#my sweet rural-grown love

[angelmothergod]

road kill

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I’d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.) 

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales. 

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[klaunee]

Edit 2/12/2024: I wanted to add a disclaimer to my redesigns! I really appreciate all of the likes and comments that these have garnered, but I just want to add that these aren't intended to be "improvements" or "fixes" of the original designs in any way and were done as a character design exercise for my own entertainment. Looking back on them there's a lot I'd like to change about them and I'd never claim to be anything more than an amateur/hobbyist character designer messing around with these character concepts.

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

Alright I wasn't really feeling the other one I just did. I wanted to diverge a bit from it to better fit the other redesigns I did and do my own take on Al, which is why I made this one that's more shamelessly inspired by Cab Calloway.

I based him on Cab Calloway because I want him to have Mr. Calloway's charisma and showmanship to accentuate his role as a radio host. I feel like the canon Alastor is too subdued in terms of expressiveness, and of course this is part of what makes him unnerving, but I wanted to subvert that. This rendition would still be a gentleman, but he's much more animated in terms of his body movements and facial expressions. He's witty and has a great sense of humor. A big man with a big smile and a larger than life personality. Constantly schmoozing and sweet-talking other people. And yet there's just something off about him...

Copying my design notes from the other post and adding a few more.

Premise: A man who was born in a semi-rural part of the United States but moved to the big city at a young age. Became infatuated with the music and entertainment scenes of the city and idolized performers of the Jazz age, Vaudeville actors, and comedians. Decided to become a radio host himself after working at a local station and became renowned for his humor and wit. However, despite loving several parts of the big city, Alastor was disdainful of the rapid industrialization taking place and its effect on the environment he'd grown up in. In an attempt to make his broadcasts, which increasingly gained a more serious and environmentalist bent, reach more viewers, he delved into the occult and made pacts with demons. Unfortunately, his meddling with the occult drove him insane. Fortunately, however, his familiarity with black magic granted him increased powers when he showed up in Hell. Overall, a gentlemanly character with a suppressed madness that seeps out from time to time.

He's very tall. I wanted to make him uncanny looking while still retaining the gentlemanly appearance of the canon version and to do this I tried to give him an elongated silhouette. He's as tall as Angel Dust, if not taller when standing up, but he's constantly bending over either due to poor posture or to ingratiate himself to the shorter masses.

No more sexyman hourglass figure, I made him a bit broader to give him a bigger presence.

Cab's signature pencil moustache. I see a lot of people giving him one and I'm not sure if we share the same inspiration, but it's a cool look!

Overall a more desaturated, sepia palette than the rest of the cast for an old-timey look (I mean Angel Dust is old-timey too but... forget about it). Also to contrast with the red of Charlie's suit.

The black line parts of his antlers are meant to look like the velvet shedding deer undergo as well as power lines, with an eye in the center which resembles the flame between Baphomet's horns. This eye is where his "power" emanates from so to speak, like a radio signal.

Waveform design on his suit.

Design on his shirt meant to resemble a ribcage.

BIG ANTLERS! (less so in this version, more manageable)

Diamond design on the pants to indicate he is a trickster.

A long, deer-like neck and a deer-like yet human-like face to give him an uncanny look.

His right eye is a radio dial and he has a speaker in his mouth to produce that radio quality when he speaks.

I tried to make his suit look like a zoot suit for historical relevance, particularly the broad-shouldered ones worn by such performers as Cab Calloway. I made his pants high-waisted and pegged.

His staff is based on antique carbon microphones with the center modified to look like an inverted pentagram.

He practices black magic.

His entire body is covered in fur save for his face and ears, like a werewolf.

Thanks for reading!

[prettypeppermint]

swan song.

for t. shelby. a continuation of 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

Sacrifice was your greatest gift. It clung to your name like a drawn bowstring, pregnant with prospective yet surmounting to nothing. You gave to your family until their deaths pried your outstretched palms away; you gave to your future self through tired feet and hard-earned sweat. Now, you've given to Thomas Shelby. Your very own love language.

You would give just about anything to take it all back.

He was kissing you--tasting you. He was asking for more and more of you every day through his longing gaze and patient fingers. You hated making him wait for something unattainable.

He wanted you a certain way--pliant, moldable. Soft.

He wanted you only to take from you. He wanted to collect you piece by piece.

A giver and a God.

"Tell me," he muttered into your mouth, tasting the way your thoughts grew sour on your lips. He read you in a way not kindled through love but through years of hardened business.

You pulled away half-heartedly. Your mind wrapped around him and you needed air.

"Say you love me," you ordered, staring into the core of his glacier-capped irises. There was no hope--no apprehension. You've digested every unspoken word already. You knew.

He peered down at you through his heavy line of lashes. "What--are my acts of service not enough?" he said lowly, an air of an insatiated euphemism in his voice.

A swell.

A silence.

An atonement.

"I love you." His finger traced a lock of hair into the canyon of your ear.

"I don't believe you."

A scoff seared through his teeth--a breath through the cornice of his lips.

"I've been thinking recently. During the day; during the night"--you began walking aimlessly around his office, fingering book spines and swiping the dust off of ledges--"during that ungodly hour before work. And thank God I have, because now I know you've been lying to me."

Thomas analyzed you--dissected every syllable. He listened.

"When you look into my eyes, I see nothing but her in yours."

It always goes back to Grace.

The lack of pain in your voice irked him on a deep, almost irrational level.

"At first I was hurt--confused. But now"--you circled back to him--"now, I feel nothing. I am nothing." You waited for him to interject despite knowing he never would. Sometimes, you were too painfully clear of his character; of just how much control he had over you; of how many ways he could hurt you while protecting you--love you while losing you.

"Then I realized: I'd rather be yours than nothing. Isn't it sad--a lass like me? Maybe I should first learn how it feels to be my own--to know every crease of my skin and grow comfortable in my flesh how you've grown so comfortable in mine."

The man you loved, whom you had sacrificed for one final time.

Your muscles yearned to reunite with him, but you held your arms to your sides in protest. "Thomas Shelby, you love me how a man should, but not how a woman should feel loved."

And now you'll spend the rest of your life chasing a notion--a concept--made only somewhat tangible by a man who could give you no more than all of him. Now you'll lose yourself searching for someone to search for you. Now you'll see him in all the men who fail in forgivable ways and love kindly.

A piece of him you will keep; a piece of you he will throw away. Until the next.

"You love me," he states, seemingly unphased. "And I love you."

"You don't know what love is, Thomas. How could you, when you've never loved anyone more than they've loved you?

"That's the ultimate testament of the caliber of a man's heart. It was never me, Thomas. It's her name you whisper in your sleep. Hear it. Accept it. Remember my voice saying it. Cling to it for the rest of your goddamn life so you never tell another woman you love her again."

For the first time, he noticed, you sounded defeated.

For the first time, he saw the vices of Birmingham shade your rural clarity.

Your voice sounded different without the usual fight in it; it revealed the exhaustion you forced down with cigarettes every morning and night. Suddenly the violet shadows under your eyes introduced themselves. Suddenly you looked 5 kilograms emaciated.

It was then that you became another woman in Thomas Shelby's life. You were no longer of the Kilkee coast or the sweetened countryside. You were ruined, and now you were just like the rest.

No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London.

A swell.

A silence.

An empty impenitence.

"Goodbye, Thomas."

While he waited for you to fight for him, you once more decided to give.

Twice more, he took from you.

You wanted to feel his warmth against your lips once more. You had suddenly wished you'd savored your last kiss. "I hate what you've made me," you whispered.

He hated how the words sounded--how they tainted your tongue.

"You hate what you've become for me," he corrected.

You gave him a lonely, far-off stare, as if you were looking straight through him. He knew he had lost you.

You ignored his previous remark: "I hate how you made me think it was safe to fall in love with you."

You hadn't realized your eyes had welled up with an undeniable glaze until you felt a drop of glass wetness fall from your cheek. "I hate how you've turned me into another one of your women."

When Thomas didn't move, or walk closer to you, or even soften at your unraveling, you felt sour all over. Suddenly, you wanted it to hurt.

"No one has ever loved me in my entire life," you said to yourself, almost inaudibly. It sounded so ridiculously girlish and naive, unlike anything he had ever heard you say before.

A swell.

A painful one in the grit of your heart.

You felt heavy as you slowly turned and left his office.

†

He found you passed out in the chapel, your chest sprawled across the altar, your palms still clasped together in weak prayer. A mistiness clung to your eyelashes. He was once again reminded how much he loved how you looked in your sleep: like a soft lull of the shore had washed over you and cured a light peace into your soul.

He stood over you, counting your breaths and watching your lungs expand with life just to expel it. You smelled of ash and rosaries and beeswax. A tear rolled over the apples of your cheek and onto the peak of your nose.

"Silly girl," he rasped lowly before sitting on the floor and pulling your limp form into the cradle of his chest. His palm met the crown of your head to pull you further into his weight, his other hand hooking around the lonely bend of your waist. He felt his shirt seep with moisture, and he knew you were awake.

"She was a piece of my past I can't go back to take away," he said, his chin resting atop your head, voice bitter yet smooth like coffee on a good day, "But if any part of her had led me to you, I wouldn't go back to change a moment of it even if I could."

Your shoulders shuddered silently, and your sobs permeated directly through his chest and into his heart. He always knew just what to say, to the point it scared you.

"Give it time," said Thomas, petting your head in rhythm with your heart, "Give it time."

While you gave, he invested. He invested in all the times you've chipped away at yourself for him, and he kept them in his heart until the next time he would use them--like a business transaction.

But could you blame him for loving you how he knows best?

To understand his love was more than enough. Yet, your consistent upturned and empty palms rendered you greedy.

He collects your wet cheeks between his hands and brings you to look up at him. In his eyes, you saw the end of a road.

Was this all there was? Maybe so.

"Let's get married. Right here, right now"--he swiped his thumb across the slick of your undereye--"That way you'll be mine to keep. No more goodbyes."

You felt the Lord's eyes on your kneeling form. An odd feeling of shame and acceptance washed over you and clogged your chest.

It was then that you knew: loving Thomas Shelby was never going to be beautiful. It wasn't simple or painless or any of the things love should be. And it would never be the same kind of love that it was yesterday.

But what could you do? What could you do if you loved him nonetheless?

If you would always be loved how broken women are loved?

x.

[absolutebl]

hi there 🖐🏼 what are your recs for bl movies with great acting?

BL Movies with GREAT Acting

Specifically Movies? Do KBLs that were cut into movies count? Hum, I'm gonna make a judgement call given how few actual movies I have to work with and say if it holds as a "movie going experience" I can count it. I should say in order to really push this into the superlative acting space the BL aspect on many of these is... light.

His

Japan 2020 Viki

His is about being a grown adult and still struggling with coming out as gay. It addresses the consequences of life choices disingenuous to identity. Nagisa turns up on Shun’s doorstep with his precocious daughter in tow. This is a touch confusing to Shun since they were each others first love and ended badly. Shun has retreated from society, rejecting the world before it can reject him, already brokenhearted because without Nagisa he never had a reason to fight. Nagisa went the opposite way, tried to pretend to be something he was not and ended up with a daughter he adores and a wife who hates him. The acting is killer, Miyazawa Hio is sulky in the best possible way, the filming is beautiful and the setting unique and interesting...

I'm not wild about the ending. Moody arthouse smackdoodle is going to pretend that "ambiguous" is somehow unique and special rather than bog standard commonplace for narratives of this type. But endings are my hangup, not yours?

This is not really BL (the prequel was), so few of the tropes are used. You do not need to have watched the prequel.

Your Name Engraved Herein

Taiwan 2020 Netflix

This movie is fantastic but it is also seriously depressing. It’s a self acceptance journey that goes emotionally array on the alter of history, but if you wanna wallow in high quality acting and serious gay drama, this’ll do it. I would say it's not really BL, no real trope drops at all.

Okay those two I chose more on the strength of the acting than BL. These others are not going to be at the same standard/style.

If you want moee of the above level of drama, things get very sad in the BL world, so Love of Siam, Dew, Eternal Yesterday, Goodbye Mother, etc...

Restart After Come Back Home (Risutato wa tadaima no ato de)

Japan 2020 Gaga?

Atmospheric study in rural Japan meets complex family dynamics built on a romance framework of city boy meets country boy, grumpy/sunshine. It’s beautiful and icy sweet. Slow moving in places but ultimately worth the patience, low heat, low angst, and stunning. The acting is a touch stiff, in that Japanese reserved way.

This is the only BL movie, as a movie, that I could pull. There are others, I jsut don't think the acting is good enough.

So here are some highly rated short bingable series that are movie length (1.5-2.5 hours) but not really movies - BUT with killer acting. So they still might satisfy the itch. I places them in order of acting and filming quality, not my own personal preference.

From Japan

Old Fashion Cupcake

Tokyo in April is...

Life: Love on the Line (director's cut)

My Beautiful Man

I Cannot Reach You

Seven Days

From Taiwan

Red Balloon

We Best Love (esp part 2)

About Youth

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line

From Korea

To My Star

Long Time No See

The New Employee

Where Your Eyes Linger

More like this?

I want to shout out The Eighth Sense here too. It's longer than movie length but so well acted.

(source)

[apollos-boyfriend]

what's a festa junina if you don't mind my asking?

i don't mind at all!!!! i love sharing stuff about brazil <3

okay SO. festa junina directly translates to "june party", and are sometimes also referred to as "festas de são juão" (saint john's parties) because we're in brazil and everything has to be related back to religion somehow LMAO. they are festivities that take place in, obv, the entire month of june, although some can last up until like, late august because by god do brazilians love a good party. traditionally, they're held to celebrate the harvest season, rain, and marriage (*cough* which is why it'd be great to celebrate it now with the spiderbit wedding on the horizon *cough*). it's brazil's second-biggest festival, second only to carnival ofc, and has very rural roots in its celebration style due to largely being a harvest/farming based celebration!

so!! festa juninas are typically held in wide open areas and absolutely COVERED in colorful decorations. largely banners, as shown above, but there are also different tents/stalls full of food, games, and other stuff for people to enjoy!! festa junina is kind of heralded as the best time for food/snacks bc it's FULL of sweets and other treats that aren't that common to find en-masse during other times of the year. as shown above, it's also super common for HUGE campfires to be lit (fogueiras) for ppl to dance around and stuff :]

due to being so heavily inspired by/created in rural areas, the standard dress code is very much of a stereotypical rural farmer (called caipira in portuguese!). the standard is for men to adorn straw hats, flannels, and working boots/pants, while women wear their hair in ribboned braids, dot freckles on their faces, and wear rustic dresses on top of it all! the dresses can be EXTREMELY over the top sometimes to the point of camp and i fucking love them so much. genuinely some of my favorite memories are shopping for dresses for festa junina.

as i said, games are a BIG part of it too! a lot of festa juninas are hosted by schools so they need stuff to entertain the kids, but honestly, as a grown adult i still will go to them in a heartbeat. they're largely the typical festival games of ring toss, three-legged races, etc, but i cannot put into words the certain Charm of them. like. by the time festa junina starts it's at least sundown, if not fully night, so all the stands are lit up by the yellow-orange glows of shitty lanterns/fairy lights and. ough. that is my heaven. (fun fact, me and my cousin once won like, a dozen goldfish from one of these. good times.)

and last, but certainly not least, i GOTTA talk about the dancing!!! we call it quadrilha, and it's kind of like square dancing, i guess? it's a very silly and over-the-top dance that's The biggest even of the night. the dance follows the story of a wedding ceremony (rehearsal? i can't recall) which again would be PERFECT for the current events on the smp.

and yeah!! there's a lot of other stuff and they can vary from region to region (i'd love for other brazilians to share things i may have missed :Oc) but overall they're just a HUGE event in brazil and for brazilian communities that really just unite everyone in one huge night (or nights) of partying!!

[onlycosmere]

Dragonsteel: Chapter One

The lumberman’s son was born into a world of magic. Perhaps others would not have thought so, but to a young boy full of curiosity and wonder, the forest was a place of enchantment.

Jerick saw magic in the growth of the great pines, seeds barely as large as a pebble eventually becoming monoliths, with trunks so wide that when he hugged them, pressing his check against the rough bark and stretching his arms to their fullest, his fingertips still didn’t touch at the back.

He heard magic in the wind, which blew whispers through the branches, dropping cones and needles to the ground like a rattling waterfall.

He tasted magic in the fruits of the wilderness, berries both sour and sweet, musty pine scents that tickled the back of his nose.

He felt magic in the forest’s life. A group in which the lumberman’s son included himself. Like the branch rat, the wolf, the rabbit, and the deer, Jerick was a creature of the woods.

His first steps had been taken on a floor of pine needles. His home, a simple hut constructed from those same trees that surrounded it. The lumberman’s son knew other, less fortunate children who lived in a village a short distance down the river, a place where the mountainside tapered and the trees fell away into a broad plain. Here, people lived cramped together, their houses huddled like frightened rodents or birds too young to leave the nest. Other lumbermen lived in this village, taking carts or boats each day to the lumbering camps.

Jerick could not understand these men. They worked with the forest, yet it did not intoxicate them like it should. He did not know how they could leave the beautiful woods each day, instead choosing to live in a place so crowded and suffocating.

Jerick had friends in the village. They didn’t see things the same way he did. When he showed <Cenn> and the others a tree older and stronger than the rest, they would shake their heads, not understanding its strength. When he found a large fish swimming in the river’s sheltered shallows, its bulbous, unblinking eyes regarding him with an unasked question, the other boys would only try to catch it. When Jerick wondered how the clouds could move in the air when there seemed to be no wind, the others would ask him why he cared.

So, though trips to the village were exciting, Jerick was always glad to return home. Home to his mother, who would be finishing the day’s washing. Home to his forest on the mountainside, where he could listen to the pines rustling, <fallow owls> calling, and twigs crackling, as opposed to the silence caused by men yelling to one another.

He loved to accompany his father into the woods. The lumberman was so tall and broad-chested, he seemed almost to be one of the trees. Rin’s arms were thick and rough with hair, his tough axe-calloused fingers like ancient roots, his beard like a thick gathering of pine needles that poked and scratched Jerick’s skin when they hugged. His father had deep, understanding brown eyes and wide lips that were usually parted in a contented smile.

As far as Jerick could tell, his father was the only person alive who understood the forest better than Jerick himself. Rin could tell the strength and quality of a tree’s wood simply by rubbing his fingers across the bark. He could see birds nesting high in branches that Jerick had assumed were only shadows. And he could always find sweetberry bushes to sate a growing boy’s appetite.

More importantly, the forest seemed to accept his father. Jerick soon came to understand that this was because his father respected the woods. “Look at the trees around you, my son.”

(By the way, I’m not gonna do the dialect. I had dialect in Dragonsteel. People from the rural areas don’t say the word “the,” they just say “ta.” So, “Look at ta trees” is what they would say. But I’m not gonna do the dialect.)

… his father would instruct as they walked together. “Man can be born, grown, and die in the time it takes one of them to get so high. They’ve seen the likes of us come and go.” That would be all he said for a while. Rin didn’t speak much, not like the other lumbermen, who always seemed to have something to say and not enough people to say it to.

Rin was a King’s Man and cut lumber for the king’s shipping. Like the other lumbermen, Rin used a shiny bronze axe to do his work. The most important possession he owned; bronze was rare. The only other piece of metal Jerick’s family owned was his mother’s bronze cooking knife. Jerick had heard men in the villages speaking of a new, stronger metal that had been discovered recently in the south, something called mountainsteel. They said its name came because it was the same color as mythical Dragonsteel. But to Jerick, it was all the same. He had never seen either one; bronze was good enough for lumbermen.

As soon as he was able, Jerick followed his father to the lumbering camp. After a few weeks, the burly men welcomed his presence, and he was allowed free rein of the camp, where he watched, thinking of questions to ask his father as they travelled home. He wanted to know what made the men’s arms so big. Why the trees fell the way they did. And what the lumbermen did with all the branches they cut off the trunks. He wanted to know why the King needed so much wood. And how long it took to float all the way down the <Trerod> river to the palace.

Some of the questions, his father could answer; others, he could not. Some things, Jerick simply noticed and asked no questions. Most of these had to do with his father. For instance, after felling a tree, his father would dig two holes and drop pine seed into each one. The others did not. Every day when the work was done, his father would start a small fire of green pine needles sprinkled with pungent witherdust and let it burn among the trees slated for the next day’s lumbering. The smoke would trigger a reaction in the pine larks and <cheps>, and they would fly or scamper away, taking their young with them. The other lumbermen would scoff at his father’s precautions. But Jerick watched with pride. Actions like these, and dozens like them, were where the lumberman’s son learned the most important lesson his father ever taught him: all life was precious.

Such was Jerick’s life up until his eleventh year. He wandered the forest, helped his mother with cleaning and baking, ran chores in the lumbering camp. To him, there could be little else to life; he was content, and he wanted nothing else.

His father, however, had other plans.

 (I consciously did a bit more of a storyteller’s style for this. You can see; that first section’s basically omniscient. This was always kind of meant to be a story that Hoid was kind of telling after the fact. You can kind of see hints of that in some of these sections. Other sections go more into the third limited. But you can imagine that sequence that I just read you all being said by Hoid to people who want to know about what happened and how everything came to be.)

…

“Jerick, son, go fetch your mother some water.”

“Yes, Father.” It was dark outside, and his mother had little need of fresh water, but Jerick complied quickly. His father made few demands; when he did, the lumberman’s son did not question. He did, however, run quickly, so he could return to listen outside the door.

“The boy notices things, <Martle>,” his father was saying. “He’s quick of mind. The other day, <Javick> and Henry hadn’t been watching the angle properly as they cut. That tree would’ve fallen the wrong way and could have killed a man. Jerick saw the error in an instant. He pointed it out to them. A boy barely two hands old speaking lumberin’ to a pair of men who’d been cuttin’ trees their entire lives. He has more questions than I can answer; though sometimes he answers them on his own.”

“And what would you be havin’ us do about it?” his mother asked. Jerick could imagine the slight frown on her face as she asked the question, her broad frame seated on the floor beside Rin. His mother was practical in all respects, evaluating everything on its ability to be used. When Jerick asked her a question, the answer always came in the form of another question, usually asking him what he would do with the answer if he had it.

“There’s that new school in the village,” his father explained. “They say the king himself ordered it built.”

“I’ve heard of it,” his mother said hesitantly. His mother disapproved of anything that broke with tradition.

“I’d take the boy to it once a week. He’d be able to learn.”

“What could he learn that would do him any good to lumberin’?” his mother asked.

“Probably nothin’ at all,” his father admitted.

“’Tis an unnatural thing, Rin. It won’t last long; the people won’t put up with it. Schools are for nobbles and kings.” (I used “nobbles” instead of “nobles.” We had a nice little vowel shift in this.) “Not for lumbermen.”

“I know, <Martle>. There was silence for a moment.

“Well, then,” his mother said, “as long as you understand that, I doubt there’s any harm in it. Just be sure not to let the boy get a wrong thinkin’ about it. Learning could spoil him.”

“I doubt anything could be spoilin’ Jerick,” his father replied.

And so, the lumberman’s son went to school.

…

The scholar was the most fabulous creature Jerick had ever seen. (No, that’s not Hoid.) His robes were made of cloth, not furs or skins, and they were a red as deep as the colors of the setting sun. More amazing, his hair was a pale yellow, like the mane of a light-colored horse, rather than deep black like everyone else. His beard was not bushy and wide like that of Jerick’s father, but it was straight and stiff, about a handspan long, and only came out of his chin. It was pulled tight and wrapped with thin strings, making it ribbed, like a bale of hay. The beard almost resembled a slice of bread, with the short end glued to the bottom of the man’s face, and made his chin seem like it was a foot long. His head was covered with a tight cowl that stretched across his forehead and hung loosely against the back of his neck. And his eyes were dissatisfied as he stepped from the chariot, a wonder in itself, and regarded the village.

Jaw moved slightly, and his face pulled tight, as if he had suddenly tasted an extremely rotten, bitter fruit. Around his neck, Jerick could make out a gleaming castemark; the mark of a man’s rank in life. It was made of gold, rather than the plain wood of those like the lumbermen.

“Bow, lad,” his father ordered. Jerick complied, joining the rest of the village in bowing for the strange man.

“Why do we bow, Father?” he mumbled as he lowered his head.

“Because the man’s of nobble blood, boy,” Rin explained.

(I’m not gonna do all the accents, but he says “formers” instead of “farmers.” Sound change. The whole idea is that the nobility accent is shifting away from the way that the accents of the lowborn are, which is kind of this fun thing that happens in linguistics. And this is one of the things that causes vowel shifts, where you’ll often see different vowels getting replaced over time. I find that sort of thing very fun. I’m probably not going to read that to you. But you can see it when you read the book.)

“Lumbermen and farmers must bow before anyone higher than them, whether it be a merchant, a noble, or even crafters.”

The idea seemed wrong to Jerick, but he said no more. People were beginning to raise their heads, and, for the moment, he was more interested in viewing the odd, brightly-clothed scholar than he was in asking about the nature of the caste system.

“Classes will begin at noon,” the man declared in a high-pitched voice. The words sounded odd, as if the man couldn’t form them properly. They were sharp and separated; not smooth and comfortable, like what Jerick was accustomed to hearing.

“What’s wrong with his speakin’?” Jerick asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“That’s how nobbles are speakin’, boy,” his father explained. “They’re not the same as lumbermen. They think differently. They have learning. You’ll get used to it. Now go play ‘til noon; since we’ve come to town, might as well see about gettin’ my axe sharpened.”

Jerick nodded, his eyes seeking out <Cenn> and <Yon>, two of the boys that he usually played with. However, as his father walked off toward the smith’s, Jerick turned away from the boys. He was still more interested in the scholar than anything else.

The man was speaking softly to <Millen>, head of his father’s lumbering camp. <Millen> was a short man with graying hair. His head bowed practically to waist level, and he was bobbing subseqiously. Jerick had never seen such behavior from the foreman before. Eventually, <Millen> gestured for the scholar to follow him. The man nodded to his several companions: two packmen and younger woman that Jerick hadn’t noticed before. She must have also been a noble, for her hair was light and luxuriously long, not cropped short at the shoulders or pulled up in a bun. The scholar reached up his hand to help the woman from the bronze chariot. She looked distastefully at the ground, though Jerick couldn’t understand what she found wrong with it. It was, after all, just ordinary mud.

<Millen> led the four to a house at the center of the village. Jerick had noticed the building earlier; it had been a storehouse, but that had been emptied and its walls washed unnaturally clean by the efforts of a dozen workmen. He’d wondered what it would be used for. Not the school; a building on the other side of town had been prepared for that. It couldn’t possibly be a place for the scholar to live; it was far too large for that. What would one man, even four, do with so much space? It was so silly an idea that Jerick only gave it a passing thought.

As the five people disappeared into the building, Jerick made a decision. He ignored the calls of the other boys, waving for them to go on without him, and wandered over to the structure, looking as if he were interested in the pile of stones beside the front path. His interest soon changed to a small beetle, a large leaf, and several other objects that progressively brought him closer to the building, until he was standing just beneath the window, admiring a snail as it climbed up the whitewashed wooden wall.

Though his eyes followed the snail, his ears stretched to catch more of the noble’s strange words. He jumped in surprise as the door opened and <Millen> and the two packmen left. Determined not to run away, Jerick focused his eyes on the snail and tried to look engrossed. The men paid Jerick no heed, and he congratulated himself on his strong nerves, then thanked the snail for remaining so calm, as well. The small creature continued to slide along, completely oblivious to Jerick or its own part in the subterfuge.

Calming himself with a few breaths, Jerick concentrated again. His efforts were rewarded, and soon he could make out the whiny, snappish voice of the scholar speaking within. “I spend an entire year training in <Trexados>, the grandest center for learning on the continent, and my reward? Forced exile to an insignificant mud pit on the far side of the kingdom.” His strangely accented words sounded less authoritative than they had before. It almost resembled the voices of the younger boys who pled to be allowed to play with Jerick’s friends.

“Calm yourself, brother,” a second, feminine voice soothed.

“I cannot and I will not calm myself, <Willan>,” the scholar snapped. “You cannot feel what an outrageous appointment it is. Tomorrow, that chariot will carry you back to <Emory>, leaving me to be forgotten. He must hate me.”

“Perhaps he simply wants someone to teach the people here.”

The scholar snorted loudly. “Teach lumbermen and farmers? <Willan>, be rational. What purpose could that serve?”

“I do not know,” the woman confessed. “It seems ridiculous. But he did appear sincere when he gave you the instructions.”

“It must be a move by House <Strathan> to discredit us,” the scholar declared as if he hadn’t heard his sister’s comment.

“Discredit us?” The woman’s voice was now amused. “Brother, no matter how much your trip to <Trexados> inflated your pride, you can’t possibly have deluded yourself into thinking you’re important enough for house politics. You’re the fourth son of a second son. Be glad the family didn’t decide to send you off to the Eternal War and be rid of you.” (That’s where the Shattered Plains are in this book.)

There was no reply to that comment, but Jerick could feel the dissatisfaction seething through the wall.

“So, what will you teach them?” the woman eventually asked.

“As little as possible. The philosophy of the Three Realms of existence is far beyond them. Perhaps I’ll teach them some tricks of mathematics or history, things that might actually be practical in a place like this.”

“Reading?”

“By the Lords, no!” the scholar replied. “You know what damage that could do?”

“The king implied that’s why he was sending you,” the woman noted. “How will you get around it?”

“Reading requires materials, <Willan>,” the scholar said with a self-satisfied tone. “Look around this town. I doubt you will find a single scroll of text.”

Jerick waited patiently for the conversation to continue, but either the two had decided not to speak further, or they had moved to another part of the building. Sighing, Jerick realized how little of the conversation he’d understood. None of it made sense to him.

One thing was clear; the scholar had spoken to the king himself. And that made him an important man, indeed. Jerick had heard stories of the king and knew from them that only important people ever spoke to the man directly.

Reaching up, he allowed the snail to slide onto his hand, then rose from a squat to walk away from the building. He placed the snail on a shrub he often saw them eating, then wandered off in the direction the other boys had gone.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

I love that with their spicyness, Bucky and Lana’s love is still so… pure? Like they’re it for eachother. They know each other’s value and they will never take advantage of each other. Their relationship is so beautiful. I can’t wait to see more of them together 🫶🏼

This is so sweet and so accurate and exactly what I’m trying to spin with their story! Thank you, my love! Ok, ok you’ve praised a little dribble of a draft out of me, straight from docs, night they first meet:

Dear John Fragment 💌💋: (spoilers duh)

There is a crackle between them that has nothing to do with the fuzzy phone line or the patter of falling rain on the glass panes around them, no lightning in the sky but her finger tips buzz and like magnets; they meet each other. A brutal, awful, needy kiss. Smashing their faces together without much finesse but pouring out an admittance of so much need it’s quite painful. She can feel Bucky tugging at her hair and forcing her face closer when his nose is already shoving aside her own and his lips are working desperately against hers and oh -he’s got such fire in him! He’s thrumming around her and she can hear herself squeaking like a choir girl at the way he helps himself to her body like he saw through her hesitancy all along. She hardly recognizes the crazed creature that meets him at every step with hunger and provocation, when his tongue gently dabs at her lip she swallows him whole, when his hand strays from her waist to her breast she finds herself expanding a breath to fully fill his palm, begging him to take take take.

“I want you so bad.” he hisses like he’s angry at her for being so intoxicating, for robbing him of the ability to breathe. Egan shakes her as he says it, jolts of her neck that fling her hair back with each jerk and her mouth goes dry at his brute strength just barely restrained.

“You’ve waited this long, can’t you be good?”she teases him only to be repaid with an needy snarl and a bonk of her head against the glass as he kissed her again.

She’s not sure why she teased, her nylons are soaked and her own kisses suggest how dire it’s all become for her, having him so near and potent. It’s only she’s not at all sure what she meant by it, what could possibly be finished in this open space. It’s a little fishbowl and the stormy night gives all the ambience to lull her into imagining it’s private but god knows what’s in the jet black night, looking on at the spectacle of the looming Major and his little floozy smashing faces and gripping shirts. She’d let him take her in a hedge at this rate, just not under the bare bulb hanging above them.

But oh, he looks so beautiful in this light.

And if ever anyone spelled need, in its rawest, basest, most flatteringly primal way, it’s John Egan pressing her to the red paned glass of a rural phone booth, an oddly calming smirk on his face and an unarguable thigh beginning to wedge its way between her legs. There could be anyone out there but somehow that doesn’t seem important anymore, not like his large hands do, tenderly cupping her cheeks. Or his belly pressing into hers with his next kiss, the way his lips have grown more insistent while regaining some measured dominance. She finds herself rocking against his strong leg without even thinking, following the instincts his passion raises in her.

[cowgurrrl]

JUST WATCHED THE SAG-AFTRA FOUNDATION VIDEO WITH PEDRO PASCAL ANDDDD.....gotta mention her but the idea of actress!reader having a similar segment for herself, getting similar questions while rockstar!joel is there to support her?? YES PLEASE, it'd be so cute !!! and actress!reader would have some amazing answers and little stories to share about her career me thinks

I love this idea!!

Good Old Days

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: this ask!!

Warnings: unedited because I simply cannot be asked, the kids are so grown up in this :(, fun little reflections, I think that’s it!

It feels weird to be at a point in your career to be able to do a Career Retrospective with SAG-AFTRA, but it also feels well-earned. You’ve been in the business long enough to have seen a thing or two and you’re excited for the opportunity to get to talk about it. Plus, Joel took the day off from working at the label and is sitting in the audience of other card-carrying SAG actors. The woman interviewing you introduces you to the crowd and you walk out to modest applause and an especially loud whistle from Joel. You blow him a kiss before settling across from your interviewer, Kate, who immediately gets into it.

“Thank you so much for joining us today. Should we start with the question everyone probably asks you? When did you get your SAG card?” She asks and you laugh a little at the memory.

“I got my SAG card literally the second I got my first gig in LA. It was mandatory for the project and the project was Sweet Water-”

“That was your first gig when you got to LA?”

“Yeah. My apartment wasn’t even unpacked when I got sent home with the script and they were like, ‘make sure you mark in your script’ and all that stuff and I didn’t have a dining room table. I was literally marking stuff while sitting on the floor.”

“That’s must’ve been a big leap.”

“It was huge. This was a tiny pilot that was coming onto this huge scene of TV medical dramas and it wasn’t supposed to be set in this big city, it was a rural hospital, and we didn’t know if it was gonna get picked up. So, yeah, it was pretty scary for a second. My family was terrified but they told me they felt a little better once I was a part of the union.” You shrug, not knowing how much you actually believe that, but their support got you to where you are for a reason.

“That’s surprising to know, especially now that it’s a huge success.”

“We didn’t know for a long time if it was gonna flop or not,” you admit. “I remember Carolina and I would always get stuck doing night shoots and we’d just be exhausted and covered in the fake blood or whatever and we would look at each other like, ‘what the fuck are we doing?’ But I loved that character and I loved that show.”

“How did you get into acting before all that?” She asks and you stretch your memory back as far as you can.

“I think I was always interested in it. I worked at a movie theatre for a while just so I could go see movies for free and when we read plays in class, I would always get really excited. I did theatre throughout high school and college but it didn’t really start to feel like a real career until I started working. Like I would act in little short films and get paid like $100 for a week of work and I thought that was what acting was. So, I just kept taking on projects and kept working and then eventually got noticed but I think even if I didn’t get picked up, I would still be acting in some capacity.

“And you went to NYU?” She asks and you nod. “What drew you to NYU?”

“I mean, isn’t it every young actors dream to go to New York? I just thought that’s where people were actors and artists and I wanted to be a part of it. I moved to the city and knew absolutely no one and it was a real starving artist kinda vibe for a while. Like I was a waitress at two different restaurants and one of them was in Midtown and the other was in the Upper East side so I was constantly jumping boroughs and spending money on subway tickets. But it was a really great experience and I met a lot of incredibly talented people.”

“Including Carolina Garcia-Long.”

“Oh, especially Carolina Garcia-Long!” You exclaim, excited to talk about one of your favorite people. “She’s such an amazing person and I’m so lucky I got to start my career with her. I just love her and Ryan so much.”

“Had you guys acted together before Sweet Water?”

“Yeah, so Carolina and I had been scene partners during class assignments and we were often at the same auditions for things. Ryan and I didn’t act together professionally until… I wanna say our first project together was Self Made Men? That was right when he was starting to pick up steam in his career and it was my first movie right off of Sweet Water and I played this super minor character named Sunday. I was really only on the call sheet for a few days but we had so much fun that he kept inviting me back, if not to work, then to learn and that totally changed things for me,” you furrow your brows as you think. “I might have to text him after this and ask because I’m almost positive we did something together before Self Made Men. But way before that, in New York, our paths just kept crossing and crossing and then Carolina and I finally moved in together in this tiny little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen with two other girls. I actually took Joel by there on our first trip to New York together and he was so shocked at how shitty the building was. Sorry, can I swear? If not, I think I’ve already broken that rule.” You cover your mouth and look around for someone to make a cutting motion at their throat to get you to stop but everyone just laughs.

“You can say whatever you want.” Kate says and you let out a relieved sigh.

“Okay, good,” you say. “But yeah, I remember him asking all these questions like, ‘wait, how many people live there?’ And I was like, ‘well four of us but sometimes their boyfriends or whatever would stay over so sometimes up to eight people.’ He was such a dad about it, just panicking about fire safety and whatever else. It was so stupidly endearing.”

“And he’s here today, right?” She asks and you look out into the crowd until you find his smiling face and point him out to her.

“He’s over there in that corner, trying to act like he doesn’t know we’re talking about him.” He blushes at your words and shakes his head but you just smile.

“Something I didn’t know about your husband is that he’s actually a card-carrying member of SAG-AFTRA.”

“He is!” You say, excitedly. “For like the first ten years of our marriage, he would come to set and just randomly get placed as an extra or a random character. I think he even said two lines once as like a barista or something but we did an episode of Things We Don’t Talk About together where they actually cast him as police officer and that entire production was a must-join so, yeah, he got his little SAG-AFTRA card and became a union man.”

“Did you ever think you’d get to do TV with your husband?” She asks and you laugh.

“I never even thought I’d be on TV, let alone my husband.”

“I guess that’s true because you did a lot of Shakespeare before coming to film and TV, what drew you to that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I just needed a job around the time I actually started doing Shakespeare so it was more of a necessity than anything. I didn’t really care about it in school and it was always confusing but once I got into shows and learning more about it, I was totally hooked. I did Shakespeare in the Park several times and did some off off off Broadway Shakespeare work, too, and I just love it. And we’ve raised our kids on it.”

“Have you really?”

“Oh, yeah. Our son and daughter-in-law actually just had their first little girl and she’s named after a Shakespearean character.” You say, beaming from just talking about Juno.

“Do we get to know the name?” She asks and you shake your head.

“I’m afraid that’s not my secret to tell, but she is very, very cute.”

“Well, congratulations to both of you.”

“Thank you,” you say. The rest of the interview goes well and you even get to tease the new project you’re working on with Violet. It feels good to recap such a fun and still running career, a feat not everyone gets to celebrate. It also helps that Joel is waiting in the wings with a big hug and kiss the second you’re off stage.

[sincerelywhistler]

CEBALRAI

In the most recent channel anniversary trivia livestream, Erik mentioned he once upon a time ago had plans for a soft Sadism boyfriend character. This is my OC of said boy, Cebalrai!

More under the cut:

Here’s a Pinterest board that captures his vibes :)

And a Spotify playlist as well

• Cebalrai (pronounced as “SEB-all-rye”) often goes by 'Ceb' (still pronounced like "Seb”). Beta Ophiuchi, also named Cebalrai, is a star in the equatorial constellation of Ophiuchus. Ophiuchus is the canonical name of Gavin’s steward and I will SOMEHOW absolutely be incorporating that into his story k thanks

• He works for the Department in the mental health field as a psychotherapist, most often with Seers in specific. As a Sadism demon, he’s able to feed from his empowered clients' troubled emotions while counseling them during their personal healing journeys.

• Coincide with that Department role, he is a thread-cutter (a demon who is responsible for cutting the magical threads of empowered humans to Aria). Our beloved Seer, Morgan, stated that, "there very serious mental and emotional repercussions to a decision like [getting threads cut]; it is not one to be made lightly," (Learning About Your Magical Abilities From a Seer). It is Ceb's job to reassuringly assist empowered persons of whether or not cutting their threads is the best decision, subsequently severing their ties to magic in a comfortable setting should they choose to proceed. He’s a soft and gentle presence, a great fit for the job.

• He and Morgan are work buddies :)

• Ceb has a soft spot for humanity, being obsessed with human traditions, culture, history, psychology, so on. The prospect of being mortal fascinates him more than anything. If there’s a non-magic way of doing a task, he’ll take that route.

• Green witchy boi hehe

• TALL MAN!! HUGE BOY BUILT FOR GIVING HUGS THAT SWALLOW YOU WHOLE!!

• Baker of any and all things sweet

• The star's name literally translates to "dog of the shepard”. Reflecting this, Ceb, like a sheepdog/cattle-dog, has a natural inclination to guide people towards their sense of safety and belonging. Task-oriented and loyal until the end of time.

• He loves gardening! Talking to the plants puts his mind at ease. And because he doesn't need to feed his physical body with physical foods, he often gifts his home-grown produce and herbs away to his struggling patients and the few kind coworkers he knows.

• Probably smells like rain tbh

• Cannot do math to save his life

• If he’s not wearing cozy sweaters, he’s in the most ethereal attire because he’s extra like that

• Avid reader! Romance is his absolute favorite genre. But as sweet as he is, bro won't hesitate to go on tirades about how toxic or poorly the relationships in some books are portrayed. Colleen Hoover may be his worst enemy.

• Favorite book is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

• Hydrangea tattoos to symbolize grace and gratitude. Bein’ a Sadism Demon comes with a lot of baggage, man

• Main love languages are acts of service and quality time

• Lives a quiet life in a secluded, little cottage-like house out on the rural edge of town with his three corgis— LaVern, Maxine, and Patricia (aptly named after The Andrews Sisters, a female big-band & swing vocalist group popular in the 1930s-50s, aka my Ceb's favorite era of music).

• Will try to pet any animal. The opossums by his house know little peace. 

• Rabid for cherry vanilla coca-cola he is an addict

I've got whole documents pertaining to this big dummy, and you’ll be seeing much more of him in the future <3

[destinyc1020]

Hi 👋🏽 lurker here. I love your page but honestly feel too grown to comment on tumblr most of the time 😂

just wanted to chime in to say the biracial/black women convo is important and I really appreciate your perspective. I’m around Zendaya’s age, (slightly) older and I’m also a (biracial) light skinned black woman. Same foundation shade as Zendaya actually 😂. I can tell you this discourse was not a thing growing up. We were black, considered black by society, etc. it wasn’t until the past 5 years that I’ve seen people feel the need to distinguish us as “biracials” and honestly it has been a little hurtful and neglects our experiences as biracial black people. Yes we have privilege, absolutely. Now that I live in a city, I feel that more readily. I was also raised around a lot of white people so I can adapt fluidly in white spaces, which has been immensely helpful in my career. But all grass isn’t always greener on the other side, if that makes sense.

For example, I grew up in a rural sundown town. Guess what? I was the only black person many of them had ever seen, and on top of that being biracial made me, and I quote, an “abomination”. Can’t tell you how many times I heard that growing up. And I imagine even in hollywood there are remnants of some of that (less harsh) sentiment there. Is Zendaya privileged and does she have access to more roles because she’s lighter? Yes. Is she still probably fighting off “stereotypical” castings, being met with executives who say “a black star won’t make us money in China/Korea/europe/whatever”, is she offered less than her white counterparts, probably also yes. I think it’s important that we can acknowledge that Zendaya (and light skinned black people) is more privileged but I get so salty when I see people try to strip her of her identity or overly criticize her because she’s “not black enough”. I feel like the discourse around biracial people in particular has been on fire in recent years. I can understand the frustration people feel with society around light skinned folks and I absolutely admit that some light skinned folks abuse their privilege or don’t give back, but the discourse is really stripping us of our identity as BLACK people. I’m a black woman, society sees me as such and I am PROUD to be a black woman. Having one white parent doesn’t erase that from my identity.

hopefully people don’t take this the wrong way, but thanks again for your take. Love your blog!

First off, thank you so much for your sweet and kind words about my blog Anon. 🥰 I appreciate it!

I also wanted to say thank you so much for providing your views and your input as a biracial black woman. As a monoracial black woman myself, I can't personally know first-hand how it feels or what biracial black women experience in this country. It's nice to hear the "other side of the coin" for a change.

You and I are probably around the same age, and you're right, growing up there wasn't such a huge demarcation line btwn who is "black" and who is "biracial". Back then, everyone was just considered "black" if you have "one drop" of black blood lol. 😂 But over the past few years or so, there's really been a strong desire for some to classify. I get it... I think biracial black women (especially) do get a bit more favorable treatment in society and people tend to treat them differently, and they're deemed more "beautiful", etc. Not always, but a lot of times the underlying current is there, and it can be frustrating for those of us who are monoracial black to constantly see society uplifting ONE type of beauty over the other. I can see why some want to "clarify" or put certain people in a box.

I think everyone's experiences might be unique just simply due to their skin tone, or even how someone looks, attractiveness levels, size, region of the country they're living in, etc. So, there are a LOT of factors, so I totally get it.

With that said, I totally agree that while it is definitely frustrating to see certain ones in the "Black Community" being given opportunities more than others, at the same time, we really don't know what some of these "lighter-skinned" actresses have had to endure, what they're being told, or how they can be made to feel like an "other" or a "token" for some of them. 🤷🏾‍♀️

My main gripe with Hollywood is that it seems as though monoracial YOUNG black women are constantly being ignored in the industry. 😔 Growing up, I used to at least be able to name some popular monoracial black women who were famous/popular. We at least had Keke, isn't Raven black? lol..... But now days?? It's very hard to even see monoracial black women (young) who are given lead roles in mainstream films.... We're RARELY playing the lead, or even the love interest. 🥴

A lot of roles meant for "black women" are going to biracials lol. Again, I'm not mad (I love to see a fellow woc getting some shine), but it would just be nice to see some black women onscreen who look more like ME, and who are around my age. Yea, it's nice seeing Lupita Nyong'o (for example), or Angela Bassett (who I LOVE!), Kiki Layne, Janelle Monet, etc.... but every now and then, it would just be nice to see some younger monoracial black women who look like myself on the major screen again. 😔 Anyway, let me stop rambling....

[ninapi]

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Premise: Ancient Japan gets hit by a rare disease coming from the birds. Succumbing to it and fearing for the safety of your bird companion, as a last resort you reach a mythical forest full of ancient shapeshifting creatures. Will you be able to find a cure? Will you be safe in the middle of a forest full of unknown forces? Love is right around the corner and meeting different clans will help you find it.

Word Count: 2976

Note: Welcome to my new series! This is an AU, meaning they aren’t volleyball players, it has a fantasy set up in a very rural old Japan. This one will have a bit of a different format than the previous ones you will see what I mean.

Chapter 0: Contagious

Life was hard. The land was dry, infertile. Livestock was owned by the rich, meaning only they had something left to eat while the common people were piling up dead bodies on the sidewalks.

A rare disease was coming from the north and death was the only known outcome of getting it.

Majority of your village succumbed to the first wave, causing both of your parents to die from it.

By then, it still was an unknown fact that the chickens you were all eating were the cause of the hundreds of deaths.

Only the rich were safe as birds were the meat of the poor.

All chickens were sacrificed as an offering to the gods, in hopes of getting back the life they once had.

It was an awful scene, one that would forever hunt everyone’s nightmares.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You were walking near a stream you visited often, looking for some herbs, when you saw a hurt chick on the ground. Seemed like it had fallen from a nest nearby.

You knew birds were forbidden in your village. Even pigeons were killed by locals, throwing stones at them heartlessly in fear. But you couldn’t leave the creature there to die. So you picked him up carefully, wrapping it with a cloth and placed it in your basket, hidden by the herbs you placed on top.

The chick survived, quickly recovering with your care. Your land wasn’t vast, but it had a secluded area on the back where you used to have crops when the land was still blessed. In there, you taught your bird friend how to look for worms and it would sleep in a makeshift nest you made out of old rags beside your own bed, the casual encounter blossomed into an everlasting friendship.

Animals grow fast. Soon you noticed your friend was a crow, his black feathers beautifully coming to shine not long after his arrival.

Having a loud big bird hidden in a small cottage wasn’t ideal, you worried for his safety daily, specially when new cases of the dreaded disease kept popping up here and there. There were no birds allowed anywhere close, how was it possible? Why was it back? There were rumors that said polluted water was the cause, birds from other villages were still alive, pure streams and rivers falling victims of the treacherous creatures.

Your friend has been with you for a bit over a year now and it’s a full-grown adult already. You always thought crows were vile creatures, dangerous. But you were admittedly wrong. Your friend was nothing but sweet, it would always make sure you were warm during the harsh winter nights, pulling your blanket over you with its beak when you tossed around asleep and would chose to sleep over your stomach for added warmth; picking him up that day was the best idea you’ve ever had.

Sadly, every day that went by was much more of a struggle than the last one. You knew what was going on. Breathing was a taxing task these days. Fever constantly hunting your nights. The cold weather was difficult to battle when you had no wood left to feed the fire, your blanket was just not enough anymore. Food was also scarce in your pantry.

It worried you that your bird friend would end up dying with you if he didn’t leave first. He needed to learn how to be a bird, he needed to be free.

You’ve heard the legend of the forest you must never go in. Full of foul monsters and creatures not of this world. Strong men never returned after their reckoning, it was known by everyone. A place humans should never go into. But a place where humans weren’t allowed was a place where birds would be safe.

So, you decided to take your friend with you at night, you knew you didn’t have much time left and didn’t want the villagers to see you flee in broad daylight.

Unfortunately, an old man that lived four houses down the road heard its wings flap as a gust of wind hit you on the way, making him come out of his house in rage. His wife had passed that morning out of the same disease hunting the village, birds were at fault, they should all be dead. He grabbed a spear and threw it at you, he wanted to kill the bird, not hurt you, but the spear chopped half of one of its wings off and left a fairly deep wound on your side. You were both bleeding heavily, but you did your best to get out of view, running towards the forest.

Your surroundings were turning darker every second, dense foliage hitting your face from every angle, but you had to hurry, you had to save your friend with the last strength left within your body.

A rock made you trip and fall, rolling down a steep in the forest. You protected your friend with all your might making sure it wouldn’t suffer further damage and when you finally stopped rolling, you could see the night sky above you, beautiful stars twinkling down at you, the air was fresh, the trees were singing. And suddenly the weight on top of you intensified. You were sure your bird friend wasn’t this heavy, but you couldn’t look down, not in your current state.

“You're such an idiot! Why did you do this? Look at you, you’re bleeding so much.” you could hear the voice close, a voice you’ve never heard before but somehow it filled you with nostalgia.

The legend was very true. The forest held all sorts of creatures, all sorts of clans. There, they could be their true selves without caring about human misconceptions.

One of those clans was particularly known there as they couldn’t leave the forest, their powers only worked there, and they were unable of taking care of themselves in the outside world, they were victims of a powerful unbreakable curse. The Tengu clan.

“(Y/N) please don’t fall asleep, look at me. I’ll get you some help, c’mon hold on tight.” A naked man you’ve never seen in your life was holding you in his arms, his eyes were soft, full of worry, a deep wound oozing blood on his back.

“My friend, is that you? Are we both dead? Is that why you look human to me right now? I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better life…” he ran through the forest, climbing a tree swiftly with inhuman speed, “Shhh, we aren’t dead. We are home now, don’t worry, I can protect you here.” your eyes drifted regardless of his previous warnings, alarming him even more.

“Is there someone that can help us? Anyone know the Sugawaras? My parents, they should live around this area.” the man was pleading through the empty city in the sky, multiple treetops connected with rope bridges, tree houses in each of them, an entire city right there, and they were all ignoring him.

Someone around his age popped his head out of a window, “I know the Sugawaras, but you are a bit lost, they live quite far. Do you want to come inside? Seems like you could use some clothing and the lady with you could also use a place to rest.” he smiled at the kind man, quickly taking you inside.

His name was Daichi from the Sawamura family, a name he hadn’t heard before but surely a very warmhearted one.

He let you down gently on the floor, panic written all over his face, “She, she has the bird sickness. If we don’t do something she’ll die.” he was holding one of your hands, now sporting some comfortable clothing for the first time in his life. “What do you mean the bird sickness? We are birds-“ seems they didn’t know about the disease, not yet at least.

“Humans, they die from it. It wasn’t my fault, I swear.” his face was now buried on your side the same way he used to do it on his bird form. “There’s no such sickness here, my friend. You can be at ease, as long as she doesn’t leave the forest, she should be ok.” hearing those words brought so much relief that he fell asleep right there, sharing his warmth with you, all he could do was nod, hoping the man was right.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You woke up bright and early, a gray muff of hair coming out of your blanket, startling you. Suga woke up, looking at you in disbelief, you looked so much better, color was back in your face, the scraps from the night before barely noticeable. “(Y/N) it’s me! I’m your bird. I know it might be hard to believe, but you brought me to the forest, only here you can see my true form, we are safe now.” you cut his rambling by giving him a long warm hug full of love. You knew it was true even if it sounded crazy, you could feel it, he was your friend, your only family left. “Do you have a name? I didn’t want to give you one because I didn’t want people hearing me call out to you, they would have found you sooner.” you refused to let him go, burying your face on his soft locks, “Sugawara Koushi”, he whispered in between deep breaths. There were so many nights he wished to hold you like this, to do something more for you, this all felt like a dream.

A loud fake coughing sound tore you away from the other, “Sorry to interrupt you guys, but I talked with some of my pals from other families and I think it would be better if you came with me.” Daichi was standing by the door awkwardly, waiting for you to get your bearings once more.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

He took you both to what looked like a common area in the city, almost like a hall. It had benches made out of plants and tree stomps as stools. A few other winged men already waiting for you inside.

“So, this is the human girl?? She’s cute! Hi!! I’m Hinata Shoyo, the son of the village ruler!” he was quickly on your face, slightly smaller in size but his beautiful wings were spreading proudly.

“Back off, idiot. Let her breathe.” a much taller and annoyed looking man spoke beside you. He was beautiful, his hair matched to perfection the almost iridescent tone of black his wings had, his face was literally glowing at the stark contrast with his fair skin. A sight to behold.

“Don’t let them startle you, they won’t hurt you, they are my friends. I talked to them about this bird sickness of yours and Asahi seems to know more about it, that’s why I called you.” you both nodded, sitting together on a small bench.

“Hello there,” the man you now recognize as Asahi gave you a small nervous smile and a little wave, crouching down to eye level. He looked older than the other two, his wings lacked in the shiny aspect, one of them was even scuffed and missing a tip. His brown curly hair set him apart from the others, he looked somewhat calmer and wiser than the rest. “I’m Azumane Asahi, I lived outside of the forest for a while, so I know what the sickness is you have. As far as I know, there’s no cure for it, but while you are inside the forest it won’t kill you as fast. I do think you won’t feel as great though, but it shouldn’t be fatal. Maybe we can get some help from other clans that know more about it, they might know of a cure or a way to at least make you feel better.” you offered him a bright smile, thanking him for bringing all of this up for your sake. He seemed relieved with your response, he wasn’t the best at handling women so he was grateful for your kindness.

“My best friend is from the Bakeneko clan, you know those two tailed cats you humans think aren’t real?” you nodded in disbelief, thinking of that one painting in your house that always had you entranced with curiosity since you were little. “They are the only clan that can go on their true form outside the forest, so it’s possible they know more about it. They have their own colonies in your world, I will send him one of my birds today.” you were honestly moved by all the support you were getting from them all; they didn’t know you and they were already so friendly.

“I think she should go up north. The owls, they know everything.” Kageyama wanted to help, didn’t mean to sound like he didn’t want you there, but the look of hurt in your eyes was making him stutter in desperate need of help.

Daichi caught up fast, “What he means is, you have another alternative. You can stay here with us in this side of the forest, the Tengus will protect you, you have my word. If the bakenekos know something, you could go with them too, they’re used to humans and would probably give you a life closer to what you’ve already experienced. Or you could travel north and visit the owl clan, they have sages that can even do magic, you might be able to leave this place one day if they find a cure.” you weigh all your options, a headache knocking at your door at the influx of information.

“As for you, Sugawara Koushi. Your parents live on the other side of the village, I notified them, seems like they’ve been looking for you for a while and thought you were dead.” Suga grabbed your hand, trying to bring some sort of comfort in this hard situation, “Thank you, I…I fell off a tree the day I was born, (Y/N) here saved my life. She raised me, protected me, gave me the only loving home I’ve known. I’m happy to know I have a family here that wishes to see me, but I will go with her if she chooses to visit the owls. Unfortunately, I can’t leave the forest, I would also die if I do so, the cut on my back is too deep, I can’t fly ever again.” your heart ached badly, you were supposed to protect him, not get him fall to such lethal injury.

“You don’t have to think about it yet, (Y/N). Let’s go visit my parents. They might give us a room.”

Hinata got up awkwardly, interrupting him, “I prepared a room for each of you at my place, since it’s the biggest around. I thought it would be easier on her, specially since she needs to decide what she wants to do. If she wants to stay and you two are, well…you know…” he was blushing thinking of who knows what obscenities in that dirty head of his “I could talk to the people in charge and get you your own cottage. But I think it would be better to let her rest for a bit first.”

Yamaguchi, a cute freckled and shy looking Tengu hiding on the back cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention, “Aren’t you guys forgetting about the foxes? They’re closer to the gods, immortal beings, shouldn’t they be able to cure her somehow?”

Daichi’s face turned feral, spooking the young Tengu, “We don’t talk about the foxes, Yamaguchi. That would be the very last option, one I wouldn’t want to explore.” drowning the mood, Hinata dragged you both to his place, where you had your very own cozy hammock with a nice view of the sky.

You were both grateful, still in pain and tired having a warm bed without compromising and having awkward meetings sounded lovely.

You had a lot to think about.

If you stayed with the Tengus, you could be with your friend possibly forever, he was your only family, the only one you could trust. But never regain health again and leaving the forest would never be an option.

If you went with the cats they might know of a cure, but your friend can’t go with you, and you would immediately start to decay as you step outside.

The owls seemed safe enough, you could both go together and would still be within the forest, you could even be cured one day. But do you really want to leave the forest even? Is it actually worth the trip?

And what about the mysterious foxes? Why do they not talk about them? It was certainly intriguing.

That night you dream of foxes and gods, owls and Tengus, naughty and cute cats alike.

A difficult choice indeed.

○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●○●○●○●○●●

Note: So this story will work a little different than the ones before it. Instead of having a Good/Happy/True ending, you will follow different paths that will take you to completely different setups, and instead of multiple chapters, each clan will have a longer story in one shot format. The second half of it will have different routes endings though~

Nina’s side note: I’m enjoying a little too much editing pics for this fics, I think it’s getting out of control lol.

Masterlist

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

you KNOW i'm coming back in with the DMC crew for the bingo card!

hey hello finally answering this a mere two weeks late lmao

DANTE

okay so wayyyy back in the day when I first got into DMC I was admittedly far more interested in Vergil (look it was the mid-2000s and he was a cold-hearted bad boy, what do you want me to say) BUT over the years my Dante appreciation has grown exponentially

I am sobbing wailing screaming etc. I just want him to be happy. I want him to acknowledge his found family. I want Nero to drag him to Fortuna for a family dinner and have Kyrie make him eat a real meal. I want Dante to take Nero back to Redgrave to visit Eva's grave and tell him about both Eva and Sparda - the people, the parents, not the legend and his sweet wife

(I have. a lot. of Eva feelings. we'll get to that later.)

VERGIL

BINGO. God I just I can't I can't sum up my Vergil feelings just like Vergil cannot acknowledge his own feelings because his entire life had been so wrapped up in the scant hard cold comfort of unbending pride because if you don't admit you're hurting, that's almost as good as not hurting in the first place, and he's a DEMON okay, he's a DEMON, a DEVIL, not some weak flimsy human!!!! A DEMON!!! He's a big tough strong cunning evil powerful monster!!!!

Vergil is an open wound that has been festering for decades, a body and soul stretched literally to breaking point by cruelties beyond imagining. He's been a slave, a torture victim, his mind and decisions taken from him to be a meat puppet for his father's greatest enemy, cursed by the blood of Sparda so fully and thoroughly that the only way he can deal with it is to pretend it's the human in him that's cursed. Because he can never pretend he isn't part-devil, but maybe he can quash the humanity in him and pretend he's all devil.

How far is Vergil responsible and/or culpable for his crimes? What are his crimes? How many (if any) died when he raised Temen-ni-Gru? Were those deaths forgivable in pursuit of a greater good, or was it entirely selfish? Did Vergil feel the weight of Sparda's unfulfilled promise fall on his shoulders and this way the only way he could avoid buckling under the expectations of his bloodline?

And what about the Qliopoth? Did he cause it to sprout in Redgrave, or did he just take advantage of it? Can Vergil the person be held responsible for what his demonic half did after the separation? If so, is that balanced out by the heroic actions of V as his humanity?

I just!!!!!! god. I love him so much. I want to wrap him in the softest blanket and kiss his forehead like the world's angriest little kitten. I want to send him to therapy so badly. I want him to come back for DMC 6 on the good guys team but wearing a Bad Man shirt.

(come on I can't be the only one who sees the resemblance)

EVA

"but beth, eva was only in the game for like five seconds before she got ganked--"

shhh. shhhhhhhh. that's the only part of DMC 5 that will never be canon in my heart.

okay so many many moons ago I read an amazing Eva origin story called Rapture on ff.net and forever after it informed my headcanons about Eva - to whit, she was a devil hunter, had overcome tragedy in her past, and was every bit fierce and furious enough to go toe-to-toe with the Devil Knight Sparda

so you will never get me to believe that Eva did not go down all guns blazing, fighting to the last drop of blood in her veins and the last gasp of breath in her lungs to protect her boys

even if you don't subscribe to that theory, you can't get away from the fact that Eva must have been a truly spectacular individual to attract Sparda's attention - especially since we've never had any indication that Sparda had any other lovers, or at least never had any children with them - and I just can't make myself believe it was all down to ~sweetness~ or ~purity~ or ~beauty~

my Eva grew up in rural Appalachia; grew up hunting, shooting, riding, and idolising her older brother in all of his dyed-black-hair, poetry-loving, stick-and-poke tattooed, skinny goth glory

(because, after all, it only makes sense that Vergil's humanity drew upon his human roots for form and face and so many other things that Vergil never really let himself acknowledge)

and life is good, right up until the day demons attack their homestead and Eva is the only one who gets out alive -- because her beloved older brother throws her on a horse and stays behind to shoot down the horde until he goes down

I don't wanna just stuff ten thousand words about my hc Eva backstory into this meme lmao but suffice to say she's tough as nails, a tightly-coiled spring trap of badly-suppressed trauma, conflating isolationism with strength and guilt with duty. When asked why she takes up devil hunting, she will only say -- if not me, then who? When she first hears of Sparda, she thinks he's a fairytale; then, later, she's willing to believe he was once real, but has long since faded into history... and, anyway, shouldn't it be down to humans to protect themselves rather than always relying on the benediction, the protection, of a higher power?

because Eva's family were good, stern Methodist folk, and God didn't stop the demons coming. Sparda? Eva has no faith in Sparda.

and when she relocates to Redgrave City and figures out there's a powerful demon stalking the streets of the city?

she'll damn well take care of it herself-

[jmdbjk]

The Astronaut.

I am just going to unfurl these thoughts as I listen to the song and lyrics and watch the video. So much symbolism in the video.

The spaceship crashed and Jin sitting there, watching it burn.

Is the spaceship the juggernaut that is BTS? BTS did crash into the world on debut and the world did not know what had been unleashed upon it at that time. Or is it life in general or time itself? Maybe it represents Jin, Jin’s life. 

Maybe it is life’s (many burdensome) obligations.

Time has gone by and Jin does puzzles (games) while waiting. Solving his puzzle involves adding words to represent the elements of his time with BTS and Army. “The planet is coming back soon.” The planet is BTS? The planet is home?

His room is full of little easter eggs. The guitar that Chris Martin gave to him. The Music of the Spheres album... posters of Coldplay, amongst other things. And Chris’ cameo appearance as the news anchor on tv...

Then he sees the signal (light beaming to the sky)...it’s time to go. He’s been waiting and is ready to answer the call.

His suit is slightly too small... he’s grown a little during the time he’s been waiting. Or he’s lost his original suit and had to borrow a new one? The cut of the black suit seems somewhat old-fashioned, and the color black is very conservative and also a color for mourning. Perhaps it represents something that is outdated... This is an intriguing detail. 

The little girl looks like international Army. And of course, because she represents us, she is adorable... I was going to guess her age but later in the video, I can tell her front teeth are growing in so she’s about 8.

He puts the helmet on her to keep her safe. Then he looks back at his home... jesus, I’m crying as I write this. 

And off he goes, running forward to his future, whatever is awaiting. Just like they’ve been doing all these years. 

That’s a nice neighborhood, I wonder if its a movie set or a real neighborhood somewhere. I am expecting a behind the scenes video of this MV at some point. I think the small town street scenes are for sure a movie set. There are a lot of those in California.

I love this image:

He is speeding to his future by himself. Sure of himself. Not afraid in the least bit.

And then he’s pushing the little girl off to ride by herself. She’s a little scared and doesn’t want him to let go.

As much as we don’t want to, we can do this, guys, we can do this by ourselves (omg the tears!)! WE HAVE TO DO THIS!

We will have to hold our photos (memories) close to us for a short time.

We are Jin’s universe.

When he gets back to the ship, it has settled into the environment and the trees have grown up around it...it’s been a long wait. 

And then it lifts off. The inevitable... life... time... obligations... whatever it represents, moving on as it does regardless. 

And the dude in the FORD truck that stops to pick him up. And Jin rides off into the sunset. For now.

The sign at the end... Tejon Ranch? If that’s what it says, that is north of Los Angeles. The scenery matches that location.

Last scene of the MV when he completes the word on the puzzle... F A M I L Y. 

We hear the bicycle bell and he rises to go see us. The anticipation on his face... (my god, how am I typing coherently at this point...)

I have a dumb question, at the start of the video, what does SBSM mean (appears at the bottom left of all the MVs)?

And this number in the yellow circle on the top right?

I can’t believe this song is almost 5 minutes long. I want it to be even longer. What a great song! I think it has great general pop appeal in that potentially non-Army/non-fans will like it a lot. The music video is so sweet and poignant for us who are very invested, and yet, repeating what I said, it has great general appeal as well. The location choice, the girl and the extras in the video are very diverse even though the neighborhood and town have a very “small town” rural feel to them. It is very much a video that western markets, especially the U.S. market can relate to visually. 

As I write this more than 12 hours after it’s release, The Astronaut is still at the top spot on iTunes. Sorry, Rihanna, apparently Armys’ feelings are stronger than everyone expected. I am certain this is taking a lot of industry people by surprise as well. I mean, it’s Rihanna, who hasn’t released music in a long time. You’d think her song would be hugely anticipated. But we are always underestimated across the board.

Beware anyone else attempting to release music when the next solo albums drop. If Jin can do this with ONE SONG, the rest of you are on notice. 

THANK YOU FOR A FANTASTIC SONG AND MV, JIN!!! I LOVE YOU TOO!! WE WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU!!

[eli0004]

💐 once you receive this lovely bouquet of flowers, you have to mention five things you love, publicly, and send it to 10 of your favorite followers if you want. SPREAD POSITIVITY! ⛅️

🥹🥹🥹 thank you bby, I’m honored 🫶🫶

Five things i love? Alright, let’s go:

1. I love my kid, and his perfect little face, and his sweet voice when he says mama. I love his little fingers and toes, and i love dancing with him to sesame street music and looking like an idiot just to see him smile.

2. I love my Husband. He works hard for us, and comes home dog tired, but he still stays up until midnight just to spend time with me, and you’d never hear him complain about being tired. He does my share of them housework when i don’t feel well, he always makes sure I’ve eaten before he so much as takes a bite. And he takes me to spend money on plants!! 🪴

3. I LOVE PLANTS!!! Monstera babies, sanseveria babies, philodendron babies….i love them all. I love the way they reach for the sun, and how it feels to get my hands into the soil and feel the life in them.

4. I love sitting by the big window in my living room in the early morning, listening to the birds, and just breathing. Feeling the sun on my skin and just soaking up all the happy feelings.

5. I love fruit! I grew up in a rural area, so cantaloupe and watermelon, plus a liiiiittle bit of salt is *mwah* chefs kiss. It’s not for everyone, but it’s for me! I love going to local places to pick fresh blueberries and raspberries, and going to the farmers markets in town on Saturdays 🤤🤤🤤 you’ve never had a peach like a locally-grown peach 🍑