#but really i wanna get back to writing analyses

[tsukasalover]

heyyy i’ve been really inactive on here but i Am thinking about tsukasa and planning something. Go think about tsukasa tenma’s duality

[pasta-pardner]

When Mortimer learns Manco is a fellow bounty killer...

He smiles softly, hinting that he's already considering asking Manco to become his partner.

Manco, on the other hand...

...comes to the same realization with a sour grimace. He enters full blown this-town-ain't-big-enough-for-the-two-of-us mode.

Manco repeatedly tries to instigate a fight as he attempts to kick Mortimer out of town. He steps on Mortimer's boots, punches him in the face, and-- of course-- shoots his hat.

Despite Manco's repeated attempts to provoke him, Mortimer never escalates the confrontation. He only reciprocates gestures that Manco introduces. When Manco steps on Mortimer's boots, Mortimer reciprocates. When Manco shoots Mortimer's hat a comical number of times, Mortimer reciprocates. Mortimer doesn't punch back, and he doesn't take the opportunity to injure (or kill) Manco-- even when Manco is at a range disadvantage.

This is noteworthy, because earlier in the film, Mortimer remarks:

"Why should a man walk around with a pistol and then let himself be insulted?"

Mortimer goes through most of his encounter with Manco wearing a calm, curious expression. Manco, meanwhile, seems enraged by Mortimer's very existence.

Why is Mortimer so unperturbed by Manco's antagonistic behavior?

Well! Though Manco clearly views this interaction as a skirmish against a rival... Mortimer views it as an opportunity to court a potential partner.

His smile from the earlier scene indicates that he wants to work with Manco. That's why Mortimer reciprocates actions instead of escalating them.

Mortimer's goal was never to "beat" Manco in their quasi-duel; it was to convince Manco that he was worthy of an equal partnership.

I believe that Mortimer began the night already fully intending to invite Manco up to his hotel room for the partnership proposal.

He just needed to shoot a hat to make it happen.

[breadbrobin]

lavender roses

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of persephone reader]

summary: everyone thinks red roses are synonymous with the perfect love. you believe that lavender roses deserve more love, and luke believes that you’re worthy of all the love in the world—you’re both just bad at communicating it.

warnings: kissing, swearing, suggestive content, mentions of weapons, idiots, miscommunication trope but it’s cute dw, seriously they’re both so stupid and oblivious, besties to idiots to lovers

word count: 3.3k

(y’all i’m losing my mind i can’t stop writing but this might be one of my favourites ever)

(also i might put together a luke taglist and a clarisse taglist so lmk if you wanna be put on either of those and i’ll get to work on it 🤩)

———————————————

“i’m free february fourteenth,” you said nonchalantly.

you were sitting with luke at dinner and he’d just asked you if you ever had a day off working. as a daughter of persephone, you lived in the hermes cabin, but spent most of your time working in the strawberry fields. you spent every free moment there, soaking in the sun, helping the plants grow and picking flowers to put in vases around the cabin and infirmary.

he nodded as chris choked on his food beside him, coughing hard. “okay, we should hang out then.”

you weren’t sure if he knew what was going on. was he messing with you? playing a joke? really wanting to hang out with you on valentine’s day? or was he having a lapse of memory and he forgot that day had any significance at all?

either way, you nodded. when you spoke, your voice was slightly higher pitched than usual. “sure.”

“we can have a picnic. we haven’t done that in a while.” he was nodding still, looking into his food with a thoughtful expression.

the air nearly left your lungs. you nodded back, though he wasn’t looking at you, and exchanged a wide-eyed look with chris across the table. sure, you and luke used to go for picnics occasionally, but that was before he’d gotten unfairly attractive overnight and you’d developed the most annoying crush on him. “yeah, sure. it’s a date.”

if you could have jumped into tartarus you would have.

what the fuck. why would you say that?

chris was staring at you in shock.

your mouth was dry.

and luke was smiling like nothing was wrong. were his cheeks red? or was that your imagination? “yup! it’s a date.”

when he got up from the table to leave after dinner, he kissed your cheek. this wasn’t too far out of the ordinary, per se—it happened occasionally—but it sent a rush of adrenaline shooting down your spine and set your cheeks aflame.

chris’ eyebrows were raised. “what was that?”

“i have no idea,” you breathed.

“do you think he knows?”

your voice was even softer as you shook your head. “dude. i have no idea.”

valentine’s day couldn’t come soon enough.

you could hardly think of anything else. zoning out in the fields, losing focus while sparring, getting distracted by luke’s shoulder muscles while he was drawing back his bow, sending your arrow flying off to the side.

he laughed at you with everyone else, coming over to stand by your side. “you good there? need any help?”

you shook your head, your quaking fingers drawing the string back once more, pulling it taut. archery wasn’t your best skill, but you weren’t terrible at it.

you could feel his eyes on you, judging your form, analysing your aim. it put you off.

your arrow barely hit the target.

luke winced. “that was… better.”

you sighed and lowered the bow. “you’re distracting me!”

he laughed. “i’m distracting you?”

“yes!” you huffed, frowning at him. his eyes were lit up with amusement. “you are.”

“well, then i’m very sorry.” he raised his hands and took a step back, dipping his head too. “as you were, milady.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile and drew your arrow back, aiming and firing, but it still didn’t do well. in fact, every arrow that you shot pierced outside of the black rings. you were starting to think there was either something wrong with the bow or that you’d been cursed by one of the apollo kids, when someone’s hand lowered your elbow.

you looked over to see luke. he wasn’t watching your face. he was guiding your elbow down so it was more level with your arrow’s line and gently pulling your shoulders back so they were more even.

“pull back a bit more,” he coached quietly.

“i know what i’m doing,” you protested.

“i know, but today you look like you need a reminder. do you want my help? or do you wanna keep missing?” he finally looked you in the eye. he was sincere, you realised.

you sighed and draw the arrow back a little more.

he nodded happily and continued guiding your stance until you were perfect, his hands hot on your body and his breath on the back of your neck. he stayed behind you as you lowered the arrow and took a few deep breaths.

you were still watching him over your shoulder. his lips quirked as he reached out and gently turned your face away to look at the target. his hand was calloused and rough, but the tough was soft. you could barely breathe.

“focus,” he said softly. “eyes on the prize.”

you’re the only prize i want, was all you could think, but you didn’t say anything. you drew the arrow back, your fingers brushing against the corner of your lips. you felt better—more powerful, more confident—in this stance. and maybe luke’s presence behind you was helping with that too. you could feel the slight ghost of his hand on your waist. it kept you grounded. it stopped you from floating away.

your arrow pierced just beside the bullseye.

luke’s hand tightened on your waist, squeezing proudly. “that’s my girl.”

your heart fluttered as you smiled. “thanks, luke.”

he patted your lower back as he stepped away. “that’s what i’m here for. go kill it.”

then he was gone, and there was a fiery pit in your stomach that grew with each passing day that told you that—oh shit—you were in fully love with luke castellan.

february fourteenth arrived in a flurry of pinks, reds and whites. hearts adorned the camp, courtesy of the aphrodite cabin, and you and the demeter cabin had been tasked with growing what felt like hundreds of red roses. personally, you didn’t understand the hype surrounding red roses. after all, the lavender ones were the prettiest. they even meant love at first sight—far better than plain old love.

but with all the love in the air and the aphrodite campers swooning left and right, luke was sure to figure out his mistake and call off the picnic. it made you feel sick with anxiety, and your hands shook as you tended to the roses.

“y/n, hey!” luke’s voice came right next to you.

you flinched and the rose bush sprouted ten feet in the air with new flowers springing into existence left and right.

“whoa…” he said, looking up at it in shock. “i don’t think we need that many.”

“i don’t think anyone needs that many.” you muttered and took a deep breath, bringing the bush back down to size. “what are you doing here, luke?” your heart was in your throat. he didn’t look upset, but he’d always been good at hiding his emotions. was he about to tell you that he didn’t want to meet up later? or that he hated you for tricking him? thoughts started spinning like tops in your mind as you sunk into worse scenario after worse scenario.

“i just wanted to make sure we were still on for this afternoon? and to let you know to meet me by the lake.” were you imagining things, or did he look almost… nervous? his cheeks were red and he wasn’t meeting your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. was he? really?

you nodded. “oh, uh, yeah. we’re still on. i’ll meet you…?”

“at two?”

“at two.” you smiled. he smiled back and you ignored the flutter in your chest. a strand of hair blew in front of your face.

his hand twitched by his side, like he wanted to push it back, but he just nodded. “okay. see you later.”

“later,” you nodded as he walked away. “can’t wait!” you called after him. he shot a grin over his shoulder, and once he was gone, you buried your face in the rose bush with an exasperated groan.

at 1:45, you still didn’t know what to wear.

your friend becky had dragged you into the aphrodite cabin and was shoving various outfits into your arms to try on, since you didn’t have many nice outfits of your own, but nothing was right.

even though you were the same size as her, nothing seemed to fit you as well as it did her—some aphrodite’s daughter bullshit, you guessed.

she sat down on her bunk next to you and sighed. “i hate to say it, but… we’re out of options.”

you groaned and flopped backwards, covering your face.

she swatted your hands away. “you’ll smudge your makeup!” she then sat back and sighed. “honestly, hun, you might just have to go naked.”

“i’m sure he’d love that!” one of her brothers called from across the room.

you threw a pillow at him, but it dropped halfway there.

then becky froze with a gasp. “oh, my gods.”

you sat up. “what?”

“wait here.” she got up and dashed away, peering into the depths of her wardrobe.

you watched absently, kind of worried she’d pull out some sexy lingerie, as she felt around at the very back, in the corner. then her face lit up. she pulled out a dress. it was white and floaty, with tiny pale pink flowers on it and the most flattering neckline you’d ever seen. she held it out to you and then dragged you to the designated changing area beside her bunk.

you changed slowly, not wanting to rip the delicate material, then looked at yourself in the mirror.

holy shit.

becky stuck her head around the corner and gasped. “perfect! ugh, i feel like a proud mother.”

you laughed, smoothing the floaty fabric over your thighs. it was kind of staticky. “yeah, thanks, mom.”

she grabbed your arm and dragged you out, showing you off. “siblings! my magnum opus.”

as whistles and cheers came from the few people in the cabin, you smiled.

“he’ll love it,” becky whispered. “you look hot.”

“it’s not even a date,” you protested. “it’s just a hang out.”

“sweet cheeks, its a picnic on valentine’s day.” she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. “it’s a date. now go. you’re gonna be late.”

you slipped on your white sandals and the light green jacket you always wore, let silena slip a white headband into your hair, then stepped out the door.

it wasn’t a cold day, exactly, but you were grateful for the jacket.

you rushed down the lake and got there two minutes late.

luke was no where to be found.

great, you thought. he was messing with me the whole time.

just as you were considering leaving, you heard footsteps running up to you.

“y/n! i’m so sorry, i could figure out—oh, wow...” luke stopped in his tracks as you turned around. his eyes were wide and his cheeks were red as he looked you up and down. he cleared his throat. “i didn’t know what to wear.”

he’d settled on a navy blue crew neck sweater and black jeans. his hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and he looked good. really good.

shit. that would make things more difficult.

“it’s okay,” you smiled. “neither could i.”

“well, you look… you look amazing.” his voice was soft, almost reverent.

gods, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop blushing. this was torture. “thanks,” you said though, pretending your heart wasn’t climbing up your throat and threatening to jump right into his hands—like suicide. “should we—“

“oh! yeah.” he nodded and stepped forward, placing a hand on your back (just low enough that it made your heart stutter, but high enough that it was innocent) and leading you towards the strawberry fields. “this way, milady.”

your heart was sinking a little as the fields came into view. everyone went to the strawberry fields. there were at least seven couples there already. it was the standard date spot. you had to remind yourself this wasn’t a date.

but he led you past the fields and into the forest.

great, so he’ll just murder me instead, you thought bitterly. it was like you were searching for a reason that it wasn’t a date now. at least i won’t have to deal with the embarrassment of everyone seeing.

you snapped out of your thoughts as his hand gently slipped into yours and you nearly fell over. he looked back at you, amused. you shot him a thumbs up as he set down a familiar path.

you knew where you were going.

there was a clearing in the woods where you went. it was you own personal secret garden, hidden deep in the forest behind a thick hedge that you’d grown yourself. it had taken weeks to get it thick enough to keep your space safe, and weeks again to regain enough strength to add any other plants to it. in the last year though, you’d been going there often, coaxing a few new plants to grow. you’d learned that forcing growth was hard and near impossible, but encouraging growth was easy.

you’d shown luke the garden one day a few months ago, just before you developed that pesky crush.

he pulled you gently in front of him to enter the garden first, through a magically shifting gap in the hedge, so that he could enter too, and stepped aside to pick up a hefty bag hidden just off the path.

you stepped through the hedge, your hand still linked with luke’s, and into your garden. it was the same as last time you were there, around a week ago; filled with flowers and bees, with a patch of clear grass in the middle, linked to the hedge by four paths, running north to south and east to west. some of the flowers growing were out of season, but as a daughter of persephone, you had a certain level of influence over things like that. bees buzzed lazily around your head as you entered, happy to see you again. everything seemed to get happier, healthier and brighter the second you stepped into the garden. it was your favourite thing and your favourite place.

you looked back at luke to see him smiling at you. “you know me too well.”

“i knew you wouldn’t like to have everyone around,” he shrugged. “and i wanted to see this place again. it’s better than last time i was here.” he looked around in wonder.

“well, last time you were here, i’d just gotten over the flu, so i was still pretty weak. all of my hydrangeas wilted.” you pouted and crossed the garden to your hydrangea bush, blooming in all ranges of colours. soil acidity and pH didn’t matter if you were the daughter of persephone.

luke laid down a plaid picnic blanket as you murmured a few words to some of your weaker looking plants, breathing life back into them. you could feel his eyes on you as he sat and waited, but you didn’t feel rushed or observed. more than anything, you felt admired.

finally, you sat next to him. he’d set out some food and water bottles for the two of you. he was prepared. that was one thing about luke castellan: he was prepared, always two steps ahead. which is why this didn’t make sense.

as you started eating, you found yourself staring at a lavender rose bush. love at first sight, you mused. if only.

you’d fallen for luke after a whole year of friendship. that made it worse. you’d loved him already, platonically, then, without warning, those feeling shifted. the way you looked at him changed in a matter of moments. when he’d gotten cherries on his plate for dessert after you were told you couldn’t have more, then he’d given them all to you, claiming he didn’t like them (even though you knew he did), you fell stupidly, irrevocably, in love. but the way he looked at you never changed: always soft, always kind and always the same.

you were drawn to look at him. you always were. the sharp lines and soft curves of his face. those dark eyes that made your heart flutter never wavered as they met yours. never shifted, never darkened, never clouded with anger. never. they were as constant as time, as reliable as the tide, as predictable as the full moon coming around again.

and he was looking at you now. “what?” he asked.

you blinked and looked away, watching as two bees clumsily bumped into each other and went on their way. “nothing.” would that be you and luke? two bees bumping into each other briefly, then going on with their lives? unlikely to cross paths again? you couldn’t let that happen.

“you know it’s valentine’s, right?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

luke lowered his apple, resting his hand on his knee. his forehead was creased in a confused frown. “yeah, why?”

“well… then why… why are we hanging out today? i mean, this isn’t a date.” you paused. “is it?”

his eyes widened. “wait, you don’t think—“

“it’s fine, luke.” you shrugged, pretending your heart wasn’t crumbling. “it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have brought up valentines. it was a silly joke, and—“

“a joke?” he frowned again. “this isn’t a joke.”

you looked at him. he looked earnest. “what?”

“it’s not a joke. why would i joke about going on a date with you?” he swallowed tightly and put his apple down. “did you… did you just think it was a joke?”

“no! well, yes. but i didn’t want it to be.” you exclaimed. “did… you want it to be?”

“no!” he exclaimed, turning to face you. “why would i want that? i thought we’ve been dating for three weeks now!”

“you, what?”

he took a deep breath. “you’re telling me that i’ve been assuming we’re dating for three weeks, and you’ve been assuming i’ve been joking for three weeks, because we’re both a little bit fucking stupid and can’t communicate our feelings properly?”

you stared at him, wiping your sweaty palms on your dress. the static crackled like the tension in the air. “i guess so.”

“huh.” he said, turning back to face the flowers. he was silent for a moment and you almost thought he’d leave, but then he started laughing.

“stop laughing,” you protested, pushing him lightly, your cheeks flaming hot. “stop it.”

he didn’t.

soon, you weren’t able to stop yourself from giggling, then you were both laughing uncontrollably. your stomach hurt and you had to lean on each other to avoid falling over. your faces were close—too close. your laughter died as you felt his breath on your face. his fingers brushed your hair behind your ear. his breath hitched as he did, like he’d been waiting to do that for months.

“i’ve liked you for months,” you whispered.

“i’ve liked you since the moment we met,” he cupped your face in his hand, his other one resting on your knee.

you could see the lavender roses behind him. love at first sight.

the two bees that had bumped into each other settled on the same flower.

fucking hell.

you kissed him before you could talk yourself out of it.

the kiss wasn’t like fireworks. it was more like the first flowers of spring: fresh, exciting and pure. his lips were soft. yours were probably rougher than his from your long hours in the fields. you figured he didn’t care, because he kissed you like you were the only air he needed to breath for the rest of his life. you could feel flowers blooming around the picnic blanket—daisies and dandelions in the grass. the plants in the gardens were going wild. he was like a drug; some kind of amplifier for your powers and your heart rate and gods, you never wanted to let him go. his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer against him. your hand rose to his cheek and static electricity jumped from your skin to his.

he pulled away with a gasp, his hand on his cheek. then he laughed, and kissed you again.

and again.

and again.

and again.

and you were infinitely glad for the privacy of your own secret garden.

[unfriedough]

Hey sorry if your request aren’t open but I had a thought about Zuko x water tribe/bender reader!Like three years after the war he wants to propose to reader and So he ask Katara and Sokka about marriage traditions within the tribe and he carves a betrothal necklace for her?? And the readers reaction!! Thank you

An: HEY. Sorry this took like, so long I think you requested last summer, however I’ve kinda lost most of my determination to write and this account became more of a chore than what I had initially wanted. Either way, maybe somehow I’ll be able to be more consistent soon but I also don’t wanna make myself hate writing so :(

Thank you for requesting, I really do appreciate it, hope you enjoy :)

Zuko’s nose twitched as the cold nipped away at his extremities, huddled up in a few too many jackets. There’s a striking difference between cold and cold and right now he wished he was on fire.

Your gloved hand was intertwined with his as you lead him off of the fire nation ship and onto the white snow of the southern water tribe. This trip was planned as a way to visit Sokka and Katara, but Zuko had another plan in mind.

Finally, after three years of struggling to settle down, the fire people finally relaxed and he was able to make more time. In that time, he realized he’d wanted to marry you more than anything. So here he was, in a nation far too cold for someone like him, with a goal in mind.

He had exactly 5 days (and a half if you’re counting from now) to get ready a betrothal necklace. Why a necklace? Well, Zuko had watched you for days on end in the castle library, a book bigger than your head on the table being analysed by your eyes. You’d smile brightly when you locked eyes, and call him over. He’d sit next to you, shoulder to shoulder, attempting to read with you. The books were always about old water tribe traditions, tales, legends, history, everything of the sort. You’d wanted to stay connected to your culture and upbringing - it made you who you were today.

And so that brings you to today, here, the water tribe.

“Katara!” You squealed, running forward and pulling her into a hug. You two squeezed each other tightly, excited noises being expressed.

Zuko and Sokka nodded to each other, trying to be kinda nonchalant but Sokka couldn’t hold it much longer, he sprinted at Zuko and tackled him to the ground into an oh-so-warm hug. You laughed at the site, Katara too. Zuko felt a twinge of pink on his cheek, from the cold or embarrassment he couldn’t really tell, but he still wrapped his shaking arm around his buddy. After a few more ‘I missed you!’s and giggles, Zuko and Sokka got back up. Katara grabbed your hand and pulled you deeper into the village, you laughed the entire way, giddy from being back home here with your family. You threw a glance backwards at the fire lord, there was something very slightly off about the way he was smiling, you brushed it off as just the cold getting to him.

It was most definitely the cold getting to him.

Sokka led him to the ice on the outskirts of the village and brought some chairs along. They were gonna go fishing while they talked. As they both sat, another shiver ran up the poor fire bender’s back.

“How do you guys survive the cold?” He groaned.

Sokka chuckled, handing him a rod, pushing the bucket of bait closer to him, “You get used to it… I could ask you the same thing about the heat,”

“I’m a fire bender it’s in my blood,”

“Yeah well you learn a thing or two when your lovely sister starts learning how to bend and suddenly you’re always wet,” he cast the line, leaning back, putting one leg over the other.

“I guess,” he laughed.

They sat in a suffocating silence for a minute, Zuko just awkwardly holding the pole and Sokka staring into the sky.

“Are we going to address the camelephant in the room?”

Zuko looked to him from his peripheral, “I’m kinda nervous I guess, I don’t know what to do,”

Sokka sat up a little straighter, getting up to help Zuko with his fishing issues. He stood behind him and helped his arm into the correct place, slowly to be sure he understood.

“Just like fishing, you have to be precise and confident to get what you want, and if you cast your line just right, you’ll catch the fish,” he winked once the bob hit the water, stepping back to admire his own work.

“Not sure that’s the best metaphor,”

“Say you love it, he's been working on it ever since you wrote to him,” Katara rolled her eyes, holding your hand as you both struggled to not slip on the ice.

“KATARA.”

Zuko couldn't help but laugh, then he was met with the puzzled look on your face.

“I thought this was a surprise trip, when’d you write to them,” you tilted your head, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“…needed to make sure they were free,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“That totally checks out,” you rolled your eyes, getting a serious case of FOMO.

Sokka coughed to try to clear the awkwardness, “So fishing…”

“What’re you trying to catch anyways?”

“Does it matter, it’s about the process YN get with the times,”

“Since when did you fish for fun?”

“Since now.”

“I thought you hated fishing,” you were all standing up by this point, including Sokka and Zuko.

“Only because Miss Katara always splashed me,”

“And I won’t hesitate to do it again!” She bent a small stream into his face, giggling when he stumbled back.

“Oh it’s on Katara,” he paused, “As soon as I get snow,” he waddled away to get to the snow on shore.

You laughed when the waterbender used more ice to cause him to slip.

“I’ll go help him up,” you laughed, moving towards him as he laid helplessly on the ice, not even bothering to get up anymore.

Zuko watched your figure, missing the way Katara turned to look at him.

“I think you should do it here,”

“What?”

“The proposal,”

“That’s not enough time, it’s barely enough for me to learn how to carve the necklace,”

“Lucky for you, Sokka’s pretty efficient with plans, he’s been plotting since you told him,”

The fire bender smiled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “Okay, maybe, but how can I get started when she’s with us all the time?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle her,” she smirked.

-

“Are you sure this is safe?” You shivered, standing in your bathing suit on top of a huge rock, below it freezing water.

“No!” Katara, “But let’s do it anyways,”

“I don’t know, what if I freeze?”

“Good thing we have a fire bender with us,” she pointed to Zuko, who was in the distance learning about what tools to carve and what stones to use, he’d settled on one that reminded him of your eyes, and the band matching the deep royal blue usually used. He wanted to alter the pattern as a way of commemorating both elements. Currently, he and Sokka were doodling designs on the snow with sticks.

“Look at those dorks, I wonder what they’re doing,”

“You know Sokka, they’re probably drawing,” she laughed nervously.

“Hmm, that kind of looks like a-“ you were cut off as she pushed you off of the rock. You shrieked as you first dropped, then as you got more air time you changed into a more streamlined position with your head downwards. Instant regret when you hit the water though.

You resurfaced, drenched and in pain from the cold. Your fingers felt like they were gonna fall off any second now. Before you got to dwell on it, Katara joined you, also screaming in fun-agony.

“WHY’D YOU PUSH ME?” You splashed her.

“You were talking for too long…” she giggled, going under and pulling you down.

You inhaled a large amount of air before going under, making sure to keep her under with you as well. After a few seconds of freezing cold, you resurfaced, feeling pain in all your joints from the water.

“Why did I ever think this was a good idea?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” she shrugged, waterbending herself back up to the ledge so she could jump again, “But it sure is fun,”

Sokka and Zuko heard a splash in the distance.

“I think Katara is torturing your wife,”

“What?” he mumbled, looking at where you were very clearly lecturing her about something, “What’re they doing?”

“Ice bath, Katara tricked me into doing it once… I never fully recovered,”

Zuko chuckled, using his stick to doodle another design. Which he then stared at for a while.

“This is it.”

“Oh?” Sokka glanced at it, “It’s perfect.”

The men stared at each other proudly, as if they’ve just completed a super hard mission.

Immediately, Sokka took him inside a tent, quickly teaching him methods of carving with different tools. A few more splashes could be heard and you and Katara had fun.

“I wonder what he’s doing to Zuko,”

“Boy stuff,”

You furrowed your brows, “what does that even mean?”

After a lot of time (and a few cuts) Zuko finally had a necklace ready. Sure, it needed to be refined, but his hands were tired and shaky. Sokka patted him on the back, watching the fire bender weave the blue band into the loops.

What they failed to notice was you approaching, now covered in a warm coat.

“What’re y'all up to?” You breathed out, still cold but beginning to gain your senses.

Zuko panicked, hiding it under his leg. You looked at him weird.

By this time, Katara had joined the group, and behind her the sun fell into a pink and purple type hue. Zuko didn’t miss the way your breaths were so laboured, and he took it upon himself to lead you back to where Sokka said you two were staying. You changed into some clothes while he surveyed the room, moving around nervously.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” you pulled a sweater over the thermal shirt, reaching over to grab an undercoat.

He walked up to you, fingers working shakily to button up the buttons. “Just cold,”

“No, the cold doesn’t make you avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,”

“Really? It feels like Katara and Sokka are trying to keep us apart.” He grabbed another, heavier coat and draped it over your shoulder, you inserted your arms in the holes.

“I didn’t notice,”

“You’re lying,” you stepped back, putting your boots back on and tucking your pants into them.

He frowned, reaching out to you, but you stepped back.

“It’s weird, the letter thing as well- why didn’t you tell me you sent it to them? I thought it was last minute?”

“It was!”

“You’re lying again,” you frowned, folding your arms.

“I promise it’ll all make sense soon,”

“How soon? What’re you hiding?”

“I-“

“Actually. Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.” You huffed, storming out of the room, leaving a different kind of cold lingering.

Zuko sat down on the large bed, dropping his head into his hands. He sighed deeply, reaching over multiple layers of clothing to his pocket to pull out the carved stone. Truly, it was mediocre at best. And after this misunderstanding, the sinking feeling of impending rejection poisoned his thoughts. He couldn’t help but trace his finger over the patterns, wondering what could’ve been- he was half sure he was single now.

“I forgot-“ you gasped as you walked back in the room, catching a glimpse of the rock in his hand.

“Yn!” He quickly shoved it behind him.

“Zuko… what was that?”

“What was what?” He said, looking so suspicious it was stupid.

You took a few steps closer, inching towards him slowly, “In your hand,”

“My hand’s empty…”

“Liar…” you dragged on, standing right infront of him now.

“Zuko,”

“Yn,”

You tried pulling at his arms, but he wasn’t budging.

“Cut it out! What’s behind you?”

“Nothing!”

You sighed, walking away in defeat, just as he let his guard down, you pounced, having to grab it and rolling onto the bed. He barely had time to process it when your face immediately changed.

You sat up, moving on your knees towards him on the bed, patting his bicep, “Zuko light,”

The fire lord frowned, embarrassed that he was about to get rejected, although that’s no foreign feeling. A small, dancing red flame illuminated the carved necklace.

“It’s…” you covered your mouth with one hand, tears welling in your eyes.

“Tacky- I know, I just thought- you don’t have to do a-“

“Beautiful…” he glanced sideways at you, “Zuko…”

“This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go…” he sighed, dropping his head.

“No… probably not,” you sniffled, “but it was perfect,” you laughed, he chuckled as well.

He got up, lighting an oil lamp for better lighting. Zuko circled the bed and stood next to you, still nervous and fidgety.

“Yn,” he breathed out, shakily.

You nodded, glossy eyes meeting his.

“The years you’ve spent by my side, against me, with me- those have been the best years of my life. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m truly myself. I’ve never,” he swallowed harshly, “I’ve never felt more at home,” he paused again, looking up at the ceiling, “then when I’m with you.”

You let out a small noise of excitement, bouncing your legs.

“I’ve made so- so many mistakes in my life, every single day of it, but I think… I think letting you go would be my biggest mistake, Yn-“

“YES!!” You pounced on him, hugging him so tight as your heartbeats both skyrocketed.

You giggled as he looped the necklace around your neck, it was simple, and dainty, but most of all it was so Zuko. The more someone could stare at the imperfections in the craftsmanship, the more they’d love it. A man carved it with love and intention.

You held each other for a while, just swaying in the dimly lit room. You leaned back, cupping his face in your hands.

“Is this why we're here? You wanted to carve the necklace?”

“Yeah, pretty much, you ruined my plans though,”

“I did, didn't I?” You giggled.

“I had a lot planned for us, with the help of Sokka of course,”

“Ohh now that makes sense,”

“What makes sense,”

“Literally everything, you were being so weird,”

“I’m not great at keeping secrets,”

“Good, never keep one again,” you kissed his cheek.

“I suppose we should tell Katara and Sokka,”

“Yeah, I suppose we should.”

And so, hand in hand, you walked out to the bonfire, where the siblings sat.

Sokka was so mad his plan foiled.

[three-realms-archive]

Just a Study

Content Warning: Spoilers for Lesson 40 of Nightbringer! Everything above the cut is spoiler-free!

The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep peacefully, unaware of their close friend and mentor doing what he does best. Studying.

His eyes analyse the rise and fall of their chest, tracing his gaze over and across the parabolas that make up the shape of their sleeping form. The small chuckles that escape him when you snore and snort are sounds that you will never get to hear. The soft, unprecedented flushes of crimson across his cheeks when you nuzzle your forehead deeper into the crook of his neck is a sight you will never get to see. Yet your sounds, sights and touch… Solomon knows all of it. He knows the mean, median and mode of the number of hours you sleep at night; and he spends the midnight hours flipping through tomes dedicated to understanding love. To Solomon, this was all a study, really.

A study on how it would have been, if he had taken the time to know his fellow, human classmate from the get-go. How it would have been if he had taken you under his wing sooner - if he had won the race for your heart against the Seven Avatars of Sin. The data was there, in the form of the pact marks etched into your skin - placed there like perfect puzzle pieces. And no matter how much his brain wanted to process that data differently, the results and conclusion would remain unchanged.

To conduct a study, one must try to match the conditions of the experiment to the assumptions of the theory. Solomon knew this, and so he had strived to make Coctyus Hall your new House of Lamentation. He had lived with you - had eaten with you - had even slept beside you. He knew that you (more often that he liked) had shared a bed with each of the brothers before - so he had done that, too. He had taken your trip to the past as an opportunity to replicate the theory with ease, piecing together a domestic life with you that felt like bliss.

The perfect study.

It was meant to be the perfect study. For him and you.

So why?

Why did it hurt so bad, returning to the original timeline; and seeing how… easily, you fell back into your own life?

Why did it hurt, seeing you live, eat and sometimes even sleep alongside the brothers again?

Why did it hurt, sleeping beside you in your old room, when he had already shared a bed with you many times now? It hurt being with you, in this bed made for one, the pillows and blankets and your shifting form taking up room and pushing him out. Telling him that he didn’t belong next to you.

… The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep; studying. He presses his lips gently to your temple and savours the familiar warmth that greets him, fondly. He selfishly, childishly, hooks an arm and a leg around you; entangling himself in you as you had done many times before with him. He easily finds your hand through touch alone under a blanket colder than the one you used to share; struggling to intertwine his fingers with yours properly. But he grips your hand like a lifeline when he manages to. He’s got the lines of your palm and the creases of the skin of your wrists memorised. With a small, shaky breath, Solomon uses his thumb to trace over them again, and again, and again. Studying.

It was just a study, right? A ‘what if’.

Just a study, with a simple title.

What if, for a while, he pretended you loved him?

A study compares the theoretical with the experimental. Compares the ideal with harsh, painful, hurtful reality.

You belonged with the brothers. They were your ideal.

… And his brief, domestic, blissful experiment with you was now over.

(i had started writing this before seeing that angest was ruling the poll, lol. but yayyyyyy i wanna start writing angst and romance with the characters i haven’t touched on yet, so have an angst solomon, set after lesson 40 of nightbringer)

[ineffable-suffering]

The Jane Austen Ball and why it was never about Nina and Maggie

Otherwise known as (*takes a deep breath*): A completely inflated close-up look at various dialogues and events of Season 2 that prove that the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Meeting Cotillion Ball was supposed to be Aziraphale's confession to Crowley

Look, the point's been made before but that's never kept me from making it myself again, still. In fact, even I made it before, at the end of one of my other metas. But I feel like it's absolutely worthy enough to get its own soppy, way-too-long post. And I do love it so very much to write ridiculously long essays on something that could easily be condensed into a short paragraph.

So, here we go! Snuggle up, get cozy, settle in and, most importantly:

(Word count: 3.177 | Reading time: ~13 minutes)

As I already said above, I laid out a similar case in my meta about why Aziraphale is somewhat of an unreliable narrator. I'll try and recycle it here briefly, so I can further make my point.

When Aziraphale arrives back in London from his Edinburgh journey, he seems oddly happy and giddy for the fact that he just had a rather odd and threatening encounter with Shax. I explain in my other meta that this is because he just spent the last hours of his drive reminiscing on the thrilling and romantic magic show adventure of 1941 and also the fact that he just found out that Crowley has been replaced by Shax and no longer works for Hell.

Ergo: We have a hopelessly lovesick Principality at our hands, who's practically swooning over his serpent who saved him, his books and his magic show all those years ago.

Ergo:

✨This✨

Realistically, Aziraphale should probably be a tad worried about the eery encounter with Shax, in which she definitely had the upper hand on him. But well, if you spend many-a hours driving across the serene countryside (Edinburgh is about an 8-hour drive from London), pondering on one of the craziest, sticky-sweet romantic adventures of your not-life life, well ... things tend to turn a little rosy around the edges. Head in the clouds and all that. Light shades of grey!

Alright, onwards: Once the angel, filled to the very brim with fond memories and butterflies, gets out of the Bentley, he's kindly met with a face full of verdant plants and a very in-character-grumpy Crowley.

Fhwack! Way to burst the rosy bubble.

Seriously, the absolute lightning speed with which Crowley storms out to vacate the bookshop the very second Aziraphale arrives makes me giggle every time.

Let's make a first small (who am I kidding) diversion into analysing the following conversation in unnecessary detail ...

... simply because I enjoy quoting dialogue as an accurate reference in my metas. I'll also highlight certain passages I want to comment on in individual colours so I can back up my thoughts with them below. Alright, their little chinwag goes as follows:

Crowley: "They you are! I was worried something might have happened to you." Aziraphale: "No, nothing happened to me. Very uneventful journey indeed. No strange things at all." Crowley: "Good. That's what we wanna hear." Aziraphale: "Um .. everything okay with- ah.." *nods to the bookshop* Crowley: "Oh, yeah, fine. He's singing to himself. I think he must have been asleep. I heard snoring coming from his bedroom–" Crowley, to the Bentley: "Did you miss me? I bet you did." Aziraphale: "... I'm sure it did." Crowley: "So, any more clues from the mystery of the missing archangel?" Aziraphale: "Not exactly. Or, if there are, I haven't yet cracked the case. But I'm certainly hot on the trail of something." Crowley: "I'm sure you are. Oh, by the way, the whole sudden rain and awning thing was a complete washout." Aziraphale: "Sorry?" Crowley: "You know, project making Nina fall in love with Maggie. I failed, it's your go." Aziraphale: "I see. Well then, Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeeper's Association Monthly Meeting, here we come!" Crowley: "You're really hosting the meeting?" Aziraphale: "Absolutely! And I can guarantee you, it will be a night to remember."

At first glance, this has little to do with the plot of this meta but actually, it folds into my point very nicely! However, it's not time for that yet, so we'll just state the facts as they are for now and then bring them back 'round later when we need them. That being said: For the love of Someone, will these two ever manage to simply tell each other the truth of what happened instead of thinking they can protect each other by lying about it all the time? Hrmpf. As a big fan of open communication myself, I'm close to developing a stomach ulcer with the amount of false truths being spewed here. (Then again – and yes, that is another, way larger meta I'm currently cooking up – it plays so very perfectly into the whole Jane-Austen-Pride-and-Prejudice tragic miscommunication theme that this entire Season has, so I understand the point of it.)

Very uneventful journey indeed, Aziraphale, except for the fact that you were ambushed by a demon who told you she was Crowley's successor, knows about the rumors of the two of you being an item as well as what went down in 1941 (that almost had both of you exposed) and also seems to have figured out where you and your demon boyfriend are hiding Gabriel, all in the span of about a minute. No strange things at all, nooo!

And Crowley's "Oh yeah, fine" is a total lie too. Again, we see him make an absolute run for it before Aziraphale can even enter the bookshop. After all, he just once again witnessed Jim have a Gabriel-flashback, speaking of the Second Coming, while Crowley was alone with him. As fumingly angry he is with the amnesiac archangel – he's also absolutely terrified of what might happen (to him and Aziraphale) should Jim regain his memories. So, no wonder he's quick to vacate the premises after witnessing Jim's rather eery memory flashback (and was, just like Aziraphale, threatened by Shax mere moments later, lol).

But no, nothing out of the ordinary happened to either of them. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-fucking-boo.

Alright, let's get back on track with the actual topic of this meta. Certainly hot on the trail of something, hm? At first glance, it might seem like Aziraphale is talking about the fact that Gabriel was in company of someone whenever he went to the Resurrectionist Pub. (The clue!) However, I don't actually think he is talking about that. Why? Because, and this slipped my mind too at first, he never actually follows any of this information up, does he? Yes, sure, he went to Edinburgh, found the capital-c Clue and then returned to London. But what does he do with it? Nothing. He doesn't keep investigating this hot trail because that's not the important thing he realized during his journey. No, the more important clue Aziraphale found during his trip, is that Crowley no longer works for Hell and that he is also very much irrevocably in love with him and must confess this at the earliest given chance. (The latter part isn't necessarily a new discovery for Aziraphale, but it surely is fuelled by the fact that he just realized Crowley's out of a Hellish job and simply hasn't told him yet.)

This exchange just the perfect indicator for the fact that Aziraphale, at no point during his drive back, was thinking about the Maggie and Nina mission. He has no idea what Crowley is talking about once he mentions it and seems surprised, even, that he would. Even though they just talked about it on the phone when Aziraphale was still at the graveyard. Which is another important piece of evidence because it means that the last status update Aziraphale got of Mission Lovebirds, was that Crowley had sensed an opportunity to make them fall in love – and had then hung up on him. Why is this important? Because it means that until that very point of their conversation, Aziraphale did not know that Crowley's attempt had failed! There would have been just as much of a chance of Crowley's weather miracle actually working out and Maggie and Nina already having skipped into the sunset happily ever after.

So, riddle me this:

Why would Aziraphale spend the entire ride back from Edinburgh plotting "a night to remember" (because clearly, he already had the entire Ball planned out down to a T in his head since he goes into action right away after arriving) if he didn't even know yet that Crowley's attempt had failed?

To be very clear here: We're not talking about Aziraphale driving on the M1 to London, having a silly little idea for putting on some good music, miracle-ing Nina and Maggie to dance to it and watch them confess their love–

No.

He planned an entire actual Cotillion Ball with very particular location design that involves re-arranging the entire bookshop, specifically designed individual outfits for (almost) every single attendee, topped off with a live band, hors-d'œuvre, drinks and an actual choreographed group dance.

During one car ride.

Where's the party planner Aziraphale AU? I'm waiting!

Now, sure, we know that it's still quite important for Aziraphale to convince Heaven of the faux-reason they gave for their accidental ✨25-Lazarii miracle✨. But if we're all honest, this all seems to be a tad much just to make two random humans fall in love, even for that.

Glittery ball gowns and suits? Red and gold wall curtains? A modified language filter? Bloody vol-au-vents?

Talk about over the top ...

Once we start S2E5, Crowley is still surprised at the mere fact that Aziraphale is actually planning to organize the Monthly Meeting – and he doesn't even know yet that it's gonna be the most extravagant ball-boogaloo that the Whickber Street Community has ever seen! Aziraphale wanting to organize the meeting alone, is enough to render Crowley incredulous, because Aziraphale never mingles with the other shopkeepers. He usually actively avoids them and any sort of social encounters as much as he can because he doesn't care about the bloody Christmas lights, alright?

These things seem mundane and uninteresting to him, obviously, since all he really cares about is hoarding his book collection in peace like the little hedonist he is and drawing as little attention as possible to his none-business business.

Oh, right, speaking of books:

Let's take another unnecessarily detailed look at the whole Whickber Street invitation scene:

Aziraphale realizes very quickly that he's not the only one who's quite unenthusiastic about the blessed Chritsmas lights. And despite his very persuasive methods of temptation ...

... he has to take some more drastic measurements. And those are?

That's right: Giving away his books.

I'll repeat it again, slowly: Aziraphale is willingly (!) giving away or lending his books to pretty much complete strangers to, allegedly, make two other humans strangers fall in love.

Seriously, who is that angel and what has he done with our prim, fussy, hedonistic Aziraphale that protects his books with the vice grip of an eagle carrying his precious prey?

Believe in the importance of Mission Lovebirds as much as you will, but we're talking about Mr. A.Z. Fell here who, over the past millennia, has pretty much spent every day actively working out methods to stop people from purchasing as much as a single paperback from his holy shelves.

And yet: the 1965 September Dr. Who Annual? Given away. The first edition of Expert at the Card Table that was S. W. Erdnase's personal copy? Lent away to grubby human hands to fondle around with.

Let's do another coloured dialogue diversion (don't worry, it's not as extensive as the last one):

Crowley: "You just did what I think you did?" Aziraphale: "I'm not prepared to talk about it." Crowley: "You gave away a book." Aziraphale: "I had to! Maggie and Nina are depending on me. They just don't know it yet."

Crowley backs up my point: This is a huge deal. Aziraphale does not sell his books – let alone give them away for free. We're all shocked! Flabbergasted!

And the explanation Crowley and us get just ... doesn't satisfy. Something and someone sure is depending on this Ball and doesn't know it yet. But it's most definitely not Maggie and Nina, folks.

You know for whom Aziraphale would give away his books in the blink of an eye, though?

Mhm, that's right.

This pretty old serpent.

I want to take a minute to show you the reaction again that Aziraphale has upon entering the very same magic shop him and Crowley went to in 1941 to acquire the Bullet Catch:

You ... you need a minute there, angel? You're sure looking a little ... affected.

And I mean, well, no wonder. He reminisced about that very memory four hours last night. To him, this shop is where the most turbulent, ecstatic, adrenaline-fuelled and romantic night of his life began. And it shows.

I've made my point in my other meta series about how Aziraphale is an incredibly nostalgic character. He romanticizes so many things in his memories – especially the parts that feature Crowley. So, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest that he's once again willing to loosen the tight grip he has on his book collection to get the successor of Will Goldstone's Magic Shop, the shop that started it all for him, to come to his fancy Ball.

As we watch Aziraphale and his little lap dog demon pat around Soho, I'd like to take another second to point out that he goes to seven or more establishments before he even invites Nina.

... and he only does so because she starts talking to them on the street. Almost like he'd forgotten about it. Why not ask her at the very beginning? To establish whether or not he'd have to book-blackmail her too?

"Perfectly ordinary invitation with no hidden agenda of any kind", except that he's using you and Maggie as a pretence to resolve his own clusterfuck of a relationship-miscommunication Jane-Austen-style so that he can then hopefully confess his undying love to his demon not-boyfriend boyfriend.

Marvellous!

You'll forgive me another short diversion but my God, the whole exchange at the Marguerite's restaurant with Crowley literally cat-call-whistling Aziraphale over to him (and Aziraphale checking if he meant someone else first, I–)? I am weak. So, so weak and

However, this is also when we get a snippet of Crowley finally revealing the truth in place of his "Oh, he's fine"-lie earlier and telling Aziraphale that he's actually pretty scared Jim might turn back into Gabriel and smite him altogether. And Aziraphale's response is, in a cosmic sense, (remember the pink paragraph now) so hilarious:

"Have you thought of just talking to him?"

Yeah, have you? Have any of the two of you? Just thought about talking? To each other? About anything?

'pparently not. But hey, it's all good because remember what the ultimate remedy for star-crossed lovers simply misunderstanding each other is?

Bish, bash, bosh, problem solved!

Back at the ballroom bookshop, Aziraphale sends Crowley to invite Maggie in order to, in my opinion, not spoil the Ball-y surprise for him. (Inviting Maggie only now?! Wouldn't she be one of the only two guests who really should attend? Why the short notice? If she's really that important for the Ball you're planning, hm?)

On top of this, we see Nina almost not attending the Ball meeting after her partner broke up with her and Crowley being the one who coincidentally runs into her and ushers her into the bookshop before Shax and her "legion" of demons start creeping up on them. Again, if this hadn't happened by pure coincidence, Nina would have left to go home and this whole Ball would have taken place without her, rendering the apparent sole purpose of making her fall in love with Maggie useless.

Why doesn't Aziraphale care more for both of them to attend and be there? Why is he instead busy fussing over everything looking perfect and wonderful and doesn't even seem to notice that both Nina and Maggie are really late to the meeting?

Well. Well.

The answer's in the title, babes.

Alas, Crowley safely gets Maggie and Nina to join them, Mr. Brown is the only one who doesn't get a miracled outfit (fussy, petty angel, you just don't like him, do you?), Jimbriel stuns with glamour and flirt (and whatever sexually suggestive thing he does with his cheeks) and the Whickber Street Ball is a-go!

Sorry, I just had to chuck this in again because Crowley's face here absolutely kills me every time. He looks so confused, I am hollering.

And the heart eyes Aziraphale is making at Nina and Maggie now that they're actually here?

Oh, bless it, angel.

He's all like "Oh look, it's working! Jane was right! It's all going to be resolved, all the misunderstanding and quarrels! Crowley, where's Crowley–"

Ah yes, there he is.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is an angel who is not listening to a single word being said right now. No, in his head, Aziraphale is already down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Crowley after they just danced the night away.

Oh, yes, right. The dancing.

Parallel much?

But well, as marvellous and beautifully romantic as her stories tend to be, it turns out that Jane Austen isn't always right after all. Because before we know it, the perfect night shatters into many-a tiny pieces (literally).

And once again, fhwack:

... the rosy bubble bursts.

Let's take one more deep breath so I can make my final point:

In S2E2, Aziraphale explains to us very exactly what Jane's Balls (hrhr) used to be about: Solving miscommunication and confessing love to one another.

During his car journey back from Edinburgh, Aziraphale:

doesn't know Crowley's Mission Lovebirds had failed

remembers 1941 and just how badly he's in love with Crowley

and also realizes that they seem to have been wildly miscommunicating for quite some time now. (Crowley didn't even tell him he basically got let go!)

So, what does maddeningly strong love plus a want to resolve all the miscommunication equal? That's right: A night to remember! A Ball to change it all! A dance, a vol-au-vent, a confession. And, ideally, a happy ever after. Because:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man angel in possession of a good fortune Jane Austen collection, must be in want of a wife demon husband.”

The Ball was never for Nina and Maggie. As a byproduct, maybe, yes. But the whole rest of the glimmer and glamour, the careful, romantic planning and set up of it all, the book-bating the other shopkeepers– that was for Crowley and Crowley only.

And oh, if only it were as easy as in the books.

*whispers* I'm sorry, I had to.

***

Your honour, the tinfoil-hat crackpot defence rests. Feel free to share thoughts (and prayers) if you want to!

Au revoir! 💗

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[bsydelver]

Can u do a Fluff story of Tamaki amajiki crushing on a goth/alternative reader

Part 1 depending on how well this actually does.

———>part 2

@wolvwa helped with this because I can’t write fluff for the life of me.

Note: YESSS, I have never wrote fluff; I only have written aus/general story. THIS IS REALLY EXCITING SO HERE WE GO— THIS WILL BE A CHAPTER OF TAMAKI JUST ADMIRING THE READER.

warnings: English isn’t my first language, writer has never written fluff 🙏, Reader has piercings, Nejire wingman (not really, she just tries to help Tamaki get out of his bubble when it comes to talking to you)

Summary: just read because this is left on a cliffhanger.

SEMI-PROLOGUE

You have been friends with the big three for how long now? All you could remember from the start of your friendship that, surprisingly, Tamaki was the one who even got you into their group in the first place- you were closer to Nejire at first for the most part though due to your shared interests and her fascination with your quirk and unique appearance. People could tell you were ‘different’ in terms of appearance, music taste and lots of other things but in your opinion: you never felt out of place with the group and they always find a way to include you into anything.

Whilst you were in your train of thoughts, you got cut off by Nejire calling for you, with Tamaki as her company, a smile came across your face and you noticed Tamaki doing a half smile as well, “It’s a day off today, do you wanna hang out at my dorm? Mirio said he’d be coming later,” Nejire’s personality could never make you decline her requests but with Tamaki accompanying her: there wasn’t a universe where you’d be refusing to hang out with them. Nejire didn’t let a second pass by after you had agreed and she practically pulled you to her dorm.

Silence filled the room as Nejire scrambled through her stuff looking for anything that could entertain you guys. You couldn’t help but notice the indigo haired-boy staring at you from the corner of your age, you couldn’t say you weren’t enjoying it but you thought that maybe he wanted to talk so you turned your head out of the blue which made Tamaki look down visibly flustered. The sound of a person rummaging through years worth of stuff stopped as Nejire approached you, “I couldn’t really find anything,” that was a strange occurance if you were being fully honest: Nejire always had something for you guys to do, wether it was repetitive or random, there was always something; you thought maybe Nejire just needed an excuse to do something but as you examined her face in an attempt to predict what she was trying to do, you noticed her and the Indigo-colored pair of eyes exchanging stairs that contrasted in expressions but still hinted towards something which you just shrugged off.

Nejire started to slowly get closer to you which wasn’t new, she always did that when she was about to analyse someone’s whole face so you didn’t back away, “Me and Tamaki always thought your piercings were really cool,” hearing Nejire say that made you flattered and you looked to Tamaki to confirm only to see his face buried in his hands which made you slightly smirk, “Did this one hurt?” Nejire pointed at the spider bites piercing you had, “well it d-” before you could answer you were interrupted by another one of her questions, “In fact, did all of them hurt?”

“Well it depends on your pain tolerance and the loca-” you were once again interrupted but this time not by Nejire but by a curious Tamaki, “How did you know which one you would look good with?..” Tamaki wasn’t holding eye contact with you as he asked, he was actually looking down at the floor more than anything, you couldn’t tell what the question exactly implied as it could’ve been many things but you didn’t want to make the environment awkward, “I would try filters or have my friends’ insights on them!” Tamaki looked amazed and it was a cute sight if you were being honest, his eyes had a shine in them that glowed when he opened them more and this moment was one of the times he was opening his eyes more, “Wait you have friends as cool as you?!” Nejire said in a tone filled with excitement, “You think I’m cool?” you raised your eyebrows and you weren’t asking this as a normal question, it was more friendly-teasing; “Actually, it isn’t only me— Tamaki was just tell-” Nejire’s quote-on-quote exposé was fortunately, for Tamaki , cut off by the creak of the door opening, “MIRIO!”

[dazealigner]

hi hi hi

i have a request! could you write julien x reader where julien is obsessed (in a good way) where she only talks about reader in interviews and stuff

pls pls pls

and thank u

hiii anon !!! i’ve actually thought about this thoroughly in the past so i have a couple of hcs stirred up for you ! but i also wanted to say that @itsrorysstuff has also wrote for this same idea awhile ago and did an amazing job at executing it (:

jb talking about her gf in interviews hcs!

(i’ll preface by saying that jb’s girlfriend is a famous singer-songwriter in this scenario, just because interviewers would then ask about their relationship more frequently and i don’t get why julien would talk about her girlfriend excessively if she wasn’t exposed to the public eye like julien is. also to give some background, i’ll say that they discovered each other’s music prior to their romance and met through a mutual friend, lucy or phoebe perhaps)

because you two both listened to each other’s work way before you guys even started talking, julien definitely brought one of your albums up in the Records In My Life interview and even spends some time analyzing it as well before she’s subtly cut off given the time limit and their remaining questions

there’s occasional mentions of you here and there, to which you reciprocate until finally lucy/phoebe unites you two

and man oh man are lucy and phoebe third and fourth-wheeling because the entire night you two are trading ALL of the compliments and the analyses you’ve been itching to share since the moment you both discovered the other’s work

fast forward to julien and singer-songwriter!gf NOT beating the u-haul lesbian allegations, this is where julien really begins to excessively talk about you

philosophical question? she’ll mention your input on the matter. question about a lyric on the record that you helped with? oh boy that interviewer is in for a ride.

and there’s nothing more phoebe and lucy enjoy than teasing julien about you two’s relationship

“After the show in Dallas, me and Lucy went to grab something to eat, and—” “Wait, where was Julien again?” “You know where she was.”

and julien FLUSHES pink not just because the entirety of the camera crew were exchanging confused glances but because she herself knows where she was and more importantly who she was with

anyways you being known for having schemes up your sleeves when it comes to your albums, julien’s now getting asked about your music as well, and she LOVES it because she knows everything about your upcoming albums in secret and she’s now become apart of the scheming and teasing

if you announce a single release and you wanna hint at its title, let’s say you use the single title in your instagram caption, and then julien somehow finds a way to insert it smoothly into something she’s saying in an interview and lucy and phoebe are like “😏😏” cause they’re in the loop too

and then in the nardwuar interview as he’s handing out the most thoughtful gifts, in the back of julien’s mind, all she’s thinking about is how much you’d love those gifts

“Oh my god, me and my girlfriend were just talking about Trio. .” and phoebe and lucy are snickering from beside her as she goes on a rant about what specifically you two were talking about.

when the boys are on the red carpet for GQ Men of the Year and they’re already all rocking hickies and then they get into the conversation of dates when amelia interviews them…..

“What about you? Have you ever been on a date?” “A date? I’ve been on one.” “Recently, too.”

and on top of her remark, lucy’s eyes trail down to julien’s hickey. not that it’s noticeable in that exact moment, but fans inevitably notice

and finally when you do release any projects you’ve been working on, julien is so incredibly vocal on how well-deserved the recognition you receive is and how proud she is of you. she acknowledges every single hour you spent in the studio and its merit outcome.

and, of course, the level of affection julien shows is obviously reciprocated by singer-songwriter!gf

[enweasley]

Restricted Section ; Finn Weasley x Sallow!Reader

AN: HII! So I haven't seen this being done much (or even at all but I barely looked) where people would write fanfics of their own characters in Hogwarts Legacy, so I decided to do so! Quick introduction to the character:

This is Finn Weasley; He's in Gryffindor and has a very loyal but mischievous personality. He's also pansexual! He LOVES herbology but he loves solving mysteries and exploring secrets even more - even if it's super dangerous. However, he will go to any extent to keep others out of danger (ironically). Finn can be really harsh to people if someone hurts him or the people he cares about. He's not perfect, though, he has some flaws. He does have a short temper and can say pretty horrible things without meaning to. He can also be quite reckless and finds it hard to accept other people's love and care, leading him to forget to keep himself from getting hurt.

That's all for now, but I'll probably add more to his story as time goes by!

(Please excuse any grammar mistakes, I'm trilingual and grammar from 3 languages can mix me up a lot C:)

--

Summary: The new student needs your help sneaking into the restricted section for something 'very important'. However, he doesn't expect you to cover for him when you get caught.

Warnings: Swearing, small panic attack, gets a little heated at the end. Kinda cheesy but we love that :)

Reader's gender is never specified!

--

"Excuse me! Y/n Sallow, right?" Interrupted from your game of wizard's chess alone, you turn around to be met with a pretty tall red-head. You couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he is, but you swallow your excitement.

"Yeah, that's me. You're the new kid aren't you?" You disenchant your chess game and give him your full attention. "I watched your duel with Sebastian in the Clock Tower, you're really good!"

Finn seems to flush at your compliment. During his short time starting in 5th year here in Hogwarts he's gotten plenty compliments on how he's been able to learn and execute spells so quickly, but for some reason your compliment had a special affect on him.

He chuckles lightly. "Thank you, I'm just trying to catch up quickly." He couldn't seem to keep his eyes from wandering over your features. "It's Finn, by the way. Finn Weasley."

"Oh, another Weasley! Well it's lovely to meet you! Did you need anything?" You ask politely.

Finn almost forgot why he was talking to you in the first place, but managed to remember before already humiliating himself in front of you. "Right, yes. This may sound quite forward, but Sebastian told me you're really good at sneaking around. Is there a chance you can help me sneak into the restricted section of the library tonight? I can't say why, but it's very important."

You were a bit surprised at his request, but kind of prideful that you were the first person he was led to for it. You smiled widely. "Of course! I'm surprised my brother didn't take you himself. Meet me at the grand staircase at 9. Don't be late!"

"Wait- Don't you wanna know more about why I need to sneak in?" He asked perplexed.

"Nope. I'll take any opportunity for sneaking around. Either way, you don't seem the type to burn down the castle or anything. Plus, you said you can't say why you need to sneak in."

He mentally facepalmed himself. How could he forget he just said that? Maybe he just wanted to talk to you longer. "I'll see you at 9!" You smile at him and walk away.

You take a long breath after turning away from him. Holy shit he's cute.

-

You're both crouched at the railing of the stairs looking down onto the central hall at exactly 9pm, analysing the prefects walking around and guarding the doors of the library.

"Okay," you whisper. "First of all, we need to go invisible. Have you learnt the disillusionment spell?"

Finn looks at you like a lost puppy, his head slightly titled. You almost had to tell him how cute he looked, but held back.

You pull your wand out and whisp it over your head and body. The wand leaves a blue trail of light before all there was left was your aura.

You continue whispering to the lost boy in front of you. "This is the disillusionment spell. It doesn't turn you completely invisible but it's better than being completely exposed."

You point to his hand holding his wand. "May I?" He nods hesitantly.

You slowly hold his fist clenching onto his wand and do the same movement you did on yourself over him. Finn could barely focus, the feeling of your soft hand on his summoning an army of butterflies in his stomach. You couldn't help but feel the same tingle in your stomach too.

Clearing your throat, you speak. "That's the movement for the spell. Just think of it and do the movement."

He did as you said, and suddenly you were both just two ghosts staring at each other's remains.

Finn chuckles enthusiastically. "This is awesome!" He whisper yells.

You laugh at his excitement, wishing you could see his freckled face through the spell.

"Okay, let's go. Stick close to me." You begin to sneak down the stairs, through the hall, and quickly side past the prefect turned away from the library door. You can feel Finn following closely behind.

After you both get into a safer corner of the library away from Madam Agnes's sights, you remove the spell off you.

"Here's the plan," you start. "You go get the key from Madam Agnes's desk draw over there, I'll distract her."

Finn nods. As you start to turn away, Finn grabs your arm gently and looks at you with his adorable puppy eyes.

"What if you get caught?" He sounds worried. You can't tell why he'd be worried about you, though.

You give him a cheeky smile. "Me? Get caught? You should worry about yourself, Weasley." He chuckles, shooing away the blush creeping into his cheeks after hearing you call him by his surname. "C'mon, let's go."

As you throw a book across the room, Finn conceals himself and scurries to grab the key. You quickly do the same and meet him at the entrance of the restricted section.

Exposing yourselves from the spell, you watch him unlock the gate before you walk in.

"YES!" Finn cheers, surprising you both with a tight hug. There's a pause before he realises what he's doing and slowly pulls away, taking his warmth away with him. "Sorry... Got excited."

You laugh sweetly at him. "I don't mind." He continues walking down the stairs of the forbidden room, but not before shooting you a relieved smirk.

"Lumos." You cast, making the eery room brighter and less intimidating.

As you squeeze between abandoned bookshelves and over piles of junk, you reach a collapsed set of armour. "Repai-" Finn begins to cast before a loud screech interrupts him.

Almost out of thin air, Peeves flies through the wall in front of you. He almost knocks you down, but Finn's quick reflexes catch you before you hit the ground. You find yourself wrapped in his arms, yours tightly around his neck.

"Shit, are you okay?" Finn asks you breathlessly, his worried eyes glaring into yours.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine-" But once again you were interrupted by the same squeaky, loud voice of the poltergeist.

"I'M TELLING, I'M TELLING," Peeves squeals mockingly before flying straight upwards towards the main floor of the library.

Your heart squeezes into itself. You've never been caught before, why now? Your uncle is going to kill you if he finds out you were sneaking around the castle, and in the restricted section of all places.

You didn't realise your breath was quickening until you felt arms lowering you onto the floor and rough but warm hands palming each side of your neck.

"Hey, hey. You're alright, sweetheart. Take a breath." You hear Finn's soft voice whisper in your ear. A little voice was in your head screaming How do you expect me to breathe when you're making my heart beat even faster??

You breathe deeply before letting out a small chuckle. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Just go get whatever you need to get. I need to deal with Peeves before he gets us both in trouble."

Finn looks at you as if asking you if you're sure. You just nod and sprint after Peeves, the last thing you hear is a distant "Repairo" before making it back to the library.

"PEEVES YOU STUPID POLTERGEIST." You try catching him, forgetting he's a literal ghost as your arms flail right through him.

"Y/n Sallow." You jump at the voice of Madam Agnes behind you. You slowly turn around while Peeves chuckles menacingly at your head hung low in shame. "And to think I'd get a break from the Sallow siblings, you come running along. Wait until your uncle hears about this."

"No. No no no-" You get interrupted by her. "That's enough. You're a bright student, you should know better than to go sneaking around the restricted section especially after curfew."

"But Madam Agnes-"

"And Peeves here tells me you were with someone else." Peeves twirls and rolls around mid-air, celebrating your punishment. "Please tell me you were forced to come here by someone's hand instead of it being your own choice."

There's a pause. You could never snitch on Finn like that. You only just met him but you know better than to put his record at risk on his first week of school here. This was your own choice anyway, you weren't forced. Finn helped you down there, so you're gonna help him.

"No. I came here all alone." You said in a low but stern voice.

Madam Agnes sighs at your lie, but she knew how stubborn you and your brother were, so she let it slide.

"Detention after classes tomorrow. You're going to sort the books to their respective places until they're all done. It doesn't matter if it takes you all night." Your shoulders slump. "Peeves, escort her to her common room, please."

With a sigh from you and an evil chuckle from the poltergeist, you begin your walk to your common room. At least Finn's in the clear now.

Little did you know, Finn saw the whole thing from behind one of the shelves. He couldn't help but let a grateful smile reach his lips.

--

The next day, Finn runs to the library to find you after his classes. It's already dark out by the time he finishes his extra tasks and from talking to Professor Fig. He doesn't know why he's in such a hurry, but he won't let his confidence escape him just yet.

Once he's in, he find the library to be completely empty, not even Madam Agnes in sight. He hears distant curses and shuffling coming from the second floor and he can only assume the source being your complaining.

As he follows the sounds of frustrated mumbles, he finally finds you at the end of the second floor in a dark corner holding a bunch of books to shelf up. He smiles at the sight of you awkwardly balancing everything in your one hand and walks over to you, taking a pile of books from you.

"Need help there?" He looks at you with a teasing smirk.

You look at him with a grumpy face. "Oh haha, Weasley. I can handle this on my own, thank you very much." You snatch back the books he took from you, instant regret flooding your features as you immediately struggle to balance them.

Finn immediately takes them back from you and effortlessly holds them over his head, extending his arm upwards far from your reach.

"Hey- Hand those back, Weasley." You try hopping to reach the books he so graciously stole from you.

He chuckles at your efforts while you claw up his chest and shoulders, trying to tug down his arm. After a harsh tug, Finn loses balance of the books he's holding and he tries catching them but ends up stumbling forwards.

The books fall to the side as Finn catches himself on the bookshelf, trapping you between it and himself.

You lock eyes with him, your hands clutched tightly onto the thin material of his shirt over his chest. You're both breathing heavily, chests almost touching with every breath.

You can feel Finn hesitate as his hands slowly reach to cup the back of your neck, his thumb over your cheek. No matter how much you willed yourself to, your simply could not take your eyes off him.

"Thank you." He whispers. Your eyebrows furrow.

"For what?"

"For covering for me." His stare snapping between your eyes and lips. "I heard you in the library after we got caught."

"You mean after I caught got?" You tease.

Finn smirks at your remark, his hold on your neck squeezing for a second. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." The nickname melts into your ears and into the rushed beats of your heart.

"Hey, Finn?" The use of his first name makes the blood rush to his cheeks, his breath hitches.

"Yeah?"

"You dropped my books."

"Shut up." Finn lets out in a desperate breath before pulling you into him, his lips roughly but passionately meeting yours.

His other hand shifts from the side of your head to tangle into your hair, tugging it lightly. You let out a little whimper, but that's all it took for Finn to deepen the kiss even more, his tongue slightly grazing yours. Breaths were escaping through your noses, desperate for air but never desperate enough to separate from each other.

Your fingers weave through his long, soft ginger locks. Your other hand clutches desperately onto the collar of his shirt.

You both finally pull away from each other, your hands gliding down to rest on his chest.

"Fuck." Finn leans his forehead on yours, leaning in for another quick peck. His hazel eyes are glazed over, looking into yours like they hold the world. He slowly brushes a strand of your hair behind your hair, memorising your face as you memorise his.

"I was hoping you'd do that." You chuckle breathlessly. Finn laughs with you, his eyes holding nothing but love as they stare into yours. "Oh yeah?" You nod, your nose lightly touching his.

"Now help me with these books, Weasley. You're still responsible for my detention." You playfully push him away and start picking up the books he previously dropped.

"And I'd do it again as long as it ends like this every time." He smiles at you cheekily.

"Do it again and I'm telling Sebastian you used a love potion on me."

And with that he got to work helping you sort the books out.

[capn-twitchery]

I'm sorry did I see you say you did your masters' thesis on character design? could you tell us more? 👀

YES ABSOLUTELY thank you So much for giving me an excuse to go off about this oh my god--SO!! 👀

my masters was on animation, specifically concept art & pitch bibles for animation (i'm not sure how well known those are but basically it's a document/book you bring into a pitch, contains all the basics of the show!) so it focused around making an animated show concept, a pitch bible & a visual development portfolio (just a fancier way to display more concept art) & the thesis (was supposed to) document the thought process behind making it

it was classed as a science masters, which meant the project had to be based around a hypothesis, so things got Muddled (hypothesis was on the rarity of adult horror in western animation) but the core of it was: i wanted to make a pitch for a fake tv show and write about character design & analyse art styles. so i did! there was stuff on stereotypical design traits & what they imply, environmental storytelling, how to show story through character design, how genres affect art styles & why, stylising animals for animation, sticking to historic research vs visual shorthands/readability, off the top of my head.

i will spare you hours of ramblings BUT i will not spare you the chance to show off some of the stuff i made >:3c the show concept was an 1800s (vaguely) southern gothic horror vibe, i went for anthros bc i had never tried them before and wanted something more challnging than humans. story concept was based around ergotism, mass hysteria, unreality, weird creatures in the fields that may or may not be real, power struggles, etc. etc.

the pitch bible i am still so Unbelievably proud of--i made everything basically from scratch myself, drew so many things i'd never even Attempted before, and although i'd change a few things now (mainly the writing/formatting) i'm still proud of it! i think the visitants pag is the coolest thing i've ever made still >:3c here's a handful of pages, and i'll put a few of the visual development portfolio ones under the cut & the links to the full things if anybody is interested!!

i never did get to finish the visdev portfolio bc of a bunch of health issues + a surgery, which is a shame. i do still really like this project tho and i'm immensely proud of getting the degree even through the Fuckery 😌

i'd love to come back to it someday, there's a lot of things i'd like to change now i'm not under a time limit (better historical reference, for one) but it's the first uni project i've still felt passionate about after submitting it, so thank you for giving me the chance to talk about it :D

if you did wanna see the full pieces, the pitch bible is here and the portfolio is here (albeit unfinished)

[alshixxah]

Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship)

On a hot summer night in Greece, Lewis contemplates her "best friend" eating sorbet.

Notes: 2.1k, girlcedes, not beta-read, english is not my first language, title and references from a Studio Killers song of the same name, first time writing fanfiction, slightly suggestive at times, in true teenage girl fashion Lewis is going through it, there are too little fics where Lewis is just plainly weird about Nico

This is @sionisjaune's girlcedes anon from like 2 weeks ago. Girlcedes and girl!Nico especially have been haunted my brain an unhealthy amount and spilled out into this foul beast. I swear this was supposed to be a drabble idk how we got to 2k. Once again shoutout to @sionisjaune, I wish (not really) i was joking when i said that their girl!Nico fics have quite literally fundamentally changed the way i see my own femininity and relationship to the concept of womanhood.

It was uncommon for Lewis to ignore a cone of soft serve in front of her, it really was. The view before her, Nico licking so methodically at the strawberry sorbet perched gracelessly on the cone in her hand as if it was a corner she was analysing, had her letting the sticky liquid melt from her own cone gently down her hand. 

In truth, she hated calling her “friend”, but she had no other word for what was between them. A bond so strong, forged over the many years they perfected the art of knowing each other, first as strangers, then friends, then karting teammates, and now vacationeers together in Greece. A bond seemingly so unbreakable that they swore it would survive any rivalries that came from competition, but so stupidly fragile when Lewis thought of words to describe it other than “friends”. 

Nico glanced at her, and wordlessly placed one of the paper napkins from her lap onto hers while gently grabbing Lewis’ ice cream cone. Lewis only took her eyes off of mindlessly rubbing at her hands when Nico spoke. “It's a shame. Cream colours look good on you”. “Better like this. My hands are all sticky”

The air was hot, even at night. She could still smell the night market, two streets down from the sea promenade where they were sitting on the rocks. The heavy spices and oil from their street food dinner had made the air in the market sticky as well, and whether by the wind or them channelling it to come with, the air around them now was sticky too. Lewis knew the napkins were ultimately futile to erase the feeling. While she had spoken, another droplet had escaped Lewis’ cone, and Nico gently tilted her head to lick at it with the tip of her tongue, so as to not get it on her nail. The polish perfectly matched the colour of her sorbet. Lewis wondered if it would taste like it too if placed in her mouth.

The only way to stop this stickiness might be to drown herself in the sea across from them. Lewis didn't know if she wanted to. 

She carelessly stuffed the napkin into the back pocket of her jean shorts and took back her cone without making eye contact. 

“I should paint your nails cream when we get back. We could match. I'm getting tired of this colour” Nico scrunched up her face as she scratched her left thumb across her ring finger. She had only painted her nails two days ago, sat on the sunny balcony floor of their shared room, hunched over and looked like the most beautiful girl on earth Lewis had ever seen. 

“I like it. It suits you, and it matches your ice cream”

“Sorbet”

“It matches your Sorbet”

Nico frowned. “No, you're saying it wrong. Sorr-be”

“That's exactly what I’m saying”

“No you're saying sour-bee. Put your tongue more forward in your mouth like-” Her face froze as she tried to think of a proper comparison. Lewis had never possessed the ease Nico seemingly had when it came to picking up languages. Her tongue stubbornly stuck to only moulding itself around the gentle sloping and stopping of the English accent she was born into. Around the proper way, how she would tease Nico about her German lilt. 

Suddenly Nico snapped out of her trance, and looked at Lewis with that look that told her whatever came next was not a suggestion but a demand. “Open your mouth”

Lewis obeyed without thinking. 

Carefully, like she could shatter Lewis like glass, she stuck her index and middle finger in her mouth and up to her gum, pushing at the space right behind Lewis ́ front teeth.

To any passerby, it must have looked like she was giving her some sort of dental examination. She was so helplessly but willingly at her mercy with two fingers down her mouth. Who would willingly subject themselves to this, she thought, if not for the nauseating agony that toothaches born of avoidance give you? Nobody would so obediently open their mouth, and keep it open, if sweetness would not melt into cavities.

Lewis could only watch as her friend slowly removed her fingers from the mouth she desperately willed to behave from spilling everything sticky she tried to wipe away. In doing so, Nicos nails grazed her tongue. She tasted the sweet flavour of strawberry.

“Put your tongue there. Say it.”

Nicos looked like a spilled bottle of perfume, so intense and penetrating was her look. All Lewis could do was hold it with wide eyes.

“Sorr-be.”

“Good”

“I think I´d like to taste yours, actually” Lewis reached over to take her cone from her and she immediately retorted by taking hers. She had no desire to taste the strawberry in particular, but if she didn't keep her mouth busy it might start telling Nico all its acronyms for their “friendship”. There was a dent in the sorbet where Nico had last licked at it, no bigger than her thumbpad. 

When they found the small ice cream vendor at the end of the market, she had initially hoped to get coconut flavour. They had ventured into the building just on the last street corner from the bustling food stalls like they owned the place, and just for a second Lewis stood back to watch Nico gawk at the spread of flavours before them with such unashamed desire that she so fiercely guarded in public. Desire that was sadly not focused on Lewis.

Stepping into Nicos personal space was always a full sensory experience. For her at least. It occurred to her that when her father only looked at her confused when she once mentioned she could often smell Nico before she entered the room that maybe other people just were not as fixated on everything Nico. God, she needed to get more normal.

Nico matched all of her hygiene products, her body wash, her lotion, her shampoo, down to deodorant and perfume to a scent, and that one scent completely enveloped her entire being.

Well, two scents actually, roses for special occasions, like the celebratory dinner after their last 1-2 finish, and coconut at all other times.

Whenever she knew they would share a room, she made sure to conveniently forget her body wash, or lotion, only to shamefully buy a cheap one in a corner store a few days later to eventually chuck it in the trash when she got home from that particular trip.

The first time showering with Nicos stuff was always like the first time again. Nico would consume her in shockwaves, penetrate her senses and skin in a way that made her almost feel dirtier than before stepping in the shower, and leave her staring at her murky silhouette in the foggy mirror to get a grip and not pounce her “friend” the second she stepped out of their shared bathroom.

It made her nauseous the fourth or fifth time, always. She could not handle it, being so filled and surrounded by something she then had to pretend was her friend, but she could never resist lathering her skin just a couple seconds extra with hands that smelled like Nico. She would buy the other body wash then.

Nico never commented on how often she would forget hers in the first place, or when she would buy the second, or when Lewis never gave her back the shirts she would steal from her.

When she was back in Stevenage, she used them as her pillowcase, just the white back without a print to keep it her secret, so Anthony would think his daughter was normal, and bury her face into them and scream.

She needed to microdose this way, she would lash out and convulse and bloom like a werewolf into something hideous if she indulged on her “best friend” in the way she wanted to.

Maybe that is why she always borrowed her lip gloss only after Nico used it first, or why she wanted coconut ice cream. She could not have the real thing, but something sticky and wet on her lips that she knew was to some degree her “best friends” saliva was all she could allow herself.

She looked at the indent on Nicos sorbet in her hands that glistened in the moonlight. She flattened her tongue against it while closing her eyes. Just a little indulgence. When she looked up again Nico was staring at her, soft serve untouched.

“I'd let you paint my nails. But keep yours. I like them. Plus you painted them like yesterday.”

“No. I want us to match.”

Lewis popped the last of the sorbets cone in her mouth and took Nicos free hand in hers. She closely examined her still pristine nails.

“And that wouldn’t look good on me or what?”

  She gently caressed the nail bed of her elegant pointer finger. Nico, suddenly, as if she remembered she was alive, or as if Lewis had rubbed the death out of her, she grabbed Lewis’ wrist. 

The motion was so sudden it almost scared Lewis if it wasn’t her “friend”. Her hand slowly travelled up her arm and she began to slowly whisper. “No.”

Her hand brushed past the strap of her top as Lewis’ hand came to join hers, “No”.

It tangled itself firmly on the back of Lewis’ neck and Nico pulled her down, down, down, until her forehead was pressed to the sticky expanse of Nicos sweaty naked shoulder and she closed her eyes. "No."

This close she could almost pretend she crawled inside Nicos skin, deep underneath the surface like she was her lungs, or brain, or heart if she wanted to be vulgar. Something precious that would kill Nico to get rid of.

All her senses were assaulted by coconut, but this was the first time that under it she smelled the faint mechanical, almost animalistic floral scent buried deep beneath it. It reminded Lewis of speed walking past the alleyway on her way back from school where everyone knew the cokeheads gathered after 3 p.m. and it made Nico seem just as dangerous.

“Talk to me Lewis”, her best friend for years said above her.

“You terrify me. Paint me every colour you want. Please.”

Nico pulled her up by the scuff of her neck, even when her hands went just shy of jerking upwards and grabbing her hair. There was no place to hide from the other now, nowhere to put yourself except for your lips to move except against each other with restrained obsession against each other. Neither girl could guess how many kisses the other had, even as they refused to break eye contact over the kiss, blue eyes staring in deeply, deeply unsure brown ones.

The string of spit that emerged when they finally broke fell into both their laps at once, where brown legs had tangled with tan ones. Neither made a move to kiss each other again or touch the other further, they just swayed in each other's orbit, like a snake and a flute, panting each others air that was laced with something as sick as devotion.  

“I'm scared.” Lewis finally admitted. “I was scared. You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship”

At this Nico finally moved, head cocked to the side, eyes wide not in surprise but laser focus, and pressed her soft chest into Lewis’

“Ruin it.” She gripped Lewis’ upper arms with a bruising grip, her flesh spilling out between her fingers, “Do it.”

She feverishly pecked at Lewis’ cheek, “Destroy it. Wreck it. Break our friendship.”

Her hands finally found the courage to angrily weave into Lewis’ hair and she pressed their faces so close that their noses were touching and speaking became awkward. “I don’t want it anymore. We are more than friends. I will follow you to the end, Lewis.”

Lewis’ hands had raked themselves around her shoulders and waist, more leverage to never, ever, let her go, and she needed to restrain her teeth to not make Nico an even bigger part of her than she already was when she crashed them together to kiss again.

“Take me back to the hotel.” Nico said with crazy eyes and her usual restrained voice. “I will paint your nails and never let you use another body wash.”

And the only things that proved two friends were ever there in the first place were an abandoned cone of sticky, melted vanilla soft serve, and the constellations they had given new names that night.

[marumafan]

Hello, I am an old fan of KKM and I am really glad that I found your blog. Especially, since I have seen your conclusion about some additional information: You are right. Indeed. Yuuri is gay or bi...and he did go on dates with guys before or he would have had no reason to feel bad at a certain point in time, when the one whom he had defended resigned the team.

Yuuri has basically no interest in going out with girls, but pretends that he is solely interested in them.

What I also considered interesting is that he basically was thrown out of the team because of defending a love interest...He punched the coach, when I remember correctly...and he did get himself into the engagement with Wolf, because he did not dare to really punch him with a fist, because he felt at least attracted to him physically at that time.

So thank you for your your analyses up until now.

Hello there! Yes, but it's not like he goes around acknowledging it. I think that Yuuri is deep in the closet.

He's a character of his time. No way a teen would admit to being gay in the 2000s (they don't even do it in the 2020s here in Japan).

Just go to wikipedia and look at the summary table at the end of the article here to see how many rights LGBTQ+ individuals lack. Every red cross is an inequality. The dates Yuuri went on with those guys were very hush-hush, and I don't think he could quite admit to himself or others that he's gay or bi. For me, the clearest acknowledgement that he's 'not straight' is when his mom asks him if he's into 'people who wear uniforms' and he starts crying in Change /(Convert) the same story where he goes on a 'Christmas date' with the other guy.

After that story, there was no doubt in my mind that he already knew he was non-straight before meeting Wolf; but also that he was keeping it quiet.

I think his extreme closetness is difficult to understand by younger people and/or people who do not live in Japan. Anyone who lived in the 2000s America and is or knows LGBTQ+ people knows very well how closeted people were, especially after Matthew Sheppard. All of my closeted friends went deeper into the closet... and the ones out of it, quietly went back. It was a time of horror and I can only imagine it was worse in the past. That's simply the case that I recall as the horror of my time in the West.

I have many personal stories about the cruelty in treatment of LGBTQ+ people in the 2000s by Westerners AND Japanese, but I don't wanna get into it.

I'm just saying, I get Yuuri. Anyone living as 'non straight' during those years 'gets' Yuuri. And his wishful thinking about how 'getting a girlfriend will magically make him straight ', I know well and have seen myself.

This is a very realistic character of the 2000s.

It gets annoying at times, cuz he is a fictional character and why can't he just get it on in this fictional world with the cute guy that he's very much into?!

Stories are fantasies that we go on to escape the cruelty of reality, and when this guy 1) goes to a place with no sexual discrimination, which is what has kept him closeted 2) is surrounded by cute dudes and 3) the cutest dude is also into him , also he's like the king, you wonder... why can't he just accept the blessings the rest of us don't have?XD

But I think he struggles, like a lot of people, with his sexuality, and so he doesn't know really what to do.

Having said that, idk.... I feel like once they 'start sleeping in the same bed and have a child', there's a very clear innuendo that they're banging , but idk. The author keeps everything in a state of 'deniability' .

Which again... understandable.

You didn't read this from me, but def she's writing herself in Yuuri.

I think it's clear though, as the years go by, that she turns Yuuri and Wolf into a very solid couple with stories like Do you want an Exorcism, Crossheart, Misepan 2. Misepan 2 was released with the ending of the anime on DVD (2010s when she stopped writing), and Yuuri showing his love for Wolf in that story with the 'I would give you anything, Wolf' phrase, really sealed the deal for me.

After that we've gotten quite a few stories, and she even married them in It happens to everyone 2 and Shibuyas , two of the last stories that present them in the 'future'.

Like I said many times, they've been end-game for a while... it's just that no one noticed, cuz they're two guys.

[adrealucia]

Hi could you write a headcannon where the female reader is best friends with Lo’ak and Neteyam either separately or together up to you? Thanks

of course bb, anything you want!

⋆⁺₊⋆☾ the sully brothers as your best friends ⋆⁺₊⋆☾

⭒ a headcanon ⭒

꙳⸌☆⸍꙳

ⓘ what you would talk about

⇾ neteyam

he would tell you everything about his hunting trips

would definitely talk about tuk a lot

he gives the best advice

rather talks about you than him

probably asks you out about lo’ak, because “he never talks to me about these things”

would always want to know how you’ve been and what you have been up to

⇾ lo’ak

y’all be gossiping about everything and everyone

talking about food

he would come to you for advice, especially when he likes a girl

would be ranting about his family a lot

would also always ask you out about your dating life

definitely tells you about all his problems

꙳⸌☆⸍꙳

ⓘ how they would treat you / act around you

⇾ neteyam

he has to be your own personal wingman, he would always look out for someone who would treat you right and when he found a potential man for you.. jesus the poor boy would have to prove himself

kind of treats you like a little sister

would always act like he’s the older one, even if he might not be

he’s so protective over you, like one bad word about you and he goes furios.

⇾ lo’ak

would treat you like one of his ‘bros’

play fights with you, but would never let you win on purpose

he would definitely try to convince you to do something stupid (probably with him together)

is so competitive for no reason

makes fun of you 24/7

y’all have so many inside jokes

꙳⸌☆⸍꙳

ⓘ how they act when you argue / when they are angry at you

⇾ neteyam

doesn’t really raise his voice at you

he just kind of disappears and ignores you

would definitely be the first one to say sorry

kind of takes the blame on him, even though maybe it wasn’t even his fault

he would make a funny joke afterwards and pretends like nothing has happened

he would not tell a single soul what happened between the two of you!

⇾ lo’ak

stubborn like child

would never say sorry first

he would definitely ran off to his other friends and tell them everything, putting himself in the better light though

would literally still be so salty, even after you guys made up

two weeks went by and he would still talk about

lo’ak would seriously throw hands and scream at you, putting on a real show when arguing

꙳⸌☆⸍꙳

ⓘ how they would comfort you if you’re sad

⇾ neteyam

would literally analyse the whole thing, trying to find a solution to whatever has made you sad

he would hug you, letting you cry against his shoulder

probably gets you a little present or makes you food, so you would feel better

kind of acts like a therapist

he would definitely go to his mom and dad and ask them would he could’ve done better to comfort you

⇾ lo’ak

probably wouldn’t know what to do at first

“who do i have to beat up?”

kind of awkwardly pets your back, trying to comfort you

would be so mad about whatever made you sad

would 10/10 tell you about a time he was sad and you would have the biggest deep talk with him

would eventually distract you with jokes

✿⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ✿

authors note: writing this has made me realised how different these two are, but honestly couldn’t decide who i would wanna befriend more :((

[thana-topsy]

If you're up for sharing more writing tips, how can I tell if what I've written is actually any good? With writing I get stuck in a cycle of feeling like I'm the next Shakespeare while writing but then I'll look over my work a few days later and absolutely hate everything and think it's the most cringe shit ever, then I'll leave it a bit longer and think eh it's not as bad as I thought but still not great and so on. I feel like being forced to write for a grade during school and having everything be marked and assessed and assigned a particular value has robbed me of the ability to critically analyse my own work in a way that's objective and accurate but also fair and realistic. I can analyse other peoples' stuff till the cows come home but I lose all rational thought when it comes to my own stuff

Adding onto that, how do I get to the point where I can stop looking back at my old work and hating everything and wanting to delete it all? Realistically I know finding fault with my old stuff is good bc it means I've grown and improved from where I once was etc but at the same time I wanna enjoy stuff I've made in the past without cringing every time I read it

Hey there Nony, I wanted to let this one percolate a little bit before answering because I've been where you are. And it's a rough time for sure. But aside from my own experiences, I also wanted to get the opinions of some of my writerly friends in the fandom, too, since everyone is a little font of wisdom in their own right.

So I'm going to share their advice alongside my own, because this is kind of a complicated string of questions you're asking. Long post ahead!

@paraparadigm says to Keep Writing: "Write more. Write so much (and so many different things) that eventually the sheer volume bulldozes over self-devouring ego, comparison twitches, or feeling lost, because you don't yet know your own baseline. Coupled with "read more, read everything, read things you enjoy and things you don't, read for the craft as much as the entertainment." And: "I'd add that when revisiting old writing, it's helpful for me to differentiate between "ew the writing is not as technically solid as it is now" and "ah that's interesting, I guess that's where I was at then, emotionally and psychologically". Old writing is also a sort of archaeological record of your younger self, and that can, in fact, be a bit itchy to revisit, so learning to cherish that without passing judgement can be really helpful. I try to treat it like those little marks one puts on the door jamb to track a kid's height."

@mareenavee says "Part of it is writing more, as Para said and I will always second that. Another part is, honestly, the hardest part. It's to try very hard to get out of the habit of negative self-talk.... There's so much work involved with this but normalizing being proud of your work and having some grace with yourself is part of that answer."

@archangelsunited says "Early on, instead of going “this has to be a masterpiece” I would tell myself my only job was to tell a story. I couldn’t tell a story if I was deleting it. Also, talking about your work helps. The less ashamed I was of my writing, the more people wanted to read it. There is a need to hide your work, and that can lead to a downward spiral all its own. And, 90% of the time, you have to suck at something to learn to be good at something. The work you already wrote shouldn’t be the sum of all your skill, it should be one of those measuring sticks for the moment. Despite previous thought, you won’t be stuck at the same level forever."

@polypolymorph says "In addition to accumulating experience via reading and writing, you also have to be willing to reinvent the wheel. Unfortunately the Process™️ is unique to everyone, and even when you are deliberately mimicking a voice as, say, a ghost writer, you can't expect that 2+2=4 for you. Your process might look more like a Lotka-Volterra equation for the same type of work and that's okay. Trial and error is the best way to figure out what advice actually works for you--and if it doesn't, it doesn't mean you're wrong. Don't get stuck on pop writing advice like a sad roomba does on an upturned rug. Learn when to throw it out."

So there's some advice from some other excellent writers! I hope you've been able to find some value in their advice, because it certainly kicked me in the pants a few times.

As for me, I think, having been where you are, my biggest piece of advice is: Find joy in the craft. Get curious instead of critical. An artist shouldn't down themselves over a rough sketch when they're working out a drawing, so why would a writer do such a thing? Everything you write is practice. Everything you make has value because it builds up to the next thing you make.

At the end of the day, you are the only one who is capable of telling the stories that are in your head. This fact alone gives whatever you put onto paper value, regardless of quality. You are creating magic, in the most literal sense! Creating something out of nothing, conjuring images into someone else's mind from hundreds of thousands of miles away, transcending space and time. It's amazing!

Lastly, my final piece of advice is to just write for fun. Write things nobody else will ever see just because you wanted to get words onto paper. You have to unlearn what was drilled into you in school. You are more than a content creation machine. You are an artist, a wordsmith. And just know that there will never be a day when you look at your own work and say "That's it, I have achieved perfection."

Writing is a life-long journey. Just enjoy the ride!

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I love your nuanced takes. They are always a joy to read.

I'd be curious which songs, beatles or solo, do you think they wrote for/about each other and their situation (beatles&solo).

You don't have to go into great detail on them if you don't wanna.

Hope you have a great day. <3

Hi anon :) Glad you enjoy my takes! Hope you have a great day too <3

Preface that while I think this is fun, I really don't generally think songs are a good vehicle to extrapolate about the real life of these people. So, I try not to base my analyses of them as people on these songs, even the ones I feel more strongly about.

I'll categorize these by how certain I am about them (and I'll leave out confirmed stuff like Too Many People, Early 1970, How Do You Sleep?, Run of the Mill, Here Today etc.)

If you have a question re: why some specific song is in this category and not the other I can try to explain, though some of it is admittedly just vibes (and since I try to separate this from the Main Analysis™, I feel okay utilizing the vibes as a justification at times lol) If I left a song off you'd like my take on feel free to ask as well.

Close to positive:

Day Tripper is imho at least partially about Paul. This one feels so obvious to me, given what John said about it and the timeline (written squarely before Paul took LSD, conveniently after the whole LA fiasco), yet I rarely see people talking about it. Sad! It could also be partially about Cynthia.

Tug of War: Paul said it was about John in 1982 but then retconned that. IDK why he did that but. Come on!

I Know (I Know): I nearly put this one a tier lower but the I've Got A Feeling intro and the way it fits in the timeline. The Getting Better reference. It matching up with Paul's description of them tripping together + "share in each other's mind". It's too much.

A compelling case can be made:

In My Life: it makes a lot of sense. But Paul isn't the only likely muse IMO. he might be the most likely one, I'm not sure. I Know (I Know) makes me tend more to it though, admittedly.

3 Legs: yeah. Probably! It's not entirely clear to me what he's expressing outside a feeling of betrayal though.

Oh! Darling: Likely about John, but perhaps actually about the band as a whole.

The Answer's at the End: the way George quoted that same saying when asked about Paul in that live chat… THE IMPLICATIONS! (at least that maybe George came to associate the song with Paul later on?)

Remember: I tend to think this song is specifically about running away from the Beatles. There's more sadness in it, given John references Bring It On Home in the lyrics.

Who Can See It: this one also appears to be about George's general relationship with the Beatles. I don't think this is a hot take but no one talks about this song lol. I love it!

Cafe On The Left Bank: the song referencing Charles de Gaulle making a speech does place this quite firmly in the 60s. It's not really a love song though so I don't get why people consider this one such a win lol. It seems to mostly be about the city of Paris itself.

I like to think it's true but am admittedly not sure:

Call Me Back Again: it's a vague song, really. But damn… those mellotron flutes.

#9 Dream: IDK. this versus "The dream is over". the production-style. I like reading this song as a reconciliation with The Beatles as a concept.

Little Lamb Dragonfly: the whole being haunted by the dragonfly even though you're trying to move on thing :/

No Words: COME ON??????? but the Denny writing credit does puzzle me lol.

Crippled Inside: it would be soooooo devastating @ Paul!!! (probably only partially, possibly also self-directed)

Could have been inspired by the other but not necessarily in the way people think:

Some People Never Know: I do think Paul felt John was cynical in the way he's describing in this song. (I don't really think I Know (I Know) is a response to this song btw)

Silly Love Songs: ditto. He is Not fucking saying "I love you" (romantically) to John in the song he's duetting with his wife lol. but it could be a cheeky lil nod.

We Can Work It Out: I believe Paul when he says this was written about a fight he'd had with Jane. But Paul was also in conflict with John at the time (again, the LSD thing), thus I think that might have in some way informed his outlook when writing this. And John may have been thinking about their conflict while writing his part.

Let Me Roll It: it sounds a lot like John, yeah! but idk about the lyrics.

Look At Me: it could be about Paul, but it could be about the whole world, really. It's more a wish to be seen and understood really.

Dear Boy: I'm annoyed by people insisting Paul is lying when he says the inspiration is Linda's ex-husband. She's co-credited (and she actually isn't credited on every Ram song. I don't think the credit was "handed" to her, at least not at this point in time)! That being said, Paul may have bonded with Linda over feeling unappreciated in their previous life situations.

Yvonne's The One: Look. I think John's death really shifted how Paul felt about telling people he loved them. That may well have influenced the lyrics song. I don't think it's necessarily that literal.

However Absurd: ditto. This song is even more abstract so it feels even less literal.

?????? Who Knows

If I Fell: usually I think no it couldn't possibly. But– (And I don't find that Valentines card very compelling, no. but it's just like: well then who else would this song John called very personal about? I guess, for all I know, it could even be Brian. wow!)

Girl: I mean. Maybe! Sort of. They also said at the time it was about religion, and that makes a lot of sense, but it could still be that the character of the girl was inspired by how John felt about Paul at the time.

I'm So Tired: it seems equally likely to be about Yoko to me.

Don't Let Me Down: ditto. Actually. this one's more likely Just about Yoko tbh.

I'm Losing You: maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe. but also. Yoko.

Now And Then: genuinely who knows. this one's admittedly stranger for Yoko but… they did "interrupt" their relationship often, requiring to "start again". Also May is an option.

The Pound Is Sinking: Mostly, I don't know how straightforward it is.

Honestly… Not really

(Just Like) Starting Over: the "My Love", "Another Day", "Wings" thing has never compelled me, based on those being OLD songs by 1980, plus none of the phrasing or word choice is particularly conspicuous to me. But I also don't feel very strongly that it's not about Paul. It could be, though I don't know that I'd assume it was meant as a direct declaration of love then. Also the line before being a reference to Through The Looking Glass is neither here nor there. Since when is John Lennon dropping Lewis Caroll references only reserved for Paul? that feels like putting the cart before the horse, based on one single lyric in Glass Onion.

I've Got A Feeling: I think he's just saying words here, tbh.

Real Love: if it's about Paul that's fucking depressing. But I don't think it is really.