#<- and if not real world than watching media

[mreowsu]

woke up to a multitude of notifs from the previous one, it appears to have been well-recieved. in return, here is a thank you from me :)

DRABBLES, ONESHOTS / itoshi sae x fem!reader

part one

It didn't take long for friends and family back home to hear of you and Sae's rendezvous in España, and boy are they not happy.

cw my writing. both are 14-15. profanities. itoshi rin appearance yay. fluff

wc 4.1k

The ride back to the academy dorms was uneventful, save for the occasional celebratory chatter from the boys' team. You had tagged along on their bus after the match—what? Belonging to the female Re Al team, how could they possibly refuse their up and coming female striker?

Seated a few rows ahead of you, Sae kept his usual quiet, earbuds in and his focus elsewhere.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket. Notifications piled up, missed calls and texts flashing one after another. You tried to ignore it, brushing it off as hopefully post-game excitement and congratulatory messages to be passed to Sae for those that couldn’t reach him. But once the bus pulled into the academy grounds, the increasing persistence became impossible to overlook.

Everyone got off the bus, leaving you and Sae to walking side-by-side homeward to the dorms. Sae barely spared you a glance as you sighed and pulled your phone out, scrolling through the chaos. The screen lit up with an endless flood of notifications—mentions, retweets, likes—your feed practically bursting at the seams.

It didn’t take long for the stunt you pulled to spread like wildfire. With cameras and the media stationed all over the stadium, both you and him in your little world had been immortalized from all possible perspectives.

X (or twt?) was most especially on fire.

“Did y’all see the way she just touched his hair? 😭” “Japan’s prodigies or Spain’s new power couple?” “The power she holds. I’m in shambles. Goodbye.” “#Hair goalz” “Sae is so real, I mean, if I were to be sweating with people watching, I’d want to look my best” “I dunno if I wanna be him or her” “Guys, may I remind you all that these are 14 year olds??”—

You scrolled further, only to be greeted by memes that sent a fresh wave of horror washing over you. Screenshots of Sae’s faintly pink ears were captioned with things like, “Bros blush is heard around the world” and “BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s prodigy caught slipping.”

Your personal favorite (if you could call it that) was a photo of you brushing back his bangs, captioned:

“Y/N L/N, certified hairdresser for future world cup winner LMFAOOOO”

“Ugh,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why do they have to make memes out of everything?”

Sae’s gaze flicked to your phone for a second before he returned his attention to the road ahead. “You’re surprised?”

You sighed, shoving the phone into your pocket. “No, but I can’t believe they got that angle.”

“They got every angle,” Sae replied dryly, his tone as flat as ever.

Your steps slowed as you neared the dorms. You pulled out your phone again, scrolling through the messages until you found one that made your blood run cold.

You paled.

Among the sea of notifications was one from your mother. Her text was simple yet loaded:

Mom: “Call me. Now.”

All thoughts of internet chaos evaporated as you stared at your mother’s menacing message. The bold lettering glared ominously at you through the screen, carrying more weight than it had any right to.

You groaned, slumping against Sae’s side with all the subtlety of a boulder rolling downhill. His body stiffened at the sudden contact, and his eyes darted toward you, a flicker of annoyance crossing his usually impassive face.

How had she even managed to make two words sound so menacing? “How did she even make it bold?” you muttered under your breath, staring at the text like it might explain itself. You held the phone up for emphasis, and for your companion to see. “Where did she get the bold font? Why is it in bold?” You cried.

He sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. “Maybe she just wants you to call her.”

“No kidding, genius,” you shot back, glaring at him for his unhelpfulness. “But it’s scary when it’s in the bold font.”

Sae rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about your overreaction before leaning just far enough to escape your weight. “Just call her already.”

You groaned again, dragging yourself upright and glaring at your phone one last time. “If I don’t survive this call, tell her it was because of the bold font.”

Sae’s expression didn’t budge, but you caught the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll send flowers to your funeral.”

You shot him a glare, “very funny.”

Resigning yourself to your fate, you tapped the call button and braced for impact. The line barely rang twice before your mother’s voice burst through.

“You’re too young for this nonsense!” she started, her tone a mix of exasperation and concern. “You went to Spain to play football, not to… to… canoodle!! Do you know how many relatives have called me asking what’s going on between the two of you?!”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh at her tone, though you quickly tried to stifle it, but upon realizing what she just said, your face heated up.

“It wasn’t like that!” you protested.

“Then why does it look like that?!” she snapped back.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “It’s just the media blowing things out of proportion. Sae and I are just friends.”

Friends. The word tasted bitter, foreign, almost hollow when it came to you. But were you guys really? It didn't quite fit the shape of what your relationship had become. It didn’t feel right—not with the way he always lingered just a little too long by your side, or the way your heart skipped at his smallest actions. Hearing the word friends, Sae would be lying if he said he didn't so much as feel an undeniable pang in his chest.

Neither of you said anything more, or lack-thereof, though. The moment passed like a fleeting shadow.

“Good,” she said, but her tone didn’t soften. “Now go find him. He’s not getting out of this.”

“MOM!” you exclaimed, your voice shooting up an octave in sheer disbelief.

“You’re in it together. If you’re getting scolded, so is he. That’s how teamwork works.”

“I don’t think that’s how teamwork works.”

“Don’t argue with me,” she snapped through gritted teeth. “Go find him. Now.”

You stared at your phone, utterly baffled, before slumping with an exasperated groan. “How does she do that?” you muttered.

Sae, who had been observing your side of the conversation with mild interest, raised an eyebrow when you lowered the phone.

“Well?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “Do what?”

“She sounds bold-lettered again,” you complained, gesturing dramatically at the phone. “Like, how does she make it sound like that? Bold and threatening all at once? Is this a skill all mothers have?”

“Maybe you should just listen to her,” Sae deadpanned.

You glared at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “She wants—”

Just then, the unthinkable happened. Your mother, seemingly defying all odds and cellphones, suddenly went on speaker without warning, her voice ringing out loud and clear.

“I can hear him, let me talk to him now!” She demanded, the exclamation marks practically visible in her tone. “NOW!”

“—to yell at you too.”

You froze, and he blinked, looking at the device in your hand, utterly unfazed. “You know,” Sae began, his voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness, “I think this is a good time for me to leave.”

You turned to glare at him, pulling him back toward you with a surprising amount of force, making him stumble slightly.

“Get back here!” you hissed, your hand still gripping his arm as he tried to step away. “You’re not leaving me to face her alone!”

Sae, who had been halfway through his dorm, sighed. “You’re not exactly giving me much of a choice.”

But you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. With a determination, you pulled him back outside the room, holding the phone between the two of you as your mother’s voice filled the space.

“You both are in so much trouble!” Your mother practically shouted from the phone, her frustration evident. “I should’ve known something was going on when I saw the media coverage. I’m not having my kids make headlines for this!”

Sae, who had remained unfazed so far, leaned casually against the wall, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable expression. “I didn’t make headlines. That’s all on you,” he teased lightly.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his response. "What the hell do you mean? You literally walked toward me with a fucking spotlight on your head!" 

“WATCH THAT TONGUE—I’m not done with this nonsense!”

You shot him a warning look, silently begging him not to make it worse. But that only seemed to entertain him more.

“Look, I get it,” you said, speaking directly into the phone, trying to regain some control of the situation. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Like I said, it’s just the media blowing things out of proportion.”

“I don’t care about the media! I care about you two being sensible!” your mother’s voice cracked a little, clearly not impressed by your attempt to defuse the situation. “Now, Sae, you better not be leading my child astray. I want you both to keep your heads in the game.”

Without a word, you shoved the phone toward Sae, who had barely reacted to the situation. He shot you a look, you mouthed: ‘she’s talking to you’. You gestured dramatically at ‘you’. 

He stared at the device like it was an inconvenience, but eventually took it, his usual indifference in place. 

You were both just standing there, patiently, albeit strained, waiting in silence for the next round of scolding from your mother when a new, unmistakable voice entered the boxing ring somewhere in the background.

You both froze. Sae nearly dropped the phone, his grip faltering. You couldn't help but snicker at the rare look on his face. The last thing you expected was to hear that sweet but dangerously knowing voice—his mother, unmistakably. That sweet but unnerving voice was enough to snap him out of whatever bravado he'd been putting on. He looked at the phone as though it might bite him.

“Hi, Mrs. L/n, is my son on the line? I’d like to talk to him,” she said again, though the distance made it sound muffled, like she was halfway across the room.

Sae had managed to escape his parents’ wrath for a while, but that was about to change, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit victorious.

His brow furrowed, unable to mask his surprise. Sae ran a hand through his hair with a resigned sigh, clearly not surprised by the turn of events. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, the weight of it all sinking in. "My family would have contacted yours the moment they caught wind of whatever the hell the two of us were doing in Spain."

You raised an eyebrow at his comment, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. "Oh, so you knew this was coming?"

He looked at you with a dry smirk. "I mean, it's not like we were exactly being subtle, huh?" he added, his usual smugness creeping back into his tone. "It wasn’t my fault you decided to get all touchy in front of the cameras."

You glared at him with all your might, but your argument died on your tongue, clearly defeated. "Unbelievable," you muttered.

The phone crackled slightly, and then his mother’s voice came through.

"Hello?"

The both of you stayed silent, catching each other's staring before you took the liberty to answer. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice slightly uncertain.

"Ah, Y/n, so sorry for the sudden intrusion," Sae’s mother chimed in, her voice full of sweetness, but you knew carried a weight behind it. Locked and loaded, reserved to open fire only at Sae. "My son is always so unpredictable… He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?"

You couldn’t help but grin. “No trouble at all, I promise.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, but it didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Well, I do hope he’s keeping you focused. I did hear something about hairdressers…” She trailed off, clearly referencing the media frenzy from earlier. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you to take care of each other.”

You blinked in surprise. The sudden shift from the playful teasing to genuine concern caught you off guard, but you did your best to play it cool. “We’re doing fine, really.”

“I’m sure you are, darling,” she continued, her voice warm, but there was an undeniable edge to it. “Just remember to keep your heads in the game. I want you both succeeding, not making headlines for nonsense.”

You glanced at Sae, who was clearly pretending not to listen. “Don’t worry, we’re focusing on football,” you reassured, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to hear,” she said, her tone finally lightening up. "From you, atleast."

You raised an eyebrow at her words, catching the subtle jab aimed at Sae. You could feel his irritation radiating off him, though his face betrayed nothing more than a slight twitch of his brow. Smirking, you mouthed; 'you’re not off the hook yet.'

Then her voice came through the speaker again, calm but firm. “Now, darling, be a dear and hand the phone over to Sae. I’d like a word with my son.”

Your grin widened. “Of course,” you said sweetly, holding the phone out to him. “It’s for you.”

Sae sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Tell her I’m not here,” he muttered.

“Pretty sure she already knows you are,” you replied, shaking the phone for emphasis. “No escaping this one, superstar.”

He shot you one last glare. "You’re not gonna let me forget this, are you?"

“Not a chance,” you replied, your grin widening as he took the phone from your hands. “But hey, at least now we know what happens when you get too cocky.”

Sae let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly resigned to all this. His usual deflection didn’t work as well this time.

He lifted the phone to his ear, "Hi, Mom." He muttered, trying his best to sound nonchalant, but his posture had stiffened. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Don’t you “Hi, Mom” me, ITOSHI SAE!” his mother’s voice finally snapped. “What’s this nonsense I’m hearing about you two? Running around Spain causing a spectacle for the media, playing to their little games!?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “So she’s got the bold font superpower too, huh?” you muttered mostly to yourself, but loud enough for also him to hear. The sheer power of that 'ITOSHI SAE' was like a force of nature.

His teal eyes hardened, shooting you a glare, his discomfort obvious, but you could tell he wasn’t used to this level of public embarrassment. His mother had always been a force to be reckoned with, but now she was using her bold-letter power on him too. “It’s not like that,” he started, his voice dry and flat. “We’re just—”

“No excuses, Sae. I’ve seen the footage. I’ve heard the rumors. You’re not going to get away with this one. Not while I’m around,” she interrupted, her voice unyielding.

You leaned against the doorframe, biting back a laugh as his mother’s voice carried through the speaker, scolding him in rapid-fire Japanese. Sae’s expression didn’t change, though his lips pressed into a thin line.

After a few minutes, he handed the phone back to you. “She’s done,” he said flatly, though the faint pink tint to his ears gave him away.

You took the phone, grinning. “She gave you the ‘focus on football, not nonsense’ speech, didn’t she?”

“She’s very thorough,” he deadpanned.

“Welcome to my world,” you said with a shrug, bringing your phone on speaker to bid your farewells.

Your mother’s voice came through the speaker, her tone still a little sharp. “Sae, this better not happen again…”

Sae braced himself, his expression turning completely blank as he muttered a weak greeting. “Hi, Ma'am.” He visibly straightened, his usual confidence momentarily chipped away by the dual maternal interrogation.

“Sae, behave,” his mother chimed in. “And don’t get each other in trouble. I’m trusting you to be the responsible one here. You should know better.”

Your mother didn’t miss a beat, her tone taking on a teasing edge. “Exactly. Boys are supposed to protect, not cause chaos. How could you let this happen under your watch, Sae?”

You shot a glance at Sae, his face betrayed none of the usual confidence, just a tense concentration.

You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a grin as Sae’s blank expression barely wavered, save for the faintest furrow of his brow. His mother’s voice, now layered with a hint of amusement, added to the jab. “Honestly, Sae, I thought you were more sensible than this. I expected better from you.”

You could almost hear the corners of your mother’s mouth curve up. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m taking care of it,” she replied with a playful note. “You know how it is with these kids—they think they’re invincible.”

Despite the constant jabs, you knew Sae wasn’t the type to let anything truly reckless happen—not to you, not to himself. If anything, he was the one who kept everything grounded, often steering things back on track. Yet here he was, taking the brunt of both mothers’ wrath, enduring their playful scolding like the stoic shield he was.

Sae sighed quietly, and you nudged his arm gently. “Hey, just look at it this way—you’re their golden boy, hm?”

Sae's teal eyes rolled a sideways glance at you, his lips twitching as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

"Well, Y/n.." His mother trailed off. “Please make sure my son is behaving himself. He has a tendency to… push boundaries when he thinks no one’s watching.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden turn of the conversation. “Uh, I’ll do my best?” you replied hesitantly, shooting a glance at Sae, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“And one more thing,” she added, her voice firm but tinged with an almost playful seriousness. “Don’t let him get away with anything when it comes to you. Don’t let him have his way, understand?”

Your face flushed instantly, the implication of her words hitting you like a freight train. “W-Wait, what—”

Sae, who had been silently enduring the conversation, finally turned his head sharply toward the phone, his ears turning a suspicious shade of pink. “Mom.” He interjected, his tone low and warning.

But his mother was undeterred. “Oh, don’t ‘Mom’ me, Sae! I mean it." Then, his mother released a sigh. “It’s just.. the two of you are out there in Spain... no one else can keep an eye on you. Be rational, okay? Don’t give us a reason to fly over there and check on you myself.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, despite the heat still burning your cheeks. “Noted, Mrs. Itoshi. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sae groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you done?”

“For now,” she replied smoothly. “I’m just making sure things are in order. Y/n, thank you for putting up with him. You’re a saint.”

Sae muttered something under his breath, “unbelievable.”

You snorted. “Of course, Mrs. Itoshi. Someone's gotta bash him in his head from time to time.”

Even with his mom’s playful but pointed implication, you knew better. Sae would never do anything out of line with you, nor anything that would make you uncomfortable. For all his aloofness and sharp edges, he’d always been careful around you—attentive in his own way.

The thought softened the embarrassment lingering in your chest, and you glanced at him, his hand still dragging down his face as he muttered under his breath despite his irritation.

“But don’t think I won’t call again if I hear more nonsense.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath at the thought, but the tension didn’t seem to break on Sae’s side. He eventually muttered, “We'll do our best, Mom, Mrs. L/n.”

“Good,” Sae’s mom said firmly, a slight note of relief in her voice. There was a faint shuffling sound on the other end, like the phone being passed, until your mother’s voice entered the conversation. “I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior.”

You chimed in quickly, trying to get the conversation over with. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Itoshi, Mom. We’ll keep things in check.”

Your mother let out a hum of approval. “Good. And remember, we’re just a call away if you need a reminder.”

“Duly noted,” you replied with a nervous laugh, glancing at Sae.

With that, the call ended, leaving you standing there, Sae released an exasperated sigh and immediately dropped his shoulders in relief. You couldn’t help but laugh.

Sae shook his head, stepping back into his room. “Next time, leave me out of it.”

You smiled. Despite the scolding and the embarrassment, there was something undeniably comforting about moments like these—a reminder of home, even when you were miles away.

You were about to turn and leave when something inside you decided it wasn’t time to bail just yet. You stepped forward, casually walking right past Sae into his room before the door could fully shut behind him.

Sae froze, slitted eyes widening in surprise. “What—”

You shrugged again, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “No reason. Just hanging around.”

Before he could protest, a sudden ring cut through the air. The sound was familiar, but louder than usual. You glanced at Sae, eyebrow raised, but his face shifted quickly from surprise to annoyance as he grabbed his phone.

“Who’s calling you now?” you asked, leaning back against his desk as he answered the phone.

At first, Sae’s face was unreadable, but then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You could hear his voice, but just barely. You noticed and gave a slight smirk. “Guess it’s your turn for Rin’s wrath.”

Rin. The name was almost like a curse for Sae—he loved his brother, of course, but when it came to their sibling dynamics, it was always a bit chaotic.

You couldn’t help but lean in, curiosity piqued. Expecting his mom to be back on the line, you were caught off guard when Sae’s little brother spoke up from the other end.

“Hey, nii-chan,” Rin’s voice sounded loud and clear, filled with that usual mix of child-like wonder and boyish innocence. “I’m hearing things from the media again... What’s going on with you and Y/n? You two are seriously causing a stir.”

Sae’s face flushed even more, a mix of frustration and, if you were reading him right, embarrassment.

“You’re already hearing about that, huh?” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Of course I am!” Rin responded, completely unbothered by his brother’s apparent discomfort. “But seriously, are you two that close now? Should I be worried?”

You almost snorted at the lighthearted tone in Rin’s voice. It was all teasing, but there was an undertone of real curiosity—or maybe just a little bit of jealousy? You couldn’t help but smirk at how Rin always found ways to poke fun at Sae, no matter how far apart they were.

Sae didn’t answer right away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment as he sighed. “Just... keep your nose out of this, Rin.”

You snickered at his reaction, walking closer and casually sitting down on Sae’s bed, still enjoying his discomfort. You decided to butt in, taking hold of his phone.

“Hey, Rin—”

“Y/n! What in the world are you two doing over there?” Rin’s voice came through sharp.

“Uh, playing football?” you tried, his sudden change in tone was something you weren’t expecting, but has anything ever went your way ever for the past day?

“You know what I mean,” he whined. “I can’t go five minutes without seeing some clip of you two looking… weird! People are saying stuff!”

You leaned back against the headboard, glancing at Sae, who had now propped himself up on one elbow on his desk, silently listening. “Rin, it’s nothing. The media’s just exaggerating.”

“Oh, really? Because it doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ when she’s running her hands through your hair, Sae,” Rin shot, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Sae, finally engaging, sat up and snatched his phone from your hand, holding it to his ear. “What’s your problem, Rin?” he asked bluntly.

“My problem?” Rin’s voice grew louder. “My problem is that you two are over there acting all… close, while I’m stuck here dealing with everything alone!”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Sae sighed. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not like we’re having fun. We’re working, just like you.”

“You don’t get it,” Rin muttered, his voice quieter now. “You both left. And it’s… it’s hard seeing you two together there. Without me.”

Your chest ached at his words. Taking the phone back, you softened your tone. “Rin, we miss you, too. It’s hard for us here, you know that. But we’ll come back—this isn’t forever.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though it sounded half-hearted. “Just… stop making headlines, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

You laughed, and even Sae’s lips twitched upward. “No promises,” you teased, earning a low groan from Rin before he hung up.

As you set the phone aside, Sae leaned back against his desk-chair, arms crossed. “He’s such a pain,” he muttered, though there was a faint fondness in his voice.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “But he’s our pain.”

“Whatever, I want you out of my room before dinner time. I have to take a shower.”

“Bleh!”

“💢💢💢”

* * *

© mreowsu

[yoursinisforgiven]

MINX ──

pairing: isaac x reader (pickel) 

cw: slight vic x reader (pickel), suggestive, likely takes place sometime before Isaac's final audio, mentions of asriel, direct mentions of sex, mentions of drinking, dancing(?).

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

"The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

But if you feel like I feel..."

Your voice trails off, and a soft hum takes its place, a melody that belongs more to the room than to you. The sunlight has shifted, slanting through the tall windows and scattering patterns across the worn Persian rug. Dust motes dance in the air, caught in a celestial waltz as the rhythm of the music stirs something deep within you. The duster slips from your hand, landing on the desk with a faint thud, forgotten like the rest of the world in this moment of quiet abandon.

The twirl comes naturally, as if your body is answering the call of some invisible conductor. The hem of your skirt flutters like a petal caught in the breeze, and the office—Isaac’s domain—feels momentarily yours. The books, the maps, the small carved owl perched on a shelf as if guarding secrets—they all seem to watch, silent witnesses to your unspoken reverie.

And then there’s the chair. His chair. Sturdy and unyielding, a contrast to the man who occupies it. Isaac is a paradox—precise yet unpredictable, stoic yet brimming with an undercurrent of something raw and untamed. The scent of him lingers here, mingling with the ancient aroma of leather-bound books and the faint smokiness of extinguished candles. It’s a scent you’ve come to associate with comfort and distance, warmth and walls.

“Make sure everything’s perfect,” he had said this morning, his voice sharp but his meaning opaque. Perfect for what? Or for whom? You wonder again, your thoughts weaving through the labyrinth of his words, searching for meaning. Perfection—it’s a word that carries the weight of centuries, the impossible aspiration of philosophers and poets. Does it even exist, or is it just a shadow cast by our longing for something greater than ourselves?

"Please let me know that it’s real

You’re too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you..."

The music shifts, swelling into a crescendo, and your steps falter. You catch yourself on the edge of the desk, your fingertips brushing the cool, polished surface. Your gaze drifts to the globe atop the cabinet, its surface worn smooth in places, the continents blurred by time and touch. How many hands have spun it, how many dreams projected onto its faded map? You think of Isaac, his fingers tracing its surface absentmindedly as he ponders his unknowable thoughts. Does he dream of far-off lands or of mastering the one he already inhabits?

The door creaks open, breaking the spell. You straighten abruptly, your heart leaping as Isaac steps into the room. His presence is a force, filling the space without effort. He pauses, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—the forgotten duster, the soft strains of the music, the faint flush on your cheeks.

“You’re still here,” he says, his voice low, as if he’s caught between surprise and something unspoken.

“You told me to finish,” you reply, the words slipping out too quickly, as though they could cover the vulnerability of being caught in your moment of freedom.

He steps further into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze shifts, settling briefly on the chair, the desk, the faint swirl of dust still hanging in the air. “It looks... different,” he says, his tone neutral but his expression thoughtful.

You glance at Isaac, standing near the doorway, his arms crossed as he watches you with an expression that’s impossible to read. To break the moment—or perhaps to prolong it—you smile, the corners of your lips lifting in a gesture as natural as breathing. The music shifts, the familiar chorus swelling, and with a playful twinkle in your eye, you turn the duster upside down, gripping its handle like a microphone.

“I love you, baby,

And if it's quite alright,

I need you, baby,

To warm the lonely night,

I love you, baby,

Trust in me when I say…”

The words spill out with playful abandon, your voice lilting and carefree. You sway to the rhythm, letting the melody guide your movements, twirling in place as though the room itself were your audience. The hem of your skirt catches the light as it flares, your bare feet gliding over the polished wooden floor. For a moment, you lose yourself entirely in the song, in the sheer joy of the moment.

Isaac’s sharp gaze softens as he watches you, his usual stoicism giving way to something unguarded, something almost tender. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as if afraid that even the slightest sound might break whatever fragile magic hangs in the air.

You finish the verse with a flourish, holding the imaginary microphone out toward him as if inviting him to join in. “Your turn,” you say with a grin, the teasing in your voice clear.

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. “I don’t sing,” he says, but his tone lacks its usual edge, and the faintest smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Everyone sings,” you counter, stepping closer, emboldened by the softness in his demeanor. “Just not always out loud.”

A sharp knock at the manor’s grand entrance echoes through the halls, shattering the fragile stillness. It reverberates off the high ceilings and polished walls, reaching the room where you stand like the final toll of a distant bell. You freeze for a moment, the duster still in your hand, as the warmth of the shared moment dissipates like smoke. You mourn its loss silently, your hand hovering over the record player as the music continues its quiet serenade. Finally, with a steadying breath, you lower the needle and let silence claim the space.

Isaac is already moving. His steps are measured but brisk, his figure disappearing through the arched doorway without a glance back. The faint sound of his footsteps fades, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

A pull of curiosity stirs within you, unbidden but insistent. Isaac’s vague words earlier—“It’s none of your concern”—circle in your mind like a bird searching for a perch. Yet the tone in his voice, the tension in his frame, suggested otherwise. Whoever was at the door wasn’t just any guest.

You place the duster aside, your feet carrying you almost of their own volition toward the kitchen. It’s a safe vantage point, one where you can observe without being seen. As you reach the shadowed doorway, you glimpse the scene unfolding in the entryway.

The grand door, carved with intricate scrollwork, stands open to reveal the figure of a man. Vic.

 ──

You can almost feel the weight of Vic's gaze pressing against your skin as you lower the drinks onto the small table beside the couch. The silver platter is cool against your arm, tucked there as a shield, though it offers little protection. You straighten slowly, your movements deliberate, careful not to make a sound that might draw further attention. The air in the study feels heavier than the ornate curtains that hang at the windows, dense with words spoken and unspoken alike.

Truthfully, you hadn’t been paying complete attention to the conversation—an intentional oversight. The tone between the two men has been taut, laced with a tension so palpable that your instinct was to blend into the background, to become invisible. And yet, Vic’s presence seems to resist such anonymity, his gaze a force that refuses to let you fade.

He sits relaxed in the chair opposite Isaac, his posture deceptively casual, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Despite his apparent ease, there’s a sharpness to him—a predator’s patience. His hands cradle the tumbler of amber liquid you’d just placed before him, the faint clink of ice against glass breaking the silence as he swirls it absently.

Isaac, in contrast, is a study in control. His back is straight, his shoulders squared, but there’s a stiffness to his movements, a deliberate restraint that feels as if it might snap at any moment. He leans forward slightly, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped tightly together.

“I didn’t come here for games, Vic,” Isaac says, his voice low, measured, though the edge in it is unmistakable.

The conversation between Isaac and Vic had been sharp, almost clipped, but you had stopped paying attention, caught in the strange pulse of the room, the undercurrent of something unspoken that hummed beneath the words. And just as suddenly as Isaac had started to rise and leave the room, you felt your pulse quicken, the realization that you were now alone with Vic pulling you into the present, a little too quickly.

You glance toward the door Isaac had just exited through, your mind racing for a moment before you shake it off, focusing instead on the man sitting across from you.

Vic, with his smooth confidence and unsettling gaze, notices immediately. “Not to worry,” he says with an easy grin, his voice low and almost teasing. “He’ll be back soon.”

You offer a quiet nod, a soft hum slipping past your lips, but you can feel the tension, thick and palpable, settling between you. He’s studying you, and you can’t quite tell if it’s with genuine interest or the kind of detached amusement that comes from knowing you have the power to unsettle someone without lifting a finger.

With deliberate slowness, Vic reaches for the glass of whiskey you’d placed before him. His fingers brush the crystal, the light catching in the amber liquid as he brings it to his lips, savoring the movement as though every second of it is an indulgence.

When he finally lowers the glass, his gaze doesn’t stray far from yours. There’s something dark in his eyes now, a spark of curiosity, maybe even a touch of something more dangerous.

“I’m somewhat surprised you’re still here,” Vic says, his voice dropping low, smooth like velvet, as if his words are meant to settle in your skin, make you feel them. He leans back in the chair, his posture languid, relaxed, but there’s something in the way he looks at you now—like a cat watching a mouse from the corner of the room.

His eyes never leave yours, and you feel that pull, as though he’s drawing you in with little more than the intensity of his gaze. The whiskey glass in his hand is a casual prop, but the way he holds it—fingers wrapped loosely around the stem—sends an entirely different message. Each subtle motion feels calculated, measured, yet entirely effortless.

There’s a dangerous kind of knowing in his expression, a glint that suggests he’s watching you just as closely as you’re watching him, maybe even more so. "I would have thought you’d slip away by now, when the tension’s thick," he says, his words a slow drawl, drawing out the syllables just a little too much. “But here you are... staying in the eye of the storm.”

The soft clink of the glass as he takes another sip lingers between you both, and you feel the weight of it, how heavy the silence becomes once he lowers the glass. He leans forward, just slightly, the movement so fluid it could have been scripted. His eyes flick to your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, the action so quick, so fleeting, you wonder if you imagined it.

“I wonder,” he continues, his voice barely more than a murmur now, “what keeps you here. Curiosity? Or maybe something else.” His smile is sharp, suggesting more than he says, and you can feel the heat of his words before they even reach you. It’s a light tease, almost playful, but there’s a deeper undercurrent to it—a suggestion, a challenge buried in the half-light of the room.

You shift slightly, uncomfortable under his gaze, and yet, a part of you can’t seem to look away. The question hangs there, unanswered, as he watches you with that half-smile, knowing that the silence is just as much a part of the game as the words. He’s waiting for you to react, to say something, but your lips stay sealed.

Vic watches, amusement flickering in his eyes, before he takes another slow sip from his glass. His gaze flickers once more, lingering on the curve of your neck, your shoulders, his eyes tracing you as though he’s memorizing every detail. When he speaks again, the words seem almost too casual, too effortless, but there’s something deeper, darker beneath the surface.

“Funny,” he muses, his voice still that low, teasing cadence. “Most people would have run by now, would have found an excuse to leave when the game’s no longer in their favor.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, then leans back again, eyes never leaving you. “But you... You’re still here. And I have to wonder why that is.”

There’s a teasing lilt to his tone, but also something far more predatory, like a hunter circling its prey, testing the waters before the real move is made. His eyes flicker over you once more, assessing, as if trying to gauge the depth of your silence, the depth of your thoughts.

The air in the room seems to close in around you, thick with something unspoken, an invisible thread that pulls tighter with every glance, every breath, every slow word he lets slip from between his lips. 

The weight of Vic’s gaze is undeniable. It’s as though he’s slowly peeling away the layers of you, studying every detail, the silent tension between you thickening with each passing second. His eyes—dark, unfathomable—seem to wrap themselves around you, pulling you in, making you feel exposed in a way that’s both thrilling and unsettling.

Then, without warning, his voice slices through the quiet, the question hanging in the air like a charged wire.

“Have you two had sex yet?”

The words land like a shock, the weight of them hitting you just a beat too late. At first, you don’t fully process what he’s asking, the question sitting there, suspended, as if your mind can’t quite catch up with the force of it.

A sudden rush surges through you—a heat that spreads through your chest, up your neck, and ignites your skin. You feel your heart skip a beat, a flare of panic shooting through your chest. The air feels thick, heavier now, the room closing in around you as the question lingers, waiting for a response you aren’t sure you want to give.

You part your lips, your body instinctively recoiling from the boldness of his question, yet your throat feels tight, unwilling to speak, yet forced to answer. “No—No, not yet?” The words come out uneven, clipped, as if your body can’t quite catch up with the rhythm of your thoughts.

Vic’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, his gaze sharpening as he leans forward ever so slightly, as though savoring your discomfort. The tension between you thickens, and he watches you with a mix of amusement and something darker that edges the corners of his expression.

“Yet?” he repeats, his voice low and teasing, the word hanging between you, practically daring you to justify it. "You plan on having sex with Isaac?"

The question hits you again, the weight of it pressing down on you, but this time you’re more aware of how he’s looking at you. His gaze flicks to your lips, then back to your eyes, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. It’s a game to him—this little dance of words, this push and pull—and you’re already caught in it, trapped between wanting to flee and being drawn deeper into the web he’s weaving.

“That’s—That’s not what I meant!” you stammer, your voice rising a bit more than you’d intended, a nervous laugh slipping from your lips as you try to dismiss the question, but his smile only widens at your discomfort.

He tilts his head slightly, that playful glint never leaving his eyes, as if he finds the whole thing utterly entertaining. "Oh?" He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against his whiskey glass, never breaking eye contact. "Then what did you mean, darling?" The term of endearment slips from his lips so casually, so effortlessly, that it feels almost mocking, as if he’s daring you to explain yourself, to offer more than what you’ve said.

The room seems to get warmer, the air thicker with each passing moment. You feel your chest tighten, and the space between you both feels charged—almost electric. He’s not just asking questions anymore. He’s drawing you out, pushing you into a corner, all while maintaining that smooth, confident ease that makes it feel like you’re the one who’s overreacting.

You open your mouth to try and correct yourself, but no words come. Instead, the silence stretches between you, heavy and thick, and you realize that Vic is content to let it sit there, watching you squirm.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Vic says, his voice a velvet drawl, the teasing edge sharpening now, “do you think Isaac’s the type of man to leave things… unfinished?” His words are slow, deliberate, as though he’s savoring each syllable. “Or is he the kind to tie up all the loose ends… in his own way?”

The way he says it, so casually, with that flirtatious tone beneath it, sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something so disarmingly confident in his voice, in his posture. You wonder how much of this is just a game to him and how much he actually enjoys watching you unravel, just a little, with every word.

He suddenly stands from his seat, walking towards you. Vic’s presence looms over you, and the heat between you both intensifies with each word he speaks. He senses the way your body reacts—how you tense when he gets too close, how your breath hitches when his gaze lingers too long. And he’s enjoying every moment of it, like a predator savoring its prey, watching you squirm under the weight of his attention.

“Still so quiet,” Vic muses, his voice low and smooth, like a velvet caress that sends a shiver down your spine. He takes a step closer, the space between you narrowing, and you feel his gaze trail over you, examining you like you’re a piece of art he can’t quite figure out. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and the intensity of it all leaves you breathless.

He reaches out, casually brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing the side of your cheek with just enough pressure to make your pulse race. The touch is deceptively gentle, yet it carries with it an undeniable weight—a promise of something more. His hand lingers, just a second too long, and when he speaks again, his words are hushed, almost as if he’s whispering to you alone.

“I can feel it,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, thick with something you can’t quite place. “The tension between us. It’s almost... electric.” His fingers trace a slow, deliberate line along your jaw, a touch so light it almost feels like a ghost’s caress, but it lingers in the air between you like a spark that might ignite at any moment.

“Surely Isaac will give you away once he’s done with you, hm?” Vic murmurs, his voice a velvety whisper that sends a shiver crawling up your spine. His breath dances against the side of your neck, warm and intoxicating, and for a moment, you almost forget to breathe. His words leave an ache behind, a nagging question echoing in your mind. When Isaac’s done with you?

You stiffen, instinctively pulling back slightly, but Vic is faster, his grip tightening around your waist, just enough to hold you in place. His eyes, dark with mischief, lock onto yours, and you can see the way he’s enjoying this—enjoying seeing you squirm, seeing the way your composure falters under his teasing touch.

“You’re not really the type to be shared, are you?” he continues, his voice a mix of amusement and something else, something far more dangerous. “I’ve always thought you had a certain... depth to you. So serious, so careful. But I’m starting to think that beneath all that control, there’s a little spark of rebellion.” He leans in just a little more, the air between you crackling, and his lips brush the softest touch against your ear, making your breath catch in your throat. “Tell me, are you the type to be let go of so easily? Just handed over to someone else when they’re done playing with yo—”

Isaac’s voice cuts through the air like a sharp knife, the command so powerful it makes you flinch, your body instinctively recoiling. "Vic. Off. Now," he says, the authority in his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes snap to yours, and for a moment, it’s like the entire world narrows down to just the two of you, your heartbeat suddenly thunderous in your chest.

Vic freezes, his hand lingering on the air where it had just touched your waist, but he doesn’t immediately pull away. Instead, his lips curl into a mischievous smile, clearly amused by Isaac’s sudden shift in tone. He glances at Isaac, then back at you, his eyes flickering with that same playful intensity, as if he’s enjoying every second of the dynamic unfolding before him. 

Isaac’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes a step forward, his presence immediately shifting the energy in the room. “I said, off, Vic," he repeats, his voice no longer laced with the usual calm detachment, but edged with something sharper. The change is subtle, but it’s enough to make Vic’s smirk falter for just a fraction of a second.

Vic, ever the instigator, seems to savor the tension. He leans back slightly, his fingers trailing lazily down the edge of the chair as if he’s considering Isaac’s words, his eyes flicking between you and Isaac. He gives a small, exaggerated sigh, as if reluctantly conceding the point. "Alright, alright," he mutters with a shrug, his voice playful and almost sarcastic. 

“I’ll be sure to let Asriel know you both are—involved,” Vic had said, his voice dripping with implication, the inflection on the last word lingering in the air like a challenge. The subtle bite of his words tightens something in your chest, a knot of unease settling deep within. Without waiting for a response, he takes a deliberate step back, his eyes flicking briefly to Isaac as he moves toward the door.

Isaac’s expression hardens just a fraction, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face as Vic walks past him. The tension between the two men is palpable, their silent exchange speaking volumes more than the words themselves. Vic’s gaze lingers on Isaac for a moment longer, studying him with an intensity that feels almost predatory, as if he’s savoring the discomfort he’s just caused.

“Good day, Isaac,” Vic says with a casual smirk, his voice light, but the undercurrent of something darker is unmistakable. He pauses at the door, looking back at you one last time, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long, as if he’s trying to gauge something in your eyes—something he’s not yet satisfied with.

──

author's note: im craving a starbucks cake pop, specifically the pink one with white marble like sprinkles.

the song played at the beginning of the story is 'can't keep my eyes off of you' performed by frankie valli.

[alsmediadissection]

˗ˏˋperception of good and evil in Wicked analysis ´ˎ˗

!! i want to preface this by saying i'm not a professional critic, and this is not a 100% guide to anything either. do not take anything i type online to absolute heart, this is simply my personal interpretation of this piece of media !! (i also want to mention that i did not read the Wicked novel/series by Gregory Maguire)

! CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ACT 2 IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE WHOLE MUSICAL !

In Wicked, the dichotomy of good and evil is a central theme, but it is deliberately deconstructed and redefined throughout the story. Rather than adhering to a simplistic binary, Wicked portrays morality as subjective, fluid, and deeply influenced by societal narratives and power structures. By examining the characters, their choices, and the propaganda of Oz, Wicked challenges audiences to reconsider what it truly means to be "good" or "evil."

Wicked explores the subjectivity of morality though out the entire musical. In the world of Oz, the labels of "good" and "wicked" are not inherent truths but are assigned based on perspective and propaganda. Elphaba, labeled as the "Wicked Witch of the West," is far from the villain her title suggests. Her actions—defending the oppressed, resisting corrupt authority, and seeking justice—align more closely with traditional notions of heroism. However, because her resistance threatens the established order, she is vilified.

Conversely, Glinda, known as "Glinda the Good," gains her title not necessarily through moral superiority but through aligning with the dominant powers of Oz. While she performs acts of kindness and ultimately grows into a more compassionate figure, her initial rise to prominence is steeped in self-interest and complicity in the Wizard's regime. This contrast between public perception and personal morality highlights the constructed nature of good and evil.

As well as the role of propaganda can warp the perception of good and evil. The Wizard’s regime uses propaganda to manipulate public perception and maintain control. Elphaba’s defiance is framed as wickedness, and her physical difference—her green skin—is used to other her further. The Wizard and Madame Morrible craft a narrative in which Elphaba becomes the scapegoat for the problems in Oz, distracting from their own oppressive policies, such as the silencing of Animals and exploitation of the populace.

This use of propaganda mirrors real-world historical and political strategies, where those in power vilify dissenters to solidify their authority. The portrayal of Elphaba as "wicked" becomes a convenient tool to suppress her revolutionary ideals and maintain the Wizard’s façade of benevolence.

The characters in Wicked embody the blurred lines between good and evil, challenging the audience’s preconceptions and signifying the complexity of people : beyond black and white.

Elphaba: Elphaba’s moral compass is unwavering—she fights for justice, protects the marginalized, and prioritizes truth over personal gain. However, her means of resistance sometimes involve morally ambiguous actions, such as using forbidden spells. These complexities humanize her, making her a symbol of how "good" people can be demonized for challenging systemic injustice

Glinda: Glinda’s journey from superficiality to wisdom reflects the complexities of moral growth. While she initially prioritizes her image and societal approval, her experiences with Elphaba force her to confront her complicity in the injustices of Oz. Her eventual choice to stand up for what is right, even within the constraints of her role, illustrates how goodness is a process, not a fixed state.

The Wizard: The Wizard’s charm and charisma mask his true nature as a manipulative and self-serving leader. He embodies the archetype of a "benevolent dictator," someone who uses the guise of good to justify exploitative policies. His character underscores how power can corrupt and how evil can hide behind a veneer of kindness.

Wicked also explores how context and intention influence moral judgment, , the fluidity of good and evil. For example, Elphaba’s use of magic to save others is seen as dangerous and unnatural, while the Wizard’s far more destructive actions are normalized as necessary governance. This discrepancy reveals how morality is often judged not by actions but by who performs them and the narrative constructed around those actions.

The relationship between Elphaba and Glinda further illustrates this fluidity. Their bond transcends societal labels, showing that goodness is often found in personal connections and shared humanity rather than grand gestures or public titles. Both women make mistakes, but their ability to learn and grow from them highlights the dynamic nature of morality.

By deconstructing the good/evil binary, Wicked warns against the dangers of oversimplified moral frameworks and the dangers of binary thinking. Binary thinking fosters division, scapegoating, and dehumanization, as seen in the treatment of Elphaba and the Animals. The musical advocates for empathy, critical thinking, and understanding as tools to navigate the complexities of morality.

In Wicked, good and evil are not fixed categories but constructs shaped by perception, power, and context. Through its characters and narrative, the musical invites audiences to question societal narratives and recognize the humanity in those who are labeled as "other." By rejecting simplistic moral binaries, Wicked delivers a profound message about the complexities of justice, the power of resistance, and the transformative potential of compassion.

this does not mean that right and wrong is not real, but it does mean that the ideology of thinking that things are only either GOOD or EVIL is extremely dangerous.

[spaceteafox]

Figured I’d put the idea out in the world while I’m working on it: Mouthwashing FNAF au

(Disclaimer: if you get hate J*mmy with every fiber of your being then this au is NOT for you so proceed with caution because it’s very J*mmy-centric. Keep yourselves safe, besties 🫶 I hope you have a lovely day.)

Anyways, Pony Express and Freddy Fazbear’s (as a franchise not just the one restaurant) both have horrendous working conditions and I’m flabbergasted that we haven’t explored the idea of putting the Tulpar crew into Freddie’s.

The general concept is this: Polle’s Pizza Place (or Pizza Stable idk yet) is this little family arcade that sells pizza and hosts birthdays and whatever, real typical Chuck E. Cheese knock off place y’know. Jimmy has been going there since he could figure out how house keys worked and that’s where he meets Curly.

Since I’m actually writing this au and right now I don’t wanna say too much about it but I do wanna talk about the animatronics I came up with for it.

Is Polle and Friends a stupid name for the band or do we like it?

That aside, Polle isn’t actually an animatronic in the restaurant; he’s a walk around mascot that an unlucky employee gets to play (I just know that costume reeks). The other four animatronics are as follows (sorry I only have ugly sketches of them rn also I don’t have a sketch of the last animatronic 😖 also im bad at names so expect nothing good):

Henry Horse

Meant to be a leader-like character among Polle’s friends (despite the restaurant and cartoon being named after Polle)

Prefers to maintain the peace rather than pick sides in conflict

Goes along with whatever crazy scheme Polle comes up with

In the actual animatronic band he plays guitar and sings

Rosemary Ram (also often called Rosie Sheep)

Meant to be very motherly

Super supportive of her friends and loves taking care of them

Despite her sweet demeanor she does have a moments in the cartoon where she stands up for herself and her friends by absolutely verbally destroying whoever is messing with them (there are in universe compilation’s of these clips)

In the band she plays the bass and sings with Henry

Danny Dog

Meant to be the reckless one among Polle’s friends

Originally when he was introduced parents were concerned about his role in the cartoon due to the fact that he was constantly getting into trouble and his friends just laughed it off (except for Rosie and the next character I’m gonna talk about). At some point they tried to replace him but everyone hated the alternative character so much that the episode it was introduced in became lost media

Very beloved among children due to his wagging tail and silly expressions

He plays the drums

Samuel Swan (I’m so sorry I don’t have a drawing)

Meant to be the most mature of Polle’s friends

Scolds the others for their antics a lot but it’s because he’s a grumpy old bird who cares a lot

Least favorite among children despite the animatronic being designed to look super huggable

He plays piano

The lost episode character was gonna be named Buddy Bear and his whole thing was gonna be about safety. The episode he was introduced (and lost) in was called “Always bring a Buddy” and the plot followed Polle and Henry getting lost in the woods where they meet Buddy who then acts like he’s known Henry his whole life. The point of the episode was to show the importance of making friends and sticking close to friends in dangerous situations but the writers of the episode were underpaid and unmotivated so Buddy came off as clingy and kind of creepy. Suffice to say he was hated by children and parents alike.

In case you haven’t noticed all of the animatronics are meant to mirror a character in actual Mouthwashing. This is an important plot point later because Jimmy, despite pretending to hate the cartoon once he and Curly are in middle school, watches the Polle and Friends cartoon religiously and when Curly makes new friends he starts to associate them with the characters in the cartoon. Since this is inspired by FNAF, yeah they’re absolutely getting stuffed into the animatronic that they’ve been kin-assigned by Jimmy. Most of the au takes place between their child years and their highschool years. The more Fnaf-esc stuff (haunted animatronics and all that) takes place when Jimmy is an adult though.

Sorry for rambling but I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts or opinions on this

[skitskatdacat63]

i know you are studying languages, how many do you speak/understand at like … i could get around here level fluency?

So, I've studied German, Russian, Latin and Japanese.

German is definitely my best, I started studying it probably about 8 years ago and have studied it for most of those years. I think it's just difficult to get fluent bcs it really depends on your teacher and environment. I think I could survive w it tho, I was pretty okay with it, and even improved, when I was in Austria and Germany. It's more of a confidence thing honestly. I think if I was there for more than a month, I'd definitely improve even more!

Russian is probably my second best, it's only been tho 2 years or so. I'm good at the basics, but I've not gotten any real world experience so :/ and my prof rn is so bad djkfkfl love her tho <3 I think I need to watch more Russian media like I do with German bcs that def helps. I think I'd be okay at getting around in a Russian speaking country, but mostly just basics.

I've forgotten most of my Japanese unfortunately ah :( but that was only like 2 years, and Latin is of course a dead language so there's not a lot of ways to apply it(but I'd like to get better with it)

[castielsprostate]

breaking the sign in two by how hard im tapping it

[variksel]

youtube ads becoming first one 5-second ad then two 5-second ads in a row or one 15-second ad then a million unskippable ads in the middle of videos instagram quietly inserting one ad in-between every 5 or 10 ig stories then 2 in-between 4 ig stories not to mention the new reel- and explore page ads. a quiet tumblr ad banner at the top of your dash then photo ads in-between posts then video ads then video ads in-between every 3 or 5 posts that play audio automatically while youre trying to read a textpost. the most popular, paid subscription, news apps adding ads between their articles, then in articles, then paywalling new articles further with a new "news +" subscription and putting ads in those as well. once every 15 tweets there being an ad, then every 5, then theres also an ad if you scroll to the replies. you cant look at tweets without logging in anymore, theres just no option for anon scrolling. facebook ai mining on instagram, facebook ai profiles hyping up ai generated photos im fucking going insane ai temu ads and gallery app ads and printer app ads and higher subscriptions while still seeing ads and i cant fucking do this anymore!!!!! its fucking shameless and worst of all its silent and nobody talks about how half the things we see anymore are fucking ads and we dont own a single thing we pay for and companies can just randomly raise their prices through the roof and nobody says anything about it

[frobby]

i was thinking up an expanded chart for the manga gagverse and i was gonna exclude kyuushi (u know cuz of all the vampires running around shin yokohama) but then i remembered that kyuushi is actually the only manga here where iruma is canon it in

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[dandeyrain]

i genuinely don't mean this in a like. condescending way. but reading people talk about how Confusing and Nonsensical and Overpacked boy and the heron is make me feel insane. every single plot point is clearly spelled out; frankly, one of my only critiques of the movie is that i wish they'd left some of it LESS clear. yes, the second half is rich in dreamlike fantasy, but the story never breaks its own rules, and before every major reveal in the fantasy world theres an extremely obvious explanation — almost too on the nose to even call it foreshadowing — from somebody. like i just don't understand how anybody finds it impossibly confusing and weird and bad to engage with

[onlyonekenobi]

..

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[sureuncertainty]

i did NOT just see someone saying that stephanie beatriz is "clearly not a singer" oh my GOD

[musical-chick-13]

Once again: the so-called "General Fandom History," in terms of which things get held up as Iconic™ or Well-Done™ or Worth Analyzing™ has disproportionately focused on (cis, abled) white men. Some of us would like to not have everything be focused on this one demographic and would, in fact, love to not constantly hear--implicitly or explicitly--how stories about people like us are inherently less interesting or less worthy of telling.

"Remember your history," WE KNOW THE HISTORY. AND WE WANT TO MOVE ON.

[charliespringverse]

anyways i'm enjoying the pjo series but i do think that the god of war & his children should be built less like dehydrated marvel muscle shows and more like contestants in a strongman competition . be nice to see some fat people on my screen once in a while idk

[sophiegoose]

Man, there's something to be said about logging into this site and my DMs and inbox being full of people begging for help/reach for their families

We live in unprecedented times