#and considering that i draw at times i must admit that it is more difficult for me than i may like to admit XD

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Really happy that requests are open again! I love what y'all do!

May I ask for a Azul, Malleus, Deuce, and Jamil finding out that the MC is secretly a princess/prince back in their own world? The MC wasn't hiding it, it's just they did not give off the air of a royal heir.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul, in all honesty, is completely bamboozled as to what royalty would want to do with him. Surely you weren’t the naïve type of royal who thought the world was your oyster and would only offer up pearls? He, of all people, was not one that many would align themselves with willingly which made it more difficult to draw a conclusion on your relationship with him. In the end, it’s Azul once more avoiding his feelings and shushing the fears of you leaving him; now he can convince himself that you’re bound by royal duty and that you would never consider staying with him regardless of your relationship status.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce feels the need to apologize for every single time he’s spoken out of turn, and wonders if he should start referring to you as ‘your highness’ as a sign of respect. It does change the relationship between you because he doesn’t know the proper way to act, and it upsets you when he suddenly gets stiff and impersonal despite how close you are. You don’t want your royalty from another realm to change who you are to him and you say as such, with Deuce sheepishly admitting he still saw you as ‘you’ but he didn’t want to offend you by saying something too immature or foolish.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil couldn’t help but wonder if it was a way out. He’d never want to leave his family behind but the other half of him, the part that wants a life different than being a servant for an eternity, wondered if he could be with you. Or, since he was certainly not royal here or in your own world, you might designate him the same position in your life in hopes of remaining together. He doesn’t know which fate is better for his sanity but he tried not to think about it, preferring to think of you as you are before the big royal reveal unless you wanted to be treated otherwise.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus is quite curious on how a royal marriage across realms might work, knowing that such knowledge must be out there somewhere. He can’t say that he isn’t surprised by this turn of events however, wondering if royalty was a bit different in your homeworld. It at least opens up an entire new branch of conversations for you to have on your moonlit walks through the nearby ruins, Malleus full of curiosity for your families history as well as necessary customers (and perhaps even a question or two about proper courting rituals while he’s at it).

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Gwen

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Reader

Word count: 644

Warnings: Use of nicknames (sweets, my love), reader keeps falling but I think that’s it?

A/N: I have never ice-skated in my life, so if anything’s incorrect please don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

MY FAVOURITE GIRL I LOVE HER SO MUCH 💗

quite short bc all my inspiration went into the oneshot of my other gf 😞 (hobie)

“I don’t get how you do this so easily,” You huffed in frustration after falling yet again on the hard surface of the ice skating rink.

“It just takes practise, sweets. You’ll get it with time.” Gwen effortlessly glided along the ice in circles around you, her skates drawing deliberate, almost perfectly symmetrical shapes.

“I’ve fallen on my ass more times than I can count today. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the worst out of everyone at this.”

“Well… I never said it would be easy,” She chuckled softly, pausing and reaching down to grasp your hand and help you up. “And come on, you’re definitely not the worst - look at everyone else.”

You spared a glance around for the first time, since you didn’t have to concentrate on keeping your eyes up and focused on one point.

Miles was tumbling everywhere, falling flat on his face at least three times every five minutes. Pavitr was using his yo-yo webshooters to lasso various railings on the opposite end of the rink and pull himself carefully toward them. Hobie had somehow attached the blades - sole and all - of the skates to his giant boots and was happily clomping around in his own world, lifting his feet and not even bothering to attempt skating. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t tripped up and fallen yet.

Margo had dropped out at the last minute and was sitting on one of the benches off to the side, sharing a packet of skittles with (the other) Miles and scrolling on her phone.

“Coward!” You called over to her, and she just chuckled. “Just so you know, I’m filming every time you fall! I’ve already got eleven shots for the compilation I’m gonna make!”

You rolled your eyes at her and pointedly tried to turn your back but just ended up rotating slowly on the ice. “You have a point,” You admitted to Gwen, and she tilted her head as if she was considering something.

“Let’s try something new, yeah? Here,” She moved behind you, gently resting her hands on either sides of your waist. “I taught you how to glide, didn’t I? Stroking is similar, just… you extend the movements more so it’s faster, but more difficult. Try gliding, and make it longer this time. I’m right here with you; you won’t fall. Don’t worry.”

You shifted your weight onto your right leg, tentatively placing your left blade on the ice a few inches ahead of the tip of your right skate, then slid your right leg to align with your left. You repeated the motion a few more times, getting used to gliding consistently before lengthening your strides and getting bolder with your speed.

Throughout everything Gwen was right there behind you, faithfully holding onto your waist to steady you, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement whenever you faltered and cheering you on as you sped ahead so she had to rush to keep up with you.

“I’m going to let go, sweets. I think you can do it. Do you still want me to hold you?”

“I think I can do it now…” At your words, she gave a hum of approval and let go of your waist. You flew forward, managing to catch yourself and turn away before you could hit the railing. Gwen smiled fondly, watching your movements carefully.

“See, my love? You’re doing it! Next I’ll teach you how to swizzle, it’ll be easy now that you’ve learnt how to-”

Thud.

She was immediately kneeling at your side, her eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “What happened? You okay?”

Your single look must have been enough to convey the pain you were feeling in your already-sore behind, because her eyes softened and she leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll get the ice packs from Margo… how about we take a break for a little bit?”

A swizzle (from what I understand) is the hourglass thing ice skaters keep doing which looks so cool!

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

[mychlapci]

Taking a break from beating my head against my google docs to say that I think single mommy Sentinel Prime would probably stop after the third bitlet. It’s the perfect number, after all! The have siblings to play and squabble with, but not so many that he can’t lovingly dedicate himself to them completely the way a good mommy should. And this is probably fine, what with him being on reduced hours and cumming his brains out on the regular—until his youngest is old enough to go to daycare. Then he’d go back to his old, irritable, irritating self pretty quickly. His coworkers would quickly get together, scheming behind his back and coming up with a plan to get that mech pregnant again and KEEP him that way.

I imagine there’d be some kind of government sponsored fertility campaign after the loss of the Allspark… Maybe even benefits for carrying. And I imagine there’s probably some baby fever thrown into the mix, after having Sentinel running around pregnant and with bitlets nursing off of his tits. The office would agree on who would knock him up first, the lucky mech ‘hesitantly’ asking if Sentinel would maybe consider being a surrogate carrier. And Sentinel, missing being pregnant and probably gloating internally about how everybot must know what a perfect carrier he is, would agree.

It wouldn’t even be difficult to get Sentinel Prime pregnant again. He’s dripping at the mere thought of being round with another bitlet, and his slutty, fertile spark would split one off in no time. The applicator, of course, would be necessary for home-use. They aren’t in a relationship, after all. But it’s simple enough to load cartridges for that. In the office, however, all his coworkers are pleased to note the return of the soft, pretty carrier who begs so sweetly for spike. Of course that valve belongs to the sire and whatever partner(s) they may or may not have for the duration of this pregnancy, but hey! Free show. Mommy Sentinel needs transfluid and he is GOING to get it, panel opening enticingly to let him waggle his dripping valve at the sire when and wherever. Begging for another load as he drools onto his desk, clutching at the edge as that spike fills him just right. Constantly simmering with charge, desperately aroused at the idea that other mechs think he’s so good a mommy that they want him to carry for them. Overloading hard when the sire cups his belly or pinches his swollen, sensitive nipples.

And when this pregnancy is over, his coworkers will be drawing lots to be the next lucky bastard to pump their spike into that plush, needy valve. Anything to keep Mommy pregnant, since Sentinel gets unbearable otherwise. His days of doing field work are well and truly over, but he can’t be too mad about it. He’s too charged up all the time to really even notice.

mhmm Bots are falling all over each in a race to impregnate Sentinel. It's not just the financial bonus for adding to the population - the thing is, a pregnant Sentinel is a happy Sentinel, and not happy in that annoying, gloating way, but really happy. In the way where he’s mellow and mostly focused on rubbing his pregnant belly and topping up on transfluid. They need to keep him pregnant to make him bearable. Sentinel definitely misses being pregnant, so when bots approach him asking him if he would like to be a surrogate, he’s more than happy to smugly announce that yes, of course, he’s got a very good gestation chamber, as can be seen by his three beautiful, well-behaved sparklings (I think they would be such menaces, but Sentinel wouldn’t admit that to himself)

Soon enough, all is right in the world once again - Sentinel is at his desk, his pussy squelching around the applicator as he dutifully does his job without bothering anyone. He's easily distracted by a spike now, meaning that if he mouths off, the sire just has to whip it out and pound his valve until he's dazed and rubbing his baby-bump constantly, staring at his work dumbly <33

When he goes home he takes care of his kids like a good, attentive mommy and then later at night, he makes sure to top up on a little more transfluid....

[art-by-jas]

"Goodnight, Doll."

Summary: With the holidays approaching, Alex and you must hire more workers. Finn teases Sonny about his barista crush. Sonny takes you out to dinner.

After being told to take it easy and rest and relax, Sonny finally took the advice, he put in for a few days vacation, which Benson immediately approved. The sergeant explained that while they had started a big case, the Chicago Intelligence Unit, Detectives Lindsay and Halstead, were there to help. Sonny felt a little guilty about the timing, given the high stakes of the case, but Benson assured him they would be fine and that she understood his need to prioritize self-care. With his vacation approved, Sonny left the station feeling relief and excitement. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken real time off, having been too focused on work to prioritize relaxation.

As he entered the hallway of his apartment, he paused to glance back at your door. Stepping inside, he dropped his bag by the door and hurried to the kitchen. His fridge was woefully bare, a consequence of his long work hours and habit of eating most meals at the station's break room.

Surveying the sparse contents - some takeout containers, a couple of eggs, and a six-pack of beer - he let out a resigned sigh. If he wanted to unwind properly this week, a grocery run was clearly in order. With a renewed sense of determination, Sonny grabbed his keys and wallet and headed back out, the setting sun casting warm hues across the city skyline.

The familiar sounds of shopping carts and the hum of refrigerators greet Sonny as he steps into the store. He grabs a cart and begins browsing the aisles, gathering essentials like milk, bread, and vegetables. The store was surprisingly peaceful, with few other shoppers around. Sonny relishes the calm atmosphere, a welcome respite from the usual hustle and bustle of the city.

As he passed through the produce section, a display of fresh flowers caught his eye. On impulse, Sonny selects a bunch of mixed daisies, the camellias in particular drawing his attention. Placing the flowers in his cart, he feels a flicker of nervous anticipation. He’s not sure why he had chosen to buy them, but the sight of the blooms had made him think of you, and he found himself wanting to bring you a small gift.

After finishing his shopping and paying, Sonny exits the store feeling lighter and more at ease as he heads home.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

As the holiday season approached, your shop became increasingly busy, prompting you to make a difficult but necessary decision - you needed to hire additional staff to manage the growing workload.

After interviewing four candidates with Alex, you both carefully assessed their attributes. Jeziah, a 16-year-old boy, was lively but lacked maturity. Amy had a vibrant personality was a maybe. John seemed responsible, while Erin was efficient yet somewhat cold. Kiki had a positive attitude, but her tendency to gossip concerned you.

As you reviewed the interview notes in your office, you felt overwhelmed by the daunting task of selecting the right candidates to hire.

Alex glances at you, clearly sensing your hesitation. "What are you thinking, boss? Did any of them strike you as a good fit?"

You take a deep breath, biting your lip as you consider the question. "I'm not sure," you admitted.

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. It's not an easy decision."

The work schedule has Martha arriving for the next shift at 3 PM, followed shortly by Sean. Several other employees would clock in after them. As your shift neared its end, you began wrapping up loose ends, tidying the counter area, and restocking supplies for the incoming crew.

Hearing the bell over the door jingle, you glance up, your heart racing -It’s Sonny wearing casual clothes, jeans, and a plain grey t-shirt. His hair was a little messy as if he'd just woken up, and he had a hint of stubble on his jaw. Seeing him walk in with a man beside him, they talked, sharing a laugh as they strolled further into the coffee shop.

Sonny greets you with a warm smile, approaching the counter, the man beside him trailing a step or two behind before he glances at the menu board, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Hey," Sonny says, giving you a casual nod. "Sorry to drop in unannounced like this. We just needed a little caffeine boost." His voice was deeper than usual, with a hint of gravel in it, and you find yourself drawn to the sound of it. Blinking, you regain your composure, replying with a friendly smile of your own.

"No need to apologize," you reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "Happy to have you. What can I get for you guys?"

"Hmm.. Why not be festival, I’ll try one of the pumpkin pie lattes, what about you?” Sonny glances at his friend to answer you.

“An Americano, please,” The man requests.

You nod and jot down their order on your pad. "Coming right up." Turning to the espresso machine, you began to prepare their drinks, the familiar motions helping to calm your nerves a bit. As you continue to prepare their drinks, Sonny glances back at his friend, who is standing behind him.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” You ask with a smile.

"Right," Sonny grins, "this is Finn. One of the detectives I work with"

Finn steps forward, extending his hand towards you with a charismatic smile. "Pleasure to meet you," he says.

His eyes are bright and friendly, and his grip is firm as you shake his hand. "Likewise," you respond.

The coffee machine finishes brewing and you pour the drinks into cups. Adding the finishing touches, you slid the drinks across the counter to Sonny and Finn.

"Here you go, guys," you said, offering them a smile. "One Americano and one pumpkin pie latte."

Sonny picks up his coffee, savoring the aroma, before taking a sip. Finn did the same, a satisfied sigh escaping him.

"This is damn good coffee," Finn says, nodding in appreciation.

Sonny shoots him a look, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Told you this place was worth the trip." he winks at you. Finn chuckles and takes another sip while eyeing the pastries on display.

"I'm gonna check out the food," he states, wandering over to the display case. Sonny watches him for a moment before turning back to you, a shy smile on his face.

"Sorry about him," he says, chuckling softly. "He's always hungry. Especially after a long night."He brings the coffee cup back to his lips, taking another sip before setting it down on the counter between you. There is a slight pause before he speaks again, his gaze lingers on yours.

"So, uh, how've you been?" he asks, his voice soft and casual. "It's been a while since we've seen each other."

"I've been good," you answer, a small smile on your face. "Things have been pretty busy here lately. And you?"

Sonny shrugs, his broad shoulders moving underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. "Oh, you know, the same old. Work, work, and more work. But today's my first day off in a while, so Finn and I thought we'd come by and grab some coffee before he has to go in later." He looks around the café, his eyes taking in the cozy atmosphere and the other customers scattered around. 

Just then, Finn appears at his side, holding a large cookie in his hand, 

"Man, I’m going to go broke, everything looks so good," Finn says.

You chuckle, “Why thank you, Finn, I appreciate it. You know what first one is free,”

“No, I can’t, c’mon, how much is it?”

“Seriously, a friend of Sonny is a friend of mine,” You smile at the other detective.

“Okay, if you are sure, Thanks,” Fin states with a grin.

You glance at the clock, noting the time. Sonny looks up from the cookie, his eyes locking on yours. He seems to hesitate for a moment before speaking.

"You know, since it's my day off, I was wondering if you'd be interested in hanging out? Maybe getting lunch or something?"

A flutter of excitement stirs in your stomach at his invitation. You hadn't expected him to ask, but you found yourself nodding almost immediately.

"Sure, I'd love to," you respond, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Sonny's face lit up with a smile, relief clearly etched on his features. He glances at Finn, who is now eyeing a slice of cake with great interest.

"Great," he says, his voice a bit brighter now. "We can figure out the details later. I'll text you."

You nod, feeling your heart rate pick up a notch at the thought of spending more time with Sonny. "Sounds good," you reply.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

As the two detectives walk outside, Finn shoots Sonny a knowing look before nudging Sonny lightly.

"You dog," Finn teases, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Sonny rolls his eyes but does not suppress a smirk. "Shut up," he says, giving Finn a playful smack on the arm.

"You couldn't resist, could you?" Finn persists, elbowing Sonny in the side. "Had to come back and see your little barista crush."

Sonny's face flushes a little, but he tries to play it cool. "She's not a crush," he protests, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We're just friends."

Finn raises an eyebrow, a smug expression on his face. "Just friends, huh? Is that why you were stuttering and blushing like a schoolboy when you asked her to hang out?"

"I was not stuttering," Sonny retorts, his face turning even redder. "And I wasn't blushing. It's hot out here, that's all."

"Yeah, hot in November, sure…” Finn laughs but relents, giving Sonny's shoulder a gentle punch. "Alright, alright. I'll lay off. But seriously, I'm happy for you, man. You deserve some happiness in your life."

Sonny's expression softens, and he shoots Finn a grateful smile. "Thanks, man," he says, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a bit. "I just hope I don't mess it up."

Finn claps him on the back. "You won't. You're a good guy, Carisi. And she seems to be a great girl. Just be yourself, and things will work out."

`. ݁ ⋆.˚ 𓆉°❀⋆  ݁°𓇼⋆ ˎˊ˖ .ೃ࿔*.˚˖𓍢ִ໋`. ݁ ⋆.˚ 𓆉°❀⋆  ݁°𓇼⋆ ˎˊ˖ .ೃ࿔*.˚˖𓍢ִ໋

When Sonny arrives home, he heads for the shower to freshen up. As the warm water cascades over him, he can't help but replay the scene in the café in his mind. The way you had smiled at him, the sound of your voice. He tried to remind himself to play it cool, to not come on too strong. You were just a friend, after all. But the memory of the way your eyes had lit up when he asked you to hang out made his heart race. 

As he got out of the shower and dried off, he mentally ran through different ideas for places to go for lunch. He wanted it to be somewhere casual, somewhere you would feel comfortable. He just hoped he wouldn't mess it up.

Gimme a min, a cup carrier decided to give out on me as I handed it to a customer. Covered in coffee -_- Let me take a shower first and I’ll be right over :)

Sonny saw your message and couldn't help but chuckle, he quickly typed out a reply.

Ouch, that sounds like a mess. Take your time though, no rush. I'll wait.

He sits down on the edge of his bed, trying to distract himself with his phone. But his mind keeps wandering back to you, wondering what you'd wear, how you'd do your hair. He shakes his head, scolding himself for being so damn smitten. To pass the time, he changes into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt. He runs his fingers through his still-damp hair a few times, trying to style it in a casual yet presentable way.

Sonny practically jumps at the sound of the knock ten minutes later, his heart pounding in his chest as he quickly gets up from the bed and goes to the door. He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves before opening the door, and his breath hitches as he sees you standing there, looking fresh and beautiful in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey," he says, his voice coming out a little huskier than he intended. He smiles, trying to act casual even though his body is buzzing with anticipation. "Ready to go?"

You smile back, "Yeah, I'm starving," you reply, your stomach growling as if to emphasize your point.

Sonny chuckles, "Well, let's get you fed, then," he says, gesturing for you to exit first.

He shuts the door behind him and leads the way down the hall, his mind racing with a mixture of excitement and nerves. As you two walk side by side, he’s acutely aware of how close you are, how he can practically feel the heat radiating off your body.

He struggles to find something to talk about, "So, uh..." he begins, racking his brain for a decent conversation starter. "How was your morning? Was the shift okay before the spill incident?" He cringes inwardly at how lame the question sounded.

You laugh softly, apparently unfazed by his awkwardness. "Yeah, the rest of the morning was pretty uneventful, thankfully. But I did give the customer a free drink to make up for it."

Sonny nods, relieved that you hadn't seemed to pick up on his nervousness. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them from fidgeting.

"That's good," he says, pausing for a moment before adding, "So where do you want to go for lunch? I'm cool with pretty much anything."

You think for a moment before answering, "Hmm, I've been craving a burger all morning. Do you like burgers?"

A grin tugs at the corners of Sonny's lips at your suggestion. "Burgers sound perfect," he agrees. "There's a place a couple blocks from here that has really great burgers if you're cool with walking a bit."

You nod, falling into step beside him as you walk together towards the burger joint. The sun was warm on your skin, and a gentle breeze occasionally rustled through your hair.

Sonny is quiet for a moment, as if lost in thought. After a few minutes of walking, he suddenly speaks up.

"You know, I have to say," he begins, his voice soft, "You look nice today. I mean, you always look nice, but today especially."

A blush creeps up your cheeks at the compliment, and you smile shyly. "Thanks," you reply, glancing over at him. "You look pretty good yourself."

Sonny's heart skips a beat at your words, and he smiles back at you, feeling a flutter of excitement in his stomach. As you continue walking, the conversation flows smoothly between the two of you. Sonny finds himself relaxing more and more, enjoying the easy banter and the feeling of your presence beside him. The whole world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, the noise and chaos of the city fading into the background.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Finally, you arrive at the burger joint, and the smell of frying meat and melted cheese drifts out through the open doors. Sonny holds the door open for you and follows you inside. The place was bustling with activity, but there was a relaxed, carefree ambiance to the place. Both of you are greeted by the hostess and are shown to a small booth tucked away in the corner. As you sit down across from each other, Sonny notices the way the sunlight streaming through the window makes your eyes sparkle.

You take a look at the menu and begin to scan the options, while Sonny tries to tear his gaze away from your face. He picks up his own menu, pretending to look at the choices, but he can't seem to focus on anything except the way you were biting your lip as you read.

"What are you planning on getting?" He asks, trying to distract himself from his growing attraction towards you.

"Hmm," You tap your chin with your finger. "I'm thinking of getting the bacon cheeseburger, extra cheese, and extra bacon, with some onion rings on the side."

Sonny chuckles, amused by your decadent choice. "Extra cheese AND extra bacon? You're a woman after my own heart," he teases.

You shoot him a smile. "Hey, you only live once, right? Might as well go big or go home".

Sonny raises an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Oh, I'm all for going big. You haven't seen me at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

You laugh, "Is that a challenge?"

Sonny leans back in his seat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Baby, I'll challenge you to anything," he says, his voice low and silky. He couldn't help but notice the way your eyes darkened at his words. A flush crept up your cheeks, and you try to hide it by pretending to study your menu again. Sonny watches you closely, enjoying your reaction to his flirtation. He was feeling emboldened now, his earlier nerves almost forgotten.

The waitress comes over and takes your orders, and Sonny asks for a burger and fries as you request your order. As the waitress walks away, Sonny leans back in his seat, a smug smile on his face. "So, tell me something interesting about yourself."

You laugh, rolling your eyes good-naturedly at his smugness. "Oh, you want the good old 'tell me about yourself' question, huh?"

You think for a moment before replying, "Well, I'm not that interesting, honestly. I grew up in a small town, moved here for college, and never left. I like to read and write and draw in my free time, and love watching true crime documentaries."

Sonny listens intently, genuinely intrigued by your responses. "A small-town girl, huh? I can totally see that. You have that wholesome vibe," he teases, grinning mischievously.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Let me guess, you're secretly a huge fan of 'Unsolved Mysteries', aren't you?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Guilty as charged," you admit. "I have been known to binge-watch entire seasons in one sitting."

Sonny's eyes sparkle with appreciation, his smile widening. "See? I knew I liked you for a reason," he says emphatically. "I'm always looking for someone to discuss good old Robert Stack." You laugh, enjoying his enthusiasm. 

The waitress comes back with their orders and sets down two large and delicious-looking burgers in front of you. Sonny's stomach growls loudly at the sight of the food, and you can’t help but chuckle at his unabashed hunger.

He immediately digs into his burger, taking a large bite and letting out a satisfied moan. "Oh, my God," he says around a mouthful of food, eyes practically rolling back in his head. "This is heaven. Pure, delicious, greasy heaven."

You laugh incredulously, shaking your head at his shameless lack of manners. "Seriously? I've never seen anyone get so excited over a burger before."

You delicately take a bite of your burger, closing your eyes in pleasure as the flavors hit your tongue. "Okay, I have to admit, this is pretty damn good."

Sonny swallows his mouthful, a contented grin stretches across his face. "See? I told you," he says, winking at you. He takes another bite, trying to speak through a mouthful of food. "So, tell me more about your love for drawing. Are you one of those people who can draw a perfect photorealistic sketch of an apple or something?"

You snort, waving away the notion. "I'm no Da Vinci, that's for sure. I mainly doodle in my sketchbook when I'm bored or feeling inspired."

You shrug, taking another bite of your burger. "It's just a hobby, really. Not something I'd ever consider doing professionally. But it's relaxing."

Sonny nods, taking a moment to finish off his burger before responding. "Hobbies are important," he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "It's good to have something to help you unwind and relax. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So what do you draw? Landscapes, people, animals... what's your go-to subject?"

You think for a moment, contemplating your preferences. "I'm not sure I have a go-to subject. I like drawing people, but I also enjoy drawing nature, buildings, animals, anything with texture and shadows." You take a thoughtful bite of onion ring, chewing slowly as you continue. "I just doodle whatever strikes my mood at the moment, honestly. Sometimes it's a person, other times it's a landscape or a still life."

Sonny listens intently, feeling an unexpected pang of admiration for your creative pursuits. "Wow, that sounds really impressive," he says, his voice a touch softer than before. "I've always been jealous of people who can draw or paint. I can barely manage stick figures." He chuckles self-deprecatingly, running his hand through his hair. "But what I lack in artistic talent, I make up for in other areas, I suppose."

You arch an eyebrow, teasing him. "Oh yeah? And what areas might those be?" You bit back a smile, enjoying the banter between the two of you.

A cocky smile spreads across his face. "Oh, I have many talents, doll," Sonny drawls. 

You try to hide your flush by taking a long sip of soda, but Sonny's smug smile tells you he'd noticed the effect his words had on you. He reached across the table and grabbed an onion ring from your plate, popping it in his mouth, and winks.

You feign outrage, pretending to swat at his hand. "Hey, hey, hey! Get your own onion rings, buddy."

Sonny grins unrepentantly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "I just couldn't help myself. These onion rings are amazing."

You roll your eyes but can't help but smile at his cheeky behavior. "You're lucky you're cute," you say, trying to sound stern.

Sonny's grin widens at your compliment. "You think I'm cute, eh? Careful, doll, you might make me blush."

Sonny chuckles, a wicked twinkle in his eye. "Oh, so you think I'm cute, huh?" he teases, leaning back in his seat and resting his arms behind his head.

You shake your head, trying to keep a straight face. "Don't let it go to your head," you warn. 

Sonny feigns innocence, placing a hand over his heart. "Me? Let it go to my head? Never," he replies, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

You laugh, shaking your head again. "You're insufferable, you know that?" you say, but there was no heat behind the words. You were starting to find his confidence flirting a bit endearing.

Sonny rests his chin on his hand and gives you a crooked smile. "But you like it," he responds, his eyes sparkling. "Admit it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but then closed it again, realizing that you really did like it. His confidence and cheeky charm were strangely attractive, even if you didn't want to admit it to yourself.

"Maybe," you finally concede, a small smile playing on your lips.

Sonny's grins again, his blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I knew it," he states, leaning back in his seat again. "You can't resist the Carisi charm."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "Oh, yes, I'm completely helpless in the face of your charms," you voice dryly, knowing full well the effect he was having on you.

"What about you, tell me something interesting about you," you ask.

"Well, I grew up and still am very much Catholic, played basketball and little league in high school. I'm O-negative, so if you ever need a transfusion, I'm your guy," Sonny continues telling random facts about his life.

As Sonny tells you more about his upbringing and his hobbies, you can’t help but feel more and more intrigued by him. There was something genuine and endearing about his willingness to share these random details about himself.

"O-negative, huh?" you say, smiling. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I worked in homicide, and I was a patrol officer before becoming a detective in Staten Island's SVU." Sonny continues.

He reached for another of your onion rings and pops it into his mouth, winking at you. You swatted at his hand again, but this time with less conviction. "Hey, those are mine!" you protested, but you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. The waitress comes over, leaving the check at the edge of the table. Sonny quickly glances at the amount before pulling out his wallet.

"Here, let me get this," he says, pulling out a credit card.

You are a little surprised by his quick move. "Oh, you don't have to do that," you protest. "We can split the bill."

Sonny shakes his head, waving off your protest. "Nah, I got this," he declares, giving you a look that brooked no argument. The waitress comes back and takes the card, leaving the two of you alone at the table again. Sonny leans back in his seat, studying you with a thoughtful expression on his face.

You fidget a bit under his gaze, feeling a little self-conscious. "What?" you ask, a hint of defensiveness in your voice.

Sonny smiles, his gaze softening. "Nothing. I just like looking at you, that's all," he replies, his voice a low rumble.

Your heart skips a beat, and you try to hide the effect his words have on you by averting your gaze. "You're laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" you say.

Sonny laughs, unperturbed by your attempt to downplay his compliments. "Maybe a little," he admits, shamelessly. "But I only say what I mean, doll."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. "You're impossible, you know that?" you express, but there is no real heat behind the words.

Sonny grins, leaning forward in his seat. "What can I say? You bring out the impossible in me."

His eyes flicker up to the waitress returning with his credit card before looking back at you. "Ready to go?" he asks, rising to his feet and holding out a hand.

You accept his hand, feeling a shiver run down your spine as your skin makes contact with his.

"Yeah, let's go," you voice, standing up and smoothing out your clothes.

Sonny squeezes your hand before releasing it, instead placing a hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the restaurant. As you step out into the crisp night air, a brief shiver runs through you, the cool temperature a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. Sonny notices you shiver and, without a word, slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The material was warm and smelled faintly of his cologne, and you instinctively snuggled into the comforting scent.

"Can't have you freezing on me," he comments, his voice a low rumble.

"Thanks," you mutter, pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. Sonny slips his hands into his pockets and starts walking, falling into step beside you. 

As you stroll down the busy city street, a comfortable silence settles between you. Every so often, you stole a side glance at him, admiring his profile in the soft glow of the streetlights. He catches you looking more than once, and each time he flashes a cocky grin, knowing full well the effect he was having on you. 

The night air still has a chill, but with his jacket around your shoulders and the warmth of his presence beside you, you feel surprisingly warm. You try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The apartment building comes into view, its familiar brick facade a welcome sight. Sonny glances at you as you approach, then slows his pace as you reach the steps leading up to the doors.

The elevator dings and the doors open, pulling you both back to reality. You step out onto the floor of your apartment doors opposite each other.

Sonny turns to face you, his expression unreadable. "Tonight was... fun," he smiles, his voice a little rougher than usual.

"Yeah, it was," you agree, "Thanks for dinner."

Sonny steps closer, closing the gap between you. Before you had time to react, he cupped your face with both hands, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. Your heart leaps into your throat as Sonny steps towards you, his hands cupping your face gently. His warm fingers brush against your skin, sending little tingles down your spine.

As you meet his intense gaze, your breath hitches in your throat. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"Sonny..." you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

The loud voices of the kids down the hall break the moment between you and Sonny. You both jump apart, momentarily startled. You let out a shaky breath, feeling a sting of disappointment at the interruption. You look up at Sonny, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked equally annoyed, his face set in a scowl as he watched the rowdy kids run by. As the kids disappear around the corner, Sonny turns back to you, a small frown still on his face. "Sorry about that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kids, am I right? I should probably let you get some sleep," he speaks, his voice a little rough around the edges. He glances over his shoulder at his own apartment door, then back at you. 

You nod, feeling the same pang of disappointment at the thought of the evening coming to an end. "Yeah, I probably should," you reply, trying to sound casual. Yet, you both stand there for a moment, neither one of you quite ready to say goodnight just yet. The silence stretches between you, filled with an unspoken tension. You could feel the heat of Sonny's gaze on you, and you felt inexplicably drawn to him, like there was more to say, more to discover.

Finally, Sonny speaks up, "Goodnight, Doll."

"Night, Sonny." You give him a small smile before you turn to enter your apartment, Sonny does the same to his.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it and sigh. Despite the interruption from the rowdy kids, the evening had been one of the best you'd had in a long time. Something about Sonny fascinated you and made your heart beat a little faster. You wander over to your couch and collapse onto it, replaying the evening in your mind, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Masterlist

[1141520851813892291920]

I can't stop having nightmares.

It's not abnormal for me, especially considering I just got put on new medication, but something about it feels... different. I can do nothing but watch and listen. I can't scream, can't breathe, can't so much as blink.

The nightmares are never the same. They follow a pattern, but it's not like they're recurring. Usually they involve the face or head somehow.

One night I was on the factory floor, in front of a conveyor belt. Heads would come past, separated from their bodies long before they got to me. My job was simple. All I had to do was remove their faces. They were ready for me, I didn't have to make any of the cuts, those were done before. I simply slipped my fingers beneath the flesh, and peeled. I wanted to stop. I didn't want to take their faces away. But all I could do was watch as hands I knew were not my own but must've been because I could feel them pull away the skin and discard it. I watched the faceless skulls be whisked away by the belt. They had no eyes. I envied them.

My eyes were being sutured shut. For a moment I felt what was almost relief. If my eyelids are stitched together, surely I can stop seeing. The relief curdled in me when I realized that I was watching the procedure. I could feel it, every time the needle passed through my skin, every tug of the thread. But still I could see. I wept. The tears did not escape my eyes. They were sewn closed, and yet the pattern of the thread is burnt into my mind.

My brain was being removed. On an intellectual level, I know I shouldn't have been able to feel those gloved hands as they so slowly tore through my cerebral matter, but that didn't make the agony go away, I watched as they pulled it apart, squeezing it between their fingers. They looked like a surgeon, but they took none of the care that is demanded of those who poke around in the brain in the waking world. After I was empty, so empty and yet still alive, still seeing, I felt as they plunged their hands back into my gaping skull. I watched as they took out what I knew was no longer there.

I die, and I kill, and I cry, and I maim. Even as the blood drips into my eyes I can still see.

Waking is the only mercy I find. My psychiatrist says maybe it's the new medication. I haven't told her I no longer take it. It makes it hard for my eyes to focus.

Hmmm...

Well, thank you for your account. While I certainly know the power of dreams and what they may hold, it is still...difficult to sift memories from nightmares from reality.

Though, by virtue of you being here and the...shall I say, flavor - for lack of a better term - of your statement, I will consider your dreams, if nothing else, prophetic of something attempting to...influence you.

I must admit, this one in particular...got under my skin - no pun intended. The removal of body parts, particularly the faces...well, it does seems like something my former faceless friends made their signature. That said, I cannot ignore the ever present theme of seeing. Counter intuitive, perhaps, to me, but I am...quickly adjusting to the idea that things Here are never as I originally assume them. I am resisting the urge to draw conclusions, to remain purposefully open to new information and whatever path that information puts me on.

There are...things are much more real, now, then they were for me previously. The...people, here, are real. My people. Which means I need to protect them. Which means...learning as much as I can, and that will require being wrong, often.

But I can be wrong. I think that's...probably ok. Especially with how horrible being right always tends to be. He told me this can be a fresh start.

I think I'll let him be right.

Which - does nothing for your nightmares, my apologies. But thank you for bringing this to me. Do tell me if things get worse. I can't promise to help, but I will always be here to listen.

[razistoricharka]

Agree about the fan thing, I have to admit that I am very annoyed that people do not intellectually engage with the game and just meme-ify it and draw ship art because that's seemingly the way western young adults engage with everything. I'd love to see more historical and ideological parallels and real-life concepts applied to the game. Its breakdown of fate and the restrictions of video games is still better than most "meta" games made today because it actually has something to say for itself and its world rather than relying on a shock value ending. Please do talk about the endings and their implications or characters if you'd like. Also, have you played or considered playing The Void i.e. Turgor? It's another IPL game, even more difficult than Pathologic and absolutely loaded with subtext and philosophy that never gets discussed because it flew under most people's radars.

I've not played Turgor, I ought to get on it once I have time.

And yes, while the explosive popularity it has achieved in recent years has lead to a few analytical skimmings I've never seen as much as a video essay get into interpreting the subtext and worldbuilding. What's much overlooked is that the characters and their fates are the way they are because of the way the world is - and vice versa. The Town is an anachronous construct, lost in history much like the wider eastern block at the time. It's failing to reconcile its past and future, both industrial, colonial, and entangled in a parochial social contract, both mystical and demystified, trapped in an indeterminate past. This is exemplified by the visuals of the world, the reactionary and revolutionary relations between the three groups of the bound.

In short, the social and political landscape of the town is the Russian Empire - an industrialized colonial hellscape of serfdom - but it is also the Soviet Union - a visionary state that sought to turn the former into a coherent, progressive reality, but remained bent and dwindled into, well, you know. The town is subdivided into triptychs, the triptych of chronology, the fractions of the bound and ideologically opposed doctors, and of the town itself. There's a healer for every side, trying to save this disjointed slice of the world, but in the end, it's completely out of our control.

This may come across as a very unorthodox interpretation, but the *true* ending, the revelation that the town was but a game and the efforts and ideological struggle between the healers meaningless is part of a wider political and philosophical critique everyone seems to overlook. It's a criticism of a parochial, inward and in-group focused society that is afraid of death, personal death and the death of narratives.

You see this a lot in the approach to religion and conservatism in this social sphere (a remote town in east europe, for one). The people have no faith in God, but zealously upholds religion to preserve social norms. The people avoid tragedy, any attempt at a deeper insight is mocked, "philosophizing" is frowned upon, the in-group must remain static and timeless in a chaotic world to avert the fear of revelations, of death. A narrative must be upheld.

The town is a closed circle, and the world outside is heard of only in whispers and chatter.

The ending is your first meeting with the real agents of the outside world, The Powers That Be. You find out this closed circle was a sham. It's not a shock-twist, it's mocking the player, the town, the townspeople for believing their bubble mattered, for deluding themselves into intrigue and self-importance trying to avoid the human condition and unpredictable nature of the world - for trying to adhere to a single narrative.

This could be phrased much, much, much better. I'm tired after work though.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

What about an angst scenario of Gregory’s s/o finding out about his and P4’s crimes: “❝  i know i fucked up.  i know i did but don’t shut me out anymore.  let me in.  please let me in.  ❞ ?

aaaaaaaaaaaaa

IT’S  ALL  ABOUT  THE  YEARNING

(Name) doesn’t know what to think when they hear their lover and his friends talking about what they’ve done.

The idea that their GREGORY could have been involved in something so ghoulish as the death of another person is just beyond them. They’ve never considered it, it’s never crossed their mind, and yet… they can’t bring themself to think less of him like some people might. The thought of saying anything, of him being taken away from them because of it, makes their blood run cold. They don’t know if they could live without him.

But they’ve been distant from him ever since, and they’re sure he knows that they overheard him. What else could it possibly be, after all? There’s not another thing on this Earth that could push them away from him.

By the point (Name) flinches at his touch when he tries to put his arms around them in bed at night, they know he must be frustrated. It’s as if there’s some deep crevasse between the two of them, drawing a line in their love.

They’ve never pulled from him like that before; his touch an opposing magnetic force that immediately repels them. It’s the first time they haven’t leaned in and craved more of his attention.

The sigh he gives is heavy and burdensome enough that his breath warms their shoulder even though they’re not right next to him as usual. “I know I fucked up,” he admits quietly. He sets his hand on their arm, and (Name) is convinced they feel goosebumps rise up as soon as he does. “I know I did, but don’t shut me out anymore.”

At least he knows he isn’t blameless. At least he knows he’s done something wrong. He doesn’t claim to have no idea why they suddenly seem hesitant to be close to him.

“Let me in.” Every word is desperate, working its way into their heart the same way that Gregory himself did before they were officially together. Regardless that he understands why they’re afraid of him out of the blue, he doesn’t want this to create a permanent rift. He doesn’t want to just let it be. That might be part of what they’ve fallen in love with where he’s concerned; even as an introverted person, if something is important to him, he doesn’t sit back and do nothing.

“… Please let me in.” And they hear it in his voice ― he doesn’t want to defend himself, or his friends, or their actions. He just wants to feel like he hasn’t completely lost the love of his life.

They take a breath, and swallow whatever fear is beating inside their chest. What are they supposed to say? Even though they haven’t stopped loving him, they’re terrified of what the future looks like now. “How am I supposed to do that, Gregory?”

He’s silent for a moment, although he keeps his hand on their arm. After a few seconds, he begins to give a gentle rub, and it feels like every single other time he’s done it. Full of love, gratitude, and care. He hasn’t changed, has he?

Finally, he speaks in a whisper. “Like every other time you’ve let me in before. We need to talk… so… let’s talk. Please. I don’t… I… I don’t know what else to do. All I know is I don’t want what I’ve done to… ruin everything. I… can we just…?”

They shouldn’t relax, but they do. His tone, his pleading, his love, it’s all still the same.

The two of them need to talk about this.

So they think they can let him in, even if it’s difficult.

They take a deep breath to gather their courage, and roll over to face him.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current-ish LOCATION: Elias's apartment full of unpacked boxes PARTIES: Elias and Regan SUMMARY: Elias isn't doing so well reckoning with the reality that fae are real -- and that his friend is one. Regan reluctantly offered to answer some of his questions, but they don't get very far before Elias spirals. Gandalf is there.

This was not the address that had been on Elias’s employment papers. Regan was sure the luxury apartment downtown came with the move, the new job, and the assistant. His life was full of newfound fame and wealth yet instead of flying away with it all, he dragged himself back to where he had been before, obsessing over things he was probably better off not knowing. The draw was fierce with him, wasn’t it? He was like a dog with a bone. Except it was her bone.

As Regan stood outside his door, guild lodged in her throat like a hardened scream. That this was difficult at all was an insult. Why could her body not be as steeled as her mind? Regan would do this because she must. Because… as deeply unnecessary, even offensive this would be to her grandmother, to any banshee, it was necessary in other ways that Regan was only beginning to understand. She felt that in her bones, just the same as any other thing she knew to be true. But any reasoning she could supply herself verged on the impermissible.

This – answering anything – was something she had never offered anyone. And already, regret flooded her. She trusted Elias as much as she was capable, but this was a subject matter that had previously destabilized him, one that Regan did not particularly enjoy discussing, and something he had been educating himself on with search engines and some mysterious benefactor. And then there was that guilt. That unshakeable guilt. She truly had spat on his kindness. It all seemed like a lethal cocktail.

As much as she wanted to stand in the hall thinking about lethal cocktails (and not guilt), that wasn’t why she was here. In a moment of boldness, she knocked on the door so she could speak to the man inside who by all metrics other than her stupid self-imposed ones, was a friend. She tilted her head as the door opened, looking for signs of doubt, signs this was a poor idea, and finding none. “Hello. I… can I come in?” The place barely looked lived-in, and she thought of her own apartment, which now harbored a child after months of containing nothing at all. What he did have was nice, neat, clean. It was surprising. She expected those bobble-heads staring down from every shelf, and posters of elves and that wizard, Gandolph the Gay.

The words I’m sorry wanted to gush out of her. But there was too much tension in the air, even more than the smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce. So Regan extended her hand instead. She waited, looking up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “I thought we could start with a handshake. If you’re going to know me. Last chance to back out.”

To say that Elias had wanted to talk to Regan after what happened with what he now knew to be worms would be a lie. No, he didn’t want to talk to her. Part of him was still angry. But he also knew that she had answers that she was willing to give. And after all he’d been through with her, he wanted to hear what she had to say. What her truth was behind fae. 

The night he had sent that message calling her out, he was sitting alone on the plain black couch in the pre-furnished apartment, staring down at his phone with wide eyes while biting at his nails. It hadn’t been a good night for him, all things considered. Elias’s anger had mounted into betrayal, which had caused him to send the message he did. It made him feel awful, accusing someone of something they clearly weren’t ready to admit. But still, he deserved the truth! He had been nothing but patient and kind with Regan, even when she was acting really weird about, well, everything!

The pizza had arrived not even five minutes before someone knocked on the door for a second time that night, and Elias let out a sigh through his nose as he realized he’d have to face the music eventually. And Regan wanted to give answers. Well, wanted was a strong word. He didn’t really know if Regan wanted to do anything. He opened the door, staring at her with a guarded expression, leaning in the doorway before backing up and holding the door open. “Yeah, come on in.” He answered with a nod of his head. The apartment was furnished only with the necessities. A modern layout with modern furnishings and modern clinical blandness. It was clear that Elias was only staying in the apartment out of obligation. Boxes were still stacked around the living room, the tape not even ripped off of them. He hadn’t unpacked despite being back in town for long enough to have done so. 

The pizza was on a modern black table with modern chairs. Two paper plates were stacked on top of the box. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I stuck with cheese.” Elias explained as he walked over to the pizza box and opened it up. “Mice not included,” he spoke in an apologetic tone, though it was also stifled. He was holding back a lot of himself at the moment. Instead of the normal happy-go-lucky Elias, it was a muted shell of himself.

Then, he turned to see her sticking out her hand to shake. Elias frowned. No going back. Right. There was a large part of him that wanted to stick his fingers in his ears at all the talk of faeries. He wanted to shout loudly over the facts being presented to him so he could ignore it all. He wanted to pretend that none of this had happened and that he, in fact, did need his medication and deciding to go off of them was a bad idea. But he knew deep down that medication wouldn’t solve the answers to the problems he had. Faeries were real, and he wasn’t as crazy as he previously believed himself to be.

So, he walked over to Regan and took her hand, shaking it once before letting his hand drop. Elias’s expression was schooled and slightly cold. He was clearly waiting for what she had to say instead of speaking himself.

Elias was carrying himself differently – heavy steps on tired bones. It reminded Regan of some of those times he’d shown up to the morgue, shortly before he took off. The bags under his eyes like darkened contusions, the wrinkle of irritability in his voice. None of it was surprising. And something inside of her wilted at the thought that she’d contributed to his current, sorry state. There was something different this time, though. Something open about the way he was looking at her. Ready to receive, rather than closed off and buried in his obsessions. Regret flickered across her face, despite her best effort to hide it. Regan warily toed inside after him, that same yearning to apologize pushing against her sensibilities. She didn’t fight it this time. “I’m sorry. You deserved – deserve – far better than someone who would consider leaving you in the woods the way I did. You deserve far better in general.” By the look of his face, she wasn’t sure if that was what he was expecting her to say. Maybe she was supposed to walk in and pour the contents of her brain on him. But the apology came out practically of its own accord – which was strange – and anything else would need to be drawn out with questions. 

She took Elias’s handshake as assent that he wanted this, wanted to know everything, and as if on cue, a hard stone formed in her gut, pressing itself against her lungs. She would control it. She had to. She refused to look around and take inventory of how much glass was in Elias’s apartment (but yes, she did it anyway). The plates, at least, were paper. Regan picked one up and held it in both hands in front of herself like a shield. The thought of eating anything right now made bile swim into her mouth, and they were both in some quiet, awkward dance of having both nothing to say and everything to say. Regan opted for nothing now that she’d apologized, and didn’t answer him about the cheese or acknowledge the mice comment. Nerves clamped her mouth shut; she loathed whatever this was – feeling like a skeleton ready to be picked clean. It seemed like an odd thing right now, pizza. Was this the “hanging out” he had wanted for so many months now? The backdrop to it definitely wasn’t what he had in mind. Speaking of backdrop… Regan stared at the stacks of boxes, which were practically the only sign this unit was not actively being shown. “Why haven’t you unpacked?”

Elias looked at Regan with bemusement. She was apologizing. He didn’t take her for the type to apologize. Always thought she was too good for it or something. But here she was, proving him wrong again. “Apology accepted.” He spoke in a meek tone, arms crossing over his chest protectively. “Though,” he began to say, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ll have to make it up to me by giving Lord of the Rings a try. I won’t make you watch the extended editions the first time through, either. Though they’re way better that way.” His eyes darted back and forth. He knew exactly what he was doing. Whether for better or for worse, Elias forgave easily. He had been hurt by her actions, true, but she also hadn’t followed through with them. In the end, she did help him, and that had to count for something. He watched her curiously, noticing her clear discomfort and apprehension. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Skeleton got your tongue?” He asked, a flash of amusement crossing his features. He could tell how uncomfortable this all made her. But she was trying, and that’s all he could ask for. 

When she pointed out the fact there were boxes everywhere, Elias frowned. “Oh, that.” He looked over to the pile of boxes that were by the sofa. “When I got here, I launched right into working again. I don’t really give myself enough time to do anything else besides trying to perfect the prosthesis and work on the next one.” His gaze fell downward, weight shifting back and forth on his feet. He was the one that was uncomfortable now. “There’s a lot expected of me right now. If I get distracted, I’m… I don’t know.” He waved a hand, clearly not wanting to delve too deep into it. “I will eventually if this trial stuff ever slows down and my fame dissipates.” He made a face, looking over at her. “I really hope it dissipates.” It had to, right? He was tired of doing interviews and answering emails asking him about his research. Why did he have to be the face of the project? He was a perpetually nervous guy with legs that were too long. Surely, the doctor would have been a better candidate.

Something reminiscent of relief washed through Regan. Why did two words – apology accepted – have that pull? She decided to stuff that question down all the way to the back of her surely-atrophied amygdala and never revisit it. As her eyes once again roved over to the completely intact lightbulbs in the ceiling, she felt good about that decision. But there was a condition. An unsurprising one. Regan had spent at least a few hours Googling Lord of the Rings and she felt no closer to understanding it, but… if that was Elias’s cost, she would pay it. “Fine, I will allow you to show me the hobbits, and Mordor, and Gandalf the Gay. It is not the least I could do. The least I could do is nothing. But I will do it.”

Her face scrunched up in a frown at his waving hand. He was at least acting more like himself again, some of the weight lifted from his voice (though not all, she noted). “No…” She said, slowly, finding her voice again, paper plate bending between her antsy fingers. “This does not seem like a pizza occasion, is all. I don’t know why you insisted.”

Even people dedicated to their work eventually moved out of cardboard boxes, right? There was something else. Was he thinking of cutting and running again? Was it insurance in case he needed to flee? She narrowed her eyes at Elias, and though she was far from an expert on human emotion, she wondered if he didn’t even realize it was more than just a full calendar and endless interview requests keeping him from settling in. “Your work ethic is and has always been admirable, but your life is also short, and you should live it for yourself.” She suspected he did have a lot of fondness for his new position, his new life, but not all that came with it. Part of him still seemed to be scrambling for an escape from it all. Maybe that was why there was pizza. “Hope is a toy. It will dissipate or it won’t. Consider both outcomes and what you will do.”

Regan let silence fester for a second before asking what had been needling in her mind since her apology was inexplicably accepted. “So if I’m forgiven… does that… mean I can leave?” She cocked her head, more confused than desperate. “Or should I watch you eat the pizza?” 

Elias raised a brow at the ‘Gandalf the gay’ comment, but it was quickly overtaken by the fact that she knew what hobbits and Mordor were. “You… did you look it up?” There was a twinkle in his eye, one of mischief and overwhelming excitement that so badly wanted to be let out. He tamped it down, knowing it would be a bit too much for Regan right now. No, he had things he needed to know. Still, he was touched. She had gone through the effort not only to apologize but also to research something he was passionate about. Even if some of him was still hurt, Elias was touched all the same.

“Oh, the pizza comes in while you tell me what you know. You’re not getting out of this one.” He spoke, walking over to the pizza box and flipping open the lid. “Like I said in my message. Banshee, huh?” He looked at her expectantly. “I did my research, looked over the presenting evidence like a good scientist.” He plucked up a piece of pizza and plopped it onto his place, his brow raising at her once again. “Either the evidence is damning, or you have a lot in common with something that doesn’t exist.” Elias took a pointed chomp out of his pizza, then let the plate drop onto the table behind him. Fuck the pizza. He wanted to know from a first-hand source. “And even if you can’t talk about what you are, what basics should I know? Because the guy who told me what he knew seemed to know a lot, but it’s not the same?”

Somehow, Elias asking about whether she’d looked up Lord of the Rings information was almost as dreadful as the fae-related questions Regan knew he was dying to ask. She crossed her arms, taking a step back from the table, and the pizza. And Elias. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Her stomach flipped. Ugh. “Yes. I can look up things too, you know.” She returned his odd look. “Oh, wipe that smugness off your face. I needed to know who was on the cover of my new planner.” At some point she had decided it was hers, now. A token to take back to Saol Eile when the time came. She wouldn’t ponder why.

The only thing worse than being opened up like a cadaver on her table was doing that while pretending to eat pizza. She watched Elias take a bite and set the plate aside, somewhat relieved he was dropping the pretense. For now. He’d probably push it later. Currently, though, determined curiosity spun behind his eyes, and Regan could predict what was coming. The word banshee, spoken aloud, made her stiffen. She had wondered how sure he was of that conclusion, and now she had her answer: pretty screadaíl sure. And despite her insides feeling like they might spill out of her open mouth, she had told him she’d answer anything he wanted. And Regan was, if nothing else, true to her word. She waited for his speculation to run its course and then shot him an even look. He had better be pleased with himself after this. 

Oh, she wasn’t shrinking back from answering that. He already knew, and her pride demanded it at this point. He wouldn’t be left adrift to browse the internet. Regan stared at him, unflinchingly. “You’re right. I am a banshee. But whatever Wikipedia told you is a load of scat. And probably this mystery guy of yours, too.” Humans didn’t just know about fae. So what was that all about? 

Okay, so she was losing her confidence a little as the seconds ticked by and she felt his eyes on her more. Regan paced across the spartan room; glancing toward him every few steps. There was no such thing as “the basics,” only a maddening truth that grew more vexing with each layer that was peeled back. “You already know about the iron, know to be careful with your words. Banshees… um… death, screaming, discipline.” She held up a counted finger for each word. And at some point, she’d stopped roving from wall to wall, halting in the middle of the room. “Privacy.” A fourth finger. “Is this helpful?” Definitely not. Regan closed her eyes, her shoulders sinking, and then she looked at Elias with a little more tenderness. “I went through this, too, you know. Knowing nothing, and then everything at once. I suppose, in some way, I wished to spare you of that.”

Elias nodded dumbly as he was instructed to wipe the look off his face. It took some convincing, but he eventually did as he was told. For Regan’s sake, he told himself. “I know I can look things up. It’s why we’re stuck in this mess, right?” He shot her a half-hearted smile. Of course, he had wanted to save it for when maybe Regan would have been ready to tell him on his own, but he had just been so angry that he had convinced himself that the moment would never come unless he acted on his own accord. Before he could stop himself, he had sent the message. He’d only regretted it after he’d already hit send.

He frowned, thinking back to his online conversation with Parker. “He kept trying to convince me that fae are inherently dangerous and would kill someone because they felt like it.” He pulled a face, one of discomfort and disbelief. “He kept wanting to give me a knife to defend myself with.” He shook his head. “And before you tell me that fae will kill me, I’m a runner. Did cross country and track throughout school, even in college. I know how to run the fuck away from a dangerous situation. I’m not going to hurt anyone. But… there are people out there that want your kind hurt just because you exist, don’t they?” Elias blinked once. Twice. “I don’t want you to get hurt just because you exist. Just because you’re a different species than humans doesn’t mean that you deserve to get killed for it.” He sniffed, realizing he had been going on for a long time.

He went back to listening. Death, screaming, discipline, and privacy. That was an interesting four tenants to live by, but Elias supposed if he were inducted into a cult, he’d believe it, too. No, not a cult. Just… weird fae communities where they learn their own rules and clearly know nothing of the outside world. No, it was definitely cult-like. There was no way that Elias could shake that feeling. As she asked if it was helpful, he simply nodded his head again. “I mean, it’s not the same as you. You learned it because you are it. I’m sure that was far worse.” He swallowed thickly. Suddenly, that pizza was even less appetizing than it had been in the first place. Of course, he’d ordered the pizza to appear normal. Nothing about this situation was fucking normal. “You can’t spare me from the truth of the world. Living in this town, I was bound to find out eventually.” He took a second, remembering everything countless people had told him. “You weren’t the only one dropping hints. Some even screamed in my face about it and held a knife to my throat about it.”

As Elias told her more about this mystery man, a realization clicked into place. A human who knew about fae and was telling other people they were dangerous? Either this was someone who himself had been tormented to the extreme, or… death eternal, Regan was growing tired of hearing about these individuals called wardens. Had Elias not been questioning his sanity, and had she been capable, she might have barked out a dry laugh. He was incredibly naive. “They are inherently dangerous,” Regan said flatly, “and many would kill you. You can be the fastest runner in the world; it will not help you.” His concern was touching, but misplaced. “Some, sure. They are not worth a spared thought. Not even worth a patch of the driest dirt in a cemetery.” Regan crossed her arms, flicking her eyes toward him. He really did look concerned, and that made her drip with discomfort. Why was he such a bleeding heart? Compassion would be his downfall, she was sure. “Do not approach other fae in the manner you approach me. I am not defending murder, we are in agreement. But fae will mock your concern and then murder you. Or eat you. Or make you streak through the forest in the nude.” She hated pixies.

Far worse. Something surged inside of her, some instinct to defend the others, and what she had gone through while acclimating, but she suppressed it. Elias had no idea of the complexity of her situation, and Regan wasn’t sure she could explain it well even if she wanted to. But she would defend the banshees. As she thought about it, though, he seemed to be referring to the massive amount of cognitive dissonance he was going through. Regan tried to burn her own experience with it out of her brain. She let the matter rest and moved on. “Plenty of people live here and never learn about these things, you know. Especially when they don’t want to see it. You’re referring to the man who assaulted you outside of the bar, right?” With the context she had now, she had to wonder if this was yet another warden. Was this town lousy with them or something? It did not matter. Regan found herself pacing again. The smell of pizza was an unpleasant accent to this conversation. “Is that all? You say you don’t want me to get hurt. You should be more concerned with your own skin. Consider the knife.”

A swarm of emotions hounded Elias at once. Of course, they had the potential to be dangerous, but to watch his every move as if any second could be his last? To believe that there were monsters that lurked about wanting him dead just for asking questions? A wave of emotions crossed over Elias’s face. Confusion. Dread. Anger. Back to confusion. “I refuse to believe that people are innately murderers.” He snapped. It was one thing to completely overturn his view on what was real, but to tell him that there were people out there who killed for the fun of it? More than already existed in the human population? It was all becoming overwhelming all over again. “I’m not considering the knife,” he growled.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the normal, carefree Elias Kahtri that he portrayed to other people. It was an angry, grizzled man who was sick and tired of being played for a fool. “I just want, for once in my fucking life, to know the truth. Since clearly, I’ve been lied to about everything for my own ‘protection.’” He put air quotes around the word protection, suddenly left pacing around the apartment, ready to throw things at the wall. “I’m not, and never will be, someone that stabs someone. I don’t care what they’re doing to me. It will never be an option.” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep his anger at bay. It wasn’t working. 

Before he could think better of it, Elias walked over to the pizza box and smacked it, making the pizza go flying everywhere. Sauce covered the table and the floor, leaving Elias staring at the mess, chest heaving as he attempted to bring himself back down to earth. The dam had finally burst, and it was met with a reaction that he hadn’t expected: anger. “You should go.” Elias finally said, shaking his head. “I’m not… right. Not right now.”

Elias’s face was changing rapidly, and for a moment, Regan thought she hadn’t gotten through to him. But it was the opposite, wasn’t it? She’d gotten through to him too much. She knew this was a bad idea the moment they’d agreed to this. And now Elias’s sanity was about to walk off another cliff. She stood stiff against his snapping, seeing it as an emotional human folly and not a personal grievance, but didn’t know how to handle this situation. What would a human do to prevent him from sliding to the floor? She couldn’t remember. Once upon a time she might have. Maybe she really did need to peel him off. No – no, it was the pizza that needed peeling, apparently. She didn’t flinch as he smacked the box, sending carnage across the room. 

She looked down at an upside down slice of pizza and then up at him. Finally, she interjected. “You say you want the truth, that you’re tired of being deceived. I’m giving it to you.” He probably wanted to hear that fae were harmless. That this contact of his was wrong. That he wasn’t at the bottom of a food chain he didn’t know existed. Regan was confident that had she told him more – told him things he had insisted he was ready to hear – he might have just exploded all over the walls instead of shoving the box of pizza. She’d already turned toward the door. Had planned on listening to his request that she leave him. But something nagged at her conscience, even if it was only at the fringes. If she walked out that door, what was she leaving him to? Some kind of implosion. Maybe doing something stupid, risky, getting himself killed. Sending him into a riptide with no one to pull him out. 

All of the air left her lungs, and she turned back toward him. No. She wasn’t leaving like this. The decision solidified inside of her. “Let me help you clean up.” Regan kept her voice level, patient, referring to more than just the food. She unspooled some of the paper towels on the counter and picked up some of the pizza-turned-roadkill from the floor like Elias wasn’t a ticking time bomb. “Do whatever it is that you need to do. I’m not leaving you for the worms.”

He buried his head in his hands for a long moment, dragging his fingers over his eyes and down his cheeks and tugging at his lower lip before dropping them back to his sides. “You said you’ve been in my shoes,” Elias finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still teetering on a dangerous edge he wasn’t sure if he could move back from. “What did you do?” He finally looked over in Regan’s direction, expression unreadable and a million miles away. “How did you deal with the warring of what should be and should be impossible?” He stared down at his hands as if they would reveal a secret. They didn’t. They never did. 

Elias took in a large, deep breath through his nose, then exhaled. He stared down at the pizza box, the regret seeping into every fiber of his being. He should have never moved to Wicked’s Rest, he should have never taken that stupid job he should have never– it was too late. What’s done was done, and he had to live with the knowledge he now had, or let it slowly drive him off an edge from which there was no coming back. He felt like a windup toy that was marching its way off of the edge of the table, there was no coming back up once he slipped. So why did he keep letting himself get so close to the edge? No. He had to pull himself together and accept the changes in his life. 

He blinked at the pizza one last time before looking over at Regan, this time seeing her for what she was. A banshee. A creature that didn’t have the same connection to the human world that he did. Someone who was dangerous but chose not to be. At least, not with him. Her words were simple. And maybe they weren’t intended to be interpreted as deeply as Elias did, but she wasn’t running away. She wasn’t leaving him for dead. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, dumbfounded that she was helping him pick the pizza up off the floor. “I…” the words were getting stuck in his throat, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m not supposed to say the gratefulness thing.” He muttered, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to properly thank her without getting stuck in some kind of trap. “So… appreciated. Does that work?” He walked off into the kitchen to grab paper towels and a cleaning spray, then returned to start wiping off pizza sauce. “I don’t know what this means for me, but I need to… need to know how not to get myself hurt.” He stared down at the red-stained paper towels, swallowing loudly. 

“I don’t want to end up dead because I was underprepared.” He spoke, hands shaking slightly as he realized how many times he had been that close to ending up a smear on the sidewalk for simply being human. He took a deep breath and shook his head to dislodge the disturbing thoughts from his mind. “I know you don’t see it, and you’re afraid of what it means or just plain don’t understand, but… and I know this might be hard to believe but…” his voice cracked, realizing just how vulnerable he was choosing to be with Regan in that moment. “I’ve never had close friends before moving here.” Elias bit his lower lip, unable to meet her gaze. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend, so. Do with that what you will. Throw it out, tell me that it’s a bad idea, but. There it is.”

She wasn’t sure what Elias was going to do. The upside down pizza smeared across his floor really was a perfect metaphor for how his brain was coping with all of this. So Regan let the silence wash over her, and tried her best not to notice the mental breakdown happening right next to her. She sopped up more of the sauce and waited. Waited. He was not in need of physical affection, was he? The thought made every hair on her body bristle. No, suddenly there was nothing more appealing than cleaning up tomato sauce and melted cheese. Graciously, he came out of his stupor enough to ask something. Not something she was expecting. Regan paused and looked up at him, some confusion knotting her forehead. “Yes.” She couldn’t figure out what he wanted. He didn’t seem to be looking at her, really. She narrowed her eyes at the question, giving it some thought. Elias wouldn’t like this answer, but it was all she had. Ironically. “I gave up. The person I was before is dead. I learned that there is no sense in looking to the past.” She paused for a moment. Then: “Let go of it. And don’t look ahead, either, do not try to anticipate what will or could happen. Because it doesn’t matter. You are where you are, and the facts are what the facts are.”

That seemed to pacify Elias, which was yet another surprise courtesy of this evening. And… wait, was he trying to avoid saying – well, at least he was listening. Regan was practiced at hiding amusement. “You can thank me. Not all of us are so skilled.” A little string tied itself around her bitterness and tugged. “At that, I mean. It is learned.” She hesitated, but she knew that if she did not elaborate, she was just dragging him through the same thing – providing no answers when he was dangling so close to the edge of both understanding, and insanity. “Cinniúint screadaíl,” Regan muttered under her breath, realizing her mind had been made firm in a way she did not prefer. Her tone softened a bit. “It is promises I know. Oaths. Others may take thanks. I could promise you something and you could hold me to it. You could promise me something and I could do the same. Thank you does nothing.” She shrugged in a tight, nervy way that was not at all casual. “Appreciated works, though. I tend to be cautious. Force of habit I suppose.” None of the banshees ever thanked each other; it was only since coming here that those words re-entered her vocabulary. She was surprised to see him helping to clean too now. Had her staying really made that big of a difference? That question twisted inside of her gut like a tapeworm.

“I don’t want you to get hurt either,” Regan admitted with ease, too much ease. That was a big part of why she’d plowed her way into his life to begin with. She thought she could spare him from all of this, but now the way forward was to prepare him, instead. Was he about to ask questions about how to kill fae? Avoid them? She would provide answers. He needed to be smart. Needed to– Regan’s mouth fell open when she realized this was going in a different direction entirely. Best friend smacked her in the tympanic membranes and out came a slicing sharp gasp that made quick work of one or two of his lightbulbs. “Don’t – you can’t – how can you say that?” Regan closed her eyes, feeling the glass sprinkle around her. But that certainly illustrated the point, didn’t it? This could not happen. She needed to deny herself. Needed to fix this. Her half-assed training and fading discipline were harming others almost as much as an untamed scream would. 

Regan’s eyes slowly opened, her shoulders sinking in defeat, growing as small and agonized as her heart. “It’s the worst idea. You’ve become friends with my failings. I’m not supposed to –” She hesitated. Her throat seemed bunched up, like a scream was getting strangled. She stood, abandoning the pizza, knowing she needed something other than napkins to get the glass, and preferably before she shattered more of them by mistake. Plus, with her hand on the cool countertop, she felt more grounded, the scars on her palm making their presence known against the flat surface. Even a couple of glass splinters bit into her flesh. She needed to find a way to explain this. She owed him that. Before, and especially now, after he’d said – “I have worked hard to become what I am. Cold, unmoving as the dead, in control. This town is ruining all of it, every day of the last 8 years undone by some…” Her throat tightened. Which was better than loosening, because her lungs felt ready to spill out. “I had no control when this began. I was like a bomb. I did what was necessary to gain that control, and now it unravels. So I cannot. I cannot receive you the way I would have once liked to. I don’t speak of regret often, but the person I was once would have called you the same. I’m sorry that I cannot.”

He frowned. The idea of Regan having to give up who she was before the whole banshee thing sounded scary and awful and nothing like what he was experiencing now. But she had persevered and accepted the new reality of her life, and it was Elias’s turn to do the same thing. He pressed his lips into a thin line, absorbing Regan’s words as she spoke them. “Just don’t know how many earth-shattering revelations I can keep taking in.” He admitted in a thin, barely there voice. “What’s next? Vampires?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Elias seemed to calm down, knowing he didn’t have to worry about thanking her. It was hard to undo 35 years of manners that his parents had instilled into him. He’s sure he’d messed up a lot since finding out he had to watch himself. He was almost certain that he had. He didn’t like the idea of having to defend himself, to have to kill anyone. But if the situation rose, he’d have to meet it. He wasn’t going to be someone’s plaything anymore. He was going to make sure no one took advantage of him like that ever again.

Staring down at his hands, Elias looked up to see glass and a distressed Regan. He’d said the wrong thing. He would never understand fae, and he certainly wouldn’t understand Regan’s kind of fae. Cold and unmoving, emotionless and detached. How could anyone want to live like that? “This town is giving you human emotions.” He realized with an owlish blink. She was a danger to everyone around her. She was scared. And Elias had a hand in ruining everything for her. In part, this was his fault. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say, standing there in the middle of the room with dirty paper towels in his hand. 

“The person you were wasn’t a danger to herself or others.” Elias finally spoke, listening to his head instead of his impulses for once. “You’re scared of what could happen if you let your training undo itself completely.” The pieces were finally slotting into place, he was finally understanding. “That’s why Jade is nothing more than an associate. Why I’m an acquaintance.” He finally looked up at Regan, who was clutching the counter. 

How was it that Elias, after finding out about fae and her obfuscation, after bringing her here and buying pizza, after cleaning up the glass from a lightbulb she blew up, was apologizing to her? Regan’s whole body stiffened. This conversation felt more liable to break than the lights that remained in his ceiling; even her own face felt fissured, like whatever was underneath would become exposed if he kept chipping away. She despised it. “You have nothing to apologize for. If I were better, this would not have happened. It is my failure that brought me here, my failure that has kept me here, and my duty to correct it.” The reminder to herself helped firm her back up, but he knew where her fault lines were, now. In a way, he had always known, hadn’t he?

“I don’t have human emotions,” Regan said defensively, too defensively, and her stomach lurched, “And I do not get scared. But I won’t deny that it has been impossible to maintain my previous standards of… impassiveness, since coming here. There is a lot that rests on that.” She found a minute shard of glass on the table and pinched it between two fingers, the edge biting her skin. Staring for a moment, watching a tiny bead of blood form, she then flicked it into the garbage. “Glass is fragile. Humans are not much more durable. In fact, they seem tougher when they’re dead. Stripping your way through layers of muscle, sawing through the ribs – life could never tolerate such insult. I am not so suited for the living.”

Elias obviously thought differently. She wasn’t even sure if it could be chalked up to ignorance at this point. One look into his eyes told her that for a second, he saw the situation for what it was. Regan didn’t like that. Hiding behind layers of ‘you don’t understand, you aren’t capable of it’ was easy, but when enough strands weaved together and Elias or Jade or Marcy looked at her like this, she could not fall back on what was easy. Regan looked uneasily at the counter, then forced her gaze onto Elias. “I don’t know what I have done to earn such loyalty. It is wasted on me.” Annoyingly, she knew exactly how Jade would respond to that, to all of this. ‘LOL! You’re so dramatic.’ Her mouth flattened even more at the imagined response. “You deserve better.” At what point did Elias clinging to her become some strange form of masochism? Were they already past that point? Yeah, probably since the worms.

Leave? Regan once again refused to leave him alone in his apartment, picking up the literal pieces. “No. I’ll help with the glass.” She eyed the floor, catching a few remaining shards twinkling. “It’s the least I could do. And… if you wish to put something on in the background, I will allow it.” 

Something told her she was about to meet Gandalf the Gay.

Elias blinked. He wanted to fight her on her absolute refusal to have human emotions. He’d watched her push them away time and time again. In his eyes, she was so much more than ‘just a banshee.’ She was, well, Regan! She was the person who had saved him from becoming a laughing stock, who had given him a chance when no one else would. And now here she was. Helping him clean up the glass and equating his kind (humans) to it. Yeah, that was the Regan he knew. 

He opened his mouth to squawk a protest, but the words failed him as soon as she offered to let him turn on a movie. “You know I’ve got just the one.” He spoke, voice going from ready to argue to ready to jump around in a circle of excitement. He hurried over to his TV and began to dig through the box he’d set by it. After tearing the tape off of it, he opened the box and pulled out the extended edition Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring. “Behold!” He exclaimed, eyes alight with childlike excitement. “My precious.” He murmured to the DVD before inserting it into the DVD player, a truly archaic piece of technology by today’s standards (though not nearly as bad as Regan’s Blackberry), but there were just some things he didn’t want to stream, things he held special. Like his Extended Edition box collectors set of all three movies.

“Feast your eyes!” He declared as he pressed play on the movie and worked at a breakneck speed to finish cleaning to force Regan to watch what he saw as the pinnacle of cinema. The music began to play, and Galadriel’s voice spoke overhead, “It began with the forging of the great rings…”

[cleave-and-plough]

you just don't understand an adult's fashion sense

ah, a big flashing neon light in the darkness. time again for one of nanami's funhouse episodes, and though this one is just as silly as the curry episode, it reveals a bit more about nanami and her place in the show's evolving world than her trip to india.

fashion takes center stage in this episode, as nanami has thrown a party to unveil her newest pendant. however, her adolescent insecurities and competitiveness are activated by the arrival of the school's most prominent fashionista, juri. wearing a necklace given to her by one of the designers she's modeled for, juri immediately appears as the more mature, experienced young woman. yet, before nanami can be fully upstaged and forced to reveal her now-insufficiently impressive pendant, a gift arrives. identified by miki as a piece by the famed designer sebastian dior, nanami sees her chance to make good on the party's promise. the case shines with an otherworldly golden glow, stunning the audience both before and after they realize what nanami has donned: a silver cowbell.

as is often the case, once given a reason or justification, nanami becomes invincible. as the school buzzes about the strangeness of her cowbell, she hears only that she has become the center of attention, the school's fashion icon. the mix of tones of these conversations is striking: some give credit to her boldness, others decry her stubbornness. i wonder to what extent nanami is aware of these differing interpretations and choosing to filter them as general admiration - all press is good press, as it were.

of course, there are those who worry for her. utena and miki debate whether they should say anything, while tsuwabuki does his best to counsel his adoptive older sister. at this, nanami brings everything into focus. she tells tsuwabuki that he's simply too young to understand, and brings this episode fully into conversation with the arc as a whole. as students, the cast generally only has to worry about their uniforms, but nanami now stretches her reach into the world of ~*adult fashion*~. this stands neatly alongside the other recent episodes' more adult themes of getting along with one's in-laws, interviewing for life after high school, and building a new dynamic with a sibling after a childhood schism. to actively engage with fashion, much less set trends, is to risk and construct one's own identity, a challenge that the students of ohtori haven't needed to consider outside of the occasional school dances. it's here that nanami's stubbornness and boldness resonate most strongly - as controversial as her look is, many admit that she's owning it, and thus she draws real security and confidence from her outfit.

of course, it wouldn't be a nanami episode without some animal hijinx and angst over touga, so things start to go off the rails as nanami dreams of being sold and turned into a steak. honestly, it's not an inaccurate representation of touga's manipulation and callous use of her for his own gain. following this, the episode enters b-movie horror mode, as nanami's behavior becomes more and more bovine, as if she were a werecow. even then, it's not difficult to see parallels to her coming of age and changing physicality - like many pubescent teens, her appetite and energy levels change, she loses motivation in her schoolwork, and, as is most common for people this age, she turns into a cow.

[utena bullfighting ensues]

as ever, nanami's true antagonist is anthy and her love of animals. it was all a misunderstanding, as anthy had ordered the cowbell for her pet cow late at night, and the courier must have gotten confused because anthy's cow is also named... nanami... anthy is never beating the passive aggressive subterfuge allegations, huh? (finishing that red sweater just in time for nanami's transformation, eh? real slick...)

meanwhile, juri tuts over nanami's pitiable obsession with brand names while gesturing with a jewel-covered hand, suggesting no lessons have been learned. just another day in the life of kiryuu nanami.

stray observations:

it might be a stretch, but the silhouette routines shifting from a puppet theater to news bulletins also feels like a reinforcement of this arc's transition to themes of adulthood and growing up. additionally, tsuwabuki is able to respond to the silhouettes as well. deeper and deeper into the mystery of their existence...

i always love how obviously callous touga is in nanami's fantasies of him. whether he's celebrating the fact that he's finally killed her and able to date anthy freely, or saying "farewell, nanami" in the most apathetic voice possible after sending her to the abattoir, he never seems to look as good as she pictures him, even in her dreams.

cow-stian dior, huh? how'd you miss that one, miki?

it really doesn't sound like a neutral (or positive) term but i'm interested to know more about the word nanami calls utena during their argument. the subtitles translated it as "boy-girl," though i'm sure that could have been softened from its original tone.

next episode preview: AGH

[quietduna]

Escaflowne ‘Letters to another world’: Analysis of chapters 1-3

As I promised in my last post about Patreon, I’m sharing here some of my headcanons and notes for my Escaflowne doujinshi ‘Letters to another world’. All these notes were already shared on Patreon more than 1 year ago. You can also read the analysis for chapters 4 and 5. These are ideas and comments that can be updated.

Prologue

The prologue was first draw in Photoshop, but just at that time I changed software and began learning Clip Studio Paint Ex. That’s the reason I have two versions of the first pages. The final ones were done in CSP and I can’t be happier, I really enjoyed the software and from that moment I began using it regularly. I redid the pages because I wasn’t happy with the art and the emotion it showed.

I understand that the emotions depicted in the content may seem sad and heavy. Please know that I intentionally crafted this narrative to capture the resilience and struggles of Hitomi. In her world, she has chosen to be alone, facing depression, isolation, and physical weakness. Through this portrayal, I wanted to highlight the connection between mental and physical health, illustrating that one can significantly impact the other. It is my belief that Hitomi’s journey includes a period of sadness and self-neglect, conveying the challenges she faces. Additionally, I often pondered the intense emotions she would experience when returning to Earth. While the series presents her blossoming and choosing her life on Earth, I imagine she would undergo a difficult phase of grief that could potentially last for years.

See: left picture is done in Clip Studio Paint. Right one is the previous version done in Photoshop.

The concept of Van traveling to Earth was something that really struck a chord with me. I couldn’t help but feel that it’s often expected for Hitomi to leave everything behind to be with him in Escaflowne fanfictions. But when I thought about it, I realized that Hitomi had her own world and people who deeply cared about her. It just seemed unfair to ask her to make such a big sacrifice. That’s why I decided to have Van be the one to undertake the journey instead. Throughout the story, we’ll delve into how this choice profoundly impacts him.

I personally find the idea of Van and Hitomi experiencing Earth together quite delightful. Just picturing them going on a date to the cinema, sipping Starbucks, or simply enjoying anime together brings a smile to my face. However, the reality is that Van faces several challenges on Earth because he cannot read or understand Japanese or any language from Mystic Moon (not that he is interested, to be honest). While Hitomi’s pendant provides some assistance by facilitating their communication, its magic doesn’t work the same way in this foreign setting. Thus, Hitomi is the only one able to communicate with Van, thanks to her powers.

Now, you may wonder how Van manages to interact with Hitomi’s family and friends. Well, Hitomi came up with a fictional tale about meeting an exchange student from a distant land. Of course, Yukari and Hitomi’s mother were aware of the truth and supported this narrative to make the situation more comprehensible and easier to navigate for the young couple.

In this story, Yukari and Amano didn’t interact with the Van as we can see in episode 1 of the anime series, so that’s why they don’t recognize him.

Chapter 1

I’m genuinely thrilled with the outcome of Chapter 1! I believe I was able to effectively show the profound emotions that Hitomi experienced upon awakening in Gaea. I can only imagine the immense confusion she must have felt, considering she was just shedding tears for Van a few moments prior!

The encounter between Merle and Hitomi made me very happy. I must admit, Merle was never one of my personal favorite characters when I was young, but I’m genuinely pleased with how I’ve portrayed the cat girl in this context. In my doujinshis and in this scenario, Merle has blossomed into a young royal advisor, honing her skills with a sword. I wanted her to embody strength and agility, much like Nariya and Eriya. Merle, in my interpretation, serves as a steady support and mediator for both Van and Hitomi. She is a pillar of wisdom and resilience, their family and guardian. Moreover, she adds a touch of levity to the story with her sense of humor. The constant banter with Hitomi always, always makes me smile.

In this narrative, Merle finds herself pleasantly surprised by the growth and transformation Hitomi has undergone since they last met, something that makes us think that maybe she has moved on her childhood crush on Van Fanel.

Hitomi fondly recalls a special memory of sharing a heartfelt coffee with Van on Earth. This touching moment reveals the depth of their connection, as they engaged in meaningful conversations about Van’s personal interests and the responsibilities that come with his royal duties. It is evident that Hitomi played a pivotal role in supporting Van as he navigated his position, even amidst the challenges he faced. One such challenge was his reluctance to open Fanelia’s borders to individuals from other countries, a complex decision considering the devastated state of the city and the urgent need to rebuild and forge alliances. Their relationship exemplifies the strength found in companionship and mutual support.

The closing page of this chapter depicts Hitomi gazing up at the sky, resolved to embrace a fresh start and let go of the pains she endured on Earth. I hold a deep appreciation for this version of Hitomi: a resilient young woman who prioritizes her well-being and mental health, acutely aware of the challenges she faced in the past. She is decided to start over, despite everyone she left behind on Earth…

Chapter 2

As a creative, it can be exciting to explore different versions of your story and characters. In my initial drafts of ‘Letters to another world’, I envisioned a different path for Hitomi and Van. In that different path, instead of accepting Van’s hospitality, Hitomi chose to forge her own path in Fanelia, starting a small store and becoming quickly part of the local community with her charm and her resourceful demeanor. This alternative storyline allowed for a unique dynamic between the characters, as Van would visit Hitomi daily to regain her favor, sharing meals and building their connection once again, rekindling their love. The situation was quite angsty, as Hitomi is really keen on thrive for herself despite Van’s efforts to help her. This last point is key in this story, and it’s something I wanted to keep: Hitomi is an independent woman, and wants to get a better life, with or without Van by her side.

However, upon further reflection, I decided to make adjustments to the script to explore other aspects of the story. I wanted to delve deeper into the narrative and explore different themes. So, I made the choice to go with the current version, which allows for a different set of details and character development.

The encounter between Van and Hitomi in these pages holds a special place in my heart. I tried to capture the authenticity and depth of their emotions in that particular scene. Hitomi’s feelings for Van are extremely profound, as we have already glimpsed in the earlier pages and will continue to explore in forthcoming chapters. Van is undeniably the source of her happiness, a situation which she is determined to alter to forge her own future, far from any sadness and dependance (that’s why she shuts herself after showing her feelings to Van in the scene below). Despite her attempts to move forward, her resolve wavers the moment she lays eyes on him, and she finds solace in his arms. It is evident that Van is equally affected by their reunion, but he appears to carry a sense of serenity amidst the turmoil of emotions.

“Do you trust me?” He told her. “With my life” is her quick answer. That’s another proof that she is, undeniably, still so in love with him, and that just let herself feel that love in that specific moment together.

Creating Fanelia’s skyview was truly an exhausting task. And to make matters worse, I had to redo it after it was already published because a reader pointed out the incorrect perspective. I’ve put in a tremendous amount of effort and dedication into the backgrounds of this story.

Chapter 3

The concept of “time flowing differently in Gaea” was a crucial aspect of the initial script. However, I made an error in the way I incorporated it into the story. Originally, the idea was that time passed slower in Fanelia, which would have allowed for the exploration of the discrepancy between Hitomi aging faster than Van and Merle. In this narrative, Hitomi would have arrived in Gaea when Fanelia was still under reconstruction, while Van would have only felt that a few months had passed since her departure. Unfortunately, I miscommunicated this idea in the dialogue, stating instead that time passed faster on Gaea. By the time I realized the mistake, it was too late to rectify it.

In the final story, a significant amount of time has elapsed on Gaea, around five to six years, while on Earth it has been merely three years. The concept of time holds great importance in this narrative, not just for the sake of science fiction or fantasy elements, but to highlight Hitomi’s deep contemplation and study of its nature. Thus, when she exclaims, “So it’s true; time does flow differently between the two planets,” it signifies the profound reflections she has engaged in throughout these years. Rest assured, this intriguing aspect will be further explored and unveiled within the storyline.

I understand that Hitomi’s situation can be quite difficult and filled with uncertainty. In the prologue, she makes a promise to herself – a promise to leave behind the pain that she has been experiencing. However, in order to truly move forward, she recognizes the importance of understanding that pain. Hitomi longs for answers, as she wishes to rebuild herself and discover a new path in life. It’s important to acknowledge that she is grappling with the knowledge that Van, with whom she had a romantic relationship, suddenly disappeared from her life without any means of contact. This has led to a great deal of speculation and insecurity, making it even more challenging for her.

It comes as a surprise to her that Van’s response isn’t quite what she expected. Van, too, has his own questions, albeit of a different nature. He wonders why Fate keeps entwining their destinies, and it seems that he may be harboring some hurt feelings. Deep down, all he desires is to win her heart back and create the life they had always wished for together. Van appears to be keeping his thoughts and emotions to himself at the moment, choosing to support Hitomi’s desire for some space and the opportunity to start anew. As time passes, we will uncover more about Van and his inner world.

[1016anon]

Title: Four Tulips Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma Summary/Intro: Debate moderator: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

Anthony: Yes.

Kate: It depends.

Debate moderator: …

Anthony: The falling tree makes a sound because sound is a well defined physical phenomenon wherein vibrations are propagated through some medium such as air or water. It exists independently of human observation.

Kate: You presuppose that such a medium exists in this hypothetical forest with hypothetical falling trees. If the tree falls in space, it would not make a sound as there is no medium through which an acoustic wave could travel.

Anthony: Must you always?!

--

A/N - Hi you-know-who-you-are. I wrote this thing. Maybe it will be finished. Maybe it won't. But I hope you enjoy its ridiculousness! (Lol also for those of you who like chess, no offense intended. It's my own inside joke thing.)

"I cannot stand her!"

Simon rolled his eyes. He decided to take the high road and refrained from saying here we go again.

"I don't see why Kate shouldn't be captain of the debate team," Daphne said, well aware she was riling her brother up but also determined to make a point. "She was the one who carried the team to victory for the semifinals."

"Only because she got a topic on post-colonial influence in the world! She's practically written a dissertation on the topic!"

"That sounds like a good thing, Anthony," Francesca-- who could normally be relied upon to support her brother, replied. "You certainly wouldn't have won that debate."

Anthony huffed.

"I'll have you know, Kate has argued with me on the subject so many times, I anticipated every point she brought up."

"And you would have taken all the credit, given none of it to Kate, and decided you were a subject matter expert from that point forward," Eloise retorted. "God save us from the mansplainers."

He hated it when the triplets ganged up on him. El always argued against him; Daph was, as the eldest triplet by fourteen minutes, always determined to keep the peace; but it was Fran's betrayal that cut to the quick.

Yes, he was dramatic. Benedict often suggested he should have taken up theatre instead. Anthony had frowned at him and asked what could possibly be enjoyable about auditioning for The Crucible, which was one of the most depressing things he'd read in a while. Besides, who would he argue with? Mrs. Featherington considered herself something of a dramaturg.

Anthony had read those scripts Colin brought home. Every year, Mrs. Featherington insisted they put on a performance of her latest play, which was usually some overwrought period drama. Anthony would rather join those obnoxious pricks in the chess team-- they all considered themselves geniuses-- than find out how Mrs. Featherington was going to butcher The Crucible.

Benedict, who worked designing set pieces and drawing the very attractive, enticing posters promoting the school plays (Anthony always felt like he ought to report his brother to a consumer protection bureau for deceptive advertising), shrugged and said at least they could recycle the costumes. He was more than happy to relinquish costuming duties to a new girl-- Sophie something-or-other.

Simon was suppressing a smile. No one knew it, but Anthony did. That's what happened when you were attached at the hip since preschool. Simon was the triple threat: captain of the mathletes (led the team to fourth place-- the first time the school had ever gotten that far in the rankings), winner at state's in cross-country last year, and handsome to boot.

It was unfair, because Simon admitted that when he was running, he was usually thinking about some difficult math problem; by some stroke of nefarious magic, it would almost always solve itself towards the end of the race and he would put in a burst of extra speed because he needed to write the solution it down.

Then again, Anthony fenced. And excelled at fencing, because he was usually thinking of all the counterarguments he would have made against Kate during practice the other day.

The point was, Simon was suppressing a smile. Which meant he thought Anthony was being deliberately obtuse.

Come to think of it, Simon had been suppressing his smile often these days.

Anthony chewed very noisily and viciously on baby carrots and slurped his juice box. Yes, he liked juice boxes. They came in the format of boxes, which meant he could organize his lunch bag in an optimal configuration. Anthony watched youtube videos of Japanese people creating bento boxes, wishing he had such organizational and culinary talent.

The only talent he really had was arguing (his inner Fran came to his rescue and told him to stop feeling sorry for himself, he had many skills, one of which was to look pretty). But it had served him very well. They had an unusual family and had been subjected to many remarks, to put it politely, over the years. Anthony's natural protective instincts reared its handsome head and just... stayed there, like a sea monster who decided the view was better above the surface.

He didn't have the full story of how CDEF came into his life, but part of it was that his father was very wealthy and his grandparents, as a condition of accessing the trust fund, required Edmund (and his siblings) to engage in at least twenty hours of community service.

It was how he met Violet, a social worker who found his idealism and good intentions charming (most would have, and had, found it off-putting; Edmund was given several harsh lessons about privilege and that this job was not a hobby to make rich white men feel better about themselves. Edmund took those lectures to heart, but was of the sort of disposition who always looked for the glass of orange juice, never mind half empty or half full).

Something something (Anthony didn't care about the details of his parents' dating), they got married, had Anthony-- a difficult pregnancy-- then Violet's birth control failed and they had Benedict shortly afterwards-- another extremely difficult pregnancy. They decided to have Edmund get a vasectomy.

Violet and Edmund knew they could not save every child in the system. They knew the system failed so many children, and it often felt like a a hopeless battle. But they somehow managed to draw healthy boundaries between their job and their home life-- a lot of it probably had to do with the individual and couples therapy they went to, the support Edmund's siblings gave, and the fact they had two young children of their own.

But then--

But then-- Anthony was twelve, Benedict ten--

Col was ten, Daph, El, and Fran were nine. All from the same family. A horrifying story involving gangs, drug wars, DEA stings, sealed court records-- CDEF had their names changed for their own safety-- things Anthony still didn't know. Violet and Edmund volunteered to keep the children in protective custody. When the dust settled, CDEF's parents were dead, their closest relations were in prison or deported to an unnamed country in Central/South America (those records were also sealed). The chances that CDEF would all be adopted together were slim to none.

In the meantime, four Latino children thrown into a new neighborhood, all of them with a history of severe neglect and conditioned to endure the abuse-- they were easy pickings for the school playground.

Anthony and Simon started a lot of fistfights, which Colin, taking his cues from Anthony, soon joined. (Sometimes Benedict joined. Mostly he went to get the teachers before it devolved into Anthony and Simon holding a kid down to make him eat his own socks.)

Thus began the many, many sessions of therapy for anger management (for all the boys) and lectures on "Use your words, Anthony," which led to Anthony yelling and insulting and generally using words too large for other children (or himself, to be honest) to understand. But something about facing off Anthony Bridgerton's ferocious temper (Simon and Benedict standing menacingly behind him) and his history of stuffing a kid's nose with their own non-toxic Crayola markers seemed to get a point across.

What that point was aside from "you bully my siblings, I'll make you choke on wood chips," no one would know. Anthony's first forays into "debate" were rather one-sided.

Violet and Edmund decided to adopt Col, Daph, El, and Fran. Simon, Ant, and Ben were essentially siblings by the end of the two years the children had been in their protective custody. The children had settled into the neighborhood, did well at school, had friends-- ripping them away from that was cruel. It would be... a lot... to adopt four children, but Violet and Edmund couldn't in good conscience abandon them.

So, Anthony's siblings-- who had, in his mind, been his siblings the moment he threw his first punch on their behalf-- became his siblings legally. (Simon was another story. It could be summarized as: they lived in the same neighborhood; Simon's dad was a POS; Simon pushed Anthony in the mud when Anthony had made fun of his stutter; they became best friends. Children were mysterious.)

And now here he was, betrayed by his best friend and his sisters. The only reason why Col and Ben hadn't joined in the razzing was because they had a different lunch period.

No doubt Anthony's grousing would reach the ears of Edwina also. She and Eloise were dating. It was liking living with a spy.

He exaggerated. El didn't care enough about Anthony's debate team woes to talk about them with Eddie. They had much more important things to do, like reading Simone de Beauvoir.

Which brought him to Kate. Sharma. Kathani Sharma.

The absolute bane of his existence ever since seventh grade.

--

The rivalry began, as all great rivalries did, with a complete misunderstanding which was relatively easy to clear up, and subsequently had been cleared up because their friends were annoyed by their complaints, but by then it was too late.

The hatred was entrenched.

It was rooted deep. Nothing short of a drill designed to extract ice cores from the Antarctic could resolve it now. They were sworn enemies.

They both didn't remember what the misunderstanding was, but it was the principle of it, Siena, don't you understand? I don't care if he's cute, no, please, go ahead and date him as long as you don't bring him to our movie nights-- Siena! Siena!!!!

The misunderstanding was that Anthony was blessed with the worst (best) sense of timing when it came to Kate. She always seemed to hear the tail end of a joke which was not sexist, it had been approved by Eloise, for god's sakes, why don't you ever listen to what I'm actually saying?!

The point was, no one remembered the misunderstanding (except Simon. Simon had a terrifyingly sharp memory, one he liberally used against Anthony when his friend was being a prick. But Simon wasn't going to rehash that entire sordid history because since Anthony and Kate didn't remember their own misunderstanding, they argued about who had the correct understanding of the misunderstanding, which was Simon's cue to silently leave them in an empty classroom. Alone. Unfortunately, that plan never seemed to work. But one must make do with what one has).

Kate's own history with debate was because she had immigrated to the States when she was in elementary school and had been mercilessly teased for her accent. She worked extremely hard to iron it out but found that even when she had, the children found other things to pick on her about.

Using her newly found voice, Kate discovered she had a talent for delivering vicious tongue-lashings which left the children paralyzed like shrimp tangled in a jellyfish; not know why they were stuck with fear in their hearts yet knowing they were going to be eaten alive all the same.

She used her talents to defend (and subsequently befriend) Siena, who was beautiful but not the right kind of beautiful, and therefore the target of taunts by other girls. Siena was scrappy and could fight on her own but that was the problem; she fought, physically. Kate volleyed insults that no one quite understood until three days later, when the lightbulb moment happened and they realized what "face that would turn a Gorgon to stone" actually meant.

The first year of middle school, neither Kate nor Anthony had any classes together. They passed each other in the halls constantly and traded insults.

"Congratulations on your math test, Bridgerton. Who knew you were so square that even a cube root left you rational?"

Simon nearly spit out his water, coughing because it went down the wrong pipe.

Anthony was tempted to thank her because he heard the word rational so surely it couldn't be that bad, but given Simon's reaction, it probably really was that bad.

"What?"

"Ant, she's saying you're so stupid you don't even have the brains to realize it."

"What?!"

"I can tutor you. 64 is really dismal-- it's just algebra."

"What does rationality have to do with it? Shouldn't it be irrational?"

"You're kind of proving my point here."

"There is no point!"

"She said you're square-- the only other squares you can get greater than 64 are 81 and 100, which if you take the cube root, are both irrational numbers."

"I'm talking about the wordplay."

"Oh. Well, she's saying you should be pissed off for doing so poorly which-- she has a point-- but you're not, so that means you're either complacent or you know you can't do better."

"That is the most convoluted insult I have ever heard!"

"I thought it was kind of clever."

"Whose side are you on?"

But the real games began when the following year, in eighth grade, they joined the Model UN team. It was a disaster, in the best sense of the word. No matter if the countries were close allies or the topic uncontroversial-- Kate and Anthony invented ways to make it controversial and adversarial.

They had their own points system: ad hominem attacks were prohibited; so was historical mud-slinging, unless the topic in question was a direct consequence of a country impinging on the sovereignty of another; hyperbole was considered poor form; deviation from the country's actual policy in favor of their individual opinions was also prohibited, since the whole point of Model UN was to represent a country's policies.

It was the last rule which they both chafed against. Having their options for arguments hamstrung by a real country's declared position felt not only limiting, but insincere. They couldn't pour themselves into an argument they didn't believe.

Anthony and Kate had two classes together: geometry (as it turned out, Anthony was pretty good at writing proofs. He especially relished drawing the little square at the end to signify quod erat demonstrandum), and English. Unfortunately, there were no debates in English class, just lively discussions on the degree to which 1984 was still relevant in the internet age.

What they were to each other was something only understandable in the complex prison hierarchy of the modern teenager's sociological expression of tiktok.

They weren't friends-- aside from the short-lived (one) date Siena went on with Anthony (characterized by awkwardness, pizza, and a kiss which tasted like buttered popcorn kernels), her circles did not intersect with his. They weren't enemies-- they no longer insulted each other in halls, reserving that mental energy for class or Model UN.

Anthony didn't take up a disproportionate amount of Kate's CPU, nor did she his. The misunderstanding had caused enough of a rift that they weren't interested in being friends, just interested in besting each other, but it wasn't personal (yet). If someone else had been the best, Kate and Anthony would have transferred their attentions accordingly.

Unfortunately, this "someone else" never materialized. So for all of eighth grade, they were just fellow students floating like rigatoni noodles in the broth of bubbling hormones; they somehow remained above it all, but it was only a matter of time before they passed al dente and sank to the depths of soggy despair.

In other words, they had not yet been hit by the pheromone bath bomb which completely disorients the teenager's brain and leads them to conflate all sorts of emotions and signals with their opposites, agonizing over the placement of the word "you" in a sentence and wondering if there's a greater meaning to the fact they kept spending time together and looking at each other.

But it was only a matter of time. In many ways, it was a foregone conclusion. Kate and Anthony were cursed with the kind of dynamic which resulted in them constantly challenging each other, making each other try harder, do better; unbeknownst to them, they were condemning them to a positive feedback loop which would spill over into all other aspects of their lives.

Forever stuck in a race where they were always neck and neck and obsessed with how to gain the advantage, they sealed their fates.

Soon, they too would be stewing in an explosion of sexual dimorphism and social media, all of which led to volatile brain cells sparking and misfiring as neural pathways were laid down, ripped out, laid down slightly to the right, &tc., until all roads led to Kate and Anthony, fucking against a tree (k-i-s-s-i-n-g!).

Which brought them to ninth grade: high school.

By mutual agreement via trash talk, they signed up for the debate team.

The rest, as they say, is a mystery.

[datastate]

for the ask game - 3, 26, 27 :]

3 : which of the characters has your favorite design?

MAPLE!!! hands down. i love her very much. she was the first one who i actually saw in-game and my thought was 'cute...' - but! kanna is a close-second under that lens. i suppose my only issue w her design is how much more green there is, w little complementary color? :0 i really do enjoy designs that add in a bit more pink for her!! it adds enough variety to the palette to help her stand out. though i must admit, i'd still be biased toward maple because i really like dark reds/purples/blues contrasted with white :D

however, as for what it means for the characters, i also really do enjoy kai's! both his & reko's designs were what immediately drew me to them; i was immediately fascinated by how - despite being among colorful characters - their designs were primarily dark/with occasional red. i think for kai in particular, it does a nice job of showing how. simply he tends to 'live' & what he also asks others to focus upon: the gift the chidouins gave him. for as long as he lives, he has this to show for the chidouins' kindness of allowing him a life. everything else is meant to easily blend into darkness, &. it's difficult to describe, but i really enjoy fanart where this is. emphasized?! in the sense that the apron is what draws someone's eyes to it, but when you look just behind that, you can easily tell how. restrictive the uniform is by contrast. it's really cool to me.

26 : which YTTS pov are you most excited for and whose fondness event do you want to see with them?

i'm really excited for reko's!!! specifically - i really look forward to seeing her event with sara :'D (& alice of course, but. gestures. i'm very afraid. although there's very little you can do 'wrong' with that one as opposed to the other two povs' favored persons...)

i just. am truly fond of how reko tried to support sara before the room of lies switch happened; and afterward, how reko tried doing her best to also uphold the strength she saw sara strive for. it's less pronounced because we play as sara, but. i still appreciate the times that other adults, such as reko & q-taro & kai (which are other fondness events i'm really looking forward to), try to acknowledge/praise sara for her strength while also trying to reminder her that people will be here when she falls. they're so close to taking the responsibility from her, but for one reason or another, just... cannot. and don't wish to dismiss sara's ability (which is an insecurity sara does have, being one who must uphold responsibilities expected of her). q-taro steps up where he can, usually requesting keiji's help, and genuinely tried to comfort sara throughout ch2-1 - a lot of his attempts to help sara and make things right after shin's injustice was off-camera. and reko unfortunately wasn't given much time to really help out, what with the lingering disorientation from being captured. & of course, kai is. well. as soon as he no longer had that facade to keep up, he was dead as hell. SAD!

but i digress!!! i really enjoy reko's humor & easy-going personality, and i would love to see more of her dynamic with sara in a more casual setting; i think she'd do really well at encouraging sara and helping her come to terms with the fact that... even if her future isn't as 'set' as sara expects it to be, that's not anything necessarily bad. in a similar sense to kazumi, reko's also gone through a lot that she never expected she'd have to endure, but has come out a better person by the end of it. maybe kazumi's tale is more apt considering it had to deal with academic/future plans; but it's also very important for sara to remember that she does have the chance to really dig into hobbies and find joy in it... that, in a sense, it's important to have these things on the side that you enjoy and keep them out of a professional setting too. it'd be great to have work you love, of course! but reko had to fight to actually return to what she first loved about music at all, had to learn all over again what it meant to her, because of the expectations in the professional field. sara should have a hobby where she can let loose, people she can relax and be herself around, without having to keep those expectations... constantly using your show persona just makes it harder to connect with people. even if it's easier, it's worse for you in the long-run because... no one would get the chance to know you, what you love.

i just think it'd be really sweet for reko to show that balance of entertainment & professional future that sara wants. sara already has those sorts of reminders with jou, but it's still. very important to see it from someone who's gone through it and now knows what she's doing! jou's more someone who 'goes with the flow' and generally attends clubs to prepare for... well, anything. he wants to be a jack of all trades, in case anything he pursues falls through. it's very unstable and scary to live like that, even if he puts on his usual carefree front - cherishing the moment to moment. sara's mind doesn't often. work like that. and if she were to have more serious conversations about her future, i'm sure this would be very important to her and also bring her comfort for jou's future, too...

(& i know it's unrealistic, but... i'd really enjoy a q-taro and anzu fondness event. i'm writing one myself because i don't expect we'll ever be able to have those personal interactions with the dolls, or at least... not one that handles anzu's character well (considering the ministory forgot her introduction), but i do like thinking abt them as well :D)

(&& unrelated to the question but i'm SO sad we're not getting any further kai & mishima content. that's it. withering and dithering eternally now... it's okay i'll make more events in my brain.)

27 : whose miniepi do you want to see next?

nankidai please give me more kazumi lore please please please i've never asked before. how and why does he own an atelier. please tell me specifically what direction he was overly-ambitious in, and his crash fall and burning reaction to his own overestimation. i can already assume most of this but i honestly just want to see more of him i've NEVER asked before. pretty please.

[rottingformerfirstmate]

All of Us Alone Together: The Doll [1/4]

Summary: A collection of shared moments between the crew of the Revenge.

Day: 2 | WC: 1k | AO3 | Prompt: Cornered

NOTE: This installment was inspired by [this] piece of fanart by @cliopadra

Jim was lucky, all things considered, to have wound up on Stede’s ship when they ran away with Olu. Stede didn’t know enough about the world of piracy to recognize Jim as wanted, nor that it would be a fool’s move to go up against the wrath of Spanish Jackie by having them on his ship at all. And they were lucky Blackbeard didn’t care much about most of Stede’s crew until recently, so he never connected those dots before Jim made nice with Jackie at her bar. Luck has been on their side for a long time, long enough that it shouldn’t come as a shock that it’s finally run out. 

This isn’t like Blackbeard before, according to Fang and Ivan; Jim wasn’t sure, having only met him during his not-so-affectionately nicknamed Stede Phase, but the two of them say that before that, he had been strange and deadly in a different way. 

“We didn’t see him all that often,” Ivan admits one night, keeping his prescribed watch on Jim while Blackbeard and Izzy sleep. “Mostly everything came through Izzy, and he never answered our questions, but I got half the sense it was ‘cause he didn’t know either. We saw Blackbeard about enough for him to prove he didn’t care much whether we lived or died.”

His words don’t surprise Jim, honestly, but it does serve as a reminder of exactly what this man is capable of, what he was capable of at a point in time with less stability than in Stede’s presence, but evidently more than he is left with now. There’s no way off this boat, with Blackbeard having cut off the dinghy ages ago and refusing to make port as often as they undoubtedly need, and even if there was, Jim wouldn’t exactly feel right abandoning everyone else to contend with the wrath of Blackbeard while they frolic off into the sunset, or whatever it is that they’d assume Jim to be doing. In reality, any escape would be to find out where everyone else went and if they’re still alive. It’s just hard to even think about the kind of complex planning and secret-keeping escaping would bring, when they don’t know if the others are alive and still maintain a responsibility for the lives of the remaining crew aboard The Revenge.

“Is he gonna kill us?” Jim asks in return. 

Ivan shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. If he plans on it, Izzy would know.”

“Would Izzy tell us about it?”

“Well, Jim, to be quite honest with you-” Ivan starts carving his initials into a plank on the wall, “-maybe. Maybe not.”

This isn’t at all reassuring, and so Jim stops asking him questions for the rest of the night. Eventually they fall asleep, restless with the nightmares of a lifetime of always drawing the shortest end of the stick. The cries of the beast Blackbeard has become echo over hazy recollections of Jim’s family dead at their feet, cut through with new creations of Olu suffering for Jim’s mistakes. 

Come morning, no one is on watch. The Captain and/or Izzy must be awake already. This is a blessing, however, because Frenchie slips through Jim’s door without drawing attention. Some sort of object is stuffed under one of his arms, making it difficult for him to operate the latch when he comes inside, while his other hand is occupied with a bowl of porridge that presumably passed for breakfast this morning. 

“Hey, Jim,” he says, faux-chipper as he hands over the bowl. “Sleep well?”

Jim tucks their legs under them and takes their first lukewarm bite. “Not really.”

“I get that. I do. Um, I have something that might help, maybe? If you want it?”

He pulls the object out from under his arm and holds it up for Jim to see. It looks like a cross between a pillow and a doll, but not just any doll; the orange hat, dark skin, beige shirt, and little blue button where an ear would be on one side all add up in their head in seconds. It’s Olu. 

“The other night, I was- I felt really alone, you know, and- and I just wanted to feel a little less alone. I made one of Wee John, cause we used to- when it was time to sleep, we’d usually…”

Frenchie fiddles idly with the arms of the doll as he trails off. Even from a couple feet away, Jim can see the care that has gone into the stitches, secure and not even all that visible. The button - Olu’s earring, they realize - must have been salvaged from Stede’s things before they got thrown overboard, unlike the shiny black ones that serve for eyes. Jim’s throat feels tight all of a sudden. 

“I’m sorry. This is weird. I’ll- I’ll get rid of it.”

“No,” Jim says. “Um. Thank you. Can I…?”

He passes them the doll. Jim sets their porridge down to clutch it in both hands, finding it surprisingly firm. It can’t be feathers in here. It’s too light to have grits or something in it. A ridge under their tight grip makes them realize it’s crammed full of spare fabric. Jim squeezes it to their chest. 

The doll is nothing like Olu. It isn’t warm, it doesn’t hug Jim back, it doesn’t tell them everything will be okay, it doesn’t kiss their temple and it doesn’t find them a way out of this. But it does make the weight of the world a little less crushing. 

“Thank you, Frenchie. Really.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Frenchie says.

Jim nods, shifting the doll to hold close in one arm, more against their chest than pressed to their ribcage in contrast to how He had carried it, as they finish their breakfast. They’ll have to hide it before Izzy comes to let them out for the day to help run the ship, and keep it hidden during night watch, but the comfort will undoubtedly provide the necessary resolve for Jim to keep themselves and the crew alive until they can go back for the real Olu. 

[marshmellodragon]

The girl in yellow pajamas.

I had gotten the house for a price that would’ve been unimaginable for a college student. Almost a dream.

I mean, a whole apartment for 750$? With a separate bedroom? With sun facing windows? Close to transit?

It seemed too good to be true.

And maybe I should’ve expected something was off when the landlord refused to step into the house for the showing. I should’ve seen it coming when the air inside the apartment felt cold even in the peak of summer.

~~

I could’ve sworn that I had kept the cup of juice in the middle of the countertop.

But now the wooden top was covered with spilled orange juice.

Sighing, I picked up the rag and cleaned it up.

~~

My shoulders jumped at the sound of the door closing behind me. It was the main door.

Did I leave it open? I turned to the small ceramic plate I kept near the shoe rack with all my keys in it. If my keys would be there then that usually meant I closed the door.

But to my surprise they weren’t, still probably buried somewhere in my bag.

Thank god the wind closed the door.

~~

I woke up to scribbles at the mid bottom section of my wall. It was the living room, not even my bedroom. That was such a bad look-

Wait, why would my bedroom be better? That would be just creepy.

Did I leave the door open again? Some kid upstairs had been running around for a while too, stomping his feet while he was at it. Probably that brat saw my door open that day and took liberty to provide me with his artistic gestures.

I’ll just have to clean that up too.

God that crayon was hard to get off.

~~

It finally hit me that these coincidences weren’t normal in any way. Unnatural even.

And I considered myself stupid to not realise it until I heard wailing cries coming out of somewhere in my apartment on a rainy day. I looked all around the apartment, even checking behind my plants to look for a vent I perhaps missed out.

I guessed I needed some lights. Searching around in the dark wasn’t helping in any way.

I swiped my hand on the walls until they finally grasped at the light switch which I flicked on.

And the cries stopped.

I took a deep breath.

I needed some answers.

~~

Getting answers from the landlord would’ve had to be the most difficult task of it all. Worse than rubbing off those drawings.

He was persistent about staying silent, I would give him that.

It took countless calls on his phone, knocks on his door and maybe even more warning texts about filing an official complaint for him to cave in.

“It’s haunted.” He said, as if the one thing I actually knew about the situation wasn’t just that.

He sighed and walked up to his window and sat down on his old leather chair, lighting up a cigarette,

“I still remember that day clearly. It was two separate days in all honesty but it feels like it all happened so fast.”

I sat down across him, his teapoy consisting of an ashtray and a tea which he had kindly made for me. The blue-hour provided the room with some bare lighting, making the atmosphere more grim.

“I used to hear this girl scream and cry everyday as her parents beat her. Each and every day. I wanted to do something but her father was the owner of this building and he considered me to be one of his better acquaintances. He had been planning to pass on the ownership to me as soon as his new building was complete. I waited each and everyday patiently so that I could finally help this girl.”

I had to admit that sitting there with my blood boiling and not picking up that teapoy to throw it at him had been hard. So hard.

“You must be disappointed in me.”

That was an understatement.

“But it never happened. I do own the building now but that’s only because of the events that followed.”

What. I wanted him to hurry up so that I could leave this damned place as soon as possible!

“I remember the stretcher as it was pulled out of the apartment. Blood covered the white sheets. The girl’s parents were conveniently ‘not home’ at the time of the accident and it was put off as suicide.”

Was this man admitting to being an accomplice to a crime?

“Don’t fret. I served my time. I went up to court when my heart just couldn’t take the truth anymore. I served 7 years. The apartment was written under me by the man himself in his will.”

So then what? The girl’s ghost was haunting the apartment?

“Soon after her death, her parents died too. Almost within the same week. Nobody knows how. I was in jail at the time so I couldn’t possibly know how. The people who did know, did not have any sort of pity on the folks to care. The apartment was not put on sale for years after that. You’re the 3rd tenant to try to live there within this year itself.”

I . . . finally understood.

He then got up and reached for his wooden cabinet only to pull out my own rental forms,

“I can give you as much time as you want to get prepared. I wont apply the cut off fees either. You can just leave-“

I refused.

~~

Instead I went back to my apartment- no, my home. I cleaned the place, made it organised and pretty.

I put tape over the sharp corners of the furniture, smoothing some edges just to be sure.

I simply cleaned the drink spills whenever they happened.

I painted flowers on the doodles at the bottom of the walls, taking pictures of the ones I liked a lot and sticking them on my refrigerator.

I turned on the lights and sung a lullaby seemingly to myself when I heard cries at night. I tightened the windows when the thunder outside got too loud.

I even started talking to the air, whispering kind words every now and then, words of encouragement if possible.

And one day it finally happened.

That little girl showed up in the living room on a bright sunny day, wearing a frilly yellow pastel dress as she stared out the window near my plants, a teddy bear clutched under her arms.

She had a scar on her forehead- no, she had many scars.

Way too many.

She turned to me, I could finally see the dried up lines of tears dancing down her cheeks.

God she was just a child.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice painfully young.

And I never saw her again.

-By: marshmellodragon

[moragarsia]

On the "noble" truth in the war and the "serious" press

In world political life, events of all kinds and scales occur daily. Also, appropriate political decisions are made on a daily basis to resolve the political issues that have arisen in order to achieve stability. Atdifferent levels, from "local" to global. To date, one and perhaps the main event that has determined many issues of world politics for more than a year and a half is the war unleashed by Russia in Ukraine.

It is difficult to consider the "noble" goals of the Kremlin leadership, which unleashed this full-scale bloody war in the very center of Europe by attacking a neighboring sovereign state, which to this day they call a "special military operation" (SVO). It is impossible to compare the goals of this war and the methods of achieving them with the process and result, designed to bring peace and stability, at least in the European region. Everything turned out exactly the opposite. Not only have the foundations of European stability been violated, but world stability is thoroughly affected by this European war, which threatens to go beyond it. I really don't want to draw historical parallels, but Europe has repeatedly become a spark for a world conflagration. And God forbid everyone from the following!

The conclusion is simple: Russia, its top leadership is an aggressor, criminals who have encroached on peace, stability and the most valuable thing - human lives! Only on the Russian side, the number of losses is approaching 300 thousand! The total number of armies of several European states! At the same time, the latest statements by the top leadership of Russia indicate that they see no reason to end the war ...

Ukraine, on the other hand, is simply obliged to exercise its legitimate right to defend territorial integrity, independence and, ultimately, statehood. It is obvious that Russia, acting as an aggressor and continuing to wage war, must reap its consequences in the broad aspect of this concept. In particular, the consequences of the economic sanctions imposed by the collective West against Russia are slowly but surely destroying its economy and undermining its status in the international arena, gradually turning it into a rogue state.

War and humanism, of course, are incompatible concepts, but still the norms of international rights of the world community, civilian objects are taken outside the brackets of war, and cannot be military. The political and military leadership of Russia, violating all international humanitarian norms, regularly give orders to shell Ukrainian cities. During the year and a half of the war, a fewdays passed in Ukraine without the roar of sirens warning of the threat of shelling. Here, the Russians have "succeeded" very much, almost daily inflicting massive missile and artillery strikes on Ukrainian civilian infrastructure, or even simply on residential development, while stubbornly stating that strikes are carried out exclusively on military targets.

And there is no argument to deny that Russian aggression is thecause of all civilian war casualties in Ukraine. It is Russia that is waging a deliberate terrorist campaign against the civilian population of Ukraine, thus seeking to break the will of Ukrainians to resist. The whole world now knows the facts of Russian missile terror in Kharkiv, Dnipro, Odessa, Nikolaev, Kyiv, Uman, Kremenchuk, Lviv, Cherkasy, Zaporozhye, Kherson, Kostiantynivka, which led to mass civilian casualties. Obviously, this list is far from complete. But to put it very cynically, the Russians are "working hard" to "expand" it.

And here the statements of the New York Times publishers, based on their own research, admitting that the victims in Kostiantynivka on September 6 may have been caused not by a Russian, but by a Ukrainian missile, seem extremely inappropriate ... as a result of a "tragic accident". Does anyone still have doubts that Russia is the aggressor that was the first to carry out its attack, and the way it wages war in its cruelty, bringing it closerto the events of World War II, is nothing more than terrorism on a national scale. Ukraine is defending itself! By all means available to it!

For each fact of Russian terrorist attacks, the law enforcement agencies of Ukraine conduct their own investigation. As well as after the tragedy in Kostiantynivka. A considerable amount of materials on Russia's terrorist activities on the territory of Ukraine has already accumulated for submission to the international court in The Hague. Taking into account the public outcry around the statement of the New York Times, the results of the official investigation into the September 6 attack will be published additionally.

And yet, I really want to understand what considerations or interests drove the staff of the New York Times to conduct their "own investigation", and moreover, why the choice of time for publication coincided precisely with the time of the work of the Ukrainian delegation to the United States at the UN General Assembly ...The press, the serious press has always been, is and will remain a kind of mouthpiece for political battles, an objective herald of political forecasts and decisions. It is not good for a leading US publication to act as a kind of "measure of truth" in the bloody war in Ukraine unleashed by the Putin regime, which certainly raises bad suspicions about the intentions of the publication and its employees ...

[g-ghost69]

Digital Drawing and its things that annoy me

I am here to discuss about Sai and Krita, and say some things I don't like and some things I like.

first of all I must say that Sai is better than Krita for me, because of the fact that I adapted better with it than with krita.

Although Krita has great brushes, good resolutions and renders very well, it is very difficult to use, I understand that the intention is to be a little more professional but it ends up getting lost in that and becoming kind of a messy platform. Nothing intuitive and it has some bugs from time to time, if the file is too heavy it ends up crashing.

Sai also has this problem of the file being too big and crashing the pc, but it is much, MUCH, easier to understand and work with it.

For you to change the brush settings in Krita is hell, because they try to be professional and imitate photoshop but it ends up being very confusing (honestly I stopped messing with the settings because I got frustrated after trying so many times)

The presentation of the program, Sai, is cleaner and more intuitive whereas in Krita you have to say a big prayer to GET it working.

I keep using Krita because the brushes are really good (hard to set up, but good), and they also have a great variety. But the program itself I already gave up on it.

Not to mention that, within the program, there is an animation mode that is worse than hitting your mother. I tried to give it a chance but I didn't adapt, not only because there are many things that I consider unnecessary, but also because I spent many years using Sai and got used to it.

I'm not going to get just Krita for Christ. Now it's Sai's turn to be carved.

Currently (as far as I researched) there are two versions of Sai. The first version was average, it had very different brushes but as there were many brushes none of them managed to be excellent, or minimally good, they were all… Meh. The textures of the brushes? Meh. Nothing too extraordinary. The screen resolutions were very low because they had a very low threshold.

Here comes the Sai update, Sai 2. THEY REMOVED ALL THE BRUSHES TEXTURES!!!!!????? (only some brushes were left with the original textures) They added the mirror tool, and the text tool and increased the resolution limits. That's it. For the rest? They took everything!

And not to mention that, there comes a point when you are drawing and it simply informs you that you have no more memory, and you can't continue with the drawing???? WTF?

Both versions of Sai have that stabilizer thing, I admit that Sai 2's is relatively better ( Krita doesn't have that, and to change its stabilizer you have to change the settings of all the brushes HAHAHA >:) )

To summarize, the two are not the best, but Krita's platform annoys me, and Sai's platform, which was supposed to be updated, lacked a lot of things that were its differentiator.

I hate them both haha

Lie, I love Sai <3