#or something throwaway that doesn’t matter

[livelaughpeg]

I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

[holyprincenerd]

yes yes rigged this cha cha that but please let’s not ignore this right now:

https://www.aftonbladet.se/podcasts/ab/episode/355975 Swedish “eurovision expert” Tobbe Ek (for those of you who aren’t Swedish, this is the same guy who accused Måneskin of doing coke on live tv back in 2021) and his posse of minions decided that it was time to spread some absolutely hateful rhetoric against the people of Finland by calling them shitty, idiotic, telling them they should be ashamed of not voting for Sweden (??? literally what???) etc etc, while also dragging in other contestants like Lord of the Lost and insulting them as a means of questioning why the Finnish public voted for them but not for Sweden. (You know. Because it totally doesn’t make any sense at all that a country known for having the most metal bands per capita in the world would vote for Lord of the Lost. Not at all.) 

As the cherry on top of this xenophobic shit cake, they started to go on about how “There’s no way there were ten contestants who were better than Sweden this year.” (Again. Not only disrespecting the other contestants, but them pretending not to grasp the concept of a country known for preferring heavier music choosing to vote mostly for bands this year... Yeah... Couldn’t be their preferences...)

Again, this man is considered a Eurovision expert here in Sweden, yet this is the type of behaviour he and his coworkers display over a nonissue like the Finnish public not voting for Sweden this year. If there’s something shameful here, it’s this.

To reiterate: These are three grown-ass well past 40-year old people having a genuine meltdown over one (1) singular country not voting for them.

Why are we giving Tobbe Ek (and his irrelevant coworkers) a platform, again?

EDIT:

Hoo boy, there’s more. Because of course there is.

ALRIGHT here’s an article from one of our tabloids using quite suspiciously colonialistic sounding rhetoric about Finland being “the kingdom’s previous eastern half”.

https://www.expressen.se/noje/finska-sveket-mot-sverige-gav-noll-poang-efter-uppmaningen-rosta-taktiskt/

The specific quote in Swedish: “Tv-tittarna i tidigare östra rikshalvan gav nämligen Sverige noll(!) poäng under Eurovisionfinalen på lördagen.”

Translation: “TV viewers in [our] kingdom’s previous eastern half gave namely zero(!) points to Sweden during the Eurovision finale on Saturday.”

Yeah, Johan Bratell (the writer of the article) is technically not wrong about Finland having been a part of Sweden. But why bring this up now? This was so clearly meant as a condescending insult.

The article also talks about a throwaway comment that the Finnish commentator Mikko Silvennoinen made about tactical voting (or more specifically, an anonymous comment he read out loud about tactical voting). From my understanding this was a joke reference to the previous elections which took place recently in Finland and forced a portion of the Finnish public to vote tactically as an attempt to block a far-right party from getting into the parliament. It’s embarrassing how much these people are reaching.

And even if they were voting tactically, so what? Sweden won. Why are we so focused on the public vote of one (1) country, Jesus Christ this is embarrassing.

EDIT 2: WHY THIS MATTERS. A LOT.

For those of you who are not in the know about Swedish politics, these statements are reflecting some far-right political views that have their roots all the way back in the times when Sweden ruled over Finland. In recent memory, our far-right political party Sverigedemokraterna claimed that the Swedish minority group Tornedalians are not Swedish, because they may speak local dialects that blend Finnish into Swedish, or speak the minority language Meänkieli. Coincidentally, Meänkieli just so happens to be a minority language that blends Finnish and Swedish, as it is mostly spoken by people who live by the Torneå river, i.e. the Finnish-Swedish border. Here’s an article about this controversy (however you may not be able to read it unless you’re subscribed to said newspaper): https://www.dn.se/asikt/orimligt-att-tornedalingar-inte-skulle-vara-svenskar/?fbclid=IwAR33K_UVRhXlJhyPd3gY7GDXN_lotUdrtM1AeL-nRzWE26Tmq5BFE0lIUzw

Sverigedemokraterna also believe that the Swedish minority group of Sweden Finns should essentially cut their ties to their Finnish roots and that they should not be able to be citizens of both Finland and Sweden. https://aip.nu/sverigedemokraterna-och-de-dubbla-medborgarskapen/

This sort of rhetoric is ridiculously common here, and in situations like the ones that have occurred in light of the ESC, they almost never get called out. Because it’s common. Because it’s okay to call Finnish people names and to use colonial rhetoric against all Finns, both those who live in Finland and those who live in Sweden. Because this is “friendly banter.” Mind you, as someone who technically belongs to both of the aforementioned minority groups I’m completely fine with the actually friendly banter and piss taking that we usually partake in, because it is just that. Friendly. But this is not it. This is actually harmful. I have never seen so many Swedish people attacking Finns on social media as I’ve seen these past few days. The usual colonialistic and fennophobic insults have started to rear their ugly heads: People have started to insult the Finnish language (a fennophobic sentiment that goes way back to the days when Finland was under Swedish rule and the Swedish tried to get rid of the language), they have started to insult the way Finns look (goes back to fennophobic rhetoric of Finns essentially not being “white enough”), etcetera. For more information on how the Swedish government treated the Sweden Finns and Tornedalians (the fact that they tried to abolish both the Meänkieli language and the Finnish language from Sweden and have even done skull measurements as an attempt to prove that these minority groups are not equal to Swedes), here’s another article: https://www.svt.se/nyheter/lokalt/norrbotten/regeringen-tillsatter-sanningskommission

For those of you who speak Finnish and are interested in the topic, the book Kansankodin pimeämpi puoli by Tapio Tamminen goes into both issues, with photographic evidence of skull measurement incidents among other things. Meanwhile, the Finnish media is mostly just reporting on the tomfoolery of these “journalists.” Sure, there are a lot of Finns who are acting out as well and spreading hateful rhetoric against Swedes, but the difference here is that one group is punching up, while the other is punching down.

Whether Tobbe Ek, Jenny Ågren, Markus Larsson and Johan Bratell meant to cause this does not matter. They’ve still done it, in the case of the former group, they’ve even dragged other Europeans (and Australians!) into this mess.

They’ve gone ahead and spread fennophobic rhetoric on huge platforms: Sweden’s biggest national tabloids. They should be held accountable for this.

To reiterate: ALL THIS OVER THE FINNISH PUBLIC “NOT VOTING FOR SWEDEN” DURING THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST OF 2023.

Edit 3: Just in case we need a bit of clarification:

I know this whole post may come across quite negatively. So let me make this clear: There is an issue with the Swedish culture and its normalisation of fennophobia, however, that doesn’t mean every Swede is maliciously fennophobic. It’s literally just so normalised here, that sometimes people don’t even notice when they’re partaking in it, and because of said normalisation, for many these fennophobic and colonialist insults have become a sort of knee jerk reaction to when there’s “actual beef” with Finland. (Which, obviously, is a fucking problem, because look who has to bear the brunt of that.) 

Moreover, many Swedes aren’t even familiar with their shared history with Finland, and the discrimination Finland was put through during the Swedish rule (not to mention the discrimination the Sweden Finns and Tornedalians have had to face and still face). That part of our shared history simply isn’t taught in schools here, so a regular person would have to know to go out and look for the information. Heck, the only reason I’m aware of this is because at the end of the day, despite having been born and raised in Sweden, I am ethnically Finnish, and grew up by the border with very strong ties to the Finnish culture because of it. But less about me, and more about this issue. Most Swedes (and Swedish journalists who have any sort of sense in them and who work for respectable publications) have expressed their dissatisfaction with this years results as well. There’s a reason Cha Cha Cha is charting so well on Swedish Spotify. There’s a reason for why the Swedish jury and the public gave Finland 12 points.

So, Tl;dr:

1. Swedish tabloids are trash.

2. We have an undeniable problem with how normalised fennophobia is here, and it’s absolutely bizarre that this is how it’s getting exposed.

3. Most regular Swedes aren’t happy with this either, and are in fact not Finland’s and the Finnish people’s greatest haters in the world.

4. Tobbe Ek should get fired. At the bare minimun, he and his coworkers should probably issue some sort of apology for spreading this, seeing how it is actually hurting a lot of people.

Anyway, please don’t hate on the Swedes because of this lol, think about what Jere from Vantaa would think about that. 💚

[flightlessangelwings]

While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.

EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)

If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.

And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.

ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)

This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.

Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?

Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?

And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.

[drdemonprince]

At one point he was down in between my legs, fingering me, and he made a throwaway comment about probably being Autistic. 

I leaned back, trying to relish what pleasure I was getting. “Well, we can talk about that subject, if you like,” I said vaguely, not really wanting to bring my professional life into things. 

He kept working away at my body, kissing between my lips and thighs. “Oh I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “Your book changed my life. In a way, I guess this is me thanking you.” 

I made him exit my body and we went to the kitchen to hash it out. It turned out he was a big fan of many things I’d written. 

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood many times,” he confessed. “But you posted online that you don’t like when people come up to you, and so I always decided to leave you alone.” 

He said, “Your book is the reason I got divorced, actually. My ex-husband was a therapist, and when I showed him your book and said I thought I might be Autistic, he didn’t believe me. We have been separated for a year.” 

He asked, “Did I just make this weird, telling you when I did that I was a fan?” I told him that if he’d said it sooner, I would have never fucked him at all. 

People never realize that when they approach me, what they are doing is dragging me into work. It doesn’t matter whether I was at breakfast, or an orgy. I was just some guy standing there, enjoying his beer, but now they have made me the known scholar and author. And sure, my job might be meaningful, but that doesn’t mean I like to work. 

I tell my friend that I no longer want to be a public figure, and that I am planning how to make it all end. She tells me, “You’ve got to do what is the best for you, even if it’s something that the rest of us wants and can’t imagine giving up.” 

I ask myself, did I want this? It would be more flattering to say I didn’t, and play the role of the hermetic author whose work developed its own life purely because it was so good. But that isn’t true. 

From the moment I got a Myspace account in high school, I was publishing essays about my political views. I serialized multiple novels on Tumblr, guerilla marketing them with giveaways and custom-made images until they hit the Kindle sales charts. I have made memes, tried starting viral trends, coined phrases, and given hundreds of hours’ worth of media interviews. I write prescriptive nonfiction, for Christ’s sake. Of course people seek guidance from me. I offer it up! 

I have been strategic about how I dress, and my video backdrops, and retaken clips of myself speaking over and over again until they sounded right. I’ve hosted debates with my most vicious critics while I’m in the shower, started public beef with creators who had larger accounts than I did, and rushed to my keyboard when upsetting news broke, because I alone was possessed of the most correct take on it.

I wanted this. I didn’t know what this was, this internet fame I was chasing, but I did all I could to make it mine. I thought that by writing so much, I would one day be able to escape myself, maybe really feel connected to other people. Instead it has meant never being able to stop thinking about myself: how I am seen, what I am working on, how it all fits together, what comes next. It has also meant being spoken about, theorized about, and criticized, and developing a firm exoskeleton of disdain between myself and the world. 

I believe now that that it is immoral for any person to be listened to by ninety thousand other people. Holding authority and status like that runs counter to my anarchic ideals. I am not more important or correct than anyone. I should not be trusted to tell people which commodities to buy, which companies not to support, what to read, what to think, what words to use, or how to conduct their lives. 

All the other animals know there is no one way that a creature “should” live. There is only the way that it does. The world has no consciousness, no beliefs. It cannot pass judgment. We only feel so watched and evaluated because we have covered the planet with so many millions of our eyes. But we can stop performing dignified human goodness at any moment. 

I think that celebrity is an evil, corrupting force that pits the human instinct for bonding against itself. Instead of appreciating the singing of our friends around the fire, we stream Chappell Roan until stalkers break into her house. Rather than playing card games together, we stan Twitch streamers, filling up their chats with highlighted messages until they acknowledge us. We long to be famous novelists because then we would have the social permission to write, and we don’t have the money or time to enjoy the activity on its own. 

I wrote about Chappell Roan, stalker stans, and how turning art into content creation ruins the work, and the creator's life. It's free to read in full (or have narrated to you by the app!) on Substack.

[tuesday-is-a-good-day]

Mori and Abuse

I’m making this because the BSD fandom has 2 modes for interpreting Mori and it’s either evil evil child abuser or spineless bastard and I HATE both of them.

Mori is an abuser, yes, but the way he abuses characters is very atypical, and not at all what most people expect. His abuse is almost all psychological, the only character we can say for sure has been physically abused by him is Yosano, and we’re only shown one instance of that.

For simplicity, I’ll be referring to his abuse of Dazai, Chuuya, Koyo and Yosano, but I believe it could be said that Kyuusaku and potentially the Akutagawa’s have suffered because of him.

To understand why Mori has abused certain characters, we must understand a bit about him as a person. This is potentially why Mori’s actions are so wildly skewed by the fandom, because no one wants to observe him too closely (but that’s a whole other post). Simply put, Mori is a military man. He does anything and everything to achieve the “optimal solution”, he has a plan and if he has to get his hands dirty to reach his goal, he will. Emotions and attachments go out the window for him, most of the time at least, because he would sacrifice anything, and anyone, to achieve his goal. Most of the time at least. That’s why he used Yosano, because what’s the life of one girl to the safety of his nation? That’s why he manufactured Oda’s and his orphans deaths, because the prize outweighed the cost.

Mori is logical and reserved, so we must observe all his actions with the lens that he has a reason for what he does, because he (almost) always has a reason.

I’ll start by referring to Mori’s abuse of Dazai, because he’s a bit of a special case and also the one that the fandom overall gets the most wrong. Mori’s abuse of Dazai is usually twisted to be sexual or physical, when there is absolutely no evidence of that. People like to bring up Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa, or that one throwaway line from The Day I Picked Up Dazai as evidence, but neither of those hold up in my opinion.

Firstly, just because Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa was partly physical, doesn’t mean he himself underwent physical abuse. Just like Mori, Dazai always has reasons for what he does, and his reason for what he did to Akutagawa was tailored to Akutagawa and his ability, therefore not something that Mori would have done to Dazai. Not to excuse Dazai’s abuse of Akutagawa, of course, but the fact of the matter is that Dazai’s abuse was a test of Akutagawa, and a punishment because Akutagawa didn’t adhere to Dazai’s standards. This abuse is the result of Mori’s own abuse, yes, but it’s not as straightforward as “Mori hit Dazai, ergo Dazai hit Akutagawa”.

The line from TDIPUD is also poor evidence, as all it is is Oda telling Dazai that what he’s doing won’t hurt and Dazai responding that Mori says the same about the needles he gives him. The fact that this is taken as abuse is really weird to me, why is that the assumption here? Mori is a doctor, there are multiple reasons for him to be giving Dazai needles. And the fact that Mori says it’s not going to hurt just sounds like the typical “doctor giving a kid a shot” exchange.

Dazai hates pain, so obviously Mori would lie and say that it isn’t going to hurt. Mori cares for Dazai’s well-being, which is what makes Dazai a bit of an outlier, as Mori shows care for him before he’s found a reason to justify that care. This is evidenced by their exchange in the beginning of Dazai, Chuuya: Fifteen, which is very important as it gives us an insight into Mori’s perspective during that time, where he panics because he hasn’t achieved the “optimal solution” by keeping Dazai alive, but then justifies that action by deciding Dazai is too good an asset to throw away.

And here-in lies the actual abuse that Dazai went through, not being hit or shamed or any of that, but emotional coercion, a slow cultivation of the parts of Dazai that Mori saw as useful, and a creation of the mindset we see Dazai use. This is most prominent with how Mori plants ideas into Dazai’s head. This is referenced in Chapter one of Fifteen as well, establishing that Mori has taken somewhat of an instructor role to Dazai, but that’s something Dazai rebels against.

This exchange is a perfect example of that conditioning, instead of giving Dazai information directly, Mori gets Dazai to deduce his answers using information he already has, something we see Dazai does very often in the current plot. But the main example of this conditioning comes in the form of Dazai’s plan to use the Sheep against Chuuya, a plan that comes DIRECTLY from Mori.

Mori makes sure that Dazai is in the room as he baits Chuuya, uses the weakness of the Sheep against him, and then breaks down EXACTLY what has happened for Dazai. “Just some food for thought” my ass.

Then when discussing his plan with Rimbaud, Dazai brings up a theory taught to him by Mori. 15!Dazai is such a little parrot, it’s all “Mori says, Mori says, Mori says”, just word-vomiting all the thoughts Mori puts in his head, there is a CLEAR influence here.

Just like Mori, Dazai uses the Sheep against Chuuya. Mori shows Dazai how to control people, how to make them listen and how to make them obey. The reason Dazai treats people like pawns, the reason he KNOWS how to manipulate people is because Mori taught him.

Just like so many of the characters, the fandom forgets that when Mori met Dazai, he was a child. He was a broken child who needed a guiding hand and the hand he got was Mori’s. Morí crafted the Dazai that we see, shaped the way that he thinks, THAT was his abuse.

Chuuya as well is a special case. Like Mori, he is a leader, and that is a quality Mori admires in him. In turn, Chuuya looks up to Mori, sees him as an inspiration for what it means to be a leader. This is another example of Mori’s manipulative abuse. To Chuuya, Mori makes himself out to be a saviour, someone who will teach him how to be better, how to protect the people he thinks he has failed. Mori takes Chuuya at his weakest point and gives him a new chance.

And with that, Chuuya is loyal to the mafia and Mori has Soukoku. Never mind that Mori was the brains behind Dazai’s plan that got Chuuya into the mafia in the first place, by getting Dazai to do his dirty work, Mori gets to appear to Chuuya with a halo and wings (I could also talk about Mori’s involvement with Stormbringer and how that locked Chuuya into the mafia, but that’s another tangent).

Mori has done the same with Koyo. She’s loyal to him, but clearly does not LIKE him, so where does that loyalty come from? It is because he has freed her. Koyo suffered under the rule of the Old Boss, she had no freedom, the man who cared for her was executed, she was restrained within the mafia. And then Mori takes over and she ends up an executive. Suddenly she’s got POWER, she can change things, under Mori she’s given the ability to change things and take charge. He sees a girl in chains and loosens them, not enough for her to escape, but enough that she can move. And having been chained up for so long, that feels like freedom. Koyo is loyal to Mori because he’s better than the alternative, because if she can’t be free, at least she can move.

I left Yosano for last, because again, she’s a wild card. Unlike all the other people Mori has coerced, Yosano’s abuse took place during a time where every second was precious. There was no time to do it delicately, the way Mori handled everything else, it was war, win or lose. Mori’s tactics were a lot more brutal, Yosano wants the soldiers to live, so Mori shoots the one she cares about so either she WATCHES her friend die, or she can save him. Unlike with Dazai, with Chuuya, with Koyo, Mori isn’t Yosano’s saviour, he’s her captor, he gives her a choice, but its one where neither option is made to look kind. He makes it clear, she heals them, or they die, whether it’s at his hands, or the hands of the enemy, and he knows she would never let them die.

Mori works through coercion and manipulation, he shapes the way people think of him carefully, moulding his appearance in the eyes of others. To Dazai he’s just an old man that Dazai has under his thumb, who tries and fails to manipulate him. But that’s not the truth. To Chuuya he’s a benevolent leader, someone so gracious as to grant him a place in the mafia. But that’s not the truth. To Koyo he’s the safest option, not someone she wants to follow, but someone she will follow, because at least she’s free. But that’s not the truth. To Yosano he’s evil, cruel and harsh and he takes lives as easily as he breathes with no remorse, he’s the God to her Angel of Death. But thats not the truth. To the audience, he’s a monster, a filthy pervert who is nothing more than a pedophile. Is that the truth?

Mori is like a spider, ensnaring people in his web with carefully constructed lies and appearances, his abuse is not physical or sexual, it’s a psychological coercion, careful at times and brutal at others, his abuse is a targeted attack of an individual’s weaknesses, and a cultivation of the parts he sees as useful.

Every person is his tool, and he likes his blades sharp.

@1seaweedbrain1 for you <3

[yubnubforhire]

I’ve seen a lot of people decry criticism of the rwrb movie as simply either homophobic or anti-cringe, with the statement ‘let queer people have our cringe rom-coms’ a common defense. This idea is flawed for many reasons, not least of which being that this movie is like… barely queer. Sure it’s about a queer couple, but that’s about where it stops.

First off there’s the blatant bi erasure, with no discussion of Nora’s sexuality, no June/Nora/Pez, the word bisexual only being used once or twice in the whole movie, etc. Second off is the complete lack of queer education or community: where is Alex learning about the gay lib movement and feeling like he understands something new, deep within himself? Where is Henry talking about his role amongst the erased queer figures of the past? Where are the crowds supporting both of them, in the US and the UK? (the scene at buckingham where you don’t even see the crowd felt so cheap) Where was Amy’s role as queer elder and protector? Where was Luna, and Alex’s realization as to why he looked up to him so much and why his betrayal hurt so bad? Where was Alex realizing he and Liam had actually ‘had a thing’ when they were younger, and reconnecting with him as someone who can fully be himself? Where was all the support when they got outed? Where the fuck was Catherine? Where were Bea and Catherine fighting for them during the confrontation at buckingham? Movie!firstprince feel so isolated and without community, which is just SO not the world CMQ created in the book.

More broadly, the movie just felt so shallow. I completely understand the need for adaptation and translation to a new medium, but so many of the things they changed either lower the stakes or remove them entirely. Bea is a non-character, with no depth or backstory. Nora only exists to tell Alex to fuck Henry. Pez gets all of one line in the entire movie. June does not exist, which should completely change things because Alex does not act like the only/eldest child of the POTUS. We never really see the emails and a lot of them are adapted to onscreen dialogue, so what exactly was leaked? Why are they called the Waterloo letters? No one watching the movie alone will know. Who leaked them? I figure the movie implies it was Miguel, but then why have Richards be a character at all? CMQ was making a point with the Richards/Luna story, and the movie having a new side character as the “villain” is just… so disappointing. We don’t see any of the scenes of Henry acknowledging how fucked up the monarchy is (other than a few throwaway jokes), the comparison to the Empire, any of the Bea storyline, or him trying to avoid military service and renounce his royal inheritance, so the one line towards the end when movie!Henry has an outburst about the monarchy being antiquated is just completely unearned and comes out of nowhere.

They kept the line where Oscar tells Alex that ‘sometimes you just have to jump and hope it’s not a cliff’ but it’s now completely devoid of the context— that line is about Oscar telling Alex he doesn’t regret getting together with Ellen, no matter how it ended. It doesn’t work the same if Oscar and Ellen are still happily married! (Justice for Leo also tbh)

In the confrontation at Buckingham, the king (don’t get me started on the things they changed to avoid comparisons to queen liz) still suggests to Henry that they should claim the leaks are deepfakes and deny it, but Alex already gave the live televised speech in the movie timeline! It’s out already! The entire scene with the king honestly just does not work if Alex has already made the speech. Also side note, there’s absolutely no way in turbohell that Alex would make that speech without talking to Henry first.

There’s so much more I could talk about, from more script shenanigans to the Pip of it all, but this is honestly already way too long. All I want to say now is that it’s obviously everyone’s prerogative to like a movie or not, and nothing anyone else says should change the way you personally feel about a piece of art. That does not mean, however, that any criticism of said art is incorrect or unwarranted. You can like something and still acknowledge its flaws. And no, cringiness is not this movie’s main flaw.

[tavyliasin]

Disability Pride Essays - Halsin, Carer Fatigue, and The End Of Healing's Path

Halsin might be one of the last characters you’d be thinking of with disability parallels and chronic conditions - he seems to be pretty well adjusted, arguably easily the most stable of the companions - but that’s where we find another couple of angles to the topic. First is around carers, and the potential for burnout when someone takes on the responsibility for the wellbeing of too many others. The second is more about how Halsin’s story can show us what recovery can look like much further down the line, the result of time, work, and healing. So there is a little mild mention of trauma, but nothing in depth, so whilst there is still a CW here for talk of mental health and healing, it shouldn't be as heavy as other topics. Still, know yourself and feel free to skip whatever you're not in the right place to read~ Your well-being matters. So I hope you’ll forgive me for this one being a little less direct than our other character examinations, but it’s still a topic well worth covering~ 

What is Halsin’s Disability?

When you look deeply and closely at Halsin’s character, and listen to the little throwaway lines he can drop so very casually, you’ll notice a couple of things. First, he talks very casually about an incident that sounds intensely traumatic - years of being held captive by drow - but in a way that suggests, along with his actions, that he’s no longer struggling with the impact of this trauma but has come to accept it. There’s another aspect, too, that we see in the romance scene where he struggles with intense emotions physically transforming him into a bear. Now, this is obviously not a real disability that we see in the real world, but plenty of people do struggle with overwhelming emotions that can leave them feeling like someone different or unable to communicate in the ways they normally would. Beyond this, we see a carer. Someone whose instinct is to support, listen, and quite simply help in any way he can. When we first meet him, he’s very quick to offer his aid in dealing with the tadpoles even if he doesn’t have the solution yet. Halsin simply wants to do everything he can, because he can. 

How Do We See The Disability In The Game?

The bear transformation is something we only really see happening without his choosing to in the romance scene, though at this point I’m almost certain that those of you who haven’t romanced him have encountered the scene somewhere by now. It’s one of the most famous scenes for how unexpected it is, and has been in plenty of promotional materials at this point. Arguably what we see most from Halsin through the game is in his interactions with others, and also if he’s Orin’s victim the things she says in his form are instantly gut-wrenching - talking about being held captive, tortured into losing control, harming innocents - these are easily what we can interpret to be Halsin’s worst fears about himself. Things he keeps well controlled and very carefully in check, with his instinct being to help not harm, although we know it isn’t Halsin, there’s a moment where it’s believable. Painful. And it works because it can reflect the real fears that people who have worked hard on their mental health can have about having a bad day and saying or doing things they would never consciously choose.

How Does This Reflect Real Life?

The thing I keep coming back to as I think about Halsin and his story is how he is similar to Astarion in some ways, which might well entirely be some heavy personal projection going on I’ll admit that one! But where Astarion shows us the early stages of recovery, of trauma still fresh and the difficulties of healing from it, Halsin shows us later stages. There’s more time that has passed, more work that has been done within himself and outside of himself. As a result Halsin has come to that point where he accepts the things that he has endured, even if they are still painful and he doesn’t approve of them, and they are no longer impacting his day to day life. Arguably we see this most clearly when he is quite happy to join in at the brothel with the Drow, despite his past experiences. Now, all that said, there is a point that can be made that someone who talks too casually about their past trauma might not have processed it in the best way, but for the most part what we have is someone who seems to be coping well in their day to day. It’s quite relatable, to see both the earlier stages of healing and those later ones, and comparing them can be helpful to see how far we have come in ourselves as well as the potential place we could be if we keep going. Otherwise, what we have in Halsin is the closest thing Faerun has to a therapist and/or carer. Whilst leadership isn’t his aim entirely, it’s a role he naturally falls into because he has that calm and understanding presence that many around him respect. Arguably, leadership isn’t good for him either - not because he’s bad at it, but because like many who fall into a caring role for the people around them, he doesn’t know when to stop. That’s the thing with caring, you don’t want to say “no, sorry, I can’t help you” even if you’re running on empty. But eventually there has to be a limit, for your own well-being. Just this morning I came across a meme that fits perfectly: “You can’t pour from an empty cup” doesn’t entirely work, because all you get from that is nothing. “You can’t boil and empty kettle” is far more accurate, because not only do you risk damaging the kettle if you keep trying to boil it whilst empty, if you really push it you might just set the whole kitchen on fire.

And this, really, is what we have going on in the Grove in Act 1. Not only is Halsin trying to lead and protect the druids, but he’s also taking in the Tiefling refugees, then going out after the goblins to investigate and protect everyone. He’s stretched himself too thin, not asked for help when it is needed, and as a result we have a Grove in chaos with nobody to prevent the conflicts from escalating between druids and Tieflings, Halsin himself captured, and the goblins now know the way to the Grove to stage an all out attack if the druids don’t perform a forbidden rite first. It’s a mess, and one he has landed in by trying to lead from the front with his fingers in too many pies, but when you do that too much you won’t know which fingers have gravy on and which have custard any more. Maybe that’s a very silly analogy, but good gods did I realise that I’ve been far too close to this myself with taking on too many projects. Luckily I usually know where the line is before ending up in captivity in a goblin castle, but if you’re also reading this and feeling like it’s getting a bit close to home: take a break before you burn down the kitchen. 

Therapy and Therapists

When we look at Halsin as a therapist-like character, which admittedly may come more from the fan created content than the game, there’s plenty there that reflects life. There are a good number of people who go into therapy and care professions because they have direct experience with mental and physical health difficulties. There is a reason why all therapists also see a therapist themselves to cope with their work, and whilst it isn’t universal there is a reasonable venn diagram of people who have felt the same over this. To borrow from my own prior essays, “to truly understand suffering is to avoid being its cause”. Those who have felt harm will often seek to reduce it in others. It’s almost a shame that we don’t get to explore this much further, with how he can easily be a healing and stabilising presence for many of the companions, but that’s where fan works can come in and build on that foundation. I admit I often find myself thinking about how Halsin might use his experience and deep capacity for care to work with each and every one of the companions to help them heal from their own wounds. That, in itself, can be cathartic and soothing. I highly recommend it.

Taking On Too Many Burdens

So that downside of being a carer… I’ve already covered some of this, but we are very close to having a burned out Archdruid crumbling under the immense pressure in Act 1, then we go straight in to Act 2 where he has to face the consequences of past mistakes and all of the guilt that goes along with that. It’s clear he has not forgiven himself for what happened with the Shadow Curse, Thaniel, and Shar’s influence spreading over the region. This can sometimes be seen in real life, too, where someone has tried to help and made things worse, given bad advice, or generally made mistakes that they quietly hold on to for decades. Forgiving ourselves is hard, even when we rationalise it, look at it objectively to know we were young and didn’t know any better, or didn’t have the experience needed to help in the way we would now. But I want to take a moment to remind everyone still here that we are only human, not perfect, not infallible. Mistakes are how we learn, and we should focus on what we can do rather than what we cannot change. In Halsin’s story, we know he has been avoiding the Shadow Curse. He even tells the player that the land should be avoided if at all possible, because he knows the danger there, but still offers to be a guide. It’s difficult to face up to past mistakes, but with the right help and support, Halsin is able to find a way to help at last and ease that burden from his own heart. He’s no longer turning away, running from it, or feeling like there’s nothing he can do - instead he is able to find that solution with the help of the player and companions, healing the land as he heals himself. This really can be such a reflection of trauma and how we handle our mistakes, as well as the importance of knowing when we have taken on too much and need help and support. Just as Halsin asks the player to help him find a way to break the curse, to fight for him to keep the portal open as he retrieves Thaniel, we can see this as a parallel to a carer asking for help or respite care. It’s not saying “this is a terrible burden that I don’t want to bear” but instead “my strength has a limit, your help will make it possible to keep going”. With that support, with being able to know the Harpers can take care of the refugees, Halsin is able to find not only the healing for the land but begin to heal the hurt from the weight of responsibility he has shouldered alone for centuries. And just as a side note here, for those wondering why he seems so guilty about it all, there’s some lore from Early Access that was eventually cut from the game that explains he was the cause of the curse when he accidentally killed Isobel - that set off the sequence of events leading to Ketheric’s desperate actions, Aylin’s imprisonment, and Shar’s curse settling over the land. 

The End of the Path of Healing

Act 3 for Halsin, if the curse has been lifted, really continues to reinforce that this is someone who has learned from his mistakes - both the recent and the distant past. He’s not rushing back to take over the Grove again once his work is done with the Elder Brain, instead he’s finding a new path. One that still allows him to be in nature where he wishes to be, helping the cursed lands continue to heal, as well as caring for the refugees and others who need a place to go. In the epilogue, too, it sounds as if he has learned not to take on all the responsibility himself either, instead sharing the work of caring for his people so that if he is gone for a few days he doesn’t need to worry about it crumbling apart or falling to friction and arguments like the Grove once did under Kagha’s leadership. Halsin shows us that although we cannot take on everything ourselves, we can resolve things when we have the right help and support. He also shows us that our mistakes won’t always define us, nor can our traumas, and although they cannot be erased or undone, there are ways we can reconcile them with ourselves. To move forwards with what we have learned and reach a point where we are no longer so deeply haunted by them.

What We Can Learn From Halsin’s Story

There are a few things we can learn from Halsin’s experiences and how they are portrayed in the game, and largely they serve as an example of that later stage of healing and reconciling past experiences with the present self. This might for some feel like a reflection of themselves now, but for others instead it can be an example that it is possible to make that progress and reach that goal.

Whilst we do see that moment of Halsin not being able to control his Wild Shape in the heat of intense emotions (in this case, lust and passion), it’s also shown that he still does have that control. That he’s learned how to handle that change and bring himself back to where he wants to be - in this case, going from non-verbal in bear form to resuming his usual body shape and calming himself. I feel like this can serve as a good example that although our emotions might still have moments that they overwhelm us, once we have taken that time to process them and learn how to cope with them, we can use those techniques to bring ourselves back to where we want to be. Not easily, of course, but we won’t always be completely at the mercy of the whims of powerful emotions. They’re still there, but what has changed is how we cope with them. Really what I’d like to take away today is that caring for others is a good and positive thing to do, but there must always be a limit. Drawing that line is going to be tough, naturally, but if we continue to try to do too much with caring for others we risk neglecting our own needs and ending up in a much worse place. It’s alright to ask for support even when you’re providing it to someone else, whether through a professional career or through a more casual role of being a carer for a loved one or simply supporting friends through hard times. You won’t always be able to do it all alone, and this is not a failing. It’s normal and reasonable to need respite, help, and support of your own. In the wider experiences of disability, many of us who are disabled learn this the hard way, that we might want independence but there are quite solid limitations to that which need to be worked with and around instead of fighting against them and making things worse. Many of us rely on carers and support to differing degrees, so it is also important to recognise when they may need reminding about not boiling that empty kettle.

So as we finish off this last of the planned long pieces, I encourage you all to keep in mind that healing is possible. That you can be a support to others in the ways that you once needed yourself. But to not let it be to your own detriment, you are still worthy of care and support even as you provide it to others. 

[foreststranger]

DAN HENG ∙ IMBIBITOR LUNAE - Colliding to Catharsis and Reigning The Clouds

ꜱᴛᴀʀʀɪɴɢ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ 『honkai: star rail』dan heng (imbibitor lunae form) x gn!reader

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ a sequel to my other post (read it here), basically meeting ur reincarnated lover

𑁍 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 0.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ GUYS IM BACKK!!! SORRY FOR BEIGN GONE FOR 7 MONTHS BUT ILL POST MORE NOW I PROMISE. SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT. PLEASE SEND IN SOME MORE REQUESTS.

“Well, thanks for helping me out, Trailblazer! I’ll be sure to visit you and the others on the Astral Express. But, uh… before you go, do you mind if I asked you something?” You take a step closer to them. Their soft grey hair rustles in the wind, swaying with a quiet solemness. The same way Dan Feng’s did the last time you saw him; when he told you of his departure and some grave sin he had committed.

“Would it be alright if you could… tell me more about this ‘Dan Heng’ you mentioned?” When they had first said his name, you felt an odd sense of familiarity. A cord deep within your being was plucked, playing a wistful song that has remained in your mind ever since it left you. This was who your heart has yearned for all these years. Dan Heng. Is that his new name?

Do you really even want to see him again? After you discovered what he had done? A traitor of the Xianzhou, a disgrace to the Vidyadhara. A sinner. But most of all, a man who had betrayed you and your future together.

“There’s not much to say about him. He doesn’t talk a lot but he means well.” It was a vague answer and didn’t give you much insight. Though, if you stretched it, it would sound similar to how Dan Feng was.

“What does he look like?” It was a shot in the dark. Reincarnations don’t always look like their past selves, but you had to at least ask. After all, that name…

“That’s a weird question. Why?“

You shrug.

“He has black hair, about this tall,” they reach their hand up to slightly above their own height. “and blue eyes. But recently, his appearance changed.”

You were too busy thinking to catch their last throwaway sentence. From the description alone, you could already feel Dan Feng’s presence in the air. It was as if the fateful string that bound you two together had finally lured you to him.

It was him, it was really him. He looked a little different — more meek, colder eyes, odd posture — but you could tell that it was him. He stared you down with a strange look, something between confusion and embarrassment.

“Dan Feng…” You can’t help but murmur, a hand reaching out for him. He was a sinner, but he was your lover too, once. He jolted at the sound of his name. Why? Why was he so scared of himself? He brushed your hand away, now avoiding your gaze.

“I’m… I’m not Dan Feng. He’s been gone for a long time.”

“But it’s still you… deep down, isn’t it? I can feel it. You’re still you.”

“I am Dan Heng.”

You frowned at this, unsure of what to say next. Who else could it be? Even reincarnated, you knew it was him. And he knew it was you, didn’t he?

“Do you know who I am, Dan Heng?” The name felt nasty on your tongue, leaving a horrid taste of longing.

“…I know that you must’ve been important to him.”

Tears well as you grab for him, when he makes contact, it’s a burst of emotions. Relief, a catharsis of sorts, but also a horrible feeling of mourning. This wasn’t him. It wasn’t Dan Feng. Like he said, Dan Feng was long gone.

Soft hands lay on your hair. You could tell he was unsure of what to do, having a stranger cling to him like this.

“You… he… he made a promise to me. That we’d meet again in his next life… and that we’d live out the future we never got to have. Do you… remember that? Do you have his memories?”

“I… maybe. Nothing is very clear.”

“I promised him that no matter who he was, where I’d find him, I’d love him all the same. But… he’s gone now, isn’t he?” Sure, this Dan Heng was his reincarnation, but it wasn’t really him. He didn’t have his memories, or his love, or that spark in his eyes, or the fire in his heart. And… that was okay. You pulled away from the hug, finally content with this ending as you wiped away tears.

“I’m sorry, really. I’m sorry that he couldn’t keep that promise to you.”

ask before translating, taking inspo from (not copy), reposting, etc. my work. remember to credit me and if you’re taking inspo from it, please @ me as I’d like to see what you do with my ideas!

[sapphicstacks]

You ever make a shitpost that turns into a full character meta? Anyways: Imogen’s relationship with Pâté De Rolo.

When Laudna first introduces Pâté to the group, Imogen tells Orym that she “never gets used to it.” At first it felt like, this is The Thing. Imogen had already shown that she was down for Laudna’s whole Laudna-ness but it seemed Pâté was the first time Imogen showed a little recognition that something was a little funky. Imogen is down for all of Laudna’s quirks, she doesn’t even bat an eyelash at most of them but Pâté is kind of the one thing Imogen is still tentative about. However, with the added context of later episodes, it seems that Imogen’s relationship to this horny dead rat with a bird skull is actually a reflection of Imogen’s respect for Laudna’s agency.

There’s a blink-and-you-miss-it way that Imogen shows her love to Laudna. You could notice it in small moments but it was hard to put into words until very recently when Laudna’s resurrection ritual made it glaringly obvious. Imogen deeply respects Laudna’s personhood and cares for her agency. Any part of Laudna that she has little to no control over, Imogen won’t be caught dead trepidatious or weirded out by— especially in front of Laudna.

The fact that, of all of Laudna’s Things, Pâté was the only one Imogen gives pause to is important because it’s explicitly not an intrinsic aspect of Laudna. Yes, Laudna created and is controlling him but it’s distinctly Not Laudna. It’s not her body or her spookiness or her ichor or anything else that she can’t control. Pâté is a something Laudna can fully control and that’s why it is okay for Imogen to be hesitant. Her trepidation only is allowed to exist because it doesn’t conflict with her respect for Laudna’s personhood.

And over the span of 30+ episodes, it doesn’t get better. Imogen giggles and engages with Pâté sure, but she is still hesitating, still acknowledging that it’s weird. When Laudna dies and the puppet that gave her pause is tied to Imogen’s belt without a second thought, Imogen protects that horny rat just as Laudna would for a week— its an act of service to Laudna but it doesn’t mean that Imogen doesn’t have hesitation. In fact, it’s still there when Laudna returns and tells Percy about Pâté.

But that changes the moment that Pâté comes to life. There is no more hesitation for Imogen, no side comments or grimaced looks about how weird Pâté is. One minute it is there and then it is gone with one casting of Find Familiar later. She treats the independent Pâté just as she treats Laudna: with a deep and full respect for his personhood.

Under the sun tree? While the entire group is showing even greater confusion about Pâté now that he isn’t puppeted by Laudna, Imogen is giggling and telling Laudna “it’s good, it’s good!”

Imogen doesn’t show any apprehension on her face when Pâté is doing an interpretive dance by the fire. Why? Because Pâté is suddenly an aspect of Laudna that is beyond Laudna’s control. Pâté’s weird comments and mannerisms are no longer active choices made by Laudna and therefore, Imogen’s previous trepidation is no longer allowed to exist. Imogen’s treatment of Pâté is a reflection of the subtle, yet deeply important, ways Imogen cares for Laudna.

It doesn’t really matter whether Imogen’s love for Laudna is platonic or romantic in these moments. Imogen shows Laudna that she deeply loves Laudna by proving with her actions that she deeply respects her personhood. Sure, it is definitely funny that Imogen shows it through her treatment of a horny dead rat with a cockney accent but its also so distinctly them. Those small, silly, almost throwaway moments that have so much more meaning baked in.

[dotthings]

Dead Boy Detectives notes for ep 7

* Esther vs Cat King make really fun antagonists.

* Richard Speight Jr directing

* Night Nurse ranting about how difficult it is to get someone back from Hell, the permits and the approvals! and no one wants to go there!! is sending me

* Charles making a deal so he can go into Hell himself and raise Edwin from Perdition this is fine

* Crystal insisting she go with Edwin to Hell, Edwin refusing, Crystal deciding to get there herself by making a deal with her horrible ex who is a demon, and Jenny racing after Crystal because she shouldn’t be doing that alone. This friends circle all looks after each other.

* And Niko is being the only sane sensible one in the joint, making constructive suggestions

* Edwin’s spirit found Charles when he was shivering and alone and confused about what was happening and he brought Charles a lantern and he made him laugh and offered him guidance and was there for him to escort his spirit from the living to the dead. He acted as Charles’s psychopomp. (Oh hi there Carver and Yockey. I’m appreciating this in its own right but having all kinds of Thoughts here)

* “You really gave up a potentially tranquil eternity for your friend?”

Because that’s what restless spirits with big hearts do. Sometimes they refuse to cross over. Sometimes even if they’ve crossed over they take a drive and go on an adventure breaking the rules. Because they’re still looking for something. (Again with the Thoughts. The parallels here are driving me insane).

* Really loving the design and gestalt of this sequence of Charles’s journey through the various levels of Hell

* Charles carrying that same lantern!! *heartclutch*

* Master stroke payoff on a little “throwaway” moment earlier in the season of Edwin’s aversion to a creepy broken doll. Throaway moments are usually…not. It all means something.

* Edwin’s rejection of Despair, of vengeance. Now I’m thinking of Charles who said he wanted to be good, who thinks he’s only his anger. And now Edwin’s fear of being taken over, being defined, by his darker emotions too. Neither want to be defined by that. Darker emotions are part of who people are but don’t have to define them. Integration with and acceptance the whole self is the main idea.

* Simon not wanting to leave Hell because he thinks he doesn’t deserve anything else. Someone who isn’t evil. He didn’t know, he made a terrible mistake. Sometimes people get eaten by their own fears and self blame and the weight of their mistakes and can’t see another way

* Jenny admitting she cares!!

* Crystal and her ancestors burying her abusive ex a demon who is only about cruelty in the ground. Not vengeance or despair. Justice.

* “What are you doing here” “I’m here to rescue you” THIS IS FINE I’M FINE1!!!

* ROMANTIC LOVE CONFESSION. IN HELL.

* “I just need you to know” (It’s not in the having it’s in just being)

* Getting love and acceptance back. No matter what. And they’ll figure out what it all means—they have an eternity to figure it out.

* Jenny, reclined with a wet washcloth over her forehead: “Niko, did you just say someone is back from Hell?” Jenny is having A Day (I know that feeling, Jenny. It’ll be okay)

* Subverting the system from within. Using the cosmic red tape against the system.

* “I know I’m not the bravest but I have excellent reading comprehension skills” Niko <333

* Using “Burning” as the music cue (this song is fire, it was used for the Echo opening credits, great song). “Lay your red hand on me baby as I go” WAIT A MINUTE—

Speight’s directing in this ep was phenomenal and that Speight OF ALL PEOPLE DIRECTED THIS EP WITH THIS PARTICULAR PLOT, I—

CARVER AND YOCKEY I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE AND AM LOSING MY DAMN MIND THANK YOU SO MUCH

[hxlcyon]

❥ ❥ ❝ miss me already? ❞

ace trappola x gn!reader | wc: 6.8k~

summary: your boyfriend (of now approximately a minute and 47 seconds) makes a bet with you: “those idiots”—your best friends of first-years—won’t even notice a thing even if we weren’t dating.” and the funniest part? he’s probably right.

warnings: pure fluff! shenanigans! lots of cursing! friends (idiots) to lovers. one joke gendered term of milady but i think that meme is gender universal lol (coming from a masc nb)

a/n: this is for @dulcesiabits's “who is the prefect dating?!” collaboration on tumblr! thank you so so much for allowing me to write for ace, the little man, the stinky guy. also MAJOR shoutouts to lily and ct for wading through this mess, i appreciate you more than you know

“Thanks for covering me.” Your sigh is accompanied by a satisfying crunch beneath your shoes, a stray leaf the unfortunate target of your latest frustrations. “Even if you were late to class.” It wasn’t like being caught on your phone by Trein was the worst of your worries, but a death sentence of papers and reprimands was, in fact, preferably avoided if you could help it.

“You owe me one.” Ace replies airily, slowing his stride to bump your side with his bag. “What’re you going to do without me?” Like he wasn’t the asshole who made you check your phone because of his sudden impromptu reenactment of an earthquake via spam text.

08:30 [ ace ]: fuck im late

08:30 [ ace ]: HELP

08:31 [ ace ]: distract him

08:31 [ ace ]: catch something on fire idc

08:33 [ ace ]: i cant believe ur gonna make me take the L

“Have an easier life, that’s for sure.” He makes a vague noise between a squeaky trumpet and a chicken, looking as if you’ve insulted generations upon generations of the Trappola bloodline with a single throwaway comment. “What was I even supposed to do?” Several expressions cycle on his face—focused, thinking, trouble—before he makes a decision and steps closer to you to ‘accidentally’ swing his bag into you again... only to eat shit as you retaliate and shove it back.

“Told you, catch something on fire.” However, the movement is enough to make you lose your footing and free fall to the ground; about to meet miserable, sweet, concrete Death before Ace grabs your arm and catches your face with his chest. “Not that.” Whatever you say next comes out muffled, noise and mind distorted by the smell of cherries?

But, the peace doesn’t last long, especially with Ace, as he pulls back enough for you to catch his lips twitching with another one-liner. “Oooh, can’t take your hands off of me.” He instantly catches your next fist, “if you like me this much, just say so.”

“Oh, Ace.” Time to switch tactics. You latch onto the front of his shirt, tightening your fists with enough force to wrinkle both his blazer and vest. “You’re totally sooo cool and don’t pick your nose and I am sooooo deeply in love with you that I just,” he begins cackling as you shake him, “can’t-help-but-choke-you-out!”

“What happened to boundaries? No safe word?” It doesn’t matter that he’s practically being rag-dolled for all of NRC to see, no matter how much you try to shake and activate that one brain cell of his, giggles continue to keep spewing out, taunting and delighted.

“I hate you—just! Shut! Up!!” You’re gonna throttle him. No one’s gonna find his body, not if you can help it.

“Wow, love you too.”

“Sure don't act like it!”

“What? I do!” You let up and he doubles over, gasping as he breaks into another fit of giggles. “How can I not?” He rubs his hand over his face, winded as he looks up at you, red eyes shining.

“What? Say that again? One more time for the audience in the back.” It’s meant to be an innocent tease, but for some reason, it sparks a knee-jerk wide-eyed reaction from him as a simple word slips from the depths of his very soul.

“Shit.”

“What?” You repeat, squinting at him. “What you just said, right? Going on about how I’m so lova—”

He begins to bounce restlessly in place, words coming out harsh and forced. “I didn’t say that.”

“Are you seriously trying to gaslight me? In broad daylight?”

“No. That was just a normal thing, you’re making it weird. Geez.” His iconic smirk warbles and it almost seems as if the heart over his eye begins to grow runny.

“What does that even mean?”

“Definitely not what you’re thinking.”

“Ace.” His whole body is flushing. It’s enough that you can make it out from his ears to the sliver of skin at his wrist. “Look at me.” He refuses, half a second from booking it. “Do you—”

Then, suddenly filled with resolve, he faces you properly... only to cup your cheeks and squish them together between his palms. “Ooooh we’re never going to talk about this! Let’s move on~” The voiceover is the worst that you’ve ever heard, high and lilted with fear and cheap falsettos.

The sound of your palms practically patty-caking Ace’s face into a sandwich bounces against the statues of the Seven surrounding you (what a familiar place). He winces but doesn’t let go as you two proceed to stand in an awkward, competitive deadlock. “I’m not letting go until you tell me what’s up.” You manage through squished lips.

“You’re annoying.” He grits his teeth in irritation, staring straight at your forehead like he was weighing the outcome of embarrassment and pain if he head-banged you and ran.

“No, you.”

“You’re such a kid.” Ace wiggles under your grip, attempting to escape only to fail to your stubbornness. “It took you this long to notice my feelings? Sevens, how dense can you get?”

You roll your eyes. “If you want to actually go out, the offer is about to expire in approximately three seconds.”

“Wait.” His grip slackens.

“Three...” You begin counting. “You’re kidding me.” His lips twitch, throat bobbing as panic begins to settle in.

“You’re not going to really make me—” You finish off in a singular breath. “Twoone.” 

“Wait, that’s cheating—hold up!”

“Should’ve confessed your undying love for me.”

“You’re the worst. You’re literally the absolute worst.” His thumb traces hearts on your cheekbones, words coming out breathless as the tension finally drops from his body. “Is this what you do? Play with a poor man’s feelings? Heart breaker much?”

“Yeah yeah, let me go and hold my hand already.” He obliges, shaking his head disbelievingly as his fingers come down to intertwine with your own. His grip is tight, assured this time as his pulse drums loud and steady against your wrist. Without a word, he squeezes your hand, just once, unabashed affection making itself fully apparent with your permission.

Though, you only get four steps ahead before Ace interrupts, “You had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m going to break up with you already.”

“Too late. You signed the contract, breaking it involves a fee of seven million madols by tomorrow.” 

“Did I? Did I really? You didn’t even ask me out yet.”

With his free hand, he crosses his thumb and pointer, winking at you as he brings your interlocked hands up and presses a kiss to them. “Milad—”

“No.” He snorts, dropping it to swing your hands.

You see his mouth move, and the possibility occurs to you that maybe, for once in this lifetime, he’s about to say something profound. What comes out instead is: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we pretended we weren’t? Dating, I mean. Just for a week.” The grip on your hand gets tighter as he quickly backtracks, bothered. ”We’re still going to date afterward—no it’s non-negotiable—but I bet the guys wouldn’t notice a thing out of place.”

“Why?” Wasn’t Ace the type to hold it over their heads? Or, at the least, take the opportunity to be obnoxious about it?

“They’re the types who won’t notice even if you write it on their foreheads.” Reward of the year for I-Love-My-Friends goes to Ace Trappola, without a doubt. “Wanna see if they have a chance of noticing if we don’t tell them outright.”

You think about it for a moment, “Bet you’re gonna be the first one to expose yourself.”

“Says you.” He takes the opportunity to lean into you, lanky arms taking up space at your sides. “I’ll even bet Deuce on it.”

Not very far off in the distance, Deuce sneezes into his arm (properly! just like his mom had told him). “Ah, am I getting sick...?”

14:30 [ ace ]: “miss me?”

"What? Need me to say I do?” There’s an airy sort of tease to your tone, feather-light as it drifts down the empty halls. ”Down bad much?"

It’s entirely by accident that Jack—of all people—manages to overhear you as he scrambles to adjust his hold on a stack of boxes dangling precariously off of his arms. Did he just hear that correctly? The Ramshackle Prefect having a private conversation with... family (well, that doesn't make any sense considering your circumstances)? A long-distance friend...? Possibly?

“That’s not a no.” A lover?

“Loser, why wouldn’t I miss you?" His ears flatten with embarrassment, mentally cursing himself for having such good hearing as he presses his shoulder flat into the wall—a feeble attempt to stabilize the boxes. It worked, only temporarily, to slightly balance the cardboard already determined to give him several concussions.

After all, it’s not as if he could help the size of his ears or what they just happen to catch. It wasn’t like he meant to eavesdrop, especially on what seemed like such a private conversation. If he wasn't pressed for time or currently violating OSHA regulations, he would’ve absolutely upped and turned around to leave you to your privacy. You know... to be a good friend. But life (whoever said it was lemons didn’t consider it could be entire box fulls) was working against him. Dorm meetings, teacher favors, and the weight of the world practically rested in the room beyond—with you being the unintentional final boss blocking his way.

Whoever is on the other end seems to mirror his embarrassment, although for entirely different reasons. "Wow. It's almost like you like like me." The voice cracks, tinged pink as it trails off into a pathetic warble of a comeback.

"I mean... yeah? Isn't that obvious?"

The poor person on the other end starts to choke, "That's fucking cheesy." To each their own, but that sentiment was sweeter than it was cringe... at least, it was in Jack’s opinion.

Suddenly, something tips from a box and lands squarely on his head—right between his ears. The jarring sensation sends a jolt through him, lightning quick, and makes all his brain cells freeze to one singular thought: Wait. Like? Like... like? Can’t be. You literally said otherwise yesterday at lunch.

It was unclear how it exactly got from point “quit that, give my food back” to point “you ever think you’ll find someone here?” He really didn’t have any intentions, it was an absent-minded question. Really. But to say he wasn’t actually curious of your thoughts would be a complete lie.

“Relationships? At our NRC? Less likely than you think.” A fork hung from your mouth, suspended in your sarcasm. He distinctly remembers you squinting at him, huffing as your arms come out to gesture to the rest of the students surrounding you.

The fireplaces have exploded. A torrent of magic, roof high and smoldering, blazes unmercifully across students unfortunate enough to be close. There’s screaming. An entire portion of a half-eaten (and now charred) pastry lands directly on your lap. Someone breaks a window.

...All because a stray fire fairy in the kitchen got slop thrown on it. 

Your brow goes even higher as if to further contest his comment.

Fair enough. Jack had thought, handing you a napkin and ending the conversation at exactly that.

Did you suddenly change your stance? Was romance blossoming right under his nose?

And... doesn't that voice sound kind of familiar?

“Like you don’t like it.” He hears you laugh sweetly, “You gonna break my poor heart and pretend otherwise?” He can hear something akin to muffled cursing on the other end of the phone, rising in pitch, denial, and excuses. ”Eh? Did he hang up...?” 

There’s absolutely no way for him to prepare for the sequence of knob to hand to sheer, unadulterated pain as the door slams wide open and straight into your eavesdropper. "Jack?!"

Despite all his mental prayers to the Seven and a desperate grip, the boxes are knocked straight onto him and the floor, scattering an assortment of odd trinkets all over the ground. "Tsk—!" A broken bottle filled with some type of odd oil quickly spreads across the floors, making you both slip around and tumble until your knees pathetically hit the floor "Ow!"

“Jack... what the hell is this?”

Given up, no longer thriving, and lying face-down in the middle of the hall, Jack huffs out, “potion materials for Crewel.” His words come out loopy and muffled with a bit of a haze to them as his arm reaches forward and attempts to grab an orb spinning its way down the hall. He misses by just a hair and grunts in frustration as he begins to push himself up.  “Were you...” He starts before abruptly stopping himself, that’s none of my business.

You snatch up a stray pen rolling away on the floor and toss it into a box. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing.” He dismisses you with a shake of his head, clearing away some of the earlier haze. ”I just need to get into that room.”

“...Oh!” You have to avoid grimacing or slipping as the oil seeps into your clothes, but gingerly the two of you slowly manage to become upright once again. “Here, let me help then.” He beams at you in appreciation as the both of you make quick work of the scattered materials. Recovering what you can of several broken bottles, everything gets put back into place and Jack is sent back on his merry way to his dorm—only a minute pressed for time.

When he arrives, out of breath and with shirt sleeves stained olive oil yellow, Jack groans, unable to hold back his immense disappointment. Was the whole catastrophe earlier for nothing? Were they really having a dorm meeting about someone making “snowmen” out of people’s shedding?

Pause. Wait. That is really weird.

Several Savanaclaw students squabble, pointing fingers at each other while Leona lazily watches on uninterested. Jack begins to astrally ascend out of sheer disbelief, scuffing his foot into the floor as someone attempts to sneak away—only to have multiple shoes thrown at their head. Loud conversation floats vaguely in and out of his head, but something much more pressing catches his attention. The Prefect dating someone... couldn’t be, I’m overthinking it.

📞 [ call ended ]

Somewhere, on the other end of a phone, a certain someone throws an arm over his face now burned crimson—his thumb still hovering right where the screen blinks your name. "Fuck, didn’t mean to hang up but...” He slumps down further over his desk, wanting to melt in shame. “At least it's over phone, but argh—! This is lame." He drags his hand down his face, internally debating if he should jump out the window or just call you back.

“Ace. Your phone. Now.” Trein’s voice echoed from the front of the detention classroom.

Shit.

Epel makes a face like he's swallowed an entire handful of sour cherries. "What's got you looking at your phone so much?"

Your fingers stop over the keyboard, "Uh." With a very deep gravity, as if the answer was something he couldn't afford to hear, you reply in the gravest tone possible, "Your mom."

You practically have to throw your body out of the way to avoid the round-house kick Epel aims at your head.

You're out shopping together, juggling the assortments that you've gotten from Sage Island’s most popular tourist spots. With your hands full and mouth muffled by a snack, you order, "Camf fu sorch up wheof the fefenal," yeah, he has no clue what you're saying, "onmf phon?"

Phone. Got it. He digs your phone from your pocket and, with much difficulty, swipes it open after nearly butchering your passcode to lock point. "For Seven's sake, put yer snack down already and properly speak!" He grumbles, grabbing your thumb and pressing it to your phone to open the damn thing up and search the location for... fefenal?

Though, as he types it up, your past searches float and bubble up.

> why does my cat keep drooling on me

> if i boil an egg in gatorade does it taste like gatorade

> date spots

Cause yer cat loves ya dumbass... why in the Sevens would you even think about that... wait. Wait. Date spots? He looks at you, then at himself in a shop mirror, then back at you. No... you wouldn't force someone to spend hours debating fruit freshness for a date... right? Though, to be very fair, he was good at telling which fruit was ripe and the tastiest. But you'd do better than that for a date, right?

"What were you looking for again?"

Finally, you answer him with a clear mouth. "General store." He gives you a weird look when you return a "what?"

"...Wouldja go on a date for fruit?"

"...Huh?"

"Nevermind." 

"I mean—" Suddenly, a notification flashes across your screen. "tomorrow at noon, right?"

"Huh?" You repeat.

Epel simply shakes his head, "Clown emoji... second place emoji? Just texted you that and n’ a bunch of flame emojis." You look at him confused. "...One of the hearts is on fire?"

"Oh... Oh! Can you send back an image from my gallery?" He obliges and looks through the first five images.

"What the fuck is this."

"Don't worry."

"Whose mouth is this? Why do you have 15 photos of the inside of someone's mouth?!"

"Floyd."

"Ah."  Makes sense. He sends the grossest one. A ping later and he instantly sees... a chin photo of Vil? Epel snorts, barreling down as he chuckles louder. "Pfta! Haha! Like this? Serves 'em right to look ugly for a change!"

"Hold up, lemme see." You lean over and start to snort too, "What do you mean? He looks really good right there."

"Don't kid! He’d kill ya if he saw this!"

"Never!" As the two of you absolutely rag on Vil (lovingly... probably) and proceed with your day, the thought that had begun worming its way into Epel's mind lingers even as the both of you miserably pile crates of apples into a carriage: could’ve sworn the number under that stupid nickname seemed familiar... and what’s with that search history?

It’s horrible that such a nice sort of day was spent preparing for the next interim level of Hell that Trein deemed fit to sentence everyone to during a lovely week that truly didn’t deserve such misery. After all, there was really only one way to make any possible preparations for the upcoming onslaught...

Studying. Oh, the… horror.

It was the three of you in preparation for Magical Analysis. Sure, Sebek and Ace seemed to have a knack for it, but it was a different matter altogether to apply it in practical form with a group.

Squabbling amongst yourselves, Ace, out of air from arguing, falls back onto you with a grumble. “Sheesh, it’d be so much easier if you just did it this way y’know.”

“And stoop to rewriting the work of an upperclassman’s past project? Of course, humans wouldn’t have any understanding of what dignity might mean.” His prattling continues as he sweeps his pencil over a scrap piece of paper in frustration. “Nevertheless, integrity.” Wow, he was really taking it out on that miserable little pencil—the eraser gone to the metal line.

Ace rolls his eyes and looks at you. Knowing him better than anyone, you can tell he wants to ditch or at least shovel more work unto Sebek in unwarranted revenge. Without even bothering to hide it, he mouths to you, “C’mon, if he wants to be so righteous, he can do this damn project himself.” You kick him under the table, but he easily defends himself with the flat of his shoe. “Loser.” He taunts, low enough for you to barely catch it.

Oh? So, it’s like that today.

By the time Sebek actually notices is when you finally go silent. He turns his head up in confusion to see your face fluster and Ace looking at you with smug victory that Sebek mistakes for rivalry. "Hmph! Children! Are you so dependent on one another that you can't separate?" Sebek grunts, peering under the table to where Ace's hand rests squarely on your calf, dipping under the fabric to firmly stop your attacks against his stomach as your legs—practically in his lap—kick at him to let you go.

Your voices reach him in almost perfect sync,

"Something like that."

"I’m twice the man he could ever be...!"

Sebek only scoffs and tears another sheet of blank paper out. “That simply proves my point. Two idiots make a pair.”

Ace snorts, pressing deeper into your leg to tip you slightly onto the ground. On instinct, you reach out, grabbing onto his neck in what would seem like a romantic interaction if it didn’t jerk his head and cause him to nose dive down straight onto the table. “Fuck!”

“Sorry! Shit, you okay?” You fuss over him, patting his face and forehead despite his wincing.

“If you really felt bad, you wouldn’t be smirking.”

“Oops, was I?”

He sulks and leans closer to you, reveling in the pampered treatment for a minute more... until he pulls out your chair and unceremoniously nearly drops you to the floor before childishly catching you last minute. “Ace!”

Sebek, exasperated, watches this all with a sigh, he wasn’t ever going to get anything done with you two, huh?

....But to his surprise, you guys do make timely work somehow and manage to finish everything with time to spare. Sebek doesn’t even give a second thought to your shenanigans nor how close the two of you were, opting to think: Seven, they’re idiots, completely unaware of Ace sneaking a kiss to your forehead in cheeky revenge.

Deuce pauses, sniffing the air. "What smells like cherries?" Unconsciously, he brings his shirt up to his nose, double-checking himself as he sniffs the collar of his shirt. “Do you smell it too?”

"We're in the middle of the Gym, there’s a lot more smells than that,” you reply absent-mindedly. A ball idly rolls by your foot, remnants of the game only a couple minutes prior before the two of you were forcefully assigned cleanup duty. ”Maybe you smell something from the cafeteria?"

"It's not that." His hands squeeze around a basketball, confidence assured in his words as he spins it around in his hands. "The cafeteria doesn't serve cherries on Wednesday. That’s a Friday thing."

"Huh, really? Is that why Ace always drags us to eat there then?"

"Yeah, you never noticed?" He turns back, genuinely curious as he watches your reaction. "That's why he always gets so excited."

"I mean, we always eat cherry stuff every other Unbirthday though? Which is like, literally, almost every other day of the week. Don't know why he'd get so amped at the cafe."

"Maybe it tastes better...?"

"Better than Trey's?"

"Hmm..."

As the two of you ponder, Deuce's eyes settle on your jacket. “Huh? Where’d you get a Heartslabyul varsity from?”

“Stole it,” you say simply, much to the baffled—near horrified—expression that dawns on Deuce’s face. “C’mon, you think I stole it from Riddle or something?” He looks so stressed that you’d even suggest something so terrifying that he almost stops breathing. “Deuce! No! Think.”

“...Diamond-senpai...? He’s nice enough?”

“I mean, I do have some clips he’s given me. But no.”

“Clover-senpai? Maybe?”

“Wouldn’t it be bigger?” He squeezes his eyes shut, using all of the power in his singular brain cell to come up with answers—but to no avail, even as you walk away to grab a broom. It takes him until another class change that, when you finally leave the locker room and you’re bending down to retie your shoes, Deuce rushes to you to boldly and confidently announce, “ACE!”

“Took you long enough,” you sigh, rolling up your sleeves as the sun beats down hard. “Speaking of, lemme text him that we’re done.” You pull out your phone to go into your recents, a long log of clown emojis filling it. Eh...? It seemed like you called a... clown a lot? Did you get something with the circus? Before he can ask, a clown emoji pops up on the screen. “Speak of the devil.”

“Wait. Am I a clown on your phone?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey!” He looks to you, pleading for confirmation. “I am? Really?”

“I would never...! Probably.” You maneuver the phone to your ear where inaudible sounds from the phone continue, vaguely the cadence of ranting. “Oh, hold up, he’s asking me to meet him. I’ll see you later, Deuce.”

"The clown...?" He watches you go in confusion, mind spinning as he thinks about clowns and, weirdly enough, a recent complaint Ace had about missing clothes. He remembers a wry, affectionate smile on his face as he shut his closet doors and sighed. It wasn’t like him to lose things and he seemed to know who took them. So... really, that guy relented enough to let you borrow something from him? He grimaced at the memory of Ace letting him walk around with his bright pink leopard print jacket, jabbing him without mercy.

Well, whatever. You guys were all best friends after all. It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Maybe you’d ask to borrow Deuce’s leopard print soon.

It is of the utmost importance that the highest council come together... for a sleepover to watch the latest horror movie that had appeared in home theaters. But, more than that, there was an immediate emergency of the highest level that needed to be addressed: drama. The tea needed to be prepped, served and spilled.

Or so Epel spits out (albeit in a much rougher manner), lifting his shoulders high in the air like he was ready to start his villain marketing monologue. "Is it just me or has the Prefect been weird lately? Not weird weird or nothin’, just that... ugh!" He shifts his eyes around, getting quieter with each frustrated syllable. Despite the fact that you were gone for a quick snack run, it still felt wrong to gossip in your house... place… dilapidated building. But he desperately needed to know he wasn’t going crazy.

"Really? They seem the same as ever to me.” Deuce chimes in, balancing a bowl of popcorn on his leg as he mindlessly picks off burnt pieces lining the top.

"They were searching some weird stuff—" Unconvinced, Epel spins toward Jack, gesturing to him and waiting like he knew the answer. "Ya think they're... fancying someone?"

“It’s their private business.” Jack settles firmly, replying with what he deemed as a solid, mature, and impartial response. “I’m sure that the Prefect isn’t interested anyway. Night Raven College is far too chaotic for romance.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why’d the Prefect search up somethin' like date spots? Huh? What’d ya got to say about that?”

“If you’re on Sage Island, date spots are practically the equivalent to tourist spots. Maybe they’re looking for nice places. Don’t overthink it, Epel.”

Epel, more worked up than ever, smashes his hand into a bowl of gummies, stuffs them all in his mouth, and viciously proclaims in one go: “Then why’re they texting so much! Huh? Huh?!”

“...That’s just texting?”

“I think they made a clown friend,” Deuce unhelpfully adds. “I saw them calling a clown emoji a lot.”

“It was a clown emoji...” A lightbulb goes off in Epel’s head as he slams the table in front of him, shaking off bits of popcorn onto the floor that causes Sebek to promptly scowl. “Don’t do that to the popcorn!”

“Oh, shut yer trap. Big talk from someone who’s not helpin’ anyway.” Epel huffs, but leans down and scoops the pieces off of the floor, popping them into his mouth without a second thought. The jab works well enough though as Sebek straightens up, a twitch on his forehead.

“On the contrary,” he begins, voice loud and booming at a decibel that makes everyone wince, “they’re too focused on playing to be dating. When I worked with them and Ace, they were lolly-gagging around without a care! If they’re going to bother dating someone, it’d be Ace and we’d all know already.”

Everyone but Jack nods in agreement. Imagining the Prefect and Ace, of all people, dating? Nah. They’d seen you fill his shoes with spaghetti sauce once because he used up all your salt and left the container. It just... didn’t seem like you had that kind of relationship. "True, I really only see 'em with Ace all the time, maybe he’d know something?"

On the other side of the couch, Jack frowns, opens his mouth, and then promptly decides to close it as he quietly surveys the scene with a pensive, furrowed brow.

There’s a clue now, a distinct, visible connection: Clowns. Of course, it had to either be a potential relationship or your career plans. “But about that clown emoji... I think I remember the number.” It’s gotta be the former, Epel decides. If it was the latter, wouldn’t you have tried honking your nose or something? "I’m gonna call it." 

Jack puts his face into his hands, having a moral crisis as he mumbles, “...wouldn’t they think that you’re a spam number?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Epel pops another kernel into his mouth as he chews it in thought. “Think it had a triple seven in it somewhere...” He slowly mashes a key string of numbers together, erases, retypes, cusses.

Peering over Epel’s shoulder, unable to hide his curiosity, Deuce points out, "Isn’t the first bit the Kingdom of Hearts area code? Are you sure you remember the right code?"

“How would the Prefect know someone from the Kingdom of Roses outside of NRC?” Sebek muses aloud, unable to help himself either.

"Shouldn't we respect the Prefect's privacy?" Jack attempts once more, seeming as if he was shrinking with every busy tone Epel got stopped at. Yet, he continues to be ignored as Epel only calls the number again... and again... and again. "Hey... it's not our business."

"I got it damn it!" Stronger than any military man, Epel, the lone soldier, continues to push forward in his self-made journey. "Just give me a bit!" He keeps typing away, accidentally calling up a pizza place that makes everyone collectively groan. "C’mon, I’ve just about got it."

"Even if the Prefect were hypothetically in a relationship. Okay. Courting takes much time and requires a substantial amount of effort and persistence. I have not seen hair nor signs of lovestruck gooey eyes. Trust me, my parents are disgustingly in love. I would know." The scowl on Sebek’s face deepens, "we would've caught the Prefect by now!"

Deuce startles up, wide-eyed and mouth gaping as he blankly stares at everyone in pure shock, “WAIT... what? The Prefect is dating someone?"

"It took you this long?"

"WHO?!" Sevens help him, Jack was going to come home with premature wrinkles at the age of 16.

After about ten minutes of furious tapping, Epel’s thumb slips over the worn keypad and lands on one. His eyes, hazed over in delirium, border madness as he maniacally shakes his phone in victory. "Got it! This is it! Didja see that one?!"

"You sure? Pretty sure your thumb just..."

"I swear if you try sayin’ somethin’ silly, I’m gonna take my—"

"Then... why's Ace coming up on the screen?"

"Huh?" He erases, squeezes his eyes really hard, and types in the number that he sees in his head again.

 It's Ace.

“Nah, that doesn't make sense.” Epel sounds nearly hysterical at this point. He calls again and goes straight to a cheery-toned voicemail that mocks everything Epel had ever known. 

Unaware of the literal red swirling in Epel’s eyes, Deuce, having calmed down, happily nods with complete confidence, "Oh, it's probably auto-corrected to his number.”

“Phones do that?”

“...Maybe?”

Epel furiously spams the number anyway, not caring even if it was Ace. His frustrations were immeasurable, reaching an all-time new high. The levels were exceedingly dangerous, beyond over blotting with only one possible outlet it could vent to: Ace’s phone (and his dumb voicemail). In an effort to somehow abate Epel’s rage, Deuce gently puts his phone down and makes his own attempts at calling the number. "Maybe your phone is wrong, let me try from mine." Sebek, who looks very lost, does so too.

Through very pointed, timed coughs, Jack taps the table to get everyone's attention. “...ack. The Prefect should—uheum—return any minute now.” However, being the group of idiots that they are, it only brings about a different change, somehow switching to the topic of who it could possibly be. 

"Grim?" The little guy wasn’t around, somehow off meandering for the day or sleeping the evening away somewhere else in the dorm. "Maybe the Prefect's upped their pet pampering. Something like he’s being a grouch and they're having to give him more attention than usual."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Prefect succumbed to giving Grim a phone.” Would paw pads work on a phone screen though?

The answers quickly devolve, becoming more ludicrous as Epel casually brushes away Grim's possibility. "Think about it seriously won’t ya? If the Prefect is in love... No, Jack’s right—that wouldn’t make a lick of sense with...” He waves his hand vaguely around at the comfortable but still dilapidated state of Ramshackle. “What if the Prefect’s possessed? Having to step through life fulfilling the sad, unrequited love of a ghost..." It wasn’t as if the events of the whole ghost bride shenanigans were all that far away anymore—quite literally living in the walls of NRC. It was just yesterday that Idia, out of all people, was, for once, the most eligible bachelor of all the lands.

“Wasn’t that whole deal done and over with already?”

“Hm. Probably.” Epel concedes, still vaguely worried.

Sebek leaned forward on his knees, a perfect replica of The Thinker as he genuinely considered the possibilities. "I think... If we haven’t caught them, then it has to be someone who doesn’t go to the NRC. Perhaps it’s someone from RSA?”

“Like Neige?”

“Or, do you think it could—”

"Or maybe... you guys need to learn to quit it!" Ace, missing from the scene, all but tackles Epel as he shoves his phone directly into his face.

"It's important!" Despite his face mushed into a phone screen, Epel doesn’t hesitate to immediately throw fists as he scrabbles to knee the intruder. "We think the Prefect is datin’ someone and keeping it a secret!"

A look of complete incredulity passes over Ace's face. He momentarily stops squishing his phone into Epel’s forehead, twists his eyebrows, and then smoothly says with a shit-eating grin, "Yeah, you notice it too?

"SEE, I wasn’t goin’ crazy!" All is forgiven. Friendship? Restored. Epel, more than happy to present the evidence, drops his fists to recount the facts index to pinky. “They’ve been on the phone non-stop with someone.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s super suspicious. I bet they’re giggling and kicking their feet too.” Ace, grabbing a handful of Deuce’s popcorn with his other hand, pops it into his mouth and blinks doeishly while twirling his hair. “What else? Catch them making lovestruck eyes? Swooning? Are they writing love letters?”

“No. That’s the weird part.” Epel gets to his pinky, souring as he recollects your latest actions. “Searching up date spots...”

“Hm, really?” Ace, no remorse, continues to be a complete asshole, liar, and gaslighter. "Look, I think the cards are all on the table. The Prefect is head over heels no doubt. Sound agreement. Completely agree." He grounds his feet and pushes forward, back to his phone-spam vengeance mission, but Epel doesn’t budge. His resolve is only strengthened by sheer willpower and probably far too much adrenaline as he attempts to sock Ace directly in the throat.

Much to his chagrin, Ace dances out of the way snickering “sucker!” But the bated breaths of stars and divine karma decide, hey this guy’s a little too full of himself, and shake loose the grip on his phone.

“Oh shit.” It happens in slow motion, the cherry-colored phone spinning round and round until it slots perfectly in the middle of the table for all to see two perfectly immaculate coincidences appear. Ace’s phone opens—a beacon of undeniable guilt—to a sweet, innocent lock screen of him pressing a kiss to your cheek... in his varsity. Then, if that wasn’t enough, your conveniently timed texts appear, rendering Ace to repeat solemnly to himself, “Oh shit.”

18:16 [ y/n ]: hey can you open the door my hands are full

18:22 [ y/n ]: like. right now

18:22 [ y/n ]: you LEAVE prefect? you leave me in the cold? oh! oh! jail for boyfriend! jail for the worst boyfriend for One Thousand Years!

18:22 [ y/n ]: wait i didn’t mean it

18:28 [ y/n ]: babygirl please

Deuce can scarcely believe his eyes, barely registering the texts or the lock screen as he utters out a single, profound word torn out from the deepest depths of his soul. "WHAT."

Sebek, not registering the picture, reacts point-blank. "Did the Prefect call you babygirl?"

The most ardently passionate Epel stares and processes the new evidence quietly, “wait...” It clicks. “IT WAS YOU.”

"It was obvious guys..." From the very start, Sebek had even accidentally guessed it.

"YOU'RE DATING THE PREFECT?!" Et Tu, Ace? Just like this? Deuce had never felt such betrayal, never like this before. Such... deception!

"WHAT," Sebek’s voice steadily gets louder to match everyone else, baffled by the turn of events. “WHAT DOES BABYGIRL MEAN?”

Not knowing what to do with his hands or rage, Epel begins to put Ace into a headlock.

Jack leaves the room in second-hand embarrassment.

Ace, tongue in cheek and barely able to hold in his laughter, allows himself to be manhandled—but not without chaos. "Um? You didn't know? Wasn't it obvious?" He gives Sebek a smug smile in particular, "Didn't you catch my hands literally under their clothes?"

Sebek gawks, turning bright red as he flails, "ISN'T THAT NORMAL FOR YOU GUYS?"

The pieces all come together. It was the footsies in your study session, the recognizable jacket during gym, an eavesdropped conversation, a much-too-revealing search history.

It’s you finally coming in with the snacks—carefree as ever—opening the door with an "I'm back!" to only be blasted by a chorus of "YOU'RE DATING ACE?" 

You blink. The snacks drop. You’re out the door.

Jack reappears to pick up the snacks while Deuce knocks over the table and falls to the floor as Epel flies over his head to give chase—barraging you with questions of “Since when?!” and ”Why are you running?!”

"It's only been a week!" This little man is chasing you so fast oh my God how is he so fast. “Stop chasing me!”

Deuce finally breaks out of his stupor to go, "Now, wait just a minute...!" and slams his head up into Sebek’s stomach where he chokes on the popcorn. The two first-years groan, rolling around on the ground and couch as Ace makes eye contact with Jack, shrugs, and runs to catch up to the distant screaming (you) and threats that most certainly break the Geneva Convention (Epel).

Well, more like a light, easy jog as he arrives to Epel finding a spare branch and full-on frisbeeing it at your head, fully intent on taking you down without care of any possible casualties. It was war. If this was how you went, death via a guy whose parents really thought it was a good idea to name their son Apple™, then you mentally decided all of your meager earnings as a janitor and de facto therapist at this cursed college would go to Jamil. Sevens knows he deserves it.

“Epel!” So worked up on adrenaline, Epel’s head instantly whips around to face Ace... only to realize his mistake a second later as you kick his knees in and run, Ace close behind as he passes by and tussles his hair for good measure.

“This isn’t over yet!” Epel hollars, cussing you two out with every name under the sun. “Y'all ain’t seen nothing yet, I swear when I get to you—”

Ace’s lips curl with mocking delight as he throws his head back and laughs from the rush of your moonlit escapade. “Yada yada, he’ll calm down eventually... probably.” He was this excited to dupe his friends? "Pfft... haha! Sheesh, took 'em long enough!" Ridiculous. 

What a stupid, endearing idiot (your idiot). "Took you long enough. Where were you?" Ace’s hand is warm as it finds yours.

His timing is off by only a second before he replies, a little bit hopeful, “What? Miss me already?”

(Yes.)

You think, for a long moment, before reaching up and pressing a kiss underneath his jaw. “No.”

In response, Ace's hand squeezes your shoulder as he pulls you closer with a wide, genuine smile. “Liar.” Keeping you close as the two of you escape into the night, hand in hand.

♥♥

end a/n: hello! happy holidays!! i am also so late to the collab: i am so sorry—but i hope that this being longer makes up for it lmao. a lot has happened this year (not necessarily bad things!) but definitely. exhausting ones haha—so it made this piece really difficult to get out. BUT I DID IT. MA YA SEE THAT? I DID IT—so with all my heart, i sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece and maybe laughed a little. because ! that makes it all the more worth it! so, again, thank you for reading about this little foolish lil guy

[alittlebitofloveliness]

“I feel like I know Soda from the way you talk about him”  -Cherry Valance

Me: I should work on one of the half dozen fic prompts sitting in my asks

My Brain: Ok but what if INSTEAD of that you fixated on a throwaway line of dialogue and write a Sodapop character study through the eyes of Cherry Valance

Me: Ok bet

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

“I feel like I know Soda from the way you talk about him”  -Cherry Valance, The Outsiders

The bell over the door jingles merrily as she steps through the door, though it’s the only thing that could be considered merry in the DX gas station today. Inside the air is suffocating. A dark haired greaser covered in oil gives her a cold once over, jaw tightening, but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to sweeping as she pretends to browse the candy bars. 

She shouldn’t be here. She knows she shouldn’t, and it’s not like she isn’t busy enough what with talking to Randy and trying to help Mrs. Sheldon plan the funeral.

The funeral. Bob’s funeral. Sweet, funny, stupid, reckless Bob. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend who’d been stabbed, who’d bled out in a park on the east side. Her boyfriend who’d scared a sweet kid into doing it. Her boyfriend who’d beat said kid within an inch of his life three months ago, around the same time he’d been coming by after school to help her take care of her mom. 

God this is so fucked up. She owes Bob’s memory more loyalty than this. She owes those kids something too.

She turns to go, pausing when she catches sight of the boy behind the counter. She’d seen him around school for a while, and he’d pumped her gas a few times, but until Friday night she hadn’t really known much about him. His hair is more blond than red, eyes brown instead of green, and his face has a few sharper angles, but other than that he looks a whole lot like his little brother. Even if Ponyboy hadn’t described him perfectly, after meeting him she could have guessed they were related. 

She swallows heavily, cowardly once again, and feigns interest in the chips this time. The dark haired guy keeps alternating between glaring at her and casting worried glances at where Sodapop Curtis sits slumped behind the counter. She kind of gets why. Handsome as Sodapop is, he looks terrible- eyes red rimmed and gaze vacant as he stares down at the counter with such a forlorn expression Cherry’s heart breaks just looking at it. He looks like a scene is straight out of a sad movie, the kind where the hero is doomed from the start, no matter what they say or do. The kind where they lose everything over and over and end up alone. The kind Cherry used to like before she learned that real tragedy wasn’t as beautiful as it looked on TV. The kind Bob never watched with her anyway, always talking her into watching a comedy or an action film instead.

It’s been three days. Three days since Bob died, which means Sodapop Curtis’ little brother has been missing just as long. She remembers the pure adoration in Ponyboy’s voice when he talked about him, remembers the way he didn’t have a single bad word to say, how she could almost feel how much Soda loved him just from the way he talked, and her stomach clenches. If Sodapop Curtis loves Ponyboy half as much as Ponyboy clearly loves him, this must be killing him. 

Bob’s life is gone, snuffed out, ruined, but maybe he’d ruined a lot of lives too. The proof is right in front of her.

A well of shame that is rapidly becoming familiar swells in her chest. It was wrong of her to come here, wrong of her to want to talk to him. Even if he doesn’t know who she is, it is wrong for her to bear witness to his pain when it was her boyfriend and her friends who started this whole mess. Bob had died for it, yes, but how many others are going to have to suffer for his mistakes? How many innocents are going to be collateral damage?

Even Johnny Cade. Even the boy who’d killed him, had only done it because he had to. Even he didn’t deserve to suffer.

She should leave. She’s been standing here too long already, and the dark haired guy is becoming impatient, his glare more pronounced. Sodapop Curtis isn’t in the right state to notice her staring, but it’s clear his buddy has and doesn’t seem to appreciate it.

Of course. This whole mess started with a soc girl like her talking to a greaser, and after Bob’s death tensions are running high. No wonder this boy is looking at her like a threat. She’s already messed with the Curtis’ brothers lives enough. Of course, this guy doesn’t know that, but the pure hatred in his dark gaze makes her feel as though he does.

She picks up a stick of bubblegum. 

Glancing up through her lashes she watches as Sodapop raises a hand to chew absently on his left thumbnail. 

Her mind flashes back to the movie house, an auburn haired kid sitting beside her, deep into the movie, biting his left thumbnail, seemingly unaware he was doing it.

It’s this memory, the memory of Ponyboy biting his thumb mirrored exactly in his older brother that finally makes her decision for her. 

She grabs a few candy bars at random and a bag of chips for good measure, and makes her way over to the cash.

Sodapop Curtis doesn’t notice her presence until she’s directly in front of him, and even then only once she’s dropped her items on the counter. Gold brown eyes blink up at her suddenly, and she tries not to gasp.

The force of his full attention is not what shocks her- although a face like that is hard to not be stunned by. No, instead it's the absolute tortured look in his eyes that forces her to pause.

Desperation is something you hear about but don’t understand until you really see it in its wild, crazed, bruising true form, Cherry is realizing now. She’s never seen someone so physically present who so obviously isn’t here.

That is, until his gaze sharpens, recognition breaking through the haze of despair.

“You’re that socs girlfriend,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s also not an accusation, but it’s something close, “the one who died. I saw you. In the paper.”

“Yes.” She agrees softly. The dark haired guy has stopped pretending to sweep and is watching his friend with a wary gaze, like he could snap at any moment. He certainly looks like he could, hands nearly crushing the candy bars as he starts to ring her up. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” suddenly he seems dangerous, a far cry from the tortured boy from a minute ago, miles from the happy go lucky big brother Ponyboy had described at the drive in. She’d told Ponyboy she felt like she knew Soda from the way he described him, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. She doesn’t know the boy in front of her, whose jaw is clenched so tight his teeth creak, and whose eyes show such a deep well of hate she can feel herself drowning in it, “none of your kind should be, but especially not you. Your boyfriend is the reason my kid brother is missing.”

She can’t help but flinch.

He is none of the things Ponyboy told her about him, is not happy go lucky or grinning, doesn’t look like a guy who is gentle with horses, and teases people lovingly, or someone who helped hold his family together and looks out for his buddies. He isn’t who he is supposed to be, and he’s right- it’s Bob’s fault. It’s Bob’s fault Ponyboy is missing, Bob’s fault half of Soda’s already fractured family has been ripped away from him, Bob’s fault he doesn’t know where his fourteen year old brother is trying to fend for himself.

And yet… Bob’s sins are not her own. She won’t pretend she had no role in this whole mess, but Bob’s choices are not her own. She has her own issues to atone for, but it is not her job to answer for Bob’s.

She squares her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Sodapop stiffens immediately, but she ploughs on, “truly I am, and if the police ask me I will tell them it was self defense because I know,” her voice catches, but she forces back the tears. She loves Bob, she does, but he could be cruel and she owes it to those kids to tell the truth, “I know Bob started it, but I didn’t do this and I won’t be treated like I did.”

His dark eyes flash, and for a or a second she thinks he might actually hit her-  then his shoulders slump, all the fight draining out of him to be replaced once again with anguish.

“I-” he can’t seem to bring himself to apologize. Cherry can’t really blame him, “ok.”

He finishes ringing up her items, and she pays, taking the bag of candy she doesn’t want or need and trying to think of a reason to stall. She considers asking about Ponyboy, considers telling Soda about meeting him at the drive in, wonders if he did know anything if he’d actually tell her and concludes that he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. The girlfriend of the guy his brother skipped town after seeing murdered is probably the last person he’d trust with any news. 

Even still. She can’t bring herself to leave without saying anything. 

“I really hope you find your brother,” she settles on, hoping he can read her sincerity, “Ponyboy is a really special kid.”

The bell rings again as the door closes behind her, but the melancholy mood follows her to her car.

She was wrong on Friday. She doesn’t know anything about Ponyboy’s brother, no matter how well he described him.

Then again, she thinks as she drives away, catching sight of the golden haired boy once again staring vacantly at the counter through the window, maybe the boy she just met wasn’t Ponyboy’s brother Sodapop. Maybe he’s the Sodapop who isn’t.

She thinks of the boy made of sunshine Ponyboy described compared to the tortured prince of darkness she just met, and shudders.

What a terrible thought.

[space-writes]

AITA tag game

tagged by @the-inkwell-variable, thank you! man, i have to do this for King Problematic himself, who I’m fairly certain would have a reddit account, and would post shit like this purely to bask in the internet outrage of it all (Rainier. It’s Rainier. worst man alive whomst i adore)

RULES: Make an Am I the Asshole post for an OC!

[ID - a red decorative divider]

AITA for dating a guy I met at work?

throwaway for anonymity, but someone’ll probably out me anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so be it.

So, preface: I (36M) don’t date. I hook up, I sleep around, yadda yadda, I’m a big slut, whatever. Who cares. Point being, I’m not a relationship guy. Or I wasn’t, until I met V.

At first it was just a sex thing (also I thought he might have stolen something from my office so I was trying to figure out if he had — and he was cute, and into me, so I was like ‘why not?’) but now we’ve been seeing each other for a few months and things are…incredible. Better than I ever imagined. He likes me for me and not my money, and he’s into my spiders, which pretty much no-one else I’ve ever hooked up with has been cool about.

(It turns out he did steal something from my office, by the way, but we worked through it. He’s helping me with the project it was for now.)

Anyway, recently some friends of mine found out about him, and I thought they’d be happy I finally got serious about someone, but instead they’re on my case about how I shouldn’t be seeing V, that it’s inappropriate because of my job, that I’m ““taking advantage”” of him somehow, despite the fact we’re both adults who chose to be in a relationship.

It’s doubly irritating because before this one of said friends (W) was always like ‘you never open up, you never care about anyone, I don’t think you even know what love is’ and now that I do care about someone, suddenly it’s the wrong choice and I’m a terrible person just because he doesn’t like that I met the guy at work.

Personally I think W is jealous because we used to hook up when we were younger (and still do a bit. or did.) but it never went anywhere. As if that’s my fault. As if you get to choose who you fall in love with.

Edit: since everyone’s asking, I’m a magus (demonology teacher).

Edit 2: not that it matters, but V turns 20 in a couple months.

[ID - a red decorative divider]

tags & taglist under the cut!

no-pressure tagging @foxboyclit @ceph-the-ghost-writer and @eccaiia

claws taglist: @belovedviolence @foxboyclit @coven-archives @noblebs @mjjune

@revenantlore @sarandipitywrites @k--havok @asterhaze @verba-writing

@indecentpause @bootstrapparadoxed @olliexwrites @cowboybrunch (ask to be +/-)

[dmwrites]

So, I was thinking about in-game/storyline reasons for Bdubs not uploading his pov of Limited Life, and it kind of spiraled from “maybe he’s an npc this season” to “well grian would have to do the administrative work to make a bdubs npc I guess” to “well Martyn’s vtuber lore…”, so now there’s this thing. Uh, enjoy?

——

“Bdubs?”

Cleo heard a familiar throat clearing from behind the tree she and Scar were trying to cut down, and called out to whoever was on the other side of the river.

“Ah, Cleo, hello!”

Cleo smiled cheerily at Bdubs, who was approaching them. Scar waved Bdubs over, and they all started working on chopping down the same big dark oak tree.

“Another life series already, can you believe it?” Cleo asked. She couldn’t help but smile- the sun was warm, her friends were all around her, and a new opportunity for good, wholesome murder.

It was natural, the way that she, Scar, and Bdubs fell into an alliance. They were good together, a kind of natural blend of sarcasm and thirst for violence.

But something wasn’t quite right. She shrugged it off at first, thinking it was the general overhanging anxiety of a clock ticking down to death. But no, it wasn’t until the second boogeyman was chosen that she began to realize exactly what was wrong.

When Bdubs had killed Skizz, not even a minute after he had been named boogeyman number two, Cleo hadn’t been paying attention to him. She had been laughing at Scar, and helping him out of the pond he’d fallen into after being rammed by a goat. But when she looked up, to see a death message in chat and Bdubs standing, axe still raised, that same, broad smile on his face.

“Bdubs?”

There was a moment of stillness, where Bdubs stood there, staring off into the space that Skizz had occupied only moments ago. His head then jerked to the side, and he laughed.

“Ah, Cleo, hello. Ah, well, that’s done now.”

Cleo laughed at his laissez-faire attitude, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen something from Bdubs that wasn’t right.

“Bdubs! You killed Skizz!” Scar exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts.

Bdubs didn’t respond to that, just smiled broadly as Skizz came over the hill again, swearing up a storm and making everything even more funny.

As much as she’d like to forget the weirdness she felt about Bdubs, it was impossible, since he was right there, cheering her on, joining Scar in calling her Mom. He was being odd, in ways that wouldn’t have mattered to anyone but her. He didn’t wear armor until Cleo gave him some. Whatever was suggested, he happily agreed to. He had that big ol’ classic Bdubs smile, but it was the eyes. There was something missing from his eyes- like they had gone dull and lifeless, like a statue or doll.

“Scar?”

“Hmm? Yes, Mom?” Scar was sitting on the top of the mountain, resting for a moment, and gave a cackle as he spoke.

Cleo elected to ignore that for the time being. “Does something seem a little… off… about Bdubs to you?” She eased herself down next to him.

Scar frowned, and Cleo had to appreciate that Scar, for all of his misgivings and silly nature, took her seriously when it was needed. The two looked towards their rudimentary farm land, where Bdubs was doing some final bits of crop harvesting before the sun fully set. The last rays of sunlight glinted off of the many clocks that hung off of his body. He was planting seeds in a uniform, practiced way, focused on his task without the usual whimsical and jumpy gait to his step.

“No, not really.” Scar said slowly. “But, I will say… isn’t it odd that his skin doesn’t change? We all get reset every season, but he… it’s like his last life season never really left him or something.”

Cleo frowned. Last Life was always close to her mind too, but it had never left any… physical marks. Bdubs looked like a sore that never healed.

“Oh, also, he said this thing I thought was kind of, well, I wouldn’t call it out of character, and it was a throwaway comment at best I suppose, but when he and I were trekking the server with our horses and wares, he said he was content to just watch me, like some kind of hidden camera show. Watching my life. Like he’s just a camera for me. And he’s always egging on my terrible ideas.”

“But he’s always like that- he’s a ‘yes, and’ man. You know that.” Cleo said.

“You’re the one who seems to be worried- why don’t you go talk to him then? I don’t want the family to be broken up so quickly. We already lost Dad.”

Cleo smacked Scar lightly up the backside of his head. “Shut it, boy.”

She did wander out to Bdubs, who was just finishing up the final seed plantings.

“Bdubs?”

“Ah, Cleo, hello!” Bdubs stood up and beamed at her.

“Are you okay, Bdubs?” Cleo asked. “Enjoying your time so far?”

“Of course! I am greatly enjoying this time with my friends!” Bdubs’ face wasn’t changing. He was talking and his mouth was moving, but his eyes still were just that same kind of glassy deadness. It struck Cleo all at once, suddenly, what exactly was wrong. It was the uncanny valley effect that she sometimes got when she made a statue too realistic. Bdubs didn’t look like he was living. It was impossible to tell, most people wouldn’t ever see it, only feel that weird anxiety.

“You’re not the real Bdubs.” Cleo said, trying very hard to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Bdubs’ mouth opened and closed for a moment, those eyes still just as wide and happy as it had been since she’d first seen Bdubs on this sever.

“Bdubs?”

“Ah, yes, Cleo.”

“You say that every time I say your name.” Cleo whispered.

——

“Grian.”

Joel and Jimmy must have wandered off, leaving Grian in the ruins of the mansion (which Cleo secretly giggled about). Grian was typing on his commutator, assumedly some admin stuff to do with the server, but looked up and smiled as Cleo approached.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you, but I think something is… off about Bdubs.”

For a moment, a flash of recognition and panic appeared in Grian’s face, then smoothed back out. Grian was good at lying, but Cleo had been dealing with misbehavior and liars for a lot longer then he’d even been alive.

“I don’t know w-”

“Don’t bother lying to me, you’ll just embarrass yourself.” Cleo cut him off abruptly. Her head was pounding- she was right, something was wrong. And Grian knew what it was. “What happened to Bdubs?”

“Cleo, that is an administrative issue, not a player issue. That information is private and between only those who need to know.” Grian was talking fast, and his communicator kept beeping- resetting a whole mansion wasn’t an easy task, clearly. He was clearly distracted. “Bdubs being an npc this season is not- oh no.” Grian groaned at his mistake. He closed his communicator and took out his sword. “Okay, so let’s just pretend that I didn’t say that.”

“You really think you can frighten me into silence, little bird?” Cleo crossed her arms and puffed out her chest. She was very scared, she knew how Grian was when he was backed into a corner. And she didn’t even have diamond armor.

“Cleo, listen. I respect you, and I know you care a lot about Bdubs. But let this one go. It’s not… it’s complicated, okay? No one can know, not ever. It’s too…” Grian looked her over, coming to some kind of decision. “Listen, I may not scare you, but I will kill you. If this gets out, I will slaughter you over and over until your out of the series. With no remorse. I promise this.”

Cleo held her ground for as long as she could, jaw set, brain frantically screaming at her to go. “Fine.” She finally said. “It stays here. For now.” She turned and walked away without another word, mentally preparing for an arrow to the back. But nothing came, and she walked until she was beyond the still-smoldering dark oak forest. She could see her allies, Scar and not-really Bdubs, on the mountain, but she couldn’t go there. Not yet.

So she walked in the flat area around spawn, just kind of wandering, mind racing. So Bdubs was some kind of npc- she vaguely knew what that meant. Non-playable. But how could a person be non-playable? It did seem like he has certain things that he said and did- a yes, and man to the extreme, which wasn’t too far off from the man she knew anyway. She had to wonder if being boogeyman hasn’t been part of the script, if that’s why he’d killed Skizz the instant he’d be chosen. But was that even what npc meant?

“But why have an npc?” She murmured to herself, wandering by a small cave opening.

“What did you just say?”

And faster then she’d ever seen him move, Martyn barreled out of the cave entrance, a wild look in his eyes. It was odd to see her old soulmate, and she almost expected a twinge of pain when he tripped over a rock in his hurry over to her.

“Martyn?”

“Cleo, please- did you just say npc?” Martyn was almost shaking, and held out his hands to her. She’d never seen him look so rattled.

“I- yeah.” She cringed, remembering Grian’s threats. “But that’s just between you and me. What, do you know something about that?”

“I- oh my god.” Martyn ran his fingers through his hair. “We need to talk right now. If you know what npc’s are, that changes everything. I- wow.”

“What on earth are you on about, Martyn?” Cleo asked, anxiety rising in her once again.

“I don’t know.” Martyn said. “Well, I do, kind of, it’s just… can we talk?” He gestured to his cave.

“I- yeah, I suppose so.” Cleo replied. It was almost funny, how they were teamed up together by necessity once more. But this seemed a lot bigger then their own souls. Cleo thought of Bdubs and his empty, wide eyes, and it steeled whatever resolve she had inside her.

“So, where to start…”

[heyyallitssatan]

I have had a thought

Ik scary but hear me out

I have a new ending for twilight

So everything exactly as it does in the original, until Bella gets turned, at which point she realises she doesn’t actually love Edward anymore

All this time his throwaway line about how everything about him is meant to attract her (I don’t remember if this was ever explained or not, it’s also midnight so I’m not gonna check, just roll with me here I promise I’m going somewhere) was true

It really was just a chemical reaction and, somewhat accidental, manipulation from him, once she’s a vampire that disappears, his charms aren’t charms anymore cause he’s not trying to attract her, at least subconsciously, cause she’s not prey anymore, everything that makes him alluring when she’s human can range from unimportant to blatantly creepy/disgusting now

The juicy part is, that everything that’s happened in the og has happened still, they still have a kid together

Bella is trying to sort through becoming a mom in about three months (once again next to zero memory of watching this so this is all a guess) and being a vampire now, which while it’s something she’s wanted for a long time, it’s also a huge life altering change, and now on top of all of it she has to deal with not finding the man she did it all for attractive anymore

She’s trying to sort through these feelings, trying to decide if she still loves him, was her love just a chemical by product of her attraction, can those things exist separately for her?

And as she’s trying to figure it out, bam giant threat to her new family and daughters safety, so all of her feelings are going back burner to deal with this, and by some miracle they made it out alive, so she still has to deal with this, and her old crush who she has also realised she feels literally nothing for now has imprinted on her daughter, whatever the fuck that means

Then Bella decides she needs some time to sort this all out, her and Edward aren’t going to be romantically or sexually involved for awhile, after renesme ( you know in this au im also changing her awful awful name, idk what it should be, but not that, I’ve seen Carlie tossed around, that’s cute, let’s go with that) is all grown up, Bella is gonna take a long vacation to visit people, see the world and find her place in it, without Edward, then come back and see if they feel anything or if they just remain co parents and friends

She’s still apart of the family no matter what though and they will fight you on it

They had a meeting of who they would take in the divorce (it was mostly a joke, emmet maintains that he picks Bella, Rosalee agrees)

Edward was not happy about this arrangement, Alice and Rosalee yelled at him for a long while about it, Carlisle tried to talk to him, Esme too, even Jacob through his hat in as the other boy who Bella ditched (made things so much worse) but it was emmet and jasper taking him to the woods and beating him up for an hour while yelling “respect women” that convinced him

It can end however you want, them together or not, i don’t think that part matters as much as her getting to grow as a person outside of their relationship and making sure after all of this that it’s what she wants, she could obviously do that with out this au, but I enjoy it, so have my rambles and let me know what you think

[typellblog]

Archer's back

Archer is by far the most baffling character in the Fate route, right? Imagine reading FSN for the first time without being spoiled.

Archer only shows his face when the story is already well underway. He is in roughly three scenes, all of which are him talking to Shirou alone. We learn almost nothing about him, and in the end, he sacrifices his life fighting against Berserker. Offscreen!

He’s clearly not just a throwaway character. There’s something there, it’s just being deliberately covered up. This is different from a twist character like Sakura – in her case, we’re not given any strong hints that something is wrong. We’re not supposed to question her role in the story right up until Heaven’s Feel. Archer, on the other hand, does nothing but raise questions.

Why does Shirou immediately hate him for no apparent reason? Why does Archer persist in talking to Shirou multiple times, despite this? How does Archer’s advice manage to be the exact thing Shirou needed to hear in order to help him defeat Berserker?

And, perhaps most importantly, why does he so frequently stand with his back towards the person he’s talking to? Actually, why even bother making a ‘backwards-facing’ character sprite for him in the first place?

The use of a backwards-facing character sprite is really weird. It would be like if a director told their actors to face away from the audience and deliver their lines to the back of the stage. It misses the whole point of the medium!

Character sprites are supposed to tell you how a character interacts and engages with the people around them, through facial expressions, what they’re doing with their hands, etc. The way Archer engages with the people around him is by . . . not engaging with them.

So, Archer’s back is a message to the reader, from the author. He’s being presented as closed-off, aloof, mysterious. He has hidden depths, but you’re not going to get to see them.

The funny part is that in-universe Archer’s back also serves as a message from him to Shirou. He deliberately makes it weird and awkward for Shirou to talk to him, because he wants to come off as aloof and mysterious.

Of course, another element that’s added when it’s a personal confrontation like that is Archer presenting himself as superior. the fact that Shirou is literally, physically behind him also reminds us that he’s behind him in power, behind him in knowledge, and behind him in self-actualisation.

But again, this is only what Archer is trying to convey. And to be honest, it’s very funny that he’s trying at all. Because despite acting as though he doesn’t give a shit, it’s clear that seeing his past self, and his past self seeing him is important to Archer. Why else would he spend so much time talking to the guy? He has a semi-plausible excuse each time, but the conversation keeps wrapping around to personal matters.

By the way, I like to believe the reason why Archer leaves without finishing his line here is because he thought it sounded cringy halfway through and got embarrassed.

Because that’s the thing with a turned back, isn’t it? He’s already put himself in the position of someone about to leave, without actually leaving. He’s not trying to engage with Shirou on equal terms, but he doesn’t ignore him either. He’s conflicted.

You could read Archer as trying to get Shirou to give up, discouraging Shirou and getting him to accept his inevitable death. But the most important lesson that Archer's back gives in this route is that ‘the one you have to fight is none other than yourself’.

Now, that’s true against Rider, it’s true against Berserker. But coming from Archer you really have to interpret that as a challenge, don’t you? ‘The one you have to fight is none other than me.’

That doesn’t sound like someone who wants Shirou to give up. That sounds like someone who, when he comes to kill Shirou, wants Shirou to fight back.

To use an archery metaphor, Archer’s back isn’t a wall, it’s the target.

This is the fourth of roughly thirty analytical essays on Fate/Stay Night that I will be reposting here with some significant edits (although this one didn’t change too much) from Reddit.

Archer’s back will be a returning theme in this series, as it is in the VN itself.