#adds to my neverending to do list

[kurj]

minoan dating sim when?? RIGHT NOW

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)

A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so this’ll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, I’m sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasn’t able to find your blog for whatever reason.

When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?

“Hello,” you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. “Is there anyone here?”

Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here… wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.

“What happened,” you ask yourself. “How’d I get here?”

Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, and—

“Oh my god,” you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. “They killed me.”

That’s right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.

“Wait,” you say, realizing something very important. “If they shot me, then why am I here?”

Sure, you aren’t religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery that’s always been associated with heaven. And this sure isn’t the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.

Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldn’t you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?

You realize you’re crying and you’re amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But that’s been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the world’s punching bag.

“Such powerful emotions,” a familiar voice says.

You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.

“Momma,” you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, she’ll disappear.

“This form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,” she says. “Feelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.”

“What,” you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, it’s not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“What did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,” you shout in disgust.

“This form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,” Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. “How interesting.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How’d you get here and what did you do to Momma?”

“And it’s not just this form.” You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. “You hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.”

“You deem this one a failure,” Bruce says.

“This one a hypocrite,” Dick says.

“This one a brute,” Jason says.

“This one a know-it-all,” Tim says.

“This one a stranger,” Barbara says.

“This one annoying,” Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. “And while you’ve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.”

“And you deem this one a monster,” Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. “You hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.”

You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, it’s Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if there’s anyone who you can depend on, it’s him.

“While this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,” Alfred says. “Although, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.”

Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Momma’s death; sure, you’ve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, he’d choose them over you since he’s always helping them, but he’s always been there for you since day one!

“No,” you say, pleading with the man. “Alfred, I don’t!”

“But you do,” the butler responds. “According to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.”

“You also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,” Bruce adds. “And that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.”

You finally realize that something’s wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that they’d care, anyway) and you’ve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.

So, how the hell did they know all this?

“You’re not them, are you?”

“No,” Not-Bruce answers. “We only took the forms of those you see before you.”

“Then who the fuck are you,” you growl. “And where the fuck am I?”

“We have no name,” Not-Alfred says.

“We are one, and yet we are many,” Not-Damian finishes.

“It is impossible to define a being such as us,” Not-Jason chimes in.

“Alright, that doesn’t answer my question,” you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. “Then answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.”

“Yes, we know of your attack,” Not-Stephanie says.

“As for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,” Not-Bruce says.

“My mind,” you exclaim. “How?”

“When you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,” Not-Tim explains. “It is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.”

“My memories,” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Not-Damian responds. “Through your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.”

“If you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,” you snap at them.

“We know now that we were in error,” Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “We owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.”

“So, what do you really look like.”

All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.

“We are not sure if you wish to see our true form,” Not-Alfred responds.

“While you are the first sentient being we’ve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider… terrifying,” Not-Stephanie adds.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “I’m not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell don’t want you taking Momma’s form! And if we’re going to talk, we’re gonna do it face to face!”

“Very well,” Not-Bruce acquiesces.

And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, you’re scared you’ll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you should’ve let them stay like that.

Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didn’t freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“We told you you would not approve of our true form,” it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.

“What are you,” you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.

“We are have no name,” it responds. “But, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete?”

“Yes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.”

“Four-hundred years? That’s as long as Gotham’s been around.”

“We have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a ‘Lazarus Pit,’ a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.”

“And this pit made you the way that you are?”

“The pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gotham’s citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.”

“So,” you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. “You’re like some fungal god?”

“While we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.”

As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really don’t want to know the answer, but there’s that damn stubborn part of you that has… no, it needs to know.

“So,” you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. “Earlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?”

“Yes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.”

“So, if we’re in my head right now, where’s me? I mean, my body?”

Although the Megamycete doesn’t have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly you’re going to find.

And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and you’ve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions they’re definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.

“Oh my god,” you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. “Oh my god!”

“We saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.”

“So that’s it, huh?” While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like you’re hyperventilating. “This is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where you’re likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?”

“If you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.”

You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but it’s there.

“I’m alive,” you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.

“You still live,” it answers back. “Your life force is low, but still there.”

“But how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People don’t live after something like that!”

“While a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.”

“But I’m still going to die, right?”

“Yes,” it answers, seemingly sympathetic. “If you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.”

So, you survive attempted murder, but you’ll still die in the end.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “Wasn’t the end I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind for your death,” the Megamycete asks.

“Shouldn’t you know what i had in mind for my death?”

“We do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.”

You chuckle at that. “I thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” You smile at the memory of the chair. “It was a damn good chair.”

“We see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Would’ve been perfect to spend my last days in.”

“Perhaps you still can.”

You look up at the Megamycete. “What?”

“We offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.”

“And you’ll get what?”

“You become our host.”

“What,” you balk. “Host?”

“Yes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.”

“And why the hell would I agree to that,” you exclaim. “You fix my body just to take it over? No deal!”

“You misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.”

That certainly cools your temper. “So, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like I’m the only one benefitting from this deal.”

“On the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.”

The Megamycete’s words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, you’d do anything to experience it, too.

“Please, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.”

You’ve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.

“We can do that for you. With us at your side, you’ll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.”

“Alright,” you relent. “If all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.”

“We thank you, Y/N,” it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.

And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that you’re back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.

That’s when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, it’s an incredibly odd sensation.

(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)

“Wait, you’re saying I can shapeshift?”

(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may “shapeshift.”)

When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it never happened at all.

And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldn’t say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you weren’t going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didn’t feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the city’s early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruce’s greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprises’ tech and projects that he’s spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.

“I feel like I could run circles around Einstein,” you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. “Now how do I get out of here?”

(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamber’s ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gotham’s birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)

The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. You’ve never liked thieves and the thought of your Momma’s treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).

(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)

Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, you’re overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.

(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)

It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mind’s eye and focus on the three kidnappers. You’re taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gotham’s criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.

With your destination known, you search through the Megamycete’s archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. It’s extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while you’re multiple birds, you’re still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like it’s nothing. In a matter of seconds, you’re on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gotham’s buildings.

“You know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.”

(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)

The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that you’ve just fulfilled a dream you’ve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodsprings— to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!

Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamycete’s roots. You land on a nearby building’s rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.

What’s going to happen here needs to not get back to you.

“What,” the bouncer stutters. “What the hell?”

“Leave,” is all you say.

The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.

(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)

“Good,” is all you say as you enter.

The noise coming from patrons’ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gotham’s criminal element; everyone here looks like they’ve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.

And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!

“I’m here for them,” you say, pointing to your quarry. “The rest of you are free to go.”

“Up yours, freak,” some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. “What the hell?”

He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the man’s heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.

While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; you’ve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you can’t deny there’s a part of you that’s not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gotham’s a slightly better place for his passing.

For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until it’s just you and your prey.

“Look, man,” you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. “I don’t know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.”

The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see it’s your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. You’re relieved to know that you’re not missing any of your school stuff and don’t have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, you’re still missing the most important thing: your Momma’s pen.

“Here, take this, too.” The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.

That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.

“Holy shit,” Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.

“It’s that kid,” Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. “But, we killed him, right?”

“My pen,” you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. “Where is it?”

You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.

“My pocket,” he says. “It’s in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasn’t able to sell it.”

While you’re happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shop’s display window, you’re utterly disgusted at the thought of this man’s audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the man’s pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.

(Not even death could separate you from your Mother’s memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)

“Look, we’re sorry for what we did to you,” the man pathetically whimpers. “Really, we are.”

“Did you know this was my Momma’s pen,” you ask as if the man had not just said something. “I lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. “We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t tell anyone about this,” Tom adds. “Just let us go and you’ll never see or hear from us ever again.”

“You’re right, we won’t see each other again, but wouldn’t you like to know who I was forced to live with?” The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. “I was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.”

“But he said—“ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.

“That bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,” you shout, shutting him up. “I was his first biological son, but he’s completely forgotten about me!” You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him. Just like you don’t need your lives.”

And with that, you rip the man’s head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.

(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)

“Not gonna happen,” you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. “I have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, I’m going back home.”

(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)

And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the city’s skyscrapers, so hopefully you’re safe from detection. In just a few minutes, you’ve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that should’ve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamycete’s roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you don’t have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.

You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruce’s picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like it’s nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.

But, while you’re physically invigorated, you’re mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While you’ve been flying under the radar of Gotham’s vigilantes for years now, you’ll afraid that even they won’t be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, you’ve listened to their conversations when they thought you weren’t around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkham’s most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: “Gotham’s off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and you’ll regret it.”

Honestly, you’re confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his “true children” to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who should’ve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.

You shove the man’s image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasn’t important to you, but now, he’s irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really don’t. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.

Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfred’s caller ID staring back at you.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Master Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s over an hour since you should’ve called me since getting off work.” You wince when you peek at your phone and see you’re overdue your nightly call with the butler. “So, I ask again: are you alright?” Based off his tone, he’s not going to accept “I’m fine” as an answer.

“Yeah, I am.” You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. “I just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.”

“Oh, Master Y/N, I’m sorry.” His tone says he’s bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man you’ve come to see as a father figure. “I know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I will be. I’m gonna miss him.”

“Of course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? I’m halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I should—“

“No,” you cut the man off. “You don’t have to come back early, Alfred.” With everything that’s happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll let you go, I’m sure you’re tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep I’m sure you’ve missed this week during your spring break.”

“I will, Alfred, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.

(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)

“Because Alfred’s highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, he’d probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.”

(We do not wish for that to happen.)

“Me neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)

You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, you’re actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.

Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.

“Looks like someone had fun here,” Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. “What do you think?”

“Looks like someone had a score to settle,” he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. “Especially these three. Based on how they were killed, I’d guess whoever did this was after them.”

“Doesn’t look like Joker’s handiwork,” Jim adds. “No one here’s smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.”

No, this is definitely not the clown’s MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesn’t explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkham’s high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.

“This is definitely the work of someone new,” he says, bending down to study the squashed head. “And with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.”

Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bundlofcigars @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper

[wordsbyrian]

Would you pls do a Mary earps imagine with them filming TikTok’s together and being otp x

A/n: Not exactly what you asked for but close enough i think.

TikTok is the bane of your very existence.

It’s the bane of your professional life as a chef because everytime you turn around one of your crew is using prep time to make a concoction and upload it to that godforsaken app.

And in your personal life?

Well, in your personal life, it feels like every time you blink you're being sucked into filming one of those stupid videos with your girlfriend.

The first time it happened, you were barely even sure what was going on.

The two of you had been getting ready to go on a date to a relatively nice restaurant, when she pulled up in front of her phone’s camera so she could show off what you were wearing.

That had been the beginning of the madness (as well as a very hard launch of your relationship to the public).

It didn’t really matter what you were doing, if Mary had decided that a video needed to be filmed, it’d be filmed.

A literal walk in the park. TikTok.

You driving. TikTok.

You tearing a member of the kitchen staff a new one. TikTok. (Although she’d been asked not so politely by the head chef to never do that again).

You cooking in your shared flat. TikTok.

Hell, she even made a TikTok of you sharpening your knives, a task you find completely mind numbing.

And if having your every move recorded wasn’t bad enough, she also had you joining her in filming one of the more popular trends. You mouthing along to the silly sounds that are currently popular on the app. Or worse, dancing, you hate the dancing.

Asking how often you think about the Roman Empire (only as often as you need to).

Throwing herself fully clothed into the shower  and singing Taylor Swift while you were trying to brush your teeth.

Making you record a two second clip of everytime you changed clothes while on vacation.

The list is neverending.

Which is why you should be more alarmed when you see her walking into the kitchen  with her phone out but you’re too focused on chopping the vegetables you’ll be using in your meal prep.

 “Baby,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Can we record a TikTok?”

“Can I keep doing what I’m doing,” you ask in return, still not looking up from the cutting board.

“You don’t need to do anything but stand there and look pretty,” Mary says as she sets her phone up next to you. “And answer questions,” she adds as an afterthought.

You roll your eyes but don’t make any additional comments as you see her hit record.

“So a ton of you have been asking in the comments how my wife manages to be a professional chef when she has so many food allergies,” Mary says, looking directly at the camera. “And I figured it was better if I just let her explain it. Babe?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t really been listening to every word that she had been saying, only really listening to every word that she had been saying, only really catching the words ‘allergies’ and ‘professional chef’, which is a topic you get asked about a lot. So you just answer without really thinking.

“My main allergies are seafood, peanuts and treenuts. And since I’m one of 2 or 3 sous on any given night, I just,” you pause, “wait, what did you just call me?”

You can feel cheeks heating up as your brain finally processes what just happened.

“What? Babe?”

Mary’s playing dumb on purpose. She knows it. You know it. And you both know that the other one knows.

“Not that, the other thing.”

“What my wife,” she asks.

A cheeky grin breaks out on Mary’s face as she watches even more color rush to your face.

For you, when she repeats it, you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe and you know that your next words come out a little choked (much to Mary’s amusement.)

“Yup, that.”

As calmly as you can manage, you put your knife down and take off your apron before walking out of the kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I have to find my wallet and keys,” you shoot back.

“Why?”

“I gotta go buy a ring before you change your mind!”

The sound of her laughter is the only thing you hear as you close the door behind you.

The video is up on that cursed app by the end of the week.

A photo of the ring on Mary’s finger goes up just a few hours before.

[mari-lair]

briefly coming back to my tbhk corner to say the Halloween event brings me so much joy!

Look at Aoi needing to fly to have the height to pour Teru a cup and do her polite little maid bow without looking awkward, and how teru focuses on her instead of reading whatever he was reading.

LOVE HOW THE TEA IMMEDIATELY BECOMES SHIT AND LOOKS RADIOACTIVE WHEN THEIR ROLE SWAP AND TERU IS THE ONE HOLDING THE KETTLE.

They seem so happy with their new roles. Teru was born to be a mischievous fairy with no duties and Aoi an exorcist full of shady items and books that will give her plenty of knowledge of monsters.

Akane just makes me go "wow bro your luck truly TRULY sucks"

He was already doing extra work (you're a desk clerk bro why are you cleaning with Mitsuba?)

then he got the swap with the mummy of all monsters! He could get so many cool outfits from all the fancy looking monsters in the hotel but no, he is literally just wearing bandages, SHITTY BANDAGES TOO, those are falling apart, no wonder he looks so done, add that L to his neverending list.

Mitsuba looks cute with his demon secretary outfit tho, love the lil hat.

[lovebugism]

welcome to blurbcember! ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

no longer accepting requests! thanks for celebrating with my angels! you can find the mastertag of drabbles here!

happy holidays, angels! it's the most wonderful time of the year! who wants to do a month of blurbs to celebrate?

here is a list of purely winter/holiday themed prompts and here is my neverending list of miscellaneous prompts you can add a wintery twist to! if you have your own dialogue/idea i'll happily take those as well ♡ requests can be fluffy, smutty, or angsty!

here is a list of au's/themes i write for:

shy!reader

grump!reader

sunshine/ditzy!reader

zombie!au

dad!au

modern!au

etcetcetc

i will also do spinoffs for things i've already written! (linked for reference):

mean!eddie

punchy x steve

peach x virgin!eddie

rockstar!eddie

modern office romance!steve

etcetcetc

if you've been here for a while, you know the drill by now. this works a lot like fictober and the summer fic fest i did not too long ago! the only rule around these parts is that all requests have to be winter/holiday themed! can't wait to see you all there lovies!! ♡

[dreadsuitsamus]

Ruin | Suguru Getō x Reader |

author's note: i opened a doc and then this happened, ask no questions bc i have no answers!!

pairing: suguru geto x fem!reader

warnings: minor violence, reader has a gun, nsfw but not particularly explicit, unprotected sex, angst

Lounging in bed, it's a chill evening that draws towards midnight. Your pajamas are minimal, an equally thin tank top and pair of shorts that cover little skin as you rest amongst your several blankets and plush stuffed animals. Boredly, your gaze focuses in and out on the video playing on your television.

The boredom doesn't last long.

The gun kept securely under your pillow is quickly and decisively in your hand, the safety clicked off as you aim right at your bedroom door, just as it opens to reveal your intruder.

"You're far too eager to use that thing, sweetheart." His face reveals no emotion, but with that telltale lilt in his voice he may as well wear a smile full of teeth.

"Stop breaking into my house." Your hand is steady, still aiming at Suguru's head.

A glimpse of silver shines between his fingers. That bastard must've slipped it off of your keyring and copied it at some point. Your eyes narrow as your finger moves to the trigger. "It's still breaking in, Sugu."

"Semantics, really." Geto slips the key back into his pocket and eyes the glock in your hand as he waves his nonchalantly. "Go ahead, if you must."

The words have hardly any breath of life before you're firing off the shot, the bullet aiming directly between his eyes. Sighing with a lazy roll of the eyes, one of the many curses he carries swiftly takes the shot. "Do you feel better?"

"No." You do relent, though, as a wave of relaxation does settle in your bones despite your verbal response, and set the gun on your nightstand. "What do you want?"

"What happened to the kind woman that was always willing to help, hm?" Geto vacates his spot in your doorway, his shoes already slipped off by the front door as he slinks closer to your bed.

"A few near-death experiences." You grouch, unmoving as your mattress sinks under Geto's weight combining with yours, the man settling between your legs and coming to lay chest to chest with you. His face is mere inches from yours, and his dark eyes glitter with amusement— for all the violence and shit talk you provide him during each visit or encounter, you sure have no issue with the physical, touchy and even intimate parts of his appearances.

"You can't give an old friend a place to stay, just for a night?"

"If only it would actually be just a night." You scoff, shaking your head as your eyes roll. "Fine. Just add it to the neverending list of shit you owe me for."

Geto plucks his hair from its bun easily, the raven locks pouring out to frame his face and rest on his shoulders. He leans in then, pressing his smooth, cold lips to yours in a kiss you eagerly accept turning into something much more than something so innocent.

Panting as his hips roll into yours, Suguru's hand holds your cheek as carefully as any fine glassware. "I'm sorry…"

One of your legs hooks around his waist, urging him deeper inside of you. "Shut up." Your lips mash with his, burying any further attempts of confessions or apologies from your rogue former lover.

When you come to at just past dawn, there's a morning after pill that was almost certainly purchased with money snagged from your purse, and you sigh in defeat as your eyes close again.

He's got far too much to be sorry for, and your poor little heart just won't stop forgiving him.

[samsmissingshoee]

PLEASE I NEED CAS SMUT WITH EVERY FIBRE WITHIN ME DO YOU HAVE ANY RECS? (not destiel ones, ones with female reader!)

ILY FOR ASKING BUT BRO... the thing is, i can't find any. they are all either not my style of writing, or they have destiel. i think i read one on here where cas was super whiney and my lawrd. i need him.

should i write a cas fic? i'll add it to my neverending to write list...

ngl though i can only write decent smut when i'm ovulating or on my period. 😐

also, anytime i'm in the mood to write, i can't even lie rn, i get distracted by character ai HAHAHAHA literally have this story going on about sam taking an angel out to explore pretty places and yeah ANYWAYS i turned this into a yap sesh

i shall write cas smut if that's what the people want

[diodellet]

roommates? more like roomfoes (jamil viper x gn!reader)

Where: You and Jamil become roommates, find some things to hate about each other, and the little things you do to support each other. As roommates do, of course. Inspired by this post by @viperwhispered word count: 2.6k words content warnings: -reader is not yuu, reader is in scarabia -foul language -scotch tape worldbuilding galore (ik each chara has their own room in the dorm, but let's ignore that and assume that each room wud have like 2 occupants.) -could be interpreted as pre-slash, established, or strictly platonic (don't you love the ambiguity of being roommates? you're both close and strangers at the same time i love it) ++yeah they argue but i call it ✨✨healthy conflict and banter

Here’s the thing, when you started the new school year, you were grateful that you and Jamil Viper were assigned to be roommates.

The guy was serious, put-together, and most importantly lowkey, which was a blessing in the hellhole that called itself Night Raven College.

Aside from the initial intimidation during move-in day, you were sure that this partnership would be one that you didn’t have to worry about at all.

But oh how the tables turn… you didn’t think that you could make an itemized list of Jamil Viper’s annoying habits as a roommate but here we are now:

Grocery trips with him take Fucking Forever

You know that you don’t have to be best friends with your roommate.

But! A good impression was key to building a peaceful relationship with the person you’d be sharing a living space with for two semesters.

You know that moment when you and a complete stranger initially find a similar habit that you share?

That brief moment of excitement and seeing each other’s eyes light up and thinking “hey, this person isn’t that different from me. I think they're kinda okay!" 

Take that but add the slow, horrific realization that this perceived common ground was not a similarity at all.

That’s what it feels like when doing the weekly groceries with Jamil. The experience was equal parts admiration and impatience.

“Wait hold on, how did he find that item? Weren’t they out of stock?” and “Did he really have to compare ALL the prices?” etc.

It felt like you were doing more than the required amount of shopping for college students. (Do two college students really burn through this much food?)

You didn’t have to be here, you could be seated at your study desk, hunched over your textbooks (ugh). Maybe you were just looking for an excuse to get out intent on being a good roommate.

“Are we almost done yet?” “Not yet, I’ll need to make one more round.” “Dude, we’ve already circled the store three times.” “I just need to get a few more items.” “Hey, that’s a completely new list!” Your eyes skim the neat lines of Jamil’s handwriting. “And what do you mean by ‘banquet for next Friday’? That’s a whole week from now!” “I told you that I could handle this on my own.” He checks his phone, then scowls. “Tsk… make that several more things to get.” “Seriously?!”

Maybe you should’ve taken his title of vice dorm leader as a sign of what was to come.

In the classroom, there was NRC’s fast-paced curriculum, and back at the Scarabia dormitory there were neverending banquets and parties to help prepare for.

He spontaneously decides to do a full clean of the room

Vacuuming? Really? Right at 5 in the morning?

Sure, it was the weekend and maybe he told you that he was planning to do that beforehand, but you were probably so deep into your essay writing that it probably slipped your mind.

Still, to hear the loud whir of the vacuum just before you slipped into REM sleep was pure torture.

He’s got headphones on, but you know Jamil is aware that you’re seething. He’s probably got that scheming expression plastered on his face, a ghost of a smile that betrayed the brewing malice.

Maybe this was to get you back for the few times that you put off your end of the chores. Or the messes from your alchemy mishaps* (We will revisit this.)

Actually, you don’t need to look, you can feel his pleased mood radiating through the flimsy blanket you’ve thrown over yourself in an attempt to block out the noise. An unwelcome ray of sunlight that worsened your building migraine.

And incidents like this are only the tip of the iceberg.

Coming back from classes and seeing a new rearrangement of the shared area in your dorm, or being greeted with an emptier fridge, or even getting evicted from your usual study corner as he checked for cobwebs (he wasn’t even giving the spiders enough time to start their webs!), stuff like this happened on the regular.

The surprise wore off after a while, but the irritation lingered.

“Jamil, where did my lab project go?” “What are you talking about? I only removed the food that was about to go bad—ah.” “Don’t ‘ah’ me! That’s a quarter of my grade you threw away!” “Put a label on your projects next time then!” “I was running on two hours of sleep!”

The both of you mostly resolved the argument by investing in a permanent marker and a set of sticker labels. 

Jamil also helped you remake the project (along with a heaping dose of your own practical magic to speed the process, which would dock some points, but you’d take whatever passing grade you could manage.)

See, it’s not the frequency of his cleaning that annoys you. It’s the spontaneity of it that gets on your nerves.

(And maybe, the way that he constantly does it by himself pisses you off as well.)

If he just… asked for help every now and then, you’d definitely lend him a hand. 

Not to say that you would jump at the opportunity to do so, but you would… appreciate a break from back-to-back alchemical reports.

Kalim al-Asim

At first you thought Kalim was nice, maybe fun. The guy was the polar opposite of Jamil and that was a breath of fresh air.

Until the Inciting Incident:

Once, you got up in the middle of the night and almost tripped over Jamil, who was sleeping on the floor (read: you actually stepped on his stomach and then you tripped after he grabbed at your ankle.)

Why? Because apparently Kalim decided to sleep over. Yes, he was using Jamil’s bed, completely at home, snoozing the night away as you fell into a whisper-argument with Jamil.

The rest just happened in quick succession, now you had a third person rooming with you.

Why does he come over all the time? Why does he stay just before curfew?

Sometimes you really just needed 3 straight hours of ambient silence to process readings and not some conversation about your lack of weekend plans.

Most importantly, why does Jamil just let this happen? 

He has no problem nagging you, but when it comes to Kalim, Jamil only lets the guy off with an exasperated sigh?!

Jamil doesn’t talk about himself much. Or if he does, it’s because you demanded better conversation material other than Generic Small Talk™️

“Best friends,” “Childhood friends”? Yeah right, you didn’t buy Kalim’s story for a second.

Not when you would hear Jamil lie about his own wellbeing in order to prioritize assisting Kalim.

Not when he would come back to your shared room, completely exhausted and worn out from a full day of accompanying Kalim.

And sure, you were aware of the position he held as the dorm leader’s personal attendant. But the reality of it never really sunk in.

“How… long have your folks worked for Kalim’s family?” “...For generations.” He continues stirring the container of curry-flavored instant noodles. “No, shit, really? I’m sor—” “Don’t—” Jamil gathers himself with an exhale. “Please don’t say that.” The midnight meal continues in silence until the both of you empty your plastic cups. What was the right thing to say? You couldn’t find the right words. “Give me your dishes, I’ll handle these. You should get back to your studies.” All you could feel was frustration, at yourself, at Jamil, at Kalim, angry heat building and collecting at the base of your throat, bursting, exploding— “No.” You push your chair back, gather the used dishes while Jamil blinks at you in surprise. “You know what? I’d actually prefer to uphold my end of the chores as your roommate, thank you very much.” And then you turn on your heel to dispose of the plastic containers. “At least rinse the cups before you throw them out!” “Alright, alright! …germaphobe.” “I heard that.”

He could continue babying Kalim, he already made it clear that you couldn’t intervene.

But like hell you were going to let him do the same to you.

[...]

To say that Jamil was relieved would be an understatement. If he had to endure another school year as Kalim’s roommate, his hair was going to turn gray and he would eventually be sent into a heart attack somewhere down the line.

Before move-in day, he already had a system in mind for keeping the shared room in order. But for you to shut that down and suggest something as tedious as dividing the chores…

Insert “Press X to doubt” meme here.

If you could make an itemized list of his annoying quirks, Jamil could easily write a dissertation on your shortcomings as a roommate while including a detailed appendix of tables and anecdotes.

But that was more effort than it was worth, he’d have to settle for the worst offenders:

You work in “organized chaos”

To Jamil, that is a made-up term.

If you really knew where everything was, then why did it take you at least ten minutes to dig through your belongings for your lecture notes?

Sure, he can respect your diligence towards all of your classes.

He already has his hands full with attending to Kalim, he wasn’t going to clean up another person’s mess.

But those first few weeks of the semester, goddamn.

Origami birds from practical magic nestling in a corner of the cabinet, potionology ingredients and alchemy reagents stored along with the snacks, and your many, many failures at decoding ancient texts just sitting there, undisposed.

He won’t admit it aloud, but old habits die hard. If you confront him about it, he’s giving you the offhanded excuse that he just did it with the rest of his usual cleaning.

(It was an extra two hours of getting your workspace in order, but hey! Now you don't have to trip over your things.)

Isn’t it just easier to function when your things are easy to locate? (Now stop glaring at him and tell him that he’s right 🔫🔫)

*Even though you’d try your best at keeping your things from getting mixed up with his belongings, there were still some…accidents…

“Jamil, have you seen my pollinator mimic? “You brought another one back to the dorm?” “I-It wasn’t finished! I still wanted to make some adjustments and the two hours we were given wasn’t enough and—” “What does it look like?” “It’s supposed to be, um, a ladybug about this big?” Slightly larger than your hand, oh. Jamil knows where it went. He saw its antennas peeking out from underneath your bed, mistook it for a roach, and burnt it to a crisp. “Aah, never mind, I’ll just remake it.” You give a dismissive wave and open up your textbook. “Sorry for bothering you.”

A part of him felt guilty at keeping that hidden from you.

But that went quickly away when the damn thing landed atop Jamil’s head.

You think out loud

Sometimes, Jamil wonders if you forget that you aren’t the sole occupant of the dorm.

You do know that he can hear every little curse and complaint you utter towards your coursework and professors, right?

(How envious, having the freedom to say such things.)

No, what especially annoys him are the times when you’re intent on being heard.

If you’re having back pain, then don’t fall asleep at your desk.

If you’re tired, then set some alarms and rest in bed. (No, stfu about waking up earlier, do not sleep on the floor! It’s d i r t y.)

There’s no forcing productivity. If nothing’s processing, then let yourself rest.

(And every time he’d make an attempt at helping you, you would give him a flat, distrusting look. Why were you suddenly treating him like an Octavinelle student?!)

When Jamil said that he wanted a roommate who had their priorities in order, he didn’t ask for the additional nighttime podcast.

“No, that doesn’t sound right, I must’ve messed up somewhere…” “Oh, so this catalyst causes this reaction, and this catalyst-with-a-similar-fucking-name causes a different reaction! Ughhh, I can’t memorize all of this in a night.” “This professor wants a full literature review done before Friday, does he think we’re fucking scholars?!” “If I flunk this, I could just make up the grade with the final exam, right? … Yeah right, that’s a stupid plan.” “...Why do I get the feeling that this guy didn’t do his part… Ugh, he should present this all on his own then.”

(Sure you were saying all that, but the steady hold on your pen, careful control of your magic, and intense focus on your schoolwork said otherwise.)

The rare moments that you pass by each other on the main campus, he’d see you animatedly conversing with the same professor you were cursing out or nose-deep in the nth remake of whatever homework you were close to crumpling up.

And every single time, you’d manage a polite smile and wave.

He has no trouble returning the short greeting, but the sight of you sent a flare of irritation through him.

Oh, that earnest, hardworking spirit of yours, he hates it very much.

You monopolize the bathroom

Well, Jamil thought that you were. Camping out in there, keeping the place all for yourself.

Until you step out—face blotchy, red-rimmed eyes, phone clutched in a damp hand—Jamil reflexively backs away to let you pass. Keeps silent.

It isn’t until after you retreat to the bed area that he speaks up.

“Are you…” “Oh, y’know, it’s just the usual, my grades and being a disappointment and whatnot.” You play it off with a wet laugh. Jamil then sees the semi-crumpled test papers on your desk, turns one of the pages over, sees the red marks. “Wasn’t this the test you studied all night for?”  “I don’t want to continue talking about it.” “...Alright.” Jamil returns the paper to its undisturbed state.

Trust him, he would like to leave it alone.

But the frustration of not having one’s effort pay off, of pouring one’s self so deeply into one’s work and having nothing to show for it…

Jamil knows that all too well. And to know that you struggled with something similar, he can empathize.

(He’s not at all used to being a hapless bystander, passively watching this lousy attempt at feigning to be a good student.)

Despite what you say, he’s not completely heartless. But don’t give him that benevolence shit either.

The next time that you pull an all-nighter, maybe he’ll leave out a portion of his migraine medication before he goes to morning training.

The next time that he tutors Kalim, he’ll offhandedly invite you along and maybe assist you with the parts you’re struggling with.

If you were going to be something, then at least be some kind of burden. Jamil has handled plenty of those in his life.

Call him a creature of habit, but there’s an ease that comes with your routine as roommates.

“I think Kalim brought over too much again.” “The Asim family doesn’t skimp out on their gifts.” Jamil sighs. “But it’ll be fine. I can put away the leftovers.” “Dude, these aren’t just snacks anymore, this is a meal for like ten people. Let me help with some of it—” “Looking for an excuse to get out of studying, aren’t you?” “Shut up, man!”

Sure, you had your own problems, but at least a part of him knows that you don’t have to be coddled.

You were stubborn about returning the favor, he doesn’t hate that.

A/N: i wholeheartedly believe that jamil was born a virgo because he'd be too powerful if he were chill. like imagine if he were all three: talented, pretty, and relaxed. idk it's too much for my piddly insect brain to handle. NE ways, thank you once again @jessamine-rose for being a wonderful betareader! your input is Super Helpful in fighting my second-guessing. I'd also like to thank @/viperwhispered again for making the post that largely inspired this 🥰🥰i like seeing ur takes on jamil's chara tagging a bunch of my fellow jamil simps hi it's me again, back back back again: @mochimiyaas @kaechannn @anxiously-sidequesting @merotwst @twstgo

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: You’re finally ready to give this part of yourself to Yunho, and he may be the best boyfriend in the world. Pairing: Yunho x fem!reader Tropes: established relationship au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, insecurity Smut Warnings: fingering (f receive), praise kink Word Count: 614 Note: for the Tarot Card Drabble Event Requested by: @anyamaris

Five of Pentacles ➾ learning as you do, working it out

“Are you absolutely sure you’re ready?” Yunho asks gently.

“I’m sure.” you sigh, a smile resting on your lips.

You’ve been making out with him for a while now. You felt a rush go through you, and you just knew you were finally ready to take the next step with him. It’s not that you’re a virgin; that’s not the case. It’s simply that you and Yunho had agreed to take things slow and not rush into anything with each other. Now felt so right to take the next step, though, right here in the comfort of his apartment.

“Are you one hundred percent sure, my love? We don’t have to do if you aren’t ready.” he searches your eyes for any signs of doubt.

“I”m one hundred percent sure, Yunho.” you chuckle, starting to trail kisses down his throat.

His large hands grip your hips as if to ground himself.

“You’re not just saying it ‘cause you know how bad I want you, right?” he tries to focus on anything but the kisses you’re peppering across his skin.

“Yunho, if you don’t get me in your bed in the next five seconds, we’ll have an issue.” you half tease.

“Let’s get you taken care of then, beautiful.”

Without a second wasted, Yunho carries you to the bedroom. Placing you down gently in the center of the bed as if you were made of the most delicate material. He slowly crawls up between your legs, caging you below him. Despite him having the upper hand, by technicality, you felt nothing but safe right here with him.

You languidly kiss for a while longer. Your fingers card through the hair at the back of his neck. Yunho gently grinds down against you, which only makes both of you more ready to take this step. One of Yunho’s hands slide down your side and he lets a finger sit just below the waistband of your sweatpants. He pulls awau from the kiss to again gauge where you’re at with everything. When you nod and whisper a quiet confirmation he slides his hand fully inside your sweats and panties. Feeling his long fingers in contact with your sopping core makes you let out a small sound of pleasure.

“You sound so pretty, my darling. So fucking pretty. Don’t you ever hide those from me, okay?” “O-oh,” you moan, “Of course, Yun.”

He continuously praises you as he pumps his long fingers in and out of your hole. You know he wants to be wrapped up inside you already, but he’s putting your pleasure before his own. It makes you add another thing to the long list of reasons you love him. You let out a neverending string of noises of pleasure. You feel an orgasm slowly bubbling to the surface, and you lean up, barely brushing your lips against Yunho’s.

“Cum whenever you like, beautiful. I’ll take care of you.”

“Promise you’ll fuck me after?” you gasp, knowing your orgasm was mere moments away.

“I’ll do whatever you wish for me to do. Your safety and comfort are my top priorities, angel. We’ll learn as we go.” he reassures you.

He peppers small open-mouthed kisses along your throat and still-clothed clavicle. That was enough to have you tumbling over the edge of your orgasm. Yunho carries you through it gently, just as promised. You know your panties are uselessly wet at this point, and when you let out a small whine after coming back to reality. Yunho somehow miraculously knows what you’re requesting.

“How about we move on then? You ready to feel me properly now?”

“Yunho, I’ve never been so ready for something before.”

COPYRIGHT FLOWERBOYKUN 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet​ @kwritersworld​ @k-vanity​

Tag List: @jaehunnyy​ @sanjoongie​ @ericssmile​

[menlove]

as a John Understander, what would u think was john's breaking point in regards to "everyone (especially paul) hates me, i'll break this group before they do it, it's over, i'm moving countries & changing everything" etc etc? not sure if that makes sense lol 😭

I'm not sure if there was a Specific breaking point but honestly probably all of it, but esp him feeling increasingly paranoid and also the other's treating yoko poorly. like we all know there were Problems and Issues around yoko but from a purely bpd standpoint it had to feel Worse bc this is the person he's like. majorly obsessed with. to hate her is to hate him. not to even scratch the surface of the financial issues, but that's more where the paranoia comes in. honestly I'd say w at least 99% certainty he was splitting on paul (& others but Mainly paul bc paul Had filled that niche where yoko now lived) so everything he did was going to piss him the fuck off and just add to his growing list of reasons to get out of dodge

and the band was pretty well on the way to falling apart. I can't remember the exact quote or what interview it was from but ik he talked in some interview about the fact that him and klein knew things were going to break down but no one was saying anything and klein didn't want him to say anything but he did. again from the bpd standpoint I wouldn't even say if he really put much thought into suddenly and impulsively declaring that he wanted a divorce. sometimes you just feel like you're going insane and you HAVE to say/do something drastic to get anyone to pay attention or listen to what you're feeling. so feeling cornered, trapped, paranoid as hell from heroin, I think he probably just went "fuck it I'm going to be the first one to say it and see what happens and if it blows up in my face whatever!" and then when he was actually taken seriously he didn't know what to do w that

and as for moving countries and changing everything well..... impulsivity will get you. I imagine he felt like he'd blown up all his relationships already and the only way forward was to just start from scratch w the only person he needed (yoko). I'd bet his life just felt like such a neverending goddamn circus of a shitshow that He Was Responsible For that escaping to nyc and putting everything into yoko and activism and later fatherhood was the reinvention he needed so he didn't have to face this old life that he no longer could or would be a part of. and idk abt him but what's also very common w bpd is an extreme lack of empathy/a lot of apathy when these situations come up. so while I'm sure Objectively he felt a lot abt the situation, I'd guess he just shut down any positive feeling he had about paul or the beatles and Stopped Caring. for a while, at least.

[yakultii]

anyone else’s postman getting so tired of life bc honestly mine must be - he doesn’t even attempt to deliver things anymore he just sends a message saying failed delivery pick up from post office instead while im literally home waiting for the delivery (I have considered chasing him down the street)… to be fair I’d do it too in this rain but damn now I have to add another errand to my neverending list

[vini-monteiro]

★★☆☆☆

When director Nelson Shin took the reins of "The Transformers: The Movie," his mission was clear: to create an animated film so epic that kids would beg their parents for all the new Transformers toys.

In the movie, our heroic Autobots, led by the eternally optimistic Optimus Prime, are facing off against the villainous Decepticons, commanded by the megalomaniac Megatron. But then, to make things worse, an even more sinister villain appears: Unicron, a giant planet that devours other planets and wants to turn everyone into a zombie robot. To try to save the universe, the Autobots unite and face Unicron in an epic battle.

In 1986, the kids who watched "The Transformers: The Movie" for the first time experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. It was amazing to see those giant robots on the big screen, but at the same time, it was a cold shower to learn that Hasbro was doing a clean sweep of the characters to sell more new toys. Like, "goodbye, my robot friends, you were murdered in the name of profit!" 

Ask any 80s kid what movie traumatized them the most, and I guarantee you "The NeverEnding Story" or "The Transformers: The Movie" will be on the list. Just imagine seeing Optimus Prime get dragged upwards right at the beginning of the movie? Nobody expected that! The scene is actually pretty, but killing the protagonist like that was a master move, one we'll never forget. Despite the shock and trauma, it helped boost the franchise.

The best part of this movie is the animation. If you haven't seen the remastered 4K version yet, you're missing out, it's like giving a classic car a makeover. It's like reliving the adventure of the toys for the first time, the graphics and colors are much prettier.

"The Transformers: The Movie" was an animation show for its time, mixing traditional animation with a touch of anime. Unfortunately, it was difficult for the animators to handle so much transformation, in some parts and scenes the movie is simpler, I don't think it compromises the overall animation, I still think the movie has a good quality. 

The remastered animation is also a color explosion! The good guys, the Autobots, are like a walking rainbow, all colorful and happy. The Decepticons, the space bad boys, wear black even in the heat. This war between giant robots got more colorful and brought everything to life.

"Transformers: The Movie" was the first time the franchise decided, besides the explosions, to add a more serious drama. Screenwriter Ron Friedman and his team of writers, not only invented a new story about the Transformers, but also made us think about life, death, and even what it means to be a robot. It was like watching an action movie with a pinch of philosophy, but the final result of this effort ended up being in vain.

We know that seeing our favorite characters being torn apart is not cool, but did the story really make us feel the pain of loss? The new characters are also cool, but the audience barely had time to get used to them before they were already in the middle of the mess. To top it off, the story of Unicron and the Matrix is like a puzzle with missing pieces. 

In the midst of giant robots that transform into cars, "The Transformers: The Movie" tries to make us cry with the story of a father and son. Daniel Witwicky, Bumblebee's human friend, and his father, Spike, try to add a bit of emotion to the plot. There are so many explosions and giant robots that their story feels like a margarine commercial during a UFC break.

The soundtrack of this animation is like a birthday present for any 80s heavy metal fan. The Transformers crew knows how to make a perfect marriage of heavy guitar and giant robots. However, some people might find it a bit cheesy or even outdated. Vince DiCola, responsible for the soundtrack, made the Unicron theme so sinister that even Ivan Drago from Rocky IV would be envious.

Hearing Peter Cullen's raspy voice as Optimus Prime is like getting a robotic bear hug. The presence of Orson Welles, legendary actor of "Citizen Kane", adds a touch of grandeur to the production. Welles' participation in this project, one of the last of his career before his death, is like "what on earth must have been going through his head to agree to participate in this animation?" 

In the movie, there's a lot of beating, explosions, and shooting. It's the perfect recipe for action movie fans. But, I confess, the story sometimes gets lost in the middle of so much explosion. It's like trying to follow a conversation during a rock concert: you don't always understand everything they're saying.

"Transformers: The Movie" seems like an animated Hasbro catalog. The battle between giant robots is so frenetic that you almost forget that the characters have no soul. Impeccable animation, but a shallow story. If you're a fan of the series, you'll definitely love it. For everyone else, it's just another 84 minute long toy commercial.

This text is translated with artificial intelligence, for better understanding, check the original language of the text in Portuguese.

[my-castles-crumbling]

It's emotions anon...

I know it's been a while, but I was doing better after sending that first ask.

It's just that, recently, I've been feeling a lot more dysphoric, and I hate it. I hate it so much.

I hate everything about myself at the moment, and I just don't want to talk to anyone. I feel like absolute shit and I can't even tell anyone because I don't wanna burden them with my shit.

I also haven't been doing that great in school, and I'm barely a month into the year. I just wanna drop out.

But I can't do online school bc I won't do the work otherwise, and it'll just be a neverending cycle of me needing to do work but not doing it which is how I am currently.

We also recently had a shooting threat, and now I'm just straight up scared to go.

Sometimes, I feel like going to sleep and never waking up. I really just want to lock myself in my room and never come out. Make everyone think I disappeared from the face of the Earth. The only people I really wanna talk to are people I've never met in real life.

I'm sorry for this, I just needed to get it all out.

On the plus side, I just turned 16 and got to see my brother again for the first time in 6-7 years!!

Hi love!

I'm so sorry you're feeling this way. I totally understand, because I've been there. I honestly think you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself. Can we focus on little things and small achievements? List out the things you go done today (even if it's getting out of bed or going to class) and then try to add just one more. Be gentle with yourself. This anxiety and fear is hard and you can't beat yourself up for not turning cartwheels when you feel like shit.

I think it also might be a good idea to see if you can find some professional help. A therapist could be a good person to talk to about some healthy coping mechanisms, you know?

But remember that it's okay to be sad, and it's okay to be proud of yourself for just getting up or just showering. And I'm proud of you.

[kamilion-en-pointe]

Just watched Guardians of The Galaxy Vol. 3 a few days ago. And I mean this with 100% sincerity—I don't think I've ever watched a movie so good it made me want to rewatch it in cinemas, until this one.

Anyway, here are some thoughts that have been spinning around in my head like a microwave lol. And feel free to add your own stuff. I'd genuinely love to read more of other people's takes :)

Uhhh surprise most of this is gonna be about Rocket

Spoilers Below!

The entire opening. I've listened to the acoustic version of Creep at least a billion times since watching it

I love that the stakes start relatively small. They're not going (initially) to save the entire galaxy or anything. They just need to save a member of their family. That's all you need to care

Mantis getting more character development is always really nice to see. She gives me the vibes of a therapist friend, which makes her ending of needing to part from the group to find herself quite satisfying

Nebula. Just Nebula. I love her

I think the movie handled the flashback scenes very well, especially the ones that featured heavy animal cruelty. Choosing not to show any visuals, just audio of a young Rocket screaming in pain. You can feel the horror of the Guardians as they watch the data they gathered

I like the brief scene of baby Rocket pocketing some of the High Evolutionary's tech. Especially once it's revealed he was hiding all the necessary components to recreate a keycard for the cages—something I don't think he would've done if he really had faith the High Evolutionary would let him and his friends free

When the High Evolutionary put a turtle in one of his pods, there was a little kid in the cinema who said, "Ninja turtle!" Which is great 'cause that's also what I was thinking lol

That same kid also really freaked out (/pos) when Peter dropped that f-bomb. It was really cute

I also love that Vocaloid is apparently a staple bit of pop-culture on Counter-Earth? Because that implies either:

A) The High Evolutionary thought it was literally the perfect music genre OR

B) He counted it as one of the many mistakes on his 'Reasons To Explode An Entire Planet I Spent Years Figuring Out A Way To Speed Up Evolution For' list

I'd like to just take a moment to appreciate how great of an actor Chukwudi Iwuji is??? Like, when the High Evolutionary drags Rocket to the pods and hysterically questions how? How could he have known what to do? How could this vermin be more intelligent than his creator? How dare he look down on him?! I was scared shitless

Just... Rocket's scream of anguish once Lylla is dead. After having hugged for the first and last time. Sends shivers up my spine

Floor's repetition of "Rocket, Teefs, Floor go now! Rocket, Teefs, Floor go now!" has been ingrained into my brain for the rest of time (Major shout out to the voice actor, Mikaela Hoover!)

And then the High Evolutionary has the gall to mock Rocket, calling his grief a crying contest. I already hated this bastard but oh boy—!

Which makes Rocket's reaction so cathartic, when he jumps and scratches the High Evolutionary's face off. But his friends are telling him they have to go. They have to go now! Pleading with him as reineforcements arrive until...

They go quiet. And you can't help the dread bubbling inside you. Because we all knew how it was going to end, but we hoped, just maybe, we would be proven wrong

We weren't

Rocket, on the brink of death as Peter screams for him to be alright, seeing his friends in a white void, stacks of cages barely visible behind him. They're flying, they can see the neverending sky! "Can I join you?" he asks.

"Of course. But it's not your time yet."

Me: :')

Rocket seeing a cage of baby animals that look like him, after decades of thinking he was the only one in the universe. Looking at the plaque to see 'Racoon'—that's what he is? That's what he is!

Followed by him immediately scooping them all into his arms. Doesn't matter if they can't fit, or if some of them scramble onto his back. They can't go through what he went through, they just can't!

Rocket seeing the High Evolutionary after all these years of running, being beaten and thrown around, insult after insult flung at him—"How dare you think you are more?! 89P13!"

Before Rocket changes the gravity—one of the things the High Evolutionary boasted only he could control—and declaring, "Name's Rocket. Rocket Racoon."

He uses his name. He's not only found belonging with the baby racoons he just saved, this is also the first time his torturer hears his chosen name from his own mouth. He's saying, "I am not just a string of numbers! I am not just part of a batch of 'failed' experiments! I am my own being!!"

The reveal of the High Evolutionary's actual face was gross in all the best ways. The makeup was just *chef's kiss*

Rocket insisting they have to get the animals out too, even though the initial mission was to just get the children out, and the other Guardians going along with it because they can see how important it is to him makes me smile

Peter fucking Quill going back for the Zune, not for him, but so that he can give it to Rocket!!!

For real, I was actually worried that they would kill him off. The stakes were that convincing

I like that Peter and Gamora don't end back together. It's realistic, and more importantly, it feels like the characters made that decision themselves and not a bunch of writers forcing something between them. And Gamora has grown to care for the group now, even if she'll never return to how she was before

The fact that we can understand Groot because we're part of the family now ❤️❤️❤️

I genuinely don't get why some people thought ending with a dance party was weird/bad? Maybe it's just 'cause I'm a dancer so I associate it a lot with my emotions. But if any movie deserves to go out with a dance party, it's this one. It feels so...relieving, seeing everyone on Knowhere smiling and having fun together

(And, of course, I've also been looping Dog Days Are Over a billion times and smiling stupidly to myself)

And Peter finally returning to Earth, seeing his grandfather, who immediately gets up to hug him? Tears, just like that haha

I also adore both end credits scenes. Adorable

[localowlhousefanatic]

Tag game!

so, i just discovered that the fanfic question id ussualy answer around this time is out of commision, so im making a tag game! for some reason the only thing i can think of is a poem-ish thing (it rhymes, thats the poem part.) for a list, so thats what we're going with! First ill give you an explanation of the question, before providing my own answer! With all of these, feel free to add a link to the story uyou're pulling from

something old

(here, please provide a bit you wrote a bit ago from an older fic taht you like! Is the question referring to an old fic you like, or a bit? you decide!)

my answer:

As she tugged on the cord next to the window, Masha couldn’t help but be reminded of a stage play by the way the warm, orange sunlight hit their mother- like a spotlight turning on at the lifting of the curtain. The angle also didn’t help, Placing Masha in such a position that mom was framed as a silhouette, like they were watching from the wings at the opening moments of a play.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/47992501)

something new

(here, provide your favorite bit from among the three most recent things you've either published or worked on. Why three? Idk, maybe this post works by fairytale logic now)

my answer:

That isn’t to say that there’s no blue around her- there’s plenty, just not the Blue that matters. Theres the Blue streetlights, casting a light that’s almost negligible in the screaming buzz of neon billboards and signs, some of which are blue. The light- so sharp and loud its almost toxic- Cuts through the rain, and bounces off of the layer of water covering the street, and fills the thin mist that’s gathering above the ground, giving the entire street the feeling of being a mix of nightclub and dream. There’s blue everywhere around Red, but it only serves to remind her of the overwhelming need inside her- it’s like handing a cold person a candle, providing just enough warmth to dangle the possibility of comfort in front of them, but not nearly enough to stave off the cold.

Something borrowed,

(sharing time! share a bit from, or a fic, you enjoy from someone else. please credit your sources though)

my answer:

This is just a really good fic. Its also by a really good writer, who deserves all the love

Something Blue

If youve been wondering why ive coloured the headers up until this point, heres your answer: the blue bit.

(please either share a bit/fic you wroite taht made you, teh author , sad. And for those of us who dont do taht often, just provide something you think of with something blue. This might be getting a bit weird now, sorry.)

whoops, ive used my blue bits already at the top. Well, i did just remeber teh one other time i focussed on the colour blue. behold,

 The girl that was looking back at them was dressed impeccably, Masha noted. She was wearing a long royal blue trenchcoat, the type you would expect on a noir detective. Gods, I want that coat. They also noted the fact that it was a crumpled mess. A coat shouldn’t be so messy and yet look so good on someone, they thought with a pang of jealousy. The coat wasn’t the only thing that was a mess though. The girl wearing it looked like she hadn’t slept in a while, indicated by light bags under her eyes that she obviously hadn’t tried to conceal.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/47040430/chapters/118509421)

im sorry for the slight mess that was this post, i hope you people can have fun with it. I think that im supposed to give you numbers here or something, but i dont know that many writers here, so ill just tell you to tag who you want

following my own advice: @topheecoffee @queereldritch @oh-cramity-its-amity @sky-neverending @bonpocalypse @usernamemybeloathed

and for a riskier tag, @captainimprobable

[white-cat-of-doom]

You've probably answered this before, but who are your fave actors? Either in general or by character?

Hello Anon. Thank you for the question!

Apologies for going on long here in answering, as I feel I need to add an explanation of how I consider performers to be my favourite before I actually say who they are :).

I have answered something like this before many years ago (and with way too many words capitalized), and it is interesting to think about this once more, as some things have largely changed. I also answered which characters are my favourite later on that same year (notwithstanding that I do love other characters not mentioned), which has not changed. That answer also came with a list of great performers I enjoyed in the roles as well.

To be honest, I used to be much more attached to certain performers and productions because I was still new-ish to the fandom and musical at large, and there was not a whole lot going on production wise at the time. Those lists I linked are ones made up of performers that I thought were great in their roles and maybe added a bit to personalize them, and also perhaps of note, the first was made before I started my neverending quest to clean up the fandom wiki.

After many years in the fandom, with productions having opened and closed, I have become more appreciative of past performers and also dropped most of my thoughts that only one performer could portray a certain character.

Furthermore, I have probably become more specific in the way I analyze how performers protray their roles and the types of things I look for. The way a performer looks as a certain character plays into a bit of this as well, but I always felt that was a superficial way of considering things. If they look how I can imagine a character would look ideally in my mind, but they do not give off the mannerisms and personality of the actual character themselves, it does not solidify them as a definitive performer for that role, at least for me. In addition, when I see or read a performer mention how much the show means to them, and that it was their dream to play a certain character, it makes me appreciate them a whole lot more. Hundreds of performers for any character have come and gone over the last 43 years and counting, and I wish I could view how they played their characters!

There are many fantastic performers, in addition to a multitude of Swings that made the productions possible, that I really should mention, but we would be here all day, so I focused instead on my favourite characters, and one specific character you can probably guess if you have followed here at any point.

I am still enamoured with Naoimh Morgan, and she will probably always be my favourite performer in the show. Her Rumpleteazer in the 2019 movie really altered my brain chemistry upon first seeing the musical in any capacity in theatres, and I have never really been the same, have I? No. Learning more about her time in the International Tour and her as a person made me appreciate her even more, and she is one of the few very few instances where I ever wondered more about a performer themselves in a personal way rather than them only doing a job and having fun onstage. I am always holding out the smallest of hope that she returns to the show, but I do not believe that will happen, especially as the castings worldwide seem to be skewing very much towards new performers right out of school for most roles.

Naoimh occupies this interesting niche as my favourite Rumpleteazer performer, as I adore the way she protrayed the character as mature in the movie, working with the original jazz version of the song, but then the other performers and the character themselves (at least now) are not really operating in the same way. I find the (modern) Rumpleteazer role fun and all, but no performers have really ever made me appreciate the character as Naoimh did, and she also did a fantastic job as stage Rumpleteazer, in addition.

For the sake of completion, however, I would consider Dominque Hamilton as probably my favourite Rumpleteazer performer outside of Naoimh, and have to mention Katie Hutton as well, as she loved being in the musical.

For Jellylorum, I will always have a soft spot for both Susan Jane Tanner and Bonnie Simmons, mentioning them the first time I answered this question, and them both essentially being the gateway to the character for most people. However, Jackey Good has won me over and she is not going anywhere soon as my favourite, it seems. The way she conducts herself and acts as Jellylorum is so spot on, and it helps that she also looks just like her in my mind. This video (one that I have watched many times) captures that, along with one from a newer performance. (I cannot believe I am saying this, given my dislike of the podcast, but) If you have a chance to listen to The Wrong Cat Died episode with Jackey, you will understand even better where I am coming from, as she goes into details of how she appreciates the character and how it really fits the way she is as a person. I was so happy to see her return for Cast 14 of the Oasis of the Seas after her time years before in Cast 8 (with the addition of being Griddlebone), and do hope that she returns for another Cast in the future. Please, let me see her live, Everlasting Cat.

Admittedly, any Jellylorum performer has my heart, but I will mention that I enjoyed Aimee Hodnett, Francesca Benton-Stace, and Alice Batt during her respective times in the show, and cannot help but love Charlotte Scott for some reason (it is the Swing -> Jemima -> (almost a decade later) Jellylorum -> finishing off as Jellylorum and Griddlebone timeline), even if I have not come across a performance with her that I can see or hear (at least I have listened to). And I absolutely adore and love Miki Okudaira, enough to make a post specially about her. She is my favourite performer from Japan, a place that is unfortunately quite restricted for content as compared with the other worldwide productions, as no backstage or audience shot photos are allowed.

For Victoria, while I do still love Phyllida Crowley-Smith and Hannah Kenna Thomas, I think Issy Moore has become my favourite. I knew deep down from the first time she announced joining the musical that she was going to be special, and she again showed her appreciation with the most recent announcement. To me, Issy is exactly what I would imagine Victoria looks like (although Phylldia is pretty close too), and her love for the character and show shined through to me during her initial time in it. She loves being Victoria! I cannot wait to see her back, and it is going to be interesting to see her in the new Victoria design costume.

If you wanted more Victoria performers that are magnificent and who I love seeing, the last five Casts of the Oasis of the Seas have them: Gina Gagliano, Charlotte Lovell, Ebony Jayne Kitts, and Sarah-Ann Mclaren, which Issy above was also a part of. Every Oasis Cast had a great Victoria, as I have to also mention Sophia McAvoy (who would also be a part of the UK/International Tour for a few years). It is hard to go wrong with past Victoria performers and Anique Bosch is another good one. Truly endless White Cats :).

Right now, I do not think that I have one favourite Gumbie Cat. Ellie Nunan was my favourite for quite some time, as mentioned in my other posts, and still is one of my top choices, as she had a certain chaotic energy that I enjoyed. Namiko Hanada and Miki Kasahara are two performers from Japan that are always fun to see across the different stops over the last near decade. Otherwise, I always enjoyed Ceili O'Connor, and thought Taylor Bryant and Michelle E. Carter were great recent Jennyanydots performers.

Much like Jennyanydots above, I do not have one Jemima/Sillabub performer that I would say is my one favourite. There have been many great ones in the recent years, however, but not one that especially sticks out. Top of mind is seemingly Veerle Casteleyn, as I mentioned in the previous posts, as she portrayed the character well in the 1998 film and on stage throughout her CATS career. I will also mention Amy Everett and Caroline Eby as they were two that I really enjoyed seeing in the last few years, both of whom could be considered my favourite. Caroline really added silliness to her Sillabub role and I loved that!

I also do not have one favourite Demeter performer currently. As mentioned in the other posts, Ella Nonini was a great one, and so were Giulia Vazzoler or Hannah Lancaster. Two recent performers that were great would be Devon-Jade Clark and Nora DeGreen. My appreciation for Demeter as a whole has diminished somewhat over the years, although she is one of the characters I am very particular about, making it harder for a performer to impress me.

Outside of the list of my favourite characters, and the ones I had mentioned before, and to give a quick list: Brittany Tooms Peel was a really fun Tantomile and Rumpleteazer, Anina Pletscher was a fantastic Swing Electra, Kayleigh Thadani was a very fun Swing "Electra" (although not officially casted as the character), Lucy Rice was a great Bombalurina and Swing, Robert Wilkes was always fun to see as Skimbleshanks and Asparagus, and John Anker Bow always did a phenomenal job in the Asparagus/Bustopher Jones/Rumpus Cat track.

There are many more performers to mention, even more that will be in consideration as the years move forward and new productions start up, and there are so many performers that anyone can appreciate throughout the last four decades and counting. You never need to look very far to see someone you will really like.