#especially the miserable or productive point

[an-urgent-appeal]

I love fiddlestan and billstan but it fucks me up so bad that 80% of the content for them centers around bill/fiddleford using stan as a replacement for ford.... so much of stan's existence is built around having to pretend to be his brother already 😭😭 now his love life too ig

[psychotrenny]

I reckon the whole HalimedeMF thing was a funny enough bit by itself, but it's a really grim sign that so many people completely missed the point. Like you've got this comical exaggeration of a Chaser "ally", someone whose "support" for trans women is clearly nothing but the product of dehumanising sexual desire, and yet Trans Women are such a viciously marginalised demographic that so many girls will latch onto every illusory shred of support and "acceptance" they see. It's especially miserable when you think about how that's more or less the way real chasers operate too; exploiting our vulnerability for their own gratification and half the time getting thanked for it

Your average HalimedeMF post was something like "It's so sad that Trans suffers when she should be giving me dick. Dick specifically. Did I mention the dick?" and so many people responded like "Wow she actually thinks it's sad when Trans suffers? I need her so bad". Like girl this isn't someone you're meant to want around this is the caricature of someone to be laughed at and blocked.

And I know a lot of girls were just playing along with the bit but there was consistently a scary amount of sincerity to that sort of thing. Like seeing girls so desperate to feel wanted in any way that they develop positive feelings towards the shadow of an exploitative creep really reminds you of just how dire things are. Living under societal transmisogyny really does make you feel like a lower form of life; even scraps of decency seem like a privilege

[okay-j-hannah]

The Kickstart | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, multiple jobs, poor studio apartment, inconsiderate boyfriend, lots of musical theatre talk, reader insert but a few things are already decided (last name is Bennett, favorite drink is Diet Coke, love the colors blue and green, artist, theatre nerd, etc.)

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I haven't written for Smosh in years... but the current cast and crew has me sucked back into the fandom. And I am sorely in need of more Spencer content 😭

I was initially inspired by this incredibly well done fic "Late Night" by @simpingsavant Please give it a read because it's a masterpiece.

Part 1: The Kickstart {You Are Here}

Part 2: Mama Bear

It was nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, you think with a smile. There was a light flickering near the fountain drinks. You lean against the checkout counter, thumbing through an aged script.

You memorize the cue lines that signal when quick changes are supposed to happen between scenes. The current musical you are working on is Hairspray.

Going through the script and your production notes really help pass the time.

The small rinky-dink gas station you manage is your reluctant home most nights. It wasn’t your favorite place, but it helped with the bills. Trying to make a living on production design for musicals isn’t the money maker you hoped it would be in LA.

You barely made anything doing hair and makeup for the community theatre. But it was something you loved.

And wouldn’t you rather be doing something you love than being miserable in a high paying corporate job?

Sure, you think.

It had been nearly eight months since you started working at this gas station. The owner was as rinky-dink as the store itself, speaking in short, to the point sentences and avoiding eye contact. There were only two gas pumps out front that rarely attracted customers.

The biggest commodity are the cheap drinks and snacks inside. Many stop by for something quick on their way to and from work.

Normally working the night shifts from 10pm to 6am, you are quick to notice any regulars. Not many people are awake at this time of night, let alone on their way to the gas station for a drink.

The bell sounds above the door as a familiar face enters. It was Glasses.

That’s what you called him after seeing him for the third time in a week, back when you first started working here.

He usually came in late like this, looking exhausted. He has curly dark hair, gold rimmed glasses, and some scruff. Today he’s dressed in jeans rolled up at the cuffs, brown boots, and a gray sweatshirt.

He gives you an awkward, close-lipped smile as he passes. You watch him go for the drink fridges. Energy drinks are his specialty, maybe the occasional coffee or breakfast sandwich. He always bought them two at a time, taking the slight discount for buying a duo instead of a single.

About every other week he’s there three to four of those days. You’ve always wondered why – especially when he always looked so tired when he came in.

But you’ve never had a conversation that’s lasted longer than the cordial exchanges.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” he replies with his awkward smile.

You scan his drinks, Mountain Dew Kickstarts like always. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep.”

The computer beeps. “That’ll be $8.56.”

“All right.” He taps his card on the machine in front of him.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“No thanks.” He grabs his two cans.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

It had been like that for maybe six of those eight months. After that, your curiosity began to plague you. The next time he came in, you watch him browse for a Kickstart and a breakfast muffin.

Saying hello to him had felt routine. But it was clear that you both recognized each other. So you decide to say something a little more than usual.

“Getting breakfast a little early?” you joke in your quiet voice.

He smiles, pulling out his wallet. “I just haven’t eaten anything all night.”

“Sounds like a rough night. That’s $9.34.”

He scans his card. “It has been.”

With him looking down at the keypad, you take the time to look at the circles under his eyes. “You should try the croissant sandwiches. Much better than stale muffins.”

He nods his head, “Next time. Thanks.”

You watch him walk away, still at a loss as to why he’s always in there this late at night.

A couple days later he’s walking in and giving you a wave. You smile at him as he makes for the drinks again.

He’s dressed in those same jeans and combat boots. Now he wears a t-shirt with a denim jacket. If you had friends to talk to, you’d want to tell them how Glasses loves to wear the same jeans and jackets all the time.

He comes to the counter and clears his throat.

You scan his drinks and a breakfast sandwich. A croissant sandwich.

You chuckle, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says, tapping his card against his hand while he waits.

“Haven’t eaten anything all night again?”

He hums, shrugging his shoulders, “Felt peckish.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No, that’s fine. Have a good night.”

You throw the balled up receipt into the garbage bin beside you. “You too.”

You’d love to tell a friend that Glasses seems shy. He seems nice.

A few weeks later, you’re drawing sketches for costume designs. You were doing Shrek The Musical at the community theatre. Papers were full of drawings depicting a white rabbit, a wicked witch, a wolf in granny clothes, and fairies with colorful makeup.

You were humming one of the songs when Glasses came in with a yawn. His eyes search for you and he waves, “Good evening.”

“Good night,” you say sarcastically.

He grabs his drinks and comes to the counter with wandering eyes. You try to move your sketches and pencils out of the way.

“Sorry,” you say, “That’ll be $8.56.”

He scans his card, but keeps looking at your art. “You draw those?”

“Yeah,” you say, abashedly. “Little project.”

“They’re really good,” he pops open one of the drinks and takes a sip. “Are they just for fun, or…?”

You shyly pull out a drawing of a person in a dragon scale costume. “They’re for the musical I’m a part of. Down at the local theatre.”

“That’s cool,” his face lights up.

Something warm tickles your stomach. You were actually having a normal conversation with Glasses.

“Are you the costume designer?”

“Assistant,” you bow your head. “I’m head of hair and makeup.”

He nods, clearly interested. “Have you been a part of production teams much?”

“For years,” you smile, “I love theatre. I’ve done almost everything. Acting, costumes, set design, lighting – you name it.”

He pockets the other energy drink in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like fun. Have a nice rest of your night.”

“Thank you, you too.”

If you had friends, maybe you’d tell them that Glasses might become a friend. The only person you have to text is your new boyfriend Aaron. But he wasn’t a fan of nonsense texts – texts that were unnecessary.

A few weeks go by, now seven months into your job at the gas station. Glasses was still making his almost daily visits. You caught him standing outside the window for a minute before coming in.

You have confusion in your face, but a smile on your lips. “You okay there?”

He raises his eyebrows and talks as he walks to the fridges. “What do you mean?”

“Was there something on that window or were you just making sure you weren’t a vampire?” At his knitted brows, you continue, “You know… checking that you still had a reflection.”

Heat floods your face at the poor attempt at a joke, but Glasses laughs, nonetheless. “I might be nocturnal, but no, I’m not a vampire.”

You smile, admiring him walking towards you. His fluffy curls were sticking out from beneath a green hat. In white embroidery it says, Smosh.

“How were auditions?” he asks, getting his card ready.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Good. I think we’ll have a good cast.” Earlier that week he asked about the latest Hairspray script that was on your counter. “The quick changes will be fun.”

He clears his throat, having paid but still standing at the register.

“I’m sorry, did you want your receipt?” you ask suddenly. “Normally you don’t so I stopped asking.”

“No, no – sorry. I’ve been trying to find some clever segway to introduce myself. But we’ve been seeing each other for months and it feels strange to do it now.” He rubs his forehead, struggling to maintain eye contact with you while he talks. “I mean, it’s not like I have a nametag like you.”

You look down at your chest to see (Y/N) printed on the laminated tag. “That’s true.”

He takes a deep breath and extends his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

You take his hand. It was very warm. “(Y/N).”

He smiles, “Nice to officially meet you.”

Maybe you’ll tell Aaron that Glasses has a new name now. Spencer.

One night at two in the morning, you were asked to do inventory while another employee managed the registers. It was strange to have a coworker with you on night shifts, but when things need to be restocked, it took a team.

You use a box cutter to break through packages, pulling out chip bags and candies. You roll them out on a dolly. Plastic wrappers crinkling as you restock shelves, you don’t notice who Eric at the counter is talking to.

But then a pair of glasses peek around the corner. “Hey!”

You smile wide, “Spencer!”

He smiles back, “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the registers.”

“Yeah, they need two of us here when we do inventory,” you shake a bag of doritos before putting it on the shelf. “How was your day?”

He sighs, opening his drink, “Long. Shooting weeks always are.” He tells you about the online comedy group he’s a part of. It was called Smosh.

“Oh, you’ve worn some merch that has that logo on it,” you say, moving a box out of the way.

Spencer nods, “Gotta promote whenever we can.”

“How large is the group?”

“Well, it’s more of an entertainment company. We have a huge production team and a cast. We film content for four different channels.”

“That’s impressive.”

He suddenly dips down to help hand you boxes of candy. “I guess. I think most of LA are internet personalities in one way or another.”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “It is impressive.”

You learn about his directorial position on one of the channels. Being a head producer, he has a lot of sway on that content. You commend him on the responsibility, and he seems pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

He excuses himself not long after that.

You head towards the registers to restock the candy on the counters. Eric is there giving you a telling smile.

“What are you looking at?” you ask.

The middle-aged man scoffs, “That guy came in with the biggest smile on his face, but then he realized I was the one standing at the counter and he looked so disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just in need of an energy drink.”

Eric shakes his head, “It wasn’t me that he wanted to see.”

Now in the present, you stand at the counter while Spencer leans against the other side. You had just revealed the fact that you have a boyfriend.

“H-How long have you been together?” he asks with much more nervousness than before.

You scrunch your nose in thought, “About two months. It’s been great though. He gives me rides to work and everything.”

“You don’t have a car?” Spencer asks, paying for his snacks.

You throw the receipt away, “No. I was taking the bus before I met him.” Noticing the awkwardness enter Spencer’s face, you say, “Rough I know. But I manage.”

“It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, especially because I don’t really make enough to get a car right now.”

“Isn’t that why you have this job on top of the musical theatre stuff?” he offers you a package of your favorite candy.

It makes you smile, “Sure. But rent isn’t helping with my savings. Living paycheck to paycheck.”

“Does Aaron drive you to theatre too?”

Your gaze falls from Spencer’s, eating a piece of candy to give you some time before answering. “No, he’s not a big fan of musicals.”

Spencer scrunches his brow. Unsure of what was stepping over the line with this new friend of his, he tiptoes. “He won’t drive you because he doesn’t like theatre?”

“It’s kind of inconvenient asking him to come get me late after rehearsals. I shouldn’t ask for so much, he’ll think I’m dating him just to have a cab driver.” You snicker at your joke, but Spencer doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny.

He drinks from his can when another customer enters the store. That always meant he would excuse himself so you could get back to your job.

You start to expect Spencer each week. You wait for when you know a filming week was at Smosh. During that time, Spencer would visit for his necessary caffeine. He always stops to talk to you for a few minutes before leaving.

You always feel bad since he normally came in exhausted from work. He denies himself sleep just to spend a few more minutes with you.

It takes a couple more weeks, but he starts to stay even when more customers come in. He just steps to the side and waits for you to ring the customer up.

Then he comes back to continue your conversation.

“So do you prefer acting or production?”

You share the snacks that he’s purchased. “Production, for sure. I kind of developed stage fright a couple years ago. But I do miss being on stage sometimes.”

He looks at you while you talk. He’s an active listener. He zeros in on your face while you speak, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything.

But when he speaks, he tends to look elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

You shrug, “I just get nervous being in the spotlight now. I don’t like the attention much.”

“I get that. I haven’t always loved being on camera. It’s taken finding the right company to do it.”

You nod, “That sounds nice. To be so comfortable in the workplace. And to have everyone there as friends.”

He agrees, “Though a lot of them like to crack jokes about not seeing each other outside of work.” He chuckles as he remembers something. “It’s great being a part of a company where the goal is comedy content. You get to have fun with your friends every day.”

“And you’ve been there for so long,” you say, “You’ve definitely earned your place.”

“Thank you,” he feels warm around the collar, “It’s been hard at times, but well worth it now.”

You suddenly feel a warmth in your cheeks. “You know, um… my show opens next week. If – If you’re interested in seeing it. I’ll be there every night.”

“Helping Edna quick change into her fancy 60s outfit,” he smiles kindly. His eyes are soft and considerate as he watches your nervous gesture. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

You brighten, “Great!”

A week later you’re in the wings of the stage, sweaty with the heat the spotlights generate. A headset adorns your head, microphone near your mouth. You’re readjusting a costume onto a rack from the last quick change.

The last number of the show was currently playing: You Can’t Stop the Beat. You whisper the lyrics and subtly follow along with the choreography.

It was safe to do so with the curtains hiding you from the audience.

You listen to the applause as the cast bows. You imagine them gesturing to the tech booth, acknowledging the production team behind the scenes. You give a little imaginary bow to the audience.

Waiting in the dressing rooms, you help organize the costumes and clean up the makeup counters. Cast members thank you for your help, carrying massive bouquets and presents from the crowd.

You compliment the flowers and give your praise to their performances. It’s forty minutes later, having put the makeup and hairspray away, preening the wigs, and spraying down the character shoes, that you find your purse and head towards the front doors.

Outside on the sidewalk you’re met with an unexpected surprise.

Spencer.

He stands under the white lights of the theatre logo. He adorns his usual rolled up jeans and band t-shirt, denim jacket over it. His curls look extra defined tonight and in his hand are three colorful carnation flowers.

“Spencer? What are you…? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” You walk towards him and for the first time since meeting him – you hug him.

Arms around his shoulders, smelling his clean, fresh scent. He seems timid to hug you back.

“Well… I did say I would come see the show.”

You shake your head. “I would have come out sooner if I knew you’d be here. I’m so sorry to keep you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” he offers the flowers. “Worth the wait.”

You give a smile, but your face is still regretful, “You shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even on stage.”

“Of course you were,” he says, “Your costumes and wigs and makeup were there.”

You hold the few flowers, completely endeared by him. “Thank you. This is really kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, shoving his empty hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of weird seeing you out of uniform. I’ve never seen you out of that polo and black pants.”

“Well, stage crew attire isn’t much different,” you laugh, gesturing to the long sleeve black shirt and leggings. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was excellent,” he says, “It’s such a fun show. I bet you loved teasing those wigs and picking out costumes with those crazy patterns.”

“And the quick changes?”

“I counted like 38 seconds,” he laughs, “That’s super impressive.”

You smile warmly, though the night air had a chill to it. “Thank you for coming, Spencer. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” he steps away, “I’ll see you later.”

You start to walk down the sidewalk, opposite the parking lot. Spencer suddenly has a thought. He runs up to you.

“Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Oh, I walk to the bus stop and take that.”

He looks down at your crossed arms trying to keep you warm. “Aaron really won’t come get you?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience him.” You wave away the look of worry in his face. “I do this every night, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to.”

“Have a good night, Spence.”

You’ve never used a nickname with him before. He huffs a little before following your retreating figure, “Then let me give you a ride.”

You keep walking, “Really, Spence – I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, “But let me help. I want to give you a ride. It’s cold.”

Your fingers feel like ice against your arms. You look in the direction of the bus stop before looking at the pleading in Spencer’s face.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Relief floods his expression, “Great, this way.”

He guides you to his car and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a kind gesture that you aren’t used to. He turns on the heater and your seat warmer before exiting the parking lot.

You direct him to your poor excuse of a studio apartment. The pair of you speak pleasantries the entire way. The lighting design of the musical, the strategic sets that move quickly, the realistic prop hairspray, and things like that.

He didn’t notice how you cower in the seat. He thinks it’s just because you’re still cold.

“Is the gas station good about changing your schedule so you can be there on show nights?”

“Yes, they’re so kind about it,” you say, playing with your fingers. It was a nervous habit of yours – pinching, rubbing, and picking at them. “I switch with a usual day shifter.”

Spencer nods, “I – I’ve missed seeing you at our usual time.”

“Our usual time?” you laugh, like your gas station hangouts were scheduled playdates.

He smiles, embarrassed, “Yeah, I mean… your customer service is so excellent. How am I supposed to get a Kickstart when you’re not there?”

“You know there are dozens of other gas stations and convenience stores around here.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have you.”

Something beats loudly in your chest. It sends a waterfall of warm, fizzing fireworks into your stomach.

Your apartment building is in a scary part of LA – but it’s what you can afford. Aaron was hinting at moving in together just for the ease of splitting the rent. It did sound appealing when you could actually save a little for a car.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks nervous again, “Anytime. And… maybe we could exchange numbers – in case you need another ride from the theatre?”

You look at him warmly, “I’m not going to ask you to come grab me when you could be in a filming week.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I would still come.”

With a small smile, you take out your phone and open a new contact. In the name slot you put ‘Glasses.’ Spencer switches your phones and puts his number in.

You smile wider as you put your name in the contact and put a little theatre emoji after it.

“Glasses?” he asks, handing you back your phone.

“Yeah, that’s…” you brush warm fingers with him as you accept your phone. “That’s what I called you when I noticed you as a regular at the gas station. I didn’t know your name, so I gave you one in my head.”

He seems overly please about that. He has to look away from you and smile. “That’s funny, I like it. What would you do if you saw me without glasses? It would be a whole new identify to you.”

“Very Clark Kent of you,” you laugh.

He suddenly removes his gold rimmed glasses and looks at you all serious. “You’re right, during the day I’m fighting crime with the Justice League and at night I refuel at the gas station.”

“Superman refuels with energy drinks?” you laugh, causally reaching over to snatch his glasses. “I don’t know if Krypton would approve.”

“No, no – Kryptonians thrive off extra energy. Sun energy and now caffeine energy.”

His eyes are a dark green-gray color. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark outside. But you can’t decide what color they actually are. They’re definitely not brown.

You raise the glasses to your eyes and look at him. “I didn’t realize Superman was so blind.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer laughs, looking at you fondly.

You return the glasses, “Drive safe. Thanks again for the ride. Text me when you get home safely.”

He waves you off, waiting until you’re able to unlock your door before driving away.

Inside your apartment, you look at the chipped walls and cracked ceiling. The musty, uncomfortable couch in front of the small tv atop a table you got free off a lawn. To the right is the tiny kitchen with only one counter and no dining table.

Rummaging through a cabinet, you find a tall plastic cup to put your carnation flowers into.

The bathroom is straight ahead, where you go into to get ready for bed.

The porcelain of the tub and sink have rust stains around the handles. The tile of the floor is broken in places and the dim light above is giving off an ugly yellow glow.

You open the mirror cabinet to grab what you need to brush your teeth. Brand names are all obscure as you did get the supplies from a dollar store down the street.

If you had a little more money, you would buy a face wash and face towels. But the essentials were good enough.

You cross the hall to get to your bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn’t a separate room for your bed. It lies on the floor behind the tv stand and in front of the only window in the whole place.

The queen mattress was the one thing you spent a little more money on. It doesn’t have a headboard or support to keep it off the ground, but it was comfortable and had nice periwinkle blue sheets.

You change into sage green pajamas with little daisies on them, climbing into your bed and fumbling for the phone charger next to the mattress.

As you plug your phone in, a text message comes in from Glasses.

“Just got home. You did amazing tonight! See you later this week.”

You heart his message and give him a thank you in reply.

~~~

The end of the week is approaching and you’re at the theatre again. Headset on, you hang in the tech booth, grabbing a few more safety pins, mic tape, and alcohol wipes.

The oversized fanny pack you love to wear across your chest is open and full of supplies. You stuff the microphone items inside, watching the stage from the view of the booth.

Tracy was beginning the song Welcome to the 60s. You turn on the microphone by your mouth.

“Head to the wings for quick change pretty please.”

A muffled reply comes through the headset, “On the way, (Y/N).”

You leave the tech booth and walk out of the audience room to the side entrance of the wings. Waiting on stage right, you hold Edna’s new dress for the song. Two stage crew members help by holding accessories and waiting to take off Edna’s current costume.

“Go mama, go, go go!”

Edna comes running off to stage right, tossing their purse to the stage crew member. They wiggle out of their simple purple plaid dress and step right into the sparkly pink dress you have waiting open on the floor.

You pull up the fabric as you hear the lyrics continue on stage.

“Don’t let nobody try to steal your fun, ‘cause a little touch of lipstick never hurt no one.

The future’s got a million roads for you to choose, but you’ll walk a little taller in some high-heeled shoes.”

You zip up the dress and readjust the mic pack on the suit strap beneath. Stage crew throws a new necklace on and a sparkle to the lip makeup. The other stage crew snugs a fuller wig onto the actor, starting to pin it down onto the wig cap. You hand a feather boa to the actor and help pin the new wig in.

“Come on out, hear us shout. Mama, that’s your cue!”

Just in time, you think, sending the actor back onto stage. It always felt like a close call, but the audience shouting their surprise and praise always felt like a reward.

You smile at the stage crew members and wave them off to help with set pieces. You then take the old purple plaid costume to the rack to keep it from wrinkling on the floor.

While in the dressing rooms you meet the actress playing Penny Pingleton, “Hey, sis – I noticed your mic tape not sitting so good on your cheek.”

She smiles worriedly, the action making the mic tape unstick from her face and the microphone dangle from her ear. “Just a little.”

You pull out an alcohol wipe and roll of tape from your pack. “There might just be too much makeup in the way.” You wipe the spot where the microphone sits on her cheek, fanning your hand to make the alcohol dry.

Cutting two pieces of tape, you line the microphone and stick it in place. The actress keeps her face straight, letting it adhere.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Anytime.” You leave the dressing room to find the man playing Seaweed. His mic belt kept twisting beneath his costume.

You track him down and use safety pins to secure the mic belt to his undershirt. Now as he dances and changes, the mic pack will stay in place. He shares his gratitude and runs off to the next scene.

The rest of the show goes without a hitch. The audience claps during the bows, and you give your imaginary bow to the curtains.

You begin to clean the dressing rooms when you get a text. From Glasses.

“Hey, I’m at the entrance by the concessions when you’re done in the back.”

A smile creeps onto your face. He saw the show a second time? You text back, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You’re quick to clean up and organize the costumes before heading out. The front was still packed with audience members trying to talk and take pictures with the cast members. You push your way towards the concessions table to see Spencer there.

He was wearing a black Creed t-shirt, arms full of silly tattoos on total display. Instead of holding flowers, he’s holding a Diet Coke from the concessions. You grin, falling out of the crowd and into him for a hug.

He catches you and hugs you back. You feel the cold soda against your shirt.

“I can’t believe you came again!” You pull away, eyes shining. You’ve never had someone to meet outside the theatre after a show before.

He extends the drink he got for you. “I told you it was an excellent show. And I wanted to bring a friend to see it too.”

A woman stands beside him, “And he misses seeing you at the gas station every day.”

You miss how Spencer nudges the woman with his elbow. You were too busy recognizing her face.

“Oh my god – oh my fucking god,” you accidentally shake the soda as you wave your hands. “You’re Angela Giarratana!”

Her brown eyes widen ridiculously, “Um… yeah, I am.”

“You were on Nerdy Prudes Must Die!”

A smile replaces the surprise on her face, “Oh, yes! I was in that show last year. You really scared me there for a second.”

Spencer licks his lips, watching the excitement on your face. “I wondered if you’d seen anything from StarKid.”

“Well, I’m a theatre kid, aren’t I?” you say, “I literally have a Hatchetfield Nighthawks letterman jacket. It’s so nice to meet you, Angela. I’m (Y/N).” You lean into a hug and Angela returns it kindly.

“I know, Spencer’s talked about you.” She steps away and compliments the show, “You did a great job with the costume design. Spencer and I were timing the quick changes.”

“I am very proud of those,” you say excitedly. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for coming to our show. How do you know Spencer?”

Angela smacks Spencer’s arm, “We work together. He’s more behind the scenes and I’m more on camera.”

“At Smosh? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” she says, looking to Spencer and then laughing. “I gotta be careful or Spencer won’t put me in any of the videos on Games.”

You open your soda, drinking it like you were parched all night. “Are you working on any more theatre projects?”

“Eh, not at the moment,” Angela says, folding her arms. “I’m spending most of my time on Smosh sets.” She eyes you for a second before saying, “Do you have a portfolio by chance?”

“A portfolio?” you ask, wiping your lip of soda. “Of what?”

Angela rubs at her chin, “Sketches of your costume designs or makeup aesthetics. Maybe a performing arts resume. Pictures of your work on stage.”

“Um…” you pull awkwardly on the edge of your shirt. “No, not formally. But I could pull something together.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to see more of your work.”

Spencer looks incredibly pleased with himself, biting on his lips. “Would you let me give you a ride home?”

Your eyes are still shining, flitting your gaze between the two friends. “Um… yeah – that’d be great.”

All of you walk outside the theatre and towards the parking lot. Spencer is quick to open the passenger door for you and you give an awkward thank you.

Angela rolls her eyes and climbs into the back. “He’s such a doofus.” You watch Spencer walk around the hood of the car to get into the drivers side.

“A what?” you laugh.

“Just watch him – you’ll notice sooner or later.”

He climbs in and uses the seatbelt, “Watch who?”

You clear your throat, “Joey Richter. He’s another actor on StarKid Productions. He’s super talented.”

Angela snickers in the back. “What was the first thing you watched on StarKid?”

“A Very Potter Musical,” you laugh, “Way back in the day.”

“Classic,” Angela says, folding her arms and slumping into the seat. “What brought you to LA?”

You play with your fingers. “I wanted to move out of my home state. And I wanted to get more into the arts. But it’s been hard to find stable work.”

“You’re telling me. That’s the life of an actor – just jumping from one gig to another.”

“It would be the dream,” you sigh, “To do this full time. I just wish I had a little more security with it. A stable income. Not to be afraid with how I’ll afford food every month.” You awkwardly laugh as you realize you might’ve said too much. “But I’m doing all right.”

Angela agrees, “It’s hard to do well in the arts.”

“Hard to be recognized,” Spencer says. “(Y/N) already does well in the arts.”

You smile, your cheeks warm. “When is your next filming week?”

“Next week,” Angela sighs, yawning big. “Which reminds me – I gotta pick up that new pair of glasses for the office.”

“Angela is super blind and never wears her glasses during shoots,” Spencer explains. “Especially on the games channel. She’s always squinting super bad at the tv whenever we’re playing a game.”

“And I’ve been doing just fine!” Angela says loudly, “I’ve been training my eyes to see that far.”

Spencer scoffs, “Yeah, and the compilations of you squinting are growing at an exponential rate because of it.”

“Shut up!” Angela yells.

You laugh at their antics. “Are you allowed to yell at your boss like that?”

Spencer looks in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, Angela. As your superior you need to treat me with a high level of respect. I expect a full written apology and a certain amount of groveling before you’re allowed back on the Games set.” His tone was serious, but by the wide comical look in his eye, you know he’s using hyperbole as a joke.

“The heads of Smosh are actually Ian and Anthony, so don’t you even pull that superiority card!”

You keep giggling at this funnier, more outspoken Spencer. Proof that he was very comfortable with this coworker and their workplace.

It sounds nice.

~~~

Angela sits in the passenger seat now, slumped into the door and leaning her forehead against the window.

“She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly, thoughts still lingering on you.

Angela looks over at him and smirks. “You like her so fucking much. I knew you did when you wouldn’t shut up about her at the office, but damn – seeing you with her was nearly painful.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so subtle about it.”

“So you don’t deny it!” she sits up stick straight, so fast that the seatbelt locks into place and stops her from moving anymore.

Spencer flounders, “I – what – no, that’s not what I said!”

“You totally did you little fucker! You like her so much it hurts. You like her so much your cheeks are going to burst into flames. You like her so much you can’t get a full sentence out.”

“Angela, shut the fuck up – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She bounces in her seat, “I’m so subtle about it. I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking about this girl for almost a year. Of course you have a crush on her!”

“Angela, I swear to god, don’t ruin this for me.”

“How would I ruin this? I want my little Spencey to have true love. You have to ask her out.”

“Yeah, genius – you’re forgetting about a teensy little detail. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

Angela freezes, sitting back. “Right.” She bites her lip, “Should have made your shot earlier.”

“And risk looking like a creep asking a girl out at a gas station? No thank you.”

“Is you considering her for the production team on Smosh an elaborate way to play the long game with her?”

“No!” Spencer grips the steering wheel, sounding like a bickering sibling. “She has real talent, and I think she deserves the position.”

Angela holds up her hands, “All right, okay.” She side eyes him with raised brows, “… but you wouldn’t be upset if she suddenly became available and you could ask her out?”

He refuses to meet Angela’s eyes. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction by answering that question.”

“You basically just answered it,” she folds her arms, “You know… I can’t promise I can keep this from Amanda. Or Shayne.”

Spencer puts his elbow against the window and holds his temple.

“Or Chanse.”

“I figured.”

Angela gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth – I think she has a real shot. We should get her portfolio to Ian and Anthony asap.”

~~~

You’re cleaning the counters at the gas station. It’s nearing the end of your shift, almost 6am. And Spencer hadn’t visited you like he usually did. It was actually making you worried.

You had spent the last few days collecting every piece of art and experience you had to compile a portfolio. It didn’t feel like a very thick folder, but it had every ounce of hard work from the last few years.

It sits within a blue cover under the registers, waiting for Spencer to come.

“Hey!” there he comes through the door. “I’m so sorry, we had an overnight shoot, and I forgot to tell you.”

You look confused, “Spence, you didn’t have any obligation to be here. We didn’t make any plans.”

“I know, but I usually…” he looks flustered and upset. “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

You smile kindly, “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He runs a hand through his curly hair, his eyes considering you as you clean. “This early in the morning, we both look exhausted now.”

“Aw, we have matching dark circles under our eyes!” You go under the counter to grab the blue folder. “Here’s that portfolio Angela was asking about. I wasn’t sure how to get it to her, so maybe you could take it to work?”

“Um… yeah, for sure. Thanks.”

The bell above the door rings, signaling the appearance of a new customer. Usually at this point in the mornings, customers would come in for their sustenance before work. You’re focused on Spencer, unaware of the person walking towards you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

You turn your eyes around and see Aaron beelining for your counter.

“Oh, hey,” you say quietly, “You’re twenty minutes early.”

“And?”

This man was over six foot, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His eyes are lazy and hard pressed, his jaw tense as you contradict him.

You wring your hands, “I’m not allowed to leave until six.”

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go.”

“That’s…” you suck in a breath. He smells like stale beer. “Let me clock out and tell my boss.” You round the counter and are quick to enter the back rooms.

Spencer stays where he is, holding the blue portfolio, and looking at Aaron with an air of disdain. It was not the first impression he was expecting when picturing your boyfriend.

“You waiting to buy something?” Aaron asks, frowning at the way Spencer’s looking at him.

“No, I was just…” he swallows. “I was just talking with (Y/N).”

Aaron squints his eyes, hands moving to his hips. “And you know her because?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any friends.”

“Untrue, because I’m standing right here.”

Aaron flexes his jaw, “She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Yes, I have,” you reappear without your nametag and your purse now around your shoulder. “I’ve talked about him a couple times.” You stand beside Spencer and instantly feel the tension.

Aaron extends his hand like he wants to take yours. “If you did talk about him, I would have remembered. We’re leaving.”

You go to hold his hand, but he moves his to grab your arm, pulling you towards the door. You turn your head to mouth, “Sorry,” towards Spencer.

Spencer waves at you, his face placid and upset. He watches out the windows to see Aaron let you go on the sidewalk to get into the car yourself. He slams the car shut, neglecting his seatbelt, and squealing out of the parking lot.

Still upset, Spencer gets into his car and contemplates his next move. His instincts told him that you weren’t completely safe. He wonders if you and Aaron have moved in together yet – he was trying to pull the ‘cheaper rent’ card on that account.

It was blatantly clear that Aaron was gaslighting you. Within three minutes, he was pegged as an asshole.

Spencer pulls out his phone and sends you a text. “Nice seeing you today, hope you get some good sleep.”

He rubs hard at his face before driving off. He plans to show your portfolio to Ian and Anthony tomorrow.

~~~

You’re sitting on the couch, playing on your PlayStation, when someone knocks on the door. Enjoying the day off, you wonder what door-to-door salesman is at your house.

You open the door and a giant smile envelopes your face, “Spencer! You didn’t tell me you were going to visit.”

He take a breath, “Um… yeah, I wanted to ask you something and I couldn’t wait until you were on shift.”

You lean against the doorframe, biting your lip. “Well, I would invite you inside, but I have to warn you… it’s not very nice.”

“I don’t care,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to talk.”

“All right,” you say shyly, opening the door wide. You watch his reaction, already feeling embarrassment brewing in your stomach.

Spencer looks around for a second, taking in the minimal furniture and all around lackluster state of the structure. He zeros in on the old tv displaying your video game.

“Are you playing Red Dead Redemption 2?”

“Uh… yeah,” you say quietly, holding yourself and you walk into the living room. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Spencer smiles, finding it amazing to learn something new about you that he loves. “Nice horse.”

You laugh, sitting on the couch and grabbing your controller. Your cowboy character was riding a white horse in the middle of a river. “It’s the White Arabian you have to tame by Lake Isabella.”

“Is that… like the best horse or something?” Spencer comes to sit beside you, sinking into the musty couch.

“It’s the only elite Arabian horse that you can find in the wild.”

Spencer leans against the couch arm, resting his face in one hand. “I didn’t realize you were a gamer.”

“The more you know me, the more of a nerd I become.”

“Nothing wrong with that, you big nerd.”

You giggle, “What did you want to talk about?’

Spencer clears his throat. “I uh… I took your portfolio to work.”

“What did Angela think?”

“She thought it was all great. But um… a few others got a look at it too.” He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s this job opening on the production team, specifically on the Smosh main channel. But they would help with all the channels.”

You pause the game again and really look at him. “What is the position?”

“An assistant art coordinator. They help the art directors with creating sets, costumes, and character looks.”

“And what are the responsibilities?”

“They’re looking for someone to manage hair and makeup for Smosh skits and any character work on other channels. Most of the cast do it themselves, but we do need someone who specializes in prosthetics makeup. And you seem to have done that a lot in theatre. We also need someone to manage costume work – the upkeep of them.”

You swallow hard, arms slowly moving to hold yourself. “Do you know what the salary is?”

“I think it’s around 50k-60k. You’ll make between $24 - $28 an hour.”

You bite your cheek. “That’s great.” You look at your surroundings. This new job would be paying you over $10 more than you’re getting now. “Are you saying Smosh is interested in interviewing me for assistant art coordinator?”

Spencer nods his head. “That is basically what I’m saying.”

“Did you show your bosses my portfolio on purpose?” You lower your eyes but look at him through your lashes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching out on the couch. “Maybe. Maybe I thought you deserved a chance.” He looks at you seriously, “I think you’ve got some real talent, (Y/N). You should go for an interview.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

You look at him, “I’m suddenly super nervous.” A laugh escapes you, “I… I have to talk to Aaron about it.”

“Okay,” Spencer says with an edge. He tries to be respectful. “Have you two…”

“We’ve moved in together,” you say softly. “To make bills a little easier. And… and as a trial run, I guess. I’ll be able to save up for a car now.”

Spencer has a finger on the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you could make an interview this Thursday?”

You think for a second, “I’m sure Aaron would be okay with that. I’ll just talk to him about it tonight.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that statement. But instead of saying something he might regret, he points to the PlayStation. “Have you completed this game before?”

“Oh, yeah – maybe three times,” you pick up the controller again. “This time I’m trying to complete all of the side quests before finishing the main story.”

“You should be wearing a cowboy hat while playing.”

“That would be awesome,” you laugh. You look at him with sincerity, “Thank you for looking out for me, Spence. I appreciate the chance.”

He gives a close-lipped smile. “Always.”

~~~

You step off the bus and begin to walk down the street. Using your phone, you follow the directions that Spencer gave you.

The Smosh office was right around the corner.

You enter the building, pulling on the only pair of dress pants you own. You readjust the simple blouse to show off the single diamond necklace you wear around your neck. You hope it gives you a professional first impression.

The main entrance of the building shows a little receptionist desk and plush chairs to wait in. You advance the desk while noticing behind it are many tables and folding chairs – probably for lunches.

“Hello, how are you?” a nice lady at the desk says.

You wave shakily, “I’m good. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Hecox and Mr. Padilla.”

She seems to find you saying their surnames comical judging by the little smile on her face. But she gestures to the plush armchairs behind you. “Sure, just wait there and I’ll call them.”

You turn around and notice that behind the chairs is a large window showing a large kitchen. The lunch tables and folding chairs makes more sense.

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the name plate, “Selina.” You sit down and holding your famously large fanny pack in your lap. It gives you something to hold with your fidgeting hands.

Now sitting, you can see the wide windows behind Selina’s desk. There’s a long conference table in there with a television and speakers on a stand. There’s a phone speaker in the middle of the table for any people that are being called in remotely.

Behind the conference table is a little sitting area with a couch and armchair. A couple tables and folding chairs are in the rest of the open space. It’s probably a big room for any meetings with teams or big groups of people.

“(Y/N) Bennett?” someone asks. You jump and stand to see two men coming around the corner.

One is taller with dark, wavy styled hair, a nose ring, and cool tattoos spidering up his neck. He has a great smile and just radiates a natural energy you like.

The other is slightly shorter with brown hair in a classic cut. He has a scruffy beard and black square glasses. He gives very much dad energy with how he’s dressed.

“Yes,” you say rather breathlessly. “I’m (Y/N) Bennett.”

“I’m Anthony,” the taller says, “And this is Ian.”

You shake hands with them, Ian gesturing to the conference room. “We’ll meet in here.”

The three of you walk into the room and take seats around the long table. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say quietly, “Thank you for offering me an interview.”

“For sure,” Anthony says, leaning forward in his chair. Ian sits and immediately starts spinning back and forth. “We saw your portfolio and were really impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,” you say eagerly.

Ian clears his throat, “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Well, I’m living here with my boyfriend. I’ve lived here for about two years. Before that I was in Nevada, just outside of Vegas. My family is still there,” you say quietly. “I’ve been a theatre and fine arts student all my life. I’ve been doing community and school productions since second grade. I have experience in both stage acting and in tech behind the scenes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Anthony asks.

You hold onto your fanny pack, “Right now, probably tech. I really enjoy designing costumes and putting characters together. Sometimes I do miss acting though.”

“What do you enjoy about art design?” Ian questions.

You focus on his chair spinning back and forth. “I’m a fan of storytelling. I think one of the greatest talents a person can have is in telling a story, no matter the platform. If I can be a part of that process, I’d enjoy every second. I want to show the story in costumes, hair, and makeup. It’s the most expressive way to describe a person or character.”

“Well said,” Anthony nods. “How would you manage a set when coordinating those things?”

“I would need to see the costume closet to know how to care for it. Organization is key, ensuring you don’t lose any pieces. You’d need a costume rack on set and some essentials, like safety pins, apparel tape, a lint roller, things like that. Makeup vanities will need to be disinfected and cleaned after use, brushes clean and organized. Prosthetics and stage makeup would need to be cared for to make sure we don’t share any germs and possible infections. The same goes for any hair and wig essentials.”

Ian seems a little lost in your explanation, just impressed that you were on top of it. “You have a fine arts degree, is that right?”

You nod, voice still quiet with the nerves. “That’s right. I got a bachelor’s in fine arts at Utah Tech University in St. George, Utah.”

“Is that close to where you’re from in Nevada?” Anthony asks.

You smile, “Yeah, it’s just over an hour away. It has a well known outdoor theatre called the Tuacahn Amphitheatre. I helped with a few tech things during summer shows. And then I acted at the college.”

“What shows did you act in?” Anthony asks further.

You play with your fingers. “We did Footloose, Addams Family, The Drowsy Chaperone, Elf: The Musical, Measure for Measure, and Much Ado About Nothing.”

Anthony whistles, “You did Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” you say. “Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite play.”

“You are a major theatre kid,” Ian says, “Why don’t you act anymore?”

You squeeze your fanny pack, “I’ve gotten a little camera shy the last couple years. I prefer helping with quick changes and fixing any mic tape mishaps.”

You take a turn asking some questions about their art department and typical filming schedule. You learn about their expectations for the job and what the salary would be. It was exactly as Spencer had said.

Ian and Anthony share a look with each other before leaning forward. Anthony looks at you kindly, “Would you mind if we conference for a minute? We want to give you an answer today.”

You widen your eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

The pair stand and excuse themselves to discuss things outside the room. You’re left in the swivel chair, picking at your fingers and praying that the interview went well. It would be incredible to be given a job that grants you the security and stable income you wanted.

There was a chance to have friends here. Spencer and Angela would be here. You would be storytelling in little comedy sketches. You’d be a part of a team that designed characters. You’d be in charge of ensuring faces weren’t shiny on camera, hair was in place, and clothes looked good.

This could be a home for you.

It takes almost ten minutes for Ian and Anthony to return. They come back with two others that are introduced as Cassie and Erin. They are art director and assistant art director for all productions.

You would be working beneath them should you be offered the position.

More questions are asked by the newcomers, and you find them to be very kind and artistic like yourself. You agree on many fronts, having many things in common. You would be happy to be working in their department.

Ian and Anthony both have smiles on their faces when they say:

“(Y/N), we want to formally offer you the position of assistant art coordinator. Responsible for hair and makeup, and the costumes of the cast. You’ll be our main reference for any special effects makeup and prosthetics. And you’ll help coordinate for all four channels.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. “Really?”

Cassie and Erin had faces full of sympathy. Cassie was covering her face with her hands. Erin was folding their arms and smiling.

Ian was standing their awkwardly, looking at your emotional reaction, but Anthony was quicker to ask. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh tearily, “Yes! Yes, I’d love to take the position. Thank you guys so much. I’m so excited – I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

They all clap momentarily, Ian announcing, “Then we should call everyone to the lunchroom and make introductions.”

“We’ll have Selina bring up contracts to sign,” Anthony says, gesturing to the door. “You want to follow us?”

You nod enthusiastically, shaking hands with everyone on the way out. There are lots of thank yous and congratulations.

Cassie, Erin, and Ian go to round up cast and crew to the lunch tables you spotted earlier. Anthony goes to speak with Selina at the receptionist desk.

You exit the conference room, wiping tears away and clutching your fanny pack.

Spencer was there, pacing by the plush armchairs you sat in earlier. He has his arms crossed, one hand at his mouth, tracing his lips in a nervous gesture.

At your arrival, his head whips to you, eyes wide at the tears running down your face. He looks so afraid, unsure of how the interview went. But he might’ve misinterpreted your tears.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, “What… what did they say?”

He didn’t even notice the other people gathering at the lunch tables.

You walk towards him, still trying to wipe at your face, “Spence.”

He wants to hug you desperately then. He wants to comfort you. And he wants to hurt whoever decided to make you cry.

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face there. He holds you back, still at a loss as to what the final verdict was.

“(Y/N)!” you hear Anthony, “Get over here!”

Spencer still holds you as you whisper to him, “I got the job.”

He pulls away and holds your waist, “What?”

“I got the job,” you whisper more excitedly. “They’re about to announce it to everyone.” You flounce away to stand at a counter with a few mini fridges, addressing a group of cast and crew. You notice Angela standing in the crowd.

She gives you two thumbs up and you wave back.

Spencer walks over just as Ian begins to talk.

“Hey, guys! We wanted to introduce our newest member of Smosh. This is (Y/N) Bennett!”

Anthony continues, “She will be working in the art department as an assistant art coordinator. She’ll be our head of character design and management of costumes, hair, and makeup.”

The crowd begins clapping and shouting their congratulations. Spencer joins them, standing next to Angela and a few others.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, some cast and crew were sharing looks. People you hadn’t met yet were winking at each other. They knew full well how much Spencer wanted you to get this job.

You wave at everyone, “Hello! I’m so excited to meet you all and start working on these projects.”

Everyone breaks apart to introduce themselves.

Angela brings over a number of people, “Hey, (Y/N).” She says, “Here are some of our castmates.”

A tall woman in a beautiful jumpsuit says, “I’m Amanda, welcome to the Smosh family.”

“I’m Shayne,” a fit blonde man shakes your hand, “And this is Courtney.”

“Hi,” a blonde woman then shakes your hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angela sticks her head in, “Those two are married.”

You nod, giggling, “Wonderful.”

“I’m Chanse,” a curly haired man says, giving you a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

A tall man with a great mustache waves, “I’m Tommy!”

“Hi!” you say, “It might take me a while to remember all your names. Thank you for being so welcoming. I’m so excited to start.”

“Spencer’s told us a lot about you,” Amanda says with a cheeky smile.

You look toward Spencer’s rosy face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,” Shayne laughs, “He has nothing but praise for you.”

Spencer ignores the immediate retort that the single worst thing about you is your boyfriend. “You guys need to calm down.”

“Can we give you a tour?” Amanda asks, taking your arm, “The office has a lot of sets and rooms.”

Courtney appears on your other side, “We can show you the art department and the costumes closet!”

“And the makeup vanities,” Chanse says, already leading the way, “There are a couple by the sets, but there is one in the green room where Angela takes her naps.”

“Hey!” Angela instantly retorts, “Hey, hey, hey… uncalled for!”

Amanda scoffs, “But true.”

Angela snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

You are dragged away by Amanda and Courtney, Chanse and Angela still bickering along the way.

Spencer stays where he is with Shayne. The latter having a very knowing smirk on his face. Spencer ignores him as long as he can.

“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t make faces because you’ll be stuck that way?”

Shayne chortles, “I’m just curious how you feel about this.”

“Clearly you already have a theory.”

“I do, based purely on the last eleven months of you pining over this girl.”

“I am incapable of pining.”

Shayne wheezes, “Yeah, sure. What do you call bringing up (Y/N) whenever possible, talking through ways to introduce yourself to her, workshopping conversations with me to get to know her…”

“All of those things were in confidence.”

“And all blatant examples of pining over a woman you’ve grown attached to!”

Spencer licks his lips, watching you being dragged by Angela towards the pods of employee desks. “I don’t… I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” Shayne chortles. “It’s kind of throwing me off right now. You don’t talk about girls much.”

“The dating apps have been seriously lacking the last year.”

“Because you’ve been talking up some chick at the gas station,” Shayne laughs again. “I have to commend you for playing the long game.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I have to be fine with being just friends.”

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be your best friend.

[idolomantises]

I find Sarcastic Chorus's video on why he's quitting Helluva Boss really interesting but I'm kind of baffled by the number of people straight up not understanding his reasoning for quitting. I think it's interesting how both his video and the online reaction to it is basically the consequences of modern fandoms treating art like its something to mindlessly consume and not worth analyzing and critiqing, or else you're consuming it "wrong".

Like his argument isn't that he hates the show or that he was forcing himself to criticize the show, in fact one of his main problems was that he couldn't be MORE honest in his reviews because of how fans would react to it. The problem was that when your job is to analyze a show, and it has way too many problems to ignore, and you're dealing with a hyper-sensitive fanbase that's hostile to criticism, you end up feeling exhausted or flat out disinterested in reviewing it.

I actually find it really concerning that fans are coping so hard with him quitting that they're framing it like its his problem because he was "looking for problems on purpose" when it was pretty obvious that it genuinely makes him kind of miserable trying to pick apart the show's issues. I remember when he was SO confident that Hazbin Hotel would be amazing and "prove the haters wrong" only for him to acknowledge that it was a complete mess. I'm honestly more confused by the fans who watch a reviewer and then get mad when he... reviews things. It's not even that they disagree with him, but the audacity to even point out very noticeable flaws in the product is enough to set them off and accuse him of being a clout chaser and a hater. Like do you want to see a review or did you just want to watch someone lie to you and blindly praise a series for 30 minutes, because i find it really odd that so many fans are insistent that he should've done the latter.

I also got pretty annoyed by this insistence that he wouldn't have turned on this show if he didnt criticize it and "turned his brain off" instead which is the same stupid excuse people gave for Hazbin's sloppy writing. and I just find that just... baffling? Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, as extremely flawed as they are, are clearly shows made with the clear intention of being taken seriously. Ffs the crew calls Helluva Boss "queer Bojack Horseman". Helluva Boss tackles topics like abuse, trauma, classism, racism, toxic relationships and redemption and Hazbin Hotel tackles themes like sexual trauma and abuse, redemption and religious oppression. But the problem is that both shows do it so poorly that people genuinely think that it's meant to be slop content that you're just supposed to turn your brain off and listen to.

I'm not going to forget when these fans were treating Helluva Boss's season 1 like peak queer representation and writing and insistent that Angel Dust was this amazingly well written gay male character that people only hated because he was messy and imperfect. Honestly kind of funny that I was chastised for saying that Angel Dust is just a sex joke only for the show, the crew, the merch, and even the damn playbill reduce him to just that. Slapping on trauma (especially knowing that its more of a fetish than a genuine exploration on male sexual abuse) doesn't really negate the fact that Angel Dust is poorly written. Side note: his fans are way too unhinged and aggressive, its getting very weird.

So its funny to me that now that Helluva Boss season 2 completely nose dived and Hazbin Hotel is a sloppy mess that feels more geared for children than adults, that now people are being told they're not allowed to analyze these shows or even pay attention to their problems, and are treated like idiots for doing so.

I think the problem is that I kind of think fans also notice the lowered quality of writing in both shows. because why aren't people actually defending the writing and character progression? instead of "Sarcastic Chorus is wrong because his criticism is incorrect and misses these points" its "Sarcastic Chorus is wrong because he should have shut his brain off and treated these shows like its cocomelon for adults"

[illubean]

JJK Men with a S/o in Musical Theatre

Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ino Takuma, Aoi Todo

Type: Headcanons, Gn!Reader

self indulgent af (im not even in theater anymore)

Warnings: it’s mentioned that reader plays female characters but other than that relatively gn

Satoru Gojo

he INSISTS that you practice in front of him (he just wants to hear you sing any chance he gets)

his favorite musical after you introduce him to it is Legally Blonde no I will not be taking criticism

sometimes walking past you in the hall he’ll sing the little musical theater song lyrics he knows very bad and very loudly

“Hi Toru-“ “A TOAST TO THE GROOM”

he comes to every single one of your shows and every show date

your production is being put on for a week? he’s got tickets to go all 7 days

and since he’s already watched it so many times he likes to snicker and gossip with you about your cast mates and how he noticed them mess up one night

without fail Satoru is always front row with his camera pointed directly at you (terrible theater etiquette I know)

if theres ever a point where you get to interact with the audience he eats it up every time

hes you’re #1 supporter and he gets you the biggest bouquet he can find every time

your cast mates are always gossiping about him, telling you how lucky you are and how they wished they got flowers every show night

very supportive but if you get in the car to go home with your stage makeup on he WILL laugh at you..

“Help me, why are your eyebrows so dark!?” “The stage lighting washes me out!”

Suguru Geto

HE’S SO JD HEATHERS CODED IM MFFHGHGNGGJGNJG

he appreciates performing arts but has never spent much time thinking about it or seeking it out if that makes sense?

he’s reluctant but he will sing parts of songs when you need to practice and can’t meet with whoever the part originally belongs to

MAKE HIM DUET SUDDENLY SEYMOUR WITH YOU. HE CAN SING EITHER PART.

if you beg and cry hard enough he might just audition for a show with you

but if he get’s casted as anyone else but your character’s love interest or worse, the love interest of SOMEONE ELSE he’s rejecting the role

he doesn’t think he’d actually ever get casted, he just auditioned because you kept bugging him about it

but if he does? god damn it now he’s stuck

you’re directors love him, and since you guys have good stage chemistry they are almost always going to cast you together if he auditions again

Kento Nanami

out of all of them I think he’s the only one who was interested in the arts before meeting you

he probably likes Les Miserables and The Phantom of the Opera

he never asks you to sing for him but if you offer or ask him to watch you practice he will gladly do so

he’s impressed by how well you perform

it amazes him how you’re able to move around, dance, and sing all while in character

he attracts the attention of your cast mates, always being so respectful

especially when he waits for you to finish getting out of costume with a bouquet and his jacket to offer you if it’s cold

he’s always invited to your open rehearsals even if its not by you 😭 your directors love him too

Toji Fushiguro

doesn’t care much for the arts but he’d be damned if he missed seeing his baby perform

no matter if you’re a lead or ensemble he WILL be there

he tends to keep to the back as to not block people’s view with his broad shoulders..

he likes watching you play characters that are so far from your usual personality

especially if you’re usually quiet, like wow he didn’t know you could project like that

he teases you after the show if you have a love interest in the show, especially if you complain about the person casted as them (no because why did I get casted as love interests with my mortal enemies 3 times)

if the show is suitable enough, he’ll bring little Megumi along to see you perform

I don’t think he’d be one to buy bouquets for you but he’d buy a single rose and let Megumi give it to you

he’d watch fondly as you pick up his son and bring him to meet the other cast members

GAH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Ino Takuma

he does the “raise your ya ya ya” thing around you 😭

he gets jealous if you have a love interest especially if theres a scene where you get freakay

this makes him consider auditioning for the next show you’re going to be in….

he’d watch you take photos with them and pout until you walk up to him

his favorite roles to see you in are the ones like Heather Chandler or Regina George

he may or may not be joking when he says you should be mean to him after seeing you perform…

if the show is sad he will cry then try to deny it when you point out the tear stains on his face

and if YOU’RE crying on stage? he cries even harder

he makes you karaoke with him, even though he’s getting absolutely mogged but he doesn’t mind

he just likes hearing your voice

he brags about you to anyone willing to listen

Aoi Todo

the audience hates him.

he always insists on sitting as close to the stage as possible and his large body blocks the view of the people behind him (luckily the stage is raised…)

and he’s so loud… you can always hear his shouts and applause over everyone else’s

your cast mates don’t like him either…

“Wow, your boyfriend is so…supportive”

even after the show is over and it’s time to meet you people give the two of you side eyes

“YOU DID SO GOOD MY LOVE!” “Shhh! But thank you…”

he’s so bad at being quiet 😭

another one who likes watching you play mean characters…

he has so many photos of you on his phone of you in costume and on stage

and they’re ALL in his wallpaper rotation

[justpoliteconversations]

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 5)

You spend more money. And Link becomes a local legend.

I was intending on working on a different piece tonight, but the continuous notifications for Apple Merchant keeps reminding me of how much I want to write on it. And then the self-indulgent whispers start seeping into my brain and here we are. Enjoy your ill-gotten gains, Lurkers.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Lurelin village. A beautiful little coastal town southwest of Hateno with just the right amount of sun and water to make any would-be visitor green with envy. Except no one ever mentioned the humidity (enough to drown someone in their sleep, you swear by it), the lizalfos infestation (something the game got right in concept, but wrong in scale) and the sand. The Goddess forsaken sand. The damned (neverending, grit in your teeth, tears in your eyes, gravel in your lungs) sand that got into everything.

So, no, Lurelin was beautiful and you'd thought once that maybe you'd get a house there (or maybe just plan a vacation). But you'd quickly been rid of the notion the moment you'd stepped foot onto the warm, picturesque beachfront property. Taken a deep, appreciative breath of the fresh, salty air. And then was promptly tackled out of the way of an oncoming spear by Skims (bless that man) as Adino put a pair of arrows into a lizalfos' hissing, gaping maul.

The face full of sand you'd gotten after being pile-driven into the ground just added to the experience. In the worst way possible. It had taken days for your mouth to feel clean of the unpleasant grit of sand grains and your eyes to stop tearing and burning in irritation. If not for Skim's constant care and Adino forcibly holding your hands away from your face when the pain became too much, you could have walked away with far worse than bad memories and a new distaste for sand.

That was the day you decided Lurelin would not be a place you'd be spending any significant amount of time in. No matter how friendly the locals or tasty the food or beautiful the ocean views. It just wasn't worth it. Not to you, at least. Maybe in another lifetime, it would have been a dream to strive towards. But not here. Not now.

You still had moments of unease when you think of what could have happened had Skim's not been so close (as he's always been, and as you'll hopefully always have him). And those moments were more potent when you were in the small village. Keeping you ever on edge and always within sight of your trusted guards.

So, one might ask why you'd chosen to go to that very village when you could go anywhere in southern Hyrule. In fact, (in those whispering moments of weakness) you'd ask yourself that very same question. Especially as you trudged miserably through the thick, muggy afternoon heat with Adino at your back and Skims on point (who knows where Red went. but it wasn't your business and so you dismissed the thought entirely).

The answer? Shock arrows. An unholy amount of shock arrows. Enough to break the purse of the average merchant three times over. And possibly put their children in debt too. And possibly their horse.

It's a good thing you weren't a common merchant.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Mubs." You called in friendly greeting as you set foot onto the dock, casting away your (unease) irritation and slipping into your business persona effortlessly. "Fair weather on the seas I hope?"

Pleasantries were exchanged, the latest information traded (Adino was feigning irritation as he eavesdropped, but you could see the way his eyes and ears flickered with amusement and surprise at the appropriate times. Skims was window shopping, eyeing some of the more exotic fish with open curiosity) and you ended up selling several thousand rupees worth of product to the woman. Fresh produce mostly, but also quite a few ores. Such things were always in high demand in Lurelin. Ores especially, as most coastal deposits were notoriously difficult to mine with the lizalfos infestation so prominent.

More workers died mining along the beach than to storms out at sea. And that's a very unsettling thought, given the ratio of miners to sailors in a seafaring village (of all places). Crunch the numbers, and becoming a miner in Lurelin was equivalent to a death sentence. And the general population knew that.

(It explained why crime rates were so low in Lurelin, when mining was the manual labor criminals were made to do.)

Passing off the last of Mubs' purchase to her, you waited patiently for the woman to finish storing away her newly acquired goods before speaking. "I have a large order request." You said, letting a small, costumer service smile slip onto your lips. And maybe that kind of smile was something that transcended worlds, or maybe Mubs just knew you, but she immediately looked wary (by the way she narrowed her eyes, it was probably the former. maybe).

She gestured for you to continue, and you did with cool (pained) confidence. "I need as many shock arrows as you can afford to part with." She started to gesture towards her arrow display, but you shook your head and she paused. "I need below deck inventory. Everything you've got."

Her brows shot to her hairline, incredulous as she cautioned. "Quite the order. Surely not even The Apple Merchant would part with so much rupee." You kept your smile (even and blank and you were quietly screaming inside), and she sighed. "'Course you would." She sighed again, harder, wiping the sweat from her brow before gesturing for you to follow. "Come on then. Lets see if we can't break yer infamous smile a bit, ya?"

You kept that smile. All through the walk across the rickety old docks, the bustling harbor and straight down into the musty bowels of a weathered looking ship. One guarded by no less than five full grown men. All through the talks with the big boss you kept your lips steadily pleasant and upturned. Right on through the exchange of rupees (even Mubs looked ill at the quoted amount, casting you a questioning, pitying glance as she clicked her teeth), and all the way back to shore.

Right up until the moment you collapsed into your (extra, super soft, not for you Adino you prickly jerk) inn bed, rolled over so your back was to Adino and Skims (who looked expectant and amused and far too smug for your liking) and stared at the wall with that same smiling, blank expression.

And then, slowly. You put your face into the sinfully soft pillow. And screamed.

"Damnit Link! Why do you cost me so much money when you're not even here?"

Skims laughed with his entire belly at your outburst, and Adino smirked, hiding his face to the side as a few rouge chuckles escaped him.

A wordless, muffled bellow was all they got back in exchange.

---

Link stared at the truly mind-boggling number of shock arrows that'd appeared in his inventory. 6800, to be exact. Which to some may not seem like an especially outrageous number, but to Link (who usually found items in the single digits) it was a truly unfathomable number to comprehend, let alone contend with. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to take full advantage of his (thoughtful, kind, wond-) generous AM's meticulous foresight to destroy the local monster population. With feeling (so much intense, pent up feeling).

He'd take every ounce of his frustration (his blood boiling, fist clenching, teeth grinding anger) and pour it all into destroying his enemies. His worry at AM's absence from his side. His displeasure at Ms. Blue's condescending and secretive (and kind too, for all she was withholding information from him. information he'd bleed for) smiles.

And especially his rage at those Goddess forsaken, Ganon worshipping, traitorous Yiga who ruined his chance to thank AM properly for their presence in his life (because he doesn't know where he'd be if not for them. and honestly, he never wants to find out).

He'd take all those emotions and channel it into something productive. Something beneficially destructive.

So, destroy the monster population he did. And how generous of the Goddesses, to have brought him to a land of eternal rain to begin his crash course in violence-fueled stress relief. With shock arrows.

It is said amongst the general Zora population (the more outspoken poetic ones at least) that when the Returned Hero of Hyrule made his ascendance through the Domain, night became day and the land was cleansed of all things foul that would stand before him. A miracle in the flesh. He who brings the light and sun to the land of rain.

And really, they weren't wrong. For the most part.

But for those who saw this supposed miracle for themselves. They all had but one thought.

'Thank the Goddesses it's not me he's pissed at.'

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

[forestdeath1]

Canon Sirius through quotes

Part 3. Harshness and toughness (and how Sirius Black differs from James Potter). It's long. Really long.

Sirius isn't a soft crybaby. His harshness (and even cruelty) goes beyond the silly teenage pranks we usually see in fanfiction. Sirius is often either whitewashed by newer fans or overly demonized by anti-Marauders fans. Sirius has a tough exterior but a heart of gold. He's not childish and had to grow up early, though he can still be quite fun.

‘Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,’ said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. ‘Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought ... .’

"Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought" – this shouldn't be taken literally. Rosmerta saw many others regularly, Dumbledore, Lily, Remus, and many others, and out of all of them, Sirius Black was the last who could turn to the Dark side? Seriously? Did Sirius walk around with a halo and angel wings?

One trait that is always emphasized in his appearance is his haughty, bored look.

Rosmerta speaks metaphorically, not literally. She saw Sirius once a month or two when they went out to Hogsmeade to have fun and drink. In those moments, Sirius was lively, funny and noisy (especially lively after running away from home), and perhaps he even flirted with Rosmerta in a childish manner, melting the heart of the adult woman.

Sirius can be funny, although his humor is always edging towards dark:

"Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose.’ 

Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset. 

‘Sirius!’ she said reproachfully. ‘Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher, I’m sure he’d respond. After all, you are the only member of his family he’s got left, and Professor Dumbledore said –’ 

‘So, what are Umbridge’s lessons like?’ Sirius interrupted. ‘Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?’

Moreover, he interrupts Hermione, not letting her finish her point. He sharply outlines if he doesn't want to listen.

"the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards"

Dark humor.

‘Kreacher is cleaning,’ the elf repeated. ‘Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black –’ 

‘And it’s getting blacker every day, it’s filthy,’ said Sirius.

Here he responds with a clear "Black" shade. His mother also loved to talk about filth.

‘Sirius – it’s me ... it’s Peter ... your friend ... you wouldn’t ...’ Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled. ‘There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,’ said Black.

And again. And here’s his mother:

‘Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers –’ 

‘Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth ...’

Sirius desperately wants to be unlike the Blacks, but he is still Sirius Black.

‘I thought it was the perfect plan ... a bluff ... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you ... it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.’

Sirius's humor isn't the only harsh thing about him. Even though here he has a reason – after Azkaban he met James's traitor – his way of speaking reflects his overall personality. The way one speaks is a mirror of personality, even if Sirius has PTSD, it only exposes even more vividly what he might control in a calm state.

‘Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.’ (Peeves)

At the same time, yes, he can be cheerful and infect everyone around him with his cheerfulness. If he's in a sombre mood, he creates a quite oppressive atmosphere around him that everyone feels. Just as with a good mood – everyone feels it.

Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. 

-

Sirius tramping past their door towards Buckbeak’s room, singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs’ at the top of his voice. 

-

Sirius’s delight at having the house full again, and especially at having Harry back, was infectious. He was no longer their sullen host of the summer; now he seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help.

But the ability to be cheerful is in no way connected to being very harshn at the same time. This is precisely the case with Sirius.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous (the author wrote about him, “The best-looking, most rebellious, most dangerous of the four marauders”). James was also a bully, but he's not harsh, despite the fact that it was he who pulled down Snape's trousers. Why? I think Sirius was already aware of what they were doing. James – not. Without awareness, it's too early to speak of any harshness and cruelty. Sirius had this awareness and still continued to do it.

Let's consider the reactions of Sirius and James in comparison.

‘Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’ 

Sirius did not smile. ‘My whole family have been in Slytherin,’ he said.

‘Blimey,’ said James, ‘and I thought you seemed all right!’ 

Sirius grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?’

A small note: Sirius didn't even react to James's "I'd leave", even though he knew his whole family was from Slytherin, and he was likely to go there too.

James lifted an invisible sword. ‘“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!” Like my dad.’ Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

‘Got a problem with that?’ ‘No,’ said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. ‘If you’d rather be brawny than brainy –’

It was Snape who starts the confrontation on a personal level. James in his insults in this memory refers to moral qualities. "Who wants to be in Slytherin?" Only bad people. He is prejudiced against Slytherin because Slytherin is evil. Voldemort is gaining momentum. The first Muggle-born Minister was recently ousted. Attacks are happening here and there. Dark forces are growing. More and more of the pure-blood society talks about "Mudbloods" not belonging in this world. And "amazingly", they all turn out to be from Slytherin. James sees himself as a noble knight "James lifted an invisible sword", and he is against Slytherin not so much personally as against the moral component of Slytherin.

‘Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?’ interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

Sirius immediately strikes at Snape's personality. Sirius is sharp-tongued, self-assured, and likely accustomed to considering others below himself. He probably assessed James as his equal right away. Brave, cheerful, sincere.

'Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment.'

'Oooooo...'

James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

'See ya, Snivellus!' a voice called, as the compartment door slammed...

James tried to trip Snape. James most often uses physical/magical force. He trips Snape, he pulls down Snape's trousers, he uses most of the spells on Snape in SWM. But it's Sirius who goes after Snape's personality. It looks like James has concocted a "noble justification" for his behavior and attitude and punishes Snape for existing just as he is.

Sirius, on the other hand, hardly uses magical/physical force in memories; he finds painful points in Snape's personality – from character to appearance, intentionally demeaning his personal traits.

Moreover, it was Sirius who focused on Snape's appearance. No one, except him, places such an emphasis on Snape's unattractive appearance and his untidiness.

'Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,'

Very vivid epithets. Sirius is very eloquent when it comes to demeaning someone he dislikes.

Moreover, it's James who's the attention seeker. It's James who plays with the snitch, drawing attention, glancing at the girls by the lake, and ruffling his hair to show everyone how cool, strong, brave, and awesome he is.

After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn’t tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed that his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to keep it from getting too tidy, and he also kept looking over at the girls by the water’s edge.

While Sirius, likely, isn't much interested in societal validation. Sirius is more reserved, with firmer boundaries, he's not as interested in public adoration as James might be.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so.

This is a typical expression for Sirius – bored and haughty. He spent nearly five full years in Gryffindor alongside James, and the bored and haughty expression is still with him. It's not just a random trait in his character – it's one of the pillars of his personality, reflecting his attitude towards random people around him.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’

As I've said, Sirius cuts with his words without a knife. They've been studying together for five years, been friends with Peter, and he jokes about Peter like this. I think they all joked about each other in the same way, just James's "jokes" are blunt and probably he just says whatever comes to mind, whereas Sirius's are more subtle and hurtful.

Moreover, when people say this is the only episode we know of bullying by James and Sirius and that it's the worst in their history, that's not correct. This episode is the worst in Snape's life. And not because they pulled down his trousers. But because he lost Lily forever that day. This episode, likely, was quite typical for the Marauders. They were in a good mood, had finished exams, Snape just happened to pass by, there were no obvious reasons for this bullying. Harry sifted through their detention records, and there were many, very many, and how many more when they weren't caught?

Sirius got bored, and there they decided to "have some fun."

‘I’m bored,’ said Sirius. ‘Wish it was full moon.’ 

‘You might,’ said Lupin darkly from behind his book. ‘We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. Here ...’ and he held out his book. 

But Sirius snorted. ‘I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.’

I won't discuss The Prank here, many have written about it. In general, Sirius doesn't show empathy in everyday interactions even with Remus. Sirius has a heart of gold, but his shell, especially as a teenager – tough, harsh, sharp, and cutting. The grown-up Sirius interacts with close people much more politely, though he still occasionally shows his harshness (for example, with Hermione).

‘This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,’ said James quietly. ‘Look who it is ...’ 

Sirius’s head turned. He became very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit. 

‘Excellent,’ he said softly. ‘Snivellus.’

I don't want to justify Sirius and James, but for context – Snape is fascinated by the Dark Arts, hangs out with future Death Eaters (= fascist), and they have mutual dislike from the first year. No, the act is immature, but James justifies it in his head exactly like this – Snape is bad for him, so anything goes, and anyway, "so what?" Sirius doesn't need justifications. He's just bored.

Even when James uses all the spells on Snape, he still glances at the lake:

Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

Why look at the girls by the lake when you're humiliating someone, if you know you're doing something really bad? James genuinely sees himself as a noble knight, deserving of admiration. Moreover, many do admire him (''Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had got to their feet and were edging nearer. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Several people watching laughed''), and Lupin mentioned several times that James was popular at school.

‘How’d the exam go, Snivelly?’ said James. 

‘I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,’ said Sirius viciously. ‘There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.’ 

Again, Sirius harshly targets Snape's personal traits, including his appearance.

‘You – wait,’ he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing, ‘you – wait!’ 

‘Wait for what?’ said Sirius coolly. ‘What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?’ 

And again – Sirius strikes with words.

Snape let out a stream of mixed swear words and hexes, but with his wand ten feet away nothing happened.

‘Wash out your mouth,’ said James coldly. ‘Scourgify!’

And James responds with a spell to what? Snape's insults. He says ‘Wash out your mouth.’ He appeals to the moral side of the issue.

‘I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!’

‘Apologise to Evans!’ James roared at Snape, his wand pointed  threateningly at him. ‘I don’t want you to make him apologise,’ Lily shouted, rounding on James. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’ ‘What?’ yelped James. ‘I’d NEVER call you a – you-know-what!’

This also proves that James is sure he's doing everything right. James is like a volunteer in the allies' army against the fascists, a brave Gryffindor, and his sword is to cast spells on anyone he deems not fitting his moral standards.

‘Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.’

And from the outside, it looked like this.

‘What is it with her?’ said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. 

‘Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,’ said Sirius.

And Sirius understands it all too well. Who he is, who James is, and what Lily thinks about it all. Sirius knows about James's crush on Lily and finds it even funny that she rejects him. Likely because Sirius understands that they often cross the line. I don’t think Sirius could have stopped Potter. I don't even think Sirius wanted to stop Potter. He found it all funny. Azkaban, on the other hand, softened Sirius in his interactions with others. It knocked down his pride and arrogance. Showed him that life can be unfair and you don't need to act like a haughty jerk who thinks the world revolves around them.

At school, Sirius was more about psychological bullying, while James was about the physical. Given that James and Sirius were very popular at school and within their house, their bullying was likely directed mostly at Slytherins or at arrogant jerks like themselves who they just "didn't like."

And the adult Sirius understands that they were “arrogant little berks.” And he’s “not proud of it,” but his next words speak for themselves:

“ I think James was everything Snape wanted to be – he was popular, he was good at Quidditch – good at pretty much everything. And Snape was just this little oddball who was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts, and James – whatever else he may have appeared to you, Harry – always hated the Dark Arts.”

Sirius justifies James while simultaneously praising him. Justifications always imply a partial denial of guilt. Someone fully aware of their guilt doesn’t seek to justify or be justified. Of course, Sirius said this for Harry's sake too. To ensure Harry didn’t think his father was just a bully for no reason. His father was actually “on the side of good,” is what Sirius wants to convey. About himself, he remains silent. But he doesn't miss the chance to insult Snape again “little oddball.”

Even Remus, as an adult, sincerely justifies James.

‘She started going out with him in seventh year,’ said Lupin. 

‘Once James had deflated his head a bit,’ said Sirius. ‘And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,’ said Lupin.

 ‘Even Snape?’ said Harry. ‘Well,’ said Lupin slowly, ‘Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?’ 

‘And my mum was OK with that?’ 

‘She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,’ said Sirius. ‘I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?’

Lupin finds a genuine justification for James. The concept of “violence in any form is bad” isn’t fully grasped by them. They follow an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Lupin even was ready to kill Peter, and he insisted that war is not a playground and that killing is sometimes necessary in war. Remus, though gentler and kinder, and preferring not to engage in conflict, genuinely wished Sirius and James hadn't bullied anyone at school, but yet, he still reconciles with all they do and even justifies James.

In Sirius's mind, James may have acted like a fool, but Sirius doesn’t genuinely condemn it. He just thinks they were too arrogant. And Sirius’s behavior after Azkaban (how he became gentler with others) indicates he truly realized – you don't need to belittle everyone you dislike or even like. Yet, Sirius’s harshness, even after Azkaban, didn’t disappear; it was just redirected towards what he genuinely hates.

‘Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons ... you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me –’ 

Black made a derisive noise. 

‘It served him right,’ he sneered. ‘Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to ... hoping he could get us expelled ...’

Remus's reactions are much softer, but Sirius’s reaction, even years later, is harsh and even a bit cruel. ‘It served him right.’ Because it's an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

However, Sirius’s harshness still occasionally breaks through even towards his close ones when he slightly loses control over himself after Azkaban.

‘You’re less like your father than I thought,’ he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. ‘The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.’ 

‘Well, I’d better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,’ said Sirius, but Harry was sure he was lying. ‘I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’

Sirius calls themselves “arrogant little berks,” but the peculiarity of Sirius’s arrogance is that it's due to his personal qualities, not external “glamour”.

 ‘I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter – I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you?’

He despises Peter for groveling, for weakness, for the same reasons he despises Regulus, considering him a soft idiot. Sirius’s arrogance was never built on finances or blood purity, on popularity, on playing Quidditch, not on his name, although the family dynamics undoubtedly influenced his pride. But overall, his arrogance is of a different level – that of a rebellious spirit, a very strong person, not like the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy is intentionally depicted as the complete opposite of Sirius Black (in character – the most rebellious of their pure-blood circle and the most sycophantic, and in appearance – black and white).

Sirius and Kreacher's story demonstrates that Sirius does not forgive those he hated and can carry hatred through the years. People usually soften over time, but Sirius has an excuse – Azkaban. Nonetheless, the behavioral pattern remains unchanged. Azkaban does not change the essence of people, it makes certain traits more vivid and pronounced. Sirius became calmer towards the people around him who help fight against evil, he toned down his arrogance and pride (even towards Snape, he no longer hurls insults first, it’s Snape who insults Sirius first), but Sirius became even harsher towards those he hates.

‘Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true. I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did ... and so did Sirius.’

Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius’s death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s ...

And he himself demonstrates this repeatedly:

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione’s protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room.

Dumbledore believes Sirius showed cruelty to Kreacher through his indifference and neglect. That is, Sirius could shut off his empathy towards a being, despite generally being friendly towards house-elves.

‘He (Sirius) regarded him (Kreacher) as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike… Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.’

Sirius was not evil. But the neglect emanating from him was very cruel, harsh, and cold. Sirius can shut away all the good within him towards anyone he despised – “And whatever Kreacher’s faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher’s lot easier –”

‘– comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the house now, scum living in it, her treasures thrown out, she swore he was no son of hers and he’s back, they say he’s a murderer too –’

‘Keep muttering and I will be a murderer!’ said Sirius irritably as he slammed the door shut on the elf.

However, Sirius likely never killed anyone, even while serving in the "Order."

Regarding his family and even Regulus, Sirius is also harsh. Even if he, like any child, deep down loved his family, it doesn’t matter because his real words and actions are very harsh and aimed at severing ties. The possible love for them deep down only further highlights his harshness and readiness for confrontation.

“I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal ... my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them”

Likely, he’s ashamed of them, and his hatred also builds a wall between them and himself.

‘Does it matter if she’s my cousin?’ snapped Sirius. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having a relative like her?’

And at the same time Dumbledore about James:

‘I knew your father very well, both at Hogwarts and later, Harry,’ he said gently. ‘He would have saved Pettigrew too, I am sure of it.’

I don’t know how true this is (though likely, the author speaks through Dumbledore here), but considering that Harry himself is a character whose main traits include the ability to understand and forgive others, perhaps James had this to some extent too. But Sirius lacks the ability to forgive, and this is deliberately shown in the book – that he suffered precisely because of his excessive harshness.

In conclusion, Sirius's harshness and toughness is not just teenage arrogance; it's directly a trait of his personality, something that cannot be overlooked when talking about the canonical Sirius, not his sugar-coated substitute in fandom. Sirius had to grow up very early, and all this left its mark on him.

Of all the Marauders, only Sirius is really harsh and can be truly dangerous.

But Sirius was not cruel in a moral-ethical sense, or more precisely – ideologically. There's no reason to believe Sirius is constantly drawn to the dark side or that he's amoral. His constant fight against his family suggests instead that he formed high ideals within himself. No, Sirius is not amoral; he has difficulty with empathy (especially in childhood), a tendency towards aggression and cruelty (mostly in childhood, he controls himself quite well as an adult. Well, for Sirius Black quite well), arrogance, but he very well understands what is right and what is wrong.

‘She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.’

[joezworld]

Express Engines

So, recently some friends of mine (@sparkarrestor chief among them) finally got me to watch some TTTE fan videos on youtube. I really never got into that stuff - I’m “an old” by Tumblr standards, and my first exposure to TTTE fan video content was back in the days of wooden models filmed with potatoes, and Trainz productions that still had the Fraps logo onscreen. Things were dire, and I never bothered to really investigate further in the intervening decade+. Watching it now, I’m absolutely astounded by the level of quality and skill that a lot of people on youtube have gotten up to. I find writing to be tedious and slow, but at the least I get a few new paragraphs or pages at the end of each night to read back through. Filmmaking, especially the animated stuff that these people are making, is such a long game that I don’t think I could stand it. 

One of the first things that Sparks (and @weirdowithaquill) showed me was Rhydyronen’s Express Engines, the superbly made adaptation of the second book in Sodor Island Forum’s (SiF) Extended Railway Series. (ERS)  I could honestly go on about the production quality and filmmaking skill involved in this for some time, but I feel as though after a while it would stop being constructive responses and more just me pointing at the screen and mumbling things about camera movements, so I’ll relent for right now. Just assume that I really enjoyed it and keep coming back to it.  

(That being said, watching “Fourth Time Unlucky” and “Keeping Up With Castle” made me feel like my third eye was opening several different times. I had no idea that some of the filmmaking techniques in this were even possible, especially the big conversation set piece in Fourth Time Unlucky.)

---

All that being said… I do have quite a few issues with the story itself. Not the cinematography, the animation, or the voice acting, but the heart of this work - the script. It’s not a problem with Rhydyronen, the creator, instead it’s something inherent to the work itself. 

Allow me to explain:

SiF’s ERS was very formative to me as “a young,” entering the fandom in the late -00s and early -10s. I read literally of them, and even went through the long-since-retconned V1 archive that is still present on the “Your Own Railway Series Style Stories” page. There’s a non-zero chance that I know more about this series of works than anyone who isn’t an active or former contributor to the ERS. Even to this day, I check in every other Saturday to see what they’ve put out. A lot of my works are based in no small part on the real world setting of Sodor-in-the-present that they’ve done. It’s a huge part of my life, and even if I never log in to the site again, its influence will hang over my life for years or even decades to come.

There’s just one problem with all of this: The ERS is, from a very fundamental standpoint, bad. 

I don’t mean this in a critical “this is terribly written” way - far from it, in fact. The real issue with the ERS is more fundamental: they created a world, a rich tapestry of words and stories, that draws from the works of Wilbert and Christopher Awdry… and then they made it profoundly miserable to be in. 

Now, this is not a bad thing, as @mean-scarlet-deceiver has rather masterfully written, but with SiF, it’s a more cloying and existential form of misery that doesn’t really do anything or go anywhere. Sodor is on its face a normal place to live, like any other part of England, but read almost any story and you will find things happening that seem to go against the grain of most TTTE fic writers, but also of just basic understandings of human decency. 

Starting off from the beginning, ERS book 42 Evan the Private Engine is a great example of what I’m talking about. Evan, the titular engine, is a privately owned narrow gauge engine operating on the Skarloey Railway. At one point, many years ago, he broke down and was abandoned by his owner in situ. Now, for everyone who is a dyed in the wool TTTE fan like me, search your feelings and think of what happens to this engine next. Is he adopted by the Skarloey engines? Do they re-home him somewhere else? Is this actually a story being told by Skarloey to the other engines? Vote now on your phones. 

[Buzzing noise] Wrong answer! What actually happens is that Evan is left where he is for so long that everyone forgets about him, and he’s covered in the overgrowth out by the lake. When he’s discovered “many years later,” he’s lost his memory, and will never get it back. 

This is the first book in the ERS. I told @lswro2-222 about this and she’s still mad about it. 

Things do not improve from there. The ERS is filled with countless stories of: 

Engines being forgotten about for decades, (ERS #152 – Scrapyard Engines) 

Engines being threatened with scrapping after suffering from mechanical issues (ERS #58 – Brave Mountain Engines)

When said engine (quite reasonably) tries to ensure their place on the railway by sabotaging someone else, they’re sent away for scrap anyways (ERS #70 – Norman the Mountain Engine)

Engines rather abruptly deciding to leave the island of Sodor, for almost no in-text reason. (ERS #221 – Dane the Electric Engine)

Engines rather abruptly deciding to leave the island of Sodor, just as their character arc was reaching a high point (ERS #320 – Procor the Mainland Engine)

Massive interpersonal conflicts between members of railway staff that would in any other universe result in someone quitting due to the toxic work environment. (ERS #462 - The Joint Controllers, ERS # 464 - The Fat Controller's Birthday Party)

Extremely out-of-place bouts of anti-diesel racism all the way in the 1990s (ERSN #9 – Dockside Engines)

The Fat Controller (among others) treating engines like children, property, or in some other extremely dehumanizing way, even if they had no control over the situation. (ERS #452 – Lorries and Engines, among many others)

I could go on for some time, and many of these are far from the worst examples. There’s also a huge number of baffling choices, like creating an engine that can only talk in horse noises, and then much later having this engine have a mental breakdown over his inability to communicate. (ERSN7 - The Pegasus Railtour Campaign) They also killed off Stephen Hatt, but did it in a way that rubs me the wrong way and does nothing to really add to the character's legacy. (ERSN #15 – The Hatt Family’s Engines) I could go on about this one for about as long as I could go on about Pegasus, but I don’t have that much time at any point between now and forever, so we'll leave it at that.) 

Meanwhile, interesting characters are often created and then immediately set aside in favor of things that are nowhere near as interesting. Now that I know this is a matter of taste, but would you rather read about a diesel engine placed in storage for so long that she turned malevolently insane, (ERS #169 – Sudrian Diesel Engines) or various background characters like a skip lorry that interacts with almost none of the “main” cast of the island? (ERS #475 - Rocky the Skip Lorry) I know which one I want to see, which is why the insane diesel hasn’t gotten a story all to herself since her introduction in (checks notes) 2011. 

However, all of this pales in comparison to the real issue with the ERS - all of this is more or less subjective, but there’s a real, substantial, problem here: Nobody actually seems to like each other. 

Reading through the stories, there’s this overwhelming sense that none of the characters - engine, person, or otherwise, actually enjoy each other’s company unless it’s explicitly stated in text. Even then, that measure is sometimes shaky, as characterizations can change from book to book. Engines can be on good terms with each other in one, and the next, they can be snapping at each other for no clearly defined reason. 

Well, they might try to define it, but the ERS is rather insistent on following the short, easy to digest four-story format used by the Awdrys, which means that any character development occurs suddenly, and with little room to flesh things out. What this results in is often poorly-explained conflict that could be salvaged if they ever strayed away from the standard 4-story format. A good example of this is ERS# 340 - BoCo & the Freight Diesels. This book is actually one of the better ones in terms of character arcs - it follows a pair of class 60 diesels (Spartan and Wakefield) as they deal with the fallout of their brother/leader leaving Sodor unexpectedly. (ERS #320 - I could go on about that decision as well. The character was written out because it conflicted with what the actual, IRL locomotive he was based on was doing. Meanwhile, I’ve got City of Goddamn Truro running rampage through Sodor.) These three engines have better-than-average characterization due to the absolutely god-tier introductory story they received (ERS #151), but even still, the relatively short length of each book/chapter means that the contents of book 340 and the preceding stories don’t exactly give us enough insight into the engine’s psyches to fully grasp what’s happening. It’s not so much of a case of “telling instead of showing” as it is “this comes at you quickly and without any real advance warning.” This is probably more true to life with how people act under stress, but… this is fiction. You can show the audience what’s going on. There’s a good reason why some of the best works in the ERS are the long-form ERS Novels that allow characters room to breathe. 

(Also, in #340, the Fat Controller just absolutely rips an engine a new one for causing an accident, in the process completely sidestepping the fact that said engine had a driver and a second man on board the entire time. SiF does their level best to infantilize the engines whenever possible while at the same time making them 100% responsible for the failings of the people around them.)

Another great example of this is Daphne - the NWR’s Deltic that I stole for my own fan works because there’s a solid core to the character, but she’s been sadly let down by the works that follow. In the ERS she has a decently traumatic backstory, with lots of room for expansion of the character or at the very least, hints of other things. However Daphne is at most a secondary character to the ERS, and often appears in other stories, rather than her own. In these, the writers follow a handy rule of thumb for writing her: 

Deltics are loud, and so naturally, Daphne must be loud. Loud people are annoying, so Daphne must be annoying. Because Daphne is annoying, she must often speak without thinking. Because she speaks without thinking, she must be the most irritating bitch anyone has ever seen. 

I mean this seriously. Daphne’s entire role in a lot of the ERS is to show up, say something unintentionally insulting, and then drive away. She had a good introduction to the ERS in book #135, but since then she’s mostly been a loudmouth side character. Even her entry in the ERS guide says so: 

Daphne is best known as the big diesel with the big mouth! There is little denying that she is a good worker when she wants to be, but her occasionally spiky temper, bossiness and boastfulness can often lead to her fall from grace. She also has a knack of speaking without thinking, something that has caused many an upset or unfortunate incident over the years.

This is not an interesting character. This is an annoyance of the highest order and I don’t know why they keep her around.

At no point since her introduction over a decade ago has anyone tried to change this. They let her stagnate in the background while the fucking horse engine gets his own novel! 

-

I apologize, I’m getting slightly off track here. What I’m trying to say is that the ERS fundamentally does not understand its characters, starting at the Fat Controller and working their way down the list. There’s hundreds of episodes of someone getting yelled at for an incident outside their control, even when it’s plainly obvious that it had to be. Characters vary wildly, and act outside of what you would expect, considering when a story might happen in-universe. 

A great example of this is in Book #338. Honey, a new-build diesel shunter, is bought by the Ffarquhar Quarry Company and in short order, pulls every capital-D-Diesel trick in the book to get Mavis replaced… and it works. Mavis is hauled away on a lorry to an uncertain future, (she eventually gets bought by the NWR, don’t worry) with everyone in real fear that she’s going to get scrapped. Now, in my works, Thomas and Co. would probably commit murder; a lot of more normal folks might have the entire Ffarquhar branch in an uproar - something like the deputation that saved Donald and Douglas way back when. 

What SiF does… is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Thomas and Co. not only don’t try and get Mavis back, but they eventually welcome Honey into the branch line family a few books later (ERS #368 – Christmas at Ffarquhar) despite Honey being one of the only engines in the ERS or the original RWS to succeed in her evil mission. 

This is such a fundamental misunderstanding of the characters, starting with the most obvious one - Thomas the Tank Engine - that this almost would have to be set in the 1960s or 1950s. Nobody has grown attached to Mavis yet, and Honey isn’t obviously evil or something. 

Naaaaaaaaaaah. This story canonically takes place in 2018 and Honey speaks in Gen-Z/Millenial slang while actively sabotaging Mavis in broad daylight. I wish I was making this up. 

------

Apologies, I got off track again. 

So, what does any of this have to do with the Express Engines youtube video that I linked up top? 

Well, I think it shows rather clearly how the ERS rather wantonly misunderstands its own characters. Writers far better than I (@mean-scarlet-deceiver) have written pages and pages on the mental states of many of the RWS cast, most notably Gordon, who is the main character of Express Engines.

Again, Jobey has written far more on the subject than I have, but suffice it to say that by 1996 - the “canon” date of Express Engines - Gordon has mellowed out significantly. Even if he thinks that he’s going to be top dog on Sodor forever, he definitely isn’t up his own ass about it like how he was in the early days. He’s getting old and he knows it, and when Pip and Emma eventually do show up in the RWS, he’s remarkably mellow about the whole thing. Granted, that’s about 10-15 years further up the line, but it goes to show that he’s not going to go ballistic or act like a child at the first sign of his dominance being threatened like he might have in the 1930s. 

(Actually, having read all the books, I don’t think he’d act like that at most points after maybe WWII. A lot of his “I’m the fastest and the best!” schtick came from being a very big but very solitary fish in a very small pond, and getting him someone his own size to play with might have taken the edge off of his sense of self-importance.) 

Quite naturally, that’s exactly what he does in Express Engines. 

In the “book” version of the story, the main source of conflict is him lying to newly-arrived Sodor Castle about whistle codes, and this goes directly into the time trial section of the story, before wrapping up with a neat little bow of Gordon going off to get an overhaul. 

As a side note, the SiF-standard infantilization of engines starts off strong with this book. The primary conflict is Gordon feeling threatened by the arrival of a new express engine. What nobody has told him is that said new express engine is there primarily to cover for him when goes in for an overhaul. Why has nobody told him this? Because nobody told him he was getting an overhaul. The poor engine was going insane and picking fights based on literally nothing but a misunderstanding. 

Now, this is all fine and good - it actually reads a lot like Gordon just giving the new kid a hard time while working through his own insecurities, (something we can probably all relate to) but the video adaptation adds more stories, and goes… a lot further. 

For those who haven’t seen it, in the video, Gordon is basically being sidelined to the nth degree following Sodor Castle’s arrival, and it is driving him up the wall. Following the events of Fourth Time Unlucky, which covers the whistle code scene, Gordon and Sodor Castle are in a near constant feud, which comes to a head in the next (all-new) episode Keeping Up With Castle. In it, the primary set piece is a scene that @lswro2-222 called “Gordon McFuckin’ Loses It,” because, frankly, he does. There’s an extended race scene between a borderline-crazy Gordon and an all-too-smug Sodor Castle (seriously, he’s approaching unlikeable levels of smug and snooty) that ends with Gordon dangerously overshooting the platforms at Wellsworth. It’s very well shot, very well edited, has some great voice acting, and absolutely positively does not make sense within any existing characterization of Gordon that I have ever seen. 

I’ve thought about it for some time and maybe if this happened during the height of the modernization plan in the 60s, when everyone’s spirits were at an all-time low, it might have worked. It might have fit with the desperation and malaise of that era, maybe. For this story to take place in the late 90s, this is an almost impossible characterization of Gordon. I hate to be prescriptive of other people’s fan works and go “he would not fucking say that” but… he would not fucking say that. At all. Under any circumstances. It just wouldn’t happen. 

In a similar vein to that, the characterization of the other engines really chafes at me. Sodor Castle shows up, seemingly displacing Gordon to the slow services, and the immediate response is to embrace the newcomer while mocking Gordon. This is perhaps the closest to “canon” I would say the video comes - the engines would do that at first; Gordon getting one-upped so publicly by a Westerner would be hilarious for a good long while. The issue, however, comes from the fact that nobody ever seems to notice that Gordon is legitimately upset by this whole development. They either continue mocking him or actively take Sodor Castle's side, which isn't something you do unless you have a rather strong dislike for someone. Not exactly the way you'd think the engines would act after being shoved together for 50-70 years… unless you write for the ERS. 

Also, I have a particular bug up my ass about Sodor Castle in this video. He's almost too smug and prissy to be likeable. A lot of his lines work really well as singular lines, but the instant you realize the circumstances they're said in it all falls apart. As an example, during the race scene in Keeping Up With Castle, you'd think he'd be concerned or worried when Gordon goes screeching through Wellsworth with his brakes hard on. Even if he dislikes Gordon by now, the passengers must have gone through the far walls of the coaches, and instead Castle takes the time to gloat. It's the little things like that that really get me - the writers are obviously aware of what's going on, and choosing this particular response says a lot in a very unintentional way.

And, on the subject of saying things, I do want to make one point clear: This is not a mean-spirited “takedown” of the ERS. Any fan work that’s gone on for literal decades, with hundreds of distinct stories and characters, is commendable just in the sheer effort exerted by those involved. I will gladly applaud SiF in their work to have a consistent quality and tone to their work, even if it's not one that I universally agree with. 

Furthermore, I like the ERS. While many of the stories in it are misses, when they hit it out of the park, they really do it. The ERS Novels, especially numbers 1, 2, and 9 (The Life & Times Of Jim The Jinx, The Peel Godred Railway, Dockside Engines) are unironically good.

Many of the characters, especially those introduced in the ERS’s early days like Daphne, Winston, Samarkand, Zelda, and the Class 60 trio, are legitimately interesting, and had captivating introductions to the franchise. Sometimes, SiF even predicts the future, adding Pip and Emma to Sodor years before Chris Awdry did, and did so with an excellent set of stories that heavily influenced my own interpretation of the characters.  (and then, in a classic SiF move, they de-canonized those stories once it became clear that they couldn’t be reconciled with new Awdry canon) There is a lot of genuine skill that has gone into the ERS, and it’s definitely influenced the entire TTTE fan community whether you realize it or not. (Everyone calls the works diesel Wendell. Why? SiF named him.) It certainly influenced me, and that’s why I feel the need to write this all out. This series has been a significant part of my life for a significant part of my life, and it disappoints me to no end that it stumbles so often. This isn’t a callout of “you suck,” instead it’s a callout of “do better, please.” 

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

This viewpoint has taken me several months to collate into a single thinkpiece. I kicked the idea around for a bit, thought it out more, watched the video a few more times, and then realized that I’d have to talk about SiF a lot. (oh no, what a tragedy.) So here it is. Hope you enjoyed it.

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

Oh, one other thing. 

While I was watching the video, and thinking about how wrong this all was, and then I thought, “well I’d do this differently.” 

And then I did. 

And then things got very out of hand. 

I may have stolen some characters from SiF. 

(Don’t worry, they’re some of the ones that I like, from the few books that I enjoy.)

Anyway, here's Express Engines. 

2001 

It was barely spring on the Island of Sodor, and already the railway was being pushed to its limits. Congestion at other ports on the mainland had forced more ships into the port of Tidmouth (and, by extension, the ports of Knapford and Arlesburgh), and so the cargo trains got longer and more frequent. 

At the same time, the Easter holidays coincided with a spate of unseasonably early warm weather, so the island was swarmed with people seeking sunny beaches and scenic getaways. Tourist class tickets were in especially high demand, and on some days the Limited and the Midday Express would strain under the weight of five, seven, or even ten third class coaches. 

Fortunately, none of the engines were “down” for heavy maintenance, so while there wasn’t a scrabble to find available motive power, some… interesting schedule choices had to be made. 

-

“Henry, it’s occurred to me that I haven’t seen you leave to pull the Kipper in some time.” Gordon said one morning. 

“I haven’t been.” Henry yawned. “BoCo’s been taking it.”  

“BoCo?” 

“He said yes, don’t worry.” Henry said blearily. 

“But why aren’t you-”

“Because I’m getting about two hours of sleep if I take the Kipper and the morning stopper train, and that’s if someone isn’t snoring loud enough to shake the dust off the ceiling beams.”

“I assure you that I do not-”

“S’not you, you daft thing. It’s James. I think there’s something wrong with him.”

--

Bear growled in displeasure. It was a deep, bass-y sound that seemed to echo through the ground, and Bill and Ben fled back to the clay pits in terror. 

“-and if I catch you pulling that ever again, I’ll be the last thing you ever see!” 

Edward looked on in awe. “Can you teach BoCo how to do that?”

--

Duck goggled. “I think I’ve seen it all now.” 

Emma smiled meekly. “I know it’s a little unusual, but-”

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing., Duck cut in graciously. 

“Oh thanks.” She looked around. “I wish we didn’t have such a long train, we could probably come down here more often. It’s very pretty-”

“Oi!” cut in Mike, from the Small Railway’s tracks. “What’s wrong wit’ Oliver?”

Looking back, Duck could see Oliver trying and failing to hide from Pip, much to her chagrin. 

“Don’t worry about it! He deserves it!” he said after a moment’s deliberation.

--

“Excuse me,” the big EWS diesel asked as he rolled into Crovan’s Gate with a line of flatbeds. “But is this a heritage railway or something? What are you doing here exactly? Are you on a railtour?” 

“Railtour?” James sniffed. “I’m not a railtour! I'm late! Ta ta!” 

And he steamed away in a hurry. 

“That… didn’t answer my question.”

----

During this time, the Fat Controller was nowhere to be seen. Rumours flew between the coaches and trucks that he was out finding them another engine, but the engines themselves knew better. 

“From where would he find a King class?”

“I don’t know! But there’s a biiiiig engine back there under a sheet, and a bunch of paint all labeled “GW Green” sitting around - more than Duck and Oliver could need put together!”

Well, some of them did. 

“James, what now?” Henry groaned as he rolled into the shed. All he wanted to do was sleep,but it seemed like this wouldn’t happen soon. 

“Look,” James spluttered, as Gordon and Bear stared with skepticism heavy on their brows. “All I know is: Engine, sheet, paint, and soon!”

“Soon?” Bear scoffed. “Soon what? Soon the hols will be over? Soon that summer will come? Show me some proof.”

“Oh for- what about that tarped over thingy that came in last Christmas? I saw it! That’s real!” 

“That could be anything!” Gordon butted in. “There’s dozens of preserved lines that wish to make use of our facilities. For all we know, it is a King class that’s being restored for a museum!”

Henry suddenly felt very bemused. He had something to say now, but it needed to be timed perfectly.

He waited a few minutes, as Bear and Gordon continued grilling James over details that he couldn’t possibly have known. It was quite funny, but not as funny as what he had to say. 

Finally, as his eyelids drooped and his fire died down to embers, he saw his chance. “Excuse me, if I may.” He yawned. Gordon and Bear stopped mid-sentence to look at him. From the startled look Gordon was hiding, it seemed like they’d forgotten he was there.  “But I did overhear from the coaches on the Limited, who themselves overheard from the Fat Controller, that we are getting another engine - just not a King, but instead, a Castle!” 

The reactions of the others were priceless, and held just long enough for him to close his eyes and fall happily to sleep!

-----

The next morning, The Fat Controller arrived as the sun rose. “Well, my ears have been burning all morning,” he said jovially. “So I assume you already know about the new engines,-”

“EngineS?”

----

Last year - around Guy Fawkes Night

Stephen Hatt strode into his office to find his secretary holding the phone about three feet from her ear. Even at that distance, a great commotion was clearly audible. 

“The National Railway Museum for you sir,” she said, straining to keep the phone as far away as possible. “Mind the volume when you answer.” 

He gave her a wide berth and an askance look as he entered his office. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up the handset out of reflex, and quickly set it back down again. Carefully, he moved the phone to the other end of his desk, and pushed the speakerphone button with the corner of a particularly tall book. 

Pandemonium burst forth from the device, and it took a moment for Stephen to pick out the sound of a human voice over what sounded like a fully-involved riot in the background. “Hello? Stephen? Are you there? It’s Andrew. Look, Stephen, I shan’t mince words with you, but we’ve made a terrible mistake and you’re the only person left who can fix it.”

Stephen, having recovered from being assaulted by a wave of sound, raised an eyebrow. “Fix it? I haven’t even been told what the problem is yet!” 

“What? Can you speak up- oh for goodness’ sake!” There was a sound of a phone handset being put down, and then the sound of a door opening. The sounds of the riot became louder and more pronounced for a moment, and then there was a bellow of “QUIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEET!” that shook the phone. 

The door then shut with a suddenly audible click, and then Andrew was back on the phone. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“What is happening over there?” Stephen asked, agog. 

“My problem.” Andrew said, his tone hasty. He clearly expected the noise to start up again. “We’ve done some, uh. re-arranging of our collections you see, and two engines were put together who really have no business being anywhere near-”

“CITY OF TRURO I WILL KILL YOU TONIGHT.” A female voice came through loud and clear, to the point where the speakerphone vibrated halfway off the desk. “KEEP TALKING AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.”

Stephen’s expression became slightly more fixed, and he stayed quiet for a long moment. 

Andrew could feel his hesitation. “Please. We haven’t been able to open for three days. They’re on opposite sides of the building and they’re still at it. We have to get one of them off property.” 

“Andrew…” Stephen said slowly. “You do recall that City of Truro had a most remarkable change of fortune some years ago, correct?”

“Stephen,” Andrew was close to begging. “Nobody will take him. We have to do something!” 

“Your use of the word 'we' is very inspired, Andy.” Stephen was actually going to have to get up and walk around his desk to reach the phone. 

“Wait! Wait!” His finger stopped inches from the “end call” button. “We’ll do anything! Name it!” 

The Fat Controller smiled. “Anything, you say?” 

-------

The engine had been brought in under cover - both tarpaulin and darkness. Once it had been delivered, it had been immediately shunted away into a far corner of the works, away from prying eyes. 

It was only then that the cover was removed, and the engine was revealed. A six-coupled Westerner, one of the great Castles of yore. She - and she most definitely was a she - was resplendent in Great Western Green and Gold, complete with all the little filigree marks that only a steam-era Swindon would apply. The paint had barely lost its luster, and it appeared from the outside as though this engine had been shunted through a portal in time. 

The only part of her that showed any age at all was her face. Around her eyes and brows were laugh lines and wrinkles, a generation of smiles and conversation physically worked into the structure of her beauty. 

She wasn’t smiling now, though. Frown lines cut into her face unnaturally, as she sent a venomous glare in the direction of the man standing by her pony truck.

“You were much more compliant back at the Science Museum,” he said, continuing an argument that had been ongoing since the moment he’d arrived in her line of sight. 

“I was valued at the Science Museum,” she snapped, putting heavy weight on the word valued. “And then you deaccessioned me.” 

“We were renovating!” He protested. “I would’ve thought that you would have loved being amongst your own kind. You were to be put in your own special museum!” 

“I was in the Museum longer than I ever was on the rails, but you never cared enough to find out which setting I preferred, did you?” she hissed. “All you wanted was Neil’s job!” 

“Sir Cossons stood down to run English Heritage and you know it.” 

“All I know is that you were in there for less than a month before I was 'better suited for display in York!'” 

“So you could be put in Swindon when the museum there was ready!” 

“But I didn’t want to go to Swindon!” she screeched. “And in any event, This. Isn’t. Swindon! You and Andrew sold me rather than deal with Truro!”

“Truro is more…” 

“Say that he’s more famous than me. Say it. That’s all Showboat Sharp ever cares about. Not that he’s totally unsuitable for public display, or that he-”

“He can keep his mouth shut when Andy tells him to, which is more than I can say about you!” He looked at her with disgust in his eyes. “You are a train! You are supposed to be seen and not heard, and no more!” 

Whatever she was about to say in reply - and it would have been vicious - was cut off by the opening of a distant door. A top-hatted figure emerged from the outside, and made his way towards them. 

“And,” the man whispered. “We didn’t sell you. I gave you away. It’s the only way the fat bastard would take this deal.”

There was a quiet “so glad to be valued...”, but it was lost in the arrival of the top hat wearing man. “Ah, Dr. Sharp, and Caerphilly Castle, I’m Stephen Hatt. Wonderful to meet you both in person.” 

“Charmed.” Lied man and engine as one as a small crowd of workmen filed in behind the man. 

Without prompting, the portly man clambered up onto Caerphilly’s bufferbeam to address the room. To her surprise, he did so gracefully, managing to not snag himself on her lamp irons, and his shoes were sturdy boots that gripped the metal properly. Maybe he wasn’t an officious fop after all?

“Well everyone,” he said, facing the group. “This is the surprise that I have been talking about. Without going into too many details, it seems as though the Science Museum’s recent renovations have left Caerphilly Castle without a home. Now, she was originally relocated to York, however a…” He paused diplomatically. “Certain engine caused much trouble for her there, and she has now made her way to us. I’d like to thank Dr. Sharp, the director of the Science Museum, for this kind contribution to our railway.”

“How much did you pay for ‘er?” came a voice from the front of the group of men. “Was it market value for once?” It was followed by poorly-suppressed laughter from the crowd. 

Even with his face away from her, Caerphilly could see that Stephen’s body language turned slightly defensive, but before he could say anything, Dr. Lindsay Sharp PhD., head of the largest  Science Museum in the United Kingdom, spoke up. “Actually, you have received her gratis.” he said with a smarmy smile. “We’re just glad to see her go to a good home! Hopefully you can put her on display someplace where the public can learn from her.”

Less-suppressed laughter met this. Stephen Hatt turned to look down at the other man. “Lindsay? Forgive me for disagreeing with you in public, but you do know that we intend to restore this engine to traffic, right?” 

There was a not insignificant amount of spluttering and swearing. Dr. Sharp had absolutely not known that. 

Caerphilly hadn’t known either. “You want me… to run again?” she said, not quite believing what she was hearing. 

“Of course!” Stephen said kindly. “Gordon, our primary express engine, is coming up on his boiler ticket, so we need another express engine to fill the gap.” He paused seriously. “Did you think that we were going to stick you on a plinth somewhere?” 

“I… I really did sir,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think that anyone wanted steam engines anymore.” She blinked. “Goodness, if I’d known, I would have insisted on having someone else come with me! Lord knows that Evening Star is never going to run under the current administration.” 

Stephen missed the acid glare she sent Dr. Sharp’s way. “Oh, how funny it is that you mention that. We actually have a 9F that we purchased recently. You’ll be meeting her soon enough, her name is-”

[the-moon-files]

Linked Universe / GN!Reader - Random Headcanons abt the Chain :)

Part 1 (ur here!) / Part 2 / Part 3

Sun: Gender Neutral! Reader (you/they/them), Guide Reader

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: First, Sky, Four, Legend

Comets & Meteors: Content: None Known & Triggers: None Known.

U have a lot of Nicknames: Guide, Hero's Guide, Prince, Princey, Star, (more to be added?).

☆

First (Manga!Link):

Has "too good" of posture lol

It makes his back stiff and by the time he's in his bedroll he's confused about why it feels better, silly silly man

Just in general tenses his muscles too often, so whenever u offer to massage him, he nearly crumbles on the spot

(the others know exactly how amazing ur massages are, and are fully staring at him in jealousy lol)

Gets little rips and tears in his clothing all the time somehow??

Even tho he wont have a scratch acc on him after hours of battle???

mans could be flying around Skyloft with only clouds touching him and come back pouting telling you he ripped his scarf again :'(

Likes to be slightly in front of you most of the time, especially in new places/other Links' Hyrules

It just makes him feel better knowing he's both protecting you, and that you're watching his back

(Most Links feel at their best/most confident when your voice can be heard just over their shoulder, not that they don't love seeing ur face now too)

Sky (Skyward Sword Link):

Is slowly making everyone he knows a collection of wooden figurines

He usually carves when he's bored or stressed

so needless to say this mission of the Shadow (slow going, stressful at times like Twi getting hurt)

Has made him give u an army of little wooden figures (everyone else gets a small collection bc ur the first he gives one to)

Did i say give? Excuse me, i meant:

sneaks them as a little surprise into your belongings or clothing or other personal effects

This started bc after a week or two of him giving you wooden things you tried to reroute him to other ppl,

so Sky just made it his mission to see how many he can sneak instead onto you on any given day lmao

(Also he may or may not have daydreamed abt being able to carve u things and actually physically give them to you on his adventure before, so he's taking advantage of being able to now)

Has luscious hair at all times, little to no effort, Wars is so pissed abt it lol

Mf responded when asked what products he used (by poor Wars too) with, "wym?? With water??? And soap????"

Never ties his boot laces

You will all be gearing up for battle and go to stalk and stealth kill monsters and right before u get up on them u always have to look over at Sky's shoes and whisper at him to tie them

Is the most likely to plant face first into the ground or trip and fall on his ass from shoes untying

He just didnt need to with being in the clouds on his Loftwing all the time back on Skyloft and so he never rlly adapted to that even on the surface lol

He's also just miserable at doing a decent knot so you've taken to teaching him repeatedly how to tie them-

why didnt the knight academy help with this at all actually??

(Wind makes fun of him be hes a sailor and knows like 10+ knots)

Four (Four Swords/Minish Cap Link):

Loses his tools constantly

Well not really "lose" so much as "slightly misplace"

It drives him crazy, the Minish used to help him with it back in his Hyrule so he got out of the habit of putting things back where they belong

You've gotten to the point where you'll glance over wherever he's working so the next time he comes up to u complaining abt a lost hammer or smth u immediately just "should be over by the fire"

And ur right, 99.9% of the time its so funny

Bc Four's all like "wtf ive moved around so much since then i took all the other tools with me- MF. U WERE RIGHT."

Is rlly good at like color matching, comes in handy for new outfits

Also has aches and pains like in his hands and arms mostly

Bc of all the forge work, and absolutely treasures any massages u offer him

Likes to wear matching jewelry with you! Like earrings or piercings or necklaces etc

Also has good taste in jewelry and what looks good on everyone + you

Legend (Link to the Past, Link's Awakening etc):

Unfortunately the type of person to just shove things in his bag willy nilly

Its the horder tendencies, he just has a lot of stuffs so he gave up trying to organize it

Actually really good at styling hair, Legend would absolutely lie abt it if u asked but he can spend as much time on his hair as Warrior

Likes to experiment with new clothes, like skirts or bright colors, esp if they match some of his clothes already

U ran by some makeup one time in another Hyrule and he knew how to use it rlly well??

Lies abt random skills he has, or like thinks skills he already has can translate well,

like he's rode a horse before wym he can't drive Wild's motorcycle??

Or fly a Loftwing???

Well now its a challenge

Tbh most competitive over stupid things randomly out of all the Links besides Wild, Wind, Wars, and occasionally Hyrule + Sky + Time

Got challenged to try and go shield surfing with u once and thought that horse-riding skill would transfer and it did in fact Not.

Actually kinda scared the other Links watching u two spin out and crash ngl, what with doing an accidental backflip? Midair??

but u both were okay somehow???

Also weirdly lucky, u stg he's got some sort of ring or blessing for that

☆

IT ACCIDENTALLY POSTED I FUCKING HATE TUMBLR ITS DONE THIS TO ME MULTIPLE TIMES NOW 😭😭

All the Links WOULD HAVE been here if it werent for fucking tumblr

Ill post more parts soon if anyone is interested

Peace out,

🌙

[drdemonprince]

Can I have some insane FIREy money saving tips pls?

I am so sorry but it is a common misconception of FIRE to think that it's about saving (and especially about ridiculous degrees of purtianical cost-cutting and self-denial). The reason that Mr Money Mustache was able to retire at 30 was because he was making early 2000's tech industry money that he could live on so easily he put fully 50% of his income into a retirement account. He did spend a lot less than his professional peers by not leasing ridiculously expensive cars, living in a modestly sized home in a cheap and walkable area, and not engaging in the rampant lifestyle inflation that is typical for that industry, but half of his advice (like "dont buy professional cleaning products, just use vinegar" and "don't get health insurance just be active") either wouldn't amount to a drop in the bucket for the average person, or isn't feasible unless you're super privileged and lucky.

now all that SAID, there are useful lessons to be gleaned from the r/leanfire world that apply to more people's situations. The biggest determinants of a person's ability to save are their housing and transportation; the most effective ways to cut one's expenses are to move to a far cheaper area (or into a cheaper housing situation, such as with roommates or van life or something), and to stop driving and instead use a bike or public transit. that CAN make a huge difference of anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars a month. anything else you can do to reduce spending on beyond that is less substantial and less controllable, but there are things one can do -- things you have probably thought of, like ending subscription payments (just pirate all your media), cooking at home, and not throwing money away on expenses that are hefty but highly socially normalized (if you're in a subculture where it is common to fly across the country for lots of friends' weddings and spend lots of money on their gifts, for example, eschewing that).

The majority of people interested in FIRE here on this blog? are people who need a lot more time to themselves and a whole lot more flexibility because they are disabled, and they're not making a ton of money. they're probably also not wasting a ton of money either -- bc they're broke. of course i could recommend things that are probably obvious like buying used phones instead of leasing them from cell phone providers, pirating media instead of paying for it, going to the gym at the park district building instead of a fancy private one -- but i think most people already know all of that and are doing their damndest.

the other side of the equation of course is to boost income -- doing freelancing or switching industries or things like that. but it's something i am also hesitant to recommend bc i dont want people burning out like i did, and it's not feasible for most of us.

personally i think the most useful part of the FIRE movement for the majority of us is advice about how to invest effectively, how to avoid getting screwed, and an affirmation that living very cheaply and independently of an employer IS possible. but it gets harder the more reliant you are upon a car, the more expensive the city is that you're living in, and if you have kids. hell, MMM even tells people that getting pets is a waste. that's just the kind of autism he has.

Again, r/leanfire is the best for practical tips and tools that will actually fit your life if youre like most of us here on this blog -- but if this is a topic you already think about a fair amount you're probably doing most of what you can already, and maybe even worrying about small expenses far too much. the whole point of FIREing is so you arent miserable. so like, dont cut out expenses that make your life more bearable. this isnt (or shouldnt be) some advocado toast shaming kinda stuff you know what i mean.

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm glad folks seem to like my light and effort photography post because I nearly melted my brain trying to write it. Every long post I write usually takes several days and a lot of mental discomfort. But I need to write for my sanity, so I keep on keepin' on.

My recovery is going so slow. In two months I have reduced the dose of the offending medication by 75%. Which sounds like a great success when you say it out loud, but it feels pretty miserable most of the time. The last 25% is proving to be much harder.

It is kind of a mindfuck because the worse I feel the more progress I am making. When I feel shitty, I feel productive. When I don't feel as bad, I feel guilty for slowing my progress.

I am bored because I struggle to concentrate. I am lonely because it is very hard to communicate with friends. My CFS is greatly exacerbated to where it feels like my limbs weigh a thousand pounds. My house continues to be a disaster zone because I can't clean. I barely have any counter space because I am too tired to wash dishes.

I've reached that point of desperation where I keep cleaning the same spoon over and over again.

I have simplified my self care to food, medicine, and sleep. I make sure I am eating. I make sure I take my meds. And I make sure I get as much sleep as possible. I will sort the rest out later.

I haven't been able to do any photography or photo editing in the last 4 months. I miss it very much. But creating that post and giving out photography advice helps a little. Even if it was difficult to write.

It's weird looking at my photography from over 7 years ago. It feels good that a lot of it still holds up. But I know so much more than I used to. Especially when it comes to studio lighting. I have all of this unrealized potential and no energy to create new photos. I have leveled up so much and it is frustrating when I can't show off what I'm capable of now. But I'm hoping if my recovery is successful I can finish building my home studio and photograph cool shit.

In the meantime, I do find photography education rewarding when I have the energy. If my body was fully cured tomorrow I think I would try to be an actual teacher of photography. I really enjoy sharing what I've learned and I think I am pretty good at it. The internet has been a great resource for knowledge but lately it feels like there is a lot of educational noise. It is really difficult for beginners to tell the difference between good and bad information. I look at some of these threads in the "Ask Photography" subreddit and many of the answers make me cringe.

I feel bad because I could really help some of these folks seeking answers but they are stuck with people who aren't really suited to educate. Either they don't know what they don't know and are too confident in their current expertise—causing slightly inaccurate to straight up confusing to blatantly wrong answers.

Or they do know their shit but are patronizing and arrogant to newbies.

I won't lie, there *are* stupid questions. But it is still best practice to act as if there are no stupid questions.

It's hard for me to criticize too much because I started a photography education Tumblr way before I was qualified to do so. I really thought I knew what I was talking about but I did not fully understand what I was teaching. I was mostly parroting what I heard from actual qualified educators. Thankfully when I look back at those posts all of the information is fairly accurate. It seems my saving grace was selecting good teachers.

Knowledge is so weird. You can have the correct information in your brain. You can use that information to get good results. But it is entirely possible to not understand that information.

I actually had a personal "eureka!" moment where everything unlocked almost all at once. I was watching a tutorial and the teacher talked about "image forming reflections" and it felt like every neuron in my brain fired at the same time. I had an epiphany and ever since I have had a deep understanding of light.

Just a single phrase inspired a realization that caused a cascade of other realizations. I've never experienced anything quite like that.

Have any of you ever had an epiphany like that? Aside from that single instance, I've only had mini-epiphanies. Like when I realized the moon is just constantly falling and missing the earth. My brain always imagined astronauts and satellites and the moon as things floating out in space. But everything in the universe is just free falling... all the time. Tom Petty knows what I'm talking about.

But that baby epiphany failed to unlock understanding for all of quantum gravity.

What was this post about?

I think I rambled into a few tangents.

In any case, I feel like crap and that's fantastic.

[mohntilyet]

i read the wigmaker job recently and there’s an idea that really stuck with me, which may well have been discussed before, but it’s really been itching at me. it came from this exchange near the end –

“i don't want to quit.” / illario sat back. the distance between them suddenly felt much wider than a table. / “even if it kills you,” illario whispered. / “death is my calling,” lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. “just as yours is to become first talon.”

(the bits before and after this give important context, too, but these specific lines are what gnaw at me)

i. really wonder if this conversation – and the long-standing beliefs held by both of them that it’s indicative of – contributed to giving lucanis to zara.

like, illario coming to terms with the fact that lucanis really just will. not. stop. for ANYTHING. his cousin WILL get himself killed doing this and lucanis won’t have any regrets. he’ll leave illario to go this alone. (no one to follow after anymore.) combined with the envy of knowing that lucanis is and always will be caterina’s favorite, and she will likely pick lucanis to be first talon even tho lucanis does not want this At All…

i wonder if he thought that, well, if lucanis is going to die anyway… maybe it’s better to have it happen sooner, rather than later. why put off the inevitable? especially if this is the one thing that could shift caterina’s gaze to illario and give him what he’s wanted – what he’s earned.

lucanis wouldn’t be happy as first talon anyway (honestly, illario seems to see that what lucanis is NOW isn’t so much ‘happy’ as it is ‘obedient and content to accept the scraps that gives him’), and he’s GOING to get himself killed doing this, anyway… and sure, they COULD wait it out. wait for lucanis to do something foolish enough that he can't just walk away from it. maybe he’ll even last long enough to be made first talon (if caterina can ever bear to loosen her grip from the title) and be miserable for a while. years even, maybe. before he, again, does something he can’t walk away from.

OR. or. or illario could cut through all the pointless waiting and get right to the point. go straight to where this was always going to end up.

(and maybe part of it is an extension of anticipated grief, too – the loss will be agony. if illario controls when and how it happens, he can control his grief. …except he hasn’t accepted the inevitability of lucanis’ death quite as well as he’d thought and when he gets sloshed at the wake, real grief seeps through the cracks)

i dunno. something about both of them viewing lucanis’ death as a foregone conclusion and how illario Might have had that shape his decisions.

YEAH . YEAHHHHH. i do also think the “to reason” exchange is what solidifies it in illario’s mind. lucanis is like 'this has been a productive if tense talk with my cousin. surely he sees sense now.' and illario is like ‘what the fuck. i think he wants to die’ <- okay im exaggerating a bit but i do absolutely see the end of wigmaker’s job as the start of lucanis-illario’s downward spiral. there’s a reason that it’s something lucanis is stuck on during inner demons, and the exchange that you have very nicely broken down is what he hears echoes of, this is where he knows it started to go wrong

probably the worst part is lucanis WOULD have worked himself to death and it takes the series of events in veilguard for lucanis to see other options for his life, and still he ends up being shoehorned into first talon by the end of the quest. i thought his quest would parallel iron bull’s, in that rook shows them that living outside and away from crow influence is possible, and that he is much more than the weapon they turned him into, but it ofc doesn’t go through like that. it’s genuinely a bit heartbreaking that lucanis finally has support and like. FRIENDS. but with the way the game ends he’s pulled back into the crows and to a life that will be about protecting a cousin that the organisation he runs hates, and for as long as caterina lives, unable to say no to her. and meanwhile after lucanis has made connections outside of the crows, illario has absolutely nothing left (prison of his own making i get it but i still want to get his ass out of there. 😭) so the codependency that they used to share is gone as well. maybe lucanis has a foot out the door but i genuinely have no idea how illario goes on after this

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

I am so interested in learning more about what happened in Berk in your Thistle, Scout and Scottish Bluebells story; the tension between Hiccup and the other Berkians got me hooked 🫢

Thistle, Scout and Scottish Bluebells pt 4

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 3,339

Something wicked this way comes. Or, well, you come to him.

Tags:  httyd 1, aged up, au, time travel, bitter hiccup, semi-optimistic reader, edited

<Previous - Next>

Hypothesis, research, experiment, conclusion, or Research, hypothesis, experiment, results, or- or anything else. You weren't sure by which names the steps went by. You knew Hypothesis for sure. It didn’t matter, anyways. It was all semantics. 

You were loath to say your pitiful repertoire of K-12 scientific theory meant nothing in the world of wiles and physicality. There would be no point to it otherwise. However, this was much less theory, all practicum. It was all so much deeper than the scientific method. Hypothesis, experiment, research- it was like reciting your ABCs while writing a twelve-page thesis on transformational grammar.

What you needed to perry about was more along the lines of old textbooks with thick, laminate, card-board covers. You needed Columb and Ohm and Plank, especially if they and their theorems might have a smidgen to do with all of this. Any of this. With- what? Mechanics? Violent gear infantry? Postulates and axioms and whatever else… Oh, bother.

Balancing chemical equations in redox reactions, titrating and Gel Electrophoresis- that, you might have been able to do. With the right tools provided, of course. You could deal in physics theory, but in mechanical practicality? That was a whole new beast. 

It was a fact that you were no expert on the ups and downs and mechanical sideways of technological genius. You were also loath to craft- half the things you needed, you were sure, were products of the forges and fires. Black lung was a worry… And soot, too, in a more general sense. And so, you were stumped. And lost. And miserable, and cold. 

It was very, very dark. Your hands clutched at your upper arms, your eyes blinking tiredly. It was much too early for this, and you felt much too useless to make a way for yourself. Really, no matter what you did, you were certain you’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere, anyways. 

You could nearly hear it, the low thrum of ominous horror-movie music in your ears. It wasn’t a tangible sound, more something you felt in the air. It was the breeze strumming against the baby hairs at the back of your neck and arms, it was all made up by the sound of the skin on your palms rushing over the prickled gooseflesh of your arms.

It was creepy, it was cold, and it was very-very gray out. It was just like Jaws or Scream, but in the woods, and you were alone, and there was less drinking and no teenagers. You were quite sure that you were no Final Girl, either. Or, maybe you were. You hoped so.

You didn’t have your phone. There wasn’t even a signal for you to search for, not that you felt that a phone signal would at all decrease the likelihood of you getting murdered. There were no park rangers- none of that modern-day security. Not that security had ever stopped anyone from getting lost in the woods…

 It wasn’t a magical forest or a particularly unique one. You hadn’t even really seen a dragon yet. It just felt dangerous.

You probably wouldn’t be fine, no, if anyone showed up. Any one or anything. You thought very haughtily that your ability to flee was outmatched. Still, it was odd- strange, even, that you hadn’t yet seen any much of a glimpse of a dragon.

If it hadn’t been for everything else, you would have assumed that this was all one big hoax. Like The Truman Show… But, at least, if your situation was being televised to the country, you would be liable for some good pay.  

It was very misty. And your stomach was empty, too. And you were very, very nervous. 

Hiccup. That piece of shit. You weren’t sure how or why you found him so responsible for all of this but you did. That dreaded, disastrous rat. That foul lump of ragged blanket on that dumb, rickety bed, back-turned and silent.

Your feet crunched and squished against the old and damp forest floor, along a path that felt not at all like a path. It wasn’t so ‘carved out of the forest’ as it was just the clearest way, dead plants and wilting fauna giving the area a wide berth. You assumed almost that perhaps the forest was sick, or something. Very hard on the, ‘or something.’

The hairs on your arms prickled even more so than they ever had before, which you hadn’t known was a thing that your arms could do. 

You stopped, suddenly, clenching your mud-crusted hands against your arms.

The sound of thumping grew louder. You thought it might have been your heart in your ears, or something in your head. Maybe a burst brain vessel, or the sound of a million medieval diseases trying to ruin your… Everything. Whatever.

You waited some more, and then were overcome by the thought that perhaps the sound wasn’t all coming from inside your head. It was less echoey, so perhaps not at all like a drum.

You fought a physical shudder. Or, well, you didn’t. You just shuddered.

Go away, go away… You started, thinking very hard.

You extended your palm, letting it graze against the side of a tree, wincing as your wrist scraped against a bundle of leaves and twigs.

You could turn your way around and probably find your way back, but you were still mad. 

You turned around to leave, lifting up a large-booted foot before pausing quite suddenly, your arms up by your sides. 

You were overcome by a sudden thought. What would Hiccup do? Or… have done? 

Well… You had no idea. None at all. You weren’t particularly sure what you should do. This was no twenty-first century, after all. If you were, perhaps, to consider your best course of action… You wanted to go home. 

And if movie-logic was at all a factor to be considered in relation to your strange and awful circumstance, the amount of progress that you made must have been equivalent to the proportion of main-character-ness exhibited by you personally. 

There might have been some flaw in your rhetoric. It was also a fact of life that you’d never get results if you didn’t first test your hypothesis. And that meant… Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Or, in Rome… What was it that people said? ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do?’ Either, or.

It meant being strange. And stupid. Like Hiccup. Because he was both of those things. You could hear it now, his voice- Normal, mostly, but with an underbite. ‘Hand me the rag.’

Suck on it.

Damn, damn, damn.  You thought of all the mish-mash of scattered pieces at your feet, and at the poorly secured -and stolen- hammer that you had had in one hand before cursing and throwing it down into the mud. You did not have that pure talent. You did not have an inventive mind. No, all of this would have to be learned the hard way. And the hard way meant…

You grimaced. You had to suck it up.

You burst forth through the undergrowth, twigs scraping against your knees.

“Ah-ha-haha..!” You shouted weakly. You stilled. Your voice… tapered. Viking-ly.

There was a man there, and he was old.

He had a gnarled, thin face and a long beard with a limp moustache, in the Viking fashion. Despite his stick-like limbs, there was not a cane in sight. No helmet, either. He wore Viking clothes-looking rags. He just hardly paused what he was doing and gave you a hard, disinterested, distasteful sneer. 

His arms were all limp muscle and bone, stick-thin. His skin was deeply sun-spotted and of a slightly yellowish shade. He was a bony old man.

A second later, and there was another ‘thump’ as his axe once again hit the top of a piece of wood, which you noticed was already littered with an array of aggressive axe-marks. 

You didn’t relax though, no. He had the type of look about him that made you think about skinned girls in basements- a bundle of blonde hair and runny eyeliner. A city kind of alleyway and a mugshot. Number-one suspect.

If he had a basement, you were sure that's what he’d have put in it. He would dig a hole and bury them in it, maybe. Or maybe he never had a basement. Maybe he buried his victims outside. Or maybe he burned them- you saw, at the corner of your eye, something flickering. There was a weak fire just behind him, swaying pathetically with the… There were no breezes. None at all.

You weighed the pros and cons of body burning in your head. Burying, too. Burning… Pork was something that came to your mind, which didn’t sound all too bad, if, in context, it hadn’t come hand-in-hand with a burning human body. 

Your heart was beating like a madman against the inside of your chest. The man’s teeth were bared as he shouted at you, “Gerrotff!” 

You yelped, startled, and nearly stumbled as the man took a rough step forwards, axe at the ready.

You didn’t run, though, petrified, you pulled arms up by your chest as you jumped away, the sharpest end of the old man’s dull axe embedding itself into the body of a tree trunk. It went in by a few measures of something relevant. You had a hard time peeling your eyes away from it.

After a hurried loud moment of angry, incomprehensible yelling, the man, painting, stopped trying to pull his axe out of the tree. He turned to give you a hard look.

“Whatar’ yerh?!” He demanded, arms hanging loose and tensed by his sides, at the ready. His jaw ground into itself like a horse’s chewing. It was erratic, moving in time to the irrational twitching of the corner of his brow and to what must have been the seductive thrum of violence in his head. His eyes told you that, wide and way-too-focused.

You could try running into the trees behind him, but that would involve going near him. He could grab you, if he had the strength- he had the strength to swing an axe, so his looks must have been deceptive. Not necessarily in terms of… Anti-appeal, but in terms of other things. You could try running to your side or behind- you couldn’t see either ways. If you tripped or fell, or fidgeted or found yourself in any way delayed, it would be so easy to grab you by the collar and drag you back.

What had he said? What was he saying? Your mind was racing. You were going to die, you were, sure. Your eyes twitched in place. Look around- or stay put?

“You- You were- Hi.” You tried, finally. If you were going to die, you wanted to- to- you didn’t know what. “Hi-hi, hi. Ah- Uhm… need any help?”

You stepped back, shoulders hunched and your hands clasped down by your waist, though they never stopped shaking. Your head was ducked and your arms straining as you watched him. You fought the urge to scuff your boots, too, feigning bashfulness- and cowering. Fawn, fawn, fawn.

Did he understand you? It-that-whatever could have been a product of your poor English. Or… Your poor Viking-ish. Norse. That had… That had him acting this way. You didn’t know of a grammar mistake that would warrant attempted murder, but ah, well….

You took everything in. You focused deeply on the man. Despite the blurring in your periphery, though they could hardly be called piles, you saw those too, spotty and slim though they were. There were what looked to be crude likenesses of wooden dragons ripped from walls or supports or some other such thing all in them, and there were some other things, too. Wooden handles, all chipped and old, what looked to be an old fur, and some belts- 

“A ainae repea-”

There wasn’t really any place to hide. You might be able to run for it, but- You felt slightly behind you, the side of your hand whipping against odd, spindly bark in thick and thin formations, scattered through the air- in your panic, you’d lost your grip on the exit. Or, its whereabouts. The thought of which left you scrambling.

Your neck broke out in a cold sweat. You found yourself unable to look him in the eye, suddenly. If you’re going to kill me off, please make it quick. 

Your breath hitched the hardest it ever had, your eyes locking into a dark stain deep in the side of one discarded leather strap, seeping out towards the body from a great, big gash in its thick and ragged side. 

You looked just beyond the man’s feet. And then… Something fluttering at the edge of the fires caught your eye. A thin piece of parchment, covered in clumsy scratch marks and rune numbers in the oddest of orders-

“- Whit's yer kith-?!” He lunged forwards again threateningly. 

“Hey- wait! Don’t- that-” You ended weakly, pointing with stiff arms, though they felt much more like butter at that moment.  “What for it?”

The old man glared at you again, again. Then harder, when you didn’t run off. He wouldn’t eat you- you, well, you didn’t think that you would taste so good. Or, at least you hoped so. 

“It’s important! Please, please-” You begged hands clasping as you took a step forwards, almost matching him. There was a pressure building behind your eyes, though it wasn’t a sorrowful sort of cry. It was more… Stressed. Obviously so.

Your heart thumped. Once, twice, three times, four and then five.

Would he bury you at six feet or ten? You heard bodies took longer to decay the deeper they were set into the earth, so maybe two. Two feet. It’s not as if there was anyone out here who’d look for you.

The old man stepped back, features not softening but changing shape almost as he regarded you. “Aye, ye mad lass! What’re ye on abot?”

Who is he? Why is he doing all of- That? You took a hard moment to pant as he relaxed some. You felt a bit like a bug under a glass- you felt the heat most definitely, even though there was no sun to be had. 

It was silent. The old man didn’t ask again. Not the same question, or a clarifying one. He didn’t make a statement either.

“Just-” Your voice cracked violently, both stuck at the highest pitch and getting softer by the second, “I want to ask you for a- a-” 

A favor, a favor, a favor- What was the word? You swallowed in such a way that your throat caught. It hurt. “A fa- A ‘favor?’”

“A favor, eh? for an odd lass i’ these odd woods…” He let out a high scoff, verging on a cackle, all sardony, no intrigue. “If ye wander these halls, a stranger s'till an enemy! An Outcast ye be, an it’sa fool wha takes ye intae his woods! Why shouldnae ‘A cut yeh doun where ye stand?!”

The man sneered at you again, knobbly, hard-knuckled hand grasping at the handle of his axe. He took a step forward threateningly, though he halted suddenly as his axe still refused to budge from the tree. 

You felt slightly less intimidated.

“Please. Give-me.” After a very long moment, you spoke again. You wanted to kick yourself. “And- And, I’m not an outcast! I’m- I’ve been here for a while. I’m a- I travel, yes, but- I’ll find you anything you want!” 

“Anything, you say?” The old man spat, showing ugly, gnarled, yellow teeth, some there, most not. He turned slightly away from you for a moment, tugging against his axe and grinning wickedly under a messy, gray moustache as it budged slightly. Without looking, he shot out a booted foot, knocking a half-stack of parchment from the fires. “There’s nothin ‘a worth on this Gods forsaken island… But I’d like tae see ye try.”

Your eyes widened as he took a step forwards, knowing with your most animal brain what he was about to do before he did it. You glanced towards the array of junk by your feet. If it was there- if the paper was there, then maybe you could grab it and run.

But all in a moment, the man lifted his axe, and he began to run at you, yelling.

“I’ll find it! I prom- I promise I’ll-” With the highest scream you’ve ever let out, you started sprinting, arms scraping violently against dry and brittle branches that reachout out like claws. You didn’t wait for a path to appear to you, you just pushed your way through the spiny underbrush. 

As you burst your way backwards, tears trickling down your cheeks, cold and wind-bothered, despite the adrenaline, you couldn’t help but to think of about those strange and mysterious characters- the outline of a gear, and the inklings of something round and wooded sketched out onto paper, slightly hidden between two old, scratched leather covers.

What was on those papers? Well, you weren’t completely sure. But you knew you needed them.

Hypothesis: …

-

“God-damn it!” You stormed in place, letting out a grumble from way back in your throat. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Doesn’t sound fine. There was something smug about his silence… And him. There was alway something smug about him and his darned shuffling and everything else.

You huffed, cringing at the sound of your boots scuffing against the wood planking. Disgusting- that is what it was. Not that Hiccup cared- he stepped everywhere in his boots. Wore the same shirt and pants every day… At least he bathed. Maybe. You’d never seen him do it but you didn’t smell much, really, so he had to be clean. At least, he was as scentless as anyone could be without deodorant.

You mussed your hair with your hands, eyes clenched shut with frustration. 

He was sitting there, ignoring you. Back to that, are we, then?

Stupid, stupid- Happy.

I’m happy, I’m happy. I’m happy.

You were not happy, Glaring back, you sent him a look that said, ‘None of your business.’ Angrily, hastily,  you clenched your elbows.

“What do you want, Sherlock?” You snapped, finally. Of course, you were sure he didn’t get the reference. Though the result of geography and time that might have been, you still found him to be quite plebian for it. Sherlock Holmes.

He didn’t respond to you. 

You huffed, shuffling back slightly before throwing yourself onto the bed. 

Ouch.

You landed with hardly a bounce, though you stubbornly refused to readjust, crossing your arms over your chest and planting your neck awkwardly against the wall. You ignored the way your heels of your bootes felt against the frame and the slight layer of fabric over it, your neck prickling and wood creaking dangerously as you waited for the bed to collapse.

Hiccup sent you an awnry look, annoyed by the noise. Not ‘probably,’ no, the implication was clear. And, probably, he was annoyed by your own propensity to take up space. His shabby stool squeaked slightly as he shifted from where he had been hunched over whatever it was that he was doing in the corner of the room.

You glared back at him stubbornly.

Get out of my bed. You read it in his eyes.

You stared at him even more stubborn-ly. No.

After a very quick and tense stand-off, Hiccups turned away.

You still didn’t feel guilty. You doubted he would really kick you off today, not that he had ever had to. You usually slept on the floor. It was most probably a forge night, anyways, and the bed was always yours on forge nights. Still, you hoped he felt appropriately put off.With budding, frustrated energy burbling back up to the corner of your eyes, You glared at him in a way that you hoped came off appropriately disrespectful. It’s mine. It’s mi-ine.

[sir-adamus]

I feel like Rwby having a linear plot/story that's mostly focused on that is what causes a lot of people who are used to shounen or other media pieces with"filler" or one off episode with the characters just existing and doing little side adventures to be angry. Early Rwby had mire episodes like this but even then it was more linear than most series like it. Idk I understand wanting more moments where characters are just going on side quests or having fun, but this just isn't that type of show, Rwby feels more like your watching a storybook playout, think like how stageplays function, with a beginning middle and end. and I think some miss that point

honestly it always reads to me like "how dare they not include this - they should have included it and had it to even better quality than it is and delivered it in the same time for the same budget but they didn't because they're bad writers/animators/producers, i, an armchair critic with no practical experience in any of these fields, could have done it way better"

there's a complete - and fully intentional - disconnect in understanding how show production works because complaining and making the lives of everyone involved as miserable as possible (thinking back to the flash freeze in Texas when the last few chapters of volume 8 had to be delayed so RT employees could prioritise not freezing to death and some terminally online dipshit started harassing Kerry and saying he was bad at his job for not already having the episodes done - deliberately ignoring the concept of post-production - because it was absolutely vital that the episodes come out on time so the dipshit in question could continue his rewrite/fix fic. which is a. just unfathomably rude to say, especially to someone that heavily involved with the show - especially when the 'fic' in question was just a bulletpoint list of 'and then Adam says something cool. and then Blake stands there and does nothing.' or whatever, and b. fucking ghoulish and callous to say to people who are trying not to die)

[yyuwii]

wmmap; breaking down claude's trauma and how it created a neglectful father

for the longest time, this fandom biggest gripe about Claude is about how he's being an absent father to Athy throughout her childhood.

In the webtoon, spoon changes the plot from the second season instead of following the original novel. Which imo was a decision to explore Claude's trauma and his relationship with Athy better.

Both Claude and Athy overcoming their family trauma together is what I think the true message of wwmap is about (even though I understand Lucas and Ijikiel are great eye-candy ikemen)

A lot of Claude's trauma really only makes sense after we get the backstory about Claude towards the end of his series

Initially, his trauma doesn't really click. Near the beginning of the series, we find out about the relationship between Claude and Diana. I mostly think this answers the question that Athy raises about whether Claude truly loved Diana after seeing the portrait of his ex-fiance, Penelope.

Again, Athy is misleading us, the audience, because she can be an unreliable narrator, especially in the early chapters (here if you want to read more)

Athy at this point, believes that all his neglect so far is because he doesn't love her or her mother, Diana. That his heart still lies with his former fiancée,

Which makes sense to her, because why else would he treat her so terribly, if he didn't love her mother and, by extension, herself?

but then athy collapses and sees the memory before she was born between them

So now it gets confusing, because clearly Claude had some sort of feelings for Diana. Athy realizes she wasn't a product of a one-night fling but he still clearly doesn't love her, even though he loved her mother, Diana.

She doesn't quite understand their relationship quite yet, but it's clear to her that Claude has some complications about Diana because of her birth even though he loved Diana before she got pregnant.

The only thing that is clear to her is that he doesn't love her right now. It's a firm belief she carries on with her all the way up to season 3, even though it's quite obvious to us by then that it wasn't true.

but here's the thing, Claude's reason for not being to love Athy was far more deeply rooted than just because Athy was the cause of Diana's death

Claude's trauma is about family and betrayal. Specifically, no one ever chose him.

Let's explore this by chronological order, first is Anastacius

In his childhood, his only family besides his sickly mother was Anastacius. Anastacius always cared for Claude in their childhood; in response to that, Claude relied on him a lot

Anastacius was the only person in his life who cared for him in his childhood.

The first betrayal was when Anastacius chose the throne over Claude.

Of course, we now know that Anastacius had his reasons and was led astray by Aeternitas. However, Claude doesn't find out about this until much later and lived with the belief that blood relations mean nothing in the royal family.

Then what about found family?

Penelope was the first person aside from Claude that he opened up to, but was later the second betrayal that he had to experience in his life because Penelope chose Anastacius over him.

In a way, she also chose the throne. She wanted to elevate her status and believed Anastacius was the right person for that. Do I think she could've chosen Claude if he were next in line for the crown? Yes, absolutely.

So that portrait in the office we see was never about longing or love. It was a reminder of his trauma and to not trust others again.

To Claude, the third "betrayal" was Diana.

After all that childhood trauma, he finally found love and could live a happy life again instead of being miserable prior to meeting Diana.

After all this, it reconstructs the scene earlier when Diana is dying from her pregnancy.

"Don't leave. Choose me, instead of the child that's eating at your life as we speak."

Diana's choice of giving birth to Athy and instead of choosing to live with him, which sounds insane, because she never chose Athy over Claude. This was always between her and Athy, Claude has nothing to do with this.

In her eyes, she loved Athy so much that she was willing to lay down her life for Athy to come into the world, but that's not how Claude sees it. Claude thinks this is all about him. Between him and unborn Athy and Athy ultimately won.

Which was the last straw that broke the camel's back because Claude was never anyone's first choice, he wasn't Penelope's and he wasn't his brother Anastacius' first choice either. They chose the throne over him; they both chose power, and when he finally thought he could let someone else in again, it was Diana, and in his eyes, he lost yet again, this time to Athy. He was so traumatized and scarred that he chose to turn to black magic and erase Diana from his memories, because to him it was easier to live that way.

So back to the question about Claude being a bad father. Was he a neglectful father? Unfortunately yes.

but this fandom doesn't really see it past that, the whole reason he couldn't see her was because he wasn't able to separate his trauma from Athy for the first 5 years of her life. He was struggling to separate his own trauma the whole time, and even after they met in season 1.

To me, this scene was the epitome of that struggle. He's still struggling with his trauma with the unhealthy urge to kill Athy, but he's starting to recognise her as an individual and loves her for it.

His trauma really severly worsened and cemented after Diana's death, she really helped him get past a lot of it, and I say this because of the scene where Claude finds out she's pregnant with Athy and he does this

god damn the pure joy when he finds out they were going to have a kid hurts me.

Like Diana single-handedly wiped away all that trauma he had with Anastacius, his experience with his own brother made him reject family ties from blood relationships.

But clearly, this is not the face someone would make if they were pessimistic about building a family.

To me, Claude indeed had his shortcomings about Athy in their childhood, but clearly not without reason. Should we really fault someone so much because of their trauma? I think we fail to recognise that Claude was incredibly broken and traumatised there's clearly something so much more tragic beneath his character than just an absent father

ok anyway that's it for this ted talk, I will probably make another one about how he overcomes it with his relationship with Athy!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far!

[youandmedead]

RåñÐðm ÌÐïå §hrðµÐ HêåТåñðñ§

Warnings: Brief mentions of self harm towards the last few points

Notes: Random things I think about Idia's character. (Apologies for this seeming short and sloppy, I've been trying to push myself to release content whilst working on my bigger fanfic).

⛥I feel like Idia would be very shaky due to anxiety, too much caffeine intake and low iron levels

⛥He definitely has some form of Vitamin D deficiency pairing with low iron levels (am I projecting? Possibly.)

⛥Has a plush that he was given as a kid, that always seems to bring him some form of comfort - especially during his toughest days and times when his anxiety becomes too overwhelming

⛥ I feel that he is into a slight bit of heavy music but not too much. I think he'd despise black and death metal alongside deathcore, but I feel like he'd enjoy metalcore and nu-metal

⛥ Is super good at drawing and enjoys studying people as he gets inspired by their characteristics or clothing. I also feel that he does a lot of cat sketches - mainly ones of professor Trein's cat, strays he's found whenever he's being dragged outside or ones he's seen online - in addition to gadgets he's planning on building (e.g upgrades for ortho, a new machine for X, Y, Z)

⛥ He hates when people yell at him. Whenever they do he'll tend to freeze up and disassociate or flinch and repeat "I'm sorry" over and over again

⛥ (This is most likely a given but...) Absolutely horrendous with social cues that is if you managed to get him to socialise at all.

⛥ Yearns for a partner - He daydreams about it sometimes (nowhere as near as much as romance scenarios with fictional characters mind you) and always makes himself miserable afterwards, because he feels as if it'd be impossible for anybody to ever fall in love with him.

⛥ Envious of people he thinks "has the perfect life". Those who he believes do have a perfect life, he automatically assumes they're entitled and selfish who don't deserve to have the things they have.

⛥ Gets grossed out easily at horror movies, but is fascinated in the SFX effects and production processes

⛥ His criticisms always cut straight to the core, there's no sugar coating it when it comes to him (unless he is completely head over heels for said person asking for constructive criticism)

⛥ Ortho has forced him to set alarms on his phone for when it's time for him to rehydrate with water as he tends to get so hyper focused on a new game, book or gadget.

⛥ Idia frequently has vivid nightmares and because they can be so intense for him, once he's awake he can not fall back asleep. Usually when this happens he'll busy himself with a game or through drawing

⛥ Has an interest in poetry. I don't think he'd write any but I feel like he'd have a deep appreciation for the art form.

⛥ Has bitten his tongue, the inside of his cheek and/or his bottom lip far too many times due to his sharpened teeth

⛥ Adding onto the point made above, I think he'd have a habit of chewing the inside of his cheek until it bled or picking at the skin on his hands until they also bled. Due to this, I think he'd paint his nails and peel off the polish to help deter him from causing harm to himself.