#like i swear if one more person says 'oh i portray him as a terrible person but ur hc is cool too!' im going to start killing

[t4tdanvis]

so when laurance does terrible things its "well hes actually not a bad person really and hes my favorite character so he did nothing wrong 😁😁😁😁" but whenever i say "gene is my comfort character so i dont portray him as an irredeemable person" its just "ummmm hey i know u didnt ask and explicitly said u dont care but ummmm thats cool and all but ur wrong?? allow me to explain how ur wrong bc i dont like gene. i know in that literal post u said to stop doing that but i NEED to tell u about how i portray him as a terrible person. i know u just said that u dont care and said to stop taking every 'i love gene' post u make and making it about how much i hate gene but i just have to let u know that I DONT LIKE GENE AND HES ALSO A TERRIBLE PERSON. but thats just my hc tho! ur free to portray him however u want but just know HES THE WORST. yes i need to take every single opportunity i can to tell u this. i think ur hc is awesome! i just disagree. did u know that i hate gene and portray him as the worst? hey i found another post where u said gene is ur comfort character and i just wanted to say that i portray him as a terrible person have i told u that yet? but ur hc is cool and i would never tell anyone that i hate him right after they said he was their comfort character. like im certainly not doing right now. i am a good person :)"

[tsxkkis]

omg omg can i request? pls ignore if you dont!

s3 of haikyuu will always be my favourite season, maybe due to the fact that tsukishima realizes his potential in playing volleyball? (him having his MOMENT is my favouriteee scene)

so could you write gf manager reader x tsukki, where reader witnesses him having his first moment (blocking ushijima's spike), injuring his hand etc etc up until they receive their throphy and medals in the end ?🥹🥹💕 shes a proudddd reader and literally just smooch smooch hug hug tsukki because hes the mvp of karasuno x shiratorizawa 🥰😤

i realized that theres nobody includes this scene in their fics and i wonder why? 🤔🧐

# tsukishima kei - mvp

a/n: i am terribly sorry anon bcs this took so long T-T i'm not quite sure about some parts of this fic but overall i really enjoyed writing this request!! tsukishima is my fav for many reasons, one of which being the fact that i see myself in him a lot, and the particular moment during the shiratorizawa vs karasuno match is also my fav from the entire series!! i hope u enjoy reading this fic^^ i feel like it's not exactly what you asked for, so i'm sorry if i went too far away from your idea....

summary: tsukishima finally regains his love for volleyball.

warnings: a few swear words here and there, the fic doesn't exactly portray what happened in the series (i switched it up a bit)

'are you stressed?'

'not even a bit.'

'you're lying. i can read you like a book.'

tsukishima kei let out a deep breath, rolling his eyes as he looked away from your face. you were obviously right; there was no way he wouldn't be stressed before the game that determined whether or not karasuno would go to nationals. as much as he hated to admit it, he was almost as stressed as others. he was just better at controlling which of his emotions are shown.

you squeezed his hand, his fingers instinctively intertwining with yours. all it took was a reassuring smile from you to help with his nerves, his muscles finally relaxing after being tensed up for the last twenty minutes or so. he still tried to get used to you being more than a friend. your relationship was quite awkward and fresh, so much so in fact that you never even had your first kiss yet.

'i'm sure you'll do great.' you stated calmly, trying to hide the fact that you were even more stressed about the match than him. 'in fact, i'm positive that you'll win.'

'even if we do, it won't be because of me.' he mumbled, letting out a silent laugh when he saw the angry look on your face. 'oh, come on. it's not like i'm the greatest player this team has.'

'you know i hate it when you talk down on yourself.' you said, the tone serious and sharp, rather unusual for you. it stayed like that for only a short while, taken over by a softer, understanding one. 'you're a vital part of this team, tsukishima. winning this match is not up to a single person. it's a team effort. your input is as important as that of kageyama or hinata.'

he opened his mouth to say something but was instantly stopped by the voice of his captain, daichi, calling the team up to quickly warm up as the match was about to start.

you smiled at the boy, letting go of his hand before lightly patting him on the back.

'do your best for me, alright?'

'i will.' a barely noticeable smile appeared on his face, his hand affectionately ruffling your hair. 'don't worry too much about it.'

you finally realized why tsukishima kei never tried more. why he would never stay longer like other karasuno players to polish his skills, why he didn't truly seem to love the sport he chose to play in high school.

'you're insufferable, you know?' his words sent shivers down your spine. 'why don't you leave it the fuck alone?'

opposite forces, some might say. no one really knew what drew you and tsukishima to eachother - both of you completely different from one another, and yet oh so similar at the same time. frustration took over you every time you looked at him, and now you knew why.

he was like a mirror in which you could see all your flaws, and it irritated you a great deal.

his outlook on life and the way he viewed himself made you furious. how can someone be so full of contradictions? so cocky and confident, and yet so vulnerable and self depreciating at the same time. so full of himself and yet so hateful towards the person he saw in the reflection of every window, every mirror.

how can someone so great at what they do, so intelligent and talented, be so critical?

'because i can't! i can't leave it alone, you absolute moron.' the thought of how loud you were didn't stop you from continuing to shout, a mixed look on your face that tsukishima couldn't quite decipher. were you angry or sad? and why the hell would it bug you so much to evoke such strong emotions within you?

'you're saying i'm insufferable? from the moment i laid my eyes on you, you've been nothing but insufferable. so much so, that i want to gouge them out every time they spot you.' you ignored your watery eyes and tsukishima's surprised face, almost as if he didn't expect you to blow up like this. 'it pains me to see you be so full of doubt and hatred and i- i can't understand why you would think so lowly of yourself, why you feel inferior to the other guys in every way possible, when you could be so much more than them. do you even realize your potential, tsukishima?'

he stayed silent. for the first time since knowing you, tsukishima kei did not have an answer to your words.

'your doubts are so irrational i don't know if it makes me angry or sad. you're truly incredible on the court. you're intelligent, you can read the opponents well, you have the physical predispositions for volleyball and a natural talent that you choose to ignore because-'

'but what is talent without passion?'

that singular sentence managed to catch you off guard so much you had no idea how to answer him. such a simple question, and yet such a philosophical, confusing one.

'why should i put my all into something i'm not even passionate about, huh?' tsukishima tried to keep his composed nature, but it was hard to stay intact after what you've said. as much as he did not want to admit it, your words hit him deeply. 'why waste my time and energy for something that does not give me any satisfaction at all? tell me that, because i have no fucking idea.'

'passion is not something that dissapears once and never shows up again, you idiot.' you took a step closer, as if that was going to help you get your point across. 'if your passion is genuine, it will always be there. whether small or big, it will always crawl around in the back of your mind. if you ever truly loved volleyball, the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.'

your words were met with complete silence, but you didn't mind. tsukishima slowly processed your words, a focused look gracing his face, lips in a tight line. even though it was only a couple of minutes, for you it felt like hours - awaiting an answer, any answer at all.

tsukishima moved closer, his tall frame hovering over you as he wrapped his arms around you, catching you in a tight hug, much to your surprise.

'thank you.' he mumbled quietly, glad that in this very moment you couldn't see his face, and the stupid smile plastered to it.

the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.

tsukishima's mind lingered over these words whenever he played, awaiting this moment to come almost eagerly. the match was particularly hard - with ushijima wakatoshi as their opponent, the chances of winning were incredibly slim. every spike of his went through the block, his serves were absolutely killer, and his teammates did everything to deliver the ball to him at all costs.

what a hassle.

you noticed that his demeanor on the court changed from what it used to be. tsukishima seemed more invested now - almost as if he was trying to impress you, to keep his word. as happy as it made you, you were still anxious about the match and it's final score, hand shaky and a bit sweaty as your eyes followed the ball flying around from one side of the net to another.

another spike from ushijima, it'll probably be another point for shiratoriza-

and that's when you realized.

you saw the ball hit the ground on shiratorizawa's side of the net surprised gasps from everyone watching the match. you saw the shocked look on ushijima's face, the horror in the eyes of his teammates as the ball bounced off of the floor for the second, third, fourth time.

silence took over the court for just a mere second, quickly interrupted by tsukishima's triumphant scream.

he looked more than content with his performance. he looked... happy.

the rest of the boys joined him, screaming in unison. it was just one point, right? but for some reason, for both you and tsukishima, this one was worth a thousand.

for the first time in years, tsukishima kei felt that his spark for volleyball came back.

you noticed that his eyes were now focused on you, a full, cheeky smile gracing his face, and it only made you tear up. a short moment, probably insignificant for people around, but for the two of you it was like a breath of fresh air, like getting rid of the shackles that once held you in place, enabling you from moving forward.

'y/n, are you... alright?' coach ukai looked with his brows slightly furrowed, confused by your teary eyes and big grin plastered to your face.

'yeah, yeah, i'm fine. sorry, coach.' you mumbled, bowing a little as your eyes focused on the court. 'actually, could kiyoko replace me here for the rest of the match? i'm not quite feeling well.'

'tsukishima is injured.'

'what?' akiteru spoke in unison with you, terrified voices mixing together as you looked down from the stands to see the boy walking off of the court and rushing to the medical office along with kiyoko. your instincts took over you - feet moving on their own as you quickly ran towards the same place.

the two blondes followed right behind you, stopping only when in front of the door to the medical office, gasping for air after such a short run. as athletic as your boyfriend was, you were quite the opposite; getting tired after a little to no physical activity at times.

tsukishima saw your head peeking through the doorframe, a small smile on his face the moment he laid eyes on you.before you opened your mouth to say something, he already gave you an answer.

'yes, i feel fine.' he stated quietly, sitting down on the edge of a chair. 'you don't need to worry.'

'are you going back on court?' he only gave you a small nod in response, seemingly feeling better already as he stood up, his hand taped up.

you looked up at him, taking in the expression on his face, just how focused he already was. he looked almost as if he already had a plan to defeat shiratorizawa in this match. seeing him so eager to go back and play almost made you laugh a little - you swore you never saw him get this invested into something ever.

'go and win then.' you mumbled, patting him on the shoulder as he headed towards the gym hall.

'oh don't worry. we will.'

you couldn't stop the tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw karasuno emerge victorious from the hardest volleyball match they had to play this year, hugging yachi tightly as both of you celebrated the win of your team.

the triumphant screams filled the gym hall, the team emotional after doing what many deemed impossible. as most of them enjoyed themselves, not planning on leaving the euphoric state for a long while, tsukishima could only think of doing one thing - going to you.

you were the only person he truly wanted to celebrate with.

after the ceremony of getting the medals, to everyone's utmost shock, considering your relationship wasn't exactly public, tsukishima went up to you almost immediately, a cocky smile on his face as he ruffled your hair, looking down at you from behind his glasses.

'you didn't exactly look quite as content with your performance before getting the prize.' you mumbled, looking at the blonde haired boy with your head tilted to the side.

'well, i could've blocked more of ushijima's spikes.' he started, rolling his eyes at the sole idea of not being able to do that during today's match. 'i only managed to block one and-'

you decided to use the only method that was for sure going to shut him up in that moment, lightly grabbing him by the tshirt and pulling him closer, lips clashing for a split second in a short, sweet kiss.

'no talking down on yourself today, kei.' you said, unconsciously smiling as you saw his face getting red at what you just did, cheeks covered by a tomato-like red colour. 'i'm proud of you no matter what you think about today's match.'

he stood still for a few seconds, as if processing what had just happened seconds ago, the redness on his face deepening with each passing moment. his hand was quick to grab yours, almost dragging you away from the team and to a more private, less occupied area of the building.

'do that again.' he mumbled, after he finally led you to a quiet hallway.

'huh?'

'it was... nice.'

your eyes lit up, a cheeky smile gracing your face as you finally realized what he was on about.

'ohh, you want another kiss?' you said teasingly, eyes quickly glancing from his face down to his lips. he rolled his eyes, unamused by your act of playing dumb.

'come on, don't make me repeat myself.' still somewhat embarrassed of what he was asking for, tsukishima stood in one place, awaiting your next action.

a sigh left your lips as you took a step towards your boyfriend, standing on your tippy toes to be able to reach his face.

'alright. i guess you deserve it, match mvp.'

your arms were wrapped around his neck in no time as your lips gently touched his, tsukishima immediately kissing you back, hands positioned on your waist as you felt a smile creeping up on his face. he let out a short laugh, seeing your face being just as red as his was moments ago, hand reaching to squeeze yours.

'what?' you mumbled, as he hasn't spoken a word since breaking the kiss.

'that's surely the best prize i got today.'

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita

[fights4users]

please give us the badger hair essay

I need to get better at answering these faster! I’m “I’ll wait till I have the time to give it my attention” and forget I get asks! Sorry anon!

Ok so— hair is sort of essential even if the first film largely has everyone in helmets (apart from select programs and during the love scene). I think it’s especially important when portraying Tron in the legacy era as well as no one seems quite able to get his hair right… it should look like Alan’s, if not a little bit scruffier compared to his “straight and narrow” style.

The most important aspect to this is the bangs. I swear to god no additional Tron media ever gets his bangs right or gives Tron a military/police officer cut which is a whole other level of don’t- but it’s. You don’t realize it but by having the bangs, making his hair a bit fluffier it gives- young , idealistic and confident. The excited and fiercely loyal program we see in the film— he’s Alan’s best traits personified as well as being his own person simultaneously (there is mirroring but it stops at a certain extent it’s complicated)

I’m not saying he doesn’t “age” (not physically anyway) or go through things that would change his personality and demeanor but his core traits remain. The fluff should remain, he’s sort of stuck as a young romanticized Alan? I sound insane but there’s a point to this, his hair gives away the softer features— oh sure he’s deadly efficient but he’s also a complete goof!! (Any moment with Yori or Ram shows you he’s all smiles and loves to quip). Future installments ignore this-

Cut the bangs and sort of cut out a massive part of his character only leaving the deadly efficiency and stoicism. Ok being “Mr.Moral” is all well and good but you forgot the heart of gold and soft side part—

This goes through with the “Badger hair” too, or uh- what Bruce calls it.

Besides being a “zany” thing to highlight the inhuman nature of programs (one of the easiest way is always wacky hairstyles) it’s also literally tied to this sort of pure love ™️ aspect to their relationship. It’s tied to his goofier and softer side who 🧍‍♂️”it looks terrible” etc etc

The additional implication of this being apart of a “true form” (he has more free flowing light lines added with tape that aren’t featured here) also sort of hints at a — depriving the lighter and sweeter side of him because this is a boys action franchise now rahhhhhh

[lol-jackles]

https://awardsradar.com/2023/06/12/interview-jensen-ackles/

First of all, someone tell Jensen to check his connection before doing phone interviews, the audio is TERRIBLE and cuts out repeatedly throughout the convo. But also, someone please get this man some media training. Everytime I listen to an interview he gives I cringe so much throughout. I mean, I get that its TB and I personally don't have an issue with swearing (I do it myself way too much lol), but maybe don't in a professional interview. Also, stop putting down other shows/people to prop yourself up dude, it looks petty (Bridgerton dig).

Or maybe watch your own show because that Homelander vs SB question where he thinks they are pretty evenly matched and even the interviewer gives SB the edge (he seems like a JA fanboy tbh) but the show SHOWED US that SB wasn't actually all that tough. All the "big fights" felt... meh. SB might be volatile but if you knew his triggers he seemed annoying but not the worst to maintain/contain - literally give him some drugs and grannies and you don't have to even think about him.

Plus saying that he started to do research for his character but immediately stopped and just did his own thing for PTSD is not the serve he thinks it is. He claims he didn't want to portray someone else's PTSD so he stopped researching but if he has no experience then "doing his own thing" isn't really a good plan and honestly, the PTSD stuff he did felt... I don't know, not genuine? And not to make it a J vs J thing but we know Jared did extensive research on PTSD for Sam and worked tiny little moments in that felt very natural and subtle (notoriously his flinches at loud noises, esp when it loud noises from his brother's anger - throwing chairs, knocking things off tables etc). I know AA's always praise Jensen for his microexpressions and subtlety with acting but I find him to be mostly histrionic and he rarely does subtlety, you can see his "subtle" from a mile away. It's like he's always trying to be larger than life and it comes across as over-acting.

Link. *Me seeing it's 25 minutes long* Sigh, push play. Yeah the audio wasn't the best and listening him talk about SB's depth and I'm going "where?".

Okay, here is the PTSD part and the interviewer even referenced Dean's PTSD. Eh, didn't want to mirror another's PTSD? To quote the great Meryl Streep, you can't be an effective actor if you're not curious about people and events. When you're interested in things, you want to go deeper and you want to know more. You do the homework so that you are well prepared, which gives you the freedom to explore any avenue on the day of the filming.

I wonder if he done the character work for SB, like writing his character biography that is not outlined in the script, like what's his favorite color, does he have a sister, what's his secret, etc.  It’s one of the techniques actors are taught to fully embody their characters and know them backward and forward to help lay the groundwork for developing a strong, believable character.  

And here's the prank question because of course these always get asked. Remember kids, 90% of the prank stories are fake news.

Now the Solider Boy vs Homelander question. Interviewer thinks SB has the edge? Oh come on! Starlight was able to push SB away with a booooiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg sound effect. SB actually wasn't a solider, he mostly showed up for the photo ops after the fighting is done. SB can’t fly, isn’t fast, can’t jump that high, doesn’t have laser eyes, out of touch with technology, and he’s fairly predictable.  He should be far easier to defeat than Homelander. If you just keep Russian music away from Soldier Boy and and give him a couple of grannies and drugs, he’s content and containable. Homelander can only be contained by the tender hug of Jesus Christ. The only reason why everybody suddenly decided he's worse than Homelander and turned against SB was because he's not the main character.

To be fair, TV acting is often described as “lightly exaggerating”. For that reason I appreciated the more nuanced approach Jared took with Sam while still going above and beyond what the basic expectations are for Sam because he’s alert and always responding to what’s going around him, so he’s always changing and adapting but in more subtle ways. Jensen needs a compelling scene partner to bring out his best because his acting strength is he puts his focus on the other person.  This way Jensen doesn’t have to worry about how he’s going to say his lines and speak intuitively, this helps make his portrayal of Dean Winchester appear truthful to the audience. Jensen doesn’t go into a scene looking to do a scene, he goes in looking to be open and give over to how the other person makes him feel. That's why the only two times Jensen really shined as Solider Boy was when he confronted Crimson Countess over her betrayal, and telling Homelander what a disappointment he is. My endless complaint is SB was criminally underused on the show.

[topazshadowwolf]

Well if you like doing character analysis'.... Which of the boys is the most like Classic Sans at this point? Do any of the boys wish they were Classic (Dust), And how much Swap Sans does Nightmare have in him? Sorry for the string of questions, and I know this isn't necessarily deep, I just want to know, thanks. (Btw, i love the way you portray Killer. It's really close to canon, and just the way you do it makes me very happy. Have a good christmas!)

Which of the boys is more like Classic? Easy. Dust. Next is Horror, then Killer and Cross are equal because both are too altered in one way or another to be more like Classic than the other.

Dust beats Horror in it as Horror grew to understand he can’t always sit back and wait. Doing that could cause others he cares about to suffer. Dust is close to that too, but Dust is more likely to sit back and watch for longer to gather intel than Horror. Both are willing to cook and prepare food, but Dust is more into preparing microwaved hotdogs for himself or simple meals that are as simple as opening the pack and tossing it in the oven than Horror. Horror, as in the fic, far prefers preparing meals and as long as food isn’t wasted, he will make a full presentation with the plate if Nightmare had important guests over. (like veggies made into flowers and stuff like that.) 

Also, Dust’s terrible sleep schedule has him drifting off to sleep like Classic Sans still. Horror has an easier time staying awake until it’s time for bed. Guess one could say the damage to his skull allowed him to have some real sleep as he rarely has dreams. (The ones he has are nightmares, but Nightmare noticed and helps him sleep calmly.) Dust can sleep just about anywhere and anyway, much like Classic. Though he far prefers the sofa in the entertainment room for naps. But be ready, there might be times when the gang find Dust in odd places trying to catch some z’s where he figures Killer won’t find him to bug him.

But does Dust wish he was Classic? Yes and no? Yes in the sense he misses his loved ones and feels so much regret. No in the sense that he would never want to be in that cycle again. Hearing and seeing those he loved tortured over and over again for the amusement of another. What he would want most of all: the ability to restore his world without the human coming back and then disappearing so everyone he loves could live in peace. He figures they would miss him at first, but they would be happier without him there. (They would be alive, but not sure if they would be happier, Dust…)

But monsters can’t seem to reset…

How much Swap is in Noot? Oh boy… uh…

My Dadmare does like swearing which is a Swap trait. He likes his home clean and neat. Swap trait. Oh, and he is very organized. He might have written some guides to the multiverse under a pen name based on his research. All that paperwork is self assigned, but someone has to figure out the chaos that is the multiverse. But Dadmare is mostly his own person.

Let’s look at Dream, too. :3c You all have barely met Dream but let’s see how much Swap is in him. Well… he’s not clean. He is more neat than Ink is, but Dream would be more inclined to jump into a mud puddle to play with friends than stand by and watch like Nightmare would. He is nowhere near as organized. Blue organizes everything in the house and Dream just follows Dreams little labels he placed all over the kitchen and everything. Dream also loooooves sleep, he just feels the need to help everyone he comes across who needs some assistance. But if he didn’t have that drive, he would take mandatory midday naps. A Dream who gave into his love of sleep would ask Nightmare to reschedule a fight for two hours later as he needed his daily nap.

That being said, the Swap in him is the positivity, the ability to build up and support others. The joy he seems to share just by being in the room. The need to try everything. ← This later thing is why Dream is far more tech savvy than Nightmare. XD

Thank you! I did a lot of research on Killer because I knew very little about him as I originally misunderstood him as a character. The concept of a Sans who agreed to help kill everyone just turned me off initially. But I read through rahafwabas blog, the more I started to love this oddball. I will admit some bias towards Dust, cut of the four he is only a tiny bit more of a favorite as I’ve grown to love all four.

NOW! You my anon friend. Your questions were deep enough. And I loved answering them. That being said... maybe next time send two asks? Like who is more like classic and who wants to be classic are close enough that could have been one. The apple twins could have been another. But don't care either way! And not sure if you are the same as the one who sent the similar questions before or not? Just got two asks about this stuff two days in a row which feels like there was some worry I didn't get the ask. If one, thank you . If two, thanks both of you. I love the asks and was wanting to answer them, just didn't have the time. (stupid adulting)

[regrettablewritings]

Soulmate AU: The First Drawing You See From Your Soulmate is Tattooed on Your Skin

A detective having a tell would probably be considered inappropriate to most people. Detectives were supposed to read tells, not have them. But then again, Benoit had never been much for keeping up appearances. Besides, what was the harm in rubbing his thumb along his right wrist? It helped him focus; it helped him think.

Or at least, that was what he’d told himself. He wasn’t entirely lying, either, rather the larger whole of it all was more so that when he rubbed that spot on his skin, he felt calm. Composed. He liked to think that that was the feeling his soulmate had intended when they painted that image, whenever they made or would make it. Whatever it was. After all, it had plenty of blue in it.

He was pretty sure it was meant to be a pond or some kind of body of water; that might explain the blues and greens and maybe the bits of white that he could make out. And if he squinted his eyes a little, he could swear there were little flecks of gold. Goldfish, maybe? Honestly, he had no clue. Benoit wasn’t much for complaining or expressing a lack of gratefulness, but he couldn’t help but sometimes feel envious of those whose tattoos covered a larger part of their body. Not a massive amount, but at least just enough to be able to tell precisely what the heck their soulmate’s image was trying to portray. Clearly, the image was larger than what that patch of his skin could afford, and honest to God, he’d spent a good part of his life trying to make out what it was!

(The embarrassment of it all, he would sometimes muse deprecatingly: That the acclaimed “Last of the Gentlemen Sleuths” could solve the most absurd cases in the country, yet had spent most of his natural-born life completely stumped by what might as well have counted as a body part!)

And yet, Benoit could never stay frustrated about it; not when his thumb gently grazed against the image, imagining the smoothness of his skin ebbing into the aquatic swirls of the proposed water. But just for extra precaution, he saw no harm in distracting himself.

That afternoon’s distraction? A quick skim of the local paper, accompanied by a mug of hot tea. He tried not to think of how such a method revealed his age, instead snapping the paper open to a page discussing the local goings-on. It was the usual sort of content: The community theater’s spring production was seeking house crew members, a mom and pop-style restaurant was having an anniversary special . . . It was the same sort of thing Benoit had grown used to expecting.

But what his pale blue eyes landed on next didn’t make the rest pale by comparison -- it downright washed all else from existence: An art show.

Benoit considered himself a well-rounded person, but it was more so in an almost tongue in cheek sort of manner: As a detective, it was his job to be appropriately versed in an assortment of fields. However, a jack of all trades was never truly a master of none. Benoit’s experiences with art theft and forgeries had lent him a hand in only about as much observation as was necessary for the respective occurrences.

But . . . he knew those swirls. He knew that blue, those greens, that white -- he recognized how the gold was patterned! Sure, the cheap ink job of a colored newspaper picture might have dulled the quality ever so slightly but there was no mistake to be made: That painting was his. No . . . It was theirs!

You tried to make calming breaths without making your anxiety obvious. A nervous but otherwise acceptable smile twitched into place, fooling the guests as they wandered about the gallery. Or, at least, you certainly hoped it was fooling them; but it was probably all to be outdone by the fact that you’d been nursing the same champagne flute for the last half-hour.

Is this what “making it” feels like? you wondered. Because if it was . . . you weren’t too fond of it. You felt bad for not relishing this opportunity; the art world was highly competitive, and you were more than blessed to have had the chance to not only display your work in a showroom, but to have said room be dedicated entirely to your pieces. But in that blessing was also a curse: The curse of criticism, of weary eyes, of people both waiting to pounce on you with ribbings of how you lack the magnanimity of the classics or the free thinking of the contemporaries --

Shitshitshitsmile! You did as you were told -- both by your brain, and by your manager earlier when they walked you through how you were to compose yourself through this entire ordeal. Just smile, enunciate when spoken to, and let the potential schmoozing flow and oh god, that Karen-looking lady who definitely owns a house in Martha’s Vineyard for when she wants to get away from her husband for a day totally hated that piece you’d spent months working on, didn’t she?!

The thought made your stomach twist, your already awkward smile along with it. You inhaled sharply. You had to find something to distract yourself with. 

You turned and faced the painting nearest to you. Some might call it vanity, but you were actually quite pleased with this particular piece. That, and its blueness gave you a sense of . . . serenity. You imagined the ripples washing over you and into you, the scent and sound of the painted environment gently caressing your nose and drowning out both the stench of perfume and pretentious chattering . . . And also, apparently, the sound of approaching footsteps.

You hadn’t realized anyone had joined your side until the rumble of a southern baritone carded through the water.

“It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it?”

You hadn’t meant to jump and appear so clumsy.

“Oh, sh -- ” You cut yourself short as you eyed the droplets of spilled, room temperature champagne. If your manager found out that you had cussed around a potential buyer, they would’ve mounted your head on the wall. Thankfully, however, the stranger didn’t appear at all fazed. If anything, the chuckle he responded with sounded genuinely amused.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m terribly sorry!” he insisted, holding up his left hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you; I can imagine most anyone would be mighty transfixed over a piece like this.”

You gulped as you looked up at your unintentional scarer. His eyes were the same blue as the one that brought you calm just moments earlier, yet they had the almost opposite effect to you now. As you looked into them, you didn’t feel calm; not necessarily: Instead, you felt your heart beginning to ripple the pattern of the painting, your cheeks burning as bright as the gold swirling amongst the little waves. And yet you found yourself transfixed by them, only offered freedom when the older gentleman offered you a hint of a smile. A warm one.

Crap! Uh -- Answer his question! Think of something to say! your mind scrambled.

“Uh . . .” you stammered. The only way to save what atoms of confidence you still had left was to turn your eyes back to the painting. “I -- I should hope so.” Smooth. You tried to remember your calming breaths. You heard the man hum, shifting his position ever so slightly in your peripheral.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked, revealing just how close to you he truly was. You could feel the warmth of his person and the richness of his voice vibrating into you. Or perhaps it was butterflies? Maybe both? Well, whatever it was, it almost made you stumble over your words. You’d spent the entire evening up to that point rehearsing stories of your inspirations, recounting whatever education you had to people who probably didn’t give a crap.

But this instance was different: Maybe it was foolishness sourced from a sudden and sophomoric attraction, but you almost wanted to believe that perhaps this man genuinely cared. That he was genuinely interested in what you as the actual artist had to say and not you as some painting mannequin made to recite lines over and over.

The excitement of such a possibility broke through your nerves . . . and, unfortunately, right out of your mouth.

“I just really wanted to paint a mermaid in a mall coin fountain,” you admitted. You wanted to kick yourself. Up until that point, you’d been rather proud of your nifty little idea. But when you said it out loud, you sounded ridiculous! You could barely hide the reactionary wince, much less how your breathing hitched and hiccuped with nervousness. Just as soon as it had come, the hope that perhaps this man was different disappeared, leaving you awaiting his ridicule.

A ridicule that never came. Instead, there was quiet between the both of you. Perhaps he was at a loss for words?

“Mm,” he hummed, making you tense with expectation. You glanced at him just enough to see him nod, his blue eyes still focused on the canvas before him. “Go on . . .”

You blinked. Was he . . . for real?

“I . . . What more is there to say?” you wondered. The entire night, nobody had really asked for more on your part. They usually just took whatever purple prose you gave them and left it at that. Your initial assumption was right after all: This gentleman was cut from a different cloth from the lot.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “What inspired this?”

“Oh, uh . . . Well . . .” Was it worth telling him? Aw, hell: you’d already made a bit of a fool of yourself being honest, so what harm was there in doing it some more? “I did it because I never saw anything about a mermaid that lived in a mall fountain, collecting the coins people toss in there.”

You didn’t even have a chance to worry about his criticism before the man’s features broke into a smile. It wasn’t like the others’ more courteous grins; this one reached his eyes, making their icy coolness warm and welcoming. You hated the cheesiness of it all, but for a very split second you wished that you could be a mermaid in them.

He chuckled once again. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything concerning a coin-hoarding mermaid myself, let alone a professional art piece.” It was small, but the assurance made you offer your own smile.

“Well . . . But then maybe I have . . .” At that, your heart dropped. There it was: The anticipated criticism. He thought you were a hack after all: Uninspired, boorish, unskilled, whatever word there was to describe a person who didn’t know how to use a fan brush properly if any.

The wound stung as one so sudden should: Heavily and down to your core. You wanted the floor to open up and eat you whole. Or better yet: You wanted to climb into your apparently uninspired painting and drown in the mall fountain. But none of those could be an option, and neither was the possibility of hiding in the bathroom or an empty corridor. Instead, you had to put on a brave face and do your best to get through the moment.

“Oh?” you uttered. Your throat pained from the threat of anxiety. “Where do you suppose? I’ll admit, I’m not much into contemporary art so I don’t know the what’s what of what if you catch my drift.” You tried to weakly smile at your sad attempt for a joke. God, this so wasn’t what “making it” felt like.

But the man didn’t offer a courteous hint of laughter. Nor did he offer you a verbal response. Instead, he turned to face you. You did the same, even though you really didn’t want to. But it was the polite and expected thing to do when being confronted. Damn politeness and courteousness.

You weren’t sure how to respond when the man began to make work of his right sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff and beginning to roll the rest of it up. Your paranoia was unfortunately the first to respond due to your preexisting discomfort of the entire ordeal of an evening. You were just about prepared to scream, yelp, make any kind of distressed call -- only for it to trickle out into a gasp. An amazed exhale. The image the man presented to you on his wrist was small. Clearly, for it to be recognized for what it was, it needed a larger stretch of skin to belong to. But you knew what it was: You knew those swirls, the placements of those flecks of gold, those blues and greens surrounded by white.

For the umpteenth time that evening, your breathing changed. Only, you were pretty positive that none of your deep breathing would be necessary this time around; you would be more than happy to look at your painting on your soulmate’s skin for the rest of the night.

Epilogue:

“Mr. Blanc, please,” you insisted. “You’ve grown up with that thing on your arm, surely you’re bored with it by now. You can have your pick of the gallery. Hell, I’ll even make you something on request!”

Pickings hadn’t become slim, but the night had ended surprisingly successful. Well, surprising to you: You hadn’t expected anyone to buy anything of yours that evening, let alone six. You supposed that perhaps they just wanted to participate in the elitism brought on by owning newcomer art. Benoit, however, insisted that the buyers simply had functioning eyes. What a sweet-talker your soulmate was.

You watched as he shook his head stubbornly, eyes still fixated on the painting that adorned his wrist. He’d seen all the other remaining paintings, and even the ones that wound up selling by evening’s end. They were all gorgeous, he insisted, but . . .

“Benoit, if you will, Ms. (Y/N),” he corrected, apparently missing the irony. He gestured insistently at the composition. “And no. I . . . I truly would be quite satisfied with this one.” He heard you raspberry in defeat as you made your way back to his side, folding your arms in exasperation. 

“Seriously, though,” you sighed. “Is a painting of a mermaid dwelling in, like, a fountain you can find nearby an Auntie Anne’s really . . .” You waved a hand as if searching for the right word. “. . . Befitting? Of a detective’s abode? I was thinking more of a bucolic piece or like a portrait of some kind or . . .” You trailed off, only to be met with an amused huff.

“Some detective I am,” Benoit muttered. He broke his gaze back to you and placed his hands on his hips. “Took me well over a damn decade or two to learn what it even was. And only because you told me!”

[fathertaurus]

A Nate Jacobs Blurb part 2

A/N: Here it is! The long awaited part 2 I’ve had so many of you ask for lol. I want to mention before reading that the opening scene takes place after an hour or two into the party scene and kinda just opens up on a random scene. I didn’t feel like there was any real need to make this super long as I only wrote the most definitive moment for these characters to carry the storyline along.

I hope to continue this story as I do have many ideas but anything I post will probably just continue to be written as installments such as this and the one previous to it, as I don’t want it to be my main line of work. I’m always coming up with new ideas and I don’t like simply having one on the forefront as it places to much pressure on writing.

Regardless I hope you enjoy!

a disclaimer: If you have seen the show Euphoria you know what the character Nate Jacobs is like and what he’s done. This is not me condoning the actions of this character--in fact, I urge you to view him as the bad guy he is when reading this. That’s how I wrote it, that’s what I wanted to portray because I’ve yet to write a character as such. Though his actions may not come off as terrible when reading this remember who he is written as and try and read it in that way. 

WARNINGS: alluded sexual assault, foul language 

The crystalize haze taking over her entire perception of reality right now was almost near blinding to what was happening. The alcohol and whatever that asshole had slipped into her drink had truly and officially taken its toll on her physical being, her vision and balance being hit the worst. Her body laid skewed across the pile of blankets and sheets, having little to no strength to even shuffle through them and find her way up. 

She couldn’t determine though if that was solely for the obvious roofie or also from the shock of watching Nate barge into the room—practically snapping the door off it’s hinges, and ripping Chris from atop of her before (with a speed she had never witnessed in her life) wrestling him out the door and down the hallway. 

Through it all though and the now busted open door she was able to make out the figures of everyone still filling the living room from her placement on the guest bed, the energy to move no longer permitted in her body but simply her eyes which watched with as much intent as they could muster up.

There was yelling, screaming, and a series of other loud noises, all echoing back to her a million times louder than they probably actually were. Figures moved in flashes and the lights burned into her skull as they danced across the catastrophe spilling all over Elias’ parents’ living room wood. Her hands were on her temples before she could even feel them, body making the intent of covering her ears to attempt to silence all the overstimulation.

Bleary eyed she breathed a deep sigh and tried to find herself, but that moment being ripped away as another set of yelling broke out, the shrills emitted from Nate himself. 

He was in the dead center of it all, hands (from what she could tell) wrapped around the throat of Chris Daniel’s as he looked to be throwing him to the floor. Followed by more commotion, a body hitting the floor—it looked to give the tall brunette new access to whomever’s torso, as he barreled his foot into it repeatedly. 

If only she wasn’t swimming her own vision, her own thoughts, maybe then she could truly make it all out. But the way that pill made her skin ripple over her bones and her own brain pound its way out of her skull was too much, focus was lost on her. 

Before she even had a choice to say or do otherwise her eyes slipped closed and she sunk into the abyss of her body again.

Though she was nearing unconsciousness her ears pricked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. They were distinctively heavy and almost mismatched—like the person was stumbling over their own two feet. 

Crossing the carpet until they were near her own body she could hear mumbling above her.

“God dammit.” 

Even in her current state she could recognize that voice, the one that belonged to the person who was just moments ago beating the life out of someone. Nate.

“Look at you.” He whispered. 

The feelings of hands along the sides of her hips heightened her senses for a split second, a whine rolling from the back of her lips as to protest. 

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay it’s okay.” The fingertips grasped at the length of her dress and slowly they pulled it back down-- the whole movement now familiar to a piece of her memory somewhere in the back of her mind, “You’re okay I promise.”

There was a brush of her hair out of her face, the touch cascading down her face to her shoulders where she could make little notice of her sleeves being pulled back up. 

Within seconds the same arms were now wrapped around her form and she was being lifted from the bed. The rocking of her motionless figure was the only distinctive thing she was able to recognize before sleep finally took her under in one vast swoop of both of her eyes shutting close. —————————

(POV SWITCH)

Swaying gently back and forth on his feet Nate turned the hall into her bedroom, careful to watch her head as he shuffled through the door. 

The memories of their infamous night flooded back to him instantly, but now as he carried her unconscious body to her bed, he was able to take in the details surrounding them. Her room was a light shade of blue, decorated with huge posters starring various artists and movie stars. 

It triggered a memory from a month or so ago. Sat around a lunch table only one over from her own he could vividly remember overhearing her and April Denavive discussing that Timothée Chalamet kid and how Y/N had such an affinity for him. 

”He was so incredible in Little Women, I swear I’d give anything to just hold his hand or something.” Nate from his seat could see that her rambles caused April to snort into her fruit cup, the red head shaking her head at her friend.

”God Y/N you’re such a virgin.” 

She made sure to swat at April’s arm, poking her finger into her side for sure measure, ”Oh fuck off.” 

April laughed aloud once more as she pushed back before managing to maneuver her arms around her friend, squeezing her in a tight embrace before pressing kisses to her cheeks. 

”No no no, it’s cute!” She gushed, “It’s cute how much you want to fuck that French boy but can’t work up the nerve to say it.”

”April! God--He’s American his dad is just French--oh you know what never mind I hate you.” “N-Nate?”

Returning back to reality Nate was almost startled at the sound of another voice, completely forgetting where he was for a moment. Drawing his eyes downward he found himself back in Y/N’s room, still hovering over her side.

“Shh,” he cooed, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair as he brushed them off of her forehead, admiring the array of glitter from her eyeshadow decorating her skin. It made her shine even brighter than how he always saw her. “You’re safe now..sleep.”

She rustled amongst her blankets, nose curling and eyebrows furrowing as she struggled, a huff following.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, instantly taking notice of her discomfort. She whined innocently, sitting herself up with her eyes still wired shut and began to tug at the sleeves of her dress. 

“Itchy,” She breathed another huff as she tore at the seems, “Need it...off.”

Nate’s entire demeanor shifted. He watched her meticulously as she pulled at the material until it was up and over her chest—but the poor drunk girl seemed to lose all momentum as her arms suddenly dropped, the dress now a mess sagging off of her neck. 

Another shrill moan echoed from Y/N, not having the energy to pull the rest of the dress off and expressing her frustrations. Nate waved her off.

“Shush, I’ve got it.” Reaching forward he pulled the rest of the dress up and off of her figure, careful to not get her earrings or hair caught, before tossing it to the side just shy of her hamper he noticed upon entrance into her room.

A deep, noticeable breath expelled from her lungs before she fell back amongst the pillows, body now severely bare to Nate—the only thing keeping her covered being her bra with a pair of matching panties around her hips. 

It was pink, the bra, lace yet exuded softness with its subtle tone of color and petite bow in the middle to add a touch of innocence. Her underwear resonated in the same way; they were different than Nate had pictured when his fingers grasped at them earlier that night. He was expecting something more revealing as was common with most girls at parties like that, or in high school in general. But they weren’t—they were form fitting, far from raunchy and bore a soft pink hue like her bra, which was different than the deep red he once imagined.

And it all looked so right on her.

Y/N had seemed to finally settle in her sheets, sleep overtaking her whole figure as she noticeably sank deeper into the mattress. Nate took that as his moment to breathe in, truly, the sight before him. 

His eyes nearly followed her every move with adamancy, in an effort to note every singular detail possibly manufactured by her sleeping frame that he could then later remember at his pleasing. 

“You are so,” his fingers traced down the length of her arm, watching as the touch triggered a wave of goosebumps even as she was unconscious; He smiled, “Perfect.” 

Drawing back he grasped at the blanket before tugging it up and over her body, covering her up to her chest. Tucking in the sides of the cover to her skin he rustled them until he deemed her absolutely comfortable and then took his place  at the flank of her bed once more. 

“And you are all mine.” -------------------------

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, send requests for more if you liked!

[inosukeslefttoe]

SO i just finished wonder egg priority and i think that with confidence i can say it has been one of my favorite animes like... ever ?? and not even from hyperfixation or obsession over it just... its so fucking real yet so simple in a way that i havent rlly seen shown in any other shows you feel ??

but first i wanna talk about how sexy the art and animation is real quick... HOMIE ITS SO GOOD LIKE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT JUST... serotonin... the characters are all so unique and iconic and fun but not over the top in their designs yknow ??? they seem like regular every day girls but they stand out and theyre all sO CUTE !!!! also i love how the style is like this soft bubbly slice of life lookin stuff with bright happy colors and the most beautiful scenes you could find but they also have the SICKEST fight scenes complete with whimsical animal helpers and terrifying villains and crazy weapons unique to each character. and the animation. god DAMN shawty i am obsessed with everything in this show. i might make a post solely about the art later lol bc i wanna get into the other stuff.

so the themes in the show right ?? it starts just as this cute lil magical girl kinda deal but within the first episode we see that like.. oh damn... thats kinda heavy... tbh i was a little shocked and thought about stopping bc yknow bad mental health BUT i was so intrigued that i had to keep going and i am SO GLAD that i did. because this show just so beautifully discusses all these heavy topics in such an eloquent and artistically expressive way. and also like, , the juxtaposition of the charming childlike vibe with bright colors and 14 yr old girl protagonists against the dark themes of suicide and so much else,, i think is just perfect. bc a lot of heavy animes are more of the seinen genre and have some middle aged dude as a protag or make the entire color palette dim or offer little relief to the pain of these heavy themes right ?? but NO not wonder egg bitches B) because these problems arent just things that ppl face later in life or just problems that need to be talked about among adults or the edgy seinen watching squad,, these are REAL problems that face people of every age, gender etc and i think its awesome that wonder egg addresses that. some may cringe at the thought of their high schooler watching animes that discuss sexual harassment, suicide, abuse, self harm, eating disorders etc,, but in reality it is the most comforting thing i have ever come across and is basically jsut free anime therapy. because not only does wonder egg present these themes to the viewers as something real that happens to all kinds of people (making said people feel heard in a way that maybe they hadnt before), but it also makes sure to vanquish all of these forms of trauma. and the way the trauma is vanquished isnt always beautiful and it isnt always just magically gone with a poof. the struggles of overcoming or living with that sort of thing are shown in such a real and relatable way that addresses every hardship trauma survivors have to go through. and i just. god i cry bro. 

oh m y GOD and the lgbtq+ rep in this show ?? like shawty... as soon as i saw episode one i was picking up on some gay/lesbian themes but then again im sapphic and project that a lot so i tend to see that sort of stuff like... everywhere... but NE WAYS... episode ten made me FUKCING CRY BRO LIke i cant believe there was a whole trans character with a whole trans pride hoodie like LKGHKDGH my heart is just so.. so fucking full thinking about him. bc like yeah i know there are trans characters in anime but i feel like theyre always very ambiguous about actually being trans or not or erased or portrayed as a harmful stereotype or theyre constantly misgendered and still refered to as their assigned gender at birth and i hate it. HOWEVEr... Kaoru.. *chefs kiss* it was so amazing to see a character straight up say “yeah im trans” in such a casual yet powerful way bc i personally have never seen that before. and i love love loved how he went into his backstory and talked to momoe about gender bc i think thats what she rlly needed and that it helped her find herself and it makes me so happy oh my god,, and the way they talked about it never seemed forced or like it was the focal point of his existence yknow ?? like yeah he existed to help momoe overcome some of her trauma but he also just existed to be HIM yknow ?? also... personally, i headcanon momoe as a trans girl even though i dont remember it being explicitly stated plus the school scenes of her and stuff would seem like they suggest otherwise ??but,,, SHAWTY THE AMOUNT OF SUBTEXT and her complicated relationship w gender is... something i feel like a cis girl would not go through so harshly yknow ?? with all of the questioning and feeling detached from femininity or feeling like ppl dont see her as an actual girl and only like her as a guy or for her masculine traits,,, but dont take my word on this bc i myself am a cis girl but that was just my take on it as someone in the lgbtq+ community trying to educate myself on the transgender community :) either way,, wonder eggs portrayal of momoe and kaoru and the way that momoe becomes so passionate about expressing herself the way she wants to as a girl is just... good lord im gonna cry its so perfect,,,.so ... i just love this show way too much. i also am honestly super lost about the relationship btwn acca and ura-acca ?? bc i was gonna mention ura-acca as a canonically gay guy bc when i was watching i interpreted ep 11 as him being in love with acca and being jealous of Azusa (bc i mean,, they lived together (i swear to god there was only one bed in that apartment) and had a daughter together and def loved each other and also when Frill said they were husbands and then when ura-acca said he wasnt attracted to azusa but he was def jealous of their relationship ??) but then i saw somewhere that theyre brothers ?? which would make sense ig since they look kinda similar and accas daughter called ura-acca “uncle”.. but at the same time its ANIME SO THEY ALL LOOK SIMILAR and referring to gay couples as siblings is an EXTREMELY common euphemism soooo... IM JUST LOST HERE... but yeah i tried doing research and found different things so i cant say anything for sure >:( however,,, if they are canonically a lil fruity for each other... when frill refered to acca as ura-accas husband i imploded dude you never hear that sort of wording in anime.. but if theyre related i am so sorry. 

god this is so much longer than i planned it to be oops but i also love the theme about like.. relying on friends to help carry your weight but at the same time not becoming completely dependent on those friends and using their support to learn how to love yourself and rely on yourself yknow ?? bc that is exactly what healthy friendships look like. bc i think ai sort of had a codependency thing goin on with koito maybe ?? but now she has a whole squad of funky friends that are so so different but all struggle with different kinds of trauma and although they fight over it, they always get through it with each other together. and they push each other no matter what to be the best versions of themselves and they teach other that getting hurt is okay because theyre always gonna be there to pick up the pieces no matter what happens. they can give each other space when they need and adapt to meet each others needs but theyre always able to balance it out with their own needs and thats such a beautiful thing in friendships especially at their age like damn i wish i had that maturity when i was 14 but no all i had was depression. another thing is that through these friendships you get to see all the different sides of each girl; you get to see them being strong or a shining light to their friends when theyre hurting but you also get to see them being hurt and weak and allowing themselves to be on the receiving end of the comfort. their friendships allows them to have weaknesses but it also allows them to highlight their strengths and thrive off of each others. I LOVE FRIENDSHIP DUDE

next i wanna briefly mention some of the themes connected to suicide that ive noticed. a big one is the survivors guilt that ai feels once koito is dead. several times she screams that she wishes she couldve gone with koito and she dreams of a “perfect world” where they committed a double suicide. one of the main reasons for her troubles is that she blames herself for koitos death and feels like it should be her thats dead... but at the same time she feels like too much of a coward to do anything now that koito is gone. she just has all these complex and contradicting feelings that wear away at her in ways that ppl that havent gone through the suicide of a loved one could never imagine. a lot of the times when things like this are portrayed in media i feel like its more in a way thats meant to guilt trip those that have taken their own lives and paint suicide as this selfish sin thats unforgivable but... not only does wonder egg reject that idea and instead portray it as a heartbreaking tragedy with,,, so so many terrible reasons, but it focuses on the feelings of ai separate from koito without blaming her in any way. not once did i feel like the show antagonized koito or that ai blamed koito for doing any of this, but they simply mourned her loss and touched on ais reaction towards the event but separate from koito herself if that makes sense. and i think that discussing survivors guilt without painting koito as the bad guy is something so beautifully done in wonder egg that can really resonate with those that have lost a loved one to suicide and have struggled with these same things.

okay i think this is the last thing ill mention,,, but HOMIE THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE BIT AT THE END. I AM. OBSESSED. i am such a whore for anything about the multiverse okay n e ways...,, not only did this make a super epic trippy ending of season one and add a little bit more magical girl whimsy to the show,, but it had such a powerful message. from the perspective of og ai,, finding out that you killed yourself in another world is... i mean its definitely not a surprise but at the same time it rlly makes you think how close og ai herself couldve been to that point and what decisions led her out of that dark place in her life. if i were in her shoes i would be terrified and id cry bc the thought of going back to such a dark place and actually going through with something like that is my worst fear and probably something that ai fears too. but at the same time,,, think from the perspective of ai two !!! like yeah its true that theres this awful terrible version of ai that dies but theres also a whole version of ai that is a superhero magical girl fighting off monsters to save countless ppls lives !! and she has a badass lizard and a gang of awesome friends !!! at first i was worried that ai two would be jealous of og ai and compare herself to her and feel inferior but like.. THEYRE LITERALLY THE SAME PERSON AND CAPABLE OF THE SAME THINGS !!! and ai two realized that !! just within the span of one episode, she went from the version of ai who took her life,, to the version of ai jumping in front of a friend to take a bullet for them and save their life. and that just inspired THE SHIT OUT OF ME. i think that ai was sent another version of herself to sort of beat her own worst enemy yknow ?? those doubts and fears that shes no good or that shes that same bystander from episode one and that she hasnt changed at all. but getting to interact with her parallel self and see her grow was just what she needed to realize that while yeah sometimes the worst thing can happen and things can be terrible but on the other hand sometimes the most wonderful thing imaginable can happen because she has the power to do either. 

so im gonna go ahead and stop rambling bc i got all my thoughts out that i wanted to for this post :D but yeah lol i might make another if i feel like it sometime. long story short: this show is perfect and it is going on my favorite of all times.

[of-house-atreides]

This article is breaking my brain

Have you read this article ?

TW: mentions of suicide and also I’m an angry petty bitch

Yes I know this article is from like three weeks ago but I just found it... and I have things to say.

I swear I can’t handle this anymore...

“But today, Loki steps out of his brother’s shadow”... to step in another one. It be the TVA or Sylvie, just... take your pick.

“resuming his role as the God of Mischief” um where? when?

The comedy part is debatable but fine, whatever... I must have missed the noir crime-thriller bit maybe it was between two scenes of Loki getting his ass kicked by literally everyone in this show.

Yeah you forgot that end-credit scene showing Loki alive and well in IW/Endgame.

And no, alternate/variant Loki doesn’t count, he’s not the same person/character.

Because of course when you think of Loki you instantly think his story should take place in a “bureaucratic nightmare” -

And why not hire competent experienced people for Multiverse of Madness and Loki? Is this Marvel’s way of telling us they don’t really care about these projects?

Kevin really said “no experienced writers on this project, let’s just hire whoever” - or maybe it’s a budget thing? Less experience means less zeros on the pay checks?

Wow, ok.

So not a fan of the movies nor a fan of the character, just a fan of the genre, that explains a lot...

“what was really important to me was stripping away all the fantastical elements” ... ?? I’m sorry?? What?? So removing all the fantastical elements from a show titled after who is supposed to be the main character who is a GOD and a prince from another realm/planet was what was important?? The Trickster God of Mischief, magic wielder, master of illusions NEEDED to be stripped from his FANTASTICAL ELEMENTS???

ffs

“find the heart of this story” - is the heart of this story Loki becoming best friends with his (mental and physical) torturer after what? 2 days? Was it falling in love with the ‘superior’ version of himself after only 13 hours together? I’m still looking for the heart of this story.

“what is the relatable message at the center?” - well apparently it’s ‘you can be a God and a warrior with magical powers but still get your ass kicked by literally everyone all the time and never use your strength and skills to fight back’. Or it’s the power of love, idk -

Oh wait, is it falling in love with the female version of himself? For a weird ‘love yourself’ metaphor? That must be it.

Or maybe it’s jet skis.

Ah yes, the ‘you can be good, actually’ message of this series that is so subtly presented to us...

They really missed the whole fucking point of Loki.

They missed it so bad they made him call himself a narcissist (which he isn’t btw).

For the record, Loki is a prince of Asgard who learnt one day he was adopted and in fact taken from one of Asgard’s worst enemies, the King of the Jotuns, aka Frost Giants “the monsters parents tell their children about at night”. He found out he was not only adopted but also abducted and not out of love. He feels not only betrayed but he thinks he understands now why Odin always favoured Thor and why he’d never have the same love from Odin that Thor has had his whole life. He thinks of himself as a monster and wants to be worthy of Odin’s love. So he tries to get it. And sure, he doesn’t do it in the best way, and yes, he is the villain of that story. But Loki isn’t a villain. He doesn’t like to make people suffer, he did it out of pain, out of hurt. The events in Avengers was after he was thoroughly tortured and coerced by Thanos to invade Earth. There is even a moment in the end when Thor asks him if he thinks this ‘madness would stop under his rule’ (or something along those lines) and he looks unsure and regretful. But due to the fear of Thanos and insecurity about himself (love is weakness or whatever) he keeps going. He redeems himself in Dark World, again in Ragnarok and yet again in IW and he was thrown in the trash for it.

Yes, Loki’s story is complex, but it really isn’t that complex... So maybe Loki is a “scared little boy” but his way of acting out makes sense and there’s a legitimate reason for it that was not explored in the show. And his backstory is probably what she called the “bells and the whistles”... 

“we literally delete his universe” - and apparently you deleted his personality too

“it’s a story of reinvention ... can Loki find goodness in himself?” - again, you’re missing the point. Loki is insecure, but not about his ability to do what’s right, but about whether or not he is worthy of love! Finding goodness within himself comes AFTER!

“Loki’s journey, to me, is really about acceptance of himself” - several questions here, um, first, what about himself does he need to accept? That he’s a Jotun? The show never mentions it. That he’s done bad shit and should forgive himself for it? Give him a reason to. Self-love doesn’t come after being mentally and physically tortured by some guy who acts like he’s your best friend after 2 days of working together and being yelled out that “he can be anyone he wants, even something good”.

Show, don’t tell, isn’t that the point of your job?? The job you begged for??

Loki’s journey should have been about self-love and no, falling in love with the female version of yourself (who keeps saying they have nothing in common (because they don’t!)) doesn’t count!

“a more mature and darker path” ...

well this is interesting... was making Loki a clown and the butt of every joke part of making the show mature and dark? Were the terrible attempts at humour? Him being beaten up every two seconds? Having him say lines he’d never say in a million years just to be funny but since it’s out of character for him it fails completely? Was making him incompetent and a complete idiot part of that attempt of making the show mature and dark?

Is that why there’s no magic? You cut off the magician so your show would be more “mature and dark”?

Having him cry every episode doesn’t make your show mature and dark.

Loki from Thor, Avengers, the Dark World and even IW is mature and dark. Your Loki from your series is just a pathetic clown.

“don’t give viewers the story they are expecting” - I personally wasn’t expecting any story, I just wanted Loki, you know, in this Loki series, supposedly all about Loki, and you guys couldn’t even do that.

So this is the author of the article speaking here, I’m guessing, and I think they’re giving a summary of the show so far, so let’s break this down:

“This is Loki as we’ve never seen him before” - I 100% agree -

“Stripped of his self-proclaimed majesty” - ok, first of all, Loki is a prince, that’s a fact, he didn’t make that up, and for the few years he was King of Asgard disguised as Odin, he seemingly did a great job, so...

“but with his ego still intact” - ah, yes, his ego, you know, because he’s such a narcissist... oh wait -

yes he has an ego, but he has a regal one, not misplaced entirely either - his ego in the show is basically him underestimating the TVA and Mobius (as well as the Time Keepers) - his ego is him getting offended by the variant: the ‘superior Loki’ - his ego in the show is used as a weapon to humiliate and belittle him.

“he faces consequences he never thought could happen to such a supreme being as himself” - he literally tried to k*ll himself in the first Thor - literally a result of his own actions - when he returned to Asgard in Dark World, he didn’t try to pretend he hadn’t fucked up. He didn’t try to hide what he had done (he tries to deny to Mobius in episode 2 that he was manipulating them at the fair) - he sacrifices himself in IW... but sure, Loki from the series is indeed surprised that he is powerless (even when he doesn’t need to/shouldn’t be)

“there is a lot of humour ... he is taken down a few pegs by the TVA” ... he is humiliated by the TVA - definitely not what we were expecting, I’ll give you that.

“sentenced to a lifetime of bureaucracy” - definitely did not expect that either

and here comes my favorite quote: “it’s a sad Loki without any mischief”

yes - yes - yes

that is a good summary of this goddamn show, a sad, pathetic, powerless Loki without any personality 

“fallen God” - yeah that’s definitely not what I was expecting either from the Loki series so good job on subverting expectations I guess...

“who is going to win out in this match between them?”

there is no match - Loki is powerless - he’s been turned into a pathetic docile harmless wet dog - Mobius literally mentally (episode 1 and 4) and physically (episode 4) tortures him, both time in an attempt to have Loki do his bidding - Loki is the dog and Mobius is the master - even when Loki ‘tries’ to manipulate him it fails because he’s underestimating them (by overestimating himself) - he uses obvious techniques to manipulate the TVA (episode 2) and nobody buys it because it’s not subtle at all! Loki is smarter than that, he is a TRICKSTER GOD FFS!

“there is an interesting dynamic between them that maybe you haven’t seen with Loki in the Marvel movies” - yeah, maybe there’s a reason for that... like... he wouldn’t... submit so easily... he’d be wary, cautious, cunning... he’d be... himself...

Sans déconner ?

It’s like whoever wrote the series didn’t actually know shit about Loki... like that wasn’t fucking obvious...

And those lectures were apparently done after the script was written so... again, no surprise there... we can see that

Well...

“we wanted the show to be imbued with mischief” vs “sad Loki without any mischief” choose your fighter

“Loki has this very sensitive, damaged, broken heart with an enormous capacity to feel emotion on the biggest scale.”

Are surprised that only Tom so far has portrayed and talked about Loki accurately?

“loneliness, sadness, anger and grief and loss”

I love this man.

I do wonder what Mr. Branagh thinks of the show...

I’m of the people who see a vulnerability beneath those layers of charm and playfulness. I love Loki because he’s smart and cunning and regal, and elegant and sophisticated. I love him cause at the end of the day, he just wants to be loved, and he deserves to be loved.

And in the end, the only Loki I can’t stand is the one from the series.

[lugiepie]

Hello. I guess my first ask ever goes to you?

I found your tumblr thru looking up stuff in the male corrin tag bc:

I dabble in smash bros (read: I am effing terrible at smash bros because I just started playing a few months ago),

I recently found out that this random character is not only has DRAGON powers but also has both male and female forms, thus making me

intrigued. I am very, very intrigued about this Corrin fellow. (and I like their male form a tad more than their female form too)

So, since I saw a post that you made over two years ago about this character indicating you found out about then thru smash too, I'm wondering if you have any recommendations about finding out more about them. Because I've been looking at it for a few hours now and I'm mostly just confused.

Note: I know nothing about Fire Emblem. I'm not really attracted to anime stuff either -- the closest experience I have with it is pokemon (which I adore because of aforementioned DRAGONS and various other wonderful creatures) -- (sidebar: pursuing your tumblr for more info and seeing your various art stuffs has been an absolute pleasure. Love the sense of humor).

(Hopefully I did this asking thing right, XD)

oh my hello!!!! glad you enjoy my stuff :) always nice to know that i can make people smile

as for finding a corrin encyclopedia? that’s a loaded question- i’d say play all three routes of fe fates, but since you’re not into that stuff i’m gonna instead recommend fe warriors (the first not, not the “new hopes” one that’s coming out later). it’s a bravest warriors game just with fire emblem, and although it’s definitely got some flaws in the wake of its story, it’s overall a pretty satisfying “kill hordes of enemies” game in my opinion. the character interactions are all very genuine too, and the supports between characters are pretty funny at times. also quick note, corrin himself kinda breaks a lot of well established fire emblem rules such as a.) half dragon that can transform into a full dragon somehow b.) uses more than one plot device in his quest and c.) is generally written very inconsistently and makes very dumb decisions in context because of it, hence why a lot of people don’t like him in the fe community. i mean he is as close as you can get to a mary sue in terms of fire emblem protagonists.

honestly though, if you don’t feel like playing a whole game, just try to find blogs that have content that appeal to you. i don’t follow any corrin blogs in particular (i just follow the male corrin tag) because truth be told both the fire emblem and smash community in the west don’t have as much of a liking toward our favorite manakete as they do, say, alm or lyn. i know this sounds like a cop out answer lol but i swear curating this stuff yourself and not just going off of what a random person on the internet says is so much more enjoyable in the long run. on that note, maybe i’ll post more corrin stuff because we do be living in a desert here chief.

though, just a quick note, actual canon corrin is more of a totally submissive pacifist who is afraid of hurting people and basically everything, and the way i portray him is more like “his initial adventure from fates is already over and he learned the hard way that sometimes hurting people is an unavoidable consequence when you’re dealing with literal war”, so he instead is much more mellowed out. and a dog because i think it’s really funny to have this grown man with dragon wings and a tail jumping on counters and just causing general chaos without realizing it lmao.

and yes, there is no wrong way to do an ask :) you could’ve sent me a picture of an overflowing trash can with a raccoon in the background and i would’ve answered it in full, welcome to the hellsite that is tumblr

[opes-magnas]

『 as lonely as time can get. 』

It’s finally here!! I’m a terribly slow writer, and am really thankful to all those who waited for this! Hopefully you enjoy. Thank you so much to @hamjjy, @kaavijournals and Lady L for beta reading this, you guys are the best!

Listen to this playlist here for the best experience!

tw: cursing, body sensitivity, very subtle idea of anxiety and toxic relationships are portrayed.

~calypso <3

I. the moon can't shine on her own.

She looks serene tonight - high up in the night sky, not a single star to accompany her. Does the moon feel lonely like that? Does she ever need a warm hug? Perhaps she gets one from the sun, and he accompanies her all time. Does the sun shine for her? So that the world can see her beauty? Perhaps so. When she can't see him, she turns bloody red; she seems disturbed. Hurt. Lost. Her fury always frightened the humans. It made them shiver inside their homes, praying to see the familiar ball of light rise from the east to calm her down. Perhaps it is better if they could only see her beauty. But does that mean the sun shines, not to show her beauty, but to protect the humans from her true self? Perhaps so.

The sun and the moon are a pair. And they will continue to be.

As long as the moon can't shine on her own.

Let's stop thinking, Luna.

The moon seems lonely.

I look up at the clock. A red, metallic light tells me its 3:48 am, 3rd April. Great, now I can have four shots of espresso for breakfast. Thank you, oh great mind, for deciding that we needed to have that conversation earlier. I sit up on the bed and rub my eyes. The curtain flutters from the soft wind blowing in through the window. Cicadas fill up the silence as I look at the full moon illuminating my room another time. Oh, how I hate the moon. What a hypocrite. I look away, and my eyes find the pile of open textbooks and spark notes I abandoned. A small smile creeps up my face. At least I'll ace that History test tomorrow. I could imagine the Boba Tea reward from Leo in my hands already. Leo. The annoying kid next door who's been stuck with me since I was five. Don't worry, though. I don't like him. Not anymore. He made it extremely clear that I was 'a size too big' for him. Then why do I still hang out with him? Short answer - I beat him up, he apologized. I shall offer no elaboration. Still, a lump forms in my throat. And maybe because he wasn't completely wrong.

I get up to go grab a glass of water. Mochi is lying in her bed in the hallway. This is the first time she didn't stir awake when I thumped across the room. The poor fluffball of a cat is probably very tired from the bath I forced her into in the evening.

You need to lose a few pounds anyways, Luna. Get rid of those love handles. Maybe some fat on your back too. That'll make people find you more approachable.

It isn't toxic if it's true, right?

That night, I decide that my glass is half-empty rather than full, and go back to bed. Suddenly, Mochi wakes up and runs into my room. She snuggles in and throws her paws on my hair like it's her property. I choose to oblige the demon for today.

The last thing I see before sleep lures me is the clock gleaming '3:59 am'.

/////-----

It's too warm in my blanket. I almost want to peel my skin off. I need to get sleep, I have a test soo- I jolt awake. Mochi is no longer next to me. I assume she's back in the comfort of her bed, considering the temperature in the room. I let out a groan as my hand outstretches to the switchboard. After a few terrible attempts, I finally turn on the ceiling fan. As sleep threatens to take me again, I see that it's still dark out and the moon looks just as annoying as it did earlier, its ever luminant light breaking down the walls of my privacy. My eyes turn to the direction of the clock- 3:48 am, 3rd April. Huh, weird. I realize I must have had one of those five-minute, extra strength-giving, amazing nap- Wait why does the clock say it's 3:48 am?

I grab my phone. The sudden light blinds me for a second, and through squinted eyes I see 3:49 am on the screen. Huh, really weird. Wasn't I awake just now  - err, earlier? Wait what? I realize I make no sense, maybe I just read the time wrong the first time. My brain is repeating the features of the Hammurabi Code, my drowsy eyes are drooping, and I meet slumber once more.

I barely feel Mochi slipping back into my blanket.

/////-----

I wake up in wonder why my alarm hasn't rung yet. The room is still dark, the moon stares at me curiously. Give me some privacy, moon. My eyes turn towards the clock for the third time this night- 3:46 am, 3rd April. Bullshit. I've been asleep for hours now; I won't need those four espresso shots for breakfast anymore. My tongue clicks involuntarily. Is this some sort of a stupid prank? Leo is definitely behind this, I'm going to hunt that dipshit down.

Come to your senses, Luna. The universe cannot prank you. That's impossible. And stupid.

I grab my phone again. An attempt in vain, I realize, when I see the screen displaying the same time. I text Leo.

| loser |

you (3:46 am, 03.04.2021): you awake?  (read) 

loser (3:48 am, 03.04.2021): no

A chill goes down my spine. Did the just relive 3:38 am? I decide to call Leo. Two rings in, I hear a familiar voice, 'I said I wasn't awake.' He sounds tired, voice raspy and strained. You'd think he'd just woken up from the but he's the sort of person who thinks sleep is for the weak. 'Yeah no shit, Sherlock. I'm speaking to your alter ego, Thomas.', I reply.

He decides to ignore my bad retaliation, and saves me from the embarrassment. 'Why is my star pupil awake at 3 in the morning? Has she forgotten about the test she will help me cheat tomorrow?', he asks. Ah, this freeloader. I'm gonna kick his ass. My hands move frantically in the air out of annoyance, 'I am not helping you with anything!', I scream-shout into the phone, afraid I'll wake Mochi up in the hallway. She's a bigger annoyance than Leo; no one in the universe has energy to deal with a grumpy Mochi.

'Honey, you love me.'

'You're being delusional.', I deadpan.

'Is my chubby baby irritated?', he says in a fake cooing voice. And that got me.

'Leo, I did not call you at 3 in the fucking morning for you to put me down.'

The other side of the line immediately goes silent. Silence that reminded me of the last time this happened. Silence between the two of us on a Boba Tea study session in the park after an argument, the only sound being the pages of my sociology textbook being turned, and of the sound of baby birds in a nest nearby. Though I know that Leo meant it as a term of endearment, I couldn't believe he wouldn't ever, well, consider me more than just a friend because of it. A few seconds (sometimes minutes) pass before -

'I'm sorry, Lunie, you know I don't mean it,'

Another apology.

I sigh. I'm tired of this conversation again. I'm tired of having to deal with the same problem again. I'm tired of people putting me down. I'm tired of blaming myself. I'm tired of trying to look pretty. I'm tired of Leo. I'm tired of me. I'm tired of another heartbreak. I know his apology is genuine. I know he doesn't mean it. I know he's just being the Leo he always is. But somehow his words still continue to haunt me. Maybe it's because it's coming from someone who means to me the most, coming from someone who brightens me up, like the sun does to the moon.  Then why am I the only one taking it seriously? Why am I trying to fit into someone else's standards? Why am I so painfully aware of everything but still choosing to be blind?

Why am I not able to love myself even though I want to?

'Luna? You there?', his voice breaks me from my train of thought. Weirdly, he sounds quite scared. 'I didn't realize how much it bothers you, I swear I won-'

Mochi jumps onto the bed and snuggles into my head again, paws in a similar place in my hair. A weird sense of Deja vu washes over me again. And then-

『 pop! the world has reset.』

My eyes opened in fear as a gasp escapes my mouth. I'm sitting on my bed, trying to comprehend what just happened. The curtains flutter with the wind blowing by. The moon stares in curiosity. My phone's on the bedside table. The clock gleams with a bright '3:01 am' displayed on it. And the problem is that I wasn't dreaming, and I wasn't mistaking the time either.

I'm in a time loop.

II. a tub fills with water only to spill it.

I fucking hate whoever wrote Groundhog Day.

Like who decided that? Who decided to say 'Hey, let's make a movie based on time loops!'? 'Let's make a dude live the same day all over again till he gets it right! Let's make him really happy, then really sad!'

Son, I'm this close to pulling an Ides of March on you.

I seem to be looping every hour, more specifically from three in the morning to four. Five hours have passed by, but my clock tells me it's precisely 3:18 am. Great. My dearly detested friend, the moon, is my only companion in this war with time (sorry Mochi). In the five hours that should have gone by, I have accomplished the following:

Two and a half hours of sleep - though I wake up when the clock resets.

Half an hour of revision for that History test I need to write after I get out of this shit.

Thirty minutes of planning a workout, Fifteen minutes of Yoga.

Five minutes of trash talking the moon, Ten minutes of dealing with grumpy Mochi who woke up as I exercised.

Thirty minutes of wondering if Leo's looping with me, and

Half an hour of figuring out what went wrong, and how to make the night perfect.

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to remember anymore. I've tried everything - making notes, scribbling on the wall, writing on myself, engraving things on desk - but none of them seem to make it through when the loop resets. I'm too tired to talk to Leo, knowing very well that he would definitely not believe me. And partly because I'm afraid I'll lose my temper and get hurt again. I'm afraid I'll end up being the insecure bad guy, and he doesn't deserve that. He deserves someone better. Someone who's prettier, kinder and happier. Not telling him for the time being also meant that I'll never find out if he was looping with me. But that probably isn't the case, the universe is cruel for a reason. This is perhaps its punishment for me. I must go through this alone.  No one's ever been by my side anyways.

I'm as lonely as the moon.

/////-----

Another few hours pass. The pop between every reset scares me lesser and lesser. But my desperation to return back to normal is growing. I've been trying to figure out what went wrong for the past hour in the neighbourhood park. The cold air  perfectly paired up with the mint chocolate chip ice cream in my hands. Was it me staying awake this long? Should I have just gone to sleep?  There must have been something I did wrong that hour. My heart wishes to call Leo and confide in him. And the more time goes by, the more my mind wishes to oblige to that crazy request.

I pull out my phone, which gleams a bright '3:58 am'. It's almost time for the reset. In two minutes, I'll be magically transported back to my bed. I sigh. I can't take living the same hour again. The hour grips my sanity like it is a play toy. I waste another countless moment wondering where I went wrong.

『 pop! the world has reset.』

Well, I guess there's no place like home. I wonder if Mochi was worried the previous hour when she didn't find me in the bed. Do cats feel worry for their owners? Does Mochi care for me? What kind of a disgusting ship is this? Cringe, cringe, cringe. Shut up, Luna. I bury my nonsensical idea of my cat showing me love for once in the deep pits of my mind, and pretend I never thought of such blasphemy. I shift under my blankets, and decide to sleep through this hour, foolishly hoping that the reset would never take place if I was never awake, though I woke up when the clock reset each time earlier. My eyes look at the clock - 3:05 am.

That's when doorbell suddenly rang. I launch up in surprise. This didn't happen before. My heart begins to pound extremely hard, my head hazed in confusion. I run towards the door as quickly as possible stirring Mochi awake in the process, and fling it open.

It's Leo. And he's in tears.

His eyes are filled with fear, breath unsteady. Beads of sweat line his neck as he tries to get words out. Leo grips my hands tightly, as though he wants me to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. This hasn't happened in a very long time. He's gotten a much better hold on his anxiety in the past few years. I pull him into a hug and mutter words of comfort. His head is leaning on mine, and his breath slows. I tell him we'd be alright, and hum a calming tune. And we stay like that for the next five minutes.  

'Luna,', Leo whispers into the night. 'Would you believe me if I told you something crazy?'

'Like what?'

'Like a war against the clock.'

And that's when I knew. Tears start brimming in my eyes as I give out a sigh of relief. 'Like a time loop?', I say as I hug Leo a little tighter. This time I needed one to remind me I wasn't alone. He seems to catch on as well, a sob escapes from him as he melts in. We stay in each other's arms, in each other's comfort - a place where walls were deaf to all the shared secrets, a sanctuary with no limits.

Oh, what I'd do to protect it.

Leo pulls away, his eyes disappear and his lips form into a sheepish grin. His face is puffy from all the crying, but it glows in the soft moonlight. My eyes widen in surprise as he grabs my hand and drags me out the door. I manage to see the clock on the kitchen counter gleaming with a bright '3:15 am.' before blood rushed to my face upon meeting the cold air.

'Where are we going? Are yo- ah it's fucking cold out here!', I complain.

'Ice Cream.' Classic hungry Leo. This boy is a demon.

iii. the twilight hour.

'What's wrong with you?!', I huff as I bend down to catch my breath and hide myself under a tree. Leo, on the other hand, is breathing quite easy, a stupid grin plastered on his face (oh, how I want to punch him). His hands hold up a bag with three tubs of mint chocolate Ice Cream like they're the greatest creation of God. 'Did you really have to steal Ice Cream?! Are you five?', I say as I recall the incident that just took place, how Leo basically ran out the convenience store with the sweet goodies without paying and left me, his dear, penniless (and only) friend as the bait to a potential flat-earther of a cashier (long story, don't ask).

And now we're here, the park I was in the previous hour. There's not a single soul around. The only companion being the moon once again. His smile shines through like the sun, however.

'I'm rweally sowwy, delulu,', he retorts.

'My name is Luna, and no one can ever be as delusional as you, you dill hole.', I say, my ears red.

'Good now, I shalt promoteth thee to 'Deluna'. Thee has't been felicitat'd.'

I click my lips in annoyance. I know quite well that when the clock resets, all the stolen Ice Cream would be back in the freezer. But I try my best to maintain a straight face to show my discontent. That's right Luna, assert your fucking dominance. I notice that his hazel eyes shining with the mischief I'm used to once again. He's back to the loud, obnoxious and teasing Leo he's always been. Leo who's carefree, Leo who's horribly reckless, Leo who finds happiness in uncertainty. My Leo. My lips slowly curl into a smile, and I give in. He's happy, and that makes me happy too. Leo suddenly pulls out his phone.

'Look here, Partner in time.', he says cheekily.  I hear a click. My brows wring into discomfort and confusion.

'What? You look pretty in the moonlight.', he states without skipping a beat. There's a million tugs in my stomach, and blood rushes to my bronze skin. Butterflies soon turn into more sinister as I remember our conversation on the phone earlier. My face falls, if only this boy knew what he puts me through. First I'm not good enough, and now I'm pretty? Does he really throw around stuff like that without giving it a second thought? Does he not realize all that he's putting me through?

This is pointless. My feelings for him are pointless. The amount of time I waste on this is pointless. 'Our friendship is pointless.', I say. Regret follows immediately. Leo's face turns grim too; an unreadable expression plastered on his face. I suddenly remember something I jotted down my sociology textbook.

words left unspoken, my hearts screams, my head's in pain, we are in conflict.

Tears well up in my eyes again. This is a conflict, the most peaceful one at that. Terrifying. One that makes you curl into a ball and wish you never existed. One fueled by guilt, by insecurity, by ignorance. I remember the rest of the poem.

one of us was meant to get hurt, almost as though the heavens proclaimed it, on the day of creation. the celestial sky cried tears of gold, for it knew fate was cruel, but humans are crueler.

My hands are getting colder. My breath is hitching as my sobs get louder. Leo rushes towards me and tries to pull me into another hug. As much as I try to resist, he pulls me into his embrace. Fear devours my heart as I realize how I didn't feel at home anymore. I knew this sanctuary was going to break sooner or later. My heart is sick. It pains far too much as it beats in his embrace. Will it stop if I pull away? I try.

It does.

'Luna, what's wrong?!', Leo asks, truly afraid of what was happening.

'Us, Leo. Us.', I reply, voice barely a notch away from a whisper.

'What's wrong with us? We're Leo and Luna! You're the other half of thi-'

'Stop. Please.', I say firmly. My head feels too heavy, my heart too light. The moon shines down on me in its disgusting glory. I can't take it anymore. 'You're the reason I hate the moon, Leo. Because you are the sun. You only shine on me to mock me. To make me feel inferior.'  

'What're you talking abou-'

My tongue clicks loudly. 'You're so hypocritical!  You're an asshole who makes me feel like I'm the only one in the world, before throwing me out yourself. You make me feel insecure, Leo. I don't feel like I'm myself with you anymore.', I say, vitriol burning my throat. 'You disregard what I feel for you, because I'm the moon. You outcast me, because I'm the moon. You tie me down.

'You remind me of why I'll never shine on my own.'

I look at Leo. His hazel eyes turned dark, head down in shock. There's not a single drop of water in his eyes. He stands under the moonlight in silence. I can hear my heart palpitating.

'Why do you think the Sun shines, Luna?', he whispers. 'Is it to light the day, or to light the night?', he asks, a little louder this time. I open my mouth to answer.

'It's to light the night, Luna.', he interrupts. He knew I'd say neither. The sun shines for himself. He is selfish.

'The sun sheds it's light, because if it didn't, the moon would never-'

'That's exactly the prob-'

'get to see the world.' I stop midway in confusion. What is he saying?

'The sun shines because he wants the moon to see the world, Luna. He shines because if he didn't, the moon would be lonely. He makes sure to shed the perfect amount of light on her, so that she guides the traveler without scalding them, without making them blind.

'If he never shone, he'd have never have found his other half. The sun would have been just as lonely as the moon would have, Luna. The sun and moon are a pair, not because the moon can't shine on her own, but because they are lonely without each other.', Leo says.

And epiphany struck down like lightning. Leo needs me as much as I need him. He'd be just as lonely as I'd been without him. The moon's identity without the sun hadn't ever been her own. It was due to the sun's light she was herself. The sun made her the moon, and the moon made him the sun. They were inseparable, as destiny willed them to be, for they needed each other. For the sun to shine the brightest, and the moon to give comfort. But all that didn't answer why-

'Why did you say I wasn't enough for you?', I say, reminiscing that day in the park.   I remember picking out a bouquet of purple lilacs after studying a book about plant symbolism in the library. I spent hours trying to make myself look pretty. I spent a lot of time trying to make up my mind. And everything came crashing down.

'Because you deserve more!', Leo says in defeat, fingers brushing into his hair. 'Do you know how much of a loser I am? You deserve a hunk-a-ilicous person, are you really going to settle for a noodle?!', Leo says, gesturing to his lean figure. As sarcastic as his response seemed, he meant every word of what he said. That's just how Leo is.

'Leo, that's exactly how I've been feeling this whole time.' I pull Leo into a hug.  

Leo is no different than I've been my whole life. He's just as insecure and broken as I am, as I've always been. All my life, I'd seen him as a completely different person. We have different hobbies, we have different personalities. But we're still similar in ways that make us, well, us. It's just that our sanctuary needed to break to have it's walls built back stronger. I feel at home again.

'You're more of a sausage though. Alri-ALRIGHT lemme clear up, you're MY sausage okay? The best one in fact, I will use you in all my dishes.', Leo says as I pull out of his embrace and find a stone on the road to attack the disrespectful brat. Leo runs away and makes his way behind the usual Banyan tree at the edge of the park. 'That's literally the worst nickname ever!', I yell as I chase him.

'Mine own dearest sausage I begeth thee to reconsid'r!'

'TRY ME BITCH.'

'Hey, hey wait.', Leo holds down my hands and blocks my attack, and I'm left with no weapon except for the daggers in my eyes I choose to use against him. 'So, what are we now?', he asks.

'We're still Leo and Luna, dumb head.', I say after giving it a thought. Leo opens his mouth to refute, but soon decides against it. I assume he's content with the answer. We were friends, nothing could ever break that. Would we ever be something more? Who knows, maybe we would in the future when we love ourselves a little more, when we're comfortable with who we are, rather than who we're with.

Until then, we are Leo and Luna.

///////------

My eyes flutter open. I am leaning on the trunk of the Banyan tree next to Leo. I find myself in sleepy laughter as I look at his head lodged in between the roots of the tree. And suddenly, I see light in the distance. I immediately wake up from my position near the tree and walk to the edge of its canopy, heart beating in my stomach and look at the sky outside. The dark navy night melts into a light lilac, small streaks of tangerine bordering the the horizon. The birds are beginning to chirp in the trees, though the street lights are still on.

The time loop has stopped.

Meanwhile, Leo had stirred awake. He runs with his eyebrows up in surprise and squeezes the life out of me before his eyes turned dark in fear.

'WE HAVE SCHOOL.', he exclaims. I ignore him, and choose to stare into the sky. I look at the twilight hour. The sun and the moon were side by side, in harmony, like Leo told me. Tears escape my eyes in a sense of accomplishment. I could rest now. I give myself a small hug, and tell myself I'd worked hard. ('LUNA DO YOU REMEMBER THE HAMMURABI CODE.' 'That is not important right now!') The sun rises up, and salvages the few moments he has with the moon. I turn my head to the side and see that the moon looks serene, her light glow slowly fading as she decides to rest too.

But above all, I see that the moon is no longer lonely.

a/n: ahhhh yes if you’ve made it this far, i truly truly appreciate you for reading this, it means a lot to me. the past few days have been a little weird for me, and it took more than just motivation for me to get through writing this. again, thank you to all my beta readers, i really treasure all of you! i’d really love to get an ask about the short story, so if you enjoyed, make sure to send me one! i hope everyone’s staying safe! stay tuned with us because we have another surprise coming soon!

alatcg taglist:  @blue-hairbrush, @kaavijournals, @artbyeloquent, @47crayons, @writing-is-a-martial-art

general writing taglist: @shinesundark, @the-writing-avocado, @raenawrites​

@original-writing​

[huntective-kyeo]

❗Warning❗ TYPOS, SPELLING, AND GRAMMAR. And English is not my first language. Kinda angry hehehe

This is my first time to post it here and I hope you like it. Feel free to criticize my writing so I can improve.

So enjoy.

FIRST FANFIC

My Father is Dean Winchester

Dean POV

I sat down on the chair and open the lid of the beer. It's been hectic two weeks. Sam and I hunt a witch in Colorado and it took us a week to find the witch and killed it. That witch got Sam to bruise his ankle, and a concussion but thankfully nothing major injuries that needed stitches and so. Most of all the sonavabitch wore witch almost touch and probably hex my Baby which I did make her pay for it.

All in all, it took us a few days to get back at the bunker and now I'm sitting on the chair, probably wanted to eat some pies and get drunk.

My thoughts interrupt when the door opened and I looked up wonder who that person is. My instinct is to grab my trustful gun and aim it towards that intruder. However instead of getting alert, and hunting instinct it exactly quite opposite to what I feel right now.

Third POV.

A girl took a deep breath and with her shaky hand, she holds the handle and she pauses before she opened the door.

She didn't know what to do or what to say. She felt nervous to face them all. She wants to keep it secret however it keeps harder and harder to hide all the symptoms she felt during the last few months.

with heavy heart and soul, she opened the door and wish that bunker is well as empty as when she leaves it a few hours ago.

She didn't notice that the Impala, her first love park on her usual spot, she didn't notice a man sit on the chair seem like thinking something, she didn't notice her dad.

Dean POV

" y/n? " I blurted out. I didn't notice that my daughter y/n leave the bunker without telling us, or wasn't I?

Y/n my precious daughter, my little sunshine, and the only reason aside from my little brother who keeps me alive. 16 years ago Her mother and I met at the bar and happened to have one night stand. I was drunk to forget us condoms. I didn't realize it until, nine months later, Kylia found me and she shove the newly baby born into arms. I didn't hear her rants about not wanting kids because I was so fallen to my baby girl. I swear y/n is the most beautiful baby girl that I've ever seen. From that fateful night, I swore that I protect and love her no matter what.

With the help of my brother and my family, we did a good job raising a finest and yet mini-me y/n which kinda bit frustrated when she becomes a rebellious teenager and seeking for a new way to hunt.

I know that being a father and hunter ain't hood to raise a child in a world full of darkness but I did try my best to become a father that she deserved and not the father that I used to grow up

I again clear up my throat and by the time that I saw her, I know something is terrible up. Called it father instinct. My stomach began to feel something that I don't know if it's about the food or the worriedness about my daughter.

"Where have you been, I told you not to go outside not unless if you needed something but should-" I stumble and am shocked by a sudden hug coming from my daughter. My eyebrows meet and speculate more thoughts about what happened to her during a few weeks.

Then suddenly y/n cried up and my heart broke up thousand of pieces. Through I used to her cry of nonsense but this is different. I can feel it.

I began to think of a different reason why she cried like this. Is she on her period? Did a boy break her heart? If it is, then who? Oh god, my baby girl is heartbroken?! No-no-no.

" Hey, baby girl what's wrong? " I managed to ask a few words as I stroke her hair.

I didn't get her reply as she continues sobbing and sniffing on my chest. I continuously stroke her hair and rubbed a small circle on her back. With her tears I heard, I began to tear up which probably I got hurt when my baby girl gets hurt.

I saw Sam holding a can and some books and gave me confused look. I know he was confused about what is going on and the same as me. I only gave her shrug off before concentrate on keeping her calm down.

I sigh and sing a song that makes her calm down. It's a song that I always sing to her whenever she feels scared and upset. it her lullaby and till now I always sing to her when she felt like this. And now even though she's growing up ain't stopping this.

'Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better'

I sang softly and smile. I heard her sobs subside and her shoulder is no longer tensed. I kissed her head and quietly sing the rest of the song

By the song ends, y/n look up to me and hate to see her red-rimmed eyes and red nose face at me.

" Daddy... "

Y/n POV

After the song finish, I felt quite comfortable and my heart no longer pains me.

" daddy" I called up again. I hate seeing my dad worried glances and I wanted to back down but I know it's too late, now that I cried to his chest, and makes my father worried.

" what's wrong, princess " I nearly chuckle to hear the old nickname that I used to love but hate now. I should give my father annoying and death glares to him but I'm drained and tired to argue with my father.

Instead of the reply to his question, I took a piece of paper inside my leather jacket. With my shaky hand, I hesitate to give it to him. I saw my father unfold the paper and read it.

I know he reads it as I saw his face turn to a worried and horrifying face. I bit my lip as teardrops start to stream to his face and suddenly it aches my heart.

I didn't realize that my uncle Sam was there and he took the paper that my dad read it. My dad was frozen and saw Sam has the same reaction but he stumbled a bit and luckily sat on the chair or else he would hurt more.

The air was tense and several minutes seemed like a century to me as I was forced to see my dad and uncle of their horrifying reaction.

I was about to leave them and lock them up in my room but my dad grabs my wrist and put pressure on it, so I couldn't shove it off, I hesitate to look at his now red-rimmed eyes just like mine.

" Is this true? "

My heart broke as I nod

" when... When did it start? "

I flinched to hear a tone when my dad wanted a straight answer but I could see the difference of it. Instead of deadly and threatened, it's a broken and saddened tone that probably haunt me the rest of my life.

" honey, when did start... " I look up to him as a surprise to hear the familiar fatherly sweet tone that only me can know.

"a few months ago. When you just back from purgatory dad... " I mumble but I know that dad heard it because he mumbles coherent words that I know he's cursing, I wish it's not from me.

Then suddenly my dad sat down on the chair and then he hugged tightly couldn't breathe but slightly loose the tightness but still hugging me

" We can pull this up alright, we will. N/n we will fight this together okay, we'll find ways to rid this shit. We will be on your battle. " I then look up at my father and saw the tense and urging look " we will fight this out but you'll do your job ok, you'll kick this shit out, and keep fighting. Don't give up okay please, little n/n. " I heard him crack as didn't say anything considering, I was crying again and the inky response I can get is nodding.

Then I hug my father again and I feel another wrapped strong arms. I smile softly that uncle Sam joined the party. Now we are Complete, I feel like I'm ready to fight this shut out.

" Winchester is hard to kill, not even cancer. " I chuckle to hear uncle Sammy spoke.

"Yeah right, so you gonna do your part little princess, aright. Don't give up. " My father kiss my forehead. We parted away and wipes the tears we have. We laugh as we sniffle then finally our tears died down.

My father, Dean wipe the remaining tears and I look up to him confused. I saw him sad and regret my eyes and my heart sank.

" I love you N/Niepie, " then he kisses my forehead.

----AND CUT!!! ---

" Nice work J2 and Jodi damn there are no dried tears here " Robert yelled as all the staff and crew wipe their tears. " okay thirty minutes break, Jared, come to me I gotta asked you something" he added.

A group of assistants swarms the actors and did their task. Some wipe their sweats, do makeup, fixing their hair, and so on.

Jensen chuckles a little bit and wipes the remaining tears from his eyes.

" nice job dude, seem like the Days of our Lives gig paid off huh" A sixteen years old, young actress Jodi Smith tease him.

He rolled his eyes and ruffle her hair. " nice try but no you not riding my Baby" Jodi groan and about to reply when her assistant came and whisper to her ear "You're lucky, Mr. Ackles. Robert needs me now but I won't stop bothering you not until I sat on the driver seat and ride the impala".

When Jodi is out of sight, Jensen Ackles began to walk through his trailer. The thirty minutes of break is not enough of yearning for his daughter.

By the time he got inside. He locks it and sits on the couch. He rubbed his tired face as he grabs the old filthy Cinderella wallet. Today scene was emotional to him, not because of the scene itself but because he truly did miss his daughter y/n

In the finale of season 12, alongside Jack Kline played Alexander Calvert, and y/n Winchester played Jodi Smith we're both introduced and a new cast of Supernatural. Jensen was supposed to be glad that there are two new members of their family, but instead, it replaces guilt and dreadful feelings.

It's not the new cast members but the fact that Jodi Smith portrays is seem a great punch to his heart that he starts to realize he still has a daughter that should be taken care of.

No one knows not even Jared. Danneel and the kids, the crew nor the fans knew that the great Jensen Ackles has a secret daughter and only his close family knew about this truth.

" I'm sorry princess, How I wish I was there for you but you know I can't."

Jensen stroke a faded picture of an eight-year-old girl holding a doll whilst hugging the twenty-year-old Jensen Ackles.

" I'm sorry, I love you" he kisses the picture with so much love and tears began to stream down his cheeks

Hope you like it keep safe everyone. Reblog and like will yah.

[introvertguide]

A Streetcar Named Marge

The Tennessee Williams play, A Streetcar Named Desire, was one of the most celebrated American productions of the 20th century and inspired many films and revivals. When in junior high school in the 90s, I was introduced to the story in a very interesting way. It wasn't through the many films, a revival of the play, or even an English class. My introduction to the story was through a parody done on The Simpsons in October of 1992. I had just started my 7th grade year at Fesler Jr. High School and being at a new school meant meeting new friends. I was lucky to have a large group of people from grade school, but I found friends in a new group with a shared love of The Simpsons. At first we had a fascination with the show because the said minor swear words like "damn" and "hell." Bart Simpson was especially interesting because some part of our pre-teen brains wanted to fight back against authority like he did.

This particular episode was interesting to me because most of the series had focused on Homer and the kids and Marge was generally the straight character. She is embarrassed of her husband and constantly shamed by her children and it had not occurred to me that there was probably an underlying anger that was slowly building. When she is given an opportunity to play the part of Blanche in a local musical version of A Streetcar Named Desire called simply Oh! Streetcar. She gets a chance to fight back against a suppressive, toxic character and she relishes. I remember specifically a part where she attacks the antagonist with a broken and she wants to keep practicing that scene because it is so cathartic. It wasn't until I was an adult in the psychology program that I realized how bad a life Marge was portrayed as having and how toxic a husband that Homer Simpson was. I just thought he was funny because he was stupid, but he really had a negative effect on her life.

As the show progressed, Homer grew as a character and became less toxic, but he was just a terrible husband during the earlier seasons. The undermining abusive husband in the actual play was much worse than Homer in that he was aggressively abusive both physically and mentally to everyone around him. In fact, I would say that Stanley Kowalski is one of the worst villains in movie history. Everything he does was intended to harm and belittle others. In that light, I think that Marge just needed an outlet to blow off some steam because Homer would never harm her. He was just too ignorant to realize the effect he had on those around him.

I finally saw both the movie version and the actual play of A Streetcar Named Desire in my twenties and they were both very impressive. Both were a little difficult to watch because I don't like dramas with drunken contemptuous antagonists. This constant use of blame, gaslighting, and revenge as a lifestyle is foreign to me and it hurts me physically to see others suffer from it. In fact, the four biggest predictors of divorce were all of Stanley's major character traits: criticism, defensiveness, withdrawal, and contempt. Throw in some alcoholism and you have yourself toxic relationship bingo.

It is a powerful story and I am glad that I was gently introduced to it as a kid through the comedy of The Simpsons. I am going to rewatch the film for a review in the next week, but I also think I am going to find that episode of The Simpsons for a bit of nostalgia. I know it is not the same quality as a Tennessee Williams play, but I personally look forward to the episode of The Simpsons more.

[haberdashing]

Transparent Closet

Jon and Georgie, both of whom are bi, come out to one another... in a way.

Written as part of @jonsimsbipride for the prompt “Solidarity”. Inspired by this post, though it portrays Jon as pan while this fic has him as bi.

on AO3

One of Jon and Georgie’s first dates was watching a series of mediocre supernatural-themed horror films together.

One of the things they’d first bonded over was their shared interest in the supernatural, after all (though Jon had never dared tell her of his first-hand experience with such things... and years down the line, Jon would learn that Georgie hadn’t dared share her own with him either), and what were schlocky movies for if not watching them together with someone you care about and talking trash loudly enough that the actual movie could barely be heard?

The lights were turned down (though not entirely off), Jon and Georgie sat pressed against each other on a couch that was either too small or just the right size depending on one’s perspective, and the movie marathon began.

After the night in question was over, Jon quickly forgot most of the details of the movies they chose to watch then--the titles, the storylines, even the number of movies they managed to fit in before conking out for the night--but one bit from the marathon stuck with him.

There was a lead actress in one of the movies who was pretty, but in a way that was clearly Hollywood trying to make her appear down-to-earth. The woman in question wore full makeup in every scene and was skinny and conventionally attractive and wore clothes clearly fitted precisely to her body shape, but her long brown hair looked a bit untamed and there was a speck of dirt placed just so on her cheek, so clearly she was just a regular person, right?

(In Jon’s opinion, the attempt fell well short of the mark, but he wasn’t terribly surprised; what Hollywood executives thought was normal and what regular people thought was normal were clearly two different things. Regardless, the actress didn’t strike Jon as his type.)

A few minutes into the movie, screams came from within a mansion that had been rumored to be haunted, and while most of the characters froze up or ran away, the lead actress took off her high heels and ran towards the mansion, her bare feet squelching in the mud with every step.

When that happened, Georgie tapped Jon’s arm and said in a stage whisper (as if they were in a movie theatre with others to disturb with their speech, instead of it just being the two of them snuggled up on that small couch), “Sorry, Jon, think we’re gonna have to break up now, that woman just earned my hand in marriage right there.”

Jon diverted his attention from the movie and looked over at Georgie, and he saw on her face when the realization hit her that she’d never actually confessed her attraction to women before. She didn’t look scared that Jon would reject her for it, though--that was one thing Jon always admired about Georgie, that she was never scared, never filled with the fear that consumed Jon’s own mind so frequently. But she watched Jon’s reaction to her statement almost as closely as he was watching her now.

“Surely we can work out an arrangement.” Jon replied after a brief moment. “She can have you on the weekends, perhaps?”

That careful scrutiny apparent on Georgie’s face melted away in an instant, replaced with a gentle smile. “Don’t be selfish, Jon. You can have me on the weekends. She gets the weekdays.”

“It’s hard not to be selfish when something so precious is at stake.” Jon reached for Georgie’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “But you’re right, fair is fair. Switch off every other week, then?”

“Hmm...” Georgie pressed the hand that wasn’t being held by Jon against her chin, as if she were deep in thought.

“And she can have you for the holidays.”

“Alright, sold.” Georgie pressed her lips against Jon’s cheek, and though the contact only lasted a moment, the warmth from the kiss was still enough to carry Jon through the rest of the night, his mind now filled with anything but the cinematic schlock still playing in front of him.

.

Jon was sitting on Georgie’s couch, listening to her rant about her troubles with a recent biology assignment, before she suddenly switched gears and asked, “So what have you been working on lately, Jon? Can’t be as bad as all that...”

Jon didn’t need to think twice about which of his assignments to discuss, not when one of them always seemed to be in the back of his mind at any given moment. “No, it’s quite interesting, actually. I’ve been working on an analysis of the book A Separate Peace--have you ever read it?”

Georgie hesitated for a moment, wrinkling her nose in thought before shaking her head in response. “The name sounds familiar, but I’ve never read it, no.”

“Alright, so-”

Just those two words emerging from Jon’s mouth were enough to put a wry smile on Georgie’s face--she knew what was coming, knew that Jon was getting ready to ramble on about one of his latest interests, and it warmed Jon’s heart to think that she was clearly looking forward to such rambling, a far cry from how his grandmother’s eyes had always glazed over when he’d tried to explain his passions to her.

“It’s about the narrator, Gene, returning to a boarding school he used to go to and reflecting on his time there, and specifically on his relationship with another student there, Finny--er, not relationship like that, they were friends and, and rivals... though actually, maybe like that too? There do seem to be certain- certain undertones, though maybe that’s just me projecting on Gene a bit too much there...”

Georgie raised an eyebrow. “Would you want to have a relationship with Finny, then?”

Jon looked down at the couch to avoid Georgie’s gaze. “Well, uh, I doubt Finny’d be interested in me to begin with, he seems out of my league...”

“You underestimate yourself, Jon.” Jon looked back up at Georgie just in time to catch the playful twinkle in her eye. “Besides, it’s a hypothetical. If the option were available, would you date Finny?”

“And if we weren’t already dating?”

Georgie let out a snort of amusement. “And if we weren’t already dating, too. Don’t worry, Jon, I’m not going to get mad if you’d date a fictional character.”

Jon thought about it for a moment. “...probably, yes, I would. Though he’s, uh, he’s sixteen. And dead by the end of the novel. So...”

Jon could swear he saw Georgie’s face blanche for a moment, but it was fleeting enough that he wasn’t sure it wasn’t just his imagination running wild or a trick of the light; the color returned to Georgie’s face in an instant, and any uncertainty in her expression was replaced by an exaggerated wrinkling of her nose. “That does tend to put a damper on potential relationships, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little bit.” Jon said, a bit of laughter sneaking into his voice.

“So how did this Finny die, anyway?”

“Well, it’s pretty much the climax of the novel, so to get into that, I’ll have to explain the rest of it first-”

Jon launched into a detailed explanation of the plot of A Separate Peace, and Georgie watched him with interest the entire time.

.

Jon didn’t entirely realize the implications of him admitting that he’d date Finny if given a chance until later in the night, when Georgie brought it up again during a lull in the conversation.

“So, if you’d date Finny-”

“Given all those hypothetical caveats, yes.”

“Right. And you’re dating me-”

Jon raised an eyebrow, schooling his face into his best semblance of surprise. “I certainly hope we’ve established that much.”

Georgie swatted at Jon with one hand, though the motion was slow and gentle and ended up coming just short of actually making contact with him.

“So you’re into both guys and girls, then. Do you identify as bi then, or pan, or-”

“Bi, yeah.”

Georgie’s face lit up at the words, her mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Same here! High-five? Wait, no--bi-five!”

Jon and Georgie both giggled a bit at that pun, and when Georgie extended her hand in Jon’s direction, Jon high-fived it without hesitation.

“Say, come next Pride, you can use the face paint I’ve got if you want, if it’s got cooties I dare say you’d have them already...”

Jon shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not exactly a fan of face paint.”

“Really?” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Ah well, more for me, then. I do have some old pins you could have if you want, too!”

“Only if you’re sure you don’t want them.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty to spare. Fun fact, covering a hat entirely with pins is not nearly as fun or practical as it sounds. Learned that one from experience.”

“Wait, you’ve got a hat covered with pins and you’ve been hiding it from me this whole time?”

“I used to have a hat covered with pins. Ended up taking them all off, and I had to throw out the cap underneath because it was so riddled with holes, and now I’ve just got all these pins hanging around...”

As Georgie kept talking about how she’d covered a hat with pins before and why she ended up taking them all off, a smile sneaked its way onto Jon’s face.

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 20: The Actress Drops Her Mask

[edited to add my cover because a couple people liked the last one]

“What a terrible composition.” Several minutes into the sonata, a man standing nearby begins to complain. “I don’t understand why the host likes him so much, that hornswoggler can’t even play well.”

I turn to the man, and raise an eyebrow upon seeing the rounded, short-nailed fingers gripping his glass close to his face. A jealous pianist, no doubt. And a very drunk one, too.

“Really? I’ve heard some people claim him to be Mozart reborn,” I say, nonchalant, and hold back a smile. If only he knew. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying attention to us.

“Then those people are imbeciles!” he declares angrily before downing what’s left in his glass. After he regains his composure, he gets uncomfortably close to me. “What is a belle mademoiselle like yourself doing all alone here?”

Shit, apparently some men will be gross regardless of the time’s customs.

“Actually, I came here with...”

Halfway through my sentence, I spot Shakespeare talking to another gentleman, not too far from us. I wave my hand in the air to catch his attention, and soon he is walking towards us.

“Guillaume!” I exclaim, and curl my arm around his. “You know I hate it when you leave me alone like that, my love.” Unfazed by my whining, he plays along without missing a beat and reaches up to stroke my cheek.

“My sweet rose, thou knowest I shall always come back to thee. For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.” I recognize the quote from one of his plays, but I fail to remember which one.

“Oh, Guillaume, you’re making me blush!” I pull him closer, effortlessly playing the role of the smitten lover, and lean up to whisper into his ear through a fake smile. “Get me out of here.”

“Let us go out into the balcony, my dearest Anaïs,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist. “We shall find more privacy there, where thou shall need not whisper these sweet nothings that make my heart flutter.”

The second we set foot outside, hidden from view, I let go and step away from him.

“Thanks,” I say before taking a much needed sip of champagne. “That man is green with envy, it was insufferable. By the way, I hate roses,” I chuckle, remembering the nickname he gave me.

“But thy beauty is that of the most lovely flower. Besides, it is always my pleasure to aid a damsel in distress,” he smiles, and I roll my eyes. A damsel in distress? Please, I practically dragged him here.

I look inside to make sure no one is watching, and proceed to set my glass on the stone railing and lift the hem of my dress, this time to grab the box of cigarillos tied to my left leg. Shakespeare observes me in silence, and shakes his head when I offer one. I light mine and lean on the balustrade, inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Thou art full of surprises, Anaïs,” he finally speaks. “I knew when I laid eyes upon thee that thou art not an ordinary woman.” I perk up and look at him.

“Did le Comte not tell you? I’m from the 21st century.”

“I was aware of thou being a guest of his, but he neglected to mention thou hadst traveled through time as well,” he says, his mismatched eyes shining with curiosity. They almost look like they’re glowing, like a cat’s. He gives me a tilted smile. “Thou art quite the actress, I must say.”

I playfully take a bow, stifling a laugh.

“You’re not too bad yourself. Although I should expect nothing less, from the great Bard of Avon himself,” I say, lifting the cigarillo to my lips. I thoughtfully look out from the balcony and breathe out the smoke before turning to face him again, my eyes narrowed. “Did you write ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ as a tragedy or a comedy?”

“A tragedy,” he answers immediately, and a satisfied smile grows on my face.

“Carlos owes me 50 pounds.” He tilts his head at my celebratory statement. “I just won a bet against a friend,” I explain. “There is a lot of debate in the future about how the play is supposed to be interpreted. The general consensus is that it’s a comedy. My friend Carlos studies literature, and he thinks the misogyny portrayed is just a product of its time, but I always thought you were making a point. Same for ‘Romeo and Juliet’. Isn’t that one a comedy?”

“Of course, what else could it be?” he laughs.

“See? They got everything backwards.” I sip my champagne. “Two literal children commit suicide after knowing each other for... what, like three days? Yet people still see it as the epitome of romance. I don’t get it.”

“Most people lacketh the insight to see what thou see, it appears. Which is why I only base my plays on those whom are extraordinary, for I have lost interest in the unremarkable dealings of lesser gents.” He pauses and glances at the ballroom. “It soundeth like Mozart hath ended his performance.”

He’s right, the music has stopped. I put out my cigarillo and return the box to its place under my dress.

“I better go before he starts looking for me. I enjoyed our talk, William.” I smile and excuse myself with a nod before heading back inside.

I discard my glass on a nearby table when spot him in the crowd, receiving the praises of a small group of people. Were it not for his striking white hair, I don’t think I would have recognized him. He’s acting like a completely different person.

“I do not deserve your kind words, monsieur,” he tells one of the men, the same one with the beard that went on the stage before. I assume he is the host of the ball. He puts his arm around my back when I enter the circle. “This is my companion, Anaïs Bertran,” he introduces me with a charming smile I did not think he was capable of.

“Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle Bertran,” he greets me, taking my hand when I hold it out. By now, I have learned the basics of social etiquette in this period. “When I heard you were a guest of my dear friend Saint Germain I could not wait to have you here,” he tells me. I guess ‘Guillaume’ filled him in on some details. “Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself! Pardon me, mademoiselle. Marcel Rossignol, at your disposal.”

“Thank you for inviting me, monsieur Rossignol,” I say with a polite smile. “Tonight has been lovely so far”

“I am glad to hear that. It is about to get even better. I trust you like waltz?”

Before I can answer, the small band that now takes up the stage begins playing, and ‘Wolfram Theophilus Perti’ extends his hand for me to take, to the delight of the group, who observe us in fascination.

“Will you dance with me, Anaïs?”

“It would be my pleasure, Wolf.” I take his hand and he guides me to the center of the ballroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear I just saw a young lady swoon, and I can’t help but quietly agree with the sentiment. With his insufferably haughty attitude kept in check, Mozart seems to be quite the charmer. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful he is.

He leads effortlessly, and I follow his impeccably coordinated steps with his hand on my waist and mine on his shoulder. The dance itself is easy, like skating without the wheels. Once he knows I can keep up, he twirls us into increasingly elaborate moves, carefully avoiding other couples that have joined us.

“I am surprised you haven’t tripped yet,” he says, suddenly reminding me who my dance partner is.

“God, you’re the worst.”

He sends me on a spin with incredible speed, which I interpret as retaliation for my remark. This is his passive aggressive way of challenging me.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I ask once we slow down.

“My father was always strict and obsessed with perfection. Socializing is part of being a musician, especially when the aristocracy is involved. I hate it with a passion, but I do what I have to. For the music.”

“Oh.” This is the most he’s ever talked to me, and I don’t really know how to respond. Before I can think of something to say, he ends our brief conversation by spinning me around once again.

By the time the song ends, I need to catch my breath. Mozart’s surprising agility is incredibly hard to keep up with, and I am exhausted from the effort it took to prove him wrong and avoid stepping on his feet. It was undeniably fun, however, and I enjoyed the challenge. The next song is slower, which provides a much needed break for my concentration and an excellent opportunity to keep talking. I am intrigued by this beautiful man, and his cold demeanor just makes me want to tear down his walls even more.

“I like how passionate you are about what you do,” I tell him. “I wish I was more like you in that sense.” I mean every word of it. Mozart is so devoted to his music that he has become one with it, to the point of using it as his language. During the week and a half that I have stayed at the mansion, I couldn’t help but notice how his emotions are so clearly displayed through the songs he plays. When I bring him hot chocolate, his melodies tend to become light and comforting. A few days ago, his music sheets flew out the window of his room. After I went to return them, the notes became fast and aggressive, because he was upset that the papers had become soiled from falling in the garden. What he feels is bare for all to hear, despite how emotionless he acts. One only needs to listen.

“Why?” he simply asks. It’s like he can’t understand what I am saying.

“What do you mean, why?” He just stares blankly at me as we keep dancing. At least he is no longer spinning until I get dizzy. “To have something to live for. To have a purpose,” I answer. To me, it’s obvious. “I’m just going through the motions, you know? Like waltz. I take the same steps every day, just to keep moving. I breathe, I eat, and I sleep. I water the flowers, I read... And all for what? I just feel like I keep waiting for something, but I have no idea what that is. I’ll be stuck in this pointless cycle until the day I die.”

I want to blame the champagne on an empty stomach, but to be fair, he’s the one who asked. After making me realize how tired I am of pretending, no less. Everything’s fine, I tell myself, ignoring every single thing that makes it not fine. In truth, I am merely surviving, keeping myself busy to forget how much I wish I could just... become a lump of moss, or something. That would be an easier existence. No consciousness, no problems.

“You sound like Jean.” I have no idea what that means, but I don’t bother to ask. “It’s not pointless... You make good chocolate.”

I chuckle at the compliment. This is the first positive thing Mozart has ever said to me. I look up at him as we dance, and am surprised to see him smile. It is so faint, but undoubtedly genuine this time, and the light tug at the corners of his mouth makes me feel better. I am starting to like him.

“That shall be my newfound purpose, then,” I joke, mirroring his smile. “Making you chocolate.”

The song comes to an end, and Mozart leads me away from the dance floor. He finds Rossignol and lets him know that we must leave, before thanking him for the evening. Though it is still early, I don’t complain. I think I want to get out of here too.

[chiauve]

Memoir

“It’s actually not bad.”

Chris glanced up at Jill, leaning against the door frame of his BSAA office. She had that shamed look on her face that wasn’t there very often and he immediately knew what she was talking about.

“You watched it.”

She bristled slightly. “It’s really popular, kept popping up in my recommendations, and even people outside our work are talking about it, asking if I’ve seen it...”

“Thinking you’re an evil bitch?”

Now she glared. “No, it’s actually pretty fair, Chris. I was honestly expecting... Like I thought you’d be the dumb meathead walking into walls but you’re portrayed very intelligently.”

“Really,” he said, not a question.

“I mean...people love a sympathetic antagonist.”

Chris groaned and buried his head in his arms.

Last year they’d learned the horrible truth that Wesker had survived the volcano ordeal by way of his memoirs becoming a best seller. Turned out the bastard had crawled himself out and then holed up somewhere to heal and write about his life. Outside of trying to hunt his old enemy down Chris had done his best to ignore the fact that just about everyone and their dog knew the story of STARS and certain subsequent events. It didn’t take too long after that for a studio to somehow contact Wesker for a series deal and since then Chris had known no peace, but still remained adamant in never watching what would undoubtedly be a pile of shit and lies.

The worst part was everyone loved Wesker. He was the newest media darling, the misunderstood antihero used by Umbrella and wrongfully hunted by his former teammates. At least that’s what Chris expected. Did people forget this was the bio-terrorist mass murderer? Did they already forgive him? Or did they not realize this was the same person? For the sake of his own sanity, Chris begged it was the latter.

“You really should watch it,” Jill prodded.

“Of all people, I wasn’t expecting this from you, after what he did to you for years.” It was a low blow on something he generally didn’t talk about unless she brought it up, but she did start it this time.

She opened her mouth as though to snap at him and then caught herself. With a calming sigh she entered his office and leaned against his desk. “I’m just not going to watch that season, trust me.”

“Oh my god, there’s more than one?”

“Second season’s in production now. It’s about what Wesker was doing during the Raccoon City incident and after.”

“And you want me to watch that why?”

“Think, Chris. Access to information on what the hell that bastard was actually doing then, where he goes and what he does when we’re not around.”

“From his perspective at best, if it’s not all a bunch of lies.”

“Even then, we’re in his head. We’re seeing things we never knew, all to use later when we go get him,” she paused, he face scrunching up, “Did you know he had a girlfriend?”

Chris dug a pencil and a hand sharpener out of a drawer and started sharpening it. It didn’t need it but he pretended the pencil was Wesker’s face and started grinding hard. “That’s not new info, Jill, he never shut up about the women he picked up.”

“No, I mean an actual girlfriend, like she lived with him and everything.”

“Is she dead?”

“He didn’t kill her, at least.”

“According to his version of events.”

Jill shrugged, conceding that point.

Chris sighed. He didn’t want to ask, but, “What about STARS? Are we the terrible band of villains out to stop poor widdle Umbwella?”

“Don’t ever do that voice again, but...no. Umbrella’s not...look you have to see it.”

“I do?”

“I’m serious, Chris. It’s not...it’s not a comfortable watch at all, it’s horrible, seeing what happened at that mansion treated like entertainment but... I had to drink to get through just the beginning but it’s well done at least and... I want to bring Wesker down and we need to know what the hell he’s saying, especially about us because our going after him could end up real bad in the eyes of the public if they still think he’s the good guy.”

Chris looked at her a long time. Her arguments sorta made sense but there was more to it than that. It was the sorrow buried deep in her eyes, a touch of fear.

“You’re up to the mansion incident and you don’t want to watch it alone, is that it?”

She flinched. “I meant what I said about the rest of it though. And Barry said he’d do it if you would.”

That caught Chris off guard. “You asked Barry?”

“It was kind of a mutual horrified curiosity. Also there’s...there’s something else, Chris.”

“Oh god...”

“Did you...I swear I won’t say anything to anyone, not even Barry, but...Did you and Wesker have a thing going on?”

“Excuse me?”

 ----

The entirety of the coffee table in Jill’s apartment was covered in varied beverages, most of them alcoholic but a couple bottles of water to ensure they didn’t die, because that sounded like some convoluted Wesker plan: Get my enemies to die from alcohol poisoning watching a show about my life, genius!

Jill started the show from the beginning so Chris could catch up in their suffering, and had the story been about anyone else other than Wesker, Chris would have indeed felt for them, could see why everyone else suddenly liked him.

The production value was good, the editing well done, and the mood somber as the story opened with a small, gifted boy being taken away from his family. Snapshots of that boy being raised cruelly but efficiently by assigned caretakers under the control of an unknown entity.

Tragic, if any of it was true. The information on Project W was mostly lost; for all anyone knew Wesker might have been raised normally in some fancy home somewhere and this was just angst fodder.

The story really started at the Arklay mansion, the dramatic entrance of a helicopter bearing a teenaged Wesker and Birkin.

Everyone boo’d, and the bullshit began.