickey, who’d been a little nervous in front of the camera, fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle out of frame, Jake is perfectly at ease. And if Nora thought the Naval aviator looked like a movie star at the Hard Deck, twinkling lights and sunset dancing in his eyes, the Old Hollywood image is even stronger here. 

He is a splash of olive green and blonde, a handsome contrast against the obscenely large American flag and the colossal F/A-18AF Super Hornet in the background. Bathed in the fluorescents and the natural light that pours in through the open shutters of the hangar.

Couldn’t have asked for a better interview space, Nora thinks for the umpteenth time, admiring the frame. It really is perfect. 

Jake is carefully attentive when Nora goes through the basics. 

“Work the questions into your answers because I won’t be in the final cut.” 

“Don’t look at the camera. You can look at me, or like, right to the side of the camera, up to you.” 

 He is a model student, and Nora kind of hates him for it. 

“We’re up there every day, training alongside the best of the best…”

Jake is in the middle of an answer, a perfectly crafted answer garnished with an aw shucks smile when Technician Ethan waves a hand to get her attention, tapping the side of his own headphones to indicate an audio issue. 

She'd been distracted, scribbling a follow-up question in her notebook, and hadn't noticed when Jake started fiddling with the lav mic, coming loose from the stiff collar of the flight suit.

“Ah damn,” Nora curses, closing the notebook. She sets it aside, tucking it next to the iced coffee from earlier, now mostly watered-down oat milk and half-melted ice, and stands. She calmly raises her voice. “Can you hold on for a second, Jake? What’s going on with your mic?” 

“Tape’s comin’ loose,” Jake explains, catching the thin cord before the microphone – small, not that much larger than a zipper – can nosedive down his front. “Can you fix it?” 

Can Nora fix it? Yes.

Does Nora want to get that close to him? Debatable. 

She could ask Ethan to fix it. He is the resident sound expert after all, but Nora would feel like kind of an asshole, asking him to do something that even the most untrained assistant could do, all under the guise of expertise. 

And for what, so Nora doesn’t have to be in close proximity to a hot man? This is so stupid.

She heaves an internal sigh and grabs the nearest roll of gaff tape. 

“Lean forward,” Nora instructs, tapping him on the shoulder twice and grabbing the cord from him, and Jake does so without question, turning that stone jaw to watch her snake the cord out of view. 

“Should I take off my shirt?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

A distinct cough. She looks over her shoulder in time to see Technician Ethan tug the headset back down around his neck, looking entirely too casual to not have overheard the comment. Goddammit. 

Since Jake is seated, Nora needs to bend down slightly to get a good look at the microphone placement, pinning down the edge of the collar with a perfunctory touch. Hair falls around her chin, blocking her vision, and impatiently, she brushes the loose strands back over her ears. 

Green burns into the side of her face, and this close, Nora can feel herself growing warm.

“You have a bit of a staring problem,” Nora murmurs, clipping the mic back into place and holding it there. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

A muscle thrums in his cheek. “Am I making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

“You wish.” 

Jake chuckles, low and warm, and doesn’t say anything else. He smells like cologne – hints of citrus, patchouli, musk – and his morning coffee, and she can feel the residual heat of the morning on his golden skin.

Holding the mic down, Nora rips the tape with her teeth, an old habit from film school. Smooths the last piece into place. Secures the small microphone in a less conspicuous location and returns to the other side of the camera. 

It is suddenly too warm in here for a button-down, even the paper thin one around her shoulders, thrown over the blue jeans that Nora had started wearing when Bradley reached across her at lunch and got engine grease on her favorite trousers. She drops it onto the nearest stool, leaving her in a ribbed tank, as Technician Ethan does a quick sound check.

He flashes her a raised thumb, sliding the headset back into place. 

“Now,” Nora starts, all business. She crosses one leg over the other, bringing the notebook to rest on her knee. “Let’s start over on that last question.” 

Settling into the seat, Jake shakes out his shoulders, clasping his hands in his lap, and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Roger that, Hollywood.” 

And Technician Chris arches a curious eyebrow at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it. Everything continues without a hitch.

Right after the interview, Nora gets the exciting news. 

Admiral Simpson had finally reviewed the schedule and approved the capture of the in-air footage. Weeks after Nora made the request, probably hoping that Team Documentary would get distracted and forget it altogether. It would be a waste of time and resources to do without a good reason, is probably what the Admiral would reason. 

Unfortunately for him, the Daggers would never let her forget. 

After lunch, Nora heads out to the tarmac and waits during the camera installation. It is a bit of a production, requiring a Naval mechanic to come over and supervise, making sure that Technician Ethan doesn’t accidentally block a control or create a dangerous blind spot. 

Sunglasses set over her eyes, Nora looks around at the clear blue skies, soon to be captured in incredible definition. She doesn’t really have anything to contribute, mostly there to observe and answer any questions that the Naval aviators might have. 

In ever attentive WSO fashion, Mickey and Bob interrogate them about the safety of the camera, wanting to make sure the G’s wouldn’t make any equipment break off and hit them or their pilots. 

From the rest of them, Nora ends up with some variation of “How come Phoenix is the first one to fly with the camera and not me?” or “You should’ve put the camera in my plane, Rogers. Don’t you want your film to have some sex appeal?” 

To which Nora responds, “Sure do, Bradshaw. That’s why I put it in Natasha’s plane,” and Bradley shuts up for a while after that while the Naval mechanic tries to stifle their laughter in the cockpit.

She is busy all day. Afternoon slips away in the white contrails, cut across the cooling horizon. 

When Nora shows up to Natasha’s that night, a reusable bag over her shoulder holding a chilled bottle of white wine and an emotional support water bottle, Bradley and Reuben have already cracked open a few beers and are in the middle of a heated debate in the kitchen.

Nora slips out of her shoes, setting them down next to the Welcome Home, Cheater door mat that Natasha had gotten in a White Elephant exchange a few years back, and wordlessly puts the wine bottle on the coffee table with a dull clink. It has barely made contact when Natasha swipes it from the surface.

“Remind me why I invited everyone,” Natasha says, setting the screw-top aside and filling a wine glass almost to the brim. 

Her dark hair is in two damp braids down her front, leaving wet patches on an oversized Golden State Warriors shirt. Bike shorts peek out from underneath the hem.

Natasha must’ve showered and changed after work. Same as Nora, who traded the stiff denim for loose sweatpants. 

“Us and Bob….” Natasha continues, wistful. “It was the dream team. Now I have to deal with these idiots and their zero volume control.”  

As if on cue, Bradley gets loud enough that Nora can pick up snippets of the conversation. Something about Heath Ledger in the performance of a lifetime, while Reuben cuts in with a Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson related rebuttal. Huh.

“Are they arguing about whether 10 Things I Hate About You or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is the better rom-com?” Nora asks slowly, hardly even believing the words that are coming out of her mouth.

Do elite Naval aviators even have the time to watch rom-coms and from the sound of it, memorize the crucial turning point monologues?

“Mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,” Bradley emphasizes, pounding a fist on the counter. “Have a goddamn heart!”

“What do you not get, Rooster?” Reuben fires back, clapping his hands together with every word. “You can’t lose something you never had!” 

“For 20 minutes now.” Natasha shakes her head, exasperated, at Nora’s disbelieving expression. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. All I know is I wish I had told Bob that Fanboy couldn’t come. We could’ve lived in peace.” 

Ever since Nora had given her her phone number the first week, Natasha had been inviting Nora and Bob over to the apartment every Thursday to eat some pizza, drink some cheap wine, and watch a documentary or two. It was a nice break – and gave Nora a chance to get to know them off the base. 

Natasha had an older sister who still lived in Northern California, where the Naval aviator had grown up, right outside San Francisco, and Bob was a former Eagle Scout and hardcore animal lover. He was from Montana and could ride a horse, as easily as Nora could ride a bike. 

He liked nature documentaries, suggesting March of the Penguins on the first Thursday, and Natasha liked the multi-part series more. It was a Netflix Original that Nora worked on that made Natasha find her on Instagram last June.

Word got around. 

Earlier in the week, Bob had asked if Mickey could come to the movie night, wanting an after-work alternative to the Hard Deck, and after that, Bradley texted and asked if Natasha’s open invitation – from forever ago, Natasha pointed out – was still open. 

“He probably would’ve shown up,” Nora says, distracted, watching the screen as Natasha clicks through the Netflix suggestions. They’d decided to put the documentaries on hold tonight and watch a movie instead, rather than listen to complaints the whole time. “I need a wine glass. Should I risk it?” 

A derisive glance at the kitchen. “I’d drink from the bottle.” 

Nora is still laughing when Reuben pokes his head out of the kitchen at the sound and spots her on the couch. “Nora Nora Nora. Can you settle a debate between me and Rooster?” 

“I don’t know. Can you get me a wine glass?” 

“I’m all over it,” Reuben says, giving her finger guns and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a wine glass, waiting until Nora had poured a healthy amount and leaning back into the cushions, gestured for him to continue. “Isn’t How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days better than 10 Things I Hate About You as a rom-com?

“Well, I…” 

“Objection! Leading question,” Bradley calls out, poking his head out from the archway, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. He is a little ruddy in the face, either from shouting or alcohol. “Asking Nora is cheating too. She’ll call it a ‘film’ and give you some pretentious bullshit about the cinematopography.” 

“Cinematography,” Nora corrects with a frown. She isn’t pretentious.

“See,” Bradley says, even though Nora definitely does not see, and disappears from view. 

She has an opinion, one that has nothing to do with the cinematography and far more to do with the fact that Matthew McConaughey was a certified early-2000s dreamboat. He’s had a few moments here and there since, but Interstellar McConaughey has nothing on Rom-Com McConaughey, strutting around New York City on a motorcycle, pressing a fluttering hand to his heart at the sight of Kate Hudson. Swoon. 

Nora says drily, “I think Judge Bradshaw disqualified me. Sorry.” 

Reuben lets out a loud groan, like Nora was his last hope, and turns to Natasha instead. “Back me up here, Phoenix?” 

“You’re both idiots,” Natasha says, not even looking at him.

The Great Rom-Com debate continues until finally, Jake strolls into the apartment and agrees to settle the argument, taking it all in with slightly raised brows as Reuben walks him through the choices. 

“You’ve got 2003 gem, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, starring the rom-com pairing that defined a generation.” A dramatic pause that makes Natasha rolls her eyes. “And that 90’s one with Heath Ledger and the Bourne Identity girl in it. Which is better?” 

It would be impossible to describe the look on Jake’s face as anything less than deeply offended. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days starring the one and the only Texan legend, Matthew McConaughey?” Jake asks slowly, accent growing thicker with each word. “How could you even ask me that question?” 

“Objection,” Bradley cuts in again. “Nothing to do with the movie.” 

“Shut up, Rooster,” Natasha and Reuben yell at the same time, and Reuben looks at Jake, expression grave. His palms are pressed together, praying for a miracle. “Final answer?” 

“McConaughey,” Jake emphasizes. “No contest. Comedic gold, man.”  

An ear-splitting whooping sound. And as only another six-foot-something aviator could, Reuben locks an arm around Bradley’s wide shoulders and drags him down into a headlock. “How you like me now, Cock-a-Doodle-Douche?” 

Laughter bounces around the apartment, and even as Bradley throws elbows and grumbles under his breath, Nora can spot the amused grin on his face, peeking out from underneath the mustache. 

Wine catches in her throat, snagged on a laugh, and Nora coughs for a good 30 seconds. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye as Jake moves in her direction, already extending a hand to pat her on the back. 

Nora waves him off, getting out a hoarse, “I’m cool. I’m good. Thank you,” and coughing into her elbow a final time. Heat burns in her cheeks, hopefully not as noticeable in the blue light from the screen. 

Eyes still crinkled from laughter, Jake takes it in stride.

He stops short, instead sitting on the next couch cushion over to unload four bags of chips and a six-pack onto the table. He is as casual as Nora has ever seen him with socked feet and sweatpants, wearing a gray Dallas Cowboys shirt.

Fabric pulls tight across his back when Jake bends forward, accidentally bumping the side of her knee. She scoots back into the cherry red cushions, folding her legs underneath a blanket. His lips twitch. 

A lone bottle is perched on the table, directly in front of Nora.

Her brows scrunch. “Is that for me?” 

“Sure is,” Jake drawls, looking enormously self-satisfied. “Reminded me of you.” 

Without another word, Jake curls two fingers through the plastic rings of the six-pack and carries the beers into the kitchen. Nora tilts her head, watching the bottle like an explosive, and then plucks it from the table, smoothing her fingers over the chilled glass.

And when Nora lifts her gaze, Jake is watching her from the kitchen, already nursing one of the beers from the six-pack. Reminded me of you. 

She reads the label one more time, unable to hide the amused smile that pulls at one side of her mouth. It is a California beer brand, one that Nora has never heard of before. 

Hollywood Blonde.

“Asshole,” Nora mouths, and Jake winks. 

Glass warms under her palms as Nora accidentally holds onto it for too long, running the pad of her index finger over the curling label absentmindedly, and ever perceptive, Natasha notices.

“You drink beer? Since when?” 

“I don’t actually,” Nora says simply.   

Carefully, Nora sets it back down on the coffee table and pretends not to notice Natasha watching, clearly wanting to make a comment. And in a moment of divine intervention, Bob and Mickey return with the pizza, stacked high enough that Natasha leaps from the arm chair to help them. 

She uses the distraction to slip the bottle into the reusable bag at her feet, hiding it from view, and wraps the blanket together around her shoulders. Saved from having to explain that Nora and Jake might have something of an inside joke. 

Everyone grabs a drink and a slice. Settles in the living room.

Natasha abandons the armchair, coming over to share the checkered blanket with Nora at the end of the couch, and after Bradley claims the spot on the other side of Nora, elbowing her to scoot over and ignoring her sour expression, Bob grabs an unoccupied section of carpet in front of the couch. He leans back, nursing a homemade Shirley Temple, and smiles when Natasha passes him a throw pillow. 

Reuben and Mickey grab the spots next to him, and across the room, Jake sprawls into the armchair, tapping idle fingers against the upholstery. He doesn’t seem bothered to be the only one sitting alone, or maybe Nora reasons, Jake just didn’t want to sit on the carpet. 

“Give me some blanket,” Bradley complains, pulling at the edge of the blanket.

Nora elbows him. “Get your own.” 

Bradley makes exactly one more attempt to steal the blanket, and then Natasha reaches across the back of the couch and smacks his shoulder. He releases it with a curse, a wounded look on his face. 

Natasha ignores him. “Movie suggestions? Anyone?” 

Natasha couldn’t have asked a more divisive question. Reuben suggests the entire John Wick series while Mickey makes an argument for an older Star Trek movie or the latest Marvel movie. Nora observes in silence until Bradley wades in with suggestions, making her remember the pretentious comment.

“What about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” 

Natasha cackles. And then puts it on. 

It is a good choice in the end. 

Mickey and Reuben talk through the first 15 minutes, asking the room what other movies this familiar actress and that familiar actress had been in before, until Bob quietly pulls up the IMDB page on his phone and hands it to them, but Nora has seen it too many times to get annoyed. 

Across the room, Jake is mostly silent, making an assorted comment here and there. He does, however, launch an impassioned speech about how Benjamin Barry could never ever be from Staten Island with that unmistakable Texas drawl. 

“Listen to him,” Jake cuts in during the iconic 'Bullshit' scene, gesturing to the screen with his beer bottle. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe that man is a Knicks fan from Staten Island? He’s a Cowboys fan through and through. You could stick a Stetson on that voice.” 

Eventually, Natasha shushes him and threatens, “Hangman, I am not afraid to kick you out. Shut up about Texas!” He opens his mouth, ready to make another comment. “Not one more word…” 

Jake folds his arms over his own Cowboys shirt, muttering something like Staten Island, my ass under his breath, and watches in sullen silence for the rest of the movie.

After the end credits, Reuben is the first one to leave, saying something about an early morning run on the beach tomorrow. He is signed up to run a half-marathon soon – a celebration when Coyote gets back to Lemoore from a last-minute deployment, which should be any day now, according to Natasha.

“How is a 13 mile run in the middle of June a celebration?” Nora asks while Reuben is otherwise occupied, slipping on his sneakers with a slice of pizza pinned between his teeth, cheese precariously close from sliding down and splattering on the carpet. 

“Here I was planning to buy him a couple shots and call it even,” Natasha remarks, putting on a New Girl re-run, and Nora politely declines the invitation to run a casual seven miles at 5:30 AM tomorrow. 

Seven. Miles. 

During an on-screen True American game, Natasha gets a FaceTime call from her older sister and, with an apologetic smile, ducks into the bedroom to say hello to her nieces and nephews. 

And Nora is the last one left awake.

In the quiet, Nora can hear the soft snores and even breaths, rising and falling from the living room, and the constant hum of the overhead light as she tidies up the cluttered kitchen. 

 Emptying the open beer bottles into the sink and rinsing them for the recycling bin. Gathering the untouched ones to one side of the counter, in case Natasha wants them. 

Marinara is sticky on her fingers as Nora rinses a stack of plates in the sink, running a soapy sponge over them with care, back and forth. It is pitch black outside, and Nora can’t make out anything but her own reflection in the small window above the sink.

She looks tired. Normal tired that can be fixed with a solid eight hours and a sleep-in day on the coming weekend. Not the bottomless weariness that drained her to the core, feeling like a chain looped around her ankle with an anchor hidden at the end. 

She feels good. 

She can breathe a little easier here. 

Maybe Charlie was right. 

Maybe all Nora ever needed was a break, not to burn it all down and start again. Maybe.

She feels an uncomfortable twisting in her stomach, one that has nothing to do with the tomato and cheese and wine, and decides to leave the thought alone for now. 

There’ll be time. Later.

She washes the thought down the sink with the rest of the bubbles. 

“Hollywood.” 

Nora startles. 

“Christ on a…” Nora blows out a breath, setting the plate down in the sink. She presses a damp hand over her racing heart and sends him a wide-eyed look. “Could you walk a little louder or like, announce your presence? Holy shit.” 

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding it at all. Amusement is clear in his voice, in the subtle smile that dimples his cheeks. “Probably couldn’t hear me over the chainsaw in there.” 

Fighting a smile, Nora peeks around him. 

Mickey is still passed out cold, shaved head resting on a sleeping Bob Floyd’s left shoulder, mouths yawned wide open. And on the couch, Bradley Bradshaw is slumped under a plush blanket – a silent apology from Nora, pushing him from her shoulder to get free. One of Natasha’s colorful throw pillows has fallen victim to a chokehold, cuddled in the crook of his elbow. 

Bradley is exposed as the culprit, letting out an aggressively loud snore that sounds not unlike a broken garbage disposal, and Nora holds back a laugh, pressing her lips together. 

“Probably.” 

Jake yawns, opening his mouth wide, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a knuckle. He stretches out his tired muscles, folding his arms over his head, dragging the hem of the shirt upwards. She catches a flash of tan abdomen, rippling muscles, and looks away.

His next words are so quiet that Nora almost misses them.

“Need an extra pair of hands?” 

Dishes sit to the left of the sink, a low stack of plates with silverware and glasses, leftover wine and pizza grease, and to the right, Nora has started a clean stack next to the overflowing dish rack. Water is already soaking through the dish towel underneath them.

She repeats, “Probably,” and nods. 

An unused dish towel hangs over the oven handle – another bright and funky pattern, slightly retro, which is Natasha’s apartment in a nutshell. It is a similar layout to the apartment Nora is staying in, except for the wall between the kitchen and living room, curving into an arch. 

Natasha has made it her own, decorating with vibrant oranges and reds and yellows, making it look like some Urban Outfitters stage room in the best way possible. Warm accents are everywhere, and drowsily blinking against the overhead yellow, Jake seems more subdued, edges softened. 

He grabs the dish towel, tossing it in the air and then catching it and slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. “You wash, and I’ll dry?”  

She passes him a plate, and Jake wipes it down in three efficient motions and creates a new stack on the speckled counter. Holds out a hand for the next one, palm flat and upturned. 

Quiet feels unfamiliar between them. New. It hums like a strummed guitar string, and even when Jake is looking down, focused and methodical, Nora feels so aware of him. It should probably alarm her more. 

She breaks the silence with a question.

“How did you feel this morning? About the interview, I mean.” 

A dimple springs up in his cheek. “Is this a trick question? ‘Cause I felt good about it, but now I’m not so sure.” 

“It was a making conversation question. Don’t fish for compliments,” Nora lightly chides, almost teasing in a certain light. She rinses the sponge, squeezing out the bubbles. “You’re a natural. Have you ever been on camera before?” 

Jake clears his throat. “I did one a few years back, a feel good piece about some Halloween air show.” He sends her a sidelong glance, pulling another plate from the stack. “It was with some retired Navy officer who took a break every 10 minutes to go smoke a Marlboro Red.” 

“Today was probably a much better experience then,” Nora observes, absently remembering her own first interview, “Or at least, I would hope so. I bet I smelled better, at least.” 

He chuckles. “You’re much prettier too.” 

Nora snorts, and Jake looks pleased.

Water runs down her forearm and dribbles onto the material of her sleeveless tank, and Nora is looking down, rubbing at it with a slight frown, when Jake asks the next question.

“Why did you become a filmmaker?” 

It isn’t a loaded question, but Nora hesitates. 

“Uh…” She blows out a breath. “It sounded cool, I guess.” 

Jake hums. “Bullshit.” 

Damn. She glares at his reflection.

“Asshole,” Nora mutters, and in the dark window, the edge of Jake’s mouth kicks up into a smile. She returns fire. “Easy there, McConaughey. Why did you become a bad ass fighter pilot? Nepotism?” 

His jaw clenches. 

She must’ve hit a nerve, but Jake doesn’t bite. 

He makes a soft tsk sound. “My interview is over, sweetheart. It’s your turn now.” 

Nora lets out an incredulous laugh, then checks over her shoulder to make sure the sound didn’t wake the other room. She can’t come up with a reason not to tell him, not a real one.

“All right,” Nora starts. “Mom was a journalist. She got me an old secondhand DSLR when I was like, twelve. She probably wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a news photographer or something, but instead, I fell in love with films.” She smiles at the memories. “She shouldn’t have let me drag her to all those Saturday matinees when I was a kid. Maybe I would’ve been something else.” 

“Did you ever want to make movie movies?” And learning from his mistakes, Jake finds a different example. “Like When Harry Met Sally?” 

That… is a loaded question. 

“He does know who Nora Ephron is. Look at you, Texas,” Nora comments, enjoying the uncharacteristic flush that warms the back of Jake’s neck. It is surprising enough that Nora almost forgets the question. “Not for a long time now, no.” 

And Nora holds her breath and doesn't know whether to be disappointed when Jake doesn't call bullshit. 

Out of the blue, Jake says, “I grew up with a Blue Angels poster on my wall,” and after a confused second, Nora recognizes it as an olive branch, an answer to the half-hearted question from before. “Grandpa Seresin was a World War II veteran, and Aviation seemed like a good fit for me. I could be a fraction of a fraction, up there with the best of the best.” 

“You liked a challenge,” Nora observes.

She looks at him, and Jake meets her eyes.

He grins wide, all teeth. “Still do.” 

She scrubs the metal spoon harder than is strictly needed and sets it aside, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach. She blames the wine.

“We’re back to you now, Hollywood,” Jake continues. He takes the last of the plates and sets them in the cabinet. Crosses his arms over the Cowboys shirt and settles against the edge of the counter. “Didn’t you do a Netflix documentary or something?” 

“Did you Google me?” 

Jake doesn’t look embarrassed, not in the slightest. “You’re kind of a big deal. What’re you doing here?”

Another loaded question, even more so than the last. 

Nora submerges the last wine glass, rinsing the stubborn suds that cling to the glass down the drain, and sets it on the last available space on the drying rack, nestled against a ceramic mug that looks handmade. She shakes her hands over the sink, flicking water onto her shirt, and Jake offers the dish towel. 

She takes it, rubbing the moisture from her pruned fingers, and thinks about the question. What is Nora doing here?

She has an answer. Several even. 

Nora is passing time between projects or paying back a long overdue favor or making some extra cash during a lull or missed her home state or…

“I don’t know,” Nora admits, soft and truthful, an answer for the yellow warmth of the kitchen light and the blue darkness outside and somehow, the cocky Naval aviator who is looking at her with soft green eyes. “Ask me again in like five weeks?”

His gaze softens. “I will.”

Her answering smile is genuine.

A golden tendril comes loose and falls onto his forehead, and Jake pushes it back, running his fingers through his hair. He lets out another yawn, louder this time, and stretches his arms again. 

She shouldn’t watch him. She does anyway, and Jake notices. 

A smirk spreads across his face. “You know what I think, Hollywood?”

Nora leans back against the nearest section of counter, slinging the dish towel over her own shoulder. “This oughta be good.” 

 “You kind of like me.” 

She gapes at him.

“You are…”

 Unbelievable? Presumptuous? Charming? 

“…so full of shit.” 

“Nope,” Jake says, shaking his head. He doesn’t have to move all that much to be in her space, not in a kitchen this size. Drowsiness makes his accent thicker, each word syrupy slow. “You like that I can keep up with you. Don’t’cha, sweetheart?” 

“Can you?” Nora parries, chin raised, “Can you keep up with me?” 

Men like Jake Seresin are a dime a dozen, arrogant and handsome, carrying around egos that could sink a freighter, and Nora has met many of them, so many of them. Every damn one of them would’ve hated that answer. 

Not Jake. He fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens. “Want to find out?” 

Jake holds out a hand. Both dare and truce. 

She stares him down, and maybe later, Nora will blame alcohol and exhaustion and the unwelcome realization that Jake bears a certain resemblance to an early 2000’s Matthew McConaughey in that shirt, in this lighting. 

That is later. This is now.

And now, Nora slips her hand into his and shakes it once. 

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i love love love hearing your thoughts!

read the next chapter!

[britt-kageryuu]

Mikeys performing a ballet this stream. He's performing a heavily altered retelling of Princess Tutu, Shelldon and River helping, by playing necessary characters, and controlling the sets.

Mikey is currently at the point where it shifts from season 1 into season 2. They take an intermission, and Mikey still dressed as Princess Tutu starts talking to chat.

"I really need to actually figure out how to do the ending of this." He states while toweling off a bit, and since it was only his model dressed, not himself, it looked a little like he was randomly rubbing his sides.

Chat is singing praises of the production so far, especially since they had to condense alot of parts to keep in a time frame. Though some are exclaiming about the fact that Mikey doesn't have the ending fully planned Half way through the performance.

River comes over with parts of the Black Swan/Raven costume. "Well it can be done with some effects, but I don't think we can achieve the crow army that attacks you." She explains while putting the costume on. "I still find it weird that I'm playing Rue, and Shelldons Fakir," River pauses to try fixing the head piece that keeps leaning to the side, "But the alternative is him playing Muto, and we end up love interests. Which is a big NOPE from both of us!"

"If worse comes to worse, we just make cut this part way, and do a part 2 later." Mikey shrugs while taking a drink, "Alright everybody, let's run a poll on cutting this short, and doing a part 2 later, or just improvising the end. Starting Now!"

The poll pops up, and while that happens Mikey flops on a large pillow to rest a bit.

Shelldon flies in with a black wig and a little uniform on. He also flops onto the pillow.

"Dudes, I'm so tired, how much longer is this gonna keep going?" He complains while flapping his front limbs. His tail is loudly smacking the pillow in annoyance.

"Well the poll is almost done, so we may end this in a few minutes, or this might continue for maybe an hour?" River replied to her brother, while contemplating taking off the costume or not.

DING DING DING

"Oh the poll is over!" Mikey leans over to check the results. "Well, it seems a majority of you want us to stop, and polish up the ending instead of just winging it!"

Shelldon flies into the air shouting in joy while flinging off the costume.

River sighs, and calmly removes the costume parts she put on, "I guess this is preferable to it might not working out. Uncle M, what are we going to do for the rest of the scheduled stream?"

Mikey thought it over for a minute, "How about we make a quick mock up, and how chat give their opinions?"

"Okay, let's grab the right equipment for this!" River agrees, before turning the stream to a BRB video of the cartoony turtles popping in and saying random turtle facts. Like 'Red Eared Sliders actually tend to be very pushy, bossy turtles, which might explain some things!'

Chat is enjoying the video reel. And asking if this was part of Mikeys past commission.

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

Masterpost

I looked up a few different Ballets, because Swan Lake is popping up alot already, but couldn't find any that would work, so Princess Tutu a somewhat abridged ballet.

[privateandshamefulvices]

How various people from 1790s France handle the BBC show The Traitors, an incomplete list:

Robespierre - getting this out of the way immediately: terrible. Could not hack being a traitor, is suspicious of basically everyone as a faithful. Is also suspicious to everyone because it's The Traitors and any kind of nd trait is picked up on and mob punished at the round table. Banished for being a Suspicious Autist by ep 4.

Marie Antoinette - bordering on Maddy->Aaron levels of paranoia towards Philippe Égalité, eventhough he's not doing any of the shit she's accusing him of. Gets murdered mid way through.

Louis XVI - flies under the radar for a bit by just agreeing with whatever the last person who spoke said. Barely contributes to round table discussions, comes back to bite him because they think he's being sneaky. Alyssa vibes.

Lafayette - alienates everyone by sticking by his own opinions and ignoring the fact that it's turning everyone off. Maddycore. 50/50 as to whether he's banished before he's murdered but he's not winning.

Marat - Murdered wayyy early for having too much influence over the roundtable.

Fouquier-Tinville - incomprehensibly, lasts longer than expected. The definition of flying under the radar.

Barras - Kierancore. Thinks he's in on the conspiracy. Isn't. Gets banished as a human sacrifice.

Talleyrand - Amanda vibes. Incredible for 4/5s of the show, sneakiness leads to an 11th hour double-cross from within.

Fouché - CRUSHES IT.

Danton - gets banished because people think arsehole = traitor despite all evidence to the contrary and historical precedent.

Saint-Just - keeps the Robespierre portrait like Andrea with Amos after he's banished. Is murdered super early if Camille is a traitor. If they're both faithful they're too wrapped up in beefing each other to work everything out. Gets banished after his allies leave/fall away.

Camille - deeply terrible at sussing out traitors whatever he thinks, but occasionally lands a hit so they don't feel comfortable murdering him. Gets banished bc you live and die by the way others perceive you and he not pretending to be your best mate whether he's a traitor or not.