#but man I think about this occasionally and it’s low key depressing

[no1ryomafan]

Man not to get depressing about Ken Ishikawa because the man’s legacy has been honored and will likely continued to be but sometimes I think about how it’s sad how Getter is the only works of his that really gets acknowledgment when you compare him to his mentor, Go Nagai, who has at least three main series that come to mind when his name is mentioned. Ishikawa wrote so much in between the second and third arc of getter when toei stopped making an anime for it, his art style and narrative themes changing so much that in a way it shaped the later arcs of where Getter would go, but none of it gets super acknowledged despite the fact the getter OVAs referenced them.

Ryomas iconic appearance from Arma? Stole that fit from Shinichi, main character of Majuu Sensen. The entire time travel arc in new where they get sent to the past and the gods who show up later? All taken out of another one of his works, Kyomu Senki. Majuu Sensen got the luckier side of being translated but Kyomu Senki I hear still hasn’t gotten it, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg for the stuff he’s written that’s been forgotten about.

We were really lucky to get arc anime but will ishikawas other works ever see the light of day getting more adaptations in this day and age when they’re hardly acknowledged outside of his actual diehard fans? Probably not. Which is a god damn shame.

[yr-obedt-cicero]

Hi, how are you? I have a question:

Some time ago I came across an info that John Laurens had problems with alcohol, so i wanted to see if it was true and I couldn't really find any information about it (i'm terrible at research lol)

So now i'm turning to you for help, do you know if it's true?

thanks in advance 🙏

Hello, Anon, I'm alright.

Nothing really implies he did, and I think it's one of those common head cannons that due to repetition eventually became repackaged as factual. It is considerable that Laurens appears to have struggled with depression and self-worth, so it is very common that one would take consolation in the comforts of alcohol.

Although in general, drinking was a common aspect of Colonial life. Alcohol has played an important role in the country's history, that's it is even engrained in America's culture. Americans drank more alcohol during the colonial period than at any other time in history. When the very first Europeans arrived in the Americas, it was one of the key things they brought with them. Regardless of geographic or economic differences, spirits were an integral part of daily life in the colonies. According to reports, the average American consumed eight ounces of alcohol per day. And it made no difference. Americans drank beer and cider for breakfast, rum and wine for dinner, and claret, ratafias, creams, punches, and other evening concoctions. [x] Rum was by far the most popular drink in colonial America. By the time of the American Revolution, most colonists were consuming 3.7 gallons of rum per year. So, it was customary for many revolutionary soldiers - like Laurens - to drink as much as they could even. With that being said, Laurens likely drank like any other man of his time, but his relationship with alcohol doesn't appear to have been perilous or unhabitual.

Firstly, it seems lowly of his position in society and his class. Dr. Alexander Garden (1730−1791) - a Scot who came to America in 1752 seeking a milder climate for his lung condition - took a dim view of the low country planters, writing that they were; “absolutely above every occupation but eating, drinking, lolling, smoking, and sleeping, which five modes of action constitute the essence of their life and existence,” [x] (Bold text is mine)

Also, not to mention, his father seemed relatively disagreeing to any harsh connections with the drink, that I doubt Laurens would have allowed himself to fall into the habit. Laurens would frequently defer to his father's wishes, as he was the eldest son and Henry had high expectations for him. Henry would frequently use emotional manipulation to persuade or control Laurens to remain on the path he had planned for him. Henry oftentimes utilized Laurens's insecurities or flaws against him or threatened to denounce him should he step out of line. Due to this, Laurens would occasionally bend his initial ideas or course of action as his father wished. That's not to say Laurens always did such, and was perfect with obeying his father's every command, but this sort of thing seems like something Henry wouldn't allow to slip. Henry's relationships with his children, like those with his associates, were based on reciprocity. He expected duty and obedience in return for providing the children with a moral and material foundation on which to build their future. When Henry attempted to reconcile George Austin and his son and heir, George Jr. - who struggled with a drinking problem - he clearly demonstrated his understanding of parental love and obligations. After Austin emotionally and physically denounced his son, Henry urged his former partner to reconsider; “Nevertheless if he was my Son I would not altogether Cast him off. I would meet him upon his own terms & leave him without excuse & myself unimpeachable for Neglect.” [x] Although unfortunately, Austin had died before he could act on Henry's advice. So, while Henry may not have disowned Laurens, he was clearly disagreeing to the condition.

Henry didn't even agree with Laurens spending his time in company like such. Jacob Read, in particular, was known for drinking and carousing, both of which cost the elder Laurens time and reputation. Henry chastised Laurens for associating with men like Read, especially given their obvious moral shortcomings. Despite Laurens's word to the contrary, he assumed his son did attend the Cambridge party, which Read had most likely planned. And wrote him a lengthy reprimanding letter;

Are you so poor in valuable acquaintance, in Books, in Ideas, as to seek Company which inwardly you disapprove of—it cannot be—were you under any restraint while your Father was in England? No! you were his Companion his bosom friend_ whence then these retrograde motions immediately after his departure, like a Bird after long confinement fled from her Cage?_ have you grown sick of attention to your duty? can you do justice to those & to this, & safely take your bosom full of promiscuous new acquaintances? […]   [T]he eyes of your friends & of your Country are upon you, they are in expectation & think themselves in view of a valuable Casket, for your own sake, for theirs & for the sake of posterity disappoint them not by coming up a bundle of Carolina Rushes.

Source — The Papers of Henry Laurens: Dec. 12, 1774-Jan. 4, 1776

To which Laurens wrote guiltily back to his father that he had cut off the mentioned friends and that; “I was very well satisfied, before your Terrible letter gave the Alarm and call’d me home to Self-examination. You have shewn me such a Man as I almost hate. The more I look into my past Conduct, the more I despise what I was […] I supplicate Your Pardon, and Pity, how dare I ask to restore your Esteem, Your Unworthy, tho much afflicted and penitent Son,” [x]

Although it is said he likely had attended the wild “flaming shots pantless party”, so perhaps Laurens resented against his father's strict rulings once given somewhat of free will in the army. But that doesn't near anything like an addiction or confirmed coping mechanism, so I wouldn't consider that a “problem”.

Overall, nothing suggests such, he seems to have had an average relationship with alcohol as any other man of his time. Hope this helps!

[lightning-writes]

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 8/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: bucky likes the rain.

word count: 1522

tags: fluff, post endgame, pre tfatws, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: therapy talk

a/n: enjoy!

AO3 MASTERLIST X

October 21

Outside the window in Raynor’s office, it’s pouring. Lightning illuminates the night. It’s easy for him to get lost in it. Stormy nights were the only times when he could actually sleep, when he was under the control of Hydra. He feels his body relax in his chair, finding himself looking forward to getting home. Maybe he’ll sleep in his bed.

“I hate this rain,” he hears Dr. Raynor mutter. His eyes cut to her, still hunched over her notes but, occasionally, glancing out the window with disdain.

“I love it,” he admits.

“Why?” She looks appalled. “The city reeks more than usual, you’re more likely to get sick, not to mention it’s depressing and soggy and…” She gives him a cursory look. “Why would you like that?”

He takes a minute before he says the truth. “It’s the only thing that can drown out my thoughts.”

She understands he’s referring to his past. She carefully puts her pen down, like she’s trying not to startle a wild animal. They stare at each other for a moment, anticipation filling the room. He waits her out, like he knows he can.

“Care to–”

“No.”

She sighs, covering her face with her thin fingers. This is the most human Bucky has seen her act. 

“James…” She leans into one arm of the chair, hitting him with a heavy stare. “I know this is a difficult process. I’ve witnessed many veterans fall apart in this room - hell, I’ve fallen apart in a room like this - and God knows how much more you’ve experienced…”

(Bucky feels panic agitate his stomach.)

“And the shitty part about this situation is the US government is expecting certain things from you. Hell, I’m pretty sure they bugged this room, even though I specifically told them I won’t be recording our sessions.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Instead of you coming here to process things on your own terms, I’m here, being the bad guy, pushing you to say the right words and do the little dance around, so I can check off the right boxes, so you can just exist.”

Bucky thinks about his time as a fugitive, after getting away from Hydra and before undoing the brainwashing in Wakanda. It was difficult and uncomfortable. He was afraid of getting caught, being iced, or worse - being used again. But being a fugitive felt… safer, more liberating. Everything he’d done was on his own terms, and he was learning how to just be again.

(A fleeting thought of ditching his pardoning thing and becoming a deserter again crosses his mind.)

“So, let’s make a deal.” His eyes fix on her. “Every other session, we talk about what you want. In the other sessions, we work on this bullshit,” she taps her pen to her journal. “Let’s at least try.”

Against his better judgment, he says, “Okay.”

////

As he leaves, Dr. Raynor leans out of the office. “You can get out of here, Ruby; I’m leaving with Dr. Paz.”

Rue stops shrugging on her raincoat and gives a composed smile. “Thanks Dr. Raynor - see you Tuesday.” When Raynor closes her door, Rue shares a look with Bucky. “Did you know they…”

“I suspected.”

He pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. He didn’t have anything to cover his head as he walked to the subway, so he’d just have to book it.

“You’re not walking home in this,” Rue says incredulously. To punctuate her point, a roll of thunder rattles the room. Her eyes bug out a little more dramatically.

(Bucky vaguely thinks Thor is playing a prank on him.)

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re gonna rust.” She shakes her keys at him, several keychains on a lanyard jingling at him. He notices a mini mjolnir and a keychain taser. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Wait, I–”

She’s not listening. She’s hustling out of the lobby, unwrapping her umbrella, and motions for him to come closer. It’s ridiculous, his wide frame crowding her under the little, hot pink umbrella, shuffling to the gray sedan.

(She loops her arm through his metal one, so he ‘can’t escape’. She smells faintly of cigarettes but also something deep and woodsy. He could easily bury his face in her hair from this position.)

“It’s a good thing Vick didn’t need the car today.” He watches her go through her routine of getting settled in the car. “Victoria is my roommate,” she explains belatedly. “Anyways, what’s your address?”

(Bucky has a flash of suspicion but remembers not forty minutes ago when Raynor behooved him to ‘open himself to trust’ because it might ‘help him trust himself’.)

He tells her his address and adds, “The fastest way is on FDR.”

Aside from Rue asking if he’d mind the radio, they drive in silence until they get to the Brooklyn Bridge. He notices the way her fingers tap the wheel when she’s annoyed, the way she sits up in her seat when she changes lanes. He hears her swear under her breath and hum along to the radio.

(Being exposed to her this long makes him feel… something.)

“Oh, Brooklyn Heights, right?” She smacks a palm to her forehead. “Duh, I saw that on the Captain America tribute.” She winces, peeking at him sheepishly. “Sorry, that was weird to say. Does it ever feel not weird for people to know stuff about you?”

“Uh,” the question surprises him. “It’s never not weird, but I guess I’m used to it. Steve was Captain America in the ‘40’s, so I was associated with him then. And, um, my past…”

“As the Winter Soldier,” she acknowledges softly. He knew she knew who he was – a lot of people knew thanks to the media – but he still avoids her glances.

“Yeah, that guy,” the mechanics of his arm whir quietly as he clenches his fist. “I had a reputation, so… I guess I’m just used to people knowing things about me.”

“What’s something people don’t know about you?”

They’re in bumper to bumper traffic on the bridge. The rain is beating down on the car so loudly, it’s nearly comical. Bucky looks at Rue, a mystery to him, studying her earnest features.

“I read.” Her eyebrows raise, impressed. “I read a lot in my down time.”

“What kinds of books do you read?”

Bucky reaches into his inner jacket pocket and produces Steve’s notebook. He’d gifted it to Bucky, on his own birthday, and told him to ‘catch up’.

(Looking back, he wonders if Steve knew his time was coming to an end.)

“I read mostly fiction - Hemingway, Austen, Orwell, Wilde, Plath, Christie…” He pauses, wondering if he wants to continue. Her look is patient and soft. She’s leaning against the driver’s door, head resting against her propped arm. “I also went back and looked at the top books from when…” He casts around for the right phrasing, “from when I wasn’t myself.”

“You know, I bet that’s a good way to learn about pop culture and society.”

He continues, “And if there was a movie or TV series adaptation, I’d watch it.”

“Like what?”

He knows she’ll get a kick out of this. “Like Twilight.”

He’s right. She laughs so hard, tears fill her eyes, and only honks from behind them jolt her back to the present. They inch up, and she says, “You read and watched Twilight?”

“And Harry Potter and the Hunger Games.” He’s grinning, despite himself, at how much she’s enjoying this.

“Incredible.” She wipes her eyes. “I wonder what World War II you would think about that.”

“He’d be confused for sure.” He doesn’t say that current him had been confused too. “But, at least I know what a horcrux is.”

“And that vampires sparkle.”

When they finally get to his apartment, the rain has finally eased. He feels strange, having talked so much about nothing with someone he hardly knows. They talk more about books and movies and television; she listens to him talk about Brooklyn and how much it’s changed. She doesn’t say much about herself except that she’d gone to college to study psychology - that’s why she knows so much about therapy - and that she had worked a short time for the VA. She talks more about her roommate and her casual boyfriend.

(She says, “He’s the first man I’ve dated in a while,” and glances at him in a meaningful way. He gets her gist.)

She parallel parks by a hydrant and turns to him with a small smile.

“You know, it wasn’t that bad of a drive.” They both look at the dashboard clock. The twenty minute drive had been stretched to an hour and a half. Her eyes flit to him, almost nervously. “It was nice… talking.”

“I think that’s the longest I’ve ever talked.” Warmth travels up his neck when she laughs. “Thank you for the ride.”

“I couldn’t let an Avenger get water damage.”

He rolls his eyes and opens the door. She grabs his hand, his metal one, and they both look down at their joined hands. She folds her lips into a thin, embarrassed line, before letting him go. He wonders what’s going through her head.

“Good night, James.”

(His name sounds good coming from her.)

“Good night, Ruby.”

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Allies and axis react to their s/o opening up about their chronic depression when their bf asks to move in together?

Like, their s/o basically says “there are days where no matter how hard I try I can’t get out of bed. There will be times where I don’t shower and don’t eat, where I lock myself away and start crying uncontrollably. Are you sure you’re ready to deal with me when I’m having my not-so-pretty moments?”

QwQ I know the feeling. The bad days can suck SO hard. I think the worst one I had was when I just, laid in bed whenever I had the chance. Pro-tip. Even if you feel like doing nothing, do not lay down. It really does make it worse... Especially because I was prone to fall asleep and then I wasn't sleeping at night, and it became a mess and wasn't worth it.

Trigger warning: Mentions of depression and plausible related triggers.

Allies and Axis moving in with a Chronically Depressed S/O!

Allies:

America:

He gave them a relatively sad look, but promised that no matter what he still loves them.

He know what's like to have his downs, but that's with reason.

Not many people were by his side during those times.

He starts with basic questions like, what they need. For them, and from him.

He's more than prepared to do what it takes to help them, even if he has to make a fool of himself, or finally learn how to put himself on mute.

If they're going to have such terrible lows the least he can do is fill the rest of their days with the highest of highs! Maybe that will be the key to helping them get through things.

Expect cheesy love letters to be slipped through the door during those times. It's always worth reading them.

Especially on the worst days where getting out of bed is hard, small achievements like picking up a piece of paper might be helpful. Even if it's just slightly.

England:

He nods and doesn't even interrupt them while they explain.

He admits that he might not be fully prepared for it, but is more than happy to learn.

If he ever does something, anything, that might make things worse to at least communicate he's done wrong.

After a few hours of research he makes sure to run his findings by his lover, and together they pick out strategies that might help in those situations.

He went as far as to buy a small hanging sign they can put on their door when they aren't feeling their best.

Even if his S/O thinks it's childish, he keeps it just in case.

France:

He knows what lonely nights feels like, but has never had any major lows.

So expect a couple tough questions about possible triggers to avoid.

He even goes as far as making a sort of safe word for them and their emotions.

He understands he can get too handsy when he tries to cheer someone up, but also accepts that some days, touching or talking is a no go.

Shoo Fly is the safe word for no touching, and a five rapid eye blinks is code for when and if they go nonverbal, or don't want to talk.

He also takes 'no' for an answer, but he hopes the silly code words and actions lift their mood, even slightly.

When the worst of the worst comes around, he'll be more than okay with just sitting beside them until it's over. Chocolates at the ready when they come around.

China:

He's super in thought.

Part of him knows it might be an uphill battle those days.

But then he remembers he literally lives on the most peaceful and calming part of his country.

Taking it into consideration he runs by them his own problems and wants to make sure they'll be able to handle him as well

Let's face it, china can be a bit arrogant and/or sensitive and sometimes just says the wrong thing.

These two traits might cross over every now and then, and he wants to know if they're going to be alright with that.

He knows he's not the best with people and can be pushy, but he can learn paitence.

Even if it takes a few mistakes.

Best thing to do when and if it happens is to not respond when he's done or said something hurtful. He'll eventually realize what he's done and apologize.

Russia:

He certainly understands what that's like.

Russia has gone nonverbal before when he's hit a low stride.

"There is no worry because I will not let you have the time to be sad!"

He says that with such confidence, but deep down he's worried something will go wrong.

He knows he doesn't always understand people's feelings, especially after being with his S/O, and is nervous.

Eventually he tells them they should wait until he does understand their problem.

Even if they have to repeat it 100 times, he's going to figure it out!

But when it does happen, and he sees how bad it can get it almost just- clicks for him.

He's immediately by their side humming to them, and rubbing their back. He let's them through tantrums, and pound their fists on him if they need it.

Anything to shake it off as quickly as possible.

Axis:

Germany:

He's a very self disciplined man, and takes such things with a serious nature.

He asks all the questions about what they need and what he can do in those times.

He, very tenderly and carefully, asks them if they'd ever had days where self harm was considered.

No matter their anwser he nods and let's them know he'll do what he can to help.

He even took major mental notes of their favorite foods and such.

Unlike some of the others this doesn't change much to the relationship.

He treats them like he normally does, via asks them occasionally where their mental health is.

Even if it's out of the blue, some days it comes in handy and the both of them either catch it before it happens, or the very least prepare a few things his precious jewel needs.

When their lows hit and no one is prepared he's going to have a good balance of giving them space, and simultaneously being by their side.

Japan:

He's very quiet and a very good listener.

Also known for reading the room, so he's had his suspensions

He obviously still wants them to move in, and even asks if they want a special room they can go too that will help them

Japan him self has a very special place he goes to, to clear his mind.

He's actually really chill about it.

His S/O might get some extra cuddles when those times come around.

8/10 times they will sleep through their lows when he's holding them.

Will always wake up to a nice warm cup of tea, a handful of fluffy animals surrounding them, and a Japan who's reading nearby.

Italy:

He gets kind of sad.

He voices his concern about not really know what to do in those situations.

That actually leads into a two person cry session because they both seem to hit their lows hard.

This is how they find out Italy has times where he forces himself to be happy for the sake of others.

It drains him both physically and emotionally.

So he's learned to have a couple days of the week where he gives himself a hard reset.

I.E a makeshift spa day.

Pasta and pastries included.

His S/O might be surprised at how hard it is to stay upset during those times.

They might still go through the motions, but Italy is right there to try and dampen the effect.

One of the face masks he makes actually bubbles and just, puts them to sleep.

The days they can't get out of bed, he will do whatever they want. He also takes the time to paint their nails or do something that requires them to do nothing. It's still a small achievement and he hopes they feel better because of it.

[chicksung]

Can’t You See Me? || Choi Chanhee

part of @ficscafe fic exchange event!

Genre: angst, little bit of fluff, ghost!au

Pairing: ghost!chanhee x reader (ft. younghoon)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: death, depictions of depression, dealing with death, mentions of a car accident

Synopsis: You loved Chanhee, with your whole being. You didn’t what you would do without him. However, it seems like life intended for you to be without him for the rest of your days

A/N: this fic is for rani @letteredwings please enjoy lovely. sorry that it’s a little late :/ this is unedited. please ignore any mistakes

any and all feedback is appreciated

Choi Chanhee promised you that he would love you until the day he would inevitably stop breathing and cease to exist. You always laughed off the comment, thinking it was just a stupid saying he would be saying into old age. You wished you had taken it as a sign, maybe you would’ve been more cautious, maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided. What you didn’t know is that he had died a liar when he said those ridiculous words. He loved you after he passed too.

Chanhee stood helplessly in the kitchen, watching you stand there with an aching heart. You were wide eyed, shocked and frozen from the news.

“I’m…sorry?” You stammered, hoping, praying, that your ears were deceiving you with mean elementary school tricks.

“Is your partner Choi Chanhee?” The man’s voice seemed down, like he was scared to tell you again.

“Yes, he is. We’ve been together since high school,” You informed him, trying to push down the sickening churning in your stomach.

“I regret to inform you that your partner has passed away. We received a call this morning of an accident. A truck had collided with a car. The truck driver seemed to be okay, but your partner’s injuries seemed to be more serious.” Every word pricked your heart, which was as fragile as a balloon being poked with a needle, “We tried everything, but he eventually passed away. I’m very sorry for your loss.” You nodded, your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes. 

“Alright, thank you for letting me know. Have a good afternoon, sir,” You signed off, trying to keep your voice from cracking.

“You too, and again, I’m sorry for your loss,” The line went dead and you placed the phone on the kitchen counter. Chanhee? Dead? No, he can’t be. He had specifically said he would be careful on the road. Tears slipped down your cheeks like sweet raindrops, your knees pathetically giving out as you wailed, yelling out obscenities and curses. Chanhee ran behind you.

“No, I’m right here! Can’t you see-” He went to place his hand on your shoulder when he realised how pale, almost transparent, he was. He sat beside you on the floor, a million thoughts passing through his mind. He couldn’t comfort you, only able to listen to you cry his name in a desperate plea to bring him back to you. Chanhee’s heartstrings tugged harshly, but he was helpless. He was nothing but a memory now, a missing part of your shared apartment, a ghost. 

You stood amongst crowds of familiar faces, his friends, family, distant relatives, colleagues, the list goes on. Who they were didn’t really matter to you, what mattered was the casket being carried away from the church doors and out into the miserable weather. Fitting, you supposed, that it was pouring with rain on the day of his funeral. Attendees moved outside, umbrellas creating a dismal cloud of sorrow above them. It had been two weeks since Chanhee had passed away now, but for some reason you could not bring yourself to cry. No matter how many times you felt his absence, not even after looking in his open casket, no tear stung your eye. You watched emotionlessly as his coffin was slowly dropped into the rectangular hole just beneath his headstone. 

                    Here lies Choi Chanhee

                Loving son, brother and friend

                 April 26 1998 - August 17 2021

                   Until we meet again, my love

You felt a hand slide across your shoulder comfortingly, Chanhee’s best friend, Younghoon’s. You didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You remained stone cold and kept your face void of expression. A different feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Irritation? Anxiety? Frustration? It was hard to describe, which typically meant it was complicated, and you didn’t really like complicated feelings. You could sense a storm coming, and judging from the storm clouds of emotion in your mind, it didn’t look like it would be clearing up any time soon.

A distance away from the gathering of mourners, a pale figure stood solemnly. Sure, watching his own funeral felt weird, but Chanhee could only think of you, and how you stood there, in a similar way to him, unable to display your emotions. He wished for one second, just one, that he could understand what you were thinking, feeling, praying. Maybe there would be a way to ease the pain you felt in your heart? He was technically responsible for said pain, so shouldn’t he try and fix it?

Younghoon had been coming over more, Chanhee would notice when he would be sitting on the foot of your bed, which you had not made the effort to get out of. Everyday, the time you would eventually get up would be pushed back. Before, it was only an hour later, then it was two, then three, then four, until one day, he noticed that you only got up to go to the toilet. He would listen to you cry, sniffle, send the occasional text to someone. Younghoon had seemed to notice, so had made it routine that he would come over at exactly 1:09pm every day to help you get out of bed and try to create a productive day together. Chanhee had memorised the sound of Younghoon’s footsteps, the sound of his keys jingling in the door’s lock, the way he would hum as he made his way to the bedroom. Younghoon had become the life inside of the dead quiet house. Chanhee noticed the way that his best friend would look at you, the sad sigh that would escape his lips when he saw you, sprawled out and weeping. 

“Come on. You can’t keep moping in here,” Younghoon sauntered over to your bedside, crouching down to get a better view of your face.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want. Go away,” you hissed, pulling the covers over your head, childishly pretending that if you couldn’t see him, he would simply fade from existence. 

“Bubba,” he called out sweetly, tugging the covers out of your grasps, “you’re running low on food. I don’t want you going hungry, and besides, it’s a nice day outside. Whaddya say?” With a low groan, you slowly rose from the safety of your sheets, loose hairs sticking up in wild directions. Chanhee rushed to your side, his cold touch to your cheek sending a cold shiver down your spine. He sighed somewhat sadly as he watched Younghoon help you out of bed. It should be him helping you out of bed every morning, it should be him trying to motivate you with small activities. However, deep down he knew that if it were him, you wouldn’t even be struggling to get out of bed in the morning. He was the cause of your lack of motivation, he was the cause of your pain, your suffering. Every emotion you were feeling right now was because of him, and somehow, in some way, he wished he was still there. He wished he was Younghoon.

“Where’s Uncle Chanhee?” Your young nephew looked up at you with big eyes, confusedly looking around to find his favourite uncle. You sighed softly. You knew you would have to have this discussion with him sooner or later. 

“Uncle Chanhee...isn’t going to be coming today,” you explained, kneeling down to the four year old’s level. Chanwoo’s bottom lip quivered slightly, “Why not?” He asked with glossy eyes. He had been really looking forward to playing with Uncle Chanhee, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t wanna play with him. You knew Chanwoo was too young to understand death, but he had seemingly noticed Chanhee’s absence. You chewed the inside of your cheek, trying to think of some sort of acceptable lie to tell a child. 

“He’s not well today. He says he really wish he could play today, but he had to stay home,” You pet the boy’s head softly, hoping he would understand. The little boy nodded, seeming to understand.

“Can I make Uncle Chanhee a get well soon card?” He asked with wonder in his eyes, and you would have to be a monster to have said no.

“Of course, Woo. Go get your craft things.”

You helped your nephew decorate his ‘card’ which was really just a folded sheet of printer paper, but you weren’t about to rain on his innocent parade. 

“I’m still sad that I can’t play with Uncle Chanhee. I wish he was here,” Chanwoo admitted, writing a sweet message in lopsided messy handwriting. 

“Just because he’s not here in person, doesn’t mean he’s not here in spirit,” you explained, drawing a sun in the corner of the card for the youngster to colour in. 

“What do you mean?”

“It's kind of like magic,” you pondered aloud, “like a hug you can feel from someone who is not there.” The child nodded.

“Yeah! Like it still feels like mommy is hugging me even when she’s not there,” it was your turn to nod. 

“Exactly, Woo! You’re such a clever boy,” you ruffled his soft hair, making him giggle uncontrollably.

You were right, in a way. Chanhee was there, as a literal spirit. He felt a warm surge crash over his pale body, knowing that Chanwoo wanted to make him a card without fully understanding what was going on. A child too sweet for this world. However, it wasn’t Chanwoo he was focusing on. It was you. You weren’t crying, you weren’t wailing his name in agony. You seemed peaceful, collected, like you were watching the sunset over the sea. You were starting to come to terms with no longer having your boyfriend there. Sure, it pained you every morning to roll over and say good morning to someone who never even got into bed that night, but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He was unsure how long you would stay in this peaceful mindframe, but only the best storyteller will tell, time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Younghoon asked softly, eyes just as gentle as his words. You nodded, confident in your decision. You were a little unsure when you first brought up the idea to him, but it had to be done. The both of you walked up the hill in the cemetery, hands intertwined. You two had been dating for some time now, but you always had this lingering feeling that Chanhee wouldn’t like what you were doing. You loved Chanhee dearly, but you felt the same about Younghoon. It had been almost seven months since you received that phone call, but slowly everything in your life was piecing itself back together, formerly shattered after the tsunami of emotions that wiped out everything that made you feel human. You stood at the face of his gravestone, his name etched prettily into the cool rock. 

“Hey,” you greeted, your hand slipping out of your boyfriend’s. Chanhee displayed an invisible smile.

Hey.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence felt awkward and heavy on your tongue. 

It has. How have you been?

“I’ve been doing well. Just trying to get by, you get it.”

Yeah, I get it. Is that Younghoon?

“I was getting to that. I’m not sure how it happened, but it did. He helped me a lot after you passed. I owe him a lot. Mainly ice cream,” You laughed at yourself, partially because of your bad joke, and partially because of how ridiculous you must sound to anyone passing by.

You’re dating now?

“Yeah. I just...I wanted to say thank you,” you blurted, playing with the tips of your fingers.

Why are you thanking me?

“You taught me a lot, Chanhee. How to cook ramen properly, how to make the best oven baked pizza anyone has ever had, but most of all, you taught me how to love. And while I love you so much, my god, you can’t even believe to comprehend it, I’ve found someone else that I love,” You felt tears spring to your eyes. You were the only one talking, so why did it sound like you were saying goodbye? You glanced at Younghoon, who only smiled weakly. 

“Can I say a few words?” Younghoon stepped forward, placing his hand on your shoulder, the same way he had done the dismal day of Chanhee’s funeral. You nodded wordlessly, watching your boyfriend stride towards the grave of his best friend. Younghoon traced the etched marks of his friend’s name before giving a small smile.

“You’ve been gone too long,” he started, giving a sad chuckle, “and a lot has happened during that time.” Chanhee laughed silently at his friend’s words, slumping against the cold headboard of his resting place.

“But I will promise you this. I will look after them for you. I will care for, and nurture and love them for you. It’s what best friends are for, right?”

Chanhee nodded, a friendly smile finally adorning his features. He felt something new, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, peace. His body felt as light as a feather, as if it was drifting through the breeze. He dropped his gaze to his hands, only to see that the aforementioned body part wasn’t there. He was fading, an experience he had thought about many times before, but somehow, it wasn’t as scary as he thought it would be. Chanhee looked to you, and he could’ve sworn that for a moment, just one moment, you could see him, slowly dematerialising out of existence. He wasn’t scared anymore, scared of how you would cope without him. You had Younghoon, the only person other than you that he trusted his life with. 

“Until we meet again, my love,” Chanhee bade his final farewell to this world, taking a small bow and with a slight change in the wind’s direction, he was gone. 

You felt light, like the weight of an entire urbanised city had been lifted off your shoulders. Younghoon took his place by your side once more.

“Should we go home?” He suggested, earning a relaxed smile from you.

“Yeah. Besides, it’ll be dark soon,” you squeezed his hand, your eyes glowing in the reddened flare of the sunset. Hand in hand, you walked down the stone path and out of the overly large rusted gate. It was never easy letting go, not by any stretch of the imagination. You would always carry a piece of Chanhee with you, and even without him by your side, you felt closer to him than ever.

[thatwritingnerd]

3 for elliott/sebastian 🥺 @gendercraft

Summary: Sebastian has steadily fallen in love with the resident novelist from the moment he saves him but he would never dare confess such a thing as feelings. He wouldn't want to ruin their new relationship but he doesn't think he can silently pine for Elliott any longer.

Warnings: minor embarrassment, mentions of depression

For the prompt: I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Word count: 2k

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

It wasn’t as if Sebastian wanted to make more friends, he already had two and that was enough, right? He would curse his inability to stay away from the beach on the rainiest of days, legs tucked under himself as he sat at the end of the pier, the rain cool in the humid summer day giving some relief to the uncomfortable heat. Curse his incessant need to dwell in his own suffering and despair – and, no, he’s not dramatic, thank you. And, you know what, curse Elliott too.

Elliott and his worrisome nature, his concern and fretting if Sebastian is alright. He’s not. He wasn’t. Wet through, undoubtedly getting a cold, amid a depressive episode. And Elliott, soft, sweet Elliott, holding an umbrella over him, his own long hair dampening and coat soaking from where the wind blows the rain. And Sebastian couldn’t find it in him to deny the man his company, and that’s how he found himself in Elliott’s small and rustic yet homely, warm cabin. Then how he found his friendship starting with the older man.

He had somewhat awkwardly sat there, on the other’s bed, blanket around his bare shoulders, dressed in a pair of sweatpants that he would never have guessed that Elliott would have owned, a cup of green tea in his hands, listening to Elliott hum something whilst his clothing dried and the storm settled.

Maybe, Sebastian thinks, that was the moment he first started to fall in love with Elliott.

And he didn’t stop falling for some time.

Elliott had seemingly integrated himself into his life, at first it was the occasional ‘hello’ at the saloon on a Friday, which sparked questions from Sam and Abigail, or the brief passing conversation at a festival when they were both alone and drawn to the other. Then a meeting which turned into a conversation on the bridge to the beach on a late evening, around the side of the community centre, but the docks were still their favoured place for a chance meeting. Not that Sebastian would tell himself that he went there less to be alone now and more so for a chance at seeing the other man.

Sebastian could not lie to himself, Elliott is an attractive man, and he knows it, that is for sure, he has eyes. But he could not tell a soul. Elliott is refined, put together, well kept, gentlemanly, he is everything Sebastian is not – and Sebastian feels inadequate enough merely from their friendship alone. He is nothing, he’s a loner, a shut in, a fucking nerd who has depressive breakdowns in the rain and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

Rationally, he knows that Elliott and himself couldn’t be like that. Elliott’s standards were probably too high, and for good reason, not to mention their age gap, in a town like this the gossip would spread quicker than wildfire. But that didn’t stop him, it could not stop him, falling in love with Elliott.

He fell in love with his passionate nature, his love for the sea and the sand, the way the side of his hand was always stained with ink, the way his eyes crinkled then shut when he laughed, the way he actually listened to Sebastian, or the way he did all the talking when it was clear that Sebastian did not want to talk, the way it took him almost an hour to get ready on a morning, the way he would always greet anyone with a pleasant smile, the way he made Sebastian feel like he mattered, like he actually mattered to the world, and to Elliott.

Sebastian did not just fall in love with him. Sebastian was in love with him.

The damage had been done. But that did not mean that Elliott had to know, or perhaps he had already figured it out. Sebastian hopes not, as intelligent as Elliott is he himself is more stubborn and emotionally cut-off. He is tempted to shut himself off from the world, from Elliott, physically, it would be so easy to just not leave his room ever again, never step foot on the beach.

He could have. Yet he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Even in the heat of summer, the sand scorching hot and blinding, the sun shining blinding off the turquoise sea, all too hot in his all black ensemble. Just to see him. Sebastian became familiar with the creaking floorboards, the wind against the old windows, the constant smell of sea salt and green tea, the scratch of pen against paper, the keys of the old piano, and the soft, gentleness of Elliott’s voice.

Although he didn’t feel quite at home, on Elliott’s bed with a borrowed, old book in his hands, he felt comfortable despite the nervous thrum of anxiety running through his veins constantly. Every time Elliott dared to look in his direction, to speak to him, to listen to him, it made him nervous, made him blush like a little schoolboy with a crush.

It wasn’t until he truly let Elliott in, pushed down his barriers, that his mind supplied that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one with these sorts of feelings. Maybe they weren’t one sided, and maybe he wasn’t confined to pathetic pining for the rest of his stupid days in this valley.

When he let Elliott talk to him, not merely at him, to him, about things that mattered, about Elliott’s past in the city, about Sebastian’s want to escape but maybe how he may be changing his mind as of late, about Elliott’s fear of failure, about Sebastian’s fear of humiliation. When he let, no, encouraged Elliott to touch him – not like that. But a passing touch on his arm that lingered, a hand on his shoulder as he caressed the keys of Elliott’s piano, the gentle rest of Elliott’s chin against his shoulder as they shared a book, and the friendly hugs that seemed only to lengthen in time over time until Sebastian had no second thoughts of cuddling with the other man.

It was then, once the sun was setting, soft glows of orange and red skimming through the windowpane’s and onto the older man, skin soft and hair aflame under the light. Elliott’s eyes closed, breathing shallow, and Sebastian is unsure if he is still awake, lying next to him, their legs intertwined together, Elliott’s latest literary recommendation laying open against Sebastian’s chest. He doesn’t even think, some innate part of him acting without his own attention, before he brushes smooth strands of hair out of Elliott’s face, fingers stroking over the softness of his cheek.

“You have no idea,” Sebastian whispers, barely a breath being released, “no idea how much you’ve come to mean to me, how much I like you.”

He sighs, letting his hand fall away, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, guilty about touching him, telling him something so… important? Private? Something he maybe should have said to a more conscious Elliott in truth?

“Sebastian?”

Well, fuck.

“I, uh, don’t- yeah.”

He dares to look back at Elliott, eyes bleary and unfocused, attempting to push himself to sit upright but settle for leaning back on an arm behind himself, clearly having been attempting at sleeping at least. And Sebastian, despite himself, thinks that Elliott looks even better like this, mussed and lax, prettier than when he is all dressed up and trying too hard.

“What did you just say?” Elliott asks, voice low and quiet, as if Sebastian will spook if he speaks any louder and, honestly, he might.

“Never mind, forget it.”

Elliott looks hurt, sad and frustrated all at once, and Sebastian feels guilty all over again, flushing out of embarrassment and humiliation, not only at his admission now but at hurting Elliott. Maybe he had been completely wrong, and maybe he had ruined this for himself, for the both of them.

“No, don’t, please,” Elliott mutters out, hesitant and slow in his movement but he reaches out to take the book from Sebastian’s chest, laying it down on his side table, before taking Sebastian’s cool hand in his own, “don’t shut down again, please, let me hear you, don’t get stuck in that head of yours, please, for me, Sebastian.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t twist on Sebastian’s emotions like nothing else, it hurts and makes him feel sick but giddy at the same time. Who knew emotions were so confusing?

“I- I can’t, not-” he stutters, defensive in his attempts to at least recover what little friendship he may have left with Elliott, but looking at him now, eyes sad and expectant. He sighs, defeated.

“I like you, Elliott, maybe too much, and I didn’t think I could like someone like this, I’ve never… you’re special. You’re just as weird as me, you listen to me, you go out of your way to talk to me. And I like it when you go on your little rants, when you tell me something reminded you of me, every book you recommend I read but not because they’re particularly interesting but because it was you that told me to. You saved me that day on the docks, not just that day but every day, you made me open up more, and I like that, I like who I’m becoming because of you, because I like you.”

It seems to rush out of him mostly as nonsense to himself but by the way Elliott looks at him, intense and enraptured, he is sure he’s making some sort of sense to him. Maybe that’s a bad thing.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Elliott says, thumb running over the backs of his knuckles gently, “how long have you kept this inside of you?”

Sebastian adverts his gaze, glancing down at their hands now intertwined, and he pulls himself up more so to sit crossed legged opposite him.

“Too long.”

“You poor thing, if I had any inclination that you felt the same, I would have told you right away but I… I didn’t want to scare you away, not after I had earned your trust, I could not forgive myself if I lost you over something so silly as my own feelings,” Elliott explains, his own gaze now embarrassed and downward turned.

And Sebastian reminds himself to actively close his mouth from gaping, “wait, you…”

Elliott laughs, a soft, nervous thing.

“Yes, Sebastian, I like you a little too much too.”

Sebastian has half the mind to swat at his upper arm for that, reiterating his previous words.

“Since when?”

Elliott smiles at him, meeting his gaze finally, thumb never ceasing over the pale skin of Sebastian’s hand, “too long.”

Sebastian laughs this time, nervousness dissipating, and maybe it isn’t exactly a dreamy love confession that he thought about in the darkness of night alone, but it’s real and enough for him.

“I think it was that day, on the docks, you helped me, and I think I started to fall for you then.”

Elliott’s smile is nothing short of beautiful, ethereal.

“Then, when you were in my cabin for the first time, wrapped in my blankets, on my bed, you looked so at home. I couldn’t help but invite you back, keep you in my life, after I saw you there, vulnerable, something other than your rough exterior, I wanted more of you.”

And Sebastian can do nothing but smile back.

Things don’t change much. Sebastian makes his way to the docks as usual, rain spitting around him, and Elliott is there, waiting, with an umbrella. He meets him with a chaste, gentle kiss, earning him a warm arm wrapped around his waist and he leans into the touch eagerly.

“Good evening, dearest, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, fondly yet teasing.

He ducks his head to Elliott’s chest, he is warm and feels like home, “missed you, is all.”

Elliott kisses his forehead, “I missed you too, dear.”

[dionnaea]

Revelations | Pieck x Reader

pairing: pieck finger x gn!reader

warnings: cursing, some yelling, ends in fluff 

wc: 1.8k

a/n: sorry that this is a couple days late! midterms wore me out, and i didn’t feel like looking at a word document for a day or two. hope you enjoy it nonetheless! let me know what you think :)

request: Hi can I request a pieck x male reader (or gender neutral if your more comfortable with that) maybe the reader is a scout that was captured after the attack and she is in charge of watching them maybe they slowly warm up to each other after reader reveals the horrors they’ve gone through with the Titans during an argument with pieck and eventually they start a relationship?  

attack on titan masterlist | general masterlist

Yes, you had met some annoying scouts during your training, but you had never met anyone as annoying as the Marleyan soldier that was sent to guard your cells. He spent most of his time either throwing schoolyard insults your way or trying to flirt with every captive. It was ridiculous, and you were getting more than tired of listening to his squeaky, borderline pre-pubescent voice flood the stone-lined hallway. His break times had turned into a safe haven of sorts for you and your comrades, but as the thirty minutes creeped by, you became more and more antsy. 

Today, however, seemed to be different as a woman walked in a little while after the regular guard left. She had walked by all of the cells, taking subtle glances inside each one, before having a seat near your end of the row. In fact, she was a mere five feet away from the bars of your current habitat, and you took the chance to study her. 

The first thing you noticed was the red band clasped securely around her left arm, denoting her Warrior status. It shone like a beacon or a warning, you couldn’t decide which. Still, why would a Warrior be sent to watch over some captured scouts? And where had the other man gone? Not that you minded his absence. The curiosity started to eat away at you, and you figured there was no harm in asking. 

“Hey,” you started. You were taken aback when you realized that she was already looking at you, like she knew exactly what you were going to say. 

“He was moved to another post,” she answered your unspoken question. “I’m here in the interim.” 

“Ah,” you responded. 

Her voice was a bit too soft for your liking; it was unbecoming of a killer, you thought with spite. You didn’t like her being here. A regular, annoying Marleyan soldier was one thing, but a Warrior? It was like a stab straight to every scout’s heart. Your chest started to feel a bit hotter as your anger towards her grew. You hadn’t been there when she delivered the boulders to the Beast Titan to decimate your comrades, but you had heard the tale, a horror story only told late at night. As if she had the right to exist in the same building, on the same continent even as the predecessors of those she had killed. 

You scoffed out loud, and the Warrior turned to face you, furrowing her eyebrows as if she were actually concerned. You glared in response. It was stupid, you thought, that she was allowed to have a face like that, the face of an angel, and still act like a devil. 

The day passed, her sitting idly by while you did your best to play a card game in your head. You tried to picture all of the cards and their suits and numbers, placing them on the imaginary table you had set up on the floor of your cell. It wasn’t going well, you kept losing, as you kept getting distracted by the feeling of the Warrior’s gaze burning into the back of your skull. It was almost as annoying as the squeaks of the original guard, and you felt a sense of pure relief as soon as she left for the night and another guard took her place. 

To your discontent, she returned the next day, too, and the next. By the third day, your blood was boiling. Even though you were always turned away from her, you could feel her eyes on you most of the time. It was pissing you off, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“What the hell?!” You questioned as you whipped around, not surprised to find her dark eyes piercing into yours. Hers were wide in confusion, and that made you even more mad. “What’s so interesting about the back of my head, huh? You busy picturing what it would look like with a bullet in it or something?” It was a harsh statement, you knew, but you also believed she deserved it. 

She shook her head quickly and with so much force that her crutch started to slide from where it was balanced against her chair. She swiftly reached out to catch it, holding onto it with both hands instead of propping it back up. 

“N-no. I just…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I just was trying to figure out what you were doing.” 

You scowled. “What I was doing?” You repeated incredulously. “I’m wasting away in a jail cell, that’s what I’m doing!” You stood up in a flash, pressing your body against the bars and grabbing onto them until your knuckles were white. “I’m stuck here because of you, you know!” 

She shook her head again, denying your statement. “No, you’re here because you killed my people.” 

“Well, you killed mine!” You shouted back. Your voice lowered as you spoke again, grief flowing through you. “Thousands, millions even. You slaughtered them all without a thought for their families, and children, and friends. You destroyed our home without regrets, without us doing a damn thing to you, so stop complaining that we destroyed yours.” 

The woman was quiet now, her head bowed and hair covering her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and that pissed you off more. You started to go off again, but she stopped you with her next words. “Tell me. Tell me what we did to you. I want to know everything.” 

When she looked up, there was an honesty and sadness in her eyes that you never would’ve expected to see. It shook you, and for a second, you saw a normal human being rather than a Warrior. Somehow that look calmed you, and you became willing to tell the stories of you and so many others, both dead and alive. 

You learned her name was Pieck, and the two of you talked for hours. You described the horrors of life under the threat of Titans, you told of the atrocities that occurred on the battlefield, you explained to her the loss and grief and overwhelming depression that came with the life every scout and citizen of Paradis was being forced to live. 

And to your stupefaction, she listened to every word quietly, nodding her head to signal that she was taking in the information. She didn’t try to sympathize or compare experiences, she just sat and let you talk, letting herself realize her own sins. Once you were silent, you could tell she understood, at least as much as an outsider could. She didn’t need to apologize for you could see in her face that she had plenty of regrets, and Pieck was well aware that an apology would mean practically nothing. It was atonement that she sought now, and Pieck figured a good place to start would be with you. 

From that day on, you grew closer with the woman. You never shared mindless conversations, but instead always talked of the past and of your experiences. You heard stories of her Warrior training and realized the brainwashing that the Eldians living on Marley had been put under from birth. A part of you was proud to see that Pieck had overcome it in a sense, happy to realize that peace was truly possible if constructive conversations could be had. It was promising, and slowly but surely, talking to Pieck became the highlight of your day, something you looked forward to as she made you forget about your lonely little cell. 

Weeks had passed, and then one night changed everything. 

You were struggling to sleep, the thin sheet you were given was not enough to protect you from the cold and the hard bed was giving you a pounding headache. The only comfort you had was the knowledge that you could see Pieck again in a few hours once the sun came up. The hallway was silent other than the occasional moments when the night watchman got up to use the restroom. He sat on the other end of the hall from you, and you were thankful that he couldn’t see into your cell from where he was stationed. 

The next time he got up, he didn’t come back for quite a while, and you started to wonder if something had happened to him. Were the scouts finally coming to rescue you? Your heart began to pound harder as you heard the door to the hall creak open and keys jingle. You cracked your eyes open to see who was here only to be met with the sight of Pieck standing outside your enclosure, fiddling with the keys before sliding one into your door’s lock. 

You sat up quickly, tossing the sheet off of you and standing to meet her against the bars. Keeping your voice as low as possible, you whispered, “Pieck! What’re you doing?”

She whispered back, pushing your door open and holding out a pile of clothes to you. “Put these on. I want to take you somewhere.” 

You obliged quickly, not questioning the possibility that you could escape somehow. Was she helping you to leave? But how would you get back to Paradis? Options were running through your head at lightspeed as you slipped on the long sleeve shirt and jacket. She guided you down the hallway after you were dressed, careful not to wake anyone or stir suspicion. You barely recognized the building as you walked through it as it had been months since you had last seen anything other than stone walls and metal bars. When Pieck pushed the backdoor open and let you wander back into nature, the breath was stolen from your lungs. 

It was cold outside, but in a different way than your cell. The air was refreshing rather than stale and the wind was pleasant, not a musty draft. You could smell the light scent of flowers in the air, and you wondered exactly where it was coming from, suddenly craving the feeling of petals on your fingertips. Pieck seemed to understand your thoughts as she led you to a small garden on the other side of the pathway. Upon seeing the dainty plants, you rushed over to them, brushing your fingers over the colors and savoring the different textures. 

As you straightened back up, Pieck took your hand gently. You felt a bit embarrassed with how dry yours were, hers as silky smooth as the petals you had just caressed, and you apologized quickly and quietly. Laughing softly, Pieck just tightened her grasp, assuring you there was nothing to worry about by how she pulled you closer. Her being this close was intoxicating, and you felt yourself melt into her, peace washing over you in waves. For some reason, all of this felt new to you, like you were starting over in the world with Pieck, and you were perfectly content to stand here beside her.

It wasn’t until later, when you were back and locked securely into your cell, that you realized you didn’t mind staying a bit longer on Marley as long as Pieck was here, too.

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Random acts of kindness | Haikyuu!! Headcanons 』

The everyday acts of kindness our boys do and think nothing of, but are actually incredibly sweet.

Characters: Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Iwaizumi Hajime, Sugawara Koushi, Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi, Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji, Nishinoya Yuu, Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Kozume Kenma, Miya Astumu, Miya Osamu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Haiba Lev

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), no warnings, fluff, lots of characters I didn't realise how many I'd done until I came to type up the list 😳, a lot of cats and dogs, cuteness, headcanons

A/N: I've had an exhausting and busy week, and just felt like writing some comforting fluff. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! ♡

And please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted! ♡

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Helps lost people find their way and regularly gives directions

We're talking off-duty, here Daichi puts the 'hot' in 'Hot Fuzz' 🥵

Hahaha, fuck 🙃

He's very approachable and warm, and gives excellent directions

He'll also walk them there if they don't understand or don't feel confident, even if it disrupts his day 🥺

And he's really good at helping lost kids and calming them down he feels so proud when he gets them back to their parents, safe and sound 🤗

×

☆ Kuroo Testurou ☆

Helps elderly people with their shopping bags and getting across roads

It goes against his nature to stand by and let an old person struggle, and even if they're not struggling, he always offers his services anyway

He has a soft spot for old people, 'kay? 🥺

He makes a point of getting the traffic to stop so it's safe, and letting them hold his arm as they slowly make their way across the street

They often tell him that he's 'a very sweet and handsome young man,' and 'nothing like the other young people you meet these days' and he blushes

×

☆ Ushijima Wakatoshi ☆

Gets things from the top shelves for people that they can't reach at the supermarket

It's a pretty normal thing to do, right? So he's chill about it

Except he will 100% walk down the entire length of the isle just to help if he sees you stuggling it's super cute 😩😍

But he won't smile or make idle conversation, or anything. He'll just nod courteously

It can be a little ominous, with his looming height and serious face, but most people take the gesture well 😊

×

☆ Iwaizumi Hajime ☆

Pays for the shopping of the person in front of him when their card gets declined or they don't have the right cash

He manages to offer in a way that isn't offensive or patronising he's honestly a life saver 🥺

He's very humble and casual about it

It's what he hopes someone would do for him, if he were in that awkward situation

And you never know what struggles people are facing, so his philosophy is to always be kind what goes around, comes around, my dudes 😌✌

×

☆ Sugawara Koushi ☆

Leaves snacks and a cute thank you note on the porch for the mailman

Or mailwoman! Or mailperson!

He hopes that the little gesture will brighten their tough day of work so precious, I can't 🥺🥰

There's usually a good selection, too no skimping here, no sirree 😌

If he's home, he'll give them a cheery wave through the window as well

Especially in this COVID-19 environment. Suga would really appreciate the services they're providing

×

☆ Bokuto Koutarou ☆

Spends time every week playing with the cats and dogs at the local shelters

This man is hoenstly a blessing, I physically can't 🤧

He loves seeing their little faces light up when he walks in, scruffling their ears and playing fetch, etc. and just generally showing them that they're still loved 🥺😭

And he helps take the dogs for walks too, so they get their exercise, and brushes them down, and rubs their tummies–

He wants to adopt, but he's not settled enough, so he knows he can't 😭 but it's his goal

One day 😖

×

☆ Azumane Asahi ☆

Always holds doors open for other people

We're not just talking the occasional, feebly held door

Asahi will ALWAYS hold a door open for anyone else

Men, women, children, old people, people with prams, whole families– literally everyone

He is TALL and STRONG, and he will be USEFUL

He will hold it open even if you're really far away, like the giant dork that he is 😂😂 you cannot escape

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☆ Oikawa Tooru ☆

Often pays for the next customer's coffee in advance

Sure, it makes him feel good about himself. But, I mean, why not? What's so wrong with that?

Oikawa calls it SAOK-ing people (pronounced 'soaking') meaning: Secret Acts of Kindness Iwa-chan has told him to change the name, but he won't 🙄

Oikawa would love the touching joy of a stranger paying for his coffee in advance, so he gets a warm, tingly feeling when he thinks about it happening to someone else because if him he's literally beaming for the rest of the day 🥰

☆ Akaashi Keiji ☆

Buys food and drinks for homeless people when he passes them

He sometimes stops to have a chat with them, too 😔🤧

He's the least condescending person you could meet if you're in trouble he's so genuine, I can't

Except for maybe Iwa-chan and Daichi. They're also very down-to-earth

He'll also give them all his food vouchers that he's been collecting in his wallet to help spread their costs

Akaashi finds it hard to watch other people struggling and suffering, and so always makes the time for it when he can afford to

×

☆ Nishinoya Yuu ☆

Helps make up the numbers for the kids playing games in the park

Be it soccer, dodgeball, basketball, volleyball, tag, or something else entirely, Noya loves to see the kids running around in the park, playing games and enjoying themselves

So he's only too happy to join in when they need more players he'll sometimes recruit Tanaka to help as well

Yuu fits right in with them, both in height and mentality 😂😭😂😭

He may or may not get them to call him 'senpai' 🙄😂

×

☆ Tanaka Ryuunosuke ☆

Helps fix people's cars on the road

Tanaka's one of those people that knows how to change a flat, and so can't drive past someone having car trouble without stopping and helping

He's also a pretty good handy-man in general, and is always willing to help out his friends and neighbours with their jobs that need doing

Like plumbing problems, putting up shelves, building furniture, etc. He's good with his hands!

Kiyoko: 👁👄👁

And he'll never charge a penny! He's all too happy to do it out of friendship and the kindness of his heart 😇

×

☆ Kozume Kenma ☆

Hosts gaming charity livestreams for various causes on a regualr basis

All the donations go directly to the charity of choice for the stream, not through him, so everyone knows it's legit 😇

He also donates gaming consoles etc. to charities and organisations that help kids who are in hospital

He's a huge advocate for charities and organisations that focus on helping people through gaming, like AbleGamers and St Jude PLAY LIVE, and regularly donates to them

Honestly, Kenma is an angel 🥺 👉👈

×

☆ Miya Atsumu ☆

Gives up his seat on public transport for old/pregnant/disabled etc. people

Look, Tsumu can be a little selfish and grouchy at times, but he's not a complete asshole 👉👈

There's a line, and hogging seats on public transport when someone else clearly needs it more than him is, indeed, the line 😌

He'll do it without a second thought or a fuss, and with a smile on his face but will be low-key proud of himself, ngl

He will also get offended if someone else doesn't give up their seat when they should, and may confront them about it 😳 like, what makes you so special that you can't do that simple courtesy that even he does??

×

☆ Miya Osamu ☆

Donates food to charities and shelters

Both store-bought food and from his own shop

Literally gets so depressed at the thought of people not getting to eat 🥺

This man LOVES FOOD. And people are out there not able to?!

He also has a scheme set up where homeless and stuggling people can come into his shop for some free onigiri

This man 🥺🤧 can I please marry him already?!

×

☆ Sakusa Kiyoomi ☆

Donates sanitary supplies like soap, toothpaste, antibacterial gel, pads, tampons, etc. to shelters on a regualr basis

Literally cannot abide the idea that people are forced to live without these basic necessities, simply because they can't afford them

It's almost for his own peace of mind rather than theirs? 😅😂 almost. He does actually care on their behalf, too

But he doesn't like to make a big deal out of it, and so donates anonymously

His donations are literally a godsend to those people, though 🥺😭

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Reads books to kids at the library when he's there with Natsu

And he's really good at it! He reads very animatedly, and really gets the kids engaged with the stories you can just imagine it

The kids all love him and bring him their favourite books to read!

And the parents all watch and compliment him on how good he is with kids

And this goofball just blushes and grins like a doof 😚 so freaking sweet

×

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Always carries a spare umbrella with him to give to someone

He hates getting caught in the rain himself, so he keeps a spare just in case this precious baby 🥺

He's had to use it quite a few times, sometimes giving it to people he doesn't even know, so he ends up not getting it back and has to buy a new spare

But it makes him smile, if a bit awkwardly, to know that he's helped someone out, even just a little Tobio!! 😭🤧🥺

×

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Steps into the road to allow room for people with pushchairs and prams

I know it might not seem like much, but this is Tsukki, guys 🙄

*Narrator voice* this is one small step for man, one giant leap for Tsukishima!

And this just goes to show that he's not as tough of a cookie as he looks

He doesn't like the idea of parents etc. and young children having to walk in the road he gets worried for them...🤭

And he does it consciously, which is important

×

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Spends time each week looking for the animals on the 'lost' and 'missing' posters around town

He hates to think of them out there, cold, alone, frightened–

It makes him feel nauseous just thinking about it 😣

My poor, precious baby!! He's too pure for this world!! 😭

It's not often, but sometimes he actually manages to find one and bring it back to its owner safely, which is a huge boost for his mood and confidence

He feels so valued and appreciated, and just happy that the little guy is SAFE 😇🤧

×

☆ Haiba Lev ☆

Helps strangers get their cats out of trees and other high places

What else is a tall, handsome, goofball-of-a stranger to do? 😌

Legit, he doesn't think twice. Tall people should use their height to help people, shouldn't they?

Sure, it doesn't always go to plan, and his arms sometimes end up looking like well-used scratching poles, but he's just glad to help 😇

It's good to see the cats safe and with their owners

♡°☆•♡°☆•♡

If you enjoyed, please consider voting in this poll (ends this Sunday 18/10/20) to help me celebrate reaching 100 followers! Thank you to everyone who's already voted!

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[howling-harpy]

This ask is directed to any pairings in BOB (your pick): who has low sex drive? who is shamelessly horny?

Hello, Anon! I’ll do a special mix of those couples I actually have a headcanon about this. <3

Winnix

Dick has no idea if his sex drive is low or high, but it makes itself known and he considers it “healthy”.

Perhaps you could say he has a strong sex drive. He is a practical, energic man and that extends to his way of loving.

Sometimes his love of routine and his practical approach to sex makes things really unromantic, and Dick is most likely to be rejected when he radiates “well I guess we should get this over with” kind of energy.

Nix is unpredictable.

Nix’s libido changes a lot as it’s affected by many things: his moods, his stress, his addiction.

Depressed, drunken Nix is almost completely uninterested in sex. The little interest he has comes from a bad place and shouldn’t be acted upon.

When he’s feeling really low, he tends to use sex for validation or occasionally self-destruction. Being faithful to one partner takes care of most of his bad habits, but not the core mentality.

When he feels better, Nix has a high sex drive. He lives for fun, enjoyable things and sex is definitely on his list of pleasures.

Matching their drives is a challenge. Dick is steady but sometimes too casual about sex, where Nix has his ups and downs but also thinks of sex as an extraordinary pleasure and never a casual deed.

Talking about sex out of bed and giving a lot of non-sexual affection is their key to success.

Speirton

Speirs is a rational person who can compartmentalize most of his feelings. He’s professional and ambitious, and at times he loses his interest in sex completely.

Mostly this means that he has zero sympathy for those who “struggle to stay faithful” and doesn’t relate to those who see sex as a need akin to hunger.

When he’s on work mode, he doesn’t allow or need distractions. He can go on like that for months.

Besides that, Speirs has a steady sex drive and he feels strong attraction and wants to act on it, but to him his libido is something he can set aside for other things and be content without sex for long periods of time.

Lipton is an affectionate person with strong insticts. He cannot put his desires on hold. He misses Speirs like crazy when he’s gone.

Lipton doesn’t understand Speirs’ way of setting feelings and desires aside. He is equally ambitious, so it’s not that.

Lipton considers himself a rather ordinary, down to earth person, so thinking of himself as high-key sexual doesn’t seem to fit at first.

Lipton might doubt Speirs’ feelings for him if he didn’t have the ability to flick Speirs’ libido on with a look and one open button.

After long periods of time apart, they tend to lock themselves into their bedroom for a long, long time to sate what’s been neglected.

Webgott

They are both horny and that’s why their relationship works.

They don’t have much of a fine-toned love language. They have an incredible chemistry and they have awesome sex. The rest rides on endorphines.

Web likes to think he’s above low-brow things like libido. He is not. He is very prone to comfort and easy to temp, so his only defence against seduction is to bore his tempter to death.

It works a little bit too often. It’s not that Web is hard to want, but he’s hard to get to focus. He’s also a little bit too lost in his own inner world to always notice that he’s being hit on. He is definitely not as subtle as he likes to think he is.

Lieb appears to be extroverted: he sure can talk about anything with anyone, he’s funny and knows his way around, but he’s also reserved with new people and doesn’t trust easily.

Still, he has a strong emotional side and even though he doesn’t take on people fast, he likes sex.

With Lieb, his own libido and the social demands don’t always meet. He’s not really into hookups, but he’s very active in a stable relationship.

Lucky for them, Lieb knows how to be blunt, and Web’s libido matches his. When they communicate openly, it goes well.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

All Norman Bates

PART FORTY-TWO OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of estranged parents, therapy, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Jess and Ella experience a bump in the road on the way to California.

A/N: Just so everyone is aware, there are only two chapters left after this, including the epilogue :)

Sighing, Jess glanced over at Ella, who sat in the passenger seat with a crinkled brow and the cap of a red pen between her teeth. They were halfway to California, and Jess didn’t think he’d seen her without that same pensive look on her face for the entirety of the trip thus far. But, he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed at her insistence on working over the spring break. Her cheeks were lively with rosy color, and her eyes looked clearer.

They weren’t all good days. Sometimes, she would come home from work or school and fall asleep on the couch almost immediately, lethargic and unable to articulate any of the thoughts which were jumbled in a confusing, depressed mess within her head. Then, when she awoke, she would often find herself needing to cry. Whether she knew what her feelings were about or not, she would let herself cry, like her new therapist was urging her to. Jess would rub circles on her back and make green tea and listen. And eventually, she would feel better. They were working it out together, just like he promised. Most of the time, there was a gnawing guilt sitting in her stomach. He shouldn’t have to take care of her, she would think. She was holding him back. She was weighing him down. Each time she brought it up though, he would patiently remind her of how much she had helped him, how this thing of theirs was a two-way street, and that he didn’t mind.

She would smile, in spite of herself. Slowly, it was getting easier, and she was regaining her passion for things. She was drawing again, even painting, finally making use of the easel Jess had gotten her for Christmas. Jess often made jokes about how big of a role their therapists played in their lives, but they only made Ella laugh, instead of making her angry. It was true, but she was becoming less ashamed of it by the day. It would probably always feel a bit like her and Jess against the world, but their world could be bigger. Help didn’t need to be an evil. She didn’t need to make survival her ultimate goal. Instead, she was working on happiness. And, of course, the antidepressants were playing a part no one could understate.

“You’re gonna make yourself carsick,” Jess warned begrudgingly, turning down the Killers song which played on the radio.

Ella rolled her eyes but didn’t look up from the essay. “You’re the one who gets carsick, Jess. I’ll be fine.”

Again, he gave a slight sigh. Sometimes, the silence could get to even him. When she was working, it was like she was on a different planet. “Whatever, Daria. Just call me the invisible man.”

“You are so clingy,” she teased off-handedly, chuckling.

He scoffed, though a blush rose hotly up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “Am not.”

“Sure, tough guy,” she quipped, then finally looked up from the midterm papers she was grading.

The current one was a pretty decent account of how Van Gogh made the most of his madness through his art. She was pretty engrossed in it, and it was almost free of her annotations. Her harsh grading style had become almost notorious with the T.A. circle at the University. But, sometimes, people really did turn in perfect work. Besides, she knew it was better to bite the bullet and give the advice. It was what the students were there for, after all. And subtlety had never been her strong suit.

For what it was worth, she was working on the drive in an attempt to have less to do once they actually reached California. The plans were to spend the week on the beach, reading and drawing, and popping into Jess’s father’s house every now and again. The visit was partially for vacation, partially an obligatory gesture. Jess hadn’t visited in so long, the guilt was starting to get to him. His father was a douchebag, but he had still welcomed Jess into his home when he didn’t have to. The gesture certainly counted for something.

Watching the darkness of the road ahead, Jess tried to keep his anxiety at bay. He had to remind himself that Ella was with him, they were older, and even more stable than they had been the last time they visited. He didn’t need to feel nervous about the trip, but the memories of his lonely months in Venice were itching at the back of his mind. Sometimes, he would give in and scratch, even if it only made things worse. He bit at his bottom lip, eyes occasionally wandering to the sky. There were stars, lots out in the heartland of America with no light pollution. And there were hardly any other cars, as the night went from evening to late. There were no concrete plans about where to stay the night, just the next decent motel they happened upon. Each time Ella suggested stopping, Jess insisted he was fine to keep driving. He wanted to get as much done as he could manage. Truthfully, he was not looking forward to the silence of the nighttime, when Ella went to sleep and he had to be alone with thoughts of his father turning over and over in his head.

“Do you hear that?” she asked after a moment, brows furrowing. With her attention away from her work, she had begun to pick up on a faint clicking sound.

“Hear what?” Jess said, broken from his anxious reverie.

“Listen,” she said, then gave a hesitant pause. Then added: “It’s getting louder.”

Jess did as she told him, turning the quiet music on the radio all the way down. Sure enough, beneath the rushing of the tires and the occasional screech they had come to tune out after years of riding in the death trap, there was a clicking. And it was getting louder, faster and faster. Then, Jess began to feel a drag in his speed and a resistance in his brakes.

.   .   .

Too tired even to work, Ella laid with her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling. They were somewhere in Kansas, with shitty cell reception and even shittier motels. No auto repair shop would be open until the morning, the man with the tow truck had said, but he suspected it was the engine, based on the sound they had described to him. Luckily, the man had been kind enough to drive them to the nearest 24-hour lodging. The Ambassador would sit solitary in the tow yard until the morning, when they came to bring it to whatever repair shop had the lowest prices. In all honesty, Ella was just glad they hadn’t been forced to spend the night on the side of the highway. It had taken them almost a half an hour before finally getting Ella’s cell in the right position to handle a call to information, to get the name of a towing company. The whole ordeal had been nerve-wracking, but she was feeling marginally better behind the safety of their closed motel room door. At the front desk there sat a disinterested woman with thick glasses which magnified her light eyes and a magazine open on the desk in front of her. She had told them a lost key was a $50 fee before sending them on their way with little more than a glance.

It wasn’t a shock. Jess’s car had been living on borrowed time for quite a while, anyway. Rusty and creaky and dying. Ella almost felt vindicated. Finally, her predictions had come true. She had expressed doubt when Jess had said he would be the one driving, to give her time to work and relax. He’d been encouraging her to relax more often recently, and she appreciated it. But riding passenger in the Ambassador was anything but relaxing. Ella still couldn’t believe how flabbergasted Jess had looked when he had to pull over on the side of the road, unable to drive safely with the way the gas pedal wasn’t cooperating. Ella felt a bit of foolish nostalgia at the thought of the vehicle. Another site of their youth bites the dust.

“I don’t know,” Jess sighed into his phone, running a hand down his tired face.

He’d been talking to Sasha for the last twenty minutes. It was past ten, but not the middle of the night. Jimmy, however, wasn’t available to talk apparently. Sasha had been suggesting alternative plans for them to get to California, though both Jess and Ella knew there was no way they were getting down there anytime soon if the car was as broken as they suspected. Even if it wasn’t completely dead (which it was), they’d have to wait for parts to come in. Who knew how long that would take for such an old make and model.

Eventually, Jess pushed Sasha off the phone with some muttered excuses and forced goodbyes. His head was swimming with fatigue, and he didn’t think he could deal with another second of his stepmother. Not considering how chatty and cheery she was. Putting his cell phone on the rickety nightstand next to him, he flopped down onto his back. The comforter had a faded floral pattern, but was surprisingly soft. He blew out a long breath and shut his eyes for a moment.

“So she took it well?” Ella asked flatly. She had heard Sasha’s good-natured badgering as she lay silently next to Jess.

“Oh yeah,” Jess replied. “Very understanding.”

Ella snorted a laugh and sat up again, looking down at him. She raked her fingers through his hair affectionately. He sighed again, eyes still closed. Biting at the inside of her cheek, Ella fought back a small smirk at the sight of him in the low glow of the singular bedside lamp. The night certainly hadn’t gone according to plan, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel too upset about not making it to California. She still wasn’t the biggest fan of Jimmy or the Pacific Ocean. She kept stroking his hair, eyeing his long lashes and exhausted pallor. She could tell how sleepy he was, even if he wouldn’t exactly admit the effects of driving so long.

She looked around the small room, big enough only for a queen bed, a small TV, some nightstands, and a bathroom off to the side. The rosebud wallpaper was yellowed with age and there were a few precarious stains on the beige carpet. But the air had a homey smell of dust and she decided it wasn’t the worst place they could have ended up. Fortunately, they didn’t need to find dinner, having already grabbed some takeout about an hour before the end of the Ambassador’s long, strange life.

“At least we won’t have to reconnect with that weird guy who works on the boardwalk,” Ella said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“The guy who sells the hemp hats?” Jess asked, then cracked his eyes open again. “You think he still works there?”

“I bet he’ll still be standing out there long after you and I are dead,” Ella replied.

Jess laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“Maybe I should grade more,” she said distractedly, speaking mostly to herself as her idle hands made uneasiness creep up in her stomach.

Rolling his eyes, Jess grabbed her gently around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed, guiding her head to his chest. “This is an addiction, Stevens. I’m cutting you off.”

“Yeah, well, the first step to healing is acceptance,” she quipped, placing a kiss on his t-shirt and settling in against him. For once, she decided to oblige him and sleep instead of stay up into the early hours of the morning with her red pen. Her therapist had also suggested doing work in moderation.

Jess chuckled breathily. “It’s true.” Then, after a moment: “I think I’m honestly more upset about the car than not getting to go visit daddy dearest.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“Oh, am I that transparent?” he deadpanned.

“Like a glass house, Mariano,” she teased. “I guess it is the end of an era.”

He nodded. “Yeah. No more weird cigarette burns on the ceiling.”

She laughed. One of the only nights in high school she had ever gotten stoned, Jess had picked her up from her house by surprise, throwing pebbles at her window. He found her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, her cheeks flushed, and her mind spacey. All she’d wanted to do was drive around and smoke cigarettes and listen to Joy Division. At the time, she hadn’t told him about the blowout fight with her father and Fiona. Not until the next morning over breakfast in the diner. When she’d accidentally burned the ceiling of the car with her cigarette, leaving a dark circle, she’d started tearing up. In response, Jess lit a cigarette of his own and pressed it to the ceiling without hesitation, unphased.

Smiling at the memory, she threw an arm over his waist. “And no more barrette stuck in the window crank that won’t come out no matter how fucking hard I try.”

Jess snorted a laugh. After the Arctic Monkeys concert they’d attended the previous summer, they’d had sex in the backseat. One of her barrettes had somehow ended up eternally wedged in the window crank. The next day, she’d taken a pair of pliers to it fruitlessly. Jess had teased her, the woman who prided herself on being able to fix anything, mercilessly, ever since.

“And about a million other ‘no mores.’ Who knows what’ll happen in our next car,” he said.

“Only time will tell,” she muttered through a yawn. “I love you, James Dean.”

“Love you back,” he replied.

A gentle click sounded in the cozy quiet as Jess shut off the lamp. Getting comfortable again, he ran a hand up and down over her back and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Then, he bit at his bottom lip, and his mind flashed to the small red box in this duffel. With the thin gold ring, a tiny amethyst in the middle. He’d bought it months ago, on a random trip to some antique shop with Chris, and he had a few ideas in mind. He hadn’t nailed down a real proposal plan yet, but took it with to California just in case. It had been wishful thinking, of course, since California was neither of their favorite places. And they weren’t going to make it there anyway. Still, it was there. It was happening. He just didn’t know when. It made his insides feel fluttery and excited and almost sick with nerves. But, for now, he decided getting the fuck out of Kansas would be the first step.

Dozing, Ella let her mind wander again to their teenage years. She felt her heart ache with sentimentality, and then brushed it off. Not because she wanted to ignore the feeling, but because all of a sudden she didn’t feel it. She didn’t need to miss Jess when he was right next to her. She didn’t need to worry about the past. Let yourself have a middle. Lorelai’s words reappeared in her mind, soft and comforting.

“Jess?” she asked, voice beginning to grow rough with sleep.

“Hmmm?” he hummed, and she felt the word vibrating in her ear against his chest.

“Do you think that lady at the front desk is gonna go all Normal Bates on us?” she asked.

He sighed, but then it turned into a laugh. “No, Daria, I don’t think so.”

“I bet that’s what Jant Leigh thought too,” she replied, all too serious.

Jess kept his smirk. “Just call me Marion Crane, then.”

She giggled, then was quiet for another moment. Jess slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt and began rubbing small circles on her skin. Usually, she fell asleep within a couple minutes of laying down. Apparently, something was eating at her.

“I think I’m gonna take that job at the University for next year,” she spoke again suddenly.

“Really?” he asked, smirk turning to a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she said, almost shyly. “I’ll have time for actually making some damn art, but I’ll still have a steady income, good benefits...ugh do I sound like a middle-aged tragedy?”

“No,” he said, reassurance in his tone. “I think it’s gonna be great, Eleanor. Seriously.”

“I just...I think I’ll be happy doing it.”

“I do too,” he said, kissing her hair once more. “Congratulations, Stevens.”

“Thanks,” she said with a nervous chuckle, blushing a bit. “And I’ll have that whole sexy professor thing going for me, which is a plus.”

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Opportunity Knox and Cameo

We’re treated to something a bit special this episode! No, not the art and animation quality, as that’s…kinda weak this time. Or maybe I should say Brain is drawn and animated kinda nightmarishly in a lot of parts? Well, you’ll see.

No, the special thing about this episode is that it’s written by Tom Minton, the writer at Warner Brothers who was the original inspiration for The Brain! The general idea for Pinky and the Brain as characters and as a show came from Tom Ruegger having an office close by to Tom Minton and Eddie Fitzgerald, two writers and storyboard artists who he would often hear laughing and joking around together but usually couldn’t make out what exactly they were saying. Minton usually spoke low and quietly and was more introverted, while Fitzgerald was much more outgoing and loud…basically already like a cartoon come to life (Eddie actually did exclaim things like ‘Narf’ occasionally in reality, which was an aspect that was added to and exaggerated in Pinky’s character). The fact that these two guys who were viewed as total opposites by their colleagues were good friends and spent so much time working together in secret lead to everyone joking that they were secretly trying to take over the world.

That isn’t to say that Pinky and Brain are 100% cartoon copies of Eddie and Tom—our mouse duo definitely veered off into their own distinct personalities very quickly—but the basic bones of their characters came from these two real life men. That makes me wonder about how surreal it must have been for Tom Minton to write for episodes starring Pinky and the Brain. He only did so four times in Animaniacs (and Eddie Fitzgerald never directly worked on Animaniacs or Pinky and the Brain, to my knowledge).

In any case, let’s move on to the actual episode.

We open to a multitude of bubbling beakers of mysterious liquids and one scientist working alone at night in the Acme Labs. She sneezes a few times, and then exclaims that she’s only a few steps away from curing the common cold.

…Man, Acme Labs is a total shitshow when it comes to their work, aren’t they? In addition to all the blatantly cruel experiments on animals that they do, just look at how lax this scientist is about lab safety. I’ll give her props for at least wearing her lab coat properly and tying her long hair up, which is something most media usually gets wrong. The fact that she’s doing this medical experiment while not wearing gloves or proper eye protection or a mask is very troubling. Not to mention that she’s doing all this while being very sick, if her violent sneezes are anything to go by.

Hmm, that cage is looking suspiciously empty.

Well, well! Looks like our mousey duo is up to something.

“Ahehehehe, oh this is gonna be great, Brain! Narf!”

“Quiet, Pinky!”

OH LORD, SHE JUST CHUGS IT HERSELF! Lady, PLEASE! The fact that this “cure” is piss-coloured only makes it worse.

Sweetie, I think this needs more peer-reviewed, double-blind tests before you can truthfully say that you’ve made a cure for the common cold. You have no proper safety gear on and you’re doing this experiment all alone at night with no one to check up on you.

Oh no. Boys, what are you doing?

So they catapult some powdery substance on her and she goes into a more violent sneezing fit than before. She leaves the room to go “back to the drawing board”, but honestly I’m hoping that she just goes home and isolates herself for a while.

“Success, Pinky!”

“Egad, Brain, what is this stuff?!”

“A new strain of pollen I created myself, Pinky. It causes a temporary but uncontrollable fit of allergic sneezing in man.”

Pinky looks very disturbed by this (although I suppose it doesn’t help that Brain has that very smug and devious look on his face) until Brain says that the effect is temporary. It’s a nice little detail that shows us approximately where Pinky’s lines of morality are. Brain makes his own strain of pollen to cause humans to have severe sneezing fits? That’s amazing but horrifying! Oh, it’s only temporary? Well okay, then. It’s fine if it doesn’t cause any lasting harm.

“No human is immune.”

AAAAAAHHHHHHH! Holy fuck, show, don’t give me a jumpscare like that!

“Do you realize what we will do with this pollen, Pinky?”

“Umm… Open a boutique?”

GAH! I told you to stop doing that! Seriously, what’s up with the way Brain’s draw in this episode?

“Yes, that’s it. We’ll open a boutique and sell ladies’ clothing and pollen.”

“Egad, Brain, what fun! I like this idea, I do! Hehehahahaha!~”

Of course he would. Of course he’d like working in a more domestic setting and selling ladies’ clothing.

…Say, now that I think of it, I think this might be the first time we get a hint as to Pinky’s love of what’s stereotypically thought of as women’s clothing. Hmm.

BONK!

“Focus, Pinky, FOCUS!”

Brain, sweetie, not everyone goes into tunnel-visioned hyperfocus like you do.

“We shall do no less than go to Fort Knox, Kentucky: keeper of the nation’s gold supply. There, we will expose the guards to our pollen…”

Despite the general awkwardness of the animation this episode, I like the way Brain is drawn here from over the shoulder. Very nice work.

Also…”our” pollen? Brain, you made that yourself. I guess this is just another example of Brain subconsciously including Pinky in everything.

“…and while they’re sneezing uncontrollably, we’ll move into the vault and take the gold!”

Brain’s plan blueprints are such a treat. Gold! Gold! Gold!

“For he who controls this nation’s capital, controls the nation!”

Okay, this close-up is a little better.

“Off to Fort Knox!”

“Oh! Wait! But isn’t the nation’s capital in Washington, DC?”

BONK!

“Capital as in money, Pinky!”

Oh come on now, Brain. It was an easy mistake to make. Also “capital” in this instance can mean more than money if you want to get semantic about it.

Brain grabs Pinky’s tail to drag him away again. It’s a wonder that Pinky’s tail isn’t as kinked up and injured as Brain’s is by now.

Ooo, improvised tools time!

“But how are we gonna get to Fort Knox, Brain?”

“We’ll simply borrow one of the lab’s technological resources:”

“The minivan!”

Pinky, are you mildly swooning over Brain acquiring a minivan? I…

This does bring up a point I wanted to make, though. Sometimes fans will question why Pinky and Brain stay at Acme Labs despite being put through so much inhumane and humiliating bullshit. While it’s true that Brain doesn’t much like the experiments he’s subjected to (Pinky is…another story entirely), I’m pretty sure he keeps the labs as his home because it’s incredibly convenient for his world domination plans. These are ACME labs, after all, and regardless of how terrible the experiments are, Acme has access to just about every bit of technology in the Warner Brothers cartoon universe. Brain can find or order whatever parts he needs for his latest world domination plan whenever he wants, and no human bats an eye at mysterious bits and bobs showing up because, well, it’s Acme. Acme is in the business of doing absolutely everything. No matter what daytime tortures Brain goes through, the lab is an incredible asset to him, and he’d be foolish to give that up.

Hello again, Warner siblings! I hope you’re having fun tonight.

That’s an awfully tiny sack of pollen to take for this trip…

“Won’t we get in trouble, Brain?”

“’Get in trouble’? Pinky, we’re going to take over the world!”

I just like the tiny silhouettes in this screencap.

“Besides, we’ll have the van back here by 8 am.”

“Oh! All right, then!”

[Quickly googles how long it would take to drive from Burbank California to Fort Knox]

…Are you sure about that, Brain? Are you really, positively sure?

Oh my goodness, a little winch and pulley system! That’s a little convoluted, but it’s adorable.

“Oi! Nice threads, Brain! But, err, why the disguise?”

“If we are to succeed in our mission, I must pass for an average, non-descript motorist, Pinky.”

I agree, Pinky. Brain always looks good in a suit.

Also he’s on a literal soap box, holy shit.

“So while we’re driving, call me Mr. Perkins.”

A trillby?!? Put it back! Putitbackputitbackputitback!

“Say no more! Brilliant, Brain!”

“Mr. Perkins.”

Oh no, he’s threatening to punch the audience now!

“Ooo, right, right. Narf! Heh, Mr. Per-kins.~”

“Pinky, start your engine!”

So Pinky tugs on a rope tied to the car keys to start the minivan, and I bet we can all already tell that he’s going to be doing most of the hard work for this roadtrip.

“Now depress the brake!”

I half expected a joke here where Pinky would say depressing things to the brake, but that didn’t happen. It’s just as well, I suppose. Pinky’s not usually the type to be mean to anyone or anything.

Instead, he pushes himself into the brake.

This made me curious about how strong real mice are. According to this scientific article, the average mouse can lift approximately 70 g in weight.That’s not a lot compared to us humans, of course, but seeing as the average weight of the common house mouse is 19 g (and common wood mice are on average 23 g), that’s really impressive! Still, for Pinky to be able to depress the brake is quite a feat that’s worlds beyond what the average real-life mouse can do.

Yes, yes, I know. It’s all cartoon logic and physics. That’s not going to stop me from having the headcanon that Pinky and the Brain have both been modified so much by Acme Labs that in addition to becoming sapient and intelligent, they’re basically little mouse superheroes in strength, too.

“Yes! Now I’ll shift the transmission into gear and…you give it the gas!”

Man, Pinky just slams his entire body onto the gas pedal with all his mousey might! You can hear him physically strain against it. Well done, Mr. Paulsen!

“Now Pinky, let us, in the vernacular, ‘take this hog out on the road and see who’s boss’!”

Oh lord, Brain’s on a slight power trip just from being able to drive a vehicle. If he ever does rule over the world one day, I fear he may explode from the sheer ego-high of it.

Anyway, on the way to Fort Knox they get stuck behind a rather slow transport truck. Well, Brain can’t have that! He’s got to get back to the lab by 8 am after all!

“Pinky! Prepare to pass a slow-moving vehicle!”

“Righty-o, Brain!”

Again, Pinky, I’m pretty sure you really aren’t supposed to stick your ass and chest out while saluting. You’re supposed to keep your posture straight.

…What am I saying? Pinky can’t do anything straight.

“Call me Mr. Perkins! Activate left turn indicator now.”

Aww, a little hop!~

Unfortunately it’s the wrong lever.

“…Let’s try that again, Pinky.”

“Narf! Wrong switch.”

He sits down to think and of course he gets it right that way.

Anyone else enjoying a lesson on how to drive from Pinky and the Brain? No? Just me? I mean, I already know how, but this is super cute.

“Exemplary work, Pinky!”

Brain, he just…he just pulled a switch. By accident. The fact that he’s so sincere about complimenting him for this is very cute but also very odd. I guess Brain’s in a good mood tonight.

“But we’re slowing down. Quickly, step on the gas!”

“Gas, check!”

Pinky, no!

Oh lord, he just lets himself fall directly on the gas pedal. You okay there, dude?

“Maintain pedal pressure, Pinky!”

I don’t think he has much of a choice, Brain.

So they get beside the freight truck and the driver of it picks up his CB radio mic.

“Hey, breaker breaker one nine, this here’s Big Red. Eh…what’s your handle, good buddy? Over.”

“The name’s Perkins. MISTER Perkins. Just an average, non-descript motorist.”

Wh—Why is there a CB radio installed in the Acme Lab minivan?

Pinky chooses this moment to lift himself off the gas pedal and then jump back on it in a weirdly showy, semi-acrobatic way. The first screencap has the tip of his tail almost in the shape of a heart, so I had to include it.

Our duo pass by the freight truck. Needless to say, the truck driver is still pretty rattled by his run-in with “Mr. Perkins”.

“I gotta quit eatin’ them double onion chili dogs!…”

Usually people just run with it on this show, but this is one of those rare moments where a human being doesn’t inexplicably fall for one of Brain’s horrible human disguises.

The minivan’s grill looks like teeth here and it’s almost menacing.

Uh oh, Brain’s getting dozy.

“Pinky…I’m in need of some music to keep myself raptly alert. And use the cruise control this time so we don’t lose speed!”

I don’t know why I’m so charmed by Pinky pressing the cruise control button like this, but it’s very cute.

“Cruise control on, Br—aaaerr—umm, Mr. Perkins!”

He is trying his best. :3c

“[yawn] Stellar, Pinky. Now see if you can locate a local radio station frequency.”

“Narf! Wrong knob…”

Smacking the hell out of the right knob make the radio explode into a loud yet incredibly mild generic rock tune. I’m surprised Pinky’s so alarmed. I wonder if Brain—

JEEZUS FUCK! You gotta stop giving me a heart attack with these sudden messed up close-ups of Brain, episode!

“Turn off the radio, Pinky!”

“Heeey! This knob’s loose!”

Aaaand there he goes.

“Oohoo ahaha! What’d’ya know? The lighter works!”

I wonder if Pinky knows what that’s actually for at this point, considering his utter disdain for smoking later in the spin-off?

“The radio, Pinky!”

“Ooo, right. Almost forgot!”

Uh oh.

“Whew. Suddenly I feel downright feverish, I do…”

Pinky has become a Charmander, and he’s not happy about it.

So he’s screaming and shouting his verbal tics all over the place and what’s Brain’s reaction?

“There’s no need for you to entertain me personally, Pinky. I’m quite awake now.”

BRAIN! You wipe that smug smile off your face right now, you little jerk! I know Pinky will be okay because he always is, but still.

One screen wipe later…

“Kentucky, Pinky! We made it!”

“All right, Brain!”

“Mister PERKINS!”

Brain, I think Pinky’s just not into this roleplay tonight. Or it might be your trillby. Lose the damn trillby.

“Fort Knox is mere miles away. Nothing can stop us now!”

Well, looks like you jinxed yourself.

I’ve got no love for cops, but his “what the fuck” expression here is choice.

“Good evening, officer. Was I exceeding the speed limit?”

“By about a hundred miles an hour.”

Oh, is that all? They’d need to be over by, like, a thousand or so miles an hour to make as good of a time as they did getting here.

Maybe this guy is going to arrest them for breaking the laws of time and space.

“I’m sorry, y’see—“

Shining a flashlight directly into your eyes? Yup, this is definitely a cop.

“I’m Mr. Perkins, an average, non-descript—“

“Can I see your license and registration, please?”

And then Pinky immediately interrupts the shakedown with a happy, matter-of-fact “We don’t have any! Zort! :D” and now my mind wanders off into let’s-overanalyze-the-shit-out-of-this-joke-scene territory because… Look at this. A cop pulls over a vehicle from Acme Labs doing about a hundred miles over the speed limit and finds Brain, a mouse in a suit trying to pass as a human driver. Then Pinky, who is dressed in no such disguise because why would Brain ever think of an obviously important detail ever in one of his plans, pops up to say that they don’t have a driver’s license.

…So what does this scene look like at this point from the cop’s perspective? Besides the very rare outlier like the truck driver from before, humans usually take Brain’s word for it that he’s also human, no matter how shoddy his disguise is. There are a few possibilities here, and I honestly can’t decide which is funniest:

1.      The cop can see through Brain’s poor disguise just like the truck driver from earlier can, and knows that these are actually two mice that have stolen a truck and have been speeding down the highway with it.

2.      The cop thinks Brain is a very odd-looking human without a driver’s license who’s been driving down the highway at insane speeds with his loose pet talking mouse by his side.

3.      The cop believes that Brain really is an odd-looking human who has no license and has been wildly speeding down the highway and also there’s an equally odd-looking human man with him who is stark naked for some mysterious reason.

I’ll let you decide which one is the most likely canon scenario as we continue as Brain tries to clear up this scenario.

“If you must know, we are two lab mice out to control the world by seizing its gold assets. But when we assume power, rest assured our budget will result in substantial new funding for law enforcement.”

…

Leave it to Brain to truthfully spell out his global domination intentions for no good reason and then lie his little mousey ass off to try and bribe his way out of going to jail.

Also, again, it’s “when we assume power” and not “when I assume power”. Hmm.

“…Oh.”

“Bwuhyuube… Be--best be on your way, then.”

“Thank you, officer.”

I’d say I was surprised that white privilege extends even to white lab mice here but…that would be a lie.

“Oh man, I do miss them witless teenage speed demons…”

So they finally make it to Fort Knox.

…And I guess the Warner siblings do, too!

The two mice have parked on a hill overlooking their target and gosh Brain, you’re looking extra pudgy here.

“It’s time to make our move, Pinky.”

Judging by the look on his face here, I think Pinky just noticed how thicc Brain’s behind has suddenly gotten.

Nevertheless, they begin their pollen assault on the guards.

Finally, the moment has arrived!

Brain’s head is shaped like a football and is almost as wide as Pinky is tall here, but besides that this is a cool shot.

This bit was also used in the spin-off’s theme for some reason, but now it will forever remind me of the absolute chaotic laughter that erupted when I got some friends to sit down and watch an episode of PatB. The stream decided to stop on this specific shot for buffering and they all just lost it. Most of the reaction was through voice on Discord, but luckily there were some friends using text chat too:

I live for moments like these when we’re streaming shows and movies.

“Egad! This is even better than a Ducktales episode, Brain!”

That’s pretty high praise, Pinky. I love the shadowing done on him here as well.

“Pinky… Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Wha—I think so, Brain, but balancing a family and a career? Oof, it’s all too much for me!”

Pinky did…did you see all this gold and immediately begin envisioning yourself using the money to settle down and start a family?!? And so far in this series you aren’t dating anyone and you probably don’t even know anyone besides Brain and…

Okay, listen, I know it’s established later on that Pinky has wishes and daydreams about having a very domestic life, culminating in that one “Somewhere That’s Green” parody fantasy where he and Brain live together like a 50s couple in the Elmyra spin-off but… But…!

Well, you’ll kind of get a family along with your world domination “career” in a few years, Pinky. It’s probably not going to be quite how you envisioned it, though.

“The gold, Pinky! It’s all ours. Let’s move it out!”

Umm…

“One…two…three…and lift!”

I just realized that out of context the poses and faces in this screencap could look, uhh, questionable. But will that stop me from sharing it? No.

“I believe my plan has a…fatal flaw…”

About 27.4 pounds worth of a fatal flaw. You two might have super strength in comparison to other mice, but it looks like you both have a hard limit.

“I am in intense pain, Pinky.”

“Ditto, Brain. Zort!”

Well, okay, I guess it’s good that you are both cartoons, then. You boys should be able to shrug this off pretty quickly, especially Pinky.

OH GOD!

Is this what all those nightmarish close-ups of Brain were preparing me for?!?

“Fear not, Pinky, for the unwieldy atomic weight of gold will not thwart us tomorrow night.”

“Why? What are we doing tomorrow night, Brain?”

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky… Try to take over the world!”

You know, most cartoons would settle for them just being covered in bandages. Not Animaniacs, though. In Animaniacs were have to know that their removal from under the gold bar was so difficult and painful that fur was pulled out and they were left with bare, raw patches of skin. T-thanks, Warner Brothers?

Let’s end with a somewhat longer cameo appearance, as I suspect at this point Tumblr will have another fit if I try to combine two full episodes again.

The very next episode of Animaniacs has a skit called Hercule Yakko, which is a vague parody of Hercule Poirot mysteries. We get a good handful of cameos from the stars of other Animaniacs skits as passengers on a luxury cruise boat on the Nile.

The basic premise is that the Marita, one of the Hip Hippos, awakens in the middle of the night to find her comically large diamond necklace missing. The Warner siblings are a detective team who happen to also be onboard the ship and offer to help the hippo couple find it.

Before you ask, yes, this is the same episode as the infamous “fingerprints” joke.

Eventually the Warner siblings begin to go around knocking on the doors of the other passengers’ rooms to ask questions. They come across Slappy Squirrel first, who knows nothing about the missing diamond and just wants to be left alone to sleep. Then they meet Minerva Mink and, well, you can guess how that went. Then Yakko knocks on the last door.

“YES?”

Smol.

Look at them in their matching lederhosen! That’s absolutely adorable. Bravo to whichever of the mice had the idea for these “disguises”.

“Did you steal a big diamond?”

“No. We are Swiss hikers on holiday.”

Okay so maybe I’ll deduct a few points for wearing lederhosen, which is more associated with Bavaria and Germany, but claiming to be Swiss. Not that people in Switzerland didn’t also wear it, but you’d probably want to make your cover story as unsuspicious as possible, right? And that’s not even going into the idea of wearing a garment made from leather in hot, hot Egypt. These mice must be drenched in sweat…

“Look at me, Brain! I’m Heidi! Yodelehe-NARF!~”

Well at least someone in this duo is trying his best to reference things from Switzerland.

…Brain is the one that fucked up the lederhosen cultural background thing, isn’t he? Goddammit, Brain.

He just bonks the hell outta Pinky and silently slams the door in Yakko’s face.

After briefly talking with Marita, Yakko exclaims that he knows where the diamond is and asks that everyone assemble together in the state room. And so they do!

Aww, they’re sharing a chair because they are so, so tiny. :3c

“You’re probably all wondering why I called you here!”

“To reveal the thief?!?” says everyone in unison.

Minerva, you’re looking kind of weird in that second pic.

“No. It’s because you can’t play charades with three people.”

“That’s it! I’m goin’ back to bed.”

“So am I. I didn’t take the diamond!”

Man, Minerva really got a raw deal in the 90s. She only has two episode skits of her own and makes a few tiny cameos elsewhere, like in this one. I get that she was put on the back-burner as a character because her skits were considered “too suggestive”—and to be honest they were a bit over the top—but there are certainly ways that you can write a character who uses their sex appeal for comedic effect without it being disrespectful. It’s a shame they never tried to tweak the tone of her episodes just a tad.

But anyway, mice!

Brain is looking at Minerva with…worry? Concern? Confusion? Which is a very atypical reaction to Minerva. Gee, I wonder why.

Pinky is Looking Respectfully.

I’m never going to get over how cute they look in these outfits.

“I also am innocent.”

“Umm… I may have done it! I walk in my sleep, you know.”

Pinky, sweetie, I know you’re trying in your own odd little way to help but there’s no way you’d be able to carry a diamond of that size.

BONK!

This is the very last clear shot that the mice are in and it’s not very significant but I liked the angle of it.

Oh, you’re asking who took the diamond? No one did. The diamond was lodged in Marita’s butt fat the entire time. It’s the typical style of “humour” from skits with the Hip Hippos. Now you all know why no one is clamouring for their return in the reboot.

That’s it for this post, though. I should have the next episode that I promised would go with this one up in a day or two.

See you next time, folks, when we go off to the races!

[iturbide]

13. 16! _/31/_!!!!

13. First fandom you ever wrote for? 

Pokemon.  The first real foray into fandom I had was with Pokemon, and it was all terrible.  It did, however, end up leaving me with quite a few OCs that I’ve carried around for years, not to mention an idea that will someday be my magnum opus for the Pokemon fandom (once I actually get around to writing it).

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

Monster S/Os are a major guilty pleasure.  Probably the closest named trope I can find for it is ‘Interspecies Romance’ but even that doesn’t feel quite right for what I’m going for -- it’s stuff like Sigh No More, Beyond Twilight’s Veil, War Crimes, late game Sibling AU, etc. where we have things like half-transformed Robins/Grimas and Chrom being all about this rather than scared off.  I really enjoy monster boyfriends/girlfriends I just don’t find enough excuses to play with them.

31. Do you have any OCs?  Tell us about them! 

you know full well I do I have.  So many.  Too many, honestly.  So let’s start small-ish I guess:

Kemal is somewhere in his mid-to-late 30′s, tends to be gruff with anyone who doesn’t know how to show others respect (not necessarily him, just anyone -- he doesn’t tolerate that kind of behavior), but is very kind and even playful with those he considers friends.  At some point in his younger days (early 20′s range) he lost his right arm in an accident and had to relearn most basic skills with his non-dominant hand; he went through an understandable bout of depression, but got through it with help from the people closest to him and is no less capable now than he was before.  He’s happily married to Adia and brags about his wife and son almost constantly.

Adia is somewhere in her mid-to-late 30′s, as well, and though she puts on a more personable public face than her husband, she takes even less shit than he does before she starts laying down the law.  She’s a tall and very handsome woman, but regardless of appearances, she’s strong-willed and unflinching when it comes to seeing matters handled fairly and equitably; she also will not back down from a challenge, to the point that she can and will (and did) elope with the man she loves despite her parents’ wishes in the matter.  She’s happily married to Kemal and is forever quick to praise him as both a husband and father to anyone who stops to listen.

Zhar is a young man with a sunny disposition and an endlessly positive attitude.  He’s equally fond of dancing and horseback riding, and enjoys trick riding when he has an opportunity to indulge -- with or without an audience, it doesn’t matter to him.  Despite his penchant for smiles, his home life is a little rocky; he prefers to avoid that fact as much as possible whenever possible, and has been accused of being flighty or even birdbrained for how he’ll nimbly evade certain subjects through use of convenient distractions.  He hates being cooped up indoors for too long, dislikes being underground, and is more than a little claustrophobic.  He also may have come back from the dead once -- nobody’s entirely sure.

Ambrose is a young man with an aristocratic pedigree, and he’s not about to let anyone forget it.  Vain, conceited, prideful, and self-important all aptly describe him -- and anyone who stands between him and what he feels he’s due thanks to that pedigree are in for intense verbal abuse.  Deep down, though, he harbors major insecurities about his abilities and self-worth due to pressure from his parents to succeed in all things; he takes failure very poorly, and tends to lash out at those who succeed against him in a misguided attempt to make himself feel better.  His behavior is frequently called out and shot down by Zhar and Leander both.

Leander is a young man who prefers action to forethought and tends to leap before he looks in everything.  Powerfully built and highly active, it’s more common to find him outside than in -- and when he is stuck indoors, it’s very likely he’s going to end up getting into an argument eventually just to burn off some of his pent-up energy.  He tends to be a bit of a bully unless girls are involved, at which point he can be low-key chivalrous, though it’s always respectful rather than out of ulterior motive.  He has a younger sister and thinks of how much hell he would give someone picking on her, so he does his best not to give them too much trouble (though the trouble he gives Dian is of an entirely different sort).

Dian is a young woman with boundless curiosity about the world around her and a hunger for knowledge to rival any scholar.  Thoughtful and eager to learn, she can and often will lose herself in the library studying anything she can get her hands on (with the occasional foray into something more fictional) and enjoys talking with others to learn about their experiences.  She is also insecure and doubtful of her self-worth, struggling with shyness and anxiety, social and otherwise -- but she does her best not to let on about that, preferring to put on a smiling mask for the world rather than saddle others with her worries.  Thankfully, Zhar and Leander are there to encourage her (when they’re not making trouble).

35 Questions for Fic Writers 

[katsukikitten]

Rouge 2

A/N PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE ON IF MENTIONS OF SUICIDE CAN OR DO TRIGGER YOU. I WILL BE UNABLE TO PUT A READ MORE ON THIS FICTION FOR A WHILE.

"I'm thinking of ending things."

A thought that has nestled itself in the back of your mind. Often creeping back to the forefront of your thoughts. Especially when things start to go right.

You stare down at the street below, many stories up. The street a long twisting river of tar, cars dwarfed boats and people much more like ants than anything else.

You thighs burn, soles of your feet tingle, urging you to join the bustling traffic below.

L’Appel du Vide.

The wind is cold as it whips through your thin shirt, chilling you to the bone as late winter refuses to die this high up, while the trees below have since begun to bloom.

Balancing on one leg the other dangles like a rag doll over the edge.

But this won't answer the call of your "dream" and you should know.

You've "fallen" from higher.

Still taking a step *is* tempting.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The voice is dark, deadly and you do not need to turn around to know exactly who it belongs too.

At least not since you were denied your one true joy. He has been like a shadow lately all though much to his dismay.

Not even Bakugou Katsuki could deny an order that came from the director.

It did not help that it was also his old Idol.

You twirl as if dancing before jumping from the ledge to the roof of the building. The hot head stands with narrowed eyes, toned arms crossed over a chiseled chest. He notices that your eyes are dull. Dead. It causes his stomach to twist in aggravating knots but you will never know what you do to him.

He stands in tones of bleached grey. Your eyes flutter from how hard they roll, especially so when he puts on this act.

You note the color fading in his eyes and wonder how much longer until it is gone. Until your world is once again plunged into a haze.

"I've fallen from higher." You state as if that is a fact he cares about. A strong hand latches harshly onto your wrist, tightening his grip as he pulls you further from the edge and to the door.

"Director wants to see you." He bites out, yanking you closer to him, "Now."

You allow him to drag you down the stairs and along the hall until the two of you stand before his door.

"Come in." His voice calls through the oak, you turn the brass handle allowing yourself in.

"Ah, Y/N dear how are you feeling?" His leather chair is turned away from you, he is still seated as he rummages through a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Unmotivated, agitated, depressed.

Suicidal.

These are all the things you want to say.

"The usual." You say instead in a joyful tone, if anyone notices that it is forced neither party says anything.

"Y/N, take a seat. Young Bakugiu, you may go." The director says still looking for that obnoxiously aloof file. You look to the man behind you who's eyes narrow into slits before a door is slammed shut. You take your seat at the large desk.

Finally the director swings around in his large chair, he is dwarfed by its size when before he would have dwarfed the chair. He is no longer the muscular poster man that he was.

No he is thin, cheeks hollowed and grey eyes sunken. He coughs into a handkerchief that is staring to stain a deep shade of grey. You wonder if it hurt when he was hit hard enough to obliterate his innards. Well you knew it hurt, you were more curious as to how much.

And was the physical pain worse than the emotional toll that came with the fall from the highest point in hero history?

You would assume that it was not.

Still you stare Allmight down, this is how he always was for you, only occasionally would he puff into his picture perfect form.

But he could no longer. He places a file on the desk.

"Y/N, you've been doing so well on your paper work. But you're behind again. Starting with the rendition of the incident with yourself, Bakugou, Tomaru and a shady alley." He flips open the mineola folder sliding it towards you. Instantly you pick out Bakugou's unkempt yet more than legible hand writing.

How could you forget it especially since Sensei forced him to share his notes with you for the days you missed class.

You read over the beginning of his account, he showed up just in time. Tomaru's hand was almost fully wrapped around your bicep. One digit away from activating his quirk.

Eyes avert to anywhere but the report, you can no longer read about yet another failure. You gulp down your sadness but all it does is lump oddly in your throat.

"Its exactly as Bakugou states." This time you hold eye contact, giving a small reassuring smile that he clearly doesnt buy. He sighs, tapping at his book titled *"Being a great boss, for dummies"*

You grit your teeth, for a moment you wonder if he would fire you.

Well the bright side of that was at least you wouldn't have any more paper work to do.

"Yes, but Bakugou showed up much later. You were the first to respond. Had he really caught you off guard?" Suspicion almost laces in his tone and you make a meek, embarrassed look. Willing the blood to flush your cheeks.

"Ah yes he truly did. He was as quiet as a mouse." You say softly. He stares you down with intense eyes while you hold his gaze.

You really needed to bullshit Allmight. He was the last person you needed breathing down your neck. After a few long moments he sighs.

"Please get as much paper as you can done. Or if you can only do one report. Please make it this one." With that he slides you the file. You close it shut, holding onto it as you stand to leave.

"I'll do what I can."

Instead you find yourself with eyes crossed as you stare at the bleak monitor.

The report you're working on filled with pages and pages of sentences.

But none that pertain to the actual events you're supposed to be detailing.

*"I'm thinking of ending things."*

Repeats itself over and over and over filling the screen as if it were an award winning novel.

Currently you've run out of "inspiration" so here you sit.

Waiting for it to come back again as the cursor flashes, ticking away the seconds.

Time lost to you as minutes bleed into hours.

"Oi, Zombie." Bakugou taps roughly on your desk, eyes mostly grey with only flecks of red.

Lazily your gaze finds his, he finds the same look in your eyes as this afternoon earning him the same gut wrenching twist. He grits his teeth, fists clenched as he waits for you to come to life.

But you never do.

"I'm not staying too late." You half lie half tell the truth. You'll move when your body is ready that or when you can firmly grasp the concept of time again.

The grey monitor stares back at you as blankly as you stare at it. You press a few keys just to keep it from locking.

Bakugou studies you and your mountain of paperwork, you always some how end of getting out of it. He knows it's not from sheer laziness and he wonders if the Director knows just how bad off you are. So he takes pity and fills it out for you.

Your mind wanders further down the silent rabbit hole, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. For a long enough time you think Bakugou has already gone so it's understandable when you almost jump out of your skin when he slams a popping palm against your desk. The fear comes and goes in a blink of an eye, his iris still only specs of red.

Better than everything being that sun bleached grey.

"Oi, I came in here because shit hair Kirishima is having a party tonight. He asked me to ask you." His voice is as gruff as ever yet you are unphased.

Another lazy stare is sent his way before you click a key on the keyboard once more. Silence stretches between the two of you, he lets out a low growl.

"Its his birthday so you have to go."

"But..." Your eyes flash to your calendar, APRIL in bold black letters stares back at you.

Had you really lost that much time? You were doing better this year, coping nicely, the world almost prismacolor yet something changed.

Snapped.

And for no apparent reason at all you were pulled by the undertow, gasping for air once more.

But seven whole months?

Maybe you hadn't been as well as you thought.

"Finish up whatever the hell it is you're doing because we need to leave, now." Bakugou snarls while you stare down at your lap.

"But I look like shit." You admit, black ripped jeans and a plain black shirt.

"You aren't fucking marrying the man, just seeing him at a party. Now. Get. Up." He leans closer to you, pushing harshly on the power button to smother your computer.

Your novel is lost to the computer God's and you're left staring at your own reflection.

God you really did look like shit. What with how harshly exhaustion and lack of sleep pulled at your once tight features. Eyes shadowed, lips in a perpetual frown.

You sigh as you stand, feeling far from wanting to socialize but it *had* been awhile since you had last seen him and since Bakugou said it was his birthday then really you had no other choice.

The air is cool with the promise of summer coming on the breeze, further sending your body into a confused frenzy.

But October could be warm when it wanted to be. Or so you remind yourself. Bakugou stalks ahead, as he normally does and has done since that incident in the alleyway.

He has a hard time letting you walk to the train station alone, especially at night. You watch as his black shirt and pants blend into the shadows, his grey hair sways in the wind reminding you of dying wheat in a field.

His hair flashes ash blonde for a moment before it returns to ashen grey. He glances over his shoulder to make sure you are still following him and when he decides be doesn't like your snail pace he shouts.

"Get your ass in gear we are already late!"

Although he stops, waiting for you before falling into your step.

Matching your snail's pace.

Before long the two of you are standing on the stoop to the Kirishima residence.

Bakugou looks down at you, he cannot tear his eyes away although he wants to. Dreading what comes next.

This was his least favorite part. He watches with close eyes as you take in a long deep breath that should end in a heavy, shaking sigh but instead it is as if a switch was flipped.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips, your eyes have some sparkle, your cheeks rosey.

It's as if you were *alive* and he loathes to know that you can fake that.

He loathes to know that not a soul can see how badly you're really hurting.

You open the door as soon as your facade sets in, shouting your arrival.

"Hellloooooo!!!" As if it is normal to pop into a home without being invited in. You seem to spy Kirishima quickly, pulling him into a tight hug.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask as you squeeze, his bones groan in protest. He furrows his brow and when he spies Bakugou glaring at the two of you from over the rim of a newfound cup he thinks he has put two and two together.

"Yea let's get you a drink!" Kirishima sing songs pulling you into the quiet kitchen. He pulls down various liquor to which you either approve or deny before he makes you a mixed drink.

"Why thank you, Birthday boy." You purr taking a sip, "Shouldn't I be making you a drink? I mean today *is* October 16th. It's crazy how quickly the year flew by."

Your stomach twists at the thought of another year gone, wasted.

You accomplished nothing. You never had and you never will.

But thankfully your worry does not show in your face or your voice.

This time Kirishima cannot keep his confusion hidden as he stares at you with dull grey eyes.

"Umm today isn't my birthday. It's not October."

"Dont be silly you must be drunk! Bakugou said this was your birthday party! I know I've neglected you all year." You laugh, a tinge of guilt pulls at your heart.

"No it's not that. How do I say this? Y/N, we're in the month of April. It's the 20th" He scratches the back of his head, "I threw this party for Bakugou."

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  “ I know this is kind of a Basic Prompt but when you finish the witcher a fic with geralt with a fever would be..... everything. as a long time witcher fan I’m so glad you’re enjoying the show and can’t wait to see your take on these characters 💕💕”

Okay, shit. Okay! I am so ready to write for this! Haven’t been this excited to write for a fandom in a while!

Be prepared to see a shit ton of fics where I try and remedy this damn dumb fight Geralt and Jaskier had.

Jaskier’s fingers pluck lazily at the strings of his lute, a simple yet somber and repetitive tune. His heart hurts still after three weeks since his fight with Geralt. He can’t seem to wipe the Witcher’s words from his mind. They ring like a low vibrato over and over in his head, and he sighs and turns his head toward the window in the local tavern.

“One blessing in life,” he sings, voice mirroring the soft tune that echoes from his lute. “The Witcher screamed. One blessing in life for you to leave. One blessing in life to erase our meet. One blessing in life. You’re nothing to me.”

“Oi, shut it with your melancholy bullshit, Bard!”

Jaskier whips his head around to see a boorish, drunken man approaching him, his ale sloshing over the rim of the cup with each staggering step.

“Why don’t you sing that other song?” The man presses, leaning toward Jaskier. “The happy one about the Witcher?”

“There’s nothing happy about a broken relationship,” Jaskier huffs, and when the man cocks a brow in clear confusion, Jaskier sighs and takes a long sip of his own ale. “We had a fight.”

“And you made it out alive?”

“Not a physical fight.” Jaskier clarifies. “We had an argument, and--”

“--well go make up with him so we don’t have to sit here and listen to that depressing shit coming out of your mouth.”

“He yelled at me!” Jaskier says sharply. “I simply wanted to accompany him on his adventures for new material, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me.” His eyes fall back to the window, watching as civilians rush through the rain. “Besides, I have no idea where he is. He’s probably ages away by now--”

“--he’s locked up in a local cell maybe a two minute walk from here.”

“What?” Jaskier’s muscles fall rigid against the man’s words. “Here? In this town?”

“Yep.” The man pops the ‘p’ and belches loudly around his mug. “Word is he mouthed off to the town guard, so they tossed him into a cell.”

“And he let them?” Jaskier’s tone mirrors the disbelief coloring his eyes. “He’s a Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. He didn’t, just, swing his sword and take them all out?”

“They say he’s in a bad way.”

“A bad way?” Jaskier parrots back, tilting his head to encourage further elaboration.

“‘Suppose he was found feverish and delusional. Told the guards he was going to slice their dicks clean off--”

“--Okay,” Jaskier draws out the word as he hops down from the corner table he’s been perched on. “I’ve heard enough, thank you.” He snags his lute and offers a nod toward the man. “I hope you have a splendid day, fine sir.” He starts toward the exit, ignoring the muttered “fucking bard” from the man as he shoves the rickety tavern door open and starts toward the local prison.

“Geralt,” he mutters under his breath, preparing a riveting speech that will conclude with a demand for an apology. “You had no right to shout at me that way-- no.” He shakes his head with a huff. “Not strong enough. Geralt, you brute. How dare you shout out me that way!” Nodding, his lips creep up into a smile. “Yes, that’s much better.”

He stops in front of a single town guard member watching the stairs leading down to the cells of the make-shift prison. “Good day, sir. I’ve come to visit a prisoner.” He leans forward, whispering. “I’ve come to see the Witcher.”

Though the man’s face takes to a look of annoyance, he wordlessly steps aside, and Jaskier smiles and nods in his direction before making the descent down to the cold, damp, cell hold.

There’s only one cell door that’s closed and locked, and Jaskier sucks in a deep breath. “Geralt, you horribly rude--” He stops, words falling flat off his tongue as he stops in front of the cell and takes in Geralt’s poor appearance.

The Witcher’s clothes are soaked through. He’s pale, shaking, yet his face is flushed red with fever. His hair is matted, stuck to the sweat glistening against his forehead, and his eyes are barely open. There’s a large, bleeding gash stretching from his shoulder down to his chest. It looks red around the edges, inflamed, probably very painful.

“You look terrible,” he breathes out, abandoning his lute in favor of stepping toward the cell until his fingers are gripping cold, metal bars. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Drowner.”

Jaskier’s heard tales of the damp, muddy creatures, and he can’t help but shiver at the thought of their grotesque, frightening features. “Well, why are you in here?”

Geralt groans, and Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt’s face pulls into a faint wince as he moves slightly until he’s sitting up a little more.

“I was resting on someone else’s property,” Geralt pauses, sighing, “apparently. The town guard woke me up. I swung at them, and--”

“--threatened to mutilate their only claim to dignity?” Jaskier offers with a small shrug, and Geralt breathes out a huff of a laugh that’s trailed by a few weak coughs.

“That looks infected,” Jaskier mumbles, eyeing the wound with a sharp frown. “Aren’t Witchers supposed to be immune to this?” He gestures through the cell bars toward the gash. “The legends say--”

“--I’ll heal,” Geralt interrupts gruffly. “That’s what I was trying to do before the town guard came.”

Jaskier shivers against a cool breeze that brings a few, chilly rain drops with it. “Well, you certainly cannot heal in this cell.” His mind is working three steps ahead. “I’ll see what I can do to get you out of here.”

“Jaskier--”

Jaskier waves a hand as he starts up the steps, and after a few minutes of dancing around the guard, assuring him that he will make sure the Witcher never returns to this town, he’s given the key to free Geralt.

“You still with me, big guy?” Jaskier asks as he opens the cell and walks briskly toward Geralt.

Geralt grunts, and Jaskier will take it for now. He helps Geralt up, staggering against the burning weight leaning against him. He grits his teeth, leads Geralt out of the cell, snags his lute, and starts the long trek up the stairs.

The two-minute walk to the inn across from the tavern takes twenty minutes because Geralt is borderline dead weight against Jaskier’s side, and it takes another thirty-five minutes to get him up another flight of stairs and into bed in a room he purchased for the two.

Jaskier’s dripping in sweat by the time he drops Geralt onto the bed. He’s winded, chest swelling as he sucks in large gulps of a breath, and he takes just a few moments to himself before he gets to work.

He strips Geralt of his wet, filthy clothes. The Witcher is far too gone to respond to Jaskier’s actions, only grunting every so often. He fluffs the pillows behind Geralt’s head before he disappears to the retrieve a basin of warm water, some wash cloths, and some bandages. Once he has what he thinks he needs, he sheds his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, pulls a chair up to Geralt’s bedside, and dips a cloth into the warm water. He rings it out until it’s damp and begins wiping it carefully down Geralt’s chest.

The heat that coats Jaskier’s bare palm is concerning, but he keeps slow but diligent work in wiping away the dirt and grime until all that’s left is to tackle the gash. He’s been careful, thus far, to not agitate it, but it needs to be cleaned and bandaged.

Jaskier moves around until he’s perched on the edge of the bed, and very cautiously, he leans over Geralt and presses a fresh, damp cloth to the wound. As soon as the rough fabric makes contact with the gash, Geralt jerks away with a sharp “fuck!” and wraps strong fingers around Jaskier’s wrist.

“Geralt,” Jaskier presses, voice shaking slightly. “I know it’s unpleasant, but I have to clean this up. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Grey eyes stare hard into glassy, amber ones. Jaskier holds Geralt’s gaze, trying to break past the burning fever that’s gripping Geralt’s mind without words, and after a few minutes, the grip on his wrist releases, and Geralt’s hand falls to the bed.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasps out before his eyes flutter closed, and Jaskier lets out a trembling breath he was unaware he was holding.

Jaskier waits a few moments before carefully wiping at the wound. Geralt grunts every so often, but Jaskier makes quick work of the wound. Once it’s cleaned and bandaged, he wipes away the beads of sweat pooling at his forehead and gets off the bed, silently admiring his handiwork.

After an endless minute of conflicted staring, he swaps the warm water in the basin to cold water and gently places a cold, damp cloth across Geralt’s forehead. It’s the best he can do without medicine or a mage. He pulls the blankets up to Geralt’s chin, smoothing them out with flat palms. Unconsciously, he lifts his hand to brush away a strand of loose hair from Geralt’s burning forehead. His heart swells in his chest at the ghost of a touch, and he pulls away with a huff, snagging his lute and dragging his chair to the window.

For two hours, he strums away at chords until they form a new melody, only pausing occasionally to change the cloth on Geralt’s forehead. Once he finds the rhythm that feels best against his fingers, he sucks in a deep breath.

“A Witcher, he sees. A Witcher who’s weak. A Witcher in need. Perhaps it’s--”

“Destiny.”

Jaskier jumps, legs dropping from the window sill. He hops to his feet and spins around. “Geralt,” he breathes out, relief coating his tone. His shoulders, tense and tight, sag down, his muscles finally relaxing because Geralt’s awake, and for the first time in hours, he looks alert. His skin has more color to it, and his eyes are sharp, clear.

“How are you feeling?” He snags the cloth that falls from Geralt’s head as Geralt sits up, and he drops to the edge of the bed, smoothing a palm gently across Geralt’s forehead.

“Your fever broke.”

Geralt grunts, and Jaskier’s smile falls. Memories of their argument come flooding back, and he gets off the bed and snags his jacket and his lute.

“I should go now that you’re well,” Jaskier starts. His heart pangs sharply in his chest, and he swallows back the pain. “The room’s paid for, so you should stay and rest up until morning.”

“Jaskier--”

“--It’s fine, Geralt. I understood the first time. I won’t be a bother--”

“--Jaskier!”

Geralt’s booming voice echoes against the walls of the small room, and Jaskier freezes at the door, hand hovering over the door handle. He can hear the creak of the bed, and slowly, he spins on his heel to see Geralt standing before him, barely clothed and huffing slightly.

“Geralt, what--”

“I said Destiny,” Geralt mumbles.

“Well,” Jaskier’s struggling for words. “Yes, it was a fitting rhyme to the previous line.”

“I’m,” Geralt pauses, raking long fingers through his unruly hair. “Sorry. For everything.”

Jaskier feels as if he’s been kicked in the chest, and he can only nod, mouth wordlessly opening and closing as he takes in the rare look of pure guilt painted across Geralt’s face.

“If you would like, I could use a companion for a few weeks.”

Jaskier dissects each word with a rapid, pounding heart that echoes in his ears. He can only nod, and Geralt takes the answer with a sigh as he climbs back into bed.

“I’ll,” Jaskier starts, voice shaking slightly. “I’ll go fetch some food.” He leaves his lute on the chair and whips out the door as fast as possible. His heart is impossibly loud, and his face feels flushed, yet his mind keeps spiraling back to one, single word that’s altered his course with Geralt.

Destiny.

[kinetic-elaboration]

Hi! How about #10 and #43 for the writer asks? Looking forward to seeing what you have to say! Happy Almost New Year, and here's hoping 2021 will be VASTLY better than this last trash-year!

Happy New Year to you, too! I’m trying to keep expectations low for 2021, but...yeah, we’ll see!

I started answering this 2 days ago and then clicked some random key and moved to a different page and it all disappeared. Hence, the delay in a real answer. I apologize for that.

10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started? 

Hmmm, well, looking at all the WIPs that have been in my writing folder for years, and how I’ve yet to finish a multi-chapter in T100 fandom (not counting glorified one-shots)....I think the real question is, DO I stay motivated?

Honestly, a lot of the fics I finish, and probably all the fics I finish in a reasonable time period, are written for gift exchanges, events, fests, or as requests--so my real motivator is a deadline and/or a sense of obligation.

I do occasionally finish things on my own steam and that’s usually because I set that particular project as my current priority, get really into it, and tell myself I can’t work on anything else until it’s done. That sounds like I’m just forcing myself to play by arbitrary rules, and it kind of is (I like having lists and crossing stuff off the list, even though my creativity never wants to play by those rules)--but really it’s more like clearing away the distraction and allowing myself to focus. Then I WANT to finish, for the finishing’s own sake.

43. Guilty pleasure tropes and scenarios? 

You know, I usually say stuff like ‘sharing a bed’ or ‘best friends to lovers’ but those are just tropes I unabashedly like. I’m not guilty about them at all. SO here’s honesty hour instead.

High School AU: I’m way too old for this lol. But I had a very uninteresting high school experience. It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t very interesting. I romanticize that era now, not because I think teenagers don’t have problems or that adolescence isn’t hard, but because the types of problems I had then were so different than the types I have now. Looking at them with perspective is oddly escapist and relaxing. Everything is so much and means so much but then hey I pull back again and I’m an adult and it doesn’t matter. Love that. But again, since my own memories are pretty dull, I look for this in other media: I enjoy watching teen dramas, in particular re-watching teen dramas that aired when I was a kid/teen, and I also like HS AU fanfic.

Young Adult AU: For similar reasons. The period after college was very hard and depressing for me. I love the alternate-universe unrealistic-fantasy of reading about people roughly 22-26 living the impossible dream of having all their friends in the same place and at least halfway knowing what kind of job they want. It’s really fake, says I and everyone I know, but it’s comforting. What my life could have been, if I were a character in a story.

Rough, dirty, grumbly, bad-boys-but-they’re-actually-men, with big hands: Had this revelation when watching TV a couple days ago. Absolutely life-changing. Or, fantasy-life-changing.

The male gaze but I’m bi: If a man is wearing anything other than an oversized sweater or a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I don’t care what he looks like or how he’s dressed. But a woman?? Describe her beauty to me in precise detail and take your time about it so that I may linger on the image. This is true of both reading and writing--which is why you’ll find random, repetitive descriptions of pretty ladies and their outfits in my work, even though I don’t generally describe character appearances.

Polyships and OT3s: This one’s a guilty pleasure because actually I was in an open relationship IRL and it was, uh, a pretty messed up experience that has definitely altered my brain for life. I’m still all for other people doing what works for them but my PERSONAL feelings on that kind of thing are all kinds of confused. So when it comes up in fic and I can be just simply enthusiastic about it for whatever reason, I always feel guilty that I’m being so uncritical, even as I ALSO realize that simply enjoying positive and possibly unrealistic portrayals of multi-person relationships is part of how I deal more generally with this particular part of my life. (That said, whenever I see posts like “couldn’t we solve this love triangle but making them an OT3″ I want to tear my hair out. Yeah, it’s THAT simple lmao.)

I feel like there are probably more, but I can’t remember!

Fanfic writers ask game!

[sweetsmellosuccess]

NYFF 2020: Part 1

It’s been a curious season of festivals  —  as always, Venice, TIFF, and the NYFF go more or less back-to-back-to-back, making for an almost indecent amount of captivating offerings for all but the most gluttonous of cinephiles  —  but not without its charms. In this time of massive uncertainty in the industry, amongst film distributors and theaters particularly, it’s deeply reassuring to know the medium is still capable of powerful statements, exquisite imagery, and haunting performances as it ever has.

Mind you, next year at this time, if there’s still no widely available vaccine, there might be a more serious dearth of selections, but for what has been an unsettling and mostly miserable 2020, we can thank the stars that films are often shot a year or more in advance of their release.

This year’s NYFF (still ongoing, as I write this) has provided some glories and some failures, more or less in keeping with the usual standard. Herewith, a quartet of selections, ranging from a resurrected Hungarian triumph, to a modern French non-romance, to the debut of a new and energizing auteur.

Damnation (1988) Dir. Bela Tarr

Perhaps no setting in cinematic history is more appropriate for shooting in low-contrast black and white than late ‘80s, post-communist Hungary. Bleak, drab, and pelting with rain, the landscape bleeds in shades of grey. Bela Tarr’s 1988 film, a newly restored 4K edition from the Festival’s “Revival” section, begins with a long shot of a ski lift-like apparatus, endlessly transporting buckets of coal to a repository, whose grinding machinery offers a looping hum throughout the film. Much as Tarr’s various musical interludes include similarly cyclical drones of accordion music, are the men and women of this nameless small city seemingly doomed to their various loops of behavior and experience. In Tarr’s Hungary, everyone looks haunted and morose, like a selection of down-on-their-luck rummies in a dive bar at last call. One such bar patron, Karrer (Miklos Szekely B.), is deeply in love with a beautiful, depressed (unnamed) nightclub singer (Vali Kerekes), married to a loutish man, Sebestyén (Gyorgy Cserthalmi), in bad debt to the wrong sorts of people. When Karrer’s friend, bar owner Willarsky (Gyula Pauer), offers him a potentially lucrative gig picking up a mystery package abroad and bringing it back to him, Karrer instead offers it to Sebestyén as a means of getting him out of debt, but more importantly getting him away from his wife, so their affair can continue apace. Tarr’s films move slowly, with long, static shots, or slow-panning camera movement, but within his frame, he packs in detail  —  from the pellet-like surface of a wall, to the expression of a group of people huddled under a station roof, staring out at the endless rain  —  and adds in acute sound effects as further punctuation (the sound of a man close shaving over his scruff with a straight-edge, for example, or water dripping from an unseen leak). As with his 1994 opus, Satantango, he includes extended shots of drunken merriment, with people dancing, stumbling, falling over each other, and coming back again, but the effect isn’t exactly heartening. As packs of stray dogs work their way over muddy, mostly deserted fields, and Karrer continues to imbibe the depressed resignation of his life’s trajectory (“the fog settles into your soul,” Willarsky helpfully explains), Tarr’s film, his first collaboration with Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai, presents a remarkably tactile vision of life under a blundering political machine, well past the point of repair. With its deep shadows, and obvious femme fatale, you could make the case that the film is a ripened Noir, but one with much of the magistry beaten out of it, tarnished in the mud of the fields. Karrer wears a trenchcoat, alright, but it’s only there to keep out the rain.

Mangrove (2020) Dir. Steve McQueen

Frank Crichlow (Shaun Parkes) didn’t mean to create a community, exactly, when he opened his restaurant in the section of West London that had become home to many immigrants from Trinidad and Jamaica. He just wanted to have a clean business that wouldn’t attract undue police attention, as his former nightclub, Rio, had done. As more and more natives of the Caribbean moved abroad, however, there became a greater need for a place where the community could gather and feel at home. Frank’s place became a local landmark, and Frank himself, a reluctant leader of the growing movement against the continual police harassment many of the residents faced on a daily basis. In this, he wasn’t given much of a choice: Led by a deeply racist police force  —  more or less personified by writer/director Steve McQueen in the form of the sneering PC Frank Pulley (Sam Spruell)  —  Frank’s place had been unnecessarily raided nine times in six weeks. So, when approached by local Black activists, including Darcus Howe (Malachi Kirby) and Altheia Jones-Lecointe (Letitia Wright), he agrees to take part in a peaceful protest against the constables. Naturally, the police turn violent, and in the resulting chaos, nine protestors, including Frank, Darcus, and Altheia are arrested. Over time, they are tried, acquitted, and re-tried for even more serious charges. McQueen’s film, another segment from Small Axe, his chronicle of London’s West-Indies neighborhood through the decades, focuses on this specific case, not just because two of the defendants decided to represent themselves (proving to be adept barristers), but because it became a landmark part of the British crusade for civil rights (even though, as the film’s postscript explains, Frank was still routinely harassed by the police for another 18 years after the trial). To capture the sense of the complexity of the community, McQueen employs a David Simon-esque narrative hodge-podge of smaller scenes from different characters’ vantage points and views, allowing us an in-depth sense of the neighborhood and the stakes, while rarely dipping into the more played out elements of the courtroom genre. I would say, in light of the recent racial protests after the Louisville grand jury failed to hold two of the three officers involved in the death of Breonna Taylor responsible, the film could not be more prescient, but, sadly, this would have also been true just about anytime in the last three decades. As Frank says of the incorrigibly racist leaders and henchpeople continually holding them down, “These people are like vampires, you think you beat them, but they keep coming back again.”

The Salt of Tears (2020) Dir. Philippe Garrel

From the flinch-inducing title (a direct translation from the French), which sounds like a YA novel steeped in melodrama, to the mournful piano soundtrack of the intro, Philippe Garrel’s (very) French counter-romance would seem to indicate a different sort of film than what he’s actually made. It’s a bit of flim-flammery from a celebrated director unafraid to throw his audience for a loop or two (take that title, which proves to be thoroughly ironic until the very last scene). Luc (Logann Antoufermo), a young man from the provinces, has come to Paris to take an entrance exam at an exacting wood-working institute in order to receive a degree in joining, in order to better emulate his woodworking father (Andre Wilms), a kind, elderly man with a “poet’s soul.” In Paris, he happens to meet Djemila (Oulaya Amamra), a sweet young woman falling hard for the handsome Luc, who callously breaks her heart after he returns to his village. Back home, he takes up with Genevieve (Louise Chevillote), an old high-school flame, who also falls deeply for him, getting pregnant in the process, but when he unexpectedly gets accepted to the woodworking school, he dumps her to return to Paris, where  —  you guessed it!  —  he meets up with yet another woman, Betsy (Souheila Yacoub), a stunning brunette whom, we are told via our occasional narrator (Jean Chevalier), is finally “his equal.” Or more so, to be precise, as she takes in a second lover (Martin Mesnier) to their apartment, making the unhappy Luc live as a threesome. Garrel’s charting of Luc’s endless relationship explorations themselves gets tiresome, but the director isn’t much interested in his protagonist’s romantic investments, as he is the callousness of Luc, and the young in general  —  Luc crushes two loving women; then himself gets crushed; while treating his loving father as yet another irritation from time to time  —  and the manner in which their decision-making has often not matured enough to include the expansiveness of empathy. They know not what they do, until it’s too late.

Beginning (2020) Dir. Dea Kulumbegashvili

Georgian director Dea Kulumbegashvili’s debut feature, about a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses working as missionaries in a small village outside Tbilisi, and the abuse they endure at the hands of religious extremists, captivates and bewilders in equal measure. The film begins with a long single shot from inside a “prayer house,” as congregants slowly file in and fill the pews, eventually allowing David (Rati Oneli) to begin his sermon concerning the story of Abraham, willing to sacrifice his beloved son in order to appease God. The shot remains static for so long, building its own rhythm, that it becomes that much more shocking when a side door suddenly opens, and an unseen assailant tosses in a fire bomb, lighting the floor and sending everyone into terrified tumult. Kulumbegashvili’s film is filled with similar striking compositions, long single shots with very little camera movement, the edges of the frame gradually generating increasing levels of apprehension, as the action swirls often out of our visual range. She has a way of filming the opposite of what you expect: Several key conversations between pairs of characters are shot with the focus on the reaction rather than the speaker, and vitally significant scenes are crafted with characters’ backs to us, such that we can’t read their expressions or get our normal bearings. It’s a similar conundrum for the missionaries themselves, especially Yana (Ia Sukhitashvili), David’s dutiful wife, a former actress, who tries to make the best of their difficult situation, even in the face of such violent opposition to her husband’s proselytizing, a job David, ambitious he is, sees as the key to rising up in the Church’s hierarchy. After their prayer house is burned to the ground, David leaves for a few days to meet with the Elders in order to secure funding for its replacement. Into that void, enter a detective (Kakha Kintsurashvili), who appears one night to “talk” with Yana, but ends up intimidating her into a sort of sexual compromise, an event that leaves her strangely unfazed, even, it might be said, oddly curious. From there, things get both more dire, and more peculiar, with Kulumbegashvili’s implacable camera remaining stoically witness to her characters’ increasingly distressing plight. As curious as it can be tonally, she is so in command of her narrative, the film is never less than compelling, even as tragedy becomes something else entirely. By film’s end, true to David’s earlier sermons, it’s clear that at least his most devoted acolyte has taken in the biblical lessons he proffered, for better or worse.