#also i find the funeral thing funny how they were like NO ONE APPRECIATED HIM but like. thats just how austrian funerals were

[skitskatdacat63]

weird q have you ever watched amadeus the film and/or the play? if so your thoughts?

YES I did watch Amadeus! Pretty soon after I got back from Vienna actually. Well actually that was one of the films our professor told us we should watch before our trip haha.

I mostly liked it! I think I'm just way too much a stickler about language and accents though. Like I can appreciate the story and the actors and everything, but still can't help but be like "wow I wish this was in German," if that makes sense 😭(I couldn't stand Mozart's American accent LOL) But aahhh it was cool to see an actual visual representation of what Vienna was like at that time and what the Emperor's life was like, and or course what Mozart's life was like. I really liked seeing Joseph II! But did you know that it actually wasn't filmed in Vienna? It was filmed in Prague and another Czech city. So I will say that bugged me a bit lmfao, bcs im like hmmm this isn't Vienna.... But otherwise I thought it was great! I just wanted to see more of Joseph II tho sjkflv

(^ speaking of Joseph II. I asked my professor(known Habsburg fanboy) whom his favorite Habsburg is, and he said Joseph II, and internally I was like "Yeah of course you do" LMFAO. I truly was afraid he was gonna pull out some guy I didn't know but now I probably know more specifics than he does)

[welcometoteyvat]

random but have you thought abt gaming and hutao?

funny story anon, when I was writing ga-ming's fake voicelines and needed to give him more characters to talk about, I was considering adding a hu tao voiceline, but decided against it because I didn't really see a reason for them to meet (besides via friends (new liyue 6ang addition?!?!?!)). lowkey I now feel validated bc they don't have any in-game voicelines abt each other, but this would be a very boring ask if it just stopped here lol.

there's something to be said about gaming and hu tao's family baggage vs their cheerful external demeanor vs both doing a job that isn't super well received (?) by people in liyue harbor. but hu tao leans into her eccentricities a lot more while gaming is on the 'likeable by everyone' grind LOL also the dad similarities might increase if we ever get 76th funeral parlor director lore: hu tao's parents have been conspicuously missing forever, where did genshin put them? an interesting possibility would be if the 76th somehow split off from the family trade and subsequently got wiped from the family tree bc of ideological diffs (like ht's beef with baizhu), which could increase gaming and hu tao's possible shared father(?) troubles. but besides that I feel like there's not too much similarity there. They're both enthusiastic outward facing individuals, but idk if they'd have an interesting dynamic if they met.*

Although, you know that voiceline where hu tao does a magic trick and makes a butterfly of fire? and also how she plays with those lion statues outside the ministry of civil affairs? those two things would be straight up gamings alley ngl like he'd be so down for that kind of whimsy and playfulness. also hu tao would be a good candidate for a 2nd lion dance partner. she'd be completely down for doing odd jobs and this is absolutely a fun odd job, at least until she gets tired of it or has to focus on official business lol. idt she's the type to work hard at it; she's just there to try it out because it looked cool but gaming appreciates the enthusiasm regardless. would request to be the lions head in order to lunge at people and also pick greens. also there's potential for a gaming yun jin xingqiu hu tao tea appreciation club

oh also i think smth underrated abt hu tao is how shes like cheery and eccentric but takes her job seriously and has unidentifiable but occasionally present baggage .... which i already mentioned before is similar to how 75% of gm's voicelines are cheery, and then the other 25% is emotional conflict. idk! maybe under the right conditions, they could open up to each other and sympathize

*addendum: imo, hu tao has mostly moved on from her grief over her grandfather's death, and she doesn't have any regrets about the state of their relationship when he passed away, since they were pretty close and never on bad terms. My personal hc is that she still has some things she wished she said, ie. sincere thoughts and feelings from the heart that she usually avoids talking about (she would say "nice speech, but that kind of killed the mood" if someone made one of those anime protag power of friendship monologues). in my head, her grandpa taught her everything about death and funeral customs, played with her/listened to her poetry, pretended to go along w her pranks, and was in general a very loving person, but I don't think hu tao ever explicitly told him "I love you" before he died. she canonically tried to find him right after he passed away but knew that he wouldn't be there. by now i think she's made peace with his death, but still has a certain wistfulness about things she didn't think of saying. and then on the flip side, if ga-ming could see his mom again, he'd probably spend a whole day talking to her i think. he's also not someone to get drunk on grief or regrets, but i don't think he's quite gotten over it completely, and his rocky relationship with his father (before lantern rite 2024) makes this more emotional idk. not sure where I'm going with this, but maybe hu tao would be able to talk him through a bit of this messiness and urge him to simply continue with his own life. or show him that his mother was not at the border, perhaps never lingered there, because she didnt think there was any unfinished business with him or his father that she needed to worry about. the annoying thing about death is that even if the dead person was free of regrets, those who are still living will still miss them. maybe both gaming and hu tao would be able to understand that and/or sympathize with it. or maybe they'd just be silly together who knows, up to you

edit: it'd also be so funny to have gaming call hu tao "boss hu" 胡老板～～～～～～～

[adultswim2021]

China, IL: “The Funeral” | May 26, 2008 - 12:45AM | S00E01

This one feels daunting to me, and it’s not just because I cried while watching this. It’s more because I don’t know exactly how to adequately praise this one. I will say, I was excited to revisit this one, and it fuckin’ holds up. In fact, I was surprised by how much of this I remembered, because it’s been quite a while since I’ve revisited it. 

Brad Neely was maybe the best thing about Super Deluxe, excluding Tim & Eric Nite Live. I honestly feel remiss not including his Super Deluxe work somehow in a more chronologicalized way.

It wouldn’t be until much later until this became an actual weekly series. When it became a weekly series, it underwent a cosmetic overhaul, with actual animation instead of a rapid succession of stills which this special and Neely’s Super Deluxe shorts used. I always wished they’d stuck with this more minimalistic format; though I may be alone in that. I remember some people saw this show as a harbinger of bad things to come, animation-wise. People who couldn’t hang with Tom Goes to the Mayor for it’s limited-animation probably REALLY hated this.

The plot of this episode: Baby Cakes finds a diary belonging to a woman. She was a professor at his college, where his father works, as well as the professor brothers Steve and Frank. She dated Frank, and secretly despised him. She hated a lot of stuff about her life, and spilled her truth on the pages of her secret book.

Baby Cakes finds out that he’s dead, and in fact the diary was taken from just outside the site of her fatal car crash. Baby Cakes begins to cope with the fact that he’s in love with a dead woman, and also harbors the secret knowledge that Frank, who is despondent, but also oblivious to the fact that she hated him. Eventually Baby Cakes, in an act of posthumous love, dramatically reveals the truth at the woman’s wake. Frank runs naked towards the graveyard where she’s buried his friends all come to his rescue. 

I know this doesn’t all exactly sound like a hilarious romp. But Neely has a way with words and funny drawings that somehow make the material hilarious. Nearly every turn-of-phrase in this is meticulously written to be funny, and there are many expressionistic/imaginative tangents from these characters to keep it lively and interesting. There are subtle, blink-and-you’ll-miss-them sight gags. The imagery has great comic and dramatic timing. There’s references to the previous shorts thrown in there for those of us who’ve been along for the ride. It manages to be deep, soulful, hilarious, beautiful, and unpretentious.

It’s frankly incredible that I never got fully obsessed with the original shorts. I think that’s because I didn’t really like watching these on the Super Deluxe website. Sad! As a comedic influence, I underrate Neely drastically. There are all kinds of moments in this where I thought to myself “oh, I try to write shit like this all the time”. It’s sad to say that my barrier for appreciating him fully was a technical one. If I were able to buy these shorts on DVD and watch them in order on my television set, I probably would’ve repeated them into the ground. But. 

The shot of the three kids on bikes, sorta apathetically watching the funeral party bury the teacher. It’s a small detail and they show it for like, a second. This bit might be the single strongest memory I have of this show. It’s just so great. Sorta sums up what makes this great, at least in my mind.

Anyway: This originally began airing on Super Deluxe in four parts, with a few extra title cards. It flows great as one long thing, though. It seems like it’s supposed to be one long thing, in my opinion. I watched both versions, curious to see if there was a lack of censorship in the one scene where Frank freaks out and starts cussin’ up the wake of his lady love. The version I saw was still censored. It’s on Brad Neely’s Youtube channel. The thing is, these probably wound up on Adult Swim’s site as well in this format, so maybe the shorts got bleeped too, and and maybe that’s what survives. Not sure.

Hey! GUESS WHAT? I have a wonderful surprise for you.

What follows is my attempt to piece together a complete listing of Brad Neely videos that were ever uploaded to Super Deluxe, along with upload dates and times. I’ve also included the descriptions from Super Deluxe. Where available, there are YouTube links. Shortly after this special, Super Deluxe was absorbed into Adult Swim’s website, where they offered a fraction of the Super Deluxe library with additional censorship to meet Adult Swim’s standards and practices.

NOTE: The running times listed are as they appeared on the Super Deluxe listing. I included them on the off chance that they would be required to help identify a particular video that may or may not have been retitled. For the most part it was unnecessary, but I don’t feel like deleting them. A few of the videos had a 0:00 running time attached, which is why some of them are not noted. I assume that was a glitch, because none of these videos are 0 seconds long.

ALSO NOTE: first there was a non-Super Deluxe short: Washington. I was trying to pin down a date, but the best I could do was I found an article from December of 2006 that said it played as part of the Spike and Mike Festival of Animation. I went to re-find this article and couldn’t. I guess that’s what I get for haphazardly closing tabs. A Brad Neely interview from the Super Deluxe era reveals that he sold the rights to the short to Spike and Mike along with the characters of Cox & Combes, which lead to him creating the Professor Brothers. I think they were characters from Creased Comics.

January 4, 2007 - 10:41 AM EST Professor Brothers - Bible History #1 Who says the Bible is boring? Our favorite scriptural scribbler, Brad Neely, breathes new life into the Sodom and G-town yarn, complete with sexy angels, ca-ca eating and lots of things that'll send you to straight to Hell.

January 13, 2007 - 11:53 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #1 The soon-to-be-popular myth of Baby Cakes begins here. In his very first diary entry, Baby Cakes introduces us to his wizard father, his role-playing friends and expounds on what it's like to be a man-child still living at home.

January 19, 2007 - 4:40 PM EST Buh Buh (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:49 PM EST Good Person (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:50 PM EST Party List (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:56 PM EST Cat People (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:58 PM EST Doors (00:31) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 29, 2007 - 8:43 AM EST Professor Brothers present History Lesson #1 Who cares who shot JFK? Brad Neely's Professor Brothers know the real story behind the slain prince of Camelot. And they've got a single-bullet sing-along that's guaranteed to silence all the other crackpot conspiracies.

February 5, 2007 - 8:45 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #2 (3:32) We all have to start somewhere, and Baby Cakes is no exception. Our favorite rapping role-player takes a trip down the family line to bond with his pops and grandpops over King Drunk beers, dysfunction and fire.

February 12, 2007 - 8:45 AM EST The Professor Brothers - Late Date (3:32) If you're late for a hot double date, you'd better have a good excuse-like Frank's. It involves explaining to the Professor Brothers' boss, the Dean, why there are two soiled condoms lying in the backseat of his car.

February 20, 2007 - 8:49 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #3 (2:48) A day in the park makes for some strange diary musings in Baby Cakes' world. In his darkest entry yet, Mr. Cakes reflects on death, dream girls and the dreaded Brain Fuckler that he sometimes sees humping people's faces in public.

February 26, 2007 - 8:58 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Baby Cakes Sees a Play (2:18) For hundreds of years, Shakespeare's King Lear has asked, "Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Now we have an answer, courtesy of Brad Neely's beloved man-child creation, Baby Cakes. He's not afraid to get excited. Or to see a play.'

March 5, 2007 - 8:49 AM EST Professor Brothers - Office Hours (2:41) The Professor Brothers both like to make time for their students - they even schedule their office hours together. This helps when Steve wants to get Frank caught up on the new Kenny Winker tune. Haven't heard it yet? Let Steve handle the monotone singing and you just rock out.

March 14, 2007 - 8:49 AM EDT Brad Neely - Bring the Gold (1:00) Blime us! This little bastard might be the first rapper in the age of bling to disavow real paper money. That's because Brad Neely's lil' leprechaun only wants you to bring the gold this St. Patrick's Day.

March 19, 2007 - 8:57 AM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #4 (3:08) A lovelorn Baby Cakes tells his diary, "When I was around her, I felt like a goblin made entirely out of wicked genitals." We ask: who hasn't felt that way about their dad's girlfriend? Especially one named Shirley Moats.

March 26, 2007 - 8:39 AM EDT The Professor Brothers - Substitute (3:11) The Professor Brothers are always there for each other. When Frank needs to skip his US history lecture to run an errand, Steve comes through in the clutch. By offending each and every student with his utterly f*cked up take on America's past.

April 29, 2007 - 11:47 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - The Role Play Tournament (2:34) In a perfect world, this jam would stay perched on top of the Billboard charts longer than "Dark Side Of The Moon." Mic in hand, Baby Cakes spits some mad lyrics about D&D role-playing and his two-word philosophy: be aggressive.

May 6, 2007 - 11:25 PM EDT The Professor Brothers - Future Thoughts (2:33) What's the future going to be like? Find out in this bizarro symposium curated by the Professor Brothers. Features cameos by Kenny Winker, Chimmy Chummy and Baby Cakes!

May 13, 2007 - 11:54 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Lies (2:48) Oh, cruel and deceitful world. You have tried to deceive Baby Cakes for the last time. And he's not going to take it anymore (without singing about it).

May 28, 2007 - 1:05 AM EDT The Professor Brothers - Fliff Night, Part 1 (2:39) Oh, what a night Frank had! Seems the Professor Brother was the life of the science department's big Oppenheimer piñata party. That is, until the fliff throwing came to an abrupt end.

June 3, 2007 - 11:21 PM EDT The Professor Brothers - Fliff Night, Part 2 (2:17) Oh, how the fliff has fallen! In the second half of this Professor Brothers saga, Frank recounts how his big boozy night out turned ugly. And left him single again.

July 1, 2007 - 10:36 PM EDT Brad Neely - American Moments of Maybe (2:14) US history? Boooooring. Brad Neely's alternative takes on America's past? F'n yeah! Heck, he had us at the mere mention of Nat Turner's Punchout.

July 12, 2007 - 1:45 PM EDT Kenny Winkler: Now We Can Make Love (1:41) Coming fresh off the success of his hit single, "Don't Trust Me," Kenny Winker presents the music video for his follow-up banger, "Now We Can Make Love."

July 29, 2007 - 10:38 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #5 (2:06) Everyone needs a little time on their own. To wear wigs. To chronicle paranatural sightings. And to catch a Brain Fuckler.

August 12, 2007 - 10:41 PM The Professor Brothers - Movie Talk, Part 1 (2:36) Great news, students! Frank and Steve are now holding a lecture series on the great films of our time. First flick on the syllabus: "A Secret Place To S#!t."

August 26, 2007 - 10:56 PM The Professor Brothers - Movie Talk, Part 2 (2:36) Seems Frank and Steve's film lecture series is a smash hit. Next up for discussion: “Kitty Karloso,�� “Ad Nauseam,” and an amusing animated feature.

September 27, 2007 - 8:38 AM The Professor Brothers - Jesus F**king Christ (3:38) Take your seat and prepare thyself for the Gospel of Frank. For whatever reason, the Professor Brother has decided to testify to his American history class about that magical carpenter from Nazareth.

October 14, 2007 - 10:07 PM I Am Baby Cakes - Group Therapy (2:38) Holy crap! Baby Cakes is finally back on the mic. And he's got a laundry list of complaints to spit about. So, just close your mouth when you eat sh*t.

November 25, 2007 - 10:10 PM I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #6 (1:40) What is the meaning of life? That's what Baby Cakes wants to know. But mostly, he just wants to know about human sexuality. In this latest diary entry, Baby Cakes explains it all.

December 7, 2007 - 3:45 PM The Professor Brothers - The T.A. Interview (2:48) Let's talk about real sh*t. Frank and Steve need a new teacher's assistant. One who'll be prepared for after the bombs drop.

December 16, 2007 - 12:26 PM I Am Baby Cakes - The In-House Carol (00:48) Ho, ho, ho! Baby Cakes wants to share a very special Christmas carol with you this holiday season. And take his shirt off.

December 20, 2007 - 8:53 AM The Professor Brothers - Prisoner Christmas (2:50) Prepare yourself: This Christmas, the Professor Brothers are breaking out of academia and into a lil' ditty about jailbirds.

January 22, 2008 - 8:46 AM I Am Baby Cakes - The Coffee Line (2:53) Next time a barista asks you "Grande or Venti," do as Baby Cakes does and ask them right back: do you believe in God babies? Or magic spells? Or nothingness?

February 10, 2008 - 10:47 PM A Valentine From Eva (1:42) Everybody loves somebody sometime. Even if they're one of the most universally despised figures in human history.

April 14, 2008 - 8:52 AM Fxck The Humans (1:24) It was bound to happen. All of the woodland elves, satyrs and hobgoblins are finally coming together for a ragtime protest ditty against us Homo sapiens.

May 5, 2008 - 8:55 AM China, IL: Part One - Romeo & Romeo (3:38) In the first installment of this four-part series, Baby Cakes delves into the diary of a fellow resident of China, Illinois. And discovers death.

May 12, 2008 - 9:16 AM China, IL: Part Two - Lives After Death (2:56) In the second installment of this four-part series, Professor Frank sounds off about Helen Keller and learns the fate of his ex.

May 19, 2008 - 8:38 AM China, IL: Part Three - Cruel Duel (3:15) In this third installment of Brad Neely's four-part series, Professor Frank laments the lust, and Baby Cakes sets him straight.

May 26, 2008 - 8:49 AM China, IL: Part Four - The Lovers Reconcile (2:03) In the final installment of Brad Neely's four-part funeral, Baby Cakes and Frank finally come to that final stage of grief.

AFTER THIS: Adult Swim commissioned a 12-part series called America Now. You can click that link to watch all of them. I don’t have dates for those yet, but I’ll poke around at some point for those.

BEFORE ALL OF THIS: Wizard People, Dear Reader, which I think is from 2005.

[starwalker03]

I have thoughts and questions on the au of WMLP where the league actually gets the kids out. Just the Drama of the league saving Kaldur and Conner only to find out Dick and M’Gaan are alive! And worse off! Artemis is fine?? She’s living with a internationally, wanted assassin, but not being abused, tortured or enslaved?? Kids thinks she’s fine.

What would Artemis do if her friends got saved? Would she come home? Drop the father bomb on Roy and Oliver and try to go back to normal? Continue with revenge?

It could be really funny if each time the JL rescued one of their kids, said kid complained and told them they should have saved another one. Save Conner and he goes “you need to get Dick out. Don’t work about me!” Try to save Dick and he complains “why are you bothering with me? You’re just tipping the Light off. You should have gotten M’Gaan out.” Like getting the jump on Deathstroke is simpler then taking on the Light.

I like to imagine they got Slade by hiring him from a shell company identity and jumping him and Renegade on the job with the entire Justice League. Batman pulling out all the stops. I also think Dick would fight with Slade until Slade ordered him to give up or abandoned him to escape. Even with the League calling his name and trying to tell him they’re here to save him. Can’t stop my love of angst and drama. Also idea of Slade ordering Dick to stand down with hand signals and Angry Superman jumping in Slade’s face for it.

These kids (who are no longer kids) are such a mess. Imagine Black Canary getting to unpack all that. She’ll need therapy. Comes out of a therapy session with Dick or M’Gaan right to Oliver like “I need you to convince me not to kill someone.”

kaafgbjkbelcna;kncioewnknvuwencnvioevbweonk man.

no but you're right that would be Conner's reaction. just immediately starts chewing out the nearest leaguer because 'you idiot! you just completely lost the advantage of surprise! the hell do you think you're doing oh my god- nope. no get out of my face i need to go stare at a wall because I'm gonna strangle someone this is ridiculous' and Clark in the background like 'buddy. buddy, can we talk? hey, you know Dick is dead right? you were at his funeral, remember?' which does not end well.

God, Artemis. if her friends were saved. now there's a thought. yeah she probably would come home. assuming this is around five years in and Jade has had the kiddo, I think she'd want to stay with Jade to help her with the baby but also she'd run home and hug Oliver and M'Gaan and Dinah and immediately drag Roy home with her by the ear. Then I think she'd gather the six of them all together and start plotting revenge.

That is definitely a good way to go about grabbing Renegade from Slade. God the idea of Dick desperately fighting to protect Slade while he's telling him to stand down and retreat and the league are yelling at him to stand down because he's safe. fuck man. Dick waking up and as soon as he sees someone in arm's reach socking them across the jaw. he has to be restrained and oddly enough it makes him feel better. the leaguers desperatly trying to get through to him, for him to say he doesn't want to be what he is, so they have grounds to not turn him over to the UN and throw him in Belle Reve. Dick refusing to comply until They get M'Gaan in and she tells him it's okay and they can get through this and maybe, just maybe, if they play this right they don't have to go back to how things were. AH. ANGST. amazing. I appreciate this.

[meganwasbored]

The Dragon Prince Thoughts Season 4 Episode 5

tumblr’s stupid picture limit is driving me crazy so imma start doing these one at a time from now on

-ok and now we’re back to viren in the sparkly place, i’m both excited and scared to find out what all this means

-i want rayla and callum to talk so bad but also there are more important things to worry about right now so im having a hard time enjoying this

-girl he just got possessed by a sparkly demon and y’all just finished a funeral why do YOU think he’s crying

-love how soren hasn’t changed a bit

-just this

-zubeia is all business i love her

-terry discovers slime

-UGH THE CREATURE IS SO UGLY

-viren’s getting a little too close if the Thing spits in his face like a llama that would be hilarious

-WOAH

-I HAD NO IDEA THAT WAS GONNA HAPPEN I SWEAR

-AM I PSYCHIC OR WAS IT JUST THAT PREDICTABLE

-FINALLY SOMEONE APPRECIATES SORENS HUMOR

-when i say the guards are the funniest characters in the show i mean ALL the guards

-terry is me making slime for my playground slime shop in 5th grade

-i don’t understand why people were saying that season 4 isn’t funny i’m loving every one of these jokes maybe i’m just easy to impress

-girl i get why you left and you get why you left but you can’t expect callum to jump for joy at the thought of spending time with you right now

-she needed to hear that

-when did soren become so profound like genuinely that was deep

-girl who are you where was the girl who would risk her life for a dragon

-this conversation makes it sound like callum was conscious while aaravos was making him say those things and that’s terrifying

-it’s still so funny to me that callum’s eleven year old brother is practically his therapist

-YES SOREN

-also rayla is not herself what do you MEAN she didn’t save the dragon what to you MEAN she didn’t go back for soren what do you MEAN she hasn’t even tried to apologize to callum yet???

-willing to bet goofy goo is an actual slime brand somewhere

-rayla there’s no way you actually believe that, you’re better than this, girl, get yourself together

-rayla two years ago would never have let this happen

[mlynar-nearl]

i find it astounding that you have a system for this. i mean, not to say that i pull randomly, i do save for mostly lims only (the only one i lack would be nian herself actually) but i am seldom ever able to save up that much (175?? insane), its mostly about 80 to 100 for each banner. although i will say that i did pull for certain characters i like or found meta like thorns/surtr/gnosis/passenger but it did cost me which means im always fumbling for pulls at the end of each limited banner. ever since w banner where i dumped over 200 pulls for pots (why??) i have been more stringent with my saving but ive never actually saved that much. do you have monthly card or is it just somehow pure f2p things (do you use op? im genuinely curious how do ppl save this much when im always poor) ?

ah and yes gachas are exploitative in nature, but at this point of time, it is what it is tbh, i only choose to whale in games where i genuinely like the game to bits (read: honkai) or i support them in other manners, such as merch (i buy the ak anniv boxes every year !) but yeah gachas are honestly very predatory now its scary ngl. but genshin is cool :) i dont play anymore but i might come back just for kaveh (,,,,i love him so much,,,) and abt mhy games i would rec tears of themis ! if you like pretty men yeah thats my only excuse </3 the men are pretty i am gay but i can sure as hell appreciate the very pretty men hehe. perhaps i will sleep soon it is almost 3.30am so its probably my last ask of the day (?) ty for the consistent replies !

yeah of course! i use monthly card which helps and i buy some stuff around the anniversaries and such which helps, but limiting my possible moves helps Psychologically.

funny you say that ab kaveh because my roommate lured me in to genshin with alhaitham. we call it alhaithamquest because i played the game to get alhaitham, build alhaitham, and put alhaitham in Situations. i am up to the last object on that list. i'm putting him in SO many situations. kaveh and alhaitham fascinate me. i love autistic characters and love/hate relationships and i love how kaveh asks if youre hired actors. i just wish more people in sumeru were dark-skinned...alhaitham should be brown...they couldnt make him a moc because then hed be the optimal character i Think. genshin's plot and such doesnt feel nearly as robust to me as arknights but it is good fun, and i cant begrudge it that. also i think it has some of the funniest plot setups ever because the whole "zhongli helps you plan his own funeral" thing is literally comic gold to me. i'm not taking genshin too seriously admittedly considering the Scatman Diluc Incident but i like it that way. keeps the brain mold away.

hope you sleep well btw<3

[aquiescentraconteur]

My dear sweet girl,

My favorite season is ending. Spring is coming to an end, and with it, so is my blossoming time, I hope. These past few months have been what the scientist Herman Hebbinghaus would call a ‘learning curve’, although the blossoming of a flower metaphor seems adequate, I must say. I’m a romantic at heart and always will be, so accept the euphemism, please. Besides this, Monet is my favorite, that alone is a good enough argument. Monet has also been on my mind a lot these past few days, the different seasons throughout his career and the way they are reflected in his art, are good examples of how what you put out into the world is only a reflection of how you feel. He painted his favorite flower over and over again, water lilies.  He let his brush strokes fly according to the emotions he felt. If you ever wonder, that’s why my wallpapers alternate so much sweetie, I’ve learned from him.

It’s contradictory I know; my favorite painting is “The Nighthawks” by Hopper and not a classical Monet painting. I guess that’s how art works, there’s no need for an explanation or a rationale, you just feel like it’s right. The picture Edward portrayed in that painting means solitude and companionship at the same time; he represented beautifully the antithesis of feeling lonely while surrounded by people. It’s as if the singularity of a person remains even in the middle of a crowd. For me, it contradicts the idea of finding someone who stands with you in the middle of the crowd, the idea of a soulmate. Funny uh? Leave it to me to find the thing I fear the most in my favorite painting…

Another thing I’ve been obsessed about lately is ways of expression, the current term I believe is ‘love languages’ – by the time this letter is read, I’m sure they will call it something else. Without even noticing I have songs I associate with the people of utter importance in my life, I guess music is one of my love languages. It happened without me knowing, it’s unconscious.  Whenever I heard a specific set of songs, certain people would enter my mind. My grandfathers are represented by songs like “Time to Say Goodbye” by Bocelli and “Yesterday” by the Beatles. I have no rationale as to why this happened, but I remember hearing both songs in a loop when I was suffering. In the hours prior to their funerals, all I could hear in my quiet times were Paul McCartney’s voice or Sartori’s composition. I’d like to believe they represent the way I see death, inevitable and painful. This took a twisted turn of events my love, sorry, your mom can rumble.

My mom will forever be represented by ‘Slipping Through My Fingers”, ABBA. It reminds me of being held by her, slipping through her fingers but still holding on. I’ll forever hold on to her. Dad is a tough one, but there’s a song I’ve never been able to forget from the first moment I heard it. I have secretly wanted it to be the soundtrack to our father-daughter dance, If I ever get married, it’s called “I Loved Her First” by Heartland. It explains perfectly what I envision to be the whirlwind of a father giving his daughter away. “Ó gente da minha terra”, is a Portuguese song: it’s ‘fado’. The word ‘fado’ doesn’t have a translation, but if it did it would mean ‘saudade’, the feeling of missing someone, and I would say that’s also a song that reminds me of people. The people I lost until now, reminds me of everyone that has been a part of my life at some place and time.

Outside, the night is falling, the lamp posts are starting to turn on and birds still sing. It’s that part of the day when you can actually hear the meaning of the word ‘calm’ in the air. I’m alone in my room with my thoughts.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone, a lot of silence has been surrounding me, and that’s a good thing, sweetie. You must enjoy your own company in order to appreciate being with others, in order to have something to offer to them. My most recent late nights have been full of my own company, self-discovery and self-knowledge. I’ve learned a few important things about myself I didn’t know or had forgotten. I had forgotten about my ability to enjoy a nice night in, on the couch, with popcorn. I had eliminated from my mind the happiness it brings me to have no plans for the day and just ‘wing it’. I had forgotten how much I love my dad for recognizing my fake I’m okay. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had forgotten about my own ability to live my life. I placed the happiness and the joyful moments as a responsibility for others to have. It’s not. It’s mine.

My love, you’re the one person I’ll always want to protect. You’re the reason I endure most pains lately. I picture our talks, years from now, where I’m the ‘voice of reason’ and you’re ‘figuring everything out’ still. You’re giving me strength on a daily basis. I’m protecting my heart using a shield made out of worry and care for you. I hope to God I get to meet you one day.

 Love,

Mom, June 26th 2023

 Ps.- your grandfather just texted me this: “You know I’m your parent, or your father, whatever you wanna call me. I hope you know you can count on me for anything, okay?”

If I ever do anything right as your mother, he’s the reason.

[sgt-paul]

Help me please, I have curiosity about Paul that didn't go to his father's funeral, and the only thing I could find is that Paul was about to start a new european tour a couple of days later. Is there more information about that? Thanks!

well, jim died on 18th march, his funeral was held on 22nd and paul had his european tour starting only two days after jim's death, with shows on 20th, 21st (both in copenhagen) and 23rd (in berlin). so the tour was probably one thing, but we also have him saying this:

‘I’m very funny when people die. I don’t handle it at all well, because I’m so brought down that I try to bring myself up. So I don’t show grief very well. It actually leads some people to think I don’t care, and I do. I’m not good at it like some people: my brother goes to many funerals, whereas I don’t, which is bad news because really, getting older, I’m just going to have to. And I hate them. My excuse is a conversation I once had with my Dad who said: “I hate funerals.” So when it came to the time of my Dad’s funeral, in my own mind I was doing him the honour of not going. Which was very perverse, and nobody in the family appreciated it. But, knowing he hated funerals, I was determined to be like him. I said to myself when it happened: “I hate funerals too. I won’t be going to this one.” It’s obviously a bad handling of the situation. It’s so much easier just to go. If only for what people think of you.’

for what it’s worth this is what angie (jim’s wife) said about it:

When Jim died, on 18 March 1976, Angie called Paul and reached him at a London hotel where he was holding a press conference, on the eve of the European part of the world tour.

“I called Rose, his housekeeper, first, and she told me where they were. I'm sure it was the Royal Garden Hotel. And Paul's PR person came to the phone and I told him that I must speak to Paul, I can't tell anybody else what I have to talk to him about. He came to the phone and I said, 'I'm sorry, son, it just happened.' He sounded so shocked, he sort of yelled, 'Are you sure?' and I said I was, and I'd call him later. He was absolutely and totally in shock. We'd all expected it, but it's always a shock, you know. We talked later about the funeral and about him coming to Liverpool. They were going to Paris to start the tour and he asked me what I thought. I said, 'If you throw everything away and come up here for the funeral, it would just be a circus. It won't bring your Dad back, and he was always so proud of you and your music, you go on with what it is you're born to do.' So Paul and Linda went off to Paris. It was so much more sensible. Can you imagine what mob scenes there would have been if he'd come? There would have been thousands of fans and hundreds of reporters and all kinds of pushing and shoving and unpleasantness added on to the reason we were all there. So then the papers didn't get their pictures, but instead they got revenge by criticizing them for not going to Jim's funeral. People will always criticize. You can't win, you know?”

i guess it was a combination of all these things. it could be that the reason paul gives in his own explanation was the most significant, and then the tour and the “fame” aspect* served as further grounds for justifying his absence, i’m not sure. *which i must say i don’t particularly understand/like but.. yeah. if this happens in let’s say 1965, i would understand it more? but i don’t think paul’s presence in 76 would have caused a “circus”, as i doubt it jim mac’s death was a national headline (apparently denny laine learned that jim had died only on 26th, when paul was asked at a press conference whether his parents were alive and he said no). it seems like a weird one, considering paul also says that “no one in the family appreciated” this act from him. *shrugs* (i know angie and ruth had fallen out with paul, so i don’t know how much weight this recollection could hold.)

[mazuwii]

Hey! I just found your blog and you’re really talented, I love your head canons, can you write something for these characters: Kenny, Levi, Bert, Reiner, Jean, Armin,, Zeke, , Hange, Pieck, and Miche with a s/o who jokes around a lot and loves to laugh, bonus is she has a weird/morbid sense of humor. If that’s too much it’s cool! I don’t want to be a bother!

Hi, thanks a lot, I really appreciate your support! And don’t worry about sending asks, you aren’t bothering me at all.

Kenny:

Now Kenny has this issue of rarely taking anything seriously but with you it just somehow gets 10x worse.

You guys find yourselves laughing in situations that should not be funny, and don’t get me wrong, it isn’t funny. But you can’t help but laugh.

This one time you were invited to a funeral with Kenny for an old friend. You convinced Kenny to go because well, he’s lost so many friends he’s lost count and it doesn’t bother him anymore. Man has no idea if they’re dead or in prison or in another country.

So I guess in hindsight, convincing Kenny to go was a horrid idea

The second the funeral starts you realised you should have not made eye contact with Kenny. He’s just so fucking annoying, why does his face have to be funny in the worst moments? Especially vice versa. When his gaze meets yours he just gives you a shit eating smirk.

Anyways you both got kicked out.

So in a way, Kenny and you are both a power couple, but in a bad way.

In canon verse you’d be his partner in crime, someone that doesn’t discourage him or worry him when you both lose each other in a fight. He knows you’ll come back, maybe covered in blood but you’ll laugh like the idiot you are.

And that’s the thing he loves most about you.

Levi

Unlike his cursed uncle, he can’t stand it sometimes.

A serious piece of information will be discoursed during dire moments and something in that sentence will somehow always find a way to crack you up. And the side eye Levi shoots you when he sees you’re about to laugh is the kind of glare your mum gives you when you misbehave in public.

Though it is a negative trait in his eyes, he grows a soft spot towards it.

Your darker sense of humour confuses him more than anything though. You lose people that you held dear to you and here you are making jokes like peoples lives weren’t lost- lives that you treasured.

He just can’t see himself coping the way you do. But he’ll go along with it. He’ll never mimic you or discourage you, but he’ll stay silent.

Unless your laughter gets you in trouble- which it usually does. In which, Levi stops you from getting your ass beaten in the midst of your horrendous chortles and begrudgingly tells the other person to just let it go.

You’re lucky he loves you.

Bertholdt

Not one to laugh so much himself, he finds it rather addicting when you make a joke. Without realising, he grows this habit of adopting your sense of humour and it fucks everyone up.

Bertholdt, laughing loudly? Yeah, he’s possessed.

He doesn’t care though, you genuinely taught him to smile more and laugh about the silly embarrassing things in life. And although he’s much taller than you, he looks up to you with pride and a sense of belonging

You’re what he aspires to be and that’s why he admires you so much

Your wicked sense of humour has boosted his confidence to the point that he may still be silent but will snap at anyone with witty comebacks that nobody would have expected.

You’ll proudly watch Bertholdt in a cuss battle with someone and totally hype him up with everyone else because he’s so creative and funny (and also you’re low-key wondering how tf he got into a cuss battle?!)

Afterwards he’ll just laugh and tell you he got it from you. Even Reiner says you’ve rubbed off on Bertholdt to the point his personality is slightly unrecognisable.

Reiner

Another person that you just should never make eye contact with during serious situations- or even yet, be in the same room.

Someone will be crying about their dead fish and you’ll wonder if something is off about the way their voice goes high pitched when they cry and look at Reiner to see if he feels the same. Turns out he was looking at you too, except his cheeks were held in to avoid laughing.

Well that was a fatal mistake, because guess who got shouted at? That’s right, you two idiots

Now, Reiner would usually get up to comfort the person, but since your bastard self got to know him, he’s become a giggle machine.

Let’s just hope and pray you both are never the victim of a black-out or situations where you have to hide from a dangerous person. Because then, you’re really fucked. Especially if other people are hiding with you.

One time, Reiner you and some friends went to a haunted house and you all hid away from the actors in a great but tight place.

Now this would have been foolproof if your friend didn’t fart out of genuine fear. The instant the squeaky noise sounded both you and Reiner began wheezing. If the fart didn’t blow your cover, the dumb laughter did.

They were all pissed at you both afterwards.

Jean

He tries so hard to understand you but he can’t.

You frustrate him so much, he’s stuck to calling you an ‘airhead’ every single time you laugh at something so mundane.

At first he constantly made fun of you for laughing at everything but he slowly grew to love it. You are funny, and you’re annoying but in the loveable way

Anytime he wants to be mad at you he just can’t, you somehow turn every argument into weird parody of a dramatic romance dialog, every play fight switches into salsa dancing with him and it ends with you both laughing your asses off

He’ll never know how you do it but he cherishes those moments and how they stick with him even when you’re not around. While he may be at work, he burst out in giggles at a small memory of you doing something stupid but funny to him.

You’re the type of S/o he brags about, in the way where he puts it in a negative format but it’s clear to everyone he’s making them envious of you.

Armin

Armin is less a bystander and more a victim of your humour.

You are the type to film every moment with Armin, recording every single thing about your day out with him.

But here’s the thing… Armin has this curse in which something bad usually happens when you open that camera, and he’ll usually whine every time you pull it out because he knows.

“Y/n…”

“Whaaaat?” You giggle as you zoom into his deadpan face, “That camera is going to curse our day out…”

“No it won’t, come on you drama queen, let’s go!”

And then he ends up stuck in a swing, you have to call the firefighters and wait for them. Armin preferred you stay silent because he was embarrassed. But you took this opportunity to turn some wii background music on.

Again, he only stared at you with a tired frown, making you zoom in once again

Once you get home, after Armin was rescued, you made an edit of him using the Mario golf cart OST, using only clips where he majorly fucks up. Shit like failed backflips, tripping on nothing, getting his shit rocked by an ocean wave or him being drunk- all that beautiful scenery behind such an elegant tune, what more could he ask for?

In conclusion, he is done with your shit. But he loves you.

Zeke

Zeke is the type to make sarcastic yet hilarious jokes but never laugh at them. For example, when people tell a joke they usually end up laughing at it because they want the other person to know it’s a joke- not Zeke. He stays awkwardly silent.

What’s worse is his sense of humour will be something like, “Alright, I’m going to go put my house on fire.” At the end of a call, and the other person will just ??? You good dude?

I guess you do the laughing for him. You’re the little giveaway that Zeke isn’t being serious. He’ll tell someone something so menacing and sometimes a bit threatening but you’ll start laughing like an idiot. The other person is confused but concludes he may have been joking

This is a trait Zeke loves. Because no one laughs at his jokes. Most of the time they either find him creepy or weird (I think he’s genuinely funny) so it’s a great change to have a little giggle box by his side.

To be honest I’m not against the idea that he’d call you a hyena. He 100% would.

After a long day of work he’ll find you at home and pinch your chin, “How’s my little hyena?” And you’ll prove his point by giggling again.

When the roles reverse and you’re the one making dark jokes, he’ll usually laugh. But the old man laugh. You know what I mean? Chest sounds like it’s on the verge of collapsing and he’s slapping his knee. Come on Zeke.

Bad days are frequent for Zeke so having someone so full of joy is a blessing to him. He’d love it.

Hange

I think when people notice you and Hange are together they just prepare themselves for what’s to come. Automatically, everything becomes a joke.

But you’re both each other’s ride or die. Hange would 100% be the type to wrestle an alligator instead of actually just getting you away from it. No one knows how she got away without getting bitten or remotely harmed but hey, it’s Hange

Season 4 Hange would really need someone like this, when all seems to collapse and hopelessly fall apart, what she really needs to hear is the melody of your laughter, no matter how stupid you think your voice sounds

Pieck

At first, when Pieck meets you you’re both still kids. She’s more silent and go with the flow type of girl but when she meets you shes addicted to whatever vibe you give off.

You throwing jokes and somehow spinning a dark situation into a hilarious and small one, she finds herself attracted to you.

As you both grow up being best friends she learns to not take much seriously, and it’s a great improvement on her mental health since all her job is basically just a vehicle to stress.

During your relationship, I’d say there’s heavy respect from her side. She’s just so proud anytime you’re in a group and make everyone else laugh. You’re a great comedian to her, and a free one at that.

Miche

Even with you around he remains a tall silent giant. Though he won’t laugh loudly, he’ll smirk and huff out of his nose.

That’s the most anyone really sees out of Miche but in private he does one of the loudest dad laughs it’s kind of scary. This silent man than never speaks suddenly bursts out into hearty laughter at a damn dead grandma joke?

Miche even tends to show you off a bit to his friends. With Erwin, Levi, Hange, Nanaba and Gelgar around he’ll use it as an opportunity to remember a joke that matches the occasion.

“Y/n, tell em that thing you said the other day.”

And he’ll just look at you smugly when everyone laughs, even Levi is holding back a smile.

SIDENOTE but if anyone ever commented about your spineless personality, or constant jokes he’d get mad. Just straight up staring them down. What’s it to you if Y/n laughs like a horse? That’s what I thought. Fuck off.

[outivv]

h e h e b i g b w a i n- The Boys, but they did something really stupid, like I'm talking its facepalm worthy stupid. Their crush/ s/o ends up finding out and they take in a deep breath, proceeds to tell them they have 30 seconds to run, before either grabbing a spray bottle or rolls up a newspaper, then literally starts to chase them with said object, and tries to hit them with the newspaper or tries to spray them with the spray bottle. (you can add anyone else btw! take care♡)

Synopsis: I’m not even sure how to explain this... but crack fluff with the tall boys :’)

Warnings: none!

Game/ fandom: genshin impact

Characters: Diluc, kaeya, childe. Zhongli, and Dainsleif

Pronouns for reader: gender neutral/ not mentioned

A/n: I literally snorted when I read this, and it’s mostly because I started imagining how zhongli would react. Omfg this is so funny, and a lot of fun to write, so I hope you like it, cause I really enjoyed writing this! Take care of yourself! (Also im so sorry this took me so long schools kicking my ass right now 🥲)

— zhongli —

Zhongli went to go buy some groceries for a special dinner you were making tonight, but once again forgot his wallet. It’s hard getting used to not being able to make more out of thin air alright! But he came home feeling rather defeated. When you asked him what was wrong and where the groceries are, he just sighed. You knew, but wanted him to explain.

You got up and grabbed a rolled up news paper saying, “zhongli. I love you. But. You have 10 seconds to run.” Zhongli couldn’t help but hold back a chuckle. What were you gonna do hit him with the newspaper? Really? He’s not some sort of animal???

“Did you not hear me?” You said after he didn’t move. Really? You were serious? Haha, yeah ok. He still refused to move smiling amusingly at your words. “Hope you can plan your own funeral when you’re dead. Er... again.” You said jokingly. Then you started running from your place in front of the couch towards him. So then he opened the door swiftly and just started to book it. Running down the streets of liyue, at least he remembered his wallet before he left.

— childe —

Fun fact! The thing that childe did that was facepalm worthy stupid in this is something that I’ve done myself! :D

Childe called cows horses. He called... cows... horses. Yeah so you laughed at him, and then got the spray bottle. “Why are you getting that?! It’s not like I did something wrong?! Just... called cows horses.” He questioned. You only laughed and said, “doesn’t matter. You have 30 seconds to run”

He didn’t take you seriously at first, but then when you started counting, and getting closer to 1... he started running. He ran so fast, that he forgot what he did that made you get the spray bottle. But that doesn’t matter, you caught up to him eventually.

— kaeya —

Oh kaeya... I’m my opinion one of the smartest characters in all of genshin. Left cupcakes in the oven when he was making them to surprise you. Well... it certainly was a surprise. Just... not a good one.

He really wanted to try his hand at baking, but forgot one crucial detail... he can’t bake. He can cook very very well, but bake? No. He almost burnt the house down! So what did you do? Got the spray bottle. “Kaeya. I love you, and I’m appreciative that you tried to bake cupcakes for me. But. Never do it again. And you have 20 seconds to run.” You said with a sly smile.

Kaeya turned around quickly to face you. “Haha... what do you mean love?” He said nervously. “You know exactly what I mean. And now you’re at 10 seconds.” He never ran so fast in his life. Not even during knights training!

— Diluc —

Diluc had a good head on his shoulders, and rarely does anything too stupid. That being said, he almost gave klee wine instead of grape juice. You were watching over her one day, due to albedo being away, and the knights being too busy. So... Jean had asked you to watch over her. And Diluc mistook the new wine that he was gonna sell tonight at angels share... for grape juice.

“Diluc what the hell?!” You said snatching the glass out of klee’s hands much to her confusion. “I am so sorry!” He shouted panicking deeply on the inside. You sighed knowing it was an honest mistake and said, “it’s alright Diluc, but.” You grabbed the spray bottle “how about it klee why not teach Diluc a lesson?” Klees eyes lit up with excitement understanding what you were hinting at, while Diluc started getting confused and still slightly panicking.

Klee nodded, and you picked her up putting her on your back. “You have 30, no! 10 seconds to start running!” Klee shouted from over your shoulder. Diluc chuckled calming down, and smiled saying, “do I now?” Your gaze turned to one of mischief and playfulness. “You heard her, and if I were you I’d start running.” You said smiling. Oh you were serious?! In a few minutes Diluc was soaked, while you and Klee laughed triumphantly.

— Dainsleif —

Dainsleif has had some embarrassing moments in his long life, but the most unfortunate one was when he forgot your traveling packs in the Oceanids lair. “Oh crap...” he said remembering your packs. “What? Where... where are the packs...” you said. He was supposed to grab them before you left. Looking over your shoulder you could make out the packs... sinking in the water. you groaned and panicked. Nothing was salvageable.

You turned to Dainsleif anger in your eyes. Then you got an idea. “Dain, love, you have 3 seconds to run.” You said the warm reassurance in your voice turned serious. “Wha... what?!” He said worried, and lowkey scared. “You heard me.” You said. He ran so far away from you, but you managed to catch up and tackle him. I imagine if you could carry him you’d throw him in a pond or lake for some sort of revenge.

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x9 thoughts

It’s no secret that I absolutely adore Coach Beard; he’s one of my favorite characters on the show, and he’s so well-written and well-acted that somehow I tend to be both perfectly satisfied with the details we see and truly curious to understand more about the way he thinks, what’s really happening re: his professional and personal devotion to Ted, where he comes from and where he’s going. I don’t need to know his name beyond the name he wants to be called, but I want to know why we don’t have any other names for him. And I don’t need him to be a bigger focal point of every episode, but I very much needed this episode’s world-exploding reminder that every single character on this show has a rich inner life, full of joys and troubles.

“Beard After Hours” is like a movie, but one that scatters its climaxes and puts off its resolutions...because it’s not a movie. It’s episode nine of a twelve-episode season of TV. When the episode ended, I felt this almost frantic “But he needed to break up with Jane for good before the end of the episode!” feeling. I was so pulled in by the idea of being able to tell an entire story in one night, of going on an odyssey alongside a complicated hero, that watching Beard and Jane find each other in that club felt as intense as the fact that we don’t know if Ted responded to Rebecca’s voicemail and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Rebecca and Sam and we don’t know who isn’t getting married and who is having a funeral in 2x10 (I mean, I have my strong suspicions, but still!) and we don’t know if Richmond will be promoted back to the Premier League. And on and on. I didn’t mind feeling desperate for the story to resolve even though I understood after thinking about it for ten seconds that of course it couldn’t resolve yet. Or ever. Or yet.

I’m a big fan of the TL episode recaps/reviews Linda Holmes writes for NPR, and I have to quote something from this week’s directly because it so perfectly explains my feelings:

The power of the scene where Beard dances in the club isn't that it's a beautiful romantic climax. It's that it's an explanation of why he cannot seem to extricate himself from this bad relationship. What makes the worst relationships so dangerous is that they have elements that feel good that are very hard to get elsewhere. Beard knows that; he tells it to God. What's concerning isn't that Jane makes the world seem more interesting; what's concerning is she's the only thing that does. That doesn't take away from the joy of the dancing; it just tells you that even happiness is complicated.

I love Holmes’ perspective here so much, because it articulates something I was struggling to figure out: how it can feel so legitimate, like such a (temporary but nonetheless powerful) relief, for Beard to find Jane in that club and to have this moment of euphoria as his night nears an end. How it is possible to experience that relief on behalf of a character while fervently wishing it could end differently, because it’s so clear from the abusive text messages and the toxic calls and the manipulative interactions that Jane is terrible to him and they’re terrible for each other. But Beard knows this. He knows it when he hugs Higgins in the parking lot after Higgins is honest with him in a way Ted and Rebecca and Keeley have not learned how to be, and he knows it when part of his prayer includes the clear articulation that Jane isn’t the cure for what “ails me.” He’s inching closer to greater self-knowledge just as Ted is.

And the two big resolutions that really, really needed to happen did. I didn’t know I needed Paul, Baz, and Jeremy to get to wrap up their own night out on the pitch at Nelson Road, but I did. It brought actual tears to my eyes. And the other resolution was Beard showing up with the other coaches’ coffees for their meeting to watch the game film. As interesting as it would have been to see what Ted would have done if Beard hadn’t shown up, I’m so, so glad that he did. He’s got a messed-up face and some truly epic pants on, but otherwise this is just Beard showing up for work, showing up for his friends. It was incredible to realize that Beard and Ted haven’t been exaggerating when they’ve referred to his sex-and-drug proclivities in the past. The night documented in 2x9 might have been particularly scary and violent and euphoric and awful and meaningful, but this type of all-night adventure isn’t a foreign concept for this guy. In all the other episodes of this show, when we see Beard we’re seeing someone who might have been out all night, who might have spent the hours the sun was down desperately pushing himself closer to whatever edges he could find.

I don’t really want to touch upon all the allusions in this episode. They are abundant, they are well-documented, and also I haven’t even seen the movie After Hours. I enjoyed this episode for its allusive qualities and I enjoyed this episode for what it was and I feel like I have to be at peace with the fact that I’m never going to pick up on every single reference on this show and that is okay.

So, yeah, if this entry on my tumblr dot com blog seems remarkably devoid of references and allusions, it’s not because I’m not into it but because I find it too overwhelming to actually write about.

Very into the Misplaced and Discovered box at the Crown and Anchor. (That’s what Mae wrote on the Lost and Found box at the pub, right? Whatever it is, it’s so funny.)

Beard hallucinating Thierry Henry and Gary Lineker was truly upsetting and a great indicator not only of how broken things are between the Richmond coaching staff right now but also how deep Beard’s self-loathing might go. If you’d asked me before Thursday if I thought Beard loathed himself, I would say no. That deepening of knowledge alone makes 2x9 worth it.

James Tartt and his friends in the alley. Such a nightmare. I go back and forth on how much of the night was real, and part of me has decided all of it is, short of the images of Henry and Lineker. (And even that is real to the extent that it was a way of articulating what was in Beard’s head.) But watching Beard in physical danger brought on by the same abuser who had him so upset in the first place. It was a lot.

I’m so excited that Paul and Jeremy and Baz got some spotlight this episode. It was so wonderful to see them out of the pub. I love that they ended up telling the Oxford snots who they really were. They got to see Beard going to bat for them and smoothing over the situation socially, and that actually made it more possible for them to end up being truthful about themselves. Because they have nothing to be ashamed of, and they deserved the magic of that night. (And for it to end on Nelson Road. Every feeling. Oof.)

I feel like I barely have anything to say about the trouser-mending lady or the many places Beard goes or his key-dropping or the nightmarish feeling of wanting to be home and being unable to be home. It all happened and we all watched it and again, it was a lot. But I do feel incredibly moved and fascinated by the fact that Beard very obviously still hasn’t been home when he brings in the coffee. He’s had to sleep at the club for Jane- and key-related reasons in the past, and this time it’s not that he’s slept there but it still feels like a kind of homecoming he was robbed of for the entire night. Ted and Roy and Nate are there. He’s gotten their coffee orders correct. Ted is growing and evolving (he wants to learn from what’s happened, he’s insisting upon it even when the others resist) but he’s done a really perfect (almost romantic in its loveliness) thing by presumably spending his evening following a breakdown of his own speeding up the game film to 10x speed and adding Benny Hill. Ted is not OK and Beard is not OK and Nate is not OK and Roy is pretty OK but could very easily be not OK because he’s just joined a coaching staff with a whole lot of not OK. But they all showed up.

I am very into the realism of the lights being off in the club other than the coaches’ office (@talldecafcappuccino pointed this out!), and the way we’re seeing their desks from a different angle because this episode is unfocused on Ted. It really added to the mindset of being hungover and exhausted and unable to go home or even to know exactly what home should be; even this warm, familiar place feels off even as it’s a relief to be back there.

I am excited to return to our regularly scheduled programming with the full cast of characters, but I really adored this episode for what it taught us about Beard and what it illuminated about the humor, pain, and complexity of each person who inhabits this universe. Beard may not be loud about his long-standing beliefs or about the things he’s learned, but there’s a lot happening in there and I appreciated getting to spend 43 minutes with him and (in the case of the ticket he scrawls on a piece of paper so the pub guys can get into Nelson Road) the moments he sets in motion.

[heyyyharry]

Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

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“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone��”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

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“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

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Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

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Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

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Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

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Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

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Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

[egcdeath]

checkmate

summary: you’ve always refused to lose, and love was no exception. (gone girl-ish au)

pairing(s): ransom drysdale x dark!reader, a special mystery guest ;) 

word count: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ because of heavy themes! faked death, framing of crimes, manipulation, alluding to sex, alluding to cheating, terrible relationship dynamic, very loose usage of the word crazy/psychotic, implied mention of self harm, brief choking & slapping (in a non sexual way lol), pregnancy trapping (idk if thats the right term), the reader is a very bad human being, overuse of italics  *please let me know if i’m missing any warnings!

author’s note: this is my 2nd submission for @stargazingfangirl18’s 5k soft dark challenge, i decided to make the reader dark >:) but ransom is also not a good person. I used these prompts: “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” & The town golden *girl isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

this is definitely the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, but blame @literate-lamb for making me write this because when i pitched this to her and said that i’d probably never write it, she enabled me. 

okay that's enough from me. join my taglist if you want :D

“I know women whose entire personas are woven from a benign mediocrity. Their lives are a list of shortcomings: the unappreciative boyfriend, the extra ten pounds, the dismissive boss, the conniving sister, the straying husband. I've always hovered above their stories, nodding in sympathy and thinking how foolish they are, these women, to let these things happen, how undisciplined. And now to be one of them! One of the women with the endless stories that make people nod sympathetically and think: Poor dumb bitch.” Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Your whole life, you’d considered yourself a competitive person. Constantly overcompensating for one thing or another, whether it was the chronic desire to achieve perfection that had been installed in you since you were a little girl, or your persistent internalized sense of inadequacy. You realized early on that it was much better for you to win than for you to lose, no matter the physical, emotional, or mental cost of the prize of perfection.

For the most part, this mindset worked out for you. You graduated as Valedictorian from your high school, neared the top of your graduating class at Harvard. God knew you earned it, all those tears you shed into overpriced textbooks, all the popping of unprescribed Adderall, and robbing yourself of the parties and social events that the rest of your peers gladly indulged in. 

You were just different, which was why you gained a job nearly immediately after your exit from school, quickly climbing to the top at the Blood Like Wine publishing company after only a few years of being there. 

And one night, at the party celebrating the release of A Thousand Knives when you laid your eyes on Hugh Ransom Drysdale, the grandson of your boss, you knew that you needed to have him. Rich, hot, a bit of an asshole. You deserved to finally complete your image, and that socialite flavored eye candy seemed to fit the part perfectly. Luckily for you, he was desperate. It only took a few tugs on your dress’ V-line, and a number of knowing smirks to find yourself being finger-banged in his family manor’s bathroom.

From there, you wormed your way into his life. Leaving belongings at his place as an excuse to come back, and offering booty calls in the middle of the night. Ransom must’ve been much more desperate than you originally thought, as it really only seemed to take one night of stroking his hair while he vented about his family to make him want to be with you. Men with mommy issues were always so easy. 

Except, he wasn’t that easy. The longer you got to know Ransom, the more fucked up you realized he really was. He had no boundaries at all, became jealous and enraged at the drop of a pin, and occasionally told you things that made the hairs on your arms rise. 

This of course all came to a head after the night of Harlan’s 85th birthday party. When the news broke of his tragic death, you’d immediately known it was the works of your Hugh. If your intuition wasn’t enough, his confession in the shower, where he’d demanded you take off your clothes to display that you were without a bug, certainly was. 

You were completely devastated. The man that you’d invested so much into for years had thrown both his and your reputations down the drain in just a matter of hours. Of course, you felt bad for Harlan too. He was a good guy (when he wasn’t instigating a family fight).

Still, you showed up during the funeral in your best mourning clothes and dawning your biggest crocodile tears. You rubbed Linda’s back while she mourned the loss of her father, and the new truth about her husband. You played dumb when interrogated by some Southern private investigator, even giving Ransom an airtight alibi. You testified on his behalf in court with enough conviction to grant you an Emmy. 

You’d gotten so far, devoted so much energy into him, that you simply refused to lose now. 

To your friends, you’d seemed to lead a near perfect life. Dream job, dreamy boyfriend, dream bank account, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, you just didn’t know what. 

It dawned on you while sipping mimosas at the country club, Ransom playing tennis with his friends just a few yards away from you while Danielle showed off her brand new engagement ring, a .59 Carat Asscher Diamond, that if you heard her speak of again, would probably make you lose your shit.

You zoned out as she droned on and on about the shape, and how Matt proposed to her in their own private room in one of the most exclusive Parisian restaurants, instead focusing on how you could find yourself in the same position as that airhead next to you. In all honesty, you couldn’t stand the idea that someone was doing better than you, let alone someone in your own social circle. Dani got all the bragging rights of being engaged to the heir of some tech giant, being the first in your friend group to get eloped, and worst of all, Matt wasn’t even making her sign a prenup. 

You blankly watched Ransom from afar, taking occasional sips from your sweet drink, while you thought of how you deserved all of that and more, and you were going to get it one way or another. 

——

It didn’t take much to come up with something, your first and most obvious plan being to simply ask Ransom when he was going to propose to you. Of course, this wasn’t the first time you’d tried to approach him about this subject, you just wondered if maybe this time things would be different.

Panting heavily after a rather rough night in bed, you rolled off of your boyfriend’s chest and gave him a messy, yet sincere kiss. You knew your man well, and if there was any time to pop the question, it was in his post-nut haze.

“Baby,” you said breathily, “I wanna ask you something.”

“Shoot,” he responded casually, glancing over at you. 

“When’re you gonna propose to me?” you hummed.

Ransom groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes, “this is about Matt and Dani, huh?” he tutted, then extended a hand out to your warm cheeks so he could gently caress one with his thumb. “Thought we agreed marriage is just a piece of paper and it’s stupid.”

You huffed in response.

Of fucking course.

“I never said that,” you muttered, setting a hand on his broad chest. “Besides, it’ll be good if you get pissed and decide to like, kill your dad or something. Y’know, spouses don’t have to testify against each other in court.”

Ransom chuckled as if this whole thing was funny, like your feelings were some kind of sick joke to him. “You know my lawyers, babe. They could prove that bees don’t make honey. That bears don’t shit in the forest. I appreciate your attempt, though. This has been some really nice pillow talk.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered, pinching his nipple in retaliation before turning your back to him and yanking the blanket onto your side. 

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised that he was being stubborn, most of the time you felt like you were pulling teeth from the man. But that’s why you had a backup plan! You always had a backup plan. That’s what separated you from your boyfriend. Where Ransom was extemporized and impulsive, you were calculating and prudent. 

Although you devised your plan that very afternoon while watching your partner backhand small green balls, you were going to need some time to get everything in order, to prove Murphy and his stupid law wrong in making sure that everything that could go wrong wouldn’t. 

After all, love was a game. And you sure as hell weren’t losing to Hugh Drysdale. 

——

You sacrificed too much to have your plans ruined by some trust fund baby with impulsivity issues. You deserved your dream marriage, the stability you wished you had as a child. You wanted the white picket fence, and everything that came along with it. Your desire to be the best, to be perfect was what drove you to poke holes in every condom in the box, what led you to draw liters of your own blood in hopes of staging a fake crime scene, to buy a cheap getaway car and burner phone off of Craigslist, and reach out to a high school boyfriend who you knew was in a position as desperate as you. 

You planted seeds of doubt in your friends throughout the following weeks, feeding them lies about Ransom’s behavior, how you were afraid of telling him that you did in fact see two faint red lines on that damn plastic stick– only half of the statement truly being false–, telling them that he was behaving erratically lately.

It all was going without a hitch. Ransom didn’t seem to notice anything was off, despite your frequent visits to the bathroom and newfound affinity for true crime documentaries. 

You almost felt guilty, knowing the world of pain you were about to throw the man into. Granted, he deserved the pain. You were in a relationship with a genuinely terrible person, and that person had made a conscious effort not to commit to you. You tried to make this easy for him, give him a chance to say a few words to you and slide a ring on your finger, but no, he always seemed to take the hard route.

You slept like a baby the night before you were setting your plan in action. You made sure to uphold the facade of everything being fine, making Ransom a nice breakfast before sending him halfway across town to the hardware store with an oddly incriminating list.

Once he was out of the house, you hurried off to the fridge in the garage where you’d been keeping a small stash of your own blood. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. You poured the blood throughout the kitchen, splattering bits of it on the counters and cupboards. You poorly cleaned the mess, just as he would.

You put your next move in motion, falsifying a home invasion. You tossed over a table and some chairs, throwing books and photos onto the floor, but left some aspects slightly untouched, like an upright picture frame to give yet another hint that things were not exactly what they appeared. 

You left a tiny blue post-it note on the nightstand of Ransom’s side of the bed, a quick and simple doodle of a ring along with the first initial of your name inked onto the tiny piece of paper. 

With that, you were off. Technically missing, soon-to-be presumed dead.

----

 The days following your disappearance had gone even better than you’d initially planned. Local news coverage had been all over you, search and rescue groups were assiduously looking for you, your parents had opened a tip line, and begged for you to get home safe on news segments. But the best part of it all was that Ransom had been briefly found himself in police custody, only to be released shortly thereafter. His past of an accused murder quickly made your disappearance even more of a national story, and you watched the whole thing unravel from the safety and comfort of your high school boyfriend, Andy Barber’s Newton home. 

Of course, you fed him the same lies you’d given to your friends, and seeing the rather lonely position he was in, he gladly let you stay with him. You were absolutely having a hay-day with it all, dedicating hours of your day to watching Ransom slowly unravel. Maybe it was a bit sadistic of you to enjoy torturing your partner so much, but he needed to learn his lesson. You deserved better. You needed Ransom to rise up to your level, allowing you to finally complete your image. To let you two appear to be the perfect couple. Really, this was all on him.

Andy, for the most part, had been a good host. He was gone for the majority of the day, dedicating himself to his work while you lounged around on his dangerously cozy couch. Around two weeks into your stay, you were sharing a box of pizza in the living room with your old lover when something interesting on the television caught your eye.

Ransom, broadcasted on CBS, being interviewed on your disappearance. 

You watched with wide eyes as Ransom begged for your return on national television. It was one thing seeing your mother plead for you to come back, the same woman who had installed such toxic behavior in you sob for your return, but Ransom. You’d never loved him more than in that moment.

“Hugh, if you could tell Y/N one thing, what would it be?” the interviewer asked.

Ransom turned, looking straight at the camera, directly into your soul, “Y/N, I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. I need you to come back safely, to see you, to hold you again. I’d give anything in the world for that right now,” he looked down, a tear falling down his cheek. “I can’t live without you in my life, I-”

His sentence was cut off by Andy grabbing the remote, and turning off the TV. You turned your head and frowned deeply at him.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked with a bit of a pout.

“I just couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like he hasn’t treated you like shit for the past few years. C’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

Your blood boiled. Andy was once a means to an end, but now he was interfering. He was clearly much too selfish to see that you and Ransom were quite obviously soulmates. A match made in hell. 

You followed him to bed regardless, curling up on what had been your side of the bed for the past few days, and staring at the wall until Andy’s breaths moved from a soft and rhythmic pattern to loud snores. God, those snores were obnoxious. 

You slipped out of bed and to his dresser, grabbing two soft ties from the drawer, and daintily tying his wrists to each side of the bedpost.

“What‘re you doing?” he mumbled, instinctively yanking both of his wrists as he awoke.

“I’m going back home,” you whispered.

“You can’t be serious,” Andy huffed, tugging on the restraint attached to the headboard.

You shook your head, “I am.”

“I should’ve known. Why would you do something like this? Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in with the law?”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when the world finds out that you kidnapped me?” you retorted.

This threat seemed to wake him up right away, “what about this was kidnapping? I gave you a nice home, fed you, I didn’t even make a pass at you. I didn’t do shit to you,” he hissed. “You think I can’t prove that? I’m a lawyer, for god's sake!”

You nearly laughed, “Okay, Andy,” you paused for a moment, “As a lawyer, who do you think everyone’ll believe? Someone who the world was on a wild goose chase for in the last two weeks? Or the man with a family history of violence? Must I remind you that your father and your son have killed people?”

Andy shook his head, face pinched in sorrow at the mention of his deceased son, clearly a low blow. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Swear to god that you won’t tell a soul what happened here,” you leaned over him, getting right in his face. “Or I promise, Andrew Barber, I will ruin you. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or disbarred, or whatever the hell I decide to do with you. So keep your goddamn lips shut.” 

You pulled away and he solemnly nodded, not bothering to put up a fight. You loosened the fabric around his left wrist and walked out of the room. You picked up the keys to Andy’s Audi on your way out, checking the time as you adjusted the driver's seat. 

9:45 PM. Fatherhood really changed the man.

You pushed that thought aside and began your drive home, which turned out to be a surprisingly short trip. When you pulled up in front of your home, you were met with a slew of reporters outside of the house, along with a police car that seemed to be permanently camped there.

As you slowly got out of the car, a gasp, followed by a loud silence fell across the crowd. You limped for dramatic effect up the driveway as cameras followed you, and glanced back at them pathetically. From your peripheral view, you noticed the officers get out of their vehicle.

You finally got to your door, ringing the doorbell and waiting. You blinked harshly a few times, conjuring up the tears you needed to really make a spectacle of the event. After a few minutes, Ransom opened the door, eyes widening as he looked at you. He stepped out, and you wrapped him in as big of a hug as you could manage, genuinely missing his embrace. It was possible that you even let out a few real tears in the moment.

Your emotional embrace was interrupted by the man you recognized as Lieutenant Elliott, the same officer who’d been assigned to Harlan’s case. 

“Ma’am,” he began, only to be shut down by you. 

“Please, just let me be with my boyfriend,” you pleaded, crocodile tears streaming down your face as you spoke with the officer. You still needed time to get your story straight.

“Just give us the night, Lieutenant. We’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning,” Ransom added, furrowing his brows at the officer that he’d come into contact with far too many times. 

He looked to his partner, who shrugged, then to you, “enjoy your night.”

Cameras flashed around you as civilians, journalists, and newscasters alike attempted to catch your attention. You grabbed Ransom’s hand and dramatically pulled him inside, insincerely attempting to hide your face by ducking and covering half of your face with your arm. 

As soon as you were in the privacy of your own home, Ransom threw you against a wall. 

“Why. The fuck. Would you pull a stunt like that,” he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, and a hand around your throat. 

You whimpered as he tightened his grip, rage clearly flowing through his system uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you did to me? You almost had me thrown in fucking jail. Do you understand that?”

You nodded weakly, “Ran,” you whispered, “the baby,” you glanced down at your stomach.

He paused, dropping his grip on your neck and staring at you in awe, “no…” 

You nodded again. 

“How…? You told me you were on the pill… You- you made me use protection…”

“Surprise?” you said weakly. 

“You’re a psychotic bitch.”

“I’m your psychotic bitch. And no child of mine will be born out of wedlock,” you taunted. 

“That’s what this is about?” Ransom laughed manically. “You did this all because I won’t fucking marry you?”

You didn’t even have to respond.

“I should send you to the loony bin right fucking now.”

“What happened to all those things you said to me on TV?”

“You’re fucking delusional. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I’ve had to put up with you and your stupid little antics for way too long. How do you think I felt when you killed your own grandfather?”

Ransom scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “you are so fucked up.”

“I’m the fucked up one? You killed your own blood in cold blood! You’re unhinged!” 

“You faked your own death for attention, and got pregnant while doing it! Is that baby even mine?”

“The fuck are you trying to say, Hugh?”

“I asked if it’s even mine.”

“Really. You’re accusing me of cheating on you. That’s rich considering Mia, Layla, and whoever the fuck else. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You couldn’t have a normal adult conversation with me!”

“Are you kidding me? I asked you time after time to marry me and it was always some bullshit excuse!” you wagged a finger in his face as you spoke. “Oh, commitment scares me, oh, marriage is just a piece of paper, oh-“ you mocked his voice in a deeper tone before you were cut off by the sting of his hand against your cheek.

“Can you shut the hell up?” he growled at you as you held your own cheek, before you reached out and slapped him back, “I can’t believe that I’m stuck with such a deranged bitch for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe work on your vows a little, dear. I don’t think that those words are as charming to me as they’d be to the rest of our family and friends.”

“You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

“But I am,” you hummed, rubbing your cheek softly once again. “Look at how fast your life fell apart without me here. How quickly the public turned on you. Imagine how upset they’d be if you left me. I love you, Ran. I really do. You and I are perfect for each other, can’t you see that now?”

Ransom took a step away from you, pacing slowly in front of you. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, and took a long and drawn out breath, clearly at a loss for words.

“So when should we have the wedding? I’ve always wanted a Spring wedding, and I know it’s a little short notice, but I don’t want to be showing too much in my wedding dress,” you grabbed Ransom’s bicep gently, as if you were just having a regular old day with him, as if you hadn’t been choked and slapped moments ago. “But we can make it work. We always make it work, right?”

Your now fiancé stared vacantly at the wall ahead of him, giving you a slow, empty nod of agreement. 

“It’s settled then,” you smirked. “I’ll start looking at venues. You find me a nice ring, okay Honey? One that puts all those other bitches’ rings to shame,” you sighed pleasantly to yourself, “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before hurrying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You heard a distant shriek of  “fuck,” from Ransom, but you truly could not care less. 

You hopped into bed, grabbing your laptop from its charger and promptly opening it. You couldn’t help but to smile at your own reflection on the empty black screen. This wasn’t how you imagined your engagement, but you did the impossible. You tied yourself down to Hugh Ransom Drysdale, he went down kicking in screaming, and you were likely in for a lifetime of cheating and resentment, but you did it nonetheless. 

You finally won.  

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

here lies the complete story of the Crocverse (AtLA zukka modern AU)

The general facts are as follows: 

Iroh owns a croc store and Zuko works there

Sokka works at Trader Joe’s and loves crocs

Bending is a thing

Jeong Jeong owns an antique store and is furious the croc store ruined the vibe of the strip mall

Sokka and Zuko go on a date to Olive Garden

Toph and Zuko hate crocs

Bumi owns a Jamba Juice

Worldbuilding 

This takes place in Florida

Bending is a thing, but it is unclear whether or not the Avatar is a thing 

The 2008 financial crisis was a thing that happened in this universe 

Characters 

Iroh is the new owner of the strip mall Croc store. He loves and appreciates crocs in a big dorky way. 

Zuko is his disgruntled nephew who works at the Croc store. He hates crocs with a passion and is in kind of a Linkin Park phase. (He is not an eboy, no one is an eboy, society has moved past the need for eboys.) 

Sokka works at the local Trader Joe’s. He wears Hawaiian shirts all the gd time. He is incredibly excited about the croc store and gets addicted to buying crocs. He also likes wearing a ‘men want me, fish fear me’ hat and sometimes completes his ensembles with fanny packs. 

Katara works at a Petsmart. 

Jeong Jeong owns an antique store next to the croc store and is pissed that the croc store ruined the vibe of the strip mall. 

It is undecided whether or not Aang works at Bumi’s Jamba Juice or if he works at the Trader Joe’s bakery. Regardless, he’s more of a Birkenstocks guy and finds that crocs and airbending don’t really work together. 

Piandao is the Trader Joe’s manager. 

Hakoda is currently deployed and Sokka is trying his best to cope (with unhealthy shopping habits). 

Dynamics 

Zuko goes to Jamba Juice a lot. Toph also goes to Jamba Juice a lot. They become buds because they go ‘well we’re both loners going into school with few or no friends and we both love Jamba Juice and hate crocs, that’s as good a place as any to start a friendship’ 

Sokka loves to explore Jeong Jeong’s antique store. Jeong Jeong considers Sokka to be a local menace (and he’d never say it but he’s his local menace and would be hurt if Sokka started poking around another antique store). 

Iroh really wants to be friends with Jeong Jeong (who could honestly use a friend, he’s kind of a hermit). Jeong Jeong is firmly annoyed that Iroh ruined the vibe of the strip mall. 

Zuko likes hanging out at the antique store and occasionally runs into Sokka. He voices his displeasure for the croc store on multiple occasions and Jeong Jeong feels incredibly validated. 

Zuko has kind of just planned to not have friends for his senior year. Iroh thinks that unacceptable. 

Iroh loves Sokka’s outfits a whole lot and compliments them all the time (while also trying to set him up with Zuko as friends). 

Sokka initially thinks Zuko is just kind of weird and asocial, but then one day at Petsmart he’s bothering Katara at work and he sees Zuko sitting on the floor of the reptile section just looking at all the tanks. Katara tells Sokka that Zuko basically does this every other day and Sokka realizes how soft this guy is and just kind of goes ‘oh’. 

Sokka goes to the crocstore and buys some pride crocs to send a message to Zuko. Zuko is oblivious. 

Eventually, Sokka pulls the “so… do you want to do an activity together?” and Iroh comes over with a “he’d LOVE to” and gives them an Olive Garden gift card. 

Sokka hopes Zuko thinks this is an actual date, Zuko is unclear on whether or not this is a date but puts on a button down shirt just in case, and Iroh doesn’t realize it’s 100% a date until Zuko comes out with his shirt and Iroh decides that it is of the utmost importance that he does Zuko’s hair. 

The details of the date have been decided on….but @animegenork is writing the actual fic and if you really want the sweet, soft zukka details you’ll have to wait. All I’ll say is there are turtleducks and smooching involved. 

Relevant Backstory 

Iroh didn’t actually want to own a croc store. He used to own his own tea/coffee store, but when the economy tanked and his son died, it ended up going bust. 

Iroh didn’t have much contact with his brother after Lu Ten died because Ozai was an unsympathetic asshole about it. The last time he saw his brother’s family was at Azulon’s funeral. 

A few years after the falling out with Ozai (and Iroh’s contact with his niece and nephew being basically reduced to birthday phone calls) Iroh finally upgrades to an iPhone with Facetime. When he calls for Zuko’s birthday, Iroh is VERY FUCKING DISPLEASED to see that someone has burned off half of Zuko’s face (and it doesn’t take much thinking for him to guess who). 

Iroh scoops Zuko up ASAP and Zuko moves in with him. 

Iroh attempts to bring Azula, but she firmly does not want to go with him and Iroh can’t exactly just kidnap a child in this day and age. 

So instead of reinvesting in a new tea shop, Iroh invests his time in legal work to go after Ozai for being the Fucking Worst™. 

He also puts Zuko in therapy, because god knows the kid needs it. 

Iroh worked in middle management for various retail stores and landed a management position in a croc store. Eventually, he opened up his own branch in Florida (which is where our story starts). 

And really, it wasn’t Iroh’s dream to own a croc store, but he accepts that life doesn’t always go exactly how you plan it. Iroh recognizes that what he can focus on is bringing joy to people and trying to project kindness into the world every day. Maybe you end up onwing a croc store. Maybe you’re in a bunch of bs legal crap because your brother is a monster and there are two kids who need someone, but you can make the best of it and it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy simple pleasure where you find them. 

Other details 

The Crocverse is a Mouth Wheat Boy Free Zone. Jet is just not a croc person. Jet has no reason to enter the croc store. This AU does not have room for Jet. I’m sorry Jet stans. (I’m not.) 

Zuko and Sokka are upcoming high school seniors (age 17). 

Katara is an upcoming junior (16), Aang is an upcoming sophomore (15), and Toph is an upcoming freshman (14). 

The swampbenders are frequent patrons of the croc store because they’re good for marshy areas.

The only people who are actually croc enthusiest in this world are Sokka and Iroh. 

Sokka likes wearing neon turquoise crocs the most. 

Sometimes Iroh wears rainbow tie dye crocs to support his gay nephew .

Final words 

This is what I meant when I said the Crocverse was never really about the crocs. The crocs were just a framing device, they’re just how we got here. At its core, the crocverse is about these characters and their struggles, and more importantly how they find each other despite the struggles. It’s about Zuko learning how to make friends. It’s about Iroh wanting the best for his nephew and trying to make the best of a less than ideal situation. It’s about Sokka trying to figure out what to do now that his dad is gone and learning how to open up about it instead of cope with unhealthy shopping habits and deflection. It’s about going to Petsmart and spending an hour looking at the reptiles because you deserve it. It’s about going to Jamba Juice and making friends with the other loners. It’s about learning that you don’t have to be alone. It’s about ditching Olive Garden for a better date somewhere else and smooching the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt Trader Joe’s employee because he’s funny and caring and maybe, just maybe, you deserve that. It’s about letting new people enter your life when you think you have to be alone. It’s about being teenagers together before life starts for real. It’s about, above all else, finding those weirdos who will be there for you and accept you for all your quirks and baggage. 

And that’s the Crocverse. I will shut up about it forever now. 

[vdlest]

Nice to meet you

Characters:

TFATWS Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:

The restaurant where Bucky always take Yori to eat with him is where you actually work. You've been watching and staring at him for quite some time now, but didn't have the courage to introduce yourself to him. But what happens when Yori asked Bucky to take you out?

Warning:

None

There they are again. You see two familiar faces entering the restaurant you are working at. You've been seeing this guy who is in his late 30s accompanied by an elderly for quite some time now. You don't know if they are father & son, or anything, but one thing's for sure, you like the guy. You like him even if you don't know what his name is, even if you have no idea who he is. His treatment to the elder guy is enough reason to like him.

No one is taking their table so you took the chance to finally have a closer look of the guy you've been liking for quite some time. Whenever they come, you are either busy with another table or assigned in the cashier. But this time, the opportunity is in front of you.

So you took it.

"Hi, ready to order?" you asked them casually, even if your stomach is getting butteflies inside it. Is this his effect to you? You don't know.

The older man stared at you and smiled, "Just call me Yori. I can guess you're calling me "old man" in your thoughts," he joked.

Yori's joke made you chuckle, "Okay, Yori, nice to meet you. I'm Y/N and I'll be your server for today," you said as you get the paper and pen on your pocket to get their orders, but still no luck from the man you've been eyeing, you still don't know what his name is, "What can I get you for your lunch?" you asked them, glancing at the man who's still busy looking at the menu.

"I'll have Fish and Chips, old man's been craving it since last night," Yori said looking at you. Good thing you were able to switch your eyes to Yori, but when he smiled at you, he must've seen you looking at the man beside him. Yori's smile made you somehow nervous.

You tried to act normal and turned to the man beside Yori, hoping that you would finally know his name by the end of this day.

"How 'bout you, Sir? What can..." you weren't able to finish your question for him when his eyes finally met yours. It was only a matter of time before you realized that this man has a gorgeous pair of blue eyes. You cleared your throat, "What can I get you?" you asked him, dismissing the thought of fantasizing about him.

"I'll just have Clam Chowder," he answers you as he handed you the menu, "Thank you."

"Would you care for anything to drink, then?" you grabbed the menu from his hand, "You should..."

"You should ask her out," Yori said to the guy beside him, making your eyes widened in surprise.

His reaction was same as yours, he's almost embarassed to what Yori just said. Your cheeks are burning red in your guess, but you tried to be as professional as possible. One more thing, you don't want the guy to think that you're into him, that'll make things more awkward as it is now.

"Yori," the man glared at Yori before he moved his eyes back to you, "I'm sorry, he's just really like this from time to time."

You are already getting tired of calling him "guy" or "man." You've been wanting to know his name but God knows how?

"It's fine," you replied then you prepare yourself to leave, "If there's anything you need from me, just let me know. Thank you."

"His name is James," Yori said as you turn your back on them, but you pretended that you did not hear it since you're already inches away from them.

Now, you finally know what his name is.

•••

When their order is finally ready, you took a deep breath before heading your way to their table. Things are more awkward now. You wished that you weren't their server so you'll just get to watch and like him from afar. Not like this.

"Here's your order," you tried your best to smile from ear to ear, even though you're feeling embarassed and a bit awkward already. You put down their orders and once you're done you told them to enjoy their meal.

"So what's a pretty lady like you doing here?" Yori asked you.

Oh, great, small talk, you thought.

You badly want to go back inside the kitchen and start serving other customers but you remembered what your manager told you when the customers make a small talk with you — answer them and interact with them, that way they'll have the will to come back.

"I'm just saving up money to start my own business," you answered Yori.

You could see in your peripheral that James is looking at you. As much as you want to know what kind of look he's giving you, you fight that idea.

"I like business-minded people. They are the best in organization and handling things," he complimented. "You got a boyfriend?" he asked you another question.

You shook your head and smile, "No, I don't. I guess that's the downside of being a business-minded, no one dares to date you," you joked.

"I think I'll take that dare."

Your eyes traveled to James who suddenly spoke.

"I'm sorry, you're what?" you asked him.

"You think no one dares to date business-minded woman? I'll tell you, what," he smiles at you, "I like accepting dares."

Is he asking you out?

"Just in case you're puzzled with his words," Yori joined the conversation again, making you look his way again, "He's asking you out."

"Really?" you asked Yori.

Your eyes moved back to James and the way he stares at you makes your heart skip a beat, countless times. Your fingers gripped on the tray you're holding, trying to contain your happiness.

"What time's the end of your shift?" he asked.

You gulped, "I'm out by 6."

"Great, I'll come back at 6 to pick you up, then," he extended his hand towards you, "I'm James Barnes, but call me Bucky."

You reached for his hand, "Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm Y/N." The touch of his soft hand on yours answers all your untold questions about him.

Ever since you saw him, you kept on asking yourself what it feels like to be his girl, what it feels like to be hugged by him, what if feels like to hold hands with him, and what if feels like to be kissed by his lips. But now, the touch of his hand on yours and the fact that you two have a date later is more than enough.

•••

When he said he's gonna be at your workplace at 6, he meant he's gonna be 30 minutes early. You asked him to sit down on one of the vacant tables, when he did, he handed you the bouquet of flowers he's holding. You didn't want to conclude that it was meant for you, but when he handed it to you, your heart melted like an ice cream under the sun.

As you finished your shift, you and Bucky went on your way. He said he already had everything planned out, so he did not bother to ask you where you want to go. Well, that's how you like it anyway. You want to be surprised.

The two of you ended up in the nearby beach, before you settled down in the sand, you passed by some food stalls and that's where you and Bucky bought food and drinks for your date.

"I hope you like sunsets," he said as both of you sat down on the sand and started munching over the food you guys bought, "I should've asked you abour where you want to go, but..." he seemed a little nervous so you cut him off.

"I like it."

His eyes went to yours and now he's puzzled, "You like what in particular?" he asked.

You smiled, "I like all of these. I like sunsets. I like how you planned this night for us. I like it. I appreciate it." You handed him his drink, "I'm not expert in date ideas as well, so no worries."

He chuckled and that's the only time you noticed how cute he is when he laugh and smile, especially his cheeks reaching for his eyes.

"I haven't dated anyone in decades so that explains my old fashioned ways and ideas," you don't know what he means when he said he haven't dated in decades.

"What are you? A 80 year old man?" you joked.

"Actually a hundred and six."

You burst into laughter but his face remained serious, "You are so funny, Bucky." You sighed as you stare on the sunset in front of you, "You know, some of my classmates bullied me when I was in elementary 'cause they think I'm an old soul or something, so don't worry if someone thinks of you as an old-fashioned or something. It's not really bad."

He frowned, "Why did they bullied you?"

"Because they found out that I'm listening to The Beatles, Paul Anka, Frankie Valli, and not into Britney Spears or something trendy during our time," you explained. You took a deep breath once more, "I guess I just really prefer old and classic songs. I find them amusing and the words that they used in making them feels like they are really talking to you and your soul."

You could still remember back in the day, you asked your dad to bought you a vinyl because you were fascinated by it.

"So what's your favorite song?" Bucky asked you.

"Can't take my eyes off of you, it's really classic," you said before taking a sip from your drink. "That was also my parents' theme song when they got married," sadness took over you when you remembered your late parents, "That was also the song I sang for them during their funeral."

You felt Bucky's eyes on you.

You turn to him and nodded to his unsaid question, "I'm an orphan now. They died because of a car accident. And when they died I used to live with my grandma but she died ad well three years ago, that makes me independent from then on. That makes me alone and living my own life." You tried giving him a smile, "How about you? What are your favorites?" you changed the topic.

But even though you already changed the topic he did not let go of the fact that something changed in your mood when you talked about your parents.

"I know how hard it is to lose both of your parents. I felt them too," he reached for your hand, making you shiver, "But if they'd see you now, I'll bet they're proud of the woman you are now."

You looked down and smile, "Why do you even talk like you already know me?" you asked him. "You and I just met," you reminded him as you look back at him.

"We just met but I've seen you and how hard you work in that restaurant every single time I was there and every time I pass by it," he revealed.

All along you thought he doesn't know you exist, but he does. He's totally aware of your existence and he knows how hard worker you are.

"Don't feel bad for being alone and independent, 'cause you should be proud of yourself. You know how to take care of yourself without depending or relying your happiness to other people. Sometimes living alone isn't that bad, it will let you experience things that will taught you a lot of lessons in life," you felt he squeezed your hand, making your eyes travel to your and his hands holding together.

You learned from him that he's not related to Yori, they are just neighbors and he's just trying to help Yori as the latter is living on his own.

Once darkness consumed the sky, the two of you head back to your apartment, which is only a few blocks away from the place where you work. You asked him if he wants to have a cup of coffee, he said yes but before you guys could enter your apartment, he received a phone call. After he talked someone over the phone, he said he needed to go.

"Is everything alright?" you asked him concernly. You noticed the sudden change of his mood after he took the call.

He nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry I need to go but I promise, I'll call you and text you." Both of you already exchanged numbers so you just got to wait when he will call and text you. But you said to yourself you're not gonna expect anything, "I had a wonderful time with you tonight and God knows I didn't want to end our date like this but I just got to go. It's call of duty."

You don't understand what he mean by call of duty but you have no other choice but to let him go.

"Take care, Bucky," that's all you could tell him.

You could tell in his reaction that he isn't happy with the answer he got from you.

Somehow, you are telling yourself to not expect anything from him. In that way, you won't get your hopes up and you won't end up getting hurt and disappointed. It's better that way.

You were about to close your door when his hand stopped you from doing so.

"Wha--"

Before you could say a word, he walked towards you and closed the space between the two of you as he leaned in to claim your lips.

The sweet taste of his lips makes your knees weak, but his arms rescued you and gently pinned you against the door. It's not long before you kissed him back and enjoy the taste of his lips.

Last night you dreamed of meeting him, of knowing him, and tonight, you'll be sleeping peacefully as you get satisfaction of meeting him, having a date with him, and getting the chance to kiss him. What a progress in a day.

When you heard your neighbor coming out the other door, you pulled away from your kiss.

You and Bucky stared at each other while waiting for your neighbor to evaporate.

Once your neighbor is gone, he kissed your lips one more time. When he pulled away, he smiled at you, "That's the first time I kissed a woman in decades, so if it's that bad, give me the consideration," he joked.

"No," you shook your head, "No one ever kissed me that good before."

His smile grew wider as he gave your cheeks a caress, "I'll see you when I get back."

"Don't promise anything to me, Bucky. Just do it," you said before entering your apartment and closing your door.

Like what you said, you will not expect anything for the coming days or even weeks. You won't do anything about it. You won't get your hopes up and wait for his move, it's up to him whether he'll call you or not. But a little part of you hope that he will.

A little hope wouldn't hurt anyway.

-v.dl

[symphonyofthewrite]

If These Walls Could Talk 

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.