#(( this is SUPER vague but i had no idea who you were referring to as your muse gomen ))

[deathbxnny]

Alrighty cool, thank you for clearing that up (and in such a timely manner too)!

So, lemme cook here... with some Angst + Hurt/Comfort >:D

Arlecchino with a Fem!S/O who's the "Mother" to the children of the House. She was among the survivors of the previous Knave's regime over the House of Hearth. With her and Arle having had perhaps a kind of mutual crush that was only truly pursued after Arle killed "mother".

Basically, the scenario for the request is when Arlecchino' and her's S/O are taking care of one of the kids of the House after they're badly injured after a mission, and... needles to say... they don't make it. And during when Arle and S/O are visiting the kid's grave to pay their respect's, S/O begins to muse "you'd think I'd be used to having to bury children, after..." before starting to break down.

(Part two) (Part Three) (Part four) (Part five)

Ooooh, I love your brain, Anon!! Thank you so much for this great request!! I have to admit that whilst writing this, I actually liked the idea of making this super angsty and kind of bitter (like most of my fics lmao-) so I hope you like it despite the lack of comfort anyway-

Content: Heavy angst, vague mentions of past child abuse, murder, death, reader is Female and referred to as "Mother/wife", mentions of heavy injuries and blood, controlling behavior from/ooc Arlecchino?, kind of bitter ending, children dying, grief Reader has she/her pronouns ((Not proofread!!!))

Buried angels and that odd wish to live. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

In a way, you often wondered why the young ones often wished to live when they knew that their end was nearing. Their eyes would widen, breaths becoming sharper and shorter, mouths closing and opening in panic before they'd whisper those words you had heard so many times. Their deaths always followed closely after, eyes dimming, their soul finally disappearing with the blown out candles, the sweet scent mingling with the smell of blood and burnt flesh. In the light of the moon filtering through an open window, you'd see the grim reaper staring at you in mirrors and your crimson stained palms, a thoughtful look on her face, one asking a simple question she might forever ask you.

"What did you expect?"

And you'd reply by looking away from your own image, away from the guilt and self-doubt and into the eyes of the woman who made all these children utter that odd wish in the first place.

Your hands shook, held up high as you peered into the crime of a mother who couldn't save her child, raised as though pleading for the forgivness of a god that was mightier than the one you worked for. One that was less cruel, despite the heart everyone claimed she had. And yet, they were enveloped by a towel instead, that wiped away the sins and hurt, even if just for a moment. "There is... nothing we could have done to save her, Mother." Lyney whispered quietly to you, perhaps afraid of being too loud and disturbing someone who couldn't even ever bother to hear him anymore. He tried to be reassuring, but it did little when you just couldn't look away from your wife.

Arlecchino. The Knave. A highly ranked harbinger, whose heart always belonged to you from the start, although with great difficulties that took you years to overcome.

The first time she made you stain your hands with blood was when she killed the woman that raised you two, the first and only woman you ever called "Mother." Although the gentleness and nurturing part of her title was just a simple facade, it still shaped you both greately. You had sworn to do better, to become a better mother to all the children you both took in after marriage and Arlecchino... she seemed to have trned against that title. She believed that being a "father" was more fitting. The right way to raise the children of the Hearth family. Cold and detached, yet firm and guiding.

It made you opposites at times. Painfully different opposites. You became a secret haven of safety for the children, a place they can hide away in, whenever their "Father's" wrath came after them. And you've fought so hard to be this gentle. You killed, murdered, slaughtered your way out of fate. You dragged yourself out of hell, you bled, you cried endless tears. You wanted to prove that you could do better and you ultimately did now... or so you thought. You began doubting it years ago, and it's what made you find their wish to live so odd. Was it an instinct, or did they actually view their life's with you two as desirable, something to live for, when all they did in the end was suffer?

"Mother." Lyney said again, this time a little louder, this time enough to make you glance up at him. His face was a blurry shadow, the light falling over his shoulders and illuminating his head like a halo, as he pushed the towel rather hastily into a nearby laundry basket. You'd never get the stains out, and so it would most likely be thrown away, perhaps burried with the young girl. "Let's... get you cleaned up, okay? I... we will take care of the rest." The change in his wording made you press your lips together. It wasn't anyone's job to do this except your own, and for a moment, you imagined yourself curling up next to the child that died crying and begging for you to save it.

You stood up only barely on shaking knees, trembling hand reaching out to close the small girls eyes, and you could feel the cold tears and skin stinging your palm. "It is alright, Lyney. Your father and I will take care of her ourselves..." You looked over your shoulder at the woman who had yet to move or say anything ever since she silently entered the room a while ago. You could see the cold glint of her eyes in the dark, her face otherwise covered by the shadows as she sat calmy and collected in her chair. She knew it was over the moment the girl was brought in by a couple of Fatui agents, th failure of her mission being crystal clear by the deep wounds and burns on her body. She never stood a chance. She wasn't experienced enough, not skilled enough. But the weak get eaten, as the Knave would often say.

Lyney gave you a hesitant look, his mouth opening to protest before he stilled at his Father crossing his legs expectantly. He understood the silent order. "... Ofcourse, Mother. Call my name if there is anything I can do for you." He said, a hand on his chest as he bowed before quickly taking his leave. When the door creaked open, you could have sworn to see the flickers of Lynette and Freminet staring back at you solemnly before they disappeared in the presence of their brother. You stared at the closed door for an unknown while, nearly zoning out, until you let out a shaky sigh. "Make her grave beautiful, perhaps with a blue ribbon attached to it. She loved those." You muttered, the exhaustion finally hitting you full force and making you feel faint. Your body felt heavy, feet dragging across the floor as you also made your exit, the only awknowledgement you received being in the form of the woman leaning her head against her palm idly whilst she closed those cursed eyes of hers.

---

There wasn't much of a funeral for the child.

A couple Fatui agents simply made a hole in the ground like they did with all the others and then lowered the small casket into it, before tossing dirt back in until it disappeared and only the stone with her was left as proof that the child ever even existed. It was a routine at this point, one everyone was used to. Everyone but you. Perhaps the years had made you soft. Perhaps the love and gentleness you gave these children had made you weak. But here you were, standing under the rain and staring at the grave for hours now, unmoving. The water had drenched through your clothes, ran down your face, made you shiver from the cold, despite feeling too numb to fully realise that. Arlecchino stood at your side, an umbrella laying in the wet dirt by her heeled feet from when you pushed it out of her hands and away from you defiantly.

The silence was deafening, filled with the constant tapping of water against your clothes, the metal on the Knave's uniform, and the stone of the sea of graves around you. "How many..." You whispered weakly, trying to form words through incoherent thoughts and the lack of sleep you've had lately. "... do I have to see die before it's enough?" Arlecchino said nothing, and you were nearly convinced that she didn't hear you if it wasn't for her hand twitching.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, a hand covering your face, trying to ease the pain that plagued you deeply. "You'd think that I'd be used to burying children by now... but I... it hurts me." You didn't want to break. In fact, you had never broken before. But as you stood there amongst the many angels that you burried, the many angels that had all once stained your hands red, you began to wonder why you ever even agreed to this. You weren't like your wife. You couldn't be a "Father". You just didn't want to be one.

You buried your face into your hands, imagining the suffocating feeling of their final wish being the same as the pain of strangulation. They reached for the skies and reached for freedom they could only brush shortly with their fingertips before they were covered in dirt to never see what they desperately yearned for again.

"We always took pride in having become something better, different than her... and yet look at us, Peruere! We just became exact copies of her instead! Oh, the shame!" You whispered through strained sobs, voice distorted as you crumbled to the ground in guilt. You had been defeated, and yet Arlecchino still stood so tall, her eyes staring at your shivering and trembling form. She didn't say a word, or perhaps she didn't know what to say. "How many children will you make me stain my hands for?" You asked finally, but the silence told you all.

Peruere loved the children you raised together. But Arlecchino, the Knave, had an objective, a mission. Eat or be eaten, a reality that even hurt her deep down. And yet the curse she had since birth prevented her from feeling it any further than a passing acknowledgement.

"... Stand up, (Y/N). We need to get home... our children await us." She simply responded after your heavy breaths became shallow, and you simply laid there limply at the foot of the grave. But her voice conveyed a certain gentleness she only ever extends to you. It was like the warmth of a summer rain, refreshing and light as it rippled through your heart. With swollen eyes, you watched her reach an ungloved hand out to you, her gaze expectant and yet so unreadable. You felt like a child that powered itself out after a tantrum, the exhaustion and defeat crippling your soul, when you finally just took her hand after what felt like a long moment of consideration.

She hummed a gentle praise against your ear as you slumped against her, face pressed to her shoulder whilst you trembled now from the cold that nipped at your skin through your drenched clothes. Arlecchino wrapped an arm around you, her pensive and yet still so stern gaze drifting through the graveyard filled with those buried angels, as you often called them. Perhaps it was a moment of calm reflection, that made her grab onto your face and wipe away a tear.

"You are nothing like her." And yet, the Knave didn't deny that she might have fallen to her fate herself. Just not you. Never you. "These tears, this hurt you speak of, they are all proof of it. You shed tears for them, for us. Only a good mother could do such a thing." The words she spoke had a deep meaning, one only you two understood, and that made your heart flutter. You looked away, trying your best not to burst into tears again at the tragedy of the situation, but it was so hard when Arlecchino got like this. She only rarely showcased such blatant affection, such blatant declaration of her deep yet rather complicated love for you as her wife. "Please... Let's go home..." You simply whispered, which made her nod in approval.

You gazed up at the skies as you walked away, sunlight beginning to filter through the thick clouds and making you frown bitterly as it warmed your face. Arlecchino's hand meanwhile rested against your back, her watchful eyes gliding across the endless meadows you passed by, and for a moment, she could hear her children laughing, squealing and frolicking through the tall grass. They chased each other in a game of tag, running as fast as they could away from the two of you, over a hill and into what the Knave imagined to be their freedom far from her cold and stern ways. She cracked a bitter smile, one of acceptance as she glanced down at your tired, silently crying and trembling form.

Arlecchino was perhaps wrong after all. Maybe in the end the children did need a loving, nurturing mother instead.

What a shame, that it was too late to go back now.

Alright, so this took me all day to write, and I'm not sure if it's good, because I'm still very sick... but I still hope you liked this, Anon, and thank you again for the request!!!<33

[forever-rogue]

i saw you wanted tasm Peter requests and I’m here to provide! 😭✨💕

how about a fake dating-ish meet cute where you feel scared walking home bc of some sketchy looking people following you and you grab Peter’s (who lives in the same building as you) hand and ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend and he readily goes along with it bc he’s always had a crush on you. I just think he would be so sweet and worried later when you get home bc you’d looked super scared

AN | No but I love this idea!! It’s sort of a meet-cute!❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | mild language

Word Count | 2.5k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren't drunk.

Not drunk-drunk anyway but mildly tipsy. Or wholly tipsy if you were being completely honest with yourself. 

Anyways, that wasn't the problem, at least not entirely. Walking home through New York, late at night and tipsy by yourself, a young woman on her own, probably wasn't the best idea. But the party had dragged on and on and your friends had already left with their…friends for the night, and you were tired, hungry, and bored.

So you decided to walk home. You somehow managed to convince yourself that brisk evening stroll would make you feel better. You hadn't been wrong for the most part but as once you got closer to your apartment building, an uneasy feeling started settling into your stomach. 

You looked around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but you could see that there were two guys that seemed to be watching you. You ignored it for a bit, but when you noticed that they seemed to cross every street that you could, and turned all the same corners, you grew worried. 

Trying to keep the panic at bay and act normal proved to be difficult. You thought for a moment that you might have been paranoid or overreacting but you'd seen enough true crime documents to know that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Your salvation came in the form of the man that lived in the apartment across from you. 

You vaguely knew him and were almost positive his name was Peter Parker. You just hoped right now that he'd help. 

Speeding up, you caught up to him a few moments, quickly reaching for his arm and stepping in front of him. 

“Hi, hi,” your eyes were wide and he immediately grew concerned, “I know we don't really know each but we live in the same building, you're actually across the hall from me. I - this is - can you please pretend to be my boyfriend? Just for a little bit? There's these two guys that have been following me for a while now and I'm-”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, gently cutting you off as he instinctively reached for your hand. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted as you laced your fingers through his and fell into step with him, “I'll take care of you.”

You squeezed his arm, “thank you.”

He nodded and turned around a corner to see the men you were referring to. When he spotted the duo that you had to be talking about, he shot them a warning glare. At a few moments, he could see realization cross their features before they seemingly altered their path.

He made sure to keep an eye out on the rest of the way back to the building. Luckily he didn't see them again. He hoped that they hadn't decided to go and find someone else. 

It felt like you could breathe again as you pulled your hand from his and turned to face him. You were taken aback for a moment by how beautiful he was. Sure, you'd been him around the building plenty of times before but you'd never gotten to look at him this closely. 

“Thank you,” your voice was soft - gentle - was you offered him a small smile, “I thought that maybe I was going crazy for a bit and then I kept seeing them. I just didn't want anything to happen. Thank you for probably saving me from them. It's, sorry, you're Peter, right?”

“I am,” he nodded as you offered him your hand for a proper shake and introduction. He said your name and you looked at him in surprise, “we've been neighbors a while and I just…caught it sometime. I'm glad I found you too. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm cold, hungry, and slightly buzzed but I'm alright,” you promised, “thanks to you. I swear I owe you big time.”

“You don't owe me anything,” he insisted as he started to shrug off his zip-up sweater. He'd noticed the dress you were wearing and wondered if you'd been cold. He held it out to you, causing you to look at him with sweet eyes, “take it. I don't want you to be cold.”

You already knew better than to argue with him so you gratefully it took and slipped it on, immediately overwhelmed by his delicious scent, “thank you, Peter.”

“Do you want to get something to eat?” He wasn't entirely sure if he'd meant to ask, but it just sort of blurted out, “I-I was thinking about ordering some pizza.”

Liar. He was a damned dirty liar. He hadn't thought about pizza but he also hadn't wanted to let you just leave to go to your apartment. Not now, not yet.

“Yeah?” Your face lit up and he nodded shyly. He'd order the whole pizzeria if you wanted just from that smile alone, “that sounds good.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Realistically, you probably shouldn't have just trusted Peter so readily, especially since you'd just had the run-in with the creeps on your walk home. But there was something about Peter that told you that he was trustworthy. 

So you didn't hesitate to follow him up the stairs to the floor where both of your apartments were. You stopped instinctively at your door and Peter paused for a moment.

“Listen, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you appreciated the fact that he seemed to be able to read your mind, “do you want to meet on the fire escape once the pizza's here?”

“Yeah,” you nodded softly, “I'll see you in a little bit.”

“Sounds good,” he started to open his door but quickly turned around, “wait! I didn't even ask you what kind of pizza you like.”

Your laugh was pretty as you turned and gave him your requests. He offered you a small salute before both of you went into your respective apartments. You closed the door gently and leaned against it, letting out a small sigh.

This evening had definitely taken a turn that you hadn't been expecting. But somehow, it turned out a lot better than you had imagined. Plus, you finally got to really meet and speak to the cute boy next door. He'd caught your eye from the moment he'd moved into the building, but you'd never quite managed to work up the courage to say anything besides the neighborly hello here and there. And now…now you were wearing his sweater and going to have pizza with him.

You almost danced to your bedroom and spent entirely too much time trying to pick out something comfortable but cute. You wanted to be warm and cozy but didn't want to look like you were trying too hard.

You ended up settling on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, but pulled Peter's sweater back on. You wanted to hang onto it for as long as possible. You managed to slide on your slippers as you heard a knock on your door.

“Pull yourself together,” you hissed at your reflection, “and act normal…somewhat normal.”

Slowing your walk to the door, you opened it in an attempt to look casual. Peter had the same idea and had changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. You almost choked on your spit at the sight. What a bastard.

“Ready for some pizza?” You nodded as you followed him towards the fire escape at the end of the hall. He slid open the window and stepped out, offering you his hand to help you. You didn't hesitate to take his hand, trying not think too much about his large his hand was compared to yours, “nice sweater by the way.”

“You better watch it or I'm going to steal it forever,” Peter really liked the sound of your laugh. He wanted to bottle it up and keep it with him forever. 

“Keep it,” he insisted sweetly, “looks better on you anyway.”

“Stop,” you groaned as you sat down, gently pushing his side, “that's how you get a girl to call in love with you.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow as his cheeks pinked, “is it working then?”

He didn't know why he felt so bold or what had gotten into him but he was feeling something. Maybe it was just your magnetic presence but there was something about you that made him feel so warm and comfortable.

“Peter,” you weren't about to admit that the answer was yes so you just scoffed and rolled your eyes playfully, “I should have said makes all other girls fall in love.”

“Mhmm,” he opened the pizza box and nudged angled it towards you, “dig in. I hope you like it because it's from one of my favorite places.”

“It better be good then or I'm afraid I'll never speak to you again,” you teased, grabbing a slice and taking a big bite. Peter watched you with an amused as you quickly realized that this was indeed delicious pizza. You quickly finished the rest of the slice before offering him a nod, “alright you've passed this test. The pizza is delicious.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“It's getting pretty late,” you said softly as you looked at the softly glowing screen of your phone. It was a lot later than you had realized; the two of you had ended up talking for hours, the pizza all but gone, “we should probably head inside.”

“Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly, “you're right.”

“I had a good time though,” you promised as he nodded shyly, “thanks for saving me tonight…and all of this. It's times like this that remind me that not all people are terrible.”

“It's no problem,” he insisted, “I'm glad I was there when you needed me. I had a good time tonight, regardless of how we got here.”

“Me too,” you offered his shoulder a squeeze before heading back inside and waiting for him to do the same, “I'll see you around, Peter.”

“See you around,” the two of you went into your respective apartments and you quietly shut the door, trying to hold in your sounds of excitement. Your night had taken a complete 180 but you weren't complaining. You'd been wanting to meet the boy for the last couple of years and now that you'd gotten to spend some time with him, you only wanted more.

The question then was - how do you spend more time with Peter Parker without making it obvious you might have fallen in love with him?

You’d figured that out sometime later. Right now you were going to soak all of the good feelings you had into your body as you went to bed.

Little did you know that just across the hall, Peter was doing the exact thing. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You tried to run into Peter after that evening whenever you could. You would slowly leave for work in the morning and then take your sweet time coming home in the hopes that you would run into him somewhere in the building. But over the next couple of weeks, you managed to have no luck. It suddenly seemed like he had an opposite schedule of yours. For a moment you wondered if it was on purpose, but you knew that he wouldn’t do that.

Peter was hoping for the same thing; work and his…extracurricular activities kept him busier than ever. He had to be at the lab early in the mornings and often wasn’t coming home till the midnights hours. There were a few times when he’d contemplated knocking on your door, even if he just got to see your pretty face for a few moments. But he didn’t want to disturb you so he kept on waiting for the right moment to see you again. 

It turned out that the right moment happened to be when you were getting ready to go out with some friends one evening and Peter was coming home, looking run down and tired. His face and entire being lit up at the sight of you. Your heart was beating so fast that you were sure that he would be able to hear it (unbeknownst to you, he definitely heard it) or it would burst out of your chest. 

“Hey-”

“Hi-” the two of you spoke at the same time before looking at each other sheepishly. You felt like your entire face was on fire as you looked at your feet for a moment to study your nerves, “hey Peter. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know,” he tried to contain his excitement when he realized that you had been missing him as well, “I can’t believe our luck. For years we saw each other all the time and now…nothing. Kind of feels like the universe is laughing at us.”

“I thought about coming over,” you admittedly sheepishly, “but I didn’t want to bug you. I wasn’t sure how you late you were working or…yeah.”

“I thought about the same thing,” he confessed as you grinned at him, “but I’ve been working longer hours so I’d get home late and didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have been a bother,” you shrugged it off, trying to make it seem like no big deal when in fact it was a huge deal.

“Good to know,” he huffed a small laugh before clearing his throat, “I should, ugh, let you go. I don’t want to keep you from your date or whatever plans you have.”

“It’s not a date,” you said quickly, wanting to shut that train of thinking down right away, “I was just going to meet a few friends for dinner and drinks.”

“Cool,” he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to hear that, “I hope you have fun.”

“Unless you’re not busy and want to get dinner,” you only had a bit of courage left as you got the words, wondering how he’d react, “like together I mean.”

“I’m not busy, I’m free,” his stomach felt like it was doing backflips, “but are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll just text my friends,” you waved your hand dismissively as you pulled out your phone, “they won’t mind. Trust me.”

They really wouldn’t. They’d been hoping and rooting for you to get with the pretty boy next door for some time now. 

“Cool,” that was an understatement, “let me just go and change and then we can go. I’ll come to yours in a few minutes.

“Okay,” you breathed nervously, unable to hide the smile on your face.

“Okay,” he agreed softly, his eyes and smile big and pretty, “luckily this time it’ll only be a few minutes and not weeks.”

“It was too long.”

“Definitely.”

[panlight]

hi! i love reading the discussions you have about twilight. i was wondering, what do you think Bella’s career would be if she cared enough to have one? ik Stephanie said teacher, but that seems really ooc for Bella tbh. can’t see her wanting to be a housewife for long either, especially when recipe grows up and leaves. i could see her as a writer maybe, though im not sure about the type of books she’d write (vampire romance ?? 😭). also maybe something with book stores or libraries. teaching seems like an extroverted job, and she’s the opposite of that.

You're right that SM said that Bella had planned to become a teacher. She said that her mother's career was the one thing Bella admired about Renee, but that Bella wanted to teach older kids, so like high school. But I agree with you that doesn't really seem like a Bella thing to do. Bella doesn't even like high school students while she IS one herself, I don't see her enjoying that kind of work at all.

Although to be fair I know lots of people who sort of had a vague idea about "becoming a teacher" because they didn't know what else to do with their area of interest (in this case, Bella's love of reading) but then when they took their first education classes in college they were like "yikes, nope, not for me." So this might have happened to Bella eventually.

I definitely feel like the bookstore idea is more her speed. She's actually pretty organized and practical so I think she could run a small business no problem, and she does seem to take some pleasure in keeping things running even though she shouldn't have had to do so on behalf of her parents. It would probably be more fun and rewarding for her when it's a choice. Could totally see her dabbling in writing on the side but feeling like "oh it's not any good" given her self-esteem issues, but eventually a friend (Jacob? Angela? maybe even Mike or Jess but I don't feel like she'd trust them enough to show them her writing) would encourage her to try and publish.

Now if this is all happening in a world where she did marry Edward and become a vampire, then the Cullen money would make this bookstore thing super easy, barely an inconvenience. Edward would just buy the cutest bookstore and have Bella take over, but it would feel kind of hollow, like she's just "playing bookstore" because she didn't have to try. And of course Edward would get her books published under a fake name and . . . you know, maybe that's how Twilight exists in the first place.

Libraries are also a good option! I am myself a librarian so I speak with some authority on this, haha. I think Bella would do great with some of the behind-the-scenes work like cataloging (which was my previous job) or collection development (Selecting and Buying the stuff, which is my current job) or maybe even shelving books, but she'd HATE the more customer-facing stuff like programming, circulation, reference. At my library even those of us with behind-the-scenes jobs do have some time on the service desks helping patrons, and as an introvert it's not my favorite but most library jobs start there. Almost everyone I know got their foot in the door of the library with some part time circulation desk job and then worked up to something better and I don't know if Bella makes it past that hurdle. The library is about being there for the community and meeting THEIR needs; a bookstore she could set up to her own tastes.

[communistkenobi]

ok conclave thots (spoilers)

trying very hard to set aside my feelings on the Catholic Church to evaluate this movie. It’s quite beautiful, everything has a very solid physical presence, big wooden doors thunking, columns of stone and marble, thick robes, luxurious physical sets. Really enjoyed the cinematography. The cast was all really enjoyable aside from Stanley Tucci, not bc he’s a bad actor but I could not be sold on him being a cardinal. he seemed generally out of place. Although he was clearly there to be a bit ‘out of place’ as a figure for liberal Catholics, like definitely the type of guy who would think creating an anime girl avatar for the Catholic Church would be a good move to modernise the church. Actually maybe he was good in that movie I change my mind.

He did also demonstrate the complete failure of liberalism to respond to right wing rhetoric - all he says in response to Tedesco’s islamophobic rant about the need for religious intolerance is “you should be ashamed of yourself!”, just totally unable to address Tedesco’s fixation on conducting religious warfare. The film is centred around the church’s need to manage its public image, making multiple references to the recent international outcry over the church’s systemic sexual abuse problems, its homophobia & anti-abortion views that are increasingly falling out of favour, and the general trouble the church has with the press. There is a clear emerging clash between tradcaths and liberal Catholics that are fighting for dominance in the church. The film ultimately finds synthesis between these two poles in Benitez, a man who conducted missions in ‘war torn’ countries such as the Congo and Afghanistan (thus having a more genuine connection to religious intolerance than privileged, out of touch conservatives like Tedesco) but despite that still desires to promote unity and tolerance, and at the last hour is revealed to be an intersex man who was counselled by the pope to get a hysterectomy (and decided against it), as if literally embodying the tension between these two positions within the church. Not sure how I feel about that lol, intersex characters are so rare and he’s not treated as a punchline, they even do the “born this way” thing with it as like god made him intersex. so like props for that I guess.

overall a very goofy person’s idea of power and politics but it was a fun watch and I had a good time. Kinda soured on how ridiculous it is that Benitez would pull a super-majority from a single speech to Tedesco about him not knowing anything about “real war” and the need for unity - like idk I remember learning about Mehmet Ali Acğa’s assassination attempt of the pope and how virulently Islamophobic the response was from the public & media, the idea that there would be a “Muslim terrorist” bombing (they leave it vague in the movie but that’s clearly what’s being evoked) in Rome that damaged the building or church or wherever the cardinals were, and the cardinals didn't all immediately side with Tedesco is pretty mind boggling lmao. Again trying very hard to set aside my thoughts on history and religious politics and just have a fun time with this one, but it’s hard to distance those things when the history being dealt with is so recent.

Ralph Fiennes owns in this movie though, great job from him and just what I wanted out of a Ralph Fiennes character. I really liked this review of it on Letterboxd

[rubra-wav]

Hi I have this super specific idea if you could maybe do headcanons for it

Charlie, Lilith and Lucifer met Lucifers ex wife which Lucifer left for Lilith and she has changed alot her personality has gone from a shy submissive woman to a more independent and emotionally stronger woman (if you could maybe add the ex wife's daughter and son that are also Lucifer's which he did now about) could you make it angst and platonic thank you

Charlie, Lucifer & Lilith x Lucifer's ex!reader : 'A Changed Soul'

A/N It got a bit vague with lore at points so I'm sorry if the gaps I filled in were really off (Thinking about Lucifer giving more kids daddy issues bro 💀🧍🏻‍♂️)

She's written as an angel who's gone to hell to look at the hotel for Sera after Pentious is redeemed/ the extermination.

Also yeah ofc this is my headcanons for how Lilith acts and whatnot, could be proved absolutely wrong in S2. Never in a million years thought I'd be writing Lilith directly 😭

Cw: SFW, angst, fem!reader, platonic

Charlie

- When you show up on her doorstep, introducing yourself as (name) and as here to review the hotel, she's in awe of you frankly.

- Charlie would be shocked upon meeting you for several reasons.

- Obviously, you're her dad's ex which is extremely awkward to say the least, but also you're so much more different than what she had heard from all the rumours surrounding you.

- Charlie of course agrees to allow you to look around despite how cautious Vaggie is of you, trailing ahead of you and nervously explaining the hotel's various amenities as she went.

- She calms down slightly when you say that you don't hold anything much against her for simply being the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith. That you were just here for business and nothing more.

- At one point during the tour, you abruptly stop in front of the big family portrait of Charlie, Lucifer and Lilith, fist and jaw clenched as you look up at it.

- Charlie stands near the hall as she watches your halo glowing somewhat threateningly before you sigh deeply and calm yourself. She's sympathetic to your anger.

- It's then when Charlie is utterly horrified to learn that she actually has half siblings that she never knew about as you tell her about them.

- And that's when Lucifer himself finally shows up.

- All in all, Charlie just feels incredibly bad for you, she's not too surprised at how different you were since Lucifer left as she wasn't born at that point. She's more shocked to learn that she has family she never knew about.

Lucifer

- When Lucifer sees you in the hotel next to Charlie who ALSO looks displeased at him, he instantly starts panicking.

- "(n-name)! It's been a while- I-! Whats- uh. How have you... been?" Sweat rolls down his brow as he awkwardly grins, looking rapidly between you and his angry daughter.

- You raise a brow at him, hands on your hips as you eye him. "You mean how have I been after you left me and my kids?"

- Lucifer is floored by the tone you give him and takes a couple of seconds to truly realise how much you've changed since he was in heaven. It's clear as can be that you aren't who he used to know.

- Terrible guilt stabbed into him as he realised he was definitely the reason why your warmth and shyness had seemingly ceased to exist.

- He apologised, looking to the side while awkwardly shifting on the spot.

- Truthfully, Lucifer rightfully felt awful about what had happened. It stung to hear you refer to the kids you had together as not 'our' but solely 'my', and to see it was very obvious that you had moved on from him even if you were still pissed off.

- Lucifer naively followed Lilith away from you and look where that got him: Divorced by her, and left all alone to pick up the broken pieces.

- You shortly left after the small exchange you had with him, thanking Charlie on your way out and leaving him to deal with her confronting him about you and your kids.

Lilith

- Lilith was the last person you'd ever want to see again. However, she was a mark on the mission that Sera had given you, and you didn't want to drag out the rather unhappy trip down memory lane you'd already taken that day.

- You were already irritated as you approached Lilith to find her sipping a cocktail and reading a magazine.

- She looked up as you came to a stop about a metre from her seat. Her eyebrows instantly raised upon recognising you.

- "I have to say, it's not fun to know that the homewrecker who your husband left you and your kids for divorced him and then abandoned the daughter she had with him."

- Your words sent irritation flooding through Lilith, overpowering her surprise at your transformation and making her lip curl.

- "You ought to hold your tongue while in my presence." She coldly hissed, sitting up and folding her arms.

- The conversation with her would be even shorter then Lucifer. You simply telling her that that she ought to pay more attention to what her daughter was doing and the stir Charlie was causing for both heaven and hell alike.

- Lilith wouldn't feel a lick of remorse for her actions unlike Lucifer, and her surprise at the 180 your personality had done would be secondary. She truly doesn't care at all for what she did.

- She would be more angry than anything that you are lecturing her about what she believes is her own business and that you have the 'audacity' to address her in such a disrespectful manner.

Dramaaaaa

[mingos]

*crawls out of the ground like a mole, coughing up copious amounts of dirt*

so, hello.

    i try to keep things as vague & light as possible when referencing my homelife because, honestly, the last time i brought up anything tangentially related i was essentially told “you being upset is making other people upset and ruining the fun” so being anything other than ✨chaotic positivity gremlin wilder ✨ here makes me paranoid, hence why i’ll just disappear for weeks sometimes. 

but. 

i’ve clearly been gone for a bit, will probably be gone for a bit longer, and since i’ve been getting messages from folks wanting to check in on me i wanna give a more detailed update than usual. i feel guilty for not responding directly, but for reasons i can’t get detailed on other than “the idea of having a conversation with 99.9% of people right now is terrifying” (is this what being nonverbal is, chat?) with even the .1% being a super recent development, a queue post into the void is my solution.

i won’t get that detailed, but if light references to domestic abuse, addiction, or just family issues in general are hard subjects for you - nothing past this paragraph is too pertinent anyway, so don’t worry about having to stop. all you gotta know is that some Bad Stuff with family happened, but i’m safe & i’ll be back in maybe another week or something. 

anyways. i was living out of hotels for about 3 weeks. 

more like 16-17 days if you want to get technical because 4 of those days i had an actual scheduled hotel for my twin’s wedding at the end of august - but i’ve basically been bouncing around since august 21st. the night of the 20th, i had a horrific fight with my family member and, for the first time ever, i left. don’t know if would call it brave on my part - since we were leaving for a trip anyway, this is just the first time my suitcase was already packed.

right now, i’ve been at another relative’s house since the 11th. i tried to go back on the 1st because, even after years of this, i’m apparently way too easy to convince everything is going to be fine…  but by the 2nd i was out of there again. 

currently mulling over my next move here because, as much as the common sense answer is to stay away, anybody who’s unfortunate enough to deal with this knows how complicated it is. i’m scared for this person’s safety as much as i am for my own. no one else really checks on them, and i’ve already had to deal with several medical emergencies they’ve had like bad falls & breathing problems. i don’t like leaving them alone for long because the guilt at the thought of something bad happening to them and no one knowing for possibly days or weeks eats me up.

i logically know i’ll have to get past that eventually because i can’t let my life be dictated by this incredibly toxic cycle forever or i’ll never be happy, but now isn’t the time. they also have a dog who would similarly be put at risk if something happened to them, so it’s a lot for me to worry about.

but, having said all that, we’re currently in the apology stage or i guess the negotiation stage because, after the shit that happened this time, i’m making it perfectly clear i’m not stepping foot in that house until they do something. detox, treatment, rehab, disulfiram, soberlink, therapy – something. we’re kind of running out of things for them to try at this point, but at least they used to try. they haven’t really been doing that this past year and I’m the one suffering the most because of it.

so yeah, that’s where things are at the moment. i’m mentally not doing so hot - but I’ve got my dog, and being able to sleep in a bed i’m familiar with for a change and not a hotel (I spent so much money on hotels, guys i’m cooked) is nice relief while I wait out whatever the hell is happening. talking to them over the phone again pretty much drains any of the energy I’ve got back, but it sounds like they’re starting to "get it' so hopefully they’ll start to take this seriously again because I can really only take one more year of this (if even) until I just need to accept these things aren’t my responsibility and move on.

honestly, having a close-knit group of friends/support system for the first time in years has really reminded me of that and given me the confidence to take a lot of steps to live for myself for a change, and to think about prioritizing my own happiness for once, which wasn’t the place i was in at this time last year, or the year before that, or the year before that - so I just want to say thank you again to anyone whose ever helped talk me through something or really just been nice to me at all. this is why i always remember to be kind because it can genuinely do a lot for someone going through something, because i know it has for me.

anyway uhhhhh i hope you are all doing well, and with any luck i’ll be chilling on here by the start of october. can’t miss spooky month and this insufferable pink bird’s birthday, after all.

much love.

[physalian]

The Fantasy Language Translation Matrix

Whether you intend to write your own full-blown lexicon with different verb tenses and formal vs informal language, need unique words for spellwork, or just need new names for all your foreign places, behold… the Physalian patented Fantasy Language Translation Matrix.

(I kid. I have no idea if I’m the first to come up with this)

**Disclaimer!** After rolling out your fresh new vocab off the word assembly line, make sure you google it and that it doesn’t already exist and mean something you don’t intend.

Step 1: Pick your Derivative

You can make it sound completely foreign and like total gibberish, but I find it easier for you and other people to read if they have some real-world reference to compare it to, and so they have a clue for which pronunciation rules to rely on. For example: I did not know who René Descartes was my freshman year of high school. His last name was in my algebra book, and I, thinking he was Greek like so many other ancient mathematicians, pronounced his name as if he were Greek “Des-kart-ees.” I got made fun of.

Spare your readers the humiliation.

So say I want a vaguely… Russian/Latin/Italian influence. As opposed to French. Cool. That’s my starting point.

Step 2: Reorder the most common letters from English to your new language

In English, the average use of the standard alphabet by letter in order is this:

Ignore your vowels for a second. I don’t use charts like this on the regular, I use the Wheel of Fortune method and focus on RSTLNE, then go from there. I also want to make sure this isn’t a complete 1:1 ratio so it’s not super obvious I’m just juggling letters around, so I’ll knock out some “duplicate” letters and swap out singular letters for specific sounds.

The goal of this isn’t to stare at two existing language matrices and perfectly match them up, it’s to take the most common sounds and letters in English and make them new, common sounds in your new language, to sound more uniform and like you have a real etymology.

And I end up with this:

This might look a little confusing on how I got from A to Z so the basics:

All my vowels remain in the same place, they just get juggled around so I don’t end up with 8 consonants next to each other and word garbage

My “duplicate” letters are combined so I have more room for the new sounds, like c/k, f/ph/gh, h/wh, s/z. The new sounds then get the spare letters I had left over

Common english suffixes get reduced down so the pattern isn’t as obvious

If you want to include accent marks, this is your chance

I wanted to really emphasize the long “e” and long “i” sounds, so those got extra attention

Step 3: Translating

Oftentimes this is not perfect, or you end up with a word that just doesn’t fit the rest of your new vocabulary, because English is the bastard lovechild of German, Latin, Danish, and French.

I start with English, usually, but if the English word is too short or too long, I translate it first into another language, like Spanish, and go from there. Like “bus” vs “autobus”.

Using your matrix, go one by one. Let’s use a word like “letter”.

English: L-E-T-T-E-R

New: T-A-C-C-A-Z

Step 4: Polishing

So now I have my new word: “Taccaz”

Which is serviceable. I can throw an accent on either A or fiddle with the Z. I can start with “carta” instead and end up with “kizci”. The matrix is just a starting point. It’s designed to streamline the process when I’m otherwise feeling uncreative and in a rush, and it moves very quickly when I need to come up with full phrases and sentences that someone would actually say.

Step 5: Full sentences

This is only if you’re really digging deep and not coming up with the occasional fantasy curse word or new name for your fantasy land/realm/noun etc.

For this you’re going to need lots of tables. I based mine off romance languages because I know Spanish and romance languages make sense. This is where you decide how many pronouns, if any, you’re going to use, how the infinitive changes based on past, present, or future tense, how many nouns the word references, etc.

This is… a lot. Way more than you’d ever need for your manuscript. Ever. But I did it just for my own sake. Does it get long? Yes. Does it get tedious? Yes. The point here is to have little pre-manufactured word bytes you can plug and play with, with as little mental effort as possible so you can save it for the rest of your work.

I also came up with very common words already conjugated, like “to be” so I can just glance and type without having to remember to take “is” and go through the process over and over again.

Which means that I can take an entire sentence and translate it to my new language in about two minutes.

English: The payoff is worth it, this is so satisfying. New, roughly: Nu kioyb ela fyzip ne, iski ela valo nicenbalaev.

Of course, you can keep tinkering until you get something that’s easier on the eyes (I’ve been working with this language for years so I can read it pretty well), but not all languages are smooth and pretty and simple.

To be frank: Most readers will just gloss over this stuff anyway, but it shows that you put in the effort and it enhances the lore and the immersion when you do this. At least in the written medium. You can’t ignore it if this is meant to be in a screenplay.

Is this what a language professor would do or recommend? Probably not, I have no idea. Does it work? Yes. I have a fully functioning grammatical system where any input can give me a legible output.

To make this yourself, just change the order of the letters around, adjust your shortcuts, and come up with your own common sounds for those last two rows. The conjugation matrix is where you can really make it distinct, assuming you are basing yours off a romance language, which you don't have to.

—

And there you have it!

Don’t forget to vote in the dialogue poll before it closes!

[nestofstraightlines]

I saw a post noting the Hitchhiker's Guide vibes in Wild Blue Yonder, and noticed the replies were full of Doctor Who fans to whom the references were news - fair enough, obviously, Tumblr has a young and international population.

Most Who fans probably know the name Douglas Adams if only vaguely - that this independently successful author was also at once stage in the late 70s Script Editor for Doctor Who and himself wrote three very well-regarded serials for the show.

They may also be aware that he's a particular influence on New Who partly because of that direct connection, and partly because he's kind of to British and/or comedic science fiction what was Tolkein is to fantasy.

So the suggestion you try some Adams if you're a Doctor Who fan is probably not a new idea. But for many, diving into fairly tangentially related fiction from 40+ years ago might not seem very tempting on those grounds alone.

But just in case no one's told you, what Hitchhiker's Guide can offer you as a New Who fan is kind of more New Who.

As I say, though Adams was only briefly (though significantly) in charge of Who itself, his influence on modern Who writing is almost as big on its own as the rest of Classic Who combined.

And it's not just the voice and humour that will ring a bell.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is what happens when you tell the Doctor Who story but take away the Tardis from the Doctor figure. It's a twist on the Doctor Who format where an alien grabs a human away from Earth to travel through a mad galaxy with them, but this alien has no transport of his own and must thumb a ride, and instead of a Littlest Hobo urge to fix every bad situation he stumbles into wishes only to have a good time (bit of a Hartnell touch there I guess).

Crucially I'm not describing a parody of Doctor Who. I don't now that Adams was even super conscious of this read of his most famous tale. But he had certain archetypes in his brain and the comedy writer's habit of wondering 'what if X but Y' and what you get from it could absolutely be described as the Doctor Who show of a different timeline. Something which offers all the pleasures of Doctor Who approached from a different angle.

Finally, in terms of what format to seek out (because Hitchhiker's exists as a radio serial, a set of novels, a TV series and a much later film adaptation) I'd strongly recommend the radio series. In general, and specifically as having the most of offer Doctor Who fans.

The books have become often regarded as somehow the central 'canon' because people assume as books they must have come first. In fact the radio series came first.

I also think it couldn't be more perfect for Doctor Who fans because like that show it's got all the pleasures of great performances as well as the great writing (there is a Hitchhiker's TV series but trust me when I say this is tale built for audio). It's not just full of great performances delivering Adams' comedy perfectly, it also feels huge; the music and sound design evoking such an existentially big, grand, weird, thrilling universe. So especially if you already like Big Finish stories but haven't listened to Hitchhiker's Guide before, you've got such a Who-ish treat awaiting you.

(Toppodcast dot com has it all available.)

[mixelation]

hello yes i wrote team disaster babysitting. deidara pov because why not. i'm thinking AFTER their chunin exams (which they fail) so they're still sort of hanging out as a genin team but there's a somewhat established rapport with the Uzumaki-Namikaze social cloud, for example they've at least interacted with kakashi a few times

Deidara found himself alone in the mission office on a Friday morning. He’d volunteered to go while Tori and Itachi waited in line for breakfast, because waiting in line was for idiots. Also, he liked to be the one to pick missions. Tori wildly underestimated what she could handle, and Itachi picked missions based on what omiyage he could bring back to Sasuke. Nerds. 

“Hokage-sama requested your team specifically,” the desk-nin told Deidara. 

“Oh yeah?” Deidara asked, accepting the scroll. “Any idea what it is?”

With their team, it could range from anything to some insane and super fun S-rank down to a D-rank where someone fucked up the fuinjutsu trap on their front door and needed an expert to undo it, like the ninja equivalent of using your keys. Well. An S-rank wouldn’t come in a regular scroll. But it could be a B-rank…

The desk-nin just stared back at Deidara. “That’d be against protocol.”

Whatever. Boring. 

It would look bad for other people to see Deidara open the scroll without his team, so he hurried out of the office, dodging around a half-asleep chunin. As soon as he stepped out of the office proper, Hatake Kakashi of all people melted out of the fucking wall. 

“What the fuck,” Deidara swore at him, barely avoiding running right into him. 

“Hello there, my adorable ninja sibling,” Kakashi said, stepping right in his way. “I see you have a mission scroll. Have you opened it yet?”

Kakashi was grinning at him, so hard his one visible eye was crinkling. Also, only Kushina-sensei ever referred to them as “ninja siblings,” because that wasn’t a thing. Something was up. 

“It’s bad form to do it without your team,” Deidara replied slowly, hackles raised. When had Kakashi ever shown interest in their missions before they had a chance to go spectacularly wrong? 

“Oh, yes, good, good…” Kakashi said vaguely. “Well, I hope you three have fun.”

He disappeared in a whirlwind of leaves. What the fuck, indeed. 

Deidara ducked into the bathroom on the second floor to open the scroll. It wasn’t like it was illegal for him to do it– Konoha was just really into all their genin doing things together and blah blah blah. Whatever. 

The mission parameters of the scroll were actually quite short, which either meant something so classified they couldn’t print things, or the most boring mission possible. 

A big blue D ranking glared up at him. So it was the latter. Blegh. 

Babysitting…? 

xXx

“Not Kakashi-nii-san?” Naruto whined. “Dad, you promised–”

“Kakashi had… something to do,” Minato answered, shooting his son a placating smile. “But look, Sasuke’s here!”

Sasuke did not look happy to be there, fidgeting at Itachi’s side. Naruto gave him an extremely judgemental one-over. 

“We’re going to have tons of fun, Naruto-kun!” Tori said, putting on her most disarming smile and flashing a thumbs up. 

Naruto looked doubtful. Last time she’d been here, Tori had been very insistent on doing a jigsaw puzzle, because Tori was a nerd who liked puzzles and didn’t understand small children didn’t. Deidara wasn’t sure what the appeal of Hatake Kakashi as a babysitter was, but he definitely seemed cooler than Tori. 

Not cooler than Deidara, obviously. 

Kushina-sensei and Minato were going to go out to eat on a rare date night, and Kushina passed over a post-it note with the restaurant’s phone number. She said their plan afterwards was to take a “long, private walk” for several hours and that they could be reached via ANBU in case of a dire emergency. 

(Fuck. They were going to go off and fuck, possibly in the woods or some shit. Thanks for sharing, Kushina-sensei.) 

They received instructions for heating up dinner and Naruto’s bedtime, and then were left alone with the kids sitting around the dining table. 

“Do I really have to stay the entire night?” Sasuke demanded of Itachi as soon as the adults were gone. 

“Yeah, Mom says I have to give my bed to him,” Naruto agreed, crossing his arms in a stunning imitation of Kushina-sensei’s disapproval pose. “That’s just not fair.”

Sasuke stuck out his tongue, and Naruto wadded up his napkin and threw it at him. 

“Whoa there,” Tori protested, grabbing it out of the air. “That’s not a situationally appropriate way to express your feelings, Naruto.”

Had Tori… ever spoken to a child?

“Sasuke, we won’t be going home until after you’re asleep anyway,” Itachi said blandly. “Besides, you like Hokage-sama’s pancakes.”

Naruto brightened. “Dad said he’s making pancakes?”

Briefly distracted by the distant dream of pancakes that Itachi may or may not have just made up, the two boys calmed down enough for them to get dinner on the table. Then they immediately started bickering again. 

Deidara had no idea why Kushina-sensei insisted they were friends. Itachi also insisted this but Itachi was also, like, noticeably insane about all things Sasuke. Deidara just didn’t see the point of forcing playdates like this. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Deidra decided when Naruto flicked rice at Sasuke. “You lost seat privileges, yeah.”

“What–” Naruto started as Deidara picked him up by under his arms. “Hey!”

Deidara sat him back down at the other end of the table. Itachi wordlessly passed Naruto’s plate over. Sasuke looked like he desperately wanted to mock Naruto, but his eyes kept flicking back to Itachi. Apparently Sasuke could act slightly civilized with Itachi literally breathing down his back. 

Naruto got extremely pouty and refused to finish his whole meal, but they did get through dinner without a food fight. 

“I found a super fun game,” Tori announced while Itachi peeled and cut up pears for dessert. She set a box down on the table. “It’s a puzzle of the Elemental Nations, where each piece is a province! Is that fun?”

Both boys stared at her. Tori stared expectantly back at them, like she was waiting for them to burst into cheers any second. 

“Do you want to see what’s in my room?” Naruto offered. 

“Okay,” Sasuke agreed. 

Naruto grabbed the entire bowl of pears the second Itachi set it on the table and zipped off, Sasuke on his heels. Tori sunk into her chair, pulling the puzzlebox towards herself. 

“Well, I think it sounds fun,” she mumbled.  

There was the distinct sound of one of the boys slipping on the stairs, followed by the clang of the plastic bowl hitting the ground, and Itachi sighed and followed them. 

The next couple of hours Deidara would categorize as “not terrible, for a D-rank.” Deidara convinced the boys to abandon Itachi to clean up the pears, and Naruto very proudly showed off the little training target and plastic shuriken set he had in his room. The plastic shuriken couldn’t stick in anything, but they were weighted to mimic an actual shuriken, and the target mat hanging from the back of Naruto’s door  changed colors where pressure was applied, so you could see where you hit it. 

“Nii-san lets me use his real kunai,” Sasuke sniffed, even as he picked up a baby blue shuriken. 

“Well, he’s not supposed to,” Naruto countered. “Dad said.”

Deidara cut off the argument by picking up a pink shuriken and nailing the target in the center. 

They played with the shuriken for a while, and then Naruto unearthed a board game from the mess of his room. Both boys seemed very intent on beating each other, but Deidara got bored with it about three turns in, and Itachi showed back up with a washed bowl of cherries. Tori trailed in behind him with a deck of cards from the same pile of games she’d found the puzzle.

“I’ll teach you how to gamble,” she told the boys, and Itachi buried his face in his hands as both of them lit up.

Card games were fun for a few rounds, until it became clear that Tori didn’t didn’t know you were supposed to let little kids win every once in a while lest their little feelings get hurt. 

“Don’t show them your full hand until you’ve already won!” she proclaimed, pulling her pile of random game pieces they’d been betting with towards herself. 

“That means she’s cheating,” Deidara told the boys sagely. “You should throw her out, yeah.”

“I’m not cheating–” Tori protested. “Hey– hey!”

Watching Tori get wrestled out of the room by two eight year olds was, actually, one of the funniest things Deidara had ever seen. So, the night wasn’t so bad… right up until Itachi announced it was bedtime. 

“But we didn’t even finish our game,” Naruto protested, gesturing at the board game they’d abandoned. 

Sasuke’s eyes flicked between Itachi and Naruto. Sasuke had to be acutely aware of Itachi’s… personality. If Itachi decided you were going to do something, you were either going to do it, or you were going to have to unleash an S-ranked jutsu to make him back down. 

Sasuke might have been ready to defer to Itachi, but Naruto had a whole eight years of practice ignoring the Hokage himself. He puffed himself up and metaphorically dug his heels into the ground. And, to what looked like Itachi’s dawning horror, Sasuke decided he wasn’t going to let Naruto outdo him. 

“No,” Itachi said to Sasuke’s impressive puppy dog eyes, but Deidara could see him wavering. “No. Go brush your teeth.”

“RUN!” Naruto shrieked, and then the air was filled with glitter. 

“Oi,” Deidara protested, grabbing for him, but then immediately recoiled when his hand touched something slimy. 

Craft glue? Deidara wondered, barely registering Sasuke flipping the boardgame into Itachi’s face. Both boys run out of the room giggling. Is this why Kakashi was acting like that?

Kakashi had had to cut something strange out of his hair a couple months ago… 

“No, my puzzle!” Tori screeched from downstairs, so apparently she was useless. 

Itachi clicked his tongue in annoyance, and Deidara watched as he flash stepped over the stairs’ banister, rather than run down them like a normal person. Deidara followed him. 

Most little children usually couldn’t do their own jutsu or cunning plots to foil Uchiha Itachi. But most little children didn’t have full access to the Hokage’s house. 

“Later, loser!” Naruto yelled from what Deidara had thought to be a closet door in the living room, and then slammed it shut. There was a click and a flash of light to indicate a jutsu, and then absolute silence. 

Itachi stepped forward and tried the doorknob. It didn’t budge. 

“Oh, that’s…” Tori started. “Yeah, you’re not getting that open.”

It wasn’t a closet, apparently, but rather some sort of safe room. Whatever jutsu was on it not only prevented them from opening or kicking in the door, but it also completely soundproofed whatever was happening with Naruto and Sasuke on the inside. This was probably a good idea if the Hokage’s family had to hide during an emergency, but a terrible idea if your son was a little shit who hated bedtime. 

“If the Hokage and Kushina-sensei designed it, I doubt even you could blow it open,” Itachi said to Deidara. After a beat he added, “Not that you should try.”

“I’m sure they’ll get bored and come out, yeah,” Deidara replied. “I’m going to check out their movie collection.”

One movie later, during which Itachi paced around behind the couch and in front of the safe room door, it started to occur to Deidara that maybe they weren’t going to come out. Or, god forbid, they simply weren’t able to. 

“Tori,” Itachi whined. 

Tori made a big show of laboriously standing from the couch, but Deidara could tell she loved every second of it. 

“Let’s see what’s going on with this seal,” she said, and then slapped her hand against the door. She did it with more drama and flourish than she did most things, which was just how she did anything involving channeling her own chakra. It was sort of pathetic, in Deidara’s opinion, because nothing Tori could do with her own chakra as of now was nearly as impressive as the type of shit she did without it. 

This technique was one Deidara had witnessed Kushina-sensei teach her, and it was one of a number of super basic fuinjutsu skills Tori had somehow skipped. It was one of the few fuinjutsu “lessons” Tori had received where she didn’t get an internal-screaming looking in her eyes as Kushina-sensei explained something that Tori clearly already understood. The technique forced collapsed seals to unfold themselves. 

(“Have you just been working blind?” Kushina asked, aghast. 

“Sometimes?” Tori replied. “You don’t always need… well, I can unfold them with another seal–”

“Tori, that’s the hardest way to do it–”)

The seal appeared beneath Tori’s fingers, spidering out across the door and then onto the walls and even across the floor and ceiling. Tori took a step back, eyes darting around to study the seal as it grew. Deidara was no fuinjutsu expert, but this had way more parts than any of the barrier seals he’d seen Tori make before. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tori breathed out. She hadn’t accidentally sworn by her family’s god since the whole reincarnation thing, which meant whatever they were looking at was really, really bad. 

“Well,” Tori said after a beat. “It’s good for children to learn that their actions have consequences.”

“Tori,” Itachi hissed back at her. 

“What? They’ll be fine in there. It’ll only be, what? Three more hours, max?”

Itachi glared at the wall. 

“We could contact Kushina-sensei,” he said finally. 

“What, and ruin their date night?” Deidara countered. “I’m with Tori. Kushina-sensei would never let us live it down, and the kids will be fine, yeah.”

Itachi glared at the wall some more. He twitched. 

“Could you at least take down the soundproofing?” he asked finally. “What if they’re scared?”

Deidara groaned. What if they need a little snack? What if they have to pee? Who cares!

“Actually,” Tori said brightly, eyes still studying the seal, “it’s really well-integrated, so it’d be easier to undo the whole thing–”

Itachi twitched again. 

“You need to calm down, yeah,” Deidara told him. Tori wrinkled her nose at him. “If you get started about ‘microaggressions,’ again, Tori–”

Itachi did not calm down. Eventually, he summoned a crow to contact Hokage-sama, as if he didn’t care how hellish it was going to be to have to deal with Kushina-sensei after they box-blocked her. 

Also, like, rude? Even old people deserved to get some sometimes. 

“Okay, okay, fine,” Tori said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Itachi, can you use your Sharingan to confirm whose chakra is powering this thing?”

The crow stayed on Itachi’s shoulder as he studied the seal. 

“It’s a mix,” he said eventually. “Mostly Hokage-sama, with Kushina-sensei, and… ah, I guess the third one is Jiraiya-sama.”

“Okay, thanks,” Tori told him. “I think deactivating it is chakra-specific, so only those three people can do it. If you can find something in the house with some of their chakra, I might be able to trick it.”

Itachi nodded solemnly and then walked off, crow still on his shoulder. Tori continued to stare at the seal, biting her thumbnail in thought.

When Itachi was gone, Deidara asked, “What sort of object do you think he’ll find?”

“Oh, I just wanted him to go away,” Tori replied, leaning against the back of the couch. “If Itachi finds anything, I’ll tell him it’s not enough.”

Deidara stared at her. Normally, he’d be very pro manipulating Itachi. But…

“So you can deactivate,” he concluded. “Why not just do it?”

Tori took her time to answer, and Deidara heard Itachi open a squeaky drawer in the kitchen. 

“I don’t think I should be parading around the fact that I can just undo the Hokage’s personal seals,” Tori said finally. 

“So what?” Deidara countered. “You work for him. He’ll be delighted, yeah.”

Tori bit her lower lip. Don’t show them your full hand until you’ve already won, she’d said. She sat through so many lessons where she pretended she had no idea what Kushina-sensei was talking about. 

Deidara reached over and shoved her. 

“Hey,” Tori protested. 

“You’re being so stupid, yeah,” Deidara told her. “They knew since day one I could blow up the whole village if I really wanted to. That’s why they recruited me, yeah. You’re supposed to let your village know how good you are.”

Tori gave him a look like she thought he was the one being a little stupid. 

“It’s different for me,” Tori said finally. “I’m not– you and Itachi, you could fight your way out of anything. I have to play smarter than that.”

“Play?” Deidara repeated. “What game do you think you’re playing? Hokage-sama and Kushina-sensei aren’t Orochimaru. They’re not going to cut out your spleen because they get bored. There’s no ‘game,’ yeah.”

“They let me play with their kid,” Tori protested. “Their trust–”

“What the fuck, Tori,” Deidara countered. “They let Itachi play with their kid. They already trust us. They’ll trust you more if they know you’re not going to burn your eyebrows off making stupid fuinjutsu mistakes.”

Tori turned her face back to the seal. “Hmm.”

“Whatever,” Deidara told her, flopping down onto the couch. “If you want to be a moron and let Kushina-sensei keep wringing her hands and giving you fuinjutsu tips you don’t need instead of actually being useful to you, I don’t care.”

Eventually, Itachi came back with chakra-infused ink. He’d also grabbed some brushes. 

“Actually, I think disarming it completely would be a security risk,” Tori told him, looking him dead in the eyes. The crow ruffled its wings. “But I’ll get rid of the soundproofing, if you want.”

It took her two tries and over an hour of work, but Tori didn’t blow anything up or set off the additional alarms in the seal. 

“Naruto-kun is so annoying,” Sasuke reported through the door, completely unafraid and unharmed. “And so stupid! He’s been trying to open it but he doesn’t remember how.”

The safe room had both food and water, along with little cots, and they managed to convince the boys to go to sleep before Minato and Kushina got home. 

“Oh crap,” Kushina said when she saw the seal. “Guys, I’m so sorry, he’s done this to Kakashi twice–”

“And you didn’t warn us?” Itachi cut her off, eyebrow twitching. He’d dismissed the crow, at least. “Or adequately teach your son how to undo it?”

Kushina-sensei blinked down at him. “Well, I mean– he’s a kid. We figured he’s not experienced enough to make the call about when it’s safe enough to come out.”

Itachi opened his mouth again, probably to explain to Kushina he thought she and her husband were idiots, but Tori stomped on his foot. He closed his mouth. 

Minato had approached the door, likely with the intent of undoing his deathtrap, but had become distracted by the additional seals Tori had painted onto the wall directly to the right of the door. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” Tori said, foot still in range of kicking Itachi. “Itachi was worried when we couldn’t communicate with them, so I tweaked the soundproofing a little.”

Minato tapped a finger to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I see.”

“Hmm, I guess if Naruto’s going to activate it in non-emergencies we do need to give him a way out,” Kushina-sensei continued to babble, stretching as she stepped around her husband to check out Tori’s work. “Yikes, Tori, why didn’t you just undo the whole thing? Would’ve been way easier.”

Tori was watching them very intently, still standing closer to Itachi than she strictly needed to be. She’d also put Deidara between herself and the seal, he noticed. 

Paranoid bitch, he thought. 

“She said it’d be a security risk,” Deidara answered for her, moving so he was no longer between them. Tori glared at him. “Like you might need to use the room again in the next couple of hours or something, yeah.”

He yawned performatively. 

“Did you hijack the chakra in the seal?” Minato asked, sounding baffled. 

“Yeah, babe, what else would she do? You know she likes medical stuff, and that’s all they do–”

In the end, Tori learned she could have made her seal with about thirty fewer strokes, Sasuke woke up and demanded he be taken home, and Deidara barely dodged a newly escaped Naruto throwing tinned natto in his hair. 

“Brat!” Kushina-sensei bellowed. “You know it’s past your bedtime–!”

On their walk back to the genin dorms, Tori seemed oddly pleased with herself. It wasn’t the way she’d normally express pride; there was no wild gesticulating or her attempting to explain every detail of her latest feat. Instead, she kept her eyes on the sidewalk and a tiny little smile on her face. 

“What’s up with you?” Deidara demanded after a few blocks. 

“Oh, um,” Tori fidgeted. “That went better than I thought, I guess.”

That was actually really fucking sad. Had Tori always been like this?

Deidara reached over and shoved her off course. “I told you, yeah.”

[kazarinn]

I watched Last Evolution a while back and found it to be extremely grim and cynical with its talk of "potential" but i'd be willing to watch the movie again if the translation was at fault if there was a more accurate sub. I see a couple sub groups did translations for the movie, but I wasn't sure if there was one you recommended or worked on? Otherwise I'd be very interested in hearing what bothered you about the official translation, regardless of my own feelings about what I watched, but I was having a hard time finding a post on your blog that talked about it directly.

Hello! Yes, I would absolutely agree the official subs are a mess to the point I can't even recommend the movie with them. Personally, I think any of the fansubs should be fine; the one I personally had a hand in was the L Subs version (which I did not translate myself but was lightly involved with the subbing process for), but to my understanding, there is at least one other well-done one done by a fan who clearly knows and loves the series.

(I actually am tentatively interested in maybe trying it out myself in the future for the hell of it, but I'm not super pressed to do it ASAP because there are so many other things with higher priority. Other than subs of the movie itself, I also personally translated the Shueisha Mirai Bunko version of the novelization, which doesn't have a 1:1 transcription of the dialogue but is still more accurate than whatever was going on with the official translation, or at least I would like to believe.)

I haven't made a proper post breaking it down yet, but what I will say is that, as someone who has spent a long time translating for this series and has gone through the movie's dialogue multiple times (way too many times?) in Japanese, it is absolutely, 100%, for sure, not supposed to be a cynical movie. The official translation had butchered a number of things related to that, such as:

The fact that they didn't preserve the nuances related to 宿命 and 運命, an issue that my senior translator (who translated the L Subs version) and I consider to be important enough that my senior wrote about it on Twitter and I touched on it in my own discussion of Crest names. There are certain distinct contexts where the word that means "something truly unavoidable" and the word that means "something we are guided towards" come up.

The fact that Menoa's motives make no sense in the official subs; certain lines are translated to suggest the opposite of what they should, and certain lines will directly contradict each other, meaning the only thing that a viewer can get out of it is that "she wants to save everyone" and that she might even be right about her ideas (which probably doesn't help the viewing of the movie as cynical, since it sounds like Taichi and Yamato are rejecting her "good but extreme" intentions at worst and not her distorted view of the world as a whole).

The conversation between Gennai and Taichi in the middle of the movie has about two or three critical lines that are mistranslated, and those are probably some of the most important lines in terms of establishing the movie's themes, especially given the issue of "potential"/"possibility" that you mentioned.

In general (well, this has very little to do with your question, but I feel the need to vent about this anyway) the official translation is just plain klutzy about everything. There's no conscientiousness about character voice, one of the most important things in translating Digimon works. References to the original series' plot points or lore don't match up at all, and I don't get the impression the translator or editor was familiar with the original series. (Adventure tri. and The Beginning's subs had this problem too, but not to the same degree; in the case of Adventure tri., the lore was vaguely referenced or contradictory in Japanese to the extent a compliant English translation probably wouldn't have even been possible, and in the case of The Beginning, the issues were less common and less plot-relevant.) Even beyond just plot-important lines, there are far too many lines that are semantically mistranslated. All of it makes the movie an unpleasant experience to watch in terms of sheer vibe, and that's something I think is far more important than people tend to treat it as.

I will give a disclaimer that I feel obligated to give during these situations: if you did not like the movie, while I think it is highly likely that you'll enjoy it better with a properly done translation, I cannot guarantee that it'll turn your opinion over 180 degrees and make it your favorite movie ever. I am a translator before I am a literary critic, so while literary analysis is important for a translator, there is a point I have to hold back before it starts turning into my own fanfiction. But it's exactly because of this that the official translation is so poisonous, because a translator's job should be to maximize potential for readings and interpretations for others. If a work could potentially have a "nonsense interpretation" and a "sensible interpretation", and a translation outright invalidates the possibility of having the sensible interpretation because of how sloppy and nonsensical it is, it becomes a perfect example of what I've referred to as "insidiously bad translation", where it looks passable on the surface but is far more poisonous than it seems.

[nights-nonsensical-ramblings]

Something i love to think about when doing things like reinterpreting characters into a different world and franchise is how different it can end up depending on what parts of a character and their lore you adapt.

Like mlp. Some characters are so obviously one type of pony no mater how you look at them or what angle you go from. Some dont have a super strong pull to any.

But then there's the characters who go by what I'm talking about. Like Knuckles. Who can fit just about anything depending on what parts are picked for his adapting (Under the cut cuz i got lots to say)

If you're adapting Knuckles as a character, no thoughts to translating his lore earth pony is PERFECT. He's got a focus on raw strength, he's often depicted as larger and bulkier than the rest of the cast, his most fitting element is earth. It fits so well.

Adding in some vague references to lore and he'd be good as a crystal pony. He'd be in a kingdom that was unknown to the world for thousands or years that has a super powerful crystal artefact. (Plus I will forever adore Knuckles with a crystal vibe)

But Knuckles can also work as a unicorn. One you can use it to reference his hand spikes, (Maybe even give him a horn that splits in two) and he's involved with mystical energy that you can translate to magic.

He could also work as a pegasus. He canonically can glide and he lives on an island in the sky. (plus he is so the type to shield someone with his wings) and the pegasi used to be war like and that would fit the past of the echidna

Playing into the last of his kind, "other" aspect could have him be fitting as a non pony species (maybe even one that doesn't appear in the show but would feel fitting) and some of these can kinda parallel the echidnas story. It's not perfect but they can work if you're just using it as a vague reference as to the echidna story and focusing more on the fact he's a different species to all those around him

Like the griffins were a culture that fell into ruin after an event involving someone attempting to steal a key artefact. He could fit the hippogriffs with their story of being forced below the waves and becoming a lost culture, he could fit the changlings with how they attacked ponies like how the echidna attacked other tribes, Knuckles is actively telling people not to be like his ancestors like how the changlings are trying to be different from their past.

or give him a few traits to make it so he can't really be called any of the main pony species, like he's an ancient and lost type of pony.

But now we get to what happens if you REALLY play into all the Master Emerald lore and i think making him an Alicorn has so much potential.

First of all, he has a direct connection to the thing that's described as the most powerful artefact/source of chaos in the world, (and in mlp we do see a character who's exposed to a immense amount of magic become an alicorn.) Plus his role as guardian would fit with the whole idea of alicorns filling a special role in the world. The m.e can do many things and translating that to magic and focusing more on what he'd be able to do with it REALLY sounds like alicorn stuff and the stuff for him being each pony type can still be brought in cuz alicorns are a mix of all three pony types.

And there's so much fun to be had playing into the idea of 'Is he a naturally born alicorn? did the m.e do this to him? Did the m.e bring him into existence like this?" He can't say, he's sure always been this way, being this way feels natural and there's no clear signs that he was changed into one but if he was born an alicorn, where did he come from? who were his parents? were they alicorns? and the idea that the m.e and create life out of nothing spooks anyone who thinks about it.

But he really doesn't get what all the fuss about him being an alicorn is about, why everyone always stares if he has both his wings and horn showing, even when they are covered ponies seem put off by his size. (This is the perfect place for the feelings of loneliness and otherness being the last echidna give him in the normal canon)

Also the good ol' immortal Knuckles vibe are strong. He doesn't know how long he's been up there, but he can remember places from the surface that he's so sure he shouldn't be able. Maybe he doesn't even know alicorns are immortal until someone tells him. He then spends ages trying to convince himself that he's a young immortal, because the thought of him having a life that he's somehow forgotten is immensely distressing.

Bring in the things from canon of Knuckles not feeling like its his place, or is perhaps even scared to use his power and you've got an alicorn, an immensely powerful being, who's barely tapping into his magic, only doing the basic spells that practically every unicorn uses in their day to day life. he could but he's so worried about what might happen if he does. So he goes for physical fighting moves instead. (And the idea of him tapping into that immense power to protect his friends works so good with him as an alicorn. You do not want an angry protective and powerful alicorn after you.)

And the storyline of finding a lost alicorn on a mysterious floating island has wonderous potential. Gives Eggman all the more reason to manipulate him on sight. Sonic's running along in superform, and then something knocks into him. His eyes focus and there's an alicorn in front of him. No wonder he was able to knock him out if his superform,

(I've also seen a take where Shadow is an alicorn cuz. "Why wouldn't they make the ultimate lifeform an alicorn" and i love that, but i got some extra thoughts. It being very clear he's an artificial alicorn and those working on project shadow not fully understanding that a alicorn is a mix of unicorn, Pegasus AND earth pony and just creating him with the first two. There so many delicious storylines that could come from shadows identity as an alicorn getting a shake up.)

The more i talk about it the more i adore alicorn Knuckles and all the story potential it has. Also, the thought of him looking all regal and mystical and then when you talk to him he's brash, rude, kinda feral, lives outside instead of in some castle and is a dorky sweetheart who pretends he totally doesn't care even though he's often instinctively using his big alicorn wings to shield his friends. (He also has many of his critter friends use his wings as shelter and if you look underneath you'll find a whole pile of the smols)

i am quite likely to talk about this again cuz its so fun

[blaperile]

Homestuck: Beyond Canon (reactions page 666 - “8-ball” path)

Well, that took a turn for the unexpected

I mean, I thought it was likely that Vriska was going to encounter her pre-retcon self here but everything around it went differently than I would have thought, haha.

First of all, I thought it was basically a certainty that this 8-ball would correspond to chapter/year 8, but instead it's only number 6! I suppose it does make sense though in hindsight, considering the association of this page with the number 6. :P

On the other hand, I was surprised that Vriska didn't complete this stage successfully and has NOT left hell yet.

I wonder if it means she IS going to stay stuck until year 8… and only exit by page 888? That would be pretty funny.

Anyway, about the actual content of this update.

First of all, I need to talk about… Fefetasprite.

I did NOT see it coming she would still make an appearance at the very end, after only being briefly mentioned earlier (and only when playing with the quirks setting on the website).

If all the Sprites were REALLY physically here with Vriska… Fefeta's appearance makes absolute zero sense, seeing as the only version we know of her exploded, and we know those pre-retcon versions of Nepeta and Feferi ended up separately in the Dreambubbles.

So is she the exception amongst the Sprites and just a fake ghost then? I love how Davepeta also treated her so vaguely here. It's like she was Schrödinger's Nepeta, hahahaha.

It's interesting how this update gave us appearances and talksprites for ALL Sprites that are still around in some way... other than Arquiusprite. It's still a bit unclear what happened to him after the Sburb session ended and before he'd end up part of Lord English.

Anyway, back to Davepeta. I also really loved how they made a reference to Super Smash Bros.'s Master Hand AND Disney's Mickey Mouse and Goofy. It's always amazing when there's a bit of overlap between some of my biggest interests (I'm a huge Disney and Super Smash Bros fan).

I like how Davepeta was sneakily trying to prepare Vriska for the confrontation with her pre-retcon self by hugging her.

I felt a bit sorry for Vriska, that she was so convinced she would finally see Terezi again, but instead she has to face herself. I definitely think this will lead to Vriska doing everything she can to find Terezi again as soon as possible, once she's out of this hell.

I was a bit confused by the beginning of the scene though. For a second I thought Vriska wasn't physically there and only experiencing a vision of her pre-retcon self spending time in the Dreambubbles with Terezi, as a follow-up to when we last saw them during [S] Terezi: Remem8er. It didn't help that the music in this scene, especially the first few notes, reminded me a lot of "Do You Remem8er Me", the song that played during [S] Terezi: Remem8er. Only then I realized it was actually OUR Vriska calling out to who she BELIEVED was Terezi but turned out to be her pre-retcon self.

But it makes sense, of course. Vriska wouldn't have had any idea that her pre-retcon self met up with Terezi eventually. As far as she was aware, she left her other self completely abandoned, so it makes sense that the ghost she faces is in the state she left her in.

It's interesting that pre-retcon Vriska didn't speak at all during the scene. Vriska will definitely have to face her again, but will she speak then or will it only be post-retcon Vriska who literally and figuratively needs to embrace her pre-retcon self?

Now the question is what the next update will be. Will it turn out there's another secret path on this same page, or are we finally moving on beyond page 666 into new frontiers?

It wouldn't surprise me if we now get a perspective switch and only return to Vriska much later, in time for page 888. Maybe it's time to see what Terezi is up to?

[ultraericthered]

So I just recently watched this confused little movie in full again.

And I have to say, shocker of shockers, Doug Walker got it wrong yet again. Aside from his typical lack of research on the development of this film (I don't think the "one character from each animated canon movie" project that was concieved for the potential 50th film back in the 2000s had anything to do with this and its correlation with the 100th year, as this was a project concieved in 2018, when it wasn't certain that it would be rolled out in 2023 five years later) and his typical hypocrisy of not giving it the "it's fine" pass that he gave the similarly middling quality Super Mario Bros Movie, his venomous lambasting of the film as being the worst Disney film because it's "nothing", thus capping off 100 years of history and creations with "nothing", is just dead wrong. If anything, the problem with Wish is exactly the opposite: it's got more than one "something" going on for it and gets perpetually tugged at and torn in all those directions.

The movie clearly began as merely a way to tell an all-new Disney original fairy tale that ties back to the old "When You WIsh Upon A Star" theme, but the 2023 deadline turned that into a celebratory milestone feature alongside the animation studio's own supplemental celebratory feature for that same milestone, Once Upon A Studio. But then the big corporate side of the Walt Disney Company, the side of Bob Chapek and Bob Iger, put its heel down on the production and tampered with the shape the film was taking in order to ensure it checked off every possible box of some arbritary Disney Formula checklist and include all the homages, references and cameos they wanted in it so that it could serve as the corporate celebration of Disney too.

But this isn't the only identity crisis it got hit with, for Wish presents itself as clearly a kiddie-oriented flick, trying to be something that whole families can watch together and enjoy well enough on the most basic, casual level, but particularly geared towards the little ones in the audience, to be for them what the Disney animated fairy tales of old were for Disney fans who are old timers today: the throwback is all too calculated and deliberate. And yet it tries to do this on the back of a premise that is rife with complex ideas, spiritual subtext, vague and sometimes contradictory rules that dictate the worldbuilding, and heavy themes like a self-made monarchy that has corroded the society of its citizenry into a cult following that puts all faith and trust in the royals to manage the most important parts of their lives and very selves for them not realizing or caring that they're being befrauded and restrained from the pursuit of self actualization and the realization of their own visions, how placing too much trust in one solitary other person with power over something that is your inalienable right not to be marked as anyone else's possession in the blind hope of a magic solution to all the obstacles in your life is unwise and unfulfilling when you could instead try to realize your heart's deepest desires yourself through your own utilization of other means, and when even the best intentions of a civilization's leadership gives way to oppressive, harmful practices, betrayal of committed responsibilities, and destructive corruption that seeks gratification and elevation of the self through the subjugation and dissipirtment of others. This is unfortunately on brand for Jennifer Lee and Chris Buck, who similarly set up themes and ideas and even ethical dilemmas with potential dramatic weight in Frozen II only to have the film get cold feet (ha ha) and not go all the way with them because being a markettable Disney fairy tale for kids took priority.

And then lastly you get the whiplash duality that I as a viewer has to experience, where my mind is always wandering to what I wish (HA HA) this movie had been but also trying not to veer too off track from engaging with what the movie actually is, with the most bothersome part being that while I can get some decent, wholesome, all around solid entertainment from the movie as is (King Magnifico's scenes are always the most captivating and show-stealing parts), it also keeps showing me so many areas where even this finished product could have been significantly improved, which is especially true of the film's erractic pacing. The story slowing down a bit and allowing some of its scenes the breathing room they needed to really get the most out of them so that they sit better with the audience would've done wonders for the viewing experience. Expand more on backstories and axe the go-nowhere bits, have Asha be a ball of anxiety who’s not accustomed to having to extrovert so much, make Gabo less of a douche, make King Magnifico more of a douche, make Queen Amaya more morally gray and give her character arc the details to make it sensible and convincing, do similarly with Dahlia, give Star more clear communication bits, give Valentino much less to say, etc. That way even without the darker edges, the evil power couple, the Star Boy and semi-romance, the film is still a strong enough version of what it needed to be for a young audience.

Wish is ultimately an alright Disney film, definitely not the worst they’ve done, it’s passable entertainment. But I’m sure the creative team that worked on it is on the same boat as much of its audience: wishing for much more than this, ‘cause how much more this tale could’ve been is apparent in all the lanes it touched yet did not pick.

[have-a-hiddles]

Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 4.5K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump. Lots of swearing, both in English and Italian.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

Tucked away in a short hallway that only led to a janitor’s closet, hiding among discarded crates of merchandise, you struggled to breathe without sobbing. It was not the first time you’d had to utilize this barely frequented hiding spot. You’d been with the Ministry for nearly five years; yet you still remained unable to find your place. It seemed to be a lifelong fault of yours; never fitting in.

Your earliest memory was of being picked last for recess sports in elementary school; of stern-faced priests telling you to stop crying, stop being so sensitive. Boys will be boys and boys like to pick on their classmates. Maybe if you didn’t present such an irresistible target, they’d leave you alone. Always turning a blind eye to your skinned knees and bruised arms.

Middle school was no better. In fact, it was worse. Now, the girls got in on the bullying too. They mocked your chosen hobbies; reading, drawing, singing. The one time you got a solo in the school choir for a special Mass for some important visiting Cardinal, they made farting and oinking noises behind you, whispering and laughing just low enough that the Sister didn’t hear them. You’d faltered in your singing, trying desperately not to cry, your cheeks flaming red. You had worked so hard on this part! It was your favorite hymn! Sister had yelled at you and berated you for not practicing enough on your own. In the end, she took the solo away from you and gave it to another girl who wasn’t as good a singer as you were but was vastly more popular.

And high school? High school was pure torture. Everything that sucked about middle school, but now with hormones and heartache mixed in for a toxic cocktail. Other students now sought to humiliate you by dangling a mirage of hope. Some bold joker would sidle up to you to say something along the lines of: “Hey, my friend over there thinks you’re super cute. You should ask him out.” And naturally, naively you did, hoping against hope that said boy was telling the truth.

Said boy never was.

University life hadn’t treated you much better, although the overt bullying ceased. You tried to keep a low profile. Went to social events even though you were an anxious wreck the whole time; house parties that your exasperated roommates might drag you on, street festivals for arts and crafts by local artisans, concerts in crowded and often smoky clubs.

It was at one such concert that you first saw the band Ghost and had something of an epiphany. If the so-called “good” people were so horrible to you; then maybe the so-called “evil” people would treat you nicely. Twelve years of Catholic school with its mean nuns and creepy priests had soiled much of your interest in faith. You hadn’t been to Mass since graduating from Saint Hubert’s. Not even for Christmas or Easter. When you’d flat out refused to attend a Catholic university, your family had all but disowned you. And sadly, that changed very little for you. They’d never been much interested in you.

Then Ghost had returned to your city, now as their own headliner instead of an opening act. You’d ponied up the money for general admission tickets to the Haze Over North America tour even though the idea of being jostled around by a bunch of sweaty strangers made you feel nauseous. You’d queued up before anyone else even got there. You’d even caught sight of the band and roadies arriving, although you wisely did NOT rush over to them even though you really wanted to. You very briefly caught sight of Papa (still Secondo at that time!) in his full robes heading from a black SUV into the side of the venue.

You’d been all but clinging to the stage, watching them and, more importantly, listening. Secondo liked playing to the pit, often making eye contact with various individuals. He had a reputation of being something of a man whore and you could see where that idea had come from. Despite his papal robes and miter (or maybe because of it?), he exuded a dark and very tempting sexuality. Still, he didn’t see you, his mismatched gaze always seemed to go to someone just to your left or right.

Then came the encore, Monstrance Clock. The quieter instrumentals reminded you of that long ago choir that you had loved so much. You had closed your eyes to take it all in, your heart feeling as though it was expanding to press against your ribs, a shuddery sensation going through you. You were a virgin, yes. But you knew what an orgasm was; and although not quite the same, this feeling was very similar. Distantly, you remembered that many paintings and sculptures depicting a spiritual awakening often called them an “ecstasy”.

Hypnotizing horns of ram Paralyzing pentagram And the eerie sound of the monstrance clock Singing

Come together Together as one Come together For Lucifer's son

You then felt as though you were falling, but you weren’t scared at all. The sensation of a dark and heated cloak being draped gently over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and safety, made you feel completely protected and loved. It was a feeling you had searched for all of your life and never expected to find at a metal concert! When you finally opened your eyes, Papa was kneeling on the stage right in front of you with his eyes boring into yours. And despite his very stern and somewhat scary expression, you weren’t afraid. He’d narrowed his eyes briefly then nodded at you, claiming one of your hands and brushing his lips over your knuckles. When he rose to his feet, he looked to one of his ghouls and jerked his head in your direction.

When you’d stayed put long after everyone had left the pit, that same ghoul had darted out to you, explaining that Papa wanted to see you. To say you’d been surprised was an understatement. Backstage, Secondo had already removed his skull paint, although the absence did not lessen his presence. Under the watchful gaze of the Nameless Ghouls, he explained the Ghost Project and the Ministry. As Papa, he had a few subtle quirks that sometimes helped him find those who would be excellent additions to the faith.

And apparently Satan had singled you out. During Monstrance Clock, when you’d been so overwhelmed by the music; that had been something of a test. A test to see how you reacted to His Light, His Presence. A test you passed with flying colors by not panicking or blaming the feeling on some physical malady caused by the festival environment, by accepting the warmth of the Father of Outcasts.

Did you want to join their faith? You would be sheltered and cared for. You would be protected. You would have a job for which you would be paid. You would take classes to further your knowledge. And, oddly enough, your Catholic upbringing would prove to be an advantage. You already understood the ritual and hierarchy and language. You knew enough Latin to easily understand what the prayers meant. You understood nebulous concepts like transubstantiation and substance–attribute theory.

You’d agreed with almost no hesitation.

Everything after that was a blur. You’d packed up your few belongings and quickly been instated as a postulate in the New York ministry. You’d had very high hopes after being lauded for your intelligence and organization skills. You were set up as an assistant in the library, which also gave you plenty of time to study up even more on this new path you found yourself on. As such, for the first few months, you mostly kept to yourself, your hyper-fixation on learning temporarily replacing the bleeding need for companions. When you did try to make friends, swallowing down your fear as best you could, things did not go as planned. Attempts at jokes only got you blank looks. Trying to join in on conversations or activities only seemed to make others around you uncomfortable.

After two years, it was decided that you didn’t fit in at the New York ministry. And while they weren’t kicking you out, they thought you might do better in a different location. One year in Los Angeles later, it was decided you didn’t fit in there either. So, you’d been moved again, this time to the main Ministry in Sweden.

Two years into your life here and you were still longing for that feeling of belonging that you’d experienced for a scant few moments at the festival while Secondo had sung. Secondo had “retired” and it was Terzo’s turn under the miter. He was wildly successful; more personable with audiences than Primo or Secondo, more confident and charismatic. You’d never spoken to him directly. The handful of times you’d made eye contact (during Black Mass or on-site rehearsals) he had smiled and winked at you. But you knew full-well that he did that to everyone. It was a band-aid over a slit wrist, but it was better than nothing.

Abruptly, that had all changed too and now there was no Papa, but a Cardinal was “filling in” while he was also schooled in being the new Papa. You’d only seen him a few times, his red cassock drawing attention amongst all of the black and white of the habits you and your Siblings of Sin wore. He always seemed to be off in his own world, muttering to himself in Italian, probably going over prayers or sermons. Most people thought he was a tad weird. You, however, found him a bit fascinating.

Most of the other Siblings fawned over Terzo, which you could hardly blame them for. He was incredibly popular. Cardinal Copia, though? Something about him struck you with warmth whenever you did catch sight of him or overheard him at rehearsals with the band. You found him very handsome in an off-beat kind of way. Whenever he led Mass, you were more attentive than you ever were for any of the previous Papas. Something about him just called to you.

Whatever that something was, it was obviously one-sided. The Cardinal had never so much as glanced in your direction.

You were still working as a librarian, but no longer an assistant. You were the scribe of the ancient texts; carefully going through delicate parchment of dense Latin and digitizing them so they would never be lost. Being one of the younger members in the Ministry scholary, your grasp of technology was far and away better than that of the other librarians.

You didn’t know what you’d done to draw attention to yourself; but less than a month into your time in Sweden, you were re-living junior high school. A trio of your fellow Siblings; Kaser, Lynx, and Cantata, had decided that you were a fun target to torment; with plenty of ammo at their disposal. You were still awkward and anxious. You’d developed something of a nervous stutter and struggled more than ever to put your thoughts into words. Worse, your body had decided that freshman fifteen was meant to be a challenge; as you had gained thirty pounds, so you were much chubbier than most of the others; wide hips, a sizable ass, a rounded belly, and tits that refused to be contained by most bras. Like the long-ago middle school boys, they liked to painfully snap your bra strap. Or they would trip you in the hallways. Shove you into walls. Tug off your veil when they knew Sister Imperator was near so that she would scold you for having it off.

Their favorite thing, however, was to harass you about the fact that you’d been a postulate for five fucking years! Most postulates became novices within a year and then a full Sibling at three. Were you too stupid to pass the exams? Were you such a loser that even Satan didn’t want you? Were you afraid that Papa would turn you down?

That last one was closer to home than they knew. Part of a postulate’s “graduation” into a novice was to have sex with Papa; sometimes in private, sometimes on the altar in front of everyone. You simply couldn’t stand the idea of any of the Papas taking one look at you and deciding that he was not going to put his cock in someone as pathetic as you. It had never happened before to your knowledge (and you’d looked it up!) so there was no reason to fear such a thing. But fears are nothing if not irrational.

All of which led to your current predicament, sitting on a crate of Ghost merchandise near a janitor’s closet, hiding from your triad of bullies behind a double-stack of the same crates. If the closet hadn’t been locked, you’d have been in it. You sputtered and coughed, choking on your own tears. Were you always going to be so painfully lonely? You prayed as hard now as you ever had as a Catholic… and, like God, Satan was now frustratingly silent. Perhaps it was just time to accept that you didn’t fit in anywhere and never would. Maybe you’d ask to transfer to another Ministry just to escape your abusers; but you’d stay with the church since at least your work was satisfying.

Footsteps approached, prompting you to cover your mouth to silence yourself, not wanting another round of abuse if it was Kaser, Lynx, or Cantata. You curled yourself into the tightest ball you could, cursing your extra weight for making that very difficult.

“Eh, hello?” a soft voice, lightly accented in Italian. Oh, fuck… had they lied to Sister that you’d done something wrong to get you in trouble? They’d done it before; blaming you for something they’d done. Fucking hells bells, what had they done that would prompt one of the elder Italians (of which, there were many) be addressing you?

“I’m sorry!” you burst out, covering your face with your hands. “I was just, um… j-j-j-just… ah, taking a… m-m-moment-.“ Curse that idiotic stutter!

“No! N-n-n-no, sorella. It’s… ah… okay. I only… I mean I just was passing and I h-h-heard you.”

The foreign sound of someone else stuttering made you look through your fingers. At first, all you saw was red. A long, red cassock and black gloves.

The Cardinal.

You were so shocked by the revelation that the man who would soon be Papa was apparently a bit anxious and awkward too, that you didn’t say anything for a moment. You merely stared at him, your cheeks still stained with tears, but at least you were now breathing somewhat normally.

“You’ve been c-crying,” he pointed out as if it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s… it’s nothing, Your Eminence,” you shook your head, finally remembering your manners and lowering your gaze, wiping hurriedly at your cheeks. “You needn’t worry about it. You must have many more important things to do!”

A long silence followed, both of you seeming to size the other up with caution. Strange, he was so confident and eloquent when he performed Mass or gave sermons. And now he seemed genuinely lost as to how to talk to someone one on one.

“C-congratulations, by the way!” you finally blurt out. “If… if that’s the proper thing to say. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful Papa. I’ve overheard some of the rehearsals and you sound amazing.”

That was at least true. The Cardinal had a beautiful singing voice and a powerful stage presence.

“Oh! Eh, grazie… thank you. It’s a great honor,” he smiled slightly, his black upper lip curling up at the corners in a way you found immediately endearing. “Not to be, eh, too forward, b-b-b-but… what has so upset you?”

“It’s… it’s nothing. It’s stupid. I just… I feel like… I don’t really…” you paused, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. “I’ve never really fit in anywhere…and even though I’m trying so hard… I don’t seem to fit in here either. Square peg, round hole.” Woah, that was the most pulled-together thing you’d said in months!

You silently prepared yourself to be told to try harder, not be so sensitive, don’t be so weird, or some other variation of unhelpful advice that authority figures always tossed at your feet.

“Sì, it’s very difficult. I understand.”

You snapped your eyes open to meet his uneven gaze head-on.

He continued, “Some people just seem to effortlessly be adored and others… others must work tirelessly to be accepted by even a few.” He sounded contemplative, even a touch sad. “It… it can be overwhelming, I know.”

“Are you saying that… you’ve had t-trouble fitting in? But you’re terrific on stage and at Mass! In fact, every time I’ve heard you talk, you’re always so sure of yourself!” you exclaimed.

He gave an ironic smile. “It helps, sorella, to have a sc-script. At the microphone, I already know what I’m going to say or s-s-sing. I don’t have to anticipate the questions or comments of others because I’m the only one expected to t-talk, sì?”

“Oh,” you said with a note of surprise. You’d never really thought of it that way. “I’ve not really ever spoken to an audience. Or sung. Not by myself anyway.”

“You sing, sorella?” he perked up, the motion making something warm slide over your heart.

“Yeah, yes. I mean… I used to. I sang in choir all through school and I was in the Mass choir in Los Angeles. I’d like to join the choir here, but they aren’t accepting new singers right now,” you shrugged, biting your bottom lip.

“The choir at the L.A. ministry?” his eyebrows rose. “You must be talented then, sorella. The choirmaster there is very exacting.”

You smiled, despite knowing that your cheeks were flaming red. That had been one bright point of the last few years. The confirmation that you did still have a good singing voice had meant a great deal to you. “He is. The rehearsals were grueling sometimes, but I loved it just the same. Music is just so… powerful. I can’t think of a better word. Even ‘powerful’ feels inadequate. It’s what brought me to the Ministry in the first place. I saw Papa Secondo during the Haze tour and, I don’t know… something just clicked in place.”

“Papa Secondo, eh? Small wonder, he was quite the commanding presence when he was Papa. Still is, actually. But, wait…” he paused, looking up and muttering in Italian. “Papa Secondo hasn’t been Papa since, what 2013? That was five years ago. You’ve been a postulate for that long?”

Motherfucking Christ on a popsicle stick, why did you have to mention Secondo?

“Um… yeah. It’s just… never felt like… the timing was right. And… if I’m honest, I’m scared,” you swallowed tightly.

“Scared?” he repeated with a cock of his head. “What is there to be scared of?”

“If I may speak plainly… it’s the whole… um… sex thing..?” Your words came out more like a question than an answer.

“You’re scared of… sex?” he said, seeming to only want to confirm that he had heard you correctly.

“Not exactly. I’m not afraid of the act. B-b-but I’m afraid of… it’s-s-s-s-stupid of me, I know… but I can’t help but be sc-sc-scared of being… rejected…” you managed to strangle out, eyes glued to your hands folded in your lap. “No one’s ever wanted me before. Why would this b-b-b-be any different?”

“Sorella, it’s not stupid. Fears like that are very… d-difficult to shake. However, being as currently said deed would fall to m-me, I can promise you that I will not be rejecting such a lovely soul.” His voice had gone a little lower and he drew closer to you, kneeling down so you were at an even level, although you didn’t look up at him.

A black leather glove obscured your view, curled fingers tucking up your chin, coaxing you gently into looking up at him. “Sorella, I promise it. I would be more than honored to help you complete your… eh… training, if that is the word.”

You chanced looking up and meeting his gaze. Even at a distance, it was obvious that the Papas and Cardinal all had one ghostly white eye. But this close, you could see that his other eye was a rather pretty shade of green. You’d always liked green eyes.

Apparently, your momentary contemplation of his eyes made him a little nervous, because he looked down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I-if-if you like, of course… I’m not… I mean… eh, Sathanas, no pressure? Is that the, eh, the phrase? If you don’t want to have me as your initiator, it’s eh… it’s o-o-o-okay. One of the other Papas would be happy to serve in my place. I know most people seem to like T-T-Terzo the best. And if I know him, he would never turn down an initiate,” he rambled slightly.

Under any other circumstances, you would have assumed that he was agreeing to make you feel better and then trying to pass you off to one of the former Papas to get out of the chore. But something about the Cardinal’s anxious patter convinced you that he was only trying to give you options, not avoid the task.

Completely on impulse, you clutched at his nervous hands, holding them still. This also served the purpose of stilling your own hands. “You don’t need to advertise the others to me. It will be you, Cardinal.”

He looked up from your joined hands with a half-smile. “It will, eh? Does that mean you’ve decided to go through with becoming a novice, sorella?”

Your breath stopped. You had just implied that hadn’t you? Shit. Shitshitshitshit! “I guess it does, Your Eminence.”

“Bene, sorella. I look forward to it,” he smiled, though his gaze returned to your hands. A small shift and he was able to press your hands into his, palm to palm, with your fingers entwined. The motion reminded you of something…

-Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,  And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

The Cardinal chuckled softly under his breath, a rather deep sound that gave you delightful goosebumps. “Shakespeare, sì? Hmm, let me think…”

Fuck! Had you said that out loud? You must have! Random Shakespeare was not going to get you anywhere and of course you’d choose a passage rife with Catholic imagery.

- Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Holy shit on a shingle, he was reciting Romeo’s part now? Oh Satan. Lucifer. Lilith. Hecate. Kelly Clarkson! What was the next bit?

-Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

-O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

-Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

-Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.

You’d both been leaning closer to each other and now were barely a breath away. You licked your lips nervously. That small gesture apparently spurned him on. He completed the connection, kissing you so sweetly that you thought you might actually pass out. You’d been kissed before; but those previous kisses felt nothing like this! Your lips felt as though they were burning, the familiar heat of arousal curling low in your belly.

-Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

How could he even remember the next line after that! It took you a decent minute and a half to recover your thoughts and remember the next line.

-Then have my lips the sin that they have took?

He smiled, nearly grinned, teeth very white against his black upper lip.

-Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

You were ready this time, meeting his kiss with one of your own, tenderly mapping the sensation of his lips and the searing path of want as it spread in your veins. Fuck, you already had a little crush on Copia; this would inevitably push it into full-blown infatuation.

-You kiss by th’ book.

You practically moaned that last line as you both paused, foreheads pressed together, hands still palm to palm. He was panting ever so slightly, as were you.

“You understand what I mean about having a script, sì?” he whispered softly. “Neither of us stumbled or hesitated even once. Not what you were thinking when you began reciting, I know. But, for myself at least… I would not yet have had the nerve to kiss you. But with the Bard’s words to encourage… it felt very natural to kiss you.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, although for once it was not from humiliation or shame, but from pleased embarrassment. The way he was looking at you! No man… hell, no person or ghoul or whatever… had ever looked at you the way Copia was looking at you. There was a hunger in his eyes that made your stomach do flips. But under that desire lurked a sweet, longing kind of affection.

A beeping noise interrupted your thoughts. “Cazzo!” he hissed and pushed back the sleeve of his cassock to reveal an old digital watch. “Perdonami per favore; I seem to be running late for rehearsal. Had I the choice, I would not be leaving you so… eh… abruptly,” he apologized with sincere regret.

“It’s OK,” you replied somewhat dreamily, still feeling a bit floaty from his kisses.

“I will look for your… ehm… initiation papers and authorize them. Then you n-n-nneed only set the date,” he assured you as he rose to his full height. “I must go, sorella.”

“Oh! Yes! Right. Don’t let me keep you. Rehearsal’s important,” you nodded hastily, not wanting to come across as needy even though you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and cling to him like a koala.

“It is, si,” he allowed, before looking down on you with a fond expression. “But you are important too, no?”

He turned to leave and was almost around the corner before he stopped and turned back to you. “Eh, mi scuzi, but… I didn’t get your name, sorella.”

“Huh? Oh! It’s Y/N, F/N L/N,” you replied perhaps a bit louder than you should have.

“Y/N… lovely,” he echoed with a small smile. “Arrivederci, Y/N.”

What? Just? Happened?

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[delopsia]

Paper Airplane | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 2,900 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex in a bathroom, vague but consensual power play, and roleplaying ruined by an inability to remain serious, implied age gap if you squint.

Oh, the things you would give to have been a pilot at the same time as Admiral Floyd.

You don't know whose big idea all this was; a big end-of-year celebration for all the students who have attended and graduated from Top Gun this year. This is the first year they've hosted it, and because it's the first, everyone under the sun has gathered here. Past instructors, you've had over the years, former students, and most importantly, it's brought in Mr. Robert Floyd.

This venue is gorgeous, with its marble floors and vast staircase that leads up to a second-floor balcony. A hulking chandelier hangs above your head; from your perspective, you reckon it's half the size of the Super Hornets you've been flying lately. Sparkling dauntingly above your head. You wonder what would happen if it fell.

And yet, it doesn't hold a candle to Admiral Floyd.

Admiral Floyd, with his gently graying hair and ocean blue eyes that you swear up and down, you can see from miles away. The same Admiral that always asks you to refer to him by his callsign, Bob, because he dislikes such formalities. You're sure that if they'd let him, he'd wear jeans and a plain t-shirt to work instead of a uniform.

"You're staring again," you hear your friend whisper, her voice only barely audible in this loud, echoing room.

Right; for a moment, you'd almost forgotten that there were other people in this room. It seems your friend is the only one who has noticed your staring, fortunately. You'd like to go without getting caught staring for an umpteenth time; your dignity can't take much more of—wait, shit, he's walking over here.

The chair next to you groans as it's scooted out from under the table, "you're on your own, sister," she teases; you should have expected that; she's always had a dislike for the awkward 'nerd speak' between the two of you. Says something about how it's like watching two field mice.

"Pleasure seeing you here," how in the world does this man cross a room so quickly? You could have sworn he was still on the other side of the room just a second ago. "Did you need somethin'?"

"I...uh," squeezing your suddenly clammy hands, your eyes dart back across the room. Shit, shit, shit, what do you say...? Your gaze lands on an ice sculpture that you hadn't noticed was originally behind him. "I was....trying to figure out which model that ice sculpture is."

Admiral Floyd's gaze flutters, jumping from you to the sculpture, then back at you once more. You're not sure if he's buying it.

"Well, you're not gonna be able to figure it out when you're all the way over here," even his breathy laugh manages to send the butterflies in your belly into their fitful flutters, tickling inside your belly.

He offers you a hand, "c'mon; I'm sure you'll figure it out once you're closer."

Your feet ache as you stand, one of your heels teetering beneath you, feet already beginning to ache once more. These shoes were truly meant to be looked at, not worn. Admiral Floyd's hand on yours is firm, so large that it nearly completely encompasses your own. He doesn't quite let go, even as you begin to walk with him, loosely cradling your hand in his own.

...okay, so maybe that's why he was laughing.

"y' recognize it now?" He chuckles, letting go of your hand.

Everything feels too warm; it's as if you're standing directly in front of a fire, your heartbeat gradually becoming heavier with every passing second. You really, really should have picked something different to ask about.

"Now, why in the world did they choose a paper airplane?" You sputter, God, why, of all things, did it have to be a paper airplane? It's a wonder they even trust you to fly a multi-million dollar aircraft.

Bob shakes his head, glasses glinting in the light as he does so, "see? I told you it would make sense up close." But then his face changes, smile faltering into something flat, serious, even, "which is exactly why I don't buy what you're telling me."

Would it be better if you pull a Cinderella and flee the building, never to be seen again? Because right now, that's sounding like a perfectly viable option. Transfer to somewhere far, far from Admiral Floyd, and never think of this again. Yeah, yeah, that's a viable option.

"I—" stammering, you take a step back, "I don't know what you're talking about."

All it takes is one stride forward for Admiral Floyd to close the gap between you, standing mere inches away, dangerously close. "I think I do," he contends, "why else would you be stutterin', lieutenant?"

Your saving grace comes in the form of an unfortunate lieutenant blindly running into one of the ladies serving champagne, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the building. Everyone falls quiet, all attention on the source, even Admiral Floyd. There's a door to your right, you don't know where it leads, but you'll take getting lost over another second of this.

Heels clicking along the shiny marble floor, you dart down the hallway, stepping into the first open hallway that you can find. Unfortunately, you realize a little too late that it only leads to a set of stairs to the second floor. There isn't much option to turn back, not when you can hear dress shoes down the hallway you just came through.

At the top of the stairs, you're rewarded with disappointment. There isn't a soul up here. You're moving as quickly as you can, hoping and praying to find an alternative route back to the ground floor. There are so many rooms up here, and yet they're all completely empty.

Except for a stray women's bathroom. Certainly explains why you hadn't been able to find one on the ground floor.

Admiral Floyd appears on the top of the stairs, but he's looking in the direction opposite yours. Without much other option, you disappear inside the bathroom. Surely he won't follow you into the lady's room. No, he's much too nice to do such a thing.

The bathroom is tiny and only has three stalls, but it's just as pretty as the rest of the building. A dainty chandelier hangs just in front of the sink, and there's a small floral-pattern sofa off in the far corner. A strange placement for such a thing, but you'll take it. You're sure that you'll be stuck in here for a little while.

But then the door swings open.

"Bob?" You blurt, backpedaling as he hurriedly steps towards you. No, no, no, why did he have to follow you here? Why is he still coming after you?

"Oh, so now it's Bob?" His tone ominously calm compared to his body language, muscles tense, handsome face completely and utterly unreadable, "what happened to Admiral, huh?"

Your back hits the wall. There's nowhere else to run.

Strong hands brace themselves on either side of your head, barring you in, "Lieutenant, were you staring at me?"

His voice breaks midsentence, briefly becoming as high and pitchy as a whistle.

You're trying to form words, something, anything, but a rapidly growing smile pulls at the corners of your lips so harshly that you can't move your mouth. Bob's lips start to quiver, a snicker breaks through your lips, and it's like a dam breaks. His head drops, shoulders shaking as he starts to laugh with you.

"We almost had it!" You giggle, "Bobby; we were so close!"

Bob's ears and cheeks flame with a cherry red, oddly reminiscent of the gnarly sunburn he got last summer, "'m sorry!" With the moment now ruined, he's free to lean up and pepper sweet kisses to your lips and cheeks, carding his nails against your neck, "you almost got me with the paper airplane, honey bunches."

You try not to focus on the embarrassment that twinges in your gut, and it's not hard to escape the feeling when you have Bob to kiss it away. "What's worse is I really didn't know what it was until it was right in front of me."

"Do you wanna keep goin'?" He questions, once his chuckles have died down, "or have I gone 'n ruined the moment again?"

All things can be fixed.

Wordless, you step past him, away from the uncomfortable wall, and toward the sinks, "you locked the door, right?" He hums his affirmative, watching with a wary gaze, mouth agape with unasked questions.

Careful, you bend over the counter, resting your head in folded arms, "do your worst, Admiral."

A switch flips, eyes darkening as his face hardens once more. Big hands take hold of your hips when he steps behind you, yanking you backward until your ass is pressed directly against him, "do my worst, huh?" A few octaves deeper than before.

His hips shift, and you can feel yourself growing wet just from the feeling of his hard cock pressing against you through his slacks. In one smooth motion, he pushes your dress up until it pools around your hips. The cool air of the bathroom feels even colder on your once-covered ass, but it's hard to focus on when you feel him twitch against you.

The scene you find in the reflection of the mirror is quite a sight; Bob's already got his eyes on you, watching your every reaction as he starts to move your hips manually, grinding your soft ass into his clothed cock. Even as he tries to get back into the scenario, his eyes don't lose that softness that they carry, looking you over, taking you in, ready to stop at the first sign of discomfort. Even now, even when you have a safe word that you've proved you aren't afraid to use when necessary.

One of his hands come down from your hips, his belt audibly opening and loosening, "is this what you were wantin', lieutenant?" Just then, the leaking head of his cock presses against you through your panties, spreading you open just the slightest bit. "Do those Top Gun boys not fuck you right, hm?" 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you bury your face into your arms, unable to form words as he rocks himself into you, so close to what you want. 

Bending down, Bob's lips ghost the shell of your ear as he purrs into it, "use your words, lieutenant." The weight of his body on top of yours is heavy, comfortingly so. 

"...yes," you whisper, pushing yourself back against him the best that you can, "this is—this is what I was wanting."

He draws away, and you can feel his hand brush between your thighs as he moves your soaked panties to the side. The plush head of his cock slips between your folds, thrusting against you and bumping against your sensitive clit, but not quite entering you yet. Entrance spasming needily each time he brushes over it, needy. 

Finally, finally, you feel him breach you. The slightest bit of pressure has you opening up around him, stretching wide as he sinks inside of your quivering cunt. It's a sensation that makes the both of you gasp, gooey walls gripping him tightly whilst he disappears inside of you. His cock isn't big enough for it to hurt, but even as he bottoms out, you need a moment to adjust to his size.

"There you go," your Admiral praises, grinding slow circles into you, "God, you're so wet that you're drippin'." The sudden appearance of his hand between your legs has you jumping, startled by the fingers that trace where you've been stretched wide around his length.

He draws back, leaving you with a soft wet sound, then, slowly, he buries himself back inside. So achingly slow that you find yourself already impatient, pushing yourself back onto him as soon as he pulls out again.

"Ah ah," he grunts, seizing your hips, "you're gonna take what I give you."

To emphasize his statement, he pushes you forward, forcing you as close as you can possibly get to the counter, leaving you no space to gather leverage. The weight on your backside grows heavier, fully trapping you between him and the pearly marble.

Bob's pace is deliberate; his body curled around yours as he languidly thrusts into your weeping sex. With each motion, he drags against that sensitive bundle of nerves hidden inside of you, showering it with so much attention that your walls are starting to flutter from it.

"You sound so pretty, pantin' under me like that," whispering into your ear like it's a secret, "does that feel good?

Only now are you aware of your labored breathing, panting with every smooth motion of those talented hips, the ones that wordlessly know what you like.

"Feels—" thrust into momentary speechlessness as he abruptly slams himself into you, your back arching at the suddenness of it all, "feels good!"

There's that dark chuckle you were missing, he knows exactly what he's done, and he intended every bit of it. But then he's back to that same pace, giving you no choice but to feel every bit of him as he works you open on his cock. You need more, though; you need—

"Look in the mirror for me, lieutenant," it's not a request, no, it's an order, straight from the Admiral's tongue, "look how pretty you are, gettin' fucked by an Admiral of all things."

He allows you just enough space to push yourself up, palms bracing your weight on the marble counter as you meet your reflection in the mirror. Your lips that can never seem to close, your once wrinkle-free dress, now a crumpled mess around your waist. The change in position forces your legs to move, heels clicking at the floor as they struggle to find traction.

"Admiral—"

"—I got ya, hold on," Bob is already sliding out, leaving you clench around nothing but air. 

The sickening emptiness isn't there for long. Only lasting until he can spin you around and urge you up onto the counter, your hips right on the edge. Your aching feet are thankful for the break, shoes sparkling in the light as Bob's hands curl under your thighs, pushing them up. He doesn't need his hands to slide into you, angling his hips and slipping right back in. 

"Just takin' me in like you were made to do it." There's sweat beading on his pale forehead, body burning up under the thick material of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish his shirt were off, so you could see his defined stomach flex with the motions of his hips.

"Touch yourself for me, darlin'," he instructs, the pet name slipping from his tongue by mistake, "wanna feel you cum around my cock."

Your clit is so neglected and sensitive that when your fingertips first find it, you tremble from the feeling, savoring how you spasm around his cock. His rhythm is starting to change, gradually becoming quicker, blunt-head kissing your g-spot directly on each thrust in. It makes your breath hitch in your throat, whimpering in surprise. 

Harder now, properly fucking you, the pace growing too slow, even for him and all of his patience. Long, deep strokes, gripping your thighs so hard that you fear he may leave bruises there. Flesh audibly hitting flesh, the sound drowned out by the deep grunts that your fluttering walls elicit from him. Your nerves feel like they're on fire, muscles gradually beginning to tighten. 

"'m close," Bob warns, raspy, "shit, baby, you feel so good 'round me."

His very words are starting to make you come undone, whining weakly as you feel a fire begin to build up in your lower belly, spreading until the once cool room feels like it's been engulfed in a wildfire. 

"Come on darlin'," his voice strained as he pumps into you, hips stuttering, "come on my cock for me." 

Your entire body goes still, can no longer breathe as you feel yourself spasm around him once, twice, before that dam finally bursts, and you cum with a soft cry of his name. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, and for a moment, everything goes fuzzy. The only thing you can register is the stalling of Bob's hips as he cums with you, emptying himself into your sensitive body. 

Just as quickly as it came, it dissolves, tension fading and leaving you limp underneath him. Your lungs burn for oxygen, feels like you haven't had a proper breath in hours. 

Then, your ears are graced with a fond chuckle. You don't recall closing your eyes, but when you open them, it's like stepping into an entirely different world.

Bob's taken his glasses off, rubbing the sweat from his forehead as he smiles down at you, "paper airplanes, huh?"

"Shut up," rolling your eyes, but it's hard to feign annoyance when he leans down to steal an open-lipped kiss. 

"Now I gotta figure out a way to sneak us out of here," he says against your lips, "'m surprised they ain't caught onto us yet."

"Eventually, someone's going to notice the matching wedding rings," running your fingers through his once pristine hair, "I'm gonna need you to turn these events into a regular thing."

Bob's eyebrows raise, but he doesn't seem all that surprised, leaning into your touch, "so long as you agree to a bubble bath when we get home." 

"You've got yourself a deal," there's an ache in your back as you sit up, easing yourself onto your feet. You can already feel his cum starting to leak from you, your panties doing little to stop it from running down your leg.

Once he's tucked himself away, Bob grins at you, "now it's your turn to catch me."

And catch him, you will.

[vickyvicarious]

Jonathan sensing Dracula's presence in the room before he sees him is doubly interesting in light of the fact that that awareness is wholly one-sided. Post castle, Dracula reacts so little to Jonathan's presence that I'm starting to wonder how able he is to perceive him at all, especially given how obsessively intimate they are in these opening chapters

(in reference to this conversation)

That's a really interesting idea, actually. You know what it kind of reminds me of? When Dracula has left his mark on a victim/first drawn blood from them he seems able to enforce a sort of... fog in their mind, something that stops them connecting the dots to realize what is happening. This can go along with an inability to inform others about it. I'm thinking most specifically of Mina, who knew all the symptoms but didn't realize what she was feeling matched them perfectly until the confrontation on October 3rd, as well as Lucy seeming to have vague fears about certain things but nothing she could articulate beyond that one dream, until the very end. In both cases, Dracula seemed to want them to be able to retain/share that final information: with Mina, he gave a dramatic speech, and with Lucy we know that he entered the room before she wrote her memorandum and didn't make his final attack until afterwards, so presumably he watched her write it. I imagine it was meant as a final triumph against the doctor who had been trying to hold him off, you know? And then of course there is that weird blank space in Jonathan's narration during the time he (presumably/must've) got drinked that last night at the castle.

All this to say... when Dracula marks his victims, they seem to become vulnerable to him in a way uniquely related to an inability to notice/articulate knowledge of his presence when he's hunting them.

Dracula seems to stop noticing Jonathan after Shovel Day. After Jonathan leaves his mark on him (a mark that remains for the rest of the book). After Jonathan makes him bleed.

And like... it could of course just be Dracula not sensing him in the crowd in Piccadilly, not noticing him until he sees him together with the rest of the polycula and then aiming his attack at Mina for maximum mental torture. There doesn't have to be anything even potentially supernatural about it. Maybe he hates Jonathan too much to give him that same kind of attention any more. Maybe he wants to hurt him even more specifically by turning his wife against him rather than handling it himself.

But if you want to keep this comparison going, it's super interesting that Dracula never fully seems to acknowledge Jonathan specifically ever again, after the time Jonathan marks him. The Piccadilly encounter is before it really starts (though the idea that Jonathan is attuned to Dracula's presence and subconsciously recognized that feeling even before he spotted the man himself is really cool and I'm hereby adopting it), but after that point Jonathan is hunting Dracula in every encounter. It's a complete role reversal, and this time the Count is the scarred prey whose perceptions may be being altered. Dracula still interacts with Jonathan for sure - hypnotizing him into sleep while drinking from Mina, leaping back from/glaring hatefully at him when Jonathan attacks him the same day - but as you point out, those are somewhat lacking in the terrible intimacy so thoroughly cultivated during the castle stay. It's possible there was something more direct with the hypnotism, but we have no direct evidence. He never speaks to Jonathan again. Perhaps he is having some trouble properly recognizing him/connecting him to the Jonathan Harker he knew.

(Actually. Shovel Day. Coin Drop Slash. Head Chop. If we go by van Helsing's rule of three that he once theorized were necessary to turn someone, then Jonathan also notably gets three hits in on Dracula when everyone else gets one at best. And the third one is indeed the final fatal blow.)