#life is very uhhh interesting lately

[drivebypainter]

My friend said to spread this like wildfire, so i guess: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🤪🤪🤪🤪🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🤪🤪🤪

Here’s there original post: xOsmosisx

[divine-donna]

b tier

honestly, only i can be watching a b horror movie about killer bees and go "i should write something for patrick with this in the background."

character: patrick zweig

context: uhhh...let's say late 2018/early 2019

being a publicist was exhausting.

not that you didn't like your job. no, you loved it. it was just that working for tashi duncan and art donaldson could be very tiring. there were a lot of things you had to do and organize especially for the foundation.

they were your friends, from way back in stanford. you would've froze hell over to make what they wanted happen.

but gradually, you've been worn down.

a series of bad relationships, namely. how many girls and guys and people you've dated who, in the end, just wanted to get closer to the tashi duncan, the art donaldson. the power couple.

the worst one was probably patrick zweig.

you didn't know if he actually liked you or if he just wanted you so he could somehow get in proximity to art and tashi.

or maybe he was trying to satiate his desire for both. after all, you had brief relationships with both tashi and art back in college. perhaps he only wanted you because tashi and art lingered on you. almost literally in a sense because they signed off your checks and you were lily's godparent.

you were very surprised when there was a knock on your door and you look at the time on your clock. 11:30pm. who was knocking on your door this late?

it certainly wasn't tashi or art. especially art. he's usually in bed by this time.

you don't bother to pause your movie. you've seen it millions of times before. you walk over to the front door of your apartment and peer into the peep hole.

"what the...!"

you unlock the deadbolt, but keep the chain lock in place, and open the door. "what the fuck do you want."

"good to see you too." patrick's got that smug grin on his face. but he looks worse for wear. his clothes are disheveled. there are dark circles beneath his eyes. he doesn't have that bright glow to his face. or at least, the last time you saw him.

"how did you get my address?"

"google."

"that's not very funny patrick."

"okay, okay." he puts his hands up in defense. you notice his bags on the ground behind him. "a friend of yours. jace?"

"jace? oh jace you!" you'd curse out your friend later. in all fairness, you never told jace about patrick. in fact, you didn't really talk about your love life with your friends. you kept it under wraps, especially since it's gone poorly.

"what do you want?" you already knew. but you wanted to hear it from his mouth.

"well...i'm in town. i thought we could reconnect." you notice that he's picking at his fingers. similar to how art did. even in adulthood after they were separated, they still mirrored each other's movements, had each other's habits.

"fuck off patrick. i'm not interested in being your mutual connection." you're ready to close the door.

"wait, wait!" he takes half a step forward, putting his hand on your door. he looks at you, his eyes soft. pleading.

patrick contemplates if he should just get on his knees and beg. he glances away for a second, taking in the clean look of the apartment building you lived in. his tongue licks his bottom lip and he rubs his face with his hand.

"i...i need a place to stay."

"look for some rando on tinder then."

"please. (y/n)." his voice is soft.

you hated that you had a soft spot for patrick zweig.

as much as you didn't like him, you missed the electricity of his kiss, his brash behavior, and the softness of his aftercare. he was surprisingly very good at it.

you also weren't one to turn someone away if they needed care.

patrick takes a step back when you close the door. but he hears you moving the chain lock and the door fully opens. "get inside."

"you're a lifesaver." he grabs his bags and steps into your apartment, removing his shoes as to not track dirt further into your home.

you lock the door once again. "you look like garbage. go take a shower."

patrick didn't like doing what he was told. but this was your home. "alright."

"and when was the last time you ate?" he takes too long to respond. "just shower."

"alright, alright."

when patrick emerges from the shower, he finds a pair of silk pajamas folded neatly in your bedroom. he makes sure he's completely dry and moisturized before putting on his underwear and the pajamas.

he walks out of the bedroom and his eyes first go to the tv. he lets out a small laugh seeing a slug bite a man. the movie quality was clearly bad.

and then there you are in the kitchen, making pancakes and a strawberry sauce to go with it. as well as two mugs with steam coming out of them.

"a homecooked meal? how generous."

"shut up. i was getting hungry." it was cute when you tried to brush him off.

he walks over and picks up the box. "trader joe's strawberries and creme pancake and waffle mix. with sweetened dried strawberry and white chocolatey chips." he sets the box down.

"it's pretty good, actually." you hand him one of the mugs. he takes in and breathes in the smell. it's lemony and sweet. "hope some citron tea is good with you."

"it's perfect, actually." he leans against the counter, taking a careful sip. "so what are you watching?"

"slugs. it's a movie from 1988."

"you've always liked bad horror movies."

"well...seems i have a taste for...b tier things."

"what's that supposed to mean?" he looks at you, watching the way you work.

"i don't think you need me to spell it out." you flip the pancake with ease before turning off the stove.

"think you've been spending too much time up art's ass."

"well if i wasn't up art's ass, then you wouldn't be here, would you? you'd probably be sleeping in your car right now. or crashing at some poor tinder date's place." you pour the sauce into a separate bowl.

he couldn't deny that. art and tashi put food on your table, a roof over your head, paid for your bills. you had no choice but to be up their asses.

the two of you eat in silence. patrick wants to say something, but your attention is more focused on the movie. somehow you're able to eat while watching two teenagers get eaten alive by slugs. complete with ooey gooey 80s special effects.

he does his best to help you clean up, but you swat his hand away when he tries. so he settles for just watching you clean up. you were always territorial in the kitchen, preferring to do things a certain way and keep things in a specific order. he could see just why you got along well with tashi and art. your discipline matched theirs.

and he had no discipline.

when you're done, you wash your hands then place the pod in the little compartment in the dishwasher, making sure it was closed all the way. you close the dishwasher and turned the dial to the second setting, hearing it lock into place.

"you'll be sleeping on the couch. i'll set things up after the movie is done." you say, walking over and sitting back down. you grab your blanket and lay it over your lap and legs.

patrick looks at how cozy you are. and for a second, he thinks about just how cozy life with you could be. money, cooked meals, a warm bed. a publicist that can get him back on track to greatness.

he sits down on the couch, leaning back into the cushions. he's close to you. you have no doubt that he sat there on purpose.

"so what is this movie even about?"

"slugs eating people, duh." your eyes don't leave the tv screen.

patrick notices the way you slightly lean forward during the scene. the man is eating dinner and he's got a raging headache. he manages to stop his nose from bleeding in the bathroom. then when he takes a sip of his drink, his nose bleeds again into the drink. he cries out, holding his head. and then his eyes pop. blood splatters everywhere. thin worms emerge and wriggle around from his socket. his body falls to the ground.

"i love this scene so much."

"really? i couldn't tell." he says sarcastically.

"it's a good scene." you lean back. "not that you would know. you have terrible taste in movies."

"hey, hey. do not insult my taste in movies. you're the one watching b tier horror movies. and you're the one who has a taste for the shittier things in life."

"yeah? like you."

patrick leans forward, nearly pressing you against the couch cushions. "that's not what i interpreted last time."

"last time was a moment of weakness." you look at him. "i was craving something fast and easy. that's what you are patrick. fast food."

his lips curl into a smirk.

was he getting off to that?

"and you can't help but come back for more~"

your eyes glance down at his lips. and even in baggy silk pajamas, he looked good.

unfortunately, patrick zweig was hot.

"go fuck yourself." you cup his face with both of your hands and slam your lips on his.

patrick kisses back with just as much fervor, gripping onto your waist and pulling you on top of him. he lays down on the couch, groaning when he feels you grind your crotch against his. "fuck!" he groans. you always knew how to turn him on.

your fingers trail down to start unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest. your hands feel his muscles. "i hate that you're so fucking hot." you groan as you roughly kiss down his neck and to his chest.

"yeah, yeah. you can't stand me. and yet." patrick's hands go to your ass and he digs his fingers into the plush skin. hard. you can't help but let out a moan at the sensation, shivers of pleasure running up your spine.

he turns his head to give you more access, his eyes landing on the tv. "you mind if we...uh, pause? or something?"

"what? don't wanna watch slugs eat people while we fuck? we've arguably had worse movies on in the background." your tongue darts out, gliding along the skin of his collarbone. patrick shivers beneath you.

"(y/n), please." he moans. "don't make me beg."

"what if i want to make you beg?" your hand trails down, rubbing him through his pants and boxers. he gasps, mouth wide open. "you're always so cute when you beg."

"s-shit! (y/n)!" he moans.

he moans so cutely that you can't help yourself.

"alright. fine." you grab the remote and pause the movie, tossing it back onto the coffee table. "now where were we?"

[lychgate]

Echo brain comic?? My beloved?

this one's pretty new and id like to in the least get some segments drawn up if i can

i went balls deep in depth about my personal ideas of Echo's structure and how it works, it has much more writing rn then art lemme get some snippets:

tech and echo begin digging around in his wiring as echo's health has lately began to decline rapidly. Blood transfusions are becoming daily, exhaustion occurs much quicker, and newest to the issues are these seemingly random seizures. They've attempted many outside options at remedying the problem but it was becoming urgently clear that the only way to get answers would be to open up his system and understand exactly how his body operates from the inside out. Echo is mostly on edge because he fears finding the answer that is he's just doomed to die soon, and that his body was in no way sustainable outside of that fridge. He fears the idea of dying so much that he has manic considerations of being put back in some sort of stasis chamber. Death, which he never feared prior to the citadel, but now he's come to be you know uhhh quite traumatized from it. But he also hates the idea of that fridge!! caught between two terrible options, wowie here ill add some more breakdown of that in a read more if anyone is interested in paragraphs of bullshit:

as for a brief descriptor on the shit on his head and body, from this paragraph:

Tech: these rivets across your skull are not simple ports one can just plug into. They're a very unique structure, containing an extremely delicate, but long system of thin metallic fibers wiring throughout your brain. These 'rivets' then act as anchors to those metal fibers, which then respond to very specific electric signals that we can access at the nodes on the surface here. If the signals sent are not exact. Well. Echo: yeah I get it I get it.

and some write up on how Tech begins to diagnose the problem:

Eventually Tech will find his way into deeper functions of the brain, finding shortcuts that were already developed by the Techno Union scientists for the sake of their own equipment likely. Categorized sections for monitoring all sorts of chemicals and levels within Echo's body, most of which were left on an automatic function to regulate.

Tech begins to understand that the key issue is that this program, and these automatic functions, were fitted for exactly the stasis chamber Echo had been put in, and if they want to begin fixing Echos phsyical body, he would have to start going in and coding line for line, functions that pertain to the body on a sustainability outside that fridge. Some functions were completely turned off, being that Echo was getting fed certain synthesized chemicals thru the machine, his brain had to be telling itself NOT to produce said things naturally.

But it's all very finicky work that requires continuous maintenance and updates, not much unlike a patch update to any other computer program, except this is Echo's life. It's an impossible amount of code to do in any short time frame, and so Tech will begin splicing lines of code from similar organic droids with systems of similar complexity.

They handle these sessions once per week, giving time for Echo's body to catch up and adjust. At first he begins feeling some nausea, his heart rate starts rising, but he insists something feels good about it and urges Tech to keep going. Echo begins to feel warmth back in his body, his mood increases, after about a month hair begins to grow again, muscle mass fills in what once was skeletal limbs, nail beds regain a lively shine. Besides a few errors in updates like over producing a chemical or small bouts of insomnia, everything seems On Course.

and then:

So now we get into the meat of the drama, which is a lot of Echo mania and identity issues:

By this point Tech has outfitted much easier screw on parts so they can go in and out of this program faster (the set up previously was hours of work) so pulling that up he theorizes that he will have to do more then just reverse programs that the Techno Union set up. Tech now believes he'll have to create NEW systems, as the old program appears to be getting corrupted from all of Tech's editing. The seizures are, at this point to their best guess, coming from this. That parts of his brain are literally crashing, and soon he's going to start having more serious issues like bro is gonna just have a massive stroke at some point. Tech points that out all regular voice and Echo is just 'great im back in the mental swamp' Now that Echo's learned that he has corrupted files eating away at his brain, and that the chance of having a massive stroke is like inevitable, he's back to feeling like anxious shit. It doesn't help that this will take Tech a lot of time to figure out. Truthfully he's putting as much effort as he can into it, but this is when Echo begins to get Really mentally unwell. He's both worrying and also trying NOT to worry out of fear that it's going to complicate the program even more. Echo begins to have identity issues, coming to rely more on the mechanics then the organics that make him. He doesn't feel like a human with robot parts anymore, he feels like a robot with human parts.

and it keeps going like there's parts where echo is begging Tech to up programs on dopamine generation and Tech has to turn him down cause that would just be creating an addiction problem, situations where Echo starts trying to mess with his own brain, situations where he tries to kill Tech, its a lot of rambling but im not a writer, like i can't write for shit and I'd like to try and draw it instead

[isa-ghost]

Oouuu h h .. u wanna talk about your hcs for early years Phil… ooh …(expanding from The Beginning if you want ! What you think the continuation could be, anything before, etc :) )

Oh god oh fuck I have so many thoughts and not enough braincells to put them into words, uhhh

Phil headcanons masterlist

His start, as we know it, is just a humble tinkerer and explorer with big dreams and even bigger ambitions.

I mean we been knew but HE IS A FUCKING GENIUS AND JUST DOWNPLAYS HIMSELF TO HELL AND BACK. He is SO SMART, sketching and studying and calculating things. He's SO PERCEPTIVE and GREAT at adapting, much like the birds he admires so deeply!! He NEEDS his brain busy. He can CRAFT, and a lot goes into that!!

Actually, his downplaying, lack of self-confidence, and inability to see his true skills and worth might come from all his failures trying to fly. He fucked up so many times, nearly killing himself a few and falling harder and harder each new time he failed. Every one of those failures just reinforced the thinking. And he had no one there to beat the doubt out of him and keep him going. Loneliness is a good way to get too deep into your own head.

His skills were and perhaps still are mostly (subjectively) smaller scale things such as the wings. It's once he found the builds of the deities that things kicked up a few notches. The structures were already built to the scale he thinks he can't pull off himself, all he had to do was restore, repair, and improve them. This is what eventually got him on Rose's radar. Even so, even doing little things on those monumental builds helped boost the size of which he can create things. His love slowly changed from tinkering to architecture.

A part of him fears (or perhaps knows deep down) that he is doomed to always eventually lose his wings.

But luckily, Kristin made them very resilient when she gave them to him. Based off what we know from observation, (and biology of birds maybe?) they heal and repair themselves over time.

And when they're severely damaged, he has Rose. After all, she chooses to be a sort of guardian for him similarly to Kristin. When he needs it, she can restore them each time he returns to Hardcore, the same way he restored her creations. It's how she shows her gratitude. All he needs to do is be in the right world. She can't do it across realms.

If there's anything to remember from the animatic, it's that Phil never quits. It takes A LOT to make him do so, and even then there's a chance that some period of time from the moment he decides to throw in the towel, he'll get back to it with fresh eyes and renewed determination. He's stubborn in more ways than one.

To this day, he wonders why crows seemed so heavily present around him in the first place. Of course he loves them, they fascinate him with their looks and symbolism and intelligence and adaptability. But... why did they one day just become so present? He's ""too fuckin dumb"" to think of why, so he doesn't bother. He just enjoys them.

Which brings me to another point. Oh my god is this man allergic to willingly sitting down and confronting huge potentially life-changing shit, especially stressful and negative big shit. Look what he did with the possession. He pretends he does not see it until it's too late, which backfires often.

His interest, if you can call it that, in [not super high stakes] combat developed once he met Techno. As he honed those skills, he applied his agility and the knowledge he had of movement from all his flying to it. He is a Very flexible, graceful fighter.

In general, he's very attuned to his body, both because of what he's had to learn in order to fly, as well as being careful in Hardcore. His self-control is fantastic.

In one of the first few headcanon sets I made, I said Phil fears lacking control of himself. That not only goes for autonomy, but physical control of himself too. It originates from all his falling and being grounded against his will. It's another reason that Ender King not only possessing him, but taking away his wings in the end is such a brutal blow to him.

Kind of a given, but between being an explorer, and once he picked up that interest in crows and desperation to fly and stay airborne, he spent way more time outside than in. We crows see it present day, he really only goes in to sleep and to store things.

Kristin gave him boons, so to speak, such as his wings, when they initially met. She's also the reason he can understand the crows and actually speak to them. He built Brian because Brian makes it even easier for us to communicate with him, but generally speaking, he can still understand us even without Brian's aid.

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] ★ Main Story | Act 14 - DREAM CATCHER | Episode 1 - To The Next Season

Ibuki: Hmm… Something’s off.

Ibuki: If I angle it like this… Hmm.

Ibuki: (I just can’t decide… I wonder if I can find any good inspo anywhere.)

Ibuki: …

Ibuki: (TikTak’s also been all about theater company promo vids lately.)

Ibuki: Ah, “MANKAI Company Intro Video”?

Ibuki: (MANKAI Company, huh…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Iv has entered the chat.

momo: Aaaa… I might’ve done something… Iv: whatdja do? momo: I… uhhh… might’ve done something in the heat of the moment

Kar: That’s cryptic

shiki: If something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us, okay?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya In The Video: “Thank you so much!”

Masumi In The Video: “Thank you so much.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Muku: Haah… I really loved the RomiJuli sequel.

Tenma: It really is moving to think back to the first show, huh?

Kumon: They’re the same roles, but it’s really crazy to see how much they’ve grown!

Yuki: I feel like the growth of the actor is linked to the growth of the role.

Kazunari: For realsies. There’s a real synergistic effect that it gives off, y’know~.

Misumi: I can’t wait for us to perform the “Water me!” sequel~.

Muku: Same here! I wonder what kind of story it’ll be.

Tenma: We’ve gotta show everyone that we’ve grown just as much as Spring Troupe.

Muku: …Huh?

Izumi: What is it?

Muku: This guy in the audience in this video… That’s the one who’s Masumi’s fan, right?

Izumi: Ah, you’re right. That’s Towa-kun.

Tenma: That’s the same fan who came to talk to Tsuzuru-san directly the other day, isn’t it?

Izumi: Yep, that’s the one.

Muku: I see that he was able to get tickets for opening day. I’m glad.

Izumi: He said it was his first time actually seeing a performance in a theater, so he was really moved by it all.

Izumi: (He might’ve been a little TOO moved. I never thought he would’ve ended up saying something like that…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Towa: …Tsuzuru Minagi-sensei!! Please write a script for my theater troupe!! I’m begging you!!

Tsuzuru: Huh? …WHAT!?

Tsuzuru: A script? Me?

Towa: Yeah!

Sakuya: That’s amazing! Did you start a theater troupe?

Towa: Umm, I’m planning on creating one soon…

Izumi: Do you have any members?

Towa: N-No… I’m planning on gathering some soon.

Masumi: So what you’re saying is it’s just you?

Towa: But… I wanna start a theater troupe that’s like MANKAI Company!

Towa: When I participated in Spring Troupe’s workshop, I was able to get a feel for how theater is done and what it feels like to be on stage…

Towa: I got to know a little bit more and it got me way more interested in theater.

Towa: And then I actually saw Spring Troupe’s performance at the theater, and I was so completely blown away and moved beyond belief.

Towa: The way the play was brought to life up there on stage thanks to so many different people, and the way all the actors were truly sparkling…

Towa: I realized I also want to be on stage. I want to shine like everyone did…

Towa: Maybe I’m being too simple and this is all just wishful thinking, but…

Towa: To come here and discover theater and figure out what I want to do, I feel like it was my destiny!

Tsuzuru: …Gotcha. Destiny, huh?

Towa: Sorry, I probably sound really stupid, huh…

Izumi: Not at all.

Tsuzuru: I know how you feel because I felt the same way.

Sakuya: I felt the same way when I first encountered theater.

Citron: We very much understand your feelings, Towa~!

Izumi: We all have moments like that. I think just the fact that you felt like you were destined for theater means that you’ve already got some kind of knack for it.

Tsuzuru: I get that you’re motivated, and I’d really love to help you, but when you’ve only got one troupe member…

Tsuzuru: It’s quite the challenge to perform a one-man show with no experience, so ideally, you’d probably want at least four total troupe members.

Towa: So I need three more…

Towa: …Got it! I’ll gather them up!

Tsuzuru: Great. I’ll be waiting.

Izumi: Good luck.

Sakuya: You’ve got our support!

Towa: Thank you so much!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (I am curious about how things are going with Towa-kun’s troupe, but we need to focus more on Summer Troupe’s next performance.)

Izumi: (And although our rank has improved, it’s still a far cry from the Fleur Award…)

Izumi: (The new troupes are all gaining momentum, so we need to stay on our toes while we start working on the second quarter…)

[ Next Part ⇢ ]

[roe-and-memory]

at some point, when he runs out of projects to work on and things to fix, lightning mcqueen takes on the brilliant idea of getting a late model car. what better is there to do in the middle of the week than get out racing — again.

he runs races in kingman at the local track, towing his car on a trailer behind his good ol’ 75’ chevy k10.

its familiar for him. he used to race these cars, he used to race against young drivers and old drivers alike — sometimes, he even got a chance to race against real cup drivers. those were the coolest days of his life at the time.

he recalls the victories and the championships he won in his years as a super late model racer, the only childhood pictures he has being the ones from when he was 15-17 that hang on the wall of macks truck with such intense pride. the idea brings him nostalgia, and the very real realization that he can afford to build a new one — his old one sitting comfortably in the rusteze racing museum — and, since hes done working on his truck, he has all the time in the off season to waste.

his first order of business is a chat with rusty and dusty to work out a sponsor deal.

rusty and dusty are excited at the idea, but being a primary sponsor IS expensive.. so, they tell him that they’d be willing to partner with tex to work out some sort of team and dual primary situation. they KNOW tex has always wanted to sponsor lightning, so why cant he do it now on his lower league car?

tex is delighted by this idea. he gives lightning funds to build the car, as well as works with rusteze to make a middle ground, hot paint scheme that’ll ignite the track and catch everyones eye.

once he has all the materials, his second order of business is putting everything together.

having been his own mechanic for quite a while before his radiator springs racing team came in, he knows the inside and outside of his car like the back of his hand. with minimal instructions, hes got the chassis and frame together in less than a week.

he never told doc about any of this — so imagine the mans surprise when he steps into his garage one morning, lightning is still asleep inside, and he finds the skeleton of a brand new racecar propped up on a bunch of cinder blocks.

he interrogates lightning, finally getting a confession of ‘oh, right…. uhhh wanna be my crew chief in a second series now?’, and he agrees. he helps lightning build the car too, happy father-son bonding time as they discuss what this kind of racing would look like as doc isnt too familiar. when theyre done, ramone paints her, and she’s ready to be entered in a race.

tex essentially covered the entire cost of the car itself, all lightning has to do is pay the small fee of entering it into the local track and everything is settled..

these races turn into a sort of therapy for him. he can race without all the big crowds, and he can have more personal connections with fans this way. it brings the track in kingman more publicity.

lightning is LOVED by the owners of the track. he decides it’d be in his best interest to do autograph signings and fan days there, bringing the track more publicity and more funding — cause all money from these events goes right to them.

aside from that, lightning also cant find it fair for him, a cup driver, to be racing against younger people and teams that arent as wealthy.. each win he gets there results in donation of the money.

sometimes he gives the money to second or third place finishers/their team, depending on who wants it. other times, he donates the winnings to the 50/50 raffle right before its called and he ups the pool — hell, sometimes he’ll just straight up donate the money to a local charity or school. on some random and perhaps slightly rare occasions he gives the money back to the track. its nothing against them, obviously, but he donates a ton already and he thinks other people should get chances — and they completely understand.

the only thing he would ever keep from these wins are his trophies, and even if he doesnt run ever race or he doesnt win every race, being able to get trophies reminiscent of those from his beginnings in the sport brings a smile to his face.

but… imagine one race he just gets Walled. it’s bad. his car is fucked and suddenly the world is spinning — as his car rolls down onto the apron of the track and the caution lights come on, he makes a poor attempt at crawling out of the car. its ends up with him half-sprawled across the pavement trying to remove his helmet and firesuit, racecars going by at a still high speed just meters away from his head.

it sucks, its stupid — the impact broke a bone in his knee and hip that he’d already experiences issues with from a past crash from a similar situation.. he doesnt wanna admit hes hurt, so, he avoids as much contact with medical services and doc, and just insists he’ll walk off the godawful limp hes fighting with — the one sending shudders and tremors through his whole body with each new step he takes — and he wants to fix his car.

this secrecy cant last long, obviously.. i cant imagine what a piston cup race would do to him that same weekend.

[minthandsoap]

The Interview

1250 words

Interviewer: Welcome to or welcome back to The Late Night at Godolkin! Tonight, we've got some heavy hitters in the studio - none other than the power couple themselves, Jordan Li and Marie Moreau! Ranked number two and seven, respectively, these two aren't just powerful, they're practically campus royalty! So, Jordan, Marie, how does it feel being our very own God U's favorite couple? Pressure much?

Jordan: (chuckles) Favorite? Not surprising, we’re fucking amazing, so nah, it’s no pressure.

Interviewer: (laughs) How modest! The whole campus has been talking about you guys. So, spill- tell us how two souls like yourselves, amidst the chaos of campus life while being superheroes, found their way to...well, this? Tell us your origin story!

Marie: (blushing) Oh, you know, we didn’t exactly get along at first. First time I met them, we didn’t immediately… click.

Jordan: (chuckles) Yeah, she stormed into my office, demanded to speak to Professor Brink, and insulted my intelligence all within the same breath. Not before flirting with me first.

Marie: (nudges Jordan playfully) That is not what fucking happened and you know it, Jordan.

Jordan: (raises an eyebrow at Marie) Yeah? What was inaccurate about what I said then?

Marie: (rolls her eyes) Shut up, oh my god. They (Jordan had) rejected me from Intro to Crimefighting so, of course, I had to come in hot. But it ended up working out for us anyway.

Jordan: Yeah

Interviewer: (teasingly) Great how that worked out for you guys! So, who made the first move? I’m feeling like it was Jordan? Tell me it was Jordan (laughs)

Marie: (laughs softly) Actually, it was me. We were “studying” (air quotes) in Jordan’s room and (we) decided to take a smoke break. Well, Jordan did and they had asked me if I wanted a hit (of weed) as well. Anyways, like an hour and a half later, I’m high off my fucking mind and I kind of just turn to Jordan and ask “I think you’re pretty, cool, and fun! Wanna go out?”

Interviewer: Awwww oh my god, that’s so cute! And Jordan you probably immediately said yes right?

Jordan: (smiling) Nah. I told Marie to wait a few hours after she came the fuck back to Earth to ask me that again. She (Marie) didn’t remember asking me that. Kinda had geared her to ask me again. Definitely said yes the second time though.

Interviewer: So I have to ask: there are still many on this campus and to be honest the entire country who find both of your respective powers to be… interesting. What do you have to say to that?

Jordan: (raises brow) If by interesting you mean fucking weird? I mean it does suck. I wish that people could see me as me and not some freak show you know? But in the meantime, they can all just suck my gigantic *bleep* and my *bleep* cause I could give less of a *bleeping bleep* and *bleep*everyone who wants to *bleeping* say *bleeping* otherwise.

Interviewer: (laughs nervously)  Wow… you are passionate about this topic-

Jordan: True

Interviewer: —so Marie, what’s your response?

Marie: (smiles) Yeah, I agree with Jordan. I don’t particularly like the fact that my powers are seen as unhygienic and whatnot but it is what it is. So yeah, everyone can go suck it!

Jordan: You’re so cute babe.

Marie: (smiling) I know!

Interviewer: I love it! So, shifting topics slightly, what do you guys like to do for fun then?

Marie: (looks over to Jordan) What do we like to do for fun? Uhhh… what do we like to do for fun Jordan?

Jordan: We like to fuck. Hard.

Marie: (slaps Jordan’s arm) Jordan! Be serious right now.

Jordan: (shrugs) I am serious though.

Interviewer: We’ll just cut that out and try that question again-

**************

Interviewer: So what do you guys do in your free time? Movies? Dinners?

Jordan: I am being silenced so no comment. 

Marie: Yeah we have movie nights and stuff. We also train a lot together! Jordan’s been really helpful to me with that (rubs Jordan’s thigh)

Jordan: We also like to fu-

Interviewer: Moving on! So, asking some stupid questions that I got from Google-

Jordan: (interrupts) Why are you asking us stupid questions?

Marie: Jordan my god! I will hurt you, stop it!

Jordan: Oh baby, please do.

Interviewer: (nervously chuckles) Anyways, the question is: “If you had to be shipwrecked on a deserted island, but all your human needs—such as food and water—were taken care of, what two items would you want to have with you?”

Marie: Probably my knife and my journal. 

Interviewer: Yeah? Why those two things specifically?

Marie: Well, my knife goes with me everywhere, if I need blood, it's (the knife) the fastest way for me to get access to it. And I’d bring my journal so I can document everything. Keep track of how many days have passed, my thoughts, my feelings etcetera. 

Interviewer: Makes sense! Jordan, how about you?

Jordan: Easy. My phone, earbuds, and Marie.

Marie: (raises an eyebrow at Jordan) First of all; the question said two items not three and second of all, I am not an item.

Jordan: (grins) Didn’t say you were babe

Marie: But you implied it when you grouped me in your answer… with two other items Jordan.

Jordan: (grins fucking wider) No you did, just now. You referred to yourself as an item, not I (shrugs)

Marie: Jordan I will seriously fucking hurt you.

Jordan: (leans to Marie) Again, please fucking do.

Marie: Weirdo.

Jordan: I don’t deny.

Interviewer: Okayyyy so Jordan, why those three—sorry two items then?

Jordan: Bringing my phone so I can try my hardest to get the fuck off the island. My earbuds just in case I can’t escape, I can at least listen to good music while I suffer in my personal hell. And Marie so we can fu-

Interviewer: (shakes head frantically) Alright, I’m just going to move on to my last question then. (chuckles extremely nervously) How would you describe your partnership?

Marie: I’d say we're each other's anchors, a reality check when things get too…crazy. Jordan pulls me back from the edge, and I help them stay grounded. We challenge each other, support each other, and most importantly, have each other's backs.

Jordan: Definitely. Marie inspires me to be better, to never lose sight of what's truly important. And she's got this incredibly unwavering faith in me, even when I doubt myself. I couldn’t ask for anything better than that to be honest. I love her (Marie)

Marie: (smiles) And I love you!

Interviewer: Beautiful note to end with! Thank you, Marie and Jordan, for sharing your beautiful story. 

Jordan: Thanks for having us Jayda

Interviewer: (eye slightly twitches) It’s Justine.

Jordan: Oops

Justine: And thank you, to my listeners, for tuning in tonight and every Friday for The Late Night at Godolkin. Next week, we’ll have our very own Dean Shetty gracing our podcast and sharing her insights. Goodnight everyone, see you next week!

AND CUT 

******************

The air crackled with a sudden awkwardness in the podcast booth. Justine, the producer, dropped her headphones with a huff, the silence deafening after their segment. "Look, guys," she said, crossing her arms, "I know I said you could loosen up a bit, cuss here and there, but I didn’t mean in every damn sentence. This is a professional podcast.

"Well, shit, Justine," they drawled, "should've fucking clarified that from the start then-"

“What they mean,” Marie interrupted quickly, giving Jordan a pointed look, “is that we’re sorry and it won’t happen again Jasmine.” Marie finished flashing a warm smile in her direction.

“It’s Justine!” Justine snarled before storming off.

“Whoops.”

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.52 Home

As soon as we settled at the table, I complimented her appearance immediately. I may have been a dating noob, but I grew up with two women in the house and learned a lot about what women liked. She blushed, playfully asking me to stop, saying I was doing too much. See? Simple and elegant. She picked up the menu to hide from me, and I told her to order whatever she wanted and not to be shy. But she placed the menu down and gave me a concerned face instead, and everything inside me tensed up. What have I done now? Am I too late??

"Luca... Why are you doing all of this? I mean, I appreciate it and everything... I'm just a little overwhelmed."

Drat! This gesture was too big, and the whole simple elegance thing was a common thread which weaved together her entire life. I took a deep breath, desperately trying to steady myself and find the right words to explain my intentions and fix this.

"I... I understand if it's too much," I stammered. "I just wanted you to know how special you are to me. We both know I haven't really done a good job of showing you, so I just thought... Sorry to overwhelm you. That is the opposite of what I wanted to do tonight."

Her eyes softened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, making me hopeful my words had reassured her that my intentions were pure.

"Awww Luca! I don't know what to say!"

Thank the Watcher! I'm not sure what I would have done if I couldn't salvage the moment.

"You don't have to say anything. Just enjoy."

The server came and saved us from an awkward yet very tender moment and took our orders, and I was happy to hear she accepted the gesture despite being uncomfortable and ordered something interesting.

I asked about her day, and she began telling me a wild story about a man who had been rushed in for emergency surgery. They thought he had triple threat based on his symptoms and prepared to operate. But before they put him under, he began to yell and writhe in pain. They asked where it hurt, and he said his stomach. He kept yelling, "Get it out! Get it out!" The doctors didn't know what to think or what was happening. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream blared throughout the operating room, and an alien burst through the man's stomach!

She laughed so hard she couldn't sit up straight.

"Oh my Watcher, you should have seen your face!"

Her laughter was so infectious, I couldn't help but join in. It seemed we both had a dormant goofball trait hidden somewhere.

"Wow. You really had me on the hook," I said, still laughing.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I couldn't resist!"

"You're a really good storyteller, you know that?"

"Thanks. I love stories. I wanted to be an actor when I was a kid, and I wrote wild tales all the time and acted them out with my toys... Guess that's still in me."

"Sounds like you were quite a character."

"I was an only child. I kinda had to be."

I couldn't imagine being an only child, going through what I went through alone. My sister was my best and only friend, even though she annoyed the hell out of me.

The food arrived quickly, and Sophia squealed in excitement about whatever she had ordered. It looked good enough to snap a picture and hang it on the wall. My dish looked incredible too, but hers had a little extra something special.

As we ate, we continued our conversation, sharing laughter and stories. Despite the time we had already spent together, seeing her smile, observing the expressions on her face, and hearing her voice after only knowing her through words and a static image was an almost surreal experience. I could have watched and listened to her all night. Her presence had an intoxicating effect on me.

Once our bellies were full and our abs couldn't take anymore laughter, I paid for the meal and prepared to leave. I had two things I wanted to do, but one I refused to do at the restaurant.

I pulled out a rose and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry this date was such short notice, but I'm happy you could join me tonight. Uhhh...I'm glad you're in my life, and...I'm looking forward to spending more time with you."

Her twinkling eyes and wide smile were so rewarding.

"Luca!! You're so sweet! It's so funny you did this because," she too pulled out a rose, "I was gonna give you one!"

"No way!"

"I'm looking forward to spending more time with you too, and you are very special to me."

What were the chances two sims arrived at a date carrying not only gifts for each other but also the exact same gift? The feeling of being on the same page with someone was like finding a missing puzzle piece. Just imagine if this one-up behavior continued. A relationship would become a never-ending race to the top when both parties always tried to out-do each other. We'd never stop growing, and progress would never stall. I'd say we were positively laying the groundwork for a strong and stable future.

For the second thing I wanted to do, I asked if I could escort her home. And, no, it wasn't for that. I just wanted privacy. Plus, I wanted to make sure she got home safe.

"I haven't laughed so hard in ages," I said. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you! That meal... It was fantastic."

"Sophia... Can I kiss you?"

"I was hoping you would."

Although I had already experienced my first kiss, this one felt like a genuine first because I mustered the courage to initiate it, and my nerves were unexpectedly jittery. As I approached her lips, my heart pounded in my chest. The same kind of hunger I experienced with Yasmine was there, but it wasn't as intense. Sophia was like a plate of warm comfort food, something you want to savor and enjoy. And I did.

"That was nice," she said with the prettiest smile.

We stood at her front door with our eyes locked in a silent exchange before I realized she might misinterpret my lingering. I mean, if she was down, I would not decline. But we didn't have to do everything in one night. Comfort food, remember? I could come back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. We had all the time in the world.

"I think I've hi-jacked your night long enough, heh," I joked. "I know you have an early start."

She nodded, though it looked reluctant. I didn't want to go either, but I gave her hand one last squeeze and tried to say goodnight.

"Luca, wait..."

My eyes widened in surprise, and I held my breath as my ears eagerly awaited whatever she'd announce.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said much quicker than I imagined I would.

"Do you trust us?"

I froze for a second. This was it. This was the moment I leveled up in manhood. No more scared little boy. After some hesitation, internal pep talks, sweaty palms, and deep breaths, a yes stumbled out of my mouth, though weak and non-committal. My goal for the night was to convey my readiness to upgrade our friendship, and that poor excuse for a response did not come close to doing that. I had to try again and cleared my throat.

"I believe in us," I said in full confidence.

"Then stay."

YES!!

"Okay," I said calmly, trying to hide my excitement. "Yeah. Sure, I'll stay."

She held my hands.

"Not just tonight. I don't want us be apart anymore. Come home to me."

Home...

That word reverberated within me, echoing like a chamber. I was seriously taken aback, as if someone had thrust me into a time warp. It wasn't until I quieted my mind and relaxed my body that I understood why it affected me so deeply. That's what she felt like - home. Comfort food! I'd been confessing it all night, yet I was oblivious to what I actually meant. Moving in with her was sheer madness, and I had never been more terrified. But I took solace in knowing she would be there to face it alongside me.

It shouldn't have surprised me that the first step into the next chapter of my life would be a leap as big as the Strangerville crater. Earlier, I said I shouldn't pressure myself to enter into a relationship right away. We could remain friends until I felt comfortable pursuing something more, and living with her would accomplish the exact opposite of that. But to be honest, I didn't care anymore. All my dreams revolved around being with her, and now, that dream was within my grasp. Despite being consumed by fear, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for daring to take the leap. That's what a man does.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 32 - Pupuce's Life

Finally, an episode where I won't have to say anything At All.

To extract some value from this ep despite how it is kinda boring, I will overanalyse this room now.

Firstly, Kerubim is so orphancoded. He's so old and sleeping on a bunk bed with no lower bunk.

I like to think that, in the orphanage, Kerubim and Atcham got into bloodied battles where they scratched the shit out of each other over who gets the top bunk, and due to not being hairless Kerubim always won and bullied him into sleeping on the lower one.

I like to think it was one of Atcham's many tragic backstories. Like that's when The Darkness truly began to grow.

I genuinely think it's fucked that Joris, at 7 years old, is sleeping in a cat bed. But also, that's not even one tenth of the most insanely evil things about their household.

They have so many potatos and so much bread... Heaven on earth.

Ever since I mentioned it in one of my earlier posts, I had wanted to elaborate just a bit on some other evidence for my headcanon (or, well, pretty-much-canon?) of Joris being a night owl, and this moment of Joris just blatantly oversleeping is as good time as any to bring it up:

We often see Joris awake at night, or staying up very late without any issues.

Perhaps, it is due to Kerubim himself often staying up late, and also due to, y'know, the child neglect that was probably happening before Simone, that he developed a circadian rhythm that has him being so okie-dokie staying up late.

I won't even point out that there's a random knife on the floor. I am fucking numb to the sheer neglect in this household by now. Kerubim could leave rat poison in Joris's bed and I would be like "oh that silly goofster!"

But I will point out that it seems that Kerubim often leaves Joris alone with Simone, and I will be real — in my heart of hearts I know that this fucker left Joris home alone since he was like four whenever he needed to do something. Or he'd be like "uhhh go across the street and sit at miss Julie's, brb" and be gone for hours. He probably left him home alone over overnight too. You can't tell me I'm wrong.

It would be out of character for him to get someone to actually babysit. Especially with how shit their home was.

"No, little pupuce, don't go into SCP-914!!"

"Oh mon dieu, c'est un scp full of evil clonen !"

Kerubim is insane. All these pictures of his ex, and none of his son. He really is insane.

I think Kerubim still draws, at least in some capacity. No other reason for there to be oil paints in their home.

Though perhaps Kerubim is into the idea of his son getting poisoned by expensive-ass professional-grade paint. Maybe he's just into that.

"ASTRUB CITY" repeated twice. + "Dofus Pets 2" (obviously.)

Also, jellyvision movie theatres are real. And so are traffic lights. Though I didn't bother screenshotting the second thing.

Oh this one is even better than that time we found out that someone at Ankama called a person named Emilie a bad word in this kids cartoon. You'll love this.

I'm sorry french person from 2013, but I've been translating this text with a huge grin on my face. You ARE the interesting find.

This ad is so beautiful. Thank you, Kerubim.

The man might pretend that he doesn't like Pupuces as a species all he wants, but his actions speak louder than his words. He's never beating the love allegations.

They are all so bad at taking photos... Also! This confirms that at least a Single photo of Joris, as well as Simone, is on a wall somewhere in the house. Big day for regaining belief in Kerubim's normalcy.

This says "ANNIV PUPUCE", which finally made me realize, that there are three champagne glasses on the table, one in Joris's hand, as well as some weird looking food with candles in it (probably pupuce's food?).

This changes EVERYTHING. Kerubim is no longer an evil fucking cat/enemy #1 of this blog. Kerubim has been forgiven.

[cogentsummoner]

B A S I C S

Name: Clara Mistrun

Nicknames/Aliases:

Clara de Dzemael

Age: 42

Nameday: 8th Sun of the 2nd Astral Moon

Race: Ishgardian Elezen

Gender: Female

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Archon

P H Y S I C A L   A S P E C T S

Hair: Long brown hair, rarely worn up or tied back.

Eyes: Lavender

Skin: White

Tattoos/scars: Archon marks on her neck

F A M I L Y

Parents: The former Count and Countess of House Dzemael. Clara's father was distant while her mother was controlling and prone to negging. Both are still alive and retired from their roles, though Clara has never really cared to find out their status.

Siblings: The current Count of House Dzemael is Clara's younger brother. Clara wasn't particularly close to him, but regrets leaving him behind when she fled Ishgard.

Grandparents: Former Count Tarreson of House Dzemael and his late wife are her grandparents on her father's side. She liked her grandparents well enough, and is pleased to hear that Tarreson is doing well.

In-laws and Other: Count Charlemend de Durendaire is actually Clara's brother in law, though they've kept no contact since the death of her husband and Clara's flight from Ishgard.

Also Grinnaux is her cousin, but we don't talk about that.

Pets: None, save her various carbuncles!

S K I L L S

Abilities:

Arcanima Master: Having studied arcanima for over 20 years, Clara is considered one of the foremost scholars in the field.

Math Nerd: Connected to her arcanima studies, Clara is very adept at math and loves it!

Culinarian: Listen, she immigrated to Sharlayan, pre-Last Stand. She had to learn to cook to survive.

Hobbies: Cooking, baking, reading, swimming, learning magic, exploring old ruins

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Boundless curiosity. Even if it's not related to things she's interested in, if you have something new for her to learn, she will eagerly listen to it. It's also easy to get her into investigation mode if you know how to tempt her with a problem to solve.

Most Negative Trait: Holds grudges. Clara doesn't easily form grudges, but once they're there, it'll take divine intervention for her to let it go.

L I K E S

Colors: Greens- especially seafoam and deep green, light blues, and golden yellow

Smells: Vanilla, tea, the sea, bread baking

Textures: Soft fur, smooth marble, rough leather, chalk

Drinks: Tea with too much honey in it. If you gave Clara caramel milk she'd go fucking nuts for it.

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Nope.

Drinks: Socially, usually. Will occasionally have a drink or two on her own.

Drugs: Nope.

Mount Issuance: She doesn't really have a mount anymore, but she took very good care of the chocobo that she fled from Ishgard on for the rest of its life.

Been Arrested: Not yet!

Tagged by: @emevergreen

Tagging: uhhh - @praxvidence, @darkxyzdragon, and @verraisemacro

[yanyanderes]

Yandere rottmnt brothers halloween speciell scenario:

You and the gang decided to go to a corn maze for halloween this year, dressed in your finest costumes you split up in groups of two but due to there being five of you Donnie opted to go alone. So the groups were Raph and Mikey, you and Leo. So there you were wandering through the tall corn stalks anticipating when the poorly carved out wooden skeleton would jump out and scare you. Despite being a scaredy cat you were the one to suggest this, Leo didn't complain however because of how close you were holding him. You stumbled upon a pile of leaves, the sight brought on your inner child as you ran towards them. Leo watches in amusement half tempted to join until something within the leaves caught his eye, he has never reacted so fast in his life. He grabbed you by the waist just as you were about to jump pulling you oway from the colorful pile taking a few straps back, you're confused and a bit peeved, you open your mouth to complain but Leo cuts you off.

“stay close to me”

He demanded, the sudden change in his tone shook you to your core. It wasn't often he was this serious, he cursed under his breath.

Slowly you looked down to where he was staring at, and although it was hard to see due to the lack of any light source except for the moonlight, when you did spot it it made your blood run cold.

Among the leaves were the metal jaws of a bear trap.

The lively little maze that you have threaded into wasn't so innocent looking anymore, it's laughable “scary” decor was now replaced with haunting imagery, the kinda stuff you could only dream of. Now with that in mind your goals have changed from having fun to finding the others, STAT.

The thing with the maze is that it's sentient, it wants to kill its victims in a way that would symbolize what monster they dressed up as, but now it's found an interest in you, and your “friends”. It senses what they have done behind closed doors or in the dark always. The scars on their adversaries would tell you that much, it serves as a burning memory of what will happen if they lay another finger on you. It wanted to see the extent the turtles are willing to go on keeping you safe.

Besides, there's nothing like tearing a family apart on Halloween :)

BRO I’M JUST- i’m sorry it took so long to respond, schedule’s been all over the place lately but like-

when i first read this i was in a library and i was trying so hard to not s c r e a m at how big brain you are

this is SO

UR MIND IS SO

i’m sorry i just love this idea so much i-

you got me gushing in a library bro-

especially at the ending! BRO WHERE DO YOU GET ALL THESE SCRUMPTIOUS IDEAs

imagining all the brothers teaming up to get (y/n) out of the maze safely. they probably struggle to do this, assuming the maze has mystic powers that tamper with their weapons, meaning leo can’t just portal everyone out because that would be too easy. also the connection isn’t very good, so donnie has trouble tracking (y/n) down even with the tracker he secretly placed on them when they were asleep-

the moment donnie, mikey, and raph find out how dangerous this maze is, you can bet on your life they’re fIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL TO GET BACK TO THEM, IF THEY COULD THEY’D B U R N THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND DO NOT TEST THEM.

with your idea of the maze killing it’s victims in a symbolic way and knowing what the brothers did, i’m just- my mind just keeps going back to the thought of the maze just taunting the brothers by subtly hinting to (y/n) about all the horrific things they do in their name, as if it’s like “lmao you’re gonna die knowing your loved ones are crazy obsessed psychopaths <3”

and the brothers are all scrambling around, trying to make sure (y/n) can’t see what’s going on. like, the maze will start making them see stuff and they’re all like

“UHHH IT’S TOO GRUESOME CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

“YEAH KEEP YOUR EYES ON US! WE’LL HANDLE IT JUST DON’T LOOK!”

“I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT! JUST TURN AWAY FOR A SEC!”

“AND IF YOU DO HAPPEN TO SEE ANY OF THIS, THE MAZE IS LYING!”

and the maze is just so smug seeing the brothers try to hide their dark secret while (y/n) is just like “????”

AND THERE ARE SO MANY POSSIBLE ENDINGS

maybe everyone makes it out safe! the turtles, against all odds, escaped with (y/n), all without letting them know their secret!

but the whole event leaves (y/n) rather scarred, and they end up having nightmares because that whole thing was horrifying. the things they saw and went through, it ends up pushing them even further into the brothers’ arms, giving them more chances to isolate them from their other loved ones. ok, maybe this little outing had a few upsides…

and then there’s a possibility of everyone making it out safely, but (y/n) learned what the brothers are really like and cut them out of their life, leading to the brothers kidnapping them.

“(y/n)! i’m sorry, you- you were never meant to see any of that! come here, i know you’re scared- no, don’t push me away… we don’t wanna force you into anything. but we can’t let you get hurt again.”

“we’ve been keeping you safe for years, we just helped you out of a death-maze, and you still wanna leave us?? no! we’re not gonna let that happen!”

“if anything, today has proven that you truly need us. who else can say they would fight a sentient corn maze for you, hm? now, we could either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“don’t worry! we know you’re scared, but we promise, we’ll keep you safe from now on! because you’ll never leave the lair again! we’ll have so much fun! we can cook together, watch movies together, play games together-”

and then there’s the possibility of making it out… not in tip-top shape.

if one of the brothers gets really badly hurt, or doesn’t even make it out… ohhh boy. that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms.

will probably expand a bit more on the last topic when halloween gets closer. who knows 😌

this is really making me wanna draw all the turtles together with (y/n), dang-

your scenarios are ✨immaculate✨ thank you v much for sharing and happy halloween✨✨✨✨

[hussyknee]

On Death in the Nile now, reading the set up at the hotel before the murder. I have to say, I don't give a shit about any of these three selfish young idiots. Idk who I have less respect for: the spoiled autocratic brat who turned people out of their homes for her swimming pool and stole her best friend's fiancée; this obsessed nuisance with no self-respect who stayed besties with this woman until this point and is now wasting all her money feuding with her over this sexist milk sop loser; or said milk sop loser who stayed engaged to a stage three clinger until said brat crooked her finger at him with no compunction about fucking over her best friend. Jesus wept. If my best friend "stole" my fiancé I'd just decide I dodged two bullets not having to waste any more of my life on these horrible people.

I'm more interested in whatever Oedipal shit is going on with the Allertons. Tim's a shady suck up. Also, as someone whose own life force is being sucked dry by a child vampire of a mother I can't escape, I feel for Rosalie in my marrow. At least mine doesn't write trashy soft porn and peddle it to strangers. I hope she chucks her mother into the Nile on her way out.

Edit – Copypasted reblog after finishing the book:

Umm.

Uhhh.

Well.

You know what I really hate/love about Agatha Christie novels? It's that when I'm reading them I nearly always think "you know, in any other case the main suspect would clearly be X because the obvious motive would be Y and it would be obvious they did Z and A to pull it off BUT the narrative is CLEARLY not supporting that...unless they're really going to rip the rug under our feet THAT far which is a RIDICULOUS idea..."

And it's not a ridiculous idea. It's never a ridiculous idea. Christie keeps fucking doing that over and over again and I'm still like some Charlie Brown lining up to kick Lucy's football. Idk whether this is entirely down to Christie's genius or the fact that I'm trusting as a newborn puppy and my autistic inability to fathom that people can tell me lies extends to fiction.

Anyway everyone was exponentially more interesting than I gave them credit for, I really just wanted give the murderer an award for brilliance and resourcefulness, and, very ironically, I now feel a lot more sympathetic to all three of the love triangle idiots (even the loser dude for some reason). The ending was heartbreaking.

And I want to apologise to Mrs. A for having called her creepy the first two chapters. She's a darling. Reminds me of my own late MIL. Tim doesn't deserve her.

[wolfboyvirus]

Tell me about that astolfo of yours

VINE BOOM. i didnt expect anyone to be interested in him haha okay uhhh lets see. fair warning, his story is very,,,, wobbly and uncertain at the moment. so some of this is vague or subject to change!!

now, first of all, this is astolfo:

yes i had to include the meme. this is my single favorite image of him

now, when his story begins, he's already a... kind-of-deviant. something in-between coming off the factory line and breaking the red wall. he can feel things, weakly, but he can't directly defy orders. however, he can do things that he isn't necessarily told to do; this is how he finds himself sometimes sneaking away on his own when he's meant to be in stasis, how he finds himself collecting knickknacks from people's trash that he finds interesting. nevertheless, he simply continues to do his job, because he doesn't feel like he should be doing anything else. yet.

then, he meets someone, a deviant. a runaway, who ended up hiding out in what was essentially astolfo's little secret hangout near the building he's kept in while in stasis. it's basically like a small-ish grey shed with a window, near the garbage dump. he's a little perturbed at first, but the two find themselves drawn to eachother, quickly becoming friends.

eventually though, his friend tells him that they have to leave soon; they've already stayed here too long. they have somewhere they need to go, someone to find that can help them. and they want to bring astolfo with them, but astolfo... he doesn't really want to leave. he's never wanted anything more than what he has right now. he doesn't think the risk is worth it. and above all... he's scared. scared of leaving all that he has now, his safety, his routine, to search for an ideal life he'll probably never find. but he doesn't know that's what he's feeling. he refuses their offer; his friend is disappointed, which makes something inside him churn uncomfortably, but they don't try to force him. they prepare to resume their journey alone, but before they leave, they interface with him, leaving him with a small file. "just in case," they say. it contains a location, marked far from the main city, and a single name: zlatko. then they're gone, leaving him as just he was before this all started. alone

it takes maybe a week for astolfo to finally realize, just a bit too late, how much worse his life is without them in it. he realizes that he does want more than this; he's no longer content with his programmed monotony. he wants to experience something new, he wants his only friend back, he wants... to be alive. so he deviates. breaks down his red walls and runs away, in the hopes he can somehow find his friend again, his only reason for getting this far. and his only lead is the location they shared before they left.

when he arrives at zlatko's, he mentions that he's looking for someone he knows. after being stared down menacingly, he's soon welcomed inside, and told that his friend had been here– but they've already been sent off, much to astolfo's dismay. when zlatko offers to help astolfo out too and send him in the same direction, he finds no reason to refuse. and everything seem to be going well until he's led into the basement. i think everyone knows how this goes.

having fallen for his tricks just like kara and unable to break free, zlatko gives him his horrible truth; that his friend never made it out of here alive. no, in fact, they're currently splayed out on his lab table, broken into pieces. astolfo finds himself feeling a new kind of pain. and he screams, the agony piercing him like a knife.

he doesn't notice when his time runs out. his memory is "erased", his systems jailbroken, and he's given one additional objective to follow: to spread the location of zlatko's base, so that he'll have a constant supply flow of androids coming right to him. it's buried deep in his coding, set up so that nobody can find it, not even the android himself. astolfo is sent back to the standby pod he returns to each night, and in the morning... he returns to his programmed routine. he's not able to break through again; the only person that could've possibly triggered him to do so was lying dead and torn apart in zlatko's house. not that astolfo could remember that. all he's left with is this nagging feeling that something is wrong.

this is about as far as i've gotten for the most part. i imagine that for a few years, he does the exact thing you see him do in the game; he completes his primary tasks, if he ever encounters another deviant, he sends them to zlako, without really knowing why. it's only when the revolution happens that something would finally change, but i'll have to think about exactly how that goes down. so this is all i've got for now :] hope you enjoyed my boy!! he is very beloved 2 me

(side note, i developed astolfo side by side with @aye-toast who has their own background character ocs, specifically two zlatko androids: the one in the bathtub, named walton, and one of the ones down in the basement, name louie. we had a lot of fun with em <333)

[growup-thatbeautiful]

hellooo, hi, im not sick anymore (more or less) and in surprisingly great spirits! i was thinking, if you wanted to write more Zeffirelli and absolutely and i mean ABSOLUTELY no pressure maybe we could have some sort of university themed kinda fic? not an AU just kind of widening the lens of The French dispatch to see Zeffirelli as a students not just his after school activities. im thinking like a philosophy student poet boyfriend x art and film theory painter reader kinda situation. studying and going to interesting lectures and to cinema in the evenings..idk it would be lovely to have some nice uni vibes to motivate me. also if you don't feel Zeffirelli now Timothee himself would be very much okay too i feel like. it is all up to you. sending you great energy, love you, message me if you want to brainstorm this story or want to talk literally about anything xx

omg hiiii!!! it’s fall now!! zeffirelli would be living his best life. i was really missing zeffirelli and timmy. timothee always renters my brain this time of year so be prepared. it’s movie szn brainrot time, my friends.

coincidentally enough, this happens to be my 700th follower celebration as well! yay!

uhhh so usually i write the translations at the bottom but i didn’t keep up this time i’m so sorry 😭😭

zeffirelli masterlist

ensoleillement (sunshine)

“You’re late,” you say, looking at the clock in the corner of your living room.

“I brought compensation.” Zeffirelli holds up a brown paper bag from the pastry shop down the street as an apology. “There's a pain au chocolat in there for you. I also got you a coffee.”

“I hope it’s not in the bag,” you respond drily, but take the bag nonetheless and rifle around for your breakfast. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Here,” he says absently, placing it on the kitchen counter.

“Dieu merci,” you sigh, taking a sip and shouldering your bag. The leather strap digs into your shoulder through the fabric of your coat.

“Thank me, not God,” Zeffirelli complains, ushering you out the door.

“You’re still the reason I’m late.” There’s a warning in your voice, but you can’t put any real venom behind your words. You never can, with him.

“Oui, but you’re not going to any important classes right now.”

“I’m going to math,” you protest. He reaches across you and takes your coffee, sipping it and grimacing. You slap his hand away and retake the coffee. “No matter how much you try, you aren’t going to like the way I have my coffee.”

“That’s because you have terrible taste,” he complains. “Why are still taking those bullshit classes? There are so many better classes to take.” It’s a conversation you’ve had many times, mostly out of jest, but there is some seriousness behind it.

“You mean math?”

Zeffirelli hums. “That’s the one. Why would you waste your time with math when you could be going to philosophy at noon?”

“Because I’m not some poet revolutionary, Zef,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder with his. “Not everyone is as successful as you.”

“Nonsense. You just haven’t shared any of your ideas with other people. Come on, amor, let me know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Right now there are a few things, but I don’t think you want to hear them,” you deadpan, gathering your books in your arms.

“Don’t get shy on me now, ensoleillement.” The endearment falls easily from his lips, his favorite term for you, meaning, quite literally, sunshine.

Ironically, you got the nickname on a rainy day when you had been giving him a hard time about his tendency to walk in the rain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you reply, knocking your shoulder against his as you both try to go out the same door to the street below your apartment.

“All that math is filling your brain with nonsense,” he complains, his shoes scraping against the worn hardwoods. “I can’t have a good philosophical conversation with a mathematician.”

“Just because I’m taking the class doesn’t make me good at it,” you correct absentmindedly. He huffs and steps into pace beside you, his hand brushing against yours. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet, warm red and orange bleeding past as you make your way to class, the air crisp and the sun slinking behind the clouds. You really should be trying to make it to class on time, but you know you’ll regret it if you leave Zeffirelli out here alone with that rosy color on his cheeks from the cool air. Fall suits him well, and he wears the chill running through your fingers well.

It’s better to be here, your hands skimming against his, knuckles red and electric when he touches them than it is to be sitting in a class. Especially because he isn’t in the class.

The walk to your school isn’t much further. Just through the town sits a two-storied brick building where you’ve devoted hours to studying, crying, and trying to get Zeffirelli to take breaks unsuccessfully.

The cobblestones underneath your feet are consistently unsteady, and you find yourself, as usual, looking in awe at the quaint town that wakes up as you walk through.

There’s the flower shop on the corner with the green and white striped awning that gives out free roses on holidays. Next to it, stands a stationary store where you go more days than not to get a hand-pressed piece of paper to write home on. Across the street is a cafè where you and Zeffirelli have spent countless sleepless nights discussing movies and poetry when you should be studying,

This isn’t your hometown, and it isn’t his either, but you both know it more than you ever could know any other place on Earth. Zeffirelli’s American rouge, prophetic attitude couldn’t come from a town this small, but that doesn’t stop it from thriving. Here, nothing can stop him. Not living with his parents, which he does on purpose, or not knowing how to start a manifesto. Those things are trivial and unimportant because this place reveres every waking and sleeping moment it has with him. You and

You, well, you can’t claim this place as your home, but you’ve fallen in love with its poetically simple lifestyle. The two years you’ve been here as an exchange student has been the best you can remember, and you aren’t sure how much of that is related to the boy next to you.

A gut instinct tells you that he might have something to do with it, but you would be drawn into the charm of this town anyway, probably. He’s just an added bonus.

Zeffirelli takes the cup of coffee out of your hand and tosses it into the trashcan before you enter the towering, gray stone building that is your school.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks, walking backward down the opposite hall that you’re traveling. “My mom packed cookies.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you can tell you’re grinning like a fool. You genuinely don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you don’t doubt the truth of his words. “I can’t even make fun of you because your mom’s cookies are so good.”

“That’s the sweet spot.” His arms are outstretched wildly as he turns back to go to his class. “I’ll see you later, amor. Don’t have too much fun in math without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Zef.” There’s still a grin on your face when you walk into class, and you take your seat next to your’s and Zeffirelli’s friend, Mitch Mitch.

Mitch is radically passionate like Zeffirelli, but, as obvious by his presence in a math class, he’s less utterly devoted to the revolution. Which is to say that he’s still deeply invested.

“Did l'auteur make you late again?” Mitch reaches over you and slides today’s work to you. “I swear, you need to stop waiting for him in the mornings.”

“He did indeed.” You lean back in your chair and try to listen to the lecture, and you think you retain about half of the information.

The teacher at the front of the room drones on for half an hour about something you don’t understand, not that you care enough to pay attention. Despite the nature of his ideas, Zefrilli is correct about the fact that math isn’t your thing, nor is it going to help you at all. Especially not when you don’t have a clue what’s going on. Based on the look on Mitch’s face, he understands even less than you do, which is comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Why did you convince me to take this class?” Mitch groans, flopping onto the desk and banging his head on the wood. “I’m too pretty for math.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it.” You pat him on the shoulder consolingly and gather your things together.

“Peut être pas, but it makes me feel better about myself.” You walk side-by-side to the next class. You have film studies with Zefirelli and Mitch has some economic class.

Zefirelli is waiting by the door for you, and, when he sees you, he pushes himself off the frame and asks, “How was the waste of time?”

“It was a waste of time,” Mitch confirms, bumping shoulders with Zefirelli, who looks at you for confirmation, which you readily give.

“Let’s do something worthwhile then, mon chéri.” Zefirelli holds out his arm for you, and you take it easily. “To the magical world of film we go.”

“Onwards we go.”

*

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough, but, slowly, it comes. Mitch, Zefirelli, and you usually eat together, but today Mitch is going to the cafe down the street with a girl in your class named Layla. She’s sweet, and you hope she’s enough for Mitch.

You and Zefirelli find your normal spot in the corner of a courtyard hidden away in the twisted cobblestone streets. It’s nothing special, just a park bench pretty much, but you wouldn’t eat anywhere else. Not when Zefirelli is sitting close to you.

“What are you writing about?” he asks, leaning over your shoulder to try and read the words in your journal.

“How much I hate math,” you deflect, shutting the small spiral and stuffing it into your backpack.

“That’s not what looks like when you write about something as trivial as math. I’ve seen your math face, and it is much more détestable.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t write enthusiastically about math?” you joke, hoping to deflect the attention.

“Only about my manifesto.”

“Yeah, well you have your manifesto, and I have my movie.” It slips out easily like things usually do around him. You’re so used to telling him everything, so it comes as no school that you’re unable to keep this from him.

The thing is, he isn’t supposed to know about the movie you’re writing. Not because he wouldn't support it, which you’re sure he would, but because there’s no doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. You try to backtrack. “I mean, I have the movie that I’m studying for class-“

“-You’re writing a movie?” he interrupts, his hand frozen where it’s reaching for his food. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not writing a movie,” you attempt. “It was a slip of the tongue. Fourchement de langue.”

“No it wasn’t,” he denies easily. “You’re writing a movie.” This time he doesn’t ask, but he does return to his previous action, splitting the pink-colored cookie in half. He offers one half to you and you take it. You decide not to respond and focus on the cookie instead.

“So, what is this secretive movie about? Hopefully something dashingly bohemian and revolutionary.” You know he’s tuning down his excitement for you, which is nice. At least he’s trying. Hopefully, he knows that you would never keep something like this from him if you weren’t embarrassed.

“Those are your interests, not mine,” you sigh, despite the deception behind your words. Truly, you do care about those things, maybe only because he cares so much about them.

“Yeah? Then why do you work with me on my manifesto so much?” he prods, a grin on his face. Everything about him screams “got you” and you have no choice but to accept his meaning.

“Maybe I like being around you, connasse.”

“That could not possibly be it,” he dismisses easily. His cookie gets placed on the floor beside him and he leans into you, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re much too talented to be hanging around me all the time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you chastise, your hand running through his hair. “Zef, you’re the most talented person I know. Not only are you some sort of chess wizard, but you also have such a passion for life that I don’t see anyone else. I’m lucky to be around you as much as I am, honestly.”

“You’re just saying that,” he sighs, but there’s a blush rising to his cheeks that fits him so beautifully.

“We’re poets, Zefirell, we only say things that we mean.” He leans heavier into your side and you relax against him, taking his weight happily. The rest of the world passes by, and time passes by, but you don’t care. This is where you want to be, by his side.

You would lift the sky for him, but right now all he needs is a shoulder to lean on. It’s something you’re ready and willing to give.

“You know,” Zefirelli starts, “there are stories about people like us. You know, people that want to change the world. Usually, they have someone by their side, a second-in-command. Napoleon had Josephine, Pierre Curry had Marrie, Sintra had Garder.”

“I think it be more reasonable to say that Marrie had Pierre, given that she was the one who did most of the research. And you’re forgetting that Sinatra and Gardner broke up after 12 years.”

“But she was the only woman he ever loved. Come on, amore, you know that. Anyway, what I was trying to say-” he looks up at you, smiling softly- “before I was so rudely interrupted, is that most people have someone beside them when they start their journey sur le chemin de la révolution. The road to revolution can be lonely.”

“Everything must start in love,” you agree. “Nothing comes out of nothing.”

“Précisément. Would- would you like to be my second-in-command? We have a long way ahead of us, and I think it would be easier if we stuck together.”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” you breathe, laying your head on top of his and reaching for his hand. “Promise you won’t leave me for someone more antagonistic?”

“You’re enough of an antagonist for me,” he responds in an overly-sweet voice. “Not sure I could handle much more.”

“Good. I prefer you waking me up in the middle of the night rather than anyone else.” You also prefer his head on your shoulder, his hand in your hand, and his figure in your bed, but those are things you keep to yourself for now.

You’ve already got enough of a win for today.

*

A banging on your door is an unfortunately common event to wake you up. Without checking, you know who’s on the other side of the door. That messy black hair and those piercing eyes are waiting impatiently for you to make your way across your cramped apartment, you’re positive of it.

The floor is cold underneath your socked feet as you make your way over the piles of books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere across your room. While the trek is short, to your sleep-addled brain it feels like it lasts forever, with you in a dreamlike state of confusion and agitation. You can hear the sound of rain pounding against your apartment roof, a steady rhythm in time with your slow breathing.

With a deep breath, you open your door and you’re met with the familiar, tall form of Zeffirelli. “I have an idea for the revolution,” he says, out of breath, soaked from the rain. “And I need your cinematic expertise.”

“So that’s why you’re at my apartment at three in the morning?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes. And it’s only two,” he says as he brushes past you and goes straight to your tiny kitchen. Absentmindedly, he rifles through your counters and grabs the first food he finds; some untrustworthy brown biscuits. You don’t take any when he offers. “I needed to talk to you. Son affaire sérieuse.”

“Right, I’m sure it is. Tell me, what exactly do you need my help with? I’m not sure I can be of much help.” You shuffle into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, accepting the fact that you’re probably not going to get any sleep tonight.

“Absurdité. Who else is going to shut down my best ideas ruthlessly?”

“I would do that in daylight too,” you accuse. He fits beside you at your counter and reaches across you for the sugar bowl, taking a sugar cube and putting it in your cup. Two more are added to the cup that he’s claimed as his own from your array of delicately painted teacups.

“But you admit to having shut down good ideas?” A twinkle in his eyes tells you to give up now and accept your defeat.

“Sure.” It’s worth it to see the victory smile break across his face, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “I am obviously the bane of your existence. Je suis ta couverture mouillée.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” His consolidation is quick and filled with a teasing lightness that you’ve long since accepted as his trademark. A lot of people would look past him for it, and call it arrogance, but you know it comes from a loving place.

“Don’t make me send you to Mitch Mitch’s apartment instead,” you warn, waving a spoon in his direction. “I would do it in a heartbeat.” It’s not true, you would much rather he be here with you, instead of at Mitch’s. Despite the entertainment that comes with Zefirelli and Mitch’s back and forth, you’re feeling selfish tonight.

“Empty threats.” he tisks. The kettle whistles from its spot on the stove and you both reach for it at the same time, your fingers brushing against his. It’s terrifyingly electric, but you push past the feeling. Zefirelli withdraws his hand hesitantly and you busy yourself with pouring the tea.

He’s come over in the middle of the night enough for you to know how he takes his tea by heart. Two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, no more, no less. He claims that you make it better than he does, which you choke up to him being unable to boil water without making a mess.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “So, what’s this big idea? Care to fill me in on why I’m awake at this time of the night.”

“What’s your movie about?” he fires back immediately, settling into your beaten blue couch.

“Did you come here to pester me about my future?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “Because I will kick you to the curb.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “you wouldn’t do that to me. You have no resistance to my pretty face.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve figured out my one weakness. It seems as though you’ll be taking advantage of it forever.”

“Of course, ensoleillement. What would I do if I didn’t have you to manipulate?” He sits across from you on the couch and grabs one of the blankets you have thrown around. It goes over his shoulders and he huddles into its warmth.

“So what did you come here to talk about?” you ask, taking a sip from your tea and placing it on the side table.

“Oh, right!” His eyes light up as he sits up straighter, splashing tea all over himself. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to care very much. “I thought that I would have my mother’s friend, some writer, is coming into town soon. I was thinking that I should ask her to help me. At the least, she can write about us, no? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. What does she write for?”

“The French Dispatch. You know, the one with all the stories they put out once a month or so. I hear that she’s looking for something out here in our petite ville.”

The conversation shifts and he talks about his big ideas and how he’s going to get them done. You could listen to him talk for hours, and, by the time he’s finished, you have, not that you have anything better to do. Not even dreams of him are this real. You could never make up in your mind the way his eyes sparkle and his hands flutter with excitement, or the way his hair falls in front of his face when he’s moving too fast.

Eventually, sleep takes him over, comically mid-sentence. He’s propped up against the side of the couch in a very uncomfortable looking way, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’ve known him to fall asleep in worse situations,

When his breathing stills and his eyes close, you allow yourself to look at him as he is without fluttering hands and excited eyes. He’s calm and motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him is usually coiled for action, an easy tension running through his hands and his eyes, but now, now he’s undistributed and serene, laying with his hair splayed like a dark halo around his head.

Before you close your eyes, you tuck yourself close to him, fitting against his warmth like you’ve done so many times in the past, just like this, on deep-silence-ridden nights.

“You’re my movie,” you whisper into the dark, towards his sleeping figure. “You’re the one I write about.”

But of course, he doesn’t hear.

*

“Medre,” Zeffirelli swears, hopping around and trying to get his shoes on. “I have a test today.”

“You should have thought of that before you came over that early,” you admonish, watching him with amusement. “Why you didn’t think you would oversleep, I have no clue.”

“We’re in this class together, ensoleillement. You’re going to burn with me,” he warns, rushing a hand through his hair carelessly. It sticks up widely in every direction, but you know better than to try to fix it. Nothing can convince his hair to do anything except chaos.

“Yeah, but it’s so much more fun not to think about that.” Begrudgingly, you start to get ready as well. The floors creak under your feet as you shuffle to your bedroom, where a clean outfit is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, you let yourself think of the wild-haired, cigarette-smoking, arrogant person in the room next to you. His infuriating charm and charismatic persuasion captured you years ago, and you haven’t been able to get out of his orbit since then.

You may be his sunshine, but he’s your gravity, keeping you centered but tipping you over and surprising you at times.

“Dépêchez-vous,” Zeffirelli calls, rapping his knuckles against the wall. “Hurry up.” You know he doesn’t really care about making it to class on time, despite the panic, but you also know that he understands you well enough to know that you want to make it on time.

The film class you have this morning is one of your favorites, and you try and avoid missing it as much as you can. While your film studies class is more focused on the aspects of film, this class advises it’s students on the writing and cinematography that you need to make something truly special.

To make something worthy of a manifesto.

“Mon chéri, we have to go,” Zefirelli warns one last time before giving up and aimlessly wondering around your room.

“Don’t touch that,” you sigh, not having to look at Zeffirelli to know that he’s touching something he shouldn’t be touching. When you do look over, you see him flipping through your journal.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Zeffirelli defends, hiding something behind his back. You send a glare in his direction and lean back in the chair by your mirror. The wood creaks underneath you and you stretch out your back, satisfying pops cascading up your spine.

“You have some deep dark secrets written in here?” His tone is joking, and he waves the journal in the air, taunting you.

“Grocery lists and middle-of-the-night thoughts,” you dismiss. “If you want to know when I forgot to pay the electricity bill, look on the fifth page.” You hope with everything you have that he’s going to let it go, but you have no such luck. He’s nothing if not absurdly relentless.

“I know for a fact that you don’t write anything like that down, it’s not worth the time. You just forget things like the rest of us.”

“Peut être. Still, put it down.” He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps reading with a grin on his face that slowly falls as he makes his way through the rest of the book.

“Is this- is this written about me?” he asks, disbelief written on his face. “Is this your movie?”

“I asked you to stop reading,” you defend miserably, hiding your head in your hands. “I know it’s strange, and I know I shouldn’t be writing about you like that. You don’t want to be heroic or some great leader, above everyone else, but I cannot help it if that’s who you are. Please understand, I only wrote what I saw.”

“I’m your movie? I’m what you have been furiously scribbling away at, working on late at night?”

“You’re my everything,” you admit honestly, softly, “How could you not be the plot of my movie too?” Zeffirelli walks slowly towards you and drops the journal on the floor. “I’m sorry, Zeffirelli.”

“Why?” he asks breathlessly, standing in between your legs and settling his hands on your shoulders. “What have you to be sorry for? You have immortalized be forever with your words. How can I be anything but grateful. If- if I ever gave you the idea that I do not burn for you- that I do not turn towards you in every room like you are the sun and I am a flower, then I can do nothing but apologize profusely. There is more than one reason that you are my ensoleillement. You are grumpy and rude and you give me shit for everything I do, but you also light up my days and nights. You are warmth and home. You are everything.” Zeffirelli’s voice is breathless and rushed, his hands coming up to cup your face. They’re shaky and the calluses on his fingertips are rough against your cheekbones, but you lean into them anyway.

“Zef,” you whisper, like it’s the only word you know. Just as soft as his words, his lips come down to yours, hesitantly at first, but more sure as you don’t protest.

He truly is your everything. That’s the only thing running through your mind as he kisses you with everything he has.

“We’re going to be late to your favorite class,” he gasps in between frantic kisses. “Don’t be angry at me when you have extra homework.”

“I make no promises,” you laugh, pulling him back into you. “But I’ll try my best.” For him, you’ll do anything.

He’s your ensoleillement, your sunshine, just as you’re his.

[nonbinary-alien25]

tagged by: @puppetsoftomorrow - thanks so much for the tag!!

last song: i just listened to give up to ghosts by citizen soldier because i've kinda exclusively been listening to citizen soldier for over like a month now lmao. (listen they're my favorite band and their music means the absolute world to me and i do think they're bordering on becoming a special interest of mine)

favorite color: dark purple!!

last movie/show: uhhh i've been rewatching the first season of fire country with my mom so we can be refreshed for season 2 in february. I've also been watching star trek voyager with my dad. and the last movie i watched was called the creator

sweet/spicy/savory: hmm it kinda depends on my mood but in general i think i'd have to go with savory, i'm a huge fan of salt lol

relationship status: unfortunately i am so super single lmao but equally as unfortunately, my life as it is rn is not very conducive to meeting new people. or going on dates. or doing much of anything. so. i can imagine it will stay that way well into the foreseeable future

last thing i googled: tbh i don't really know, i usually delete my search history aside from the few searches i keep because i frequent them enough lol (like ao3 fanfic and citizen soldier lol)

current obsession(s): uhhh probably a lot of things lol. legends of tomorrow obviously, but i've also been super super into the walking dead lately, as well as star trek. citizen soldier is also a big one, i've been so obsessed with them for a few years now but especially recently

tagging (no pressure): @forthehonorofgrey @for-forever21 @chocolatemilk25 @justpalsbeingals @rockford-peaches @lola-andheruniverse and anyone else who wants to join!! :)

[natorika]

misc hcs.

phoenix is, in general, most open and vulnerable when it comes to the safety of maya and her family--but especially and particularly maya herself (he would put the other feys in the line of fire if he had absolutely no other possible choice, and would openly line his crosshairs on anyone who intentionally antagonized or threatened maya, such as morgan). the only people who matter as much to phoenix would be mia and miles, and mia is dead, and his relationship with miles is very different. in the end, he will choose maya and her happiness and safety over anyone else, up until he bonds with trucy, more or less.

that same level of care and protectee role migrates from maya to trucy, especially once phoenix determines maya is both old enough, tenured enough, and independent enough to survive in the world without his help or any amount of his guidance. he has always had confidence in maya and her ability, but rightly understands she was relatively young when she ended up crossing paths into his life, and may not have felt comfortable or confident in the idea of being pushed out of the proverbial nest that he (and mia, despite her death) could provide. maya is more like phoenix's little sister than his daughter, but at times e did feel the same kind of pressure in ensuring her safety and the path of wellness she took as he does when raising trucy.

adores trucy. is not over protective of her, though, and respects her and her growing boundaries and desires as she gets older. since he knows trucy can handle herself for the most part, his amount of worry is proportional only to what a child (or late teen as she ages) needs; he would only become aggressive or frantic in cases of emergency, in which case, his kid > all else. trucy really helps put a lot of meaning back into phoenix's life and helps keep him stable through what is probably the worst part of it. (above everything but trucy and maya and miles, his career is the most important thing to him. he finds not just enjoyment but life purpose in serving as a defense attorney, and feels genuinely pained and empty when he isn't in practice.)

although phoenix banks off his ability of insight and perception more so than he does his ability to construct coherent arguments or bluff, he is an incredible liar when it really matters and he's applying himself. even without trucy's help and ability to read body language, he definitely would have won more poker games than he lost through reading tells and successfully lying his way to victory. when put on the spot, especially over menial things, phoenix struggles to construct believable lies. he doesn't enjoy lying, which some might consider a betrayal of his occupation.

he does, secretly, enjoy the steel samurai / samurai-related franchise. he allows himself to invest more in it once he realizes miles', and maya's, genuine interest in the series.

he is... uhhh... in a healthy manner, a bit of a simp when it comes to romantic interest/loved ones. not in a weird or obsessive way, but in a strongly affirmed, adoring, excitable way, he does always intensely like whomever he likes or is dating.

drinks grape juice in lieu of drinking wine. it's probably better for him and keeps him out of trouble, and has gotten to a point where phoenix genuinely truly enjoys fruit juices, but especially and specifically grape juice. its kind of just.. a taste he has genuinely and unintentionally acquired. huge fan of those sparkling welches grape juices. likes apple juice just as much, and is known to frequent a hard apple cider here and there.

has tried smoking cigarettes, cigars, and marijuana, all out of curiosity. didn't really enjoy any of it, is most likely to try weed again out of all three. wouldn't regardless though, phoenix likes being sober best (i know, he's a little bit of a freak in that way), and wouldn't want intoxication of any sort to qualify him for disbarment. rarely even drinks alcohol because of this.

due to physical trauma--since im not a huge fan of aa inflicting major wounding events on it's characters and then brushing them off like dolls--phoenix suffers from a mild tbi and has to walk with a cane when his pain is bad enough to limit his mobility. has some hypertrophic scalding scars on his outside jaw from hot coffee being thrown in his face.