#big sad eyes at its finest

[hgstuff]

— alicent hightower icons

like or reblog if u save and don't repost without credits ✨

[zephyrchama]

🎁🥔

Beelzebub and Mammon made their presence very well known when they entered the living room, with heads held high and chests puffed out proudly. They were a little sweaty and disheveled but strangely upbeat. Beelzebub was clearly concealing something behind his back. Mammon had his nose pointed so far up, it was almost a challenge to the Avatar of Pride's moniker.

You looked up from the couch and asked, "What's up, guys?" Feeling for all the world like a kindergarten teacher about to play a game with their students.

"We got you something," Beelzebub said with a pleasant smile. It was almost entirely drowned out by Mammon's loud boasting.

"You won't believe what I found. You're 'bout to be real grateful, so get our praise ready."

They plopped down into seats on either side of you, Beelzebub careful not to jostle the mystery in his hand.

It wasn't every day they made a big deal out of giving you something. Normally, they'd just do it. Your interest was piqued. "What is it?"

They smirked at each other. Both demons wanted to drag out the suspense, but were also too impatient to wait much longer. Still in their school uniforms, they probably rushed straight home as soon as they procured their present. After grinning for several prolonged seconds in self-satisfaction, Mammon snapped his fingers dramatically. "Show 'em, Beel!"

Beelzebub placed the gift in your lap as if it were made of the finest glass.

It was a potato.

"A human world potato," Beelzebub explained, as if there was any doubt.

"Ya don't see this in the Devildom everyday. We thought you'd like a human treat every once 'n a while."

It was green and wrinkly, with multiple spuds sprouting out the top. It looked like somebody had dropped it behind a shelf and found it months later through smell alone. It was impossible to discern if it had been washed recently or if, at this point, the slimy and moist texture was just this tuber's natural state of existence.

Two sets of eyes filled with anticipation were locked on to your face, scrutinizing its every move. They were waiting for their shower of praise. You forced an awkward smile and laughed with strained excitement. "A potato! Wow, thanks guys!"

"What are you gonna make with it?" Beelzebub was eager to know.

"I'm not sure." You gazed at the gift. You kind of wanted to fling it off your legs before your skin started crawling. Though, you couldn't insult the brothers after their hard work. It was time to start lying through your teeth. "I'm so touched. Really. That you went and got... this potato for me. I kind of want to keep it as a memento!"

Mammon waved his hand to dismiss your idea. "Nah, don't hold back! I paid a pretty hefty sum to get a hold a' this, y'know."

Your heartstrings twinged with guilt. To avoid stirring Beelzebub and his endless stomach, Mammon leaned over towards your ear. "Fry it, bake it, boil it. It's all yours," he whispered. "'Long as you're happy, yeah?"

You were not happy. Every day with these demons brought a fresh source of stress. At least you were never dull.

"Solomon once said that green vegetables are good for humans," Beelzebub revealed.

You twirled your head around so fast that you accidentally bumped Mammon in the nose and asked, "You actually took food advice from Solomon?"

"Only after Belphie confirmed it," he clarified. So they did do their research.

While that was usually true, this was an incredibly unfortunate exception. You could not bring yourself to consume the sad green potato. You needed a new idea.

"Can human plants be cultivated in the Devildom? I want to plant this, and then we'll have more potatoes we can all share." The wet sensation on your leg only grew more unpleasant and you wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. "Let's go plant it out back and see."

The siblings began talking over one again again, saying, "My human's got a heart of gold" and "I'd like that" while squeezing you with bear hugs from either size. It jostled the potato and you feared it would start leaking more.

"Let's go, let's go!" you ushered, eager to give this old vegetable a proper burial. You could vaguely hear Mammon brag to his younger brother, "I told you this was a great idea, they're gonna be thankin' us for weeks," as you raced towards the doorway.

[whereserpentswalk]

There are fallen angels all around your city. They don't do much, but they're always there. They're probably the most common cryptid in the city by far, they're almost a mascot for your city now. Your city used to be protected by actual normal angels, but history happened, now they're all fallen, their relationship with humanity forgotten, the ancient alliance lost. You don't think there was a betrayal, humanity just didn't need them anymore, they moved on, and now the fallen are just one of countless cryptids who landed here from another dimension.

Some look almost like humans, pretty humans, pretty humans wearing tattered and dirty clothing, but with wrong things about them, too many eyes, too many fingers, or just something off about them. Others look like their old angel selves more, but with time catching up to them, armor rusted, feathers unclean, the golden light turned cold and pale. Others look distorted, ghostly, like glitches in reality, sometimes monstrous and demonic in eldritch and terrifying ways. They say those were the most radiant before they fell.

Everyone kind of just knows to ignore them. Sometimes you'll see one, in an abandoned store, just on the street, in a subway station or an alleyway. But you know not to stop and stare like you would for other cryptids. They're common, and perhaps dangerous, at least unclean. And beyond that sad and unpleasant, and this twenty-first century world does not want to look at sad or unpleasant things. All the anger and little joy in the world is in a single cellphone, why bother taking a moment to pay respect.

There was that one time that one flew at you, with big, bloodstained wings, and a sword in its hands. It terrified you. But it was nothing, it didn't hurt you, you were just afraid. They set up traps for them, and places to make sure they don't rest. Little demonic sigils on pieces of architecture to make sure they don't perch there. Or pedants on shops so that they can never go in. Even a security camera, and a monster hunter's number, in case they're seen in the wrong place. They scare you sometimes, and to some creatures scaring a human is a crime that could cost them their lives. It's just how it is.

You gave some food to one, just some meat. She was small, would have looked like a pretty human girl wearing nothing but an old black coat she found, would have looked human if it wasn't for her featherless wings twitching in the rain. You let her come close to you. She didn't want to be touched. But you sung to her, and she liked your song. She told you that she used to sing before she was fallen, used to have shinning golden wings, and sing in the finest of restaurants. You let her sing back to you for a bit. You didn't ask her name. It would be weird to. But you hoped she was ok. Hoped she didn't pay the price of someone's fear.

You didn't see her again. But you think about her sometimes. It's silly to wonder if such a creature is ok. It's just a cryptid, the lowest and most forgettable of cryptids. It wouldn't affect you if anything happened, but you'd weep just to think of the possibility.

[coolprettyleo]

the jokes weren't funny. - connor bedard ☆

wc: 627

tw: filming, drama, sadness, mean comments

ryan leonard x ex oc

connor bedard x oc

death by a thousand cuts au

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

frankie hughes felt like she couldn't catch a break for the life of her.

no matter how many times the girl thought her life was finally getting better, it only seemed to turn around and smack her right back down.

she sat in the las Vegas hotel room in tears as she read through the comments about the latest TMZ article that, of course, had to do with her.

someone had filmed her and connor outside the bar last night as they waited for their Uber, and the video was quite interesting, to say the least.

it started off with the two of them drunkenly dancing around from the muffled bar music, obviously intoxicated, which seemed to cause a stir amongst the media, seeing as they were both underage and were supposed to be 'role models'. it only got worse because the two young adults seemed to forget they were in public and made out with each other against the wall a little later on into the video.

the comments were brutal, and she couldn't help but think she deserved every single one.

what happened to her and ryan? they were so cute.

omg she's cheating

puck bunny at its finest

leonards too good for her anyways

why do i ship

maybe it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but people still believed she was with ryan. they hadn't given anyone to believe they were over, they hadn't unfollowed each other or removed the pictures of each other from their social media, so it was understandable why the world thought she was a cheater.

she had definitely felt like one. her heart still belonged to ryan, but she was sure he would want nothing to do with her once he caught sight of the video.

she felt completely helpless, so she resorted to doing nothing but curl up into a ball and cry. wondering why the hell she was the way she was.

she was cut off from wallowing in self-pity when her manager, darcy, called. knowing it was going to be nothing but a scolding, she answered because she most likely had a solution.

"hello?" she answered a bit timidly.

"hello. I'm assuming you've seen the video, and I'm calling to tell you it's going to be fine. you were bound to have a scandal at some point; I'm just happy it isn't rehab yet. anyways, we have two choices, we can put out a statement on your behalf, or you unfollow and remove every picture of ryan from your feed," darcy rushed out.

"I don't- I don't want to do that," frankie said, feeling tears begin to sting her eyes. she felt like that would make the breakup so much more real, and she knew she wasn't ready to do that yet.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, honey. you're still on the rise, and a big scandal this early into your career won't go well. it's better to put out the fire before it gets bigger," darcy explained to her.

"I just feel like it will blow over if we, like, let it," Frankie said.

"it wouldn't just blow over! unless..." darcy thought as frankie waited. anything would sound better to her at this point.

"i mean, i would have to get in contact with his team, but I'm sure they'd be on board. the internet loves a good crossover, just look at taylor swift and travis kelce-"

"what?" frankie asked, confused as to who or what she was saying.

"we could make the public think you and ryan have been separated for a while now," she said

"and how would we do that?" frankie asked, scared to hear the answer.

"you get into a pr relationship with connor bedard, of course!"

[snoopcco]

제이! boyfie! jay x reader 🗒️ synopsis boyfriend jay plays with your hair and cuddling you because you cried until you felt safe and went back to sleep. warning. very sad and short :,(

# (separation anxiety at its finest.)

“I’m back home pretty, let me see your gorgeous face.” your boyfriend, jay, was busy today. he left early, and to your surprise, he came back home late. and your separation anxiety definitely did not help. you found nights without jay empty, not just because you were alone, but you felt empty when your other half wasn’t in sight. “love?” jay called out to you, but you didn’t reply as he was still looking for you.

he would expect you to be in YOUR spot on the big couch you guys shared, laying down while eating your favorite ice cream tub, watching the kdrama you wait weeks for a new episode. but no, it seemed like tonight was different. it was like you didn’t wait for jay. and that was rare, because jay knew how much you would miss him at night so that’s why he would try to come home as fast as possible to kiss you and cuddle you endlessly.

jay quietly strolled to your guy’s room, peeping through the gap in the door and to his expectation, you were curled up into a ball. covered by the comforter that barely even covered anything, seeming like you were cold.

jay smirked, he found you cute. he thought, maybe, you just went to sleep because you were exhausted and tired. so you just gave in and went to bed, “even when your snoring, your gorgeous.” he giggled, getting on the bed slowly approaching you. he intended to kiss you on the lips and express his love, however; with his sharp hearing, he heard your sniffling. hiccups. he was a tad bit stunned, he didn’t know how to react if you were crying. “oh my baby.. look at me.” he said so.. so soft. so gentle. with all the care he could ever use.

you slowly turned to him, revealing your red puffy eyes. you cried, it devastated him. “my poor baby, why are you crying? you shouldn’t cry.” he cupped your face, bringing you closer to his face. “I’m hideous right now, jay. I just cried, so I don’t look my best.” you looked down and frowned, a bit embarrassed. “hideous? fuck, love. never call yourself that. that shouldn’t even be in your vocabulary. your crying over here, but all I can think of right now is how your so pretty when you cry.”

“now come over here, I’ll show you how much I care.” jay opened his arms and you immediately came to him, engulfing into his warm presence. he held you, so close. as if you guys were interlinked. jay didn’t want you to cry, he wanted you to know he loved you.

“oh baby don’t cry.. your too precious.” he wiped your tears, looking at you with so much love. you were rested on his chest, and he softly and slowly rubbing your back, his lips were near your ears, and when his voice touched your ears, it felt warm and tingly.

jay started playing with your hair, removing the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “don’t cry anymore. I’m here.”

“pretty, pretty girl.”

@ jwnstars !! sigh. why isn’t he my bf.

I FORGOT TO POST/PUBLISH THIS. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished. I feel like this is one of my most detailed works bc I fricking suck lmao 😿🎀

[acozysoulwrites]

Sick Ken headcanons | Ken x reader

Had this cute thought of Ken coming to the real world with you and choosing to be a human and how he would react to getting sick for the first time

✮ Soon after coming to the real world to live with you, Ken gets sick.

✮ You told him that if he kept swearing on not wearing a shirt when going out in the rain (he absolutely loves feeling real rain) that he’d soon get sick.

✮ He really regrets not listening.

✮ “Ken you don’t look so hot” you’d said that morning.

✮ Sometime after you got to work, Ken called you, his voice raspy and off, and you instantly knew what was up.

✮ You apologized to your boss before taking leave. You wouldn't leave every time he got sick, but this being his first time, you knew he was probably miserable and confused.

✮ His eyes were puffy and red, his cheeks flushed and his forehead radiated heat.

✮ "Ken, sweetie you're burning up," You say softly, your hand laid against his forehead.

✮ He just looked up at you with those damn puppy eyes, confusion sparking in them as you spoke.

✮ "Why do I feel like I got run over by a hundred horses?" He grumbles.

✮ "Don't worry" You say when you notice the concern in his eyes.

✮ He has the sniffles and you have to dig through your closet for a box of tissues.

✮ You make him soup and when you come back into your room, you find Ken snuggling with one of your plushies, eyes all sad and his lip pouty.

✮ For being sick, he looked absolutely adorable, and cold, he looks cold too.

✮ "Here" You hand him the soup and grab a blanket from the closet.

✮ If he's not feeling well enough to hold it himself, you spoon-feed him little bites after blowing lightly. You didn't want his mouth to get burnt.

✮ When you try leaving the room, Ken groans and tugs at your shirt.

✮ "Don't go" He whines, dramatically reaching a shaky hand out toward you. "What if I get cold again?"

✮ "That's what your blanket is for Ken, dear" You chuckle.

✮ He is 100% a big baby. He wants you by his side, and if you think Ken is clingy already, prepare for that to be amped up ten times more.

✮ If he is getting sick, and unable to keep his food down, you rub his back and sit with him in the bathroom, assuring him that you aren't bothered by this at all.

✮ He feels bad that you have to waste your time on him all day. He knows that you should be at work.

✮ "Any time spent with you, even if you're sick, is time well spent," You tell him.

✮ He does not handle stomach aches well, curling up in a fetal position and sobbing is his idea of 'handling' them.

✮ He hugs himself, self-soothing at its finest.

✮ If the pain is too much, you give him medicine and melatonin. This works fast as he's never had to take medication or sleep aid before. He is OUT.

✮ He sleeps through the whole night, and when you wake up, he's snuggled into your side, sleepy, puffy eyes shut softly.

Okay stop this was the cutest thing ever.... I want to write more sick Ken fics...

[actuallykiwi]

On the Hunt: Part 1

A retelling of capturing the heart of Hollywood U's most ineligible eligible bachelor.

I salute, "Understood, ma'am!" We laugh and I hug my best friend, thanking her again before I head out to my waiting Uber.

"Ads, it's a charity event. They label it as a 'ball' so big spenders will donate more." My head aches from the amount of tugging she's doing on my hair.

"It is a ball! A masquerade one! You go fancy or you don't go at all!" Addison tucks one last curl into a pin and sets the curler down, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "And I do believe I have made you meet the quota despite your insistence on that dress. You're welcome!"

Well, I have to admit, leave it to a Fashionista to make anything look rich. I give myself a thorough check-over in the full-length mirror, and she's right. My teal silky dress may not have had a comma in the price, but with the silver jewelry, sparkly heels, and the peacock feathers adorning my curled half-up hair, I feel like the Queen herself. The matching peacock masquerade mask will finish the whole suite. "Thank you, Ads! You know how to make a girl feel fancy," I laugh as she snaps pictures and I strike fun poses. "Of course! No one else is ever allowed to dress you. Ever. I mean it, Annie!" She threatens.

And every soul in the room is wearing a masquerade mask. Even the waiters. You can tell there are definitely some moguls and celebrities in here based on how much jewelry they have on, the material of their suits and dresses, but not a face to be seen. Even the string quartet are all wearing matching maroon masks. Dedication at its finest.

Due to limo traffic, my driver has to drop me off a couple of streets down from the venue. Luckily, I went with lower heels. The red carpet is rolled out in the front for some of the bigger-name attendants, so I sidle in through a side entrance and slip on my feathery mask. Once my ticket is given to a greeter, I'm in.

And wow, they really went all in for this "ball" theme. A shiny gold banner welcomes guests with "5th Annual Los Angeles Charity Masquerade Ball" across the foyer. The ballroom itself is glowing with Regency-style decor, gold chandeliers illuminating the massive dance floor with gentle light, everywhere else lit by candlelight. Waiters swim through the crowds with trays of sparkling gold champagne, and even the bar far off to the left has festive shiny centerpieces.

Well, Uncle Moh said to enjoy myself, so I'll ease up and get a mimosa from the bar. Maybe I'll find him later.

I can't help but feel a bit like a princess as my make way down the grand marble staircase to where the bar rests under the second floor balcony. Some people are chatting idly at the numerous tables along the edge of the dance floor, while most are out dancing. There are a couple of stragglers by the bar, usually just swinging by to get a drink that the waiters aren't carrying. One, however, catches my eye. A man in a navy suit, wearing a matching navy mask with silver lining, sits on a stool sipping his scotch and stares down the clock on the wall. He looks irritated to be here, and something about him is... eerily familiar. And maybe a touch alluring. As I approach the bar next to him and place my order, I get a whiff of his cologne. Smells deliciously expensive.

"Not having a good time?" I strike.

The man doesn't even look at me. "What makes you think that? As I enjoy the strongest drink they have, in a room full of strangers."

I shrug and sip my drink as it arrives. "Fair enough. Though, if scotch is the strongest thing they have, that's kind of sad."

He slowly turns toward me. "In case you're dense and missed my point, I meant you. A stranger. I have no interest in socializing with strangers." His gaze returns to the clock.

"You don't mince words, do you?" A sip of mimosa.

"I prefer to be honest." A gulp of scotch.

"Huh, a rare thing in Hollywood. It's appreciated." I nod at him.

"Are you sure? Because I can be very honest." He glances at me from the side and raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, honesty's refreshing. One thing I've learned since coming here... too many people are willing to lie to your face or cheat to get ahead."

He scoffs. "And you're not one of them?"

"No. Not yet at least." I grin.

"But you do want to get ahead?"

I drink more mimosa and lean on the back of the stool next to him. "I mean, who doesn't?"

The man now fully turns his stool to face me, downs his scotch, and leans on his arm on the bar. "Well, here's more truth for you; everyone wants to be someone. But not everyone here is going to succeed."

I smile knowingly. Heard this one before. "Mm, one of the first lessons I learned, 'To make it in Hollywood, you have to get used to being told no'... but still fight for it, of course."

He blinks and looks at his empty glass on the table almost sadly. "Huh. Wish I had that advice early on..." He glimpses down at me and clears his throat. "Ahem. Excuse me. I'm Thomas. And you are?"

I take his outstretched hand and shake it. "Oh, I'm the niece of the head of security for this event. He's the reason I got in. And I've been instructed to stay anonymous tonight, until the event is over."

He scoffs again. "You don't have to be so coy. I don't need a name to figure out who you are, or anyone in this room for that matter."

Thomas glances at the clock, then back at me, thinks for a moment. "I was. Crowd of strangers, as I mentioned. But, maybe not all are bad..." Now his lips definitely curve into a grin, for me. Lord help me if I get to see who's under that mask.

"But we're all wearing masks. How do you know who anyone is?"

He swivels his seat so I'm next to him and we're both looking out at the fancy crowd. "Years spent analyzing the nuances of physicality and behavior. For example, that woman over there in the pink is Paris Hilton."

I start to question but he puts a hand up. "Her distinctive laugh. The man next to her is Daniel Craig. Slight limp from his injury on the set of 'Spectre'."

I let out an impressed chuckle. "Impressive!" I turn toward him and put my hand on my hip. "And what can you deduce about me, a complete stranger?"

He scratches his chin and doesn't hide that he's looking at me. "I've been wondering that since the moment you arrived. Something about you is familiar, annoyingly so, but at the same time, forgive me, attractive."

I feel my cheeks burn. "You seem familiar too... Annoyingly so." I mimic with an eye roll. He chuckles, maybe the first time I've seen his lips curve. "... You're not going to tell me who you are, are you?"

"And spoil the fun? Masquerades are about mystery and intrigue, right? And also not getting kicked out by my uncle cop. But maybe at the end of the night. Unless you're planning on leaving early...?"

Snob. But I'll be damned if he's not an attractive one.

The string quartet fades into a slower number as I finish my drink. Thomas has moved to people watching and I follow his gaze to the couples now swaying on the floor. "Care for a dance?" I ask.

"Oh no. I don't dance with just anyone."

"No one good enough?"

"Precisely."

"Possibly not even with a 'perfect' stranger?" I move a curl from my mask.

"Possible? Yes. Likely? No."

I sigh. "Well, I could walk away now, and take all of my secrets with me. You'll lie restless wondering who I am with nary a chance to find me..."

"I told you. I could find anyone in this room." I can see his jaw working. Come on... "... though I'm shamed to admit I'm curious and impatient."

"So...?" I take a half-step towards the dance floor.

After a brief moment, Thomas stands from his stool, adjusts his suit jacket, and nods his head toward the crowd. "Try to keep up."

For a moment, I forget we're in public. Thomas is wonderful at dancing. Every sway, every swing, every time he spins me, the dim lights in the room are a blur, and all I can see is him. I swear I'll be smelling his expensive cologne in my dreams, and it's especially on this dress from how close he's holding me. I managed to even spy a couple of smiles from him!

Then we're off into the middle of the crowd until we find a space to dance. One of my hands is in his while my other rests on his shoulder, his other hand loosely at my waist. I admit I'm a little tense as we begin.

"Nervous?" He asks. "A little," I admit.

"If you're nervous, this dance is over before it even begins."

"I didn't say I was nervous for me," I retort, my reward being that little smirk of his. "Cheeky. Afraid your uncle will find us?"

"For your sake, yes. But I'll enjoy the moment while it lasts, thanks."

"The same." His grip on my waist tightens as he pulls me closer. His smile mirrors my own.

"Oh no, my dear. The spotlight has always been yours." He spins me out away from him, then catches me and spins me to him with my back against him and his lips at my ear. "You're mesmerizing."

"Hmm... You're not completely horrible at this. You've even seemed to draw a crowd." He mutters to me.

Sure enough, reality is back, and she's in the form of a dozen masked faces watching us. "Never was one to stray from the spotlight. But you're like an expert at this, they must be watching your skill."

The audience politely claps. But they're a dull echo in my mind. I'm all blush as I turn my head ever so slightly towards him, our masks touching and eyes meeting. Thomas moves a stray curl behind my ear, then moves us back into a slow dance. The world tunes back in as the audience also returns to dancing.

I shake my head to clear myself out of it. "So... who is Thomas outside of charity balls?"

"Now, if you won't tell me your name, you don't get my secrets either."

"Touche."

We dance slowly for a few minutes, making idle chatter and discussing the extravagant decor. Seems we both think it's a little much. Then the music speeds up and a group dance begins. Thomas quickly explains the steps, then we're launched into partner swaps. I'm tossed to a man who smells of sickly sweet cigars with a brassy mask on, and Thomas is tossed to a woman with bright red hair in an equally bright glittery mask.

3 partners later, my feet are beginning to ache and I could go for another mimosa. I settle for sitting at a table for a moment when I'm approached by the only non-masked individual I've seen tonight.

"Uncle Moh! I've been good, I swear. Totally anonymous guest." I raise my hands in promise.

He's still in uniform, but someone must have forced a little gold bowtie on him. It's cute. He raises an eyebrow at me, "So the man you're dancing with..."

"Doesn't know my name."

Uncle Moh glances behind me, then nods and returns to his post.

"Well, you weren't kidding. He does want you to remain anonymous." A familiar voice says from right above me. Warm hands rest on my shoulders from behind, covering the straps of my dress. I get goosebumps and look up at Thomas, my head bumping his stomach.

"There you are! I did tell you I wasn't a liar."

He grins and walks around me as he brushes a hand across the back of my shoulders. "Then maybe more privacy is required. Come with me." He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Okay, now I have goosebumps.

And my stomach falls through the balcony.

Thomas still has my hand in his as he leads me to a balcony overlooking part of the bay. Night fell not too long ago, and the stars are out to play. The glow of the ballroom illuminates the area.

"So, disappointed you didn't leave early? Expectations met?" I tease as we lean on the railing.

He looks at me, thinking for a moment, and something in his expression makes my heart flutter. "It has exceeded them many times over."

I bashfully tuck a curl behind my ear. "Must be a first."

Thomas takes that hand and lightly kisses my knuckles, then takes both of my hands and faces me. "You are definitely the best part of the night. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. There's something about you, a connection..."

I'm flustered in all sorts of ways. My heart is threatening to jump out of my chest, but I nervously chuckle, "Cryptic..."

"Bear with me. I never thought I'd feel this strongly about a, what did you call it, a 'perfect' stranger..." There's a moment where he just looks at me, studying my eyes, what he can see of my expression. "No more secrets." Then he unties his mask.

My strict, no-nonsense, seems-to-have-it-out-for-me professor is standing in front of me. The hardest person to impress, Professor Thomas Hunt.

Wait.

Sh*t.

THOMAS. HUNT.

I am an idiot.

"Disappointed?" He asks, while my jaw is all but on the floor.

I stammer. "I-I n-no, I just, uh.."

He chuckles, "It's okay if you are. But, please..." He steps forward and cups my face in his hands, "I need to know who you are..."

And then Thomas Hunt's gorgeous face is leaning towards mine, still snug in my mask. Oh, how badly I would want this in another life. Hell, how badly I want it now. But...

"Wait." I hold up my hand, his lips kissing my fingertips. "...Remove my mask first."

"Are you sure?" He whispers against my hand. Uugghhh curse you honesty.

I nod. So Thomas reaches around my head and unties my mask, which promptly falls to the ground.

I can't stop my audible gasp. It was like a physical blow to my gut, my chest. He was never one to hold back his disdain for me, why am I surprised now? He seems to notice how hard the blow hit, though. His eyes are wide but softening. "I... y-you..."

"ANNEKA!?" He physically jumps back. "How dare you!?"

"Thomas, you have to understand, I didn't know it was you-"

"Do NOT call me Thomas! You... you lied to me! You seduced me!!"

"I didn't lie! I didn't know! I thought we were having a good time, I didn't realize-"

"You didn't realize what? That I couldn't, won't be involved with a student? Let alone you!? You are the LAST person I wanted to see behind that mask!"

Without a word, I walk over my mask and begin heading for the door, before the tears can threaten me. Thomas grabs my wrist. "Wait."

I can't even look at him. But I see his legs pause, and his head turns after a moment. He speaks softly.

I pause. His grip softens. "Just wait, Anneka..."

I swallow hard before I slowly turn to face him. His expression has an uncharacteristic softness to it that I've never seen before. "That was harsher than it should have been... but this... this is a line we cannot cross. Forget this happened. Nothing changes."

Thomas lets me go and starts to walk around me towards the exit. My voice is weak when I find the strength to speak. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry..."

"... Don't be."

And then he's gone.

(Disclaimer: The original story, places, events, names, most dialogue, and all characters except for Annie belong to Pixelberry from their game Hollywood U: Rising Stars. Thank you for reading!)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azul Week Day 6 - Four Seasons

Summary: Azula takes Sokka to see a firefly boom but the fireflies don't want to appear.

Sunrise is her favorite time. The quiet and lonely golden hour that people seem to miss because they can’t be bothered to rise early enough. Perhaps it makes her selfish, but she doesn’t like to share this hour with anyone. Not even with Sokka. She likes to take it with a cup of daisy-dandelion tea and a thin blanket draped around her shoulders for the sake of having a blanket around her shoulders. 

Sunset, the second golden hour, is her second favorite time. It isn’t as quiet; in fact it is rather noisy. The crickets are beginning to awaken and the people are well awake and making their own racket. 

The fireflies also begin to awaken, cluster by cluster until they are everywhere blinking in the tall grasses and upon the trees. 

Usually by now, the world around smells like smoked meats and burning the burning leaves of campfires. This is the time that she wants to share with Sokka. He enjoys meat anyhow, most certainly more than he would enjoy her shaking him awake early in the morning. Sometimes she does that anyways when she feels sad for no reason. Sometimes she does it accidentally when she wants someone to hold or nuzzle her face against. He gets grumpy but he holds her anyhow. 

“We���re almost there.” Azula remarks. 

“Exactly where are we going?” Sokka pushes a fern leaf aside. 

“There’s a big hill. We’re going on top of that.”

Sokka furrows his brows. “Why are we doing that again?” 

“Because I want to show you something.” 

“Will the cicadas stop by the time we get there? Those things are driving me crazy. We don’t have those back at home.”

“You complain about the cicadas every year.” Azula rolls her eyes.

“Is it just me or do they get louder every year?”

“I think that it’s just you.” 

“I think that you Fire Nationals are just used to it.” He grumbles. 

“We’re here.” Azula declares. 

Sokka’s shoulders slump. “It’s just a big grassy hill!” 

“For now.” Azula replies. 

“For now!?” Sokka throws his hands up. “What does that even mean?” 

Azula offers him a smug and cheerful smile. “You’ll see.” She unfurls the picnic blanket and lays it out across the grass. “I figured that since I made you walk all of this way, that’s I’d make your favorite…”

“Peppered komodo chicken with a touch of garlic and a side of…”

“Smoked seal jerky.” Azula fills in. “Yes.” She withdraws a pan, a cooking fork, and a small iron grate to rest the meat upon. She gathers herself a nice tent of firewood and lights it up.

.oOo.

The last of the sizzles and pops die away as the sun fully falls. Azula does not relight it and Sokka shudders, it is quite darker than he had imagined. But Azula seems entirely unbothered which he might have found reassuring if Azula wasn’t unbothered by most things. 

She passes his meal to him. “Enjoy.” 

He will certainly try but the sounds emitting from the shadows–the ones that Azula insists are just lemurs and screech hog-monkeys don’t make it easy. He watches Azula, ever unphased, lay herself belly-down across the picnic blanket. She rests her chin in her palms and gazes down the hill. 

“It’s firefly mating season.” She remarks at last. 

Sokka swallows his mouthful. “Good to know, I guess.” 

Azula rolls her eyes and sighs. “Every few years there’s a firefly boom.” She elaborates. “It kind of reminds me of the polar lights. Less colorful, more uniformed but it’s like looking at stars but they’re in the grass.” She gestures down the hill where the first flashes are finally beginning. 

“I’ve seen Water Tribe winters.” She continues. “So I thought that I would show you what a Fire Nation summer is like when it is at its finest…” There is something in her voice, in the way that she trails off. It makes Sokka’s stomach sink. He is being unenthusiastic and he thinks that it is cracking her confidence in this thing that she had been so excited to show him. 

He wants to be enthusiastic but he has seen fireflies before so many times. He can’t say that this is any different from what he is used to seeing. A few drifting clouds of fireflies. It is pretty for certain but he isn’t sure if it is worth a long trek through the jungle. But Azula’s smiles are worth it. 

She is not smiling right now. Rather the opposite. “There are usually more than this…” She bites her lower lip. 

Sokka’s heart sinks further. He puts a hand on her back. “It’s alright, Azula. It’s still nice.” It is quality time with her and a meal that she had taken the care to cook for him. It has been prepared and is being eaten with breathtaking scenery, however ordinary it is. “It doesn’t have to be…”

“But I wanted to show you something special.” She mumbles. 

“This is special.” He insists. 

“But you’ve seen this before.”

“I’ve seen something similar but I’ve never seen these fireflies and they never dance around in the same way.”

Azula shrugs. 

“How many times did I take you to see the polar light?”

“A lot, Sokka.” She replies. 

“And did you enjoy them any less the tenth time?” He quirks a brow.

She purses her lips. “N-no.”

“Well then.” Sokka grins. And her smile starts to return.

.oOo.

Azula isn’t sure what had woke her up but she is pleased that it has. She nudges Sokka. Once then twice. “Sokka.” She whispers. He rolls over and gives a sleepy grunt. “Sokka!” She hisses again with a harder nudge.

“Wha-uh-t!?” He grumble-whines. “Go to sleep, woman!” 

This time she gives him a very solid thumb on the back. He jerks awake. “Geez!” 

Azula laughs. 

“What!? Is someone dying?” 

Azula shakes her head. “Look.” She points at the roof of their tent. It is all beaded with firefly bulbs that rest there like glowing yellow raindrops. Now and then the insects crawl down the fabric leaving a glowing trail just as rain leaves a trail of wetness. 

“I-it’s completely covered.” Sokka sputters. 

Azula nods rather eagerly. She takes his hand. “Come on Sokka, the hill is probably full of them!”

The hills, the canopy, the tree bark. Everything. Clouds of fireflies are suspended over the pond and make themselves cozy in the leaves of cattails. 

Sokka blinks. “They’re everywhere.” 

Azula nods. 

“I’ve never seen so many!” 

She nods again and takes his hand. “Come on, Sokka.” 

“Where are we going?” He asks. She knows that he will be able to deduce the answer soon enough.

.oOo.

He and Azula wander through the tall grass. It tickles his waist as he wades his way through. Although it is significantly higher on Azula–perhaps reaching her belly button or a little above–she seems to sift through the grass with ease. 

Sometimes it is nice to just walk hand in hand with her, letting her lead him along. Tonight she guides him through a field of stars. Each blade of grass seems to be tipped with a firefly bulb or two. And each strand that they part seems to rouse a whole cloud of them into the sky. 

Azula extends her arms and cups her hands. When she parts them to let him peer inside he finds that she has come away with at least five or six fireflies. 

“This must have been fun for you when you were a kid.”

Azula shakes her head. “Father wouldn’t let us chase them. He didn’t want us to get our robes dirty. We got to look and that was nice enough. But I never had the chance to…” she reaches up and plucks another firefly from the sky. 

Never had the chance to be a kid. He can see as much on her face. And he realizes that, technically, this is a first time for her too. A childhood dream coming to life. 

“Who do you think can catch more?” Azula quirks a brow. 

“I can of course.” He declares. “I’m taller so I can reach more of them.” 

“But I’m faster.” Azula counters. And he can’t dispute that. She has reflexes on top of that and this easy, fluid way of maneuvering through the world around her. She does a half twirl to look back at him. There are fireflies in her locks and crawling on her billowing robes, over her outstretched arms. 

She doesn’t even have to lift an arm to catch the fireflies. 

He can’t see himself but he imagines that he is similarly dressed in fireflies. Any traces of sleepiness ebb right out of him. 

If he falls asleep now, he fears that he will never see something like this again. 

Azula holds her hand out and he takes it. 

Just as he had held her hand when he introduced her to the lights. 

He has shown her the winter and she has showed him the summer. 

He will show her the grand melting of a Water Tribe springtime and she will introduce him to a burning Fire Nation autumn. 

[carry-on-my-wayward-gays]

I hear you need angst ideas for Jimmy. WELL- canonically his character is not only insecure but it’s heavily implied he has abandonment issues. What if you delve into that with the whole mess with his ex deputy fwhip.

OH I CAN ABSOLUTELY DO THAT I LOVE PSYCHOANALYZING MY BLORBOS

Jimmy was used to people only staying temporarily. Even if they promised they'd never leave, they always left or were taken from him. For a while he began to wonder if he was the problem.

I mean, only so many people can promise to stick by your side just to disappear so many times before you start to wonder if you were the reason they left. Maybe you were driving them away.

And Jimmy was fine to accept that. He knew he wasn't the greatest person alive. He made mistakes, he got angry and sad or would say the wrong thing at the wrong time. So maybe everyone had just seen how bad of a person he was and didn't want to deal with him anymore. That was fine. That was understandable.

And then fWhip wanted to be deputy. The little goblin man came along with his charming grin and big blue eyes and completely won over Jimmy's heart. They were good friends and fWhip hadn't done anything to spite Jimmy so far so Jimmy trusted him with a shiny golden badge, crafted from the finest gold from Tumble Town mines. And it was even made specifically for fWhip's size.

"I would never ever betray you, Sheriff." fWhip promises one day, crossing over his heart. Jimmy swallows and tries to keep his hopes down. fWhip would leave eventually. fWhip would get sick of him and his antics and throw in the badge and never speak to him again.

But fWhip didn't leave. At least not for a while. He stayed by Jimmy's side for months. Jimmy had grown to trust fWhip, telling him things no one else on the server knew. He told fWhip about Double Life, how he still thought of Tango all the time, about how people always seemed to leave him, how he didn't even feel human sometimes.

And fWhip listened. He listened with a heavy heart to Jimmy's stories. He didn't crack jokes to downplay Jimmy's feelings. He was a friend, a deputy, partner in crime law.

"I promise I won't leave," fWhip mumbles, scooting closer to Jimmy and resting his hand on top of Jimmy's.

The Sheriff takes it as a simple comforting gesture. "Please don't." He mumbles back, leaning his head on top of fWhip's.

fWhip kept to his promise. He stuck to Jimmy like glue. He ransacked the Toy Barn in Jimmy's name, distributed Law books, defended Jimmy in and out of court, all while wearing his deputy badge proudly.

It all made Jimmy feel.. some way. He didn't have the words for it.

And Jimmy began to believe fWhip. Maybe he wouldn't leave. Maybe Jimmy would have a solid ally for once. They'd be the best of friends and would always have each other's backs no matter what.

Jimmy really liked that idea.

But nothing good lasts around Jimmy Solidarity. He can never have anything precious in his life. Just when he thinks everything is perfect and maybe he isn't a horrible person the sky comes crashing down and ruins everything in its path.

Something changed in fWhip. A switch flipped, maybe. One day he was Jimmy's best friend and the next he was shouting from the rooftops that Jimmy was corrupt, that he was a bad Sheriff and shouldn't be trusted.

Of course Jimmy fired him. Not before basically begging on his knees to know what had happened between them, what he'd done and how he could fix him.

fWhip wanted nothing to do with him.

So Jimmy was alone again.

Maybe he really was the problem. Maybe there was something wrong with him he couldn't see but others could. Did he talk too much? Or not enough? Was his logic really that flawed? Was he not considerate enough? Too clingy? Did he really carry himself like he was above everyone?

He just wanted to know what his deal was, why he couldn't keep friends. And he wanted all his friends back.

Jimmy... only talks to people for business matters now. And he doesn't bother being friendly. It doesn't earn him any friends but it keeps people from getting too close. Gotta stop the spark before it can start a fire, right?

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Piglin Holiday ideas!!!

The nether doesn't really have seasons like the overworld. Not lengthening nights or long summer days. But that doesn't mean the nether is stagnant.

The Lava pools have tides! Not controlled by the moon, but by some other slow eternal force. Once a year the tides are low, and they reveal the hidden treasures that were below their burning flow. They reveal gold and ancient ore and pockets of goodies.

Piglins have a big scavenger hunt to find the most goodies. It's great fun! There IS a reward to finding more than any other person, but that's not what most people focus on. Partners work together and the gold they find is believed to tie them together forever. The more rare items you find, the stronger the bond. And partners make extravagent jewelry to gift each, each piece incredibly special. This isn't necessarily romantic, but it is a common time for romantic partners to propose. But its just as common for friends and family members to search for gold together during this celebration.

When the tides begin to rise again, the piglins gather for a great party in their villages. They wear all the pieces they have made with their finest clothes. They give small tokens of affection to those they love, but didn't go scavenging with. They remember the years past and look forward to the year to come.

Another thing that changes in the nether! The Hoglin Migrations!

Not long before the Tide Season, Hoglins will migrate and will group in large numbers. The adults in a piglin village will all work together to take down as many hoglin as possible. The work is spread evenly, and the spoils are given out equally as well.

However, the meat is not for the individual to eat.

This is a holiday of forgiveness. Anyone that you wish to apologize to, for reasons big or small, you bring them the hoglin meat. It is to show that you know you hurt them, and would give even something precious to be forgiven in their eyes. If the person takes it, it means they forgive you. And you share the meal together. If they do not, you leave the meat out on the netherack to rot. To show that the relationship between you has rotted beyond saving. It's not rare for the meat to be refused, but it usually isn't for small things. Sometimes, a piglin KNOWS that they will be refused, but apologies do not require a person's forgiveness to be necessary.

Anyway, piglin holiday ideas!!!

Oh these are so delightful!!!!

If I can add one of my own, since I was inspired by your lava tides idea (which is excellent btw). I headcanon that piglin funeral rites include lowering the body and a few specific worldly possessions of the deceased piglin into the lava. So maybe when the tides are at their highest, a remembrance holiday would take place?

However, this is not a drab or sad affair. Death is viewed very differently in the Nether. Grief is a celebration of life!

So during this holiday, all work is stopped - no more hunting, trading or building - and piglins will instead eat, drink, dance and enjoy themselves. There's also a focus on recounting memories and telling stories about the deceased. At the end of the festivities, the sounder will often drop offerings to their dead loved ones into the lava. Stuff like food or small gold trinkets.

Piglets born on this day are considered blessed and will be named after a recently deceased sounder member with piglins believing the child is looked after by them.

[blackjackkent]

Hey, found the circus!

Astute observers may note that there is a GHOUL hanging out by the front gate. A nearby civilian and his son are discussing it; the dad claims it's a man in a costume, the kid points out that it is drooling.

A nearby conversation is happening between a Flaming Fist and someone who appears to possibly be the circus owner; they're discussing the fact that the owner apparently employs redcaps in the circus and that some of them are on the loose. (Most, the owner asserts, are "perfectly harmless," but the escaped ones had been caged temporarily for attacking a kid.)

Did I mention before that this circus is called The Circus of the Last Days? Everything about this is sketch af.

Another bit of ambient dialogue states that Dribbles the Clown, who seems to be pretty well-known, always travels with a group of animal friends. So that's something to look forward to anyway.

Talking to the ghoul, we learn that it is apparently security, since the "Steel Watch" can't be bothered to patrol out here in the sticks.

We approach as it is being very rude to a random townsperson. "*SNIFF* STINKS OF CHEESE! *SNIFF* BETWEEN HIS PIGGY TOES."

Lovely. The townsperson was pretty displeased about being spoken to like this but stepped back to let us also get sniffed so's we can all go in.

"Hello, hello, and welcome to the Circus of the Last Days! The finest extraplanar circus there is!"

Karlach, hearing this, immediately gasps and gets super excited:

"Ah! A circus! Can we go?!"

Karlach continues to be the cutest thing in the world. And Hector is a sucker for anything that gets her excited, so even if they weren't going to go in before, they definitely are now.

Questions first, though. "I've never heard of an extraplanar circus."

"We travel from plane to plane, thrilling all blessed to see us! From tempestuous djinni to belligerent redcaps - you'll find them all here! But enough of this - the circus is a place of joy and distraction! So come inside and forget your worries."

Privately Hector suspects there is not a circus big enough to make him forget all his worries, and also he kind of wanted to ask about the ghoul. But sure.

"All right. I'd like to enter the circus."

"Not a problem, dear patron!" the barker says cheerfully. "Benji just has to check if you're a vicious murderer. Benji!"

The ghoul comes over and gives Hector a deep sniff.

"Huh," it grunts, then sniffs, and sniffs again. Then it squeals harshly, "BRAIN JUICE SMELLS LIKE PISS AND IRON. NO. LIKE."

The barker blinks, then laughs nervously. "That's a first. Usually I'd allow you in, but in these times I can take no chances. Move along; no circus for you."

Hector winces. Of course. It can smell the tadpole. He's not sure he blames it for its skepticism either, under the circumstances. He isn't too fussed about the circus himself, but it's been a long day and he really doesn't want to see that sad look that Karlach gets in her eyes when she's disappointed.

So he puts on his most placid, unthreatening smile and nods understandingly at the barker. [PERSUASION] "I'm not a threat to you or anyone else in the circus," he says gravely. "I swear it."

The barker sighs good-naturedly. "Oh, damned if I'm not a sucker for big eyes and a heartfelt plea," he says. "Very well. Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days! Have fun, and be sure to catch the star of our show, Dribbles the Clown!"

The gate swings open and he steps aside to let them pass.

-----

"Well," Hector says dryly as they walk into the circus area. "That was terrible security."

"Who cares?!" Karlach says brightly. "We get to go to the circus! I want to see that clown he was talking about."

Shadowheart tries, and fails, to mask a slight smile; Hector gets the impression that, secretly, she might be almost as excited about this as Karlach is. Jaheira, though, is looking quite serious.

"Keep your wits about you," she mutters. "I would not spoil your fun but... the last place of this kind that I saw turned out to be not what it seemed. Do not take your guard down."

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Instrument of Surrender

3. "I am also sad and my head hurts."

ANNETTE - "I'm sorry, sir. I hope things get better soon." She looks you in the eye, a gleam of sympathy on her face.

There she stands, swaying on her feet, assaulted by the early spring breeze. She smiles at you. The whole situation suddenly feels familiar, somehow.

+5 XP

7. [Suggestion - Medium 11] What are you missing here? Why does this feel so familiar?

+1 Knows the Law.

SUGGESTION [Medium: Failure] - You have absolutely no idea. Familiar how? You must have forgotten something you heard again.

8. "Okay, bye. See you around, Annette."

Ok, one more check we've unlocked, and it's with Rene.

RENÉ ARNOUX - "We're still waiting for a replacement for the *boule* you sent sinking."

"Do you know anything about the man hanged in the back yard of the Whirling-in-Rags?"

"You seem to be playing in a crater."

"I saw the statue of Filippe III near the roundabout."

[Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about this old soldier that makes him stand so proud?

RENÉ ARNOUX - "Ah, yes, King Filippe III on his steed -- a reminder of what Revachol once was..."

GASTON MARTIN - "Oh absolutely..." He smiles as if reliving a pleasant memory. "At the mercy of a cocaine-snorting tyrant who emptied the treasury so he could sleep on a bed of gold?"

RENÉ ARNOUX - "...a superpower, feared and respected. A testament to what this country *can* be under the leadership of a True King, someone who knows how to rule."

"How should a true king rule?"

"What was that about cocaine?"

"Let's talk about something else."

RENÉ ARNOUX - "*Decisively*. Without fear of offending the sensibilities of the frail and weak-minded among his subjects! This is something the insurgents never understood..."

"Seems to me a leader should take care of his *people* before himself."

"Powerful leaders -- not afraid to do what *must* be done -- that's what this country needs."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that."

+1 Communism

RENÉ ARNOUX - "A nation is only as strong *as* its leader. That's why it was such madness to try to..."

GASTON MARTIN - "Don't get started on that again. What happened, happened." There is some weariness in his voice now -- he's heard this rant many times before.

RENÉ ARNOUX - The carabineer doesn't reply, but his entire being communicates unbreakable resolve.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - No one and nothing can change this man's mind -- he is as rigid as they come, still in that antique uniform -- it's a symbol for him.

2. "What was that about cocaine?"

GASTON MARTIN - "Oh, old Filippe was a *big* fan of the purple nose candy the nobility loved so much. A cocaine-connoisseur of sorts." He chuckles. "His egocentricity is borderline legendary."

RENÉ ARNOUX - "You can't even take responsibility for yourself -- how could you fathom the responsibility weighing on the shoulders of a ruler?" he asks, obviously annoyed.

"That's why the Filippian kings used cocaine -- for clarity of vision, to aid in their work… Regnum Cocainum -- Revachol's finest years." He seems to grow taller, brimming with pride about the past.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course," the lieutenant marks dryly. "Clarity of vision. *Awareness*."

RENÉ ARNOUX - "Filippe III was even brought into this world with the help of cocaine -- the court medic administered a dose to his mother when she was in labour. And it is well known that with the help of cocaine -- only the purest, of course -- he was able to connect with higher realms..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - 'Higher realms'? Of course -- it all makes sense...

[fibula-rasa]

Photoplay, October 1926

Temperament? Certainly, says Nazimova 

By Adela Rogers St. Johns 

NAZIMOVA!  

The very name conjures up those slanting, shining, mesmeric eyes that are such an amazing gray beneath the straight, black brows. The tangle of short, black hair, wind-blown, different from the stereotyped bobbed heads as a tiger lily from a daisy, yet with an indescribable chic. That scarlet, expressive, sad, laughing, cynical, wistful mouth. The lithe, graceful, restless body. And the purring, lilting voice, whose accent is like some gorgeous jazz harmony you cannot forget.

Nazimova, the Russian. Nazimova, the great actress. Nazimova, the cultured, brilliant woman of the world. Nazimova, the temperamental.

Full transcription:

Ah, now we come to it. Because for years the word Nazimova has been almost a synonym for temperament. They have always explained things about her on the grounds of her temperament. They explained her great success with, "She certainly has temperament." Now they are explaining her failure with, "Oh, she's too temperamental." 

So I asked her about temperament, about success, about failure. But most of all about temperament. Surely no one is more qualified to speak on that most discussed and disagreed-upon subject. 

I went in through a tangled garden, riotous with color. 

She had said, "You will find me hidden. The gate into my retreat is made of trees, bent together. There is a winding walk. Do not be discouraged. It comes to an end, as all things must. Then you will see a red lacquer door, with a round window. In that window hangs a sign, 'Do Not Disturb.' But don't pay any attention to that. Ring the bell and I will let you in."

The truth is that she has built herself a studio-home above

"I have never yet found the person who was worth lying to" 

the garage in the gardens behind the big house where she used to live. But you see how she adds a touch of the picturesque to everything. 

The big room was high-ceilinged, with round windows curtained from the sun, and lined to the very top with books, worn books, new books, books in a dozen languages, books in priceless bindings and books in yellow paper covers. There was a concert grand piano and some fine tapestry, and a splendid painting of Madame as Hedda Gabler, and many of those low, soft chairs that you never want to get out of. 

And in one of them, wearing a white silk slip embroidered in gold, Madame Nazimova. 

I burst with questions. I said, "About this temperament. Tell me, has yours been a detriment or a help? Why aren't you doing big things on the screen? Why aren't you in your rightful place as one of our great emotional actresses? I think your performance of Nora in 'A Doll's House' was the finest single performance I have ever seen in America. Why did you make 'Salome'? Did your temperament run away with you? What is temperament?" 

She threw up her hands to stop me. She was laughing, her head on one side in mockery. And then she was very sad, her mouth quivering a little. Her face is like a summer sky on a stormy day. You cannot follow its changes. Sometimes I think she is a very homely woman. And sometimes I think she is so beautiful it hurts. Probably they are both true. 

"So many questions," she said. "But I am glad we do not waste time about the weather, if it is good or bad or unusual. Well, I will answer first the easiest one. 

"Mostly, when people now in this country speak of temperament, what they really mean is bad temper. 

"That is not what I mean at all. 

"Temperament is the swift changing of moods. You do not change them. But they change, as a harp gives forth different melodies — maybe discords. One moment, you are on the heights of exaltation." The picturesque head flung up on a deep breath, the eyes shone. "The next you are in the depths of depression." And down it went like a cut flower, and I could not see her eyes at all for the white, drooping lids. 

"What makes you so? A bird flying by your window may give you the exaltation. Or a moth at night, beating against your screen, brings you that depression. Little things big things, undercurrents, unknown thoughts, who knows? 

"But temperament is like a harp. The lightest wind brings forth some response. 

"You may find what the world calls success without temperament. Oh yes, there are workers, stickers, who by plugging along get there and do good things. 

"But you cannot have genius without temperament. It is impossible!" 

She put a cigarette in a long, black holder and contemplated the glowing end in silence. Then her eyes began to shine and she laughed. It is odd, how her eyes begin to shine each time before she laughs. 

"Now," she said, "some people would call this temperament." She waved the long, black holder at me. "But I assure you that it is not. It is simply that I do not like the little pieces of tobacco to stick on my lips. I like the smoke cooled. 

"Personal habits have nothing to do with temperament. For instance, to you, in America, a samovar seems very temperamental. But to me, a Russian, it seems just a very inconvenient, awkward piece of furniture. 

"But I—I am unfortunate. I fall between two fires. I am neither the one thing nor the other, I will show you. 

"When I was in New York this year, the Moscow Junior Art Players were there. I went, and sat looking up—up. I felt again like the little extra girl I was when I was in the Moscow Art Theater. When I was coming out of the theater, I met their director—who used to be my teacher in the school. I did not dare to speak to him. I was slipping away. But he recognized me. He called me. Before I thought, I blurted out, "Would you consider staying in New York this winter to direct my new play 'Caterina'? 

"He is a very great man. He considered, and I held my breath. He said we would talk it over. The next day I went to his hotel. For three hours we talked. He told me how he would like to produce the play, and I told him how it must be produced in America. We saw it would not be possible to work together and I cried. 

"When I went away, he said, `You have become American, Alla. You speak Russian with an American accent.' 

"So, you see, to them, I am practical and American. 

"To you, I am temperamental and Russian. 

"It all depends on the point of view. 

"A manager called me up in New York to play a big role in a play that is now a huge success. I read the play. I said. 'I am sorry. It is a good play. But—I could not stand up there on the stage and let them call me Madam Goddam, I would like to, but I could not. Now, is that what you call temperament? But —I could not help it. In my desk I have thirty-two plays, suggested by managers. But —I could not play them. I am sorry. But I could not. 

"I love motion pictures. I think I love them better than the stage—as well, anyway. But it is the same with pictures. 

"You speak of success and failure. I will try to show you how that is all a matter of luck, of circumstance. 

"WHEN I first came to America I had so much luck it frightened me. All was luck—the whole thing. I did not want to come. I said, No--I will not go. I will be seasick.' But at last they persuaded me, and I was seasick for twelve days. 

"Then—I had luck. People took an interest in me. I had great plays. Great plays. I did not get what you call the swelled head. Instead, I used to think—can this be true? Is this really happening to me? When will something come to end it all? 

"I was like the king in the story—do you know that story? 'Once there was a king who was so lucky that his friends and ministers became frightened. Everything he touched went exactly right. So they told him the gods would become envious of him and he had better offer up something he prized to propitiate them. So he took a ring that he loved very much from his finger and threw it into the sea. But the next day he went fishing and the big fish he caught had the ring in his belly. And his luck kept on until the gods noticed him and destroyed him.' 

"I was as lucky as that. 

"And then, the luck turned. But I have made my sacrifice to the gods now, and perhaps it will change back again." 

And I knew by her eyes that she was thinking of the tragic ending of her great love. But she did not say anything and I could not. 

"You asked me why I made 'Salome.' Well —`Salome' was a purgative. You see, when I started to make pictures, I did not have enough temperament for my own good. No—do not smile—that is true. I have always had too much regard for my word, for a mere contract, a scrap of paper. It seems impossible now that I should ever have been asked to play such parts as 'The Heart of a Child' and ‘Billions.’ But I was. And instead of saying, `No. I will not play such trash. I will not play roles so wholely unsuited to me in every way,' I went on and played them because of my contract, and they ruined me. 

“WORSE than that,  they me sick with myself. So I did 'Salome' as a purgative. I wanted something so different, so fanciful, so artistic, that it would take the taste out of my mouth. 'Salome' was my protest against cheap realism. Maybe it was a mistake. But—I had to do it. It was not a mistake for me, myself. 

"My inside feeling is important to my work, you see? 

“For instance, Mr. Cecil De Mille called me up and asked me to make a test for his Mary Magdalene. I said I would not. He was hurt. He said many other well known screen stars had made tests for it and it would not hurt me and why would I not? I said, 'Oh, it is not that I mind being the thousandth to make this test. But it is like this. Miss Curlylocks can come down and make tests for you. If you call her up the next day and say, "Sorry, but you're not just the type we want," she will say," Ho, those idiots—they could have had me to play Mary Magdalene and they didn't have sense enough to take me," But me? I make the test, and then if you should call up and say, 'Sorry, but you haven't this or that or the other,' then I am rolled out flat like a pancake. I am hurt. I am depressed for a month.

"Is that what you call temperament? Maybe. But at least it is not bad temper. 

"I have never wasted energy in these—blow-ups. Ask the electricians, the carpenters, the casts. They call me 'Nazy.' They like me. They will tell you I never make scenes. I save that energy for my scenes. 

"But producers, directors, business men—they call me temperamental because I always speak the truth. 

"I never lie. I will not lie. Why do people lie? From fear or from vanity. I am not afraid of anybody and I have no vanity. So why should I lie? 

"I have never yet found the person who was worth lying to. 

"If I know of a part I believe in, I may say, `I can play that part better than anybody.' But if they ask me about another part, I will say, 'But you do not want me for that part. You want a much younger and more beautiful woman.' 

"IT is like this with me now. I have had great worldly success. I know the taste of it. I have earned much money and had all the things of the earth. I have known poverty—failure—hard work. Now, I do not care for success any more. I do not care for money. My needs and tastes are simple. I have leased my Hollywood property where my house was for 99 years, for enough money to take care of me always. Now, I want only my work to count. I want to find great plays, if I can, and fine pictures, that I really want to do. I shall be happier so than if I was the greatest box office success in the whole world. I want peace. I want work that I love. I will not do ever the things I do not want to do. 

"Is that being temperamental? Maybe. But out of it may come—I hope will come—work to justify the kind things you have said about my art." 

There is one thing more to be said about Nazirnova. 

Madame Nazimova is the only person who ever gave me so much in an interview that it was a really difficult task to select the things you might enjoy most. 

I haven't told you the half of it. I haven't told you the story about Duse, nor what she once did. all unknowingly, for a little girl called Alla Nazimova. And I haven't told you any of the witty things she said—you always have to get through Nazimova's sense of humor first. 

I went away in a daze of trying to remember. I got arrested for parking my car in front of a fire plug. I didn't care. I was thinking of Nazimova and her temperament. 

---

Photo captions:

"You may find success without temperament," says Nazimova. "There are workers who, by plugging along, get there. But you cannot have genius without temperament. It is impossible"  

"I did 'Salome' as a purgative," declares Nazimova. "The trash I had played made me sick with myself. I wanted something so different, so fanciful, so artistic, that it would take the taste out of my mouth" 

"Producers, directors, business men—they call me temperamental because I always speak the truth. I never lie. Why do people lie? From fear or from vanity. I am not afraid of anybody and I have no vanity. So why should I lie?" 

Nazimova works in a hidden retreat, among the gnarled trees, close to her home. It is protected by a red lacquer door, with a round window

[suraibru]

The Walker Inheritance-Part 1

Piano

The gravel driveway leading up to Marzia’s house clicked and shuffled under Nisha's shoes. As many times as she’d been inside it still made Nin nervous. But before she could ring the bell a pink haired girl popped out. Her eyes were round with fluffy fake lashes framing the forest like hazel inside. “Heya Marz, you ready?” Nin held her hand as they walked back to the red SUV. “Girl, I've been ready since I got home. Is everyone there already?” Nin snickered. “Nah, you're the last one. I saved a seat in the back for us though.” the two girls giggled and ran up to the car door. The music inside as well as a guy’s voice rattled the SUV. Nisha slid open the door and climbed in over legs and fast food. As Marzie climbed in after Nisha, a chorus of mock Italian followed. “Ay Marzia! Da queen a da pop a music!” Kyo said from the front seat. Marzie laughed. “Ya’ll got me fucked up if u think that's what I sound like.” 

“You don't, but it's pretty damn close to your dad.”

As they pulled out of the driveway a girl with lava like orange hair peeked around the back seat and rested her chin on the headrest. “Made any new music Marzie?” Marzie buckled her seatbelt and looked up. “Well I'm working on one but I have most of the album done. I could send you the private link.” Nina, the redheaded girl’s eyes smiled. “Yes please, but don't send the unfinished one. I wanna hear the finished version.” 

Next to Nina were two others, a chinese boy with light blue hair and a japanese girl decked out in the finest gothic clothing hot topic could offer. The two kept their voices low, but you could still notice the giggles as they huddled over the girl’s phone. Kei’yn, the boy, was flush beneath his hand. Monoka, the girl, closed her phone when Nina butted in. “Aw, you like the comic.” 

“Uhh” kei trailed off. Nina smiled. “Don't be embarrassed.” Nina whispered. “I read it too.” 

Luka, the one who organized the outing, swerved around a corner too fast and sent those of his friends not wearing a seatbelt flying into each other. “Seat belt check!” 

“You dumbass we lost the undercarriage!” Kyo yelled. Luka looked out the rearview mirror at the sad plastic now laying in a ditch. “worth it,” he said with a smirk, followed by the sound of three clicks of a seatbelt. “Y'all know me well enough to wear it, I drive like a madman.”

“My dad is worse.” Kei said, looking out the window.

After about thirty minutes of driving deeper into the nearby forest, the iolite forest, they pull into a long gravel driveway. The atmosphere felt lighter, the sun was up around four o'clock in the sky, the grass was overgrown but looked freshly watered, it had been raining all week. Soon they pulled up to a house, a mansion. The garden was overgrown with rose bushes and magnolia leaves covering the ground and ivy creeping along the white concrete stairs. The house looked like it was part of a story, it felt like it was in a different world, a peaceful world. The only telling detail about how old it was, was a plaque as you entered. Walker Manor - 1902. 

“Holy fuck its big! I thought you said it's been abandoned for the last decade.” 

Luka corrected Kyo. “Last four decades. I didn’t even know it was mine until this year. I thought it was another family’s.” 

“The generational money is real dude.” Nisha said in awe. 

Luka held the key in the keyhole and twisted it, it needed a bit of force, but it clicked. “I present to you. Our new hangout.” Luka pushed open the door. A flood of still air rushed out as if it had been air locked. Before the group was a grand staircase, Luka pressed a bronze button that lit up the crystal chandelier that hung almost ten feet above their heads. 

“Why is there electricity?” Marzie said looking at the weird button. 

“Victorians had electricity too Marz, it was 1900, not 1760.'' Nisha said looking unimpressed. Marzie just nodded with a smile. “Oh.” 

“Ya, my dad had the power turned back on for us.” Luka said looking up.

Kei’yn walked along the walls looking at the art. “These paintings are amazing; they look like pictures. To think someone drew and painted them.” Luka followed Kei's gaze up to a picture of a blond man with piercing icy eyes. “Oh, that's my great granddad. He was a scientist. And my granddad told me he was weird as hell.” Luka lowered his voice “they also said he killed his wife and was never caught.” He laughed. “My dad said my granddad is crazy though, so probably just a bad joke.” Luka turned to the next picture. “That's her, my grandmother. She was a singer for James's opera house, that's how they met.” Kei smiled. “The artist did a good job, she's beautiful.”

“Nina, come look at what I found!” Nina and Monoka made their way over to the room Marzie was in. The room was filled with sewing materials, Shelves lined the walls stock with fabrics of all colors and patterns. In the center of the room was a large cutting table cluttered with thread, needles, and beads. Nina looked around excitedly and stopped. In front of the bay window was a desk with a sewing machine. “This is a 1998 singer!” Nina inspected the ornate sewing machine, gold letters read. For my lovely wife. Happy anniversary Jessica. Nina smiled. “I hope my future husband gets me a sewing room.” Nina said as she swooned. “It would be so romantic.” 

Monoka smirked at Marzie. “Nisha should get you a gold lettered microphone.” 

Marzie giggled. “I can do without the gold. I'm more of a silver girl. Gold doesn't look good with my skin. Plus, gold is basic in my opinion. I’d rather get a tarot card set of my favorite singers.” 

Monoka nodded. “Me too honestly.” 

After a while the group split up into pairs, Marzia and Nisha made their way to the ballroom, Kei and Monoka made their way up the stairs, Kyo and Nina ended up together by accident and Luka followed up the stairs to study. 

Marzie and Nisha walked down the halls. The red flowery wallpaper was peeling a bit, but it had not faded. The lighting was romantic, and the atmosphere was sweet. When the two girls finally found the ballroom, Nisha pressed another bronze-ish button and what seemed like hundreds of smokey pink lights shimmered to life. “It’s so pretty!” Marzie said. Her hazel eyes sparked under the soft light; Nisha couldn't resist. Nisha pulled her girlfriend into a kiss and held her hands. Marzia giggled. “You’re cute.” Nisha smiled and chuckled. “I'm like a foot and a half taller than you.”

Marzie rolled her eyes. “You can be both. Even if you are on top.”

Nisha blushed And kissed marzie’s forehead. “Listen-” 

Marzie pulled her to the center of the room and started dancing with her. “Marz, you know I can't dance.”

“ i can show you-”

They stopped. The room had become cold. And a sound. 

“Is that-Piano?” 

They girls hadn't noticed it before. it was soft, but it was strong. The notes felt sad.

They looked for the sound and saw a piano, it was black and covered only revealing the keys. But what made them stop was a shadowy man in a black tailcoat. The song had become haunting, was he a ghost, a trick of the light? 

“Hello?” Nisha called out.

She got a response, not the one she was expecting. 

The man started walking toward them. But the piano kept playing. It was deafening.

He had black hair and light eyes, he was pale, tall and looked angry.

“Get out.” 

[gatefleet]

Prompt List (1)

Pronouns can be changed/removed

He was going back to a place he'd hoped he would never see again

She had found something that would mean she'd never be poor again - but there was a catch

As the policeman pulled back the sheet, she knew immediately that

He looked at his phone, turned pale, then quickly left the room. She watched him, smiling.

That summer seemed to last forever

The whole family had been cursed since

When her father was drunk, he'd say 'I used to have a brother, you know', and get a faraway look in his eyes

Half the names on the list had already been crossed off.

The old photos made her conscious of her age, of how much time had passed - and of what an interesting life she'd had.

Why had no-one ever mentioned Mum's twin?

The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the handle, I felt afraid of what we might find

As he took in the view from the twentieth floor, the lights went out all over the city

The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive

The victim had tried to write something as he was dying

Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out.

They had to make sure that none of their colleagues noticed

There was something not quite right about the window.

Only the very oldest people remembered a time when humans could see in colour

The characters visit the beach and hijinks ensue.

Camping was just the beginning

A major holiday comes along and hijinks ensue.

Even after all this time she still referred to it as “thirteen o’clock”

The celebrations started as they fell into the pool

The hat was never going to be a good idea

He was pleased to see her but that bulge was in his jacket pocket.

From his sleeping pattern, he appeared jetlagged but he was just sleepy

He was the cleverest person I had met, but he seemed to be malfunctioning in some way

Spending time with all these people was such fun. It only remained to decide which I would kill.

After the incident with the otters was resolved I felt a lot better.

I was sad to see in the phonebook that he still existed    

He was impervious to her abuse. Until she mentioned the dry roasted peanuts.

We had to do something immediately. Or as soon after we had finished our deserts as was humanly possible.

Respect? Respect this...

I had never seen one as big as that before…

He wasn't an aberration but he was certainly abnormal.

It was the finest meal she had ever tasted. If only she had known what was in it.

She had overestimated him, a different approach was needed, one with childlike simplicity.

Their ebullient spirits were possibly a result of medication that was not over-the-counter.

Stuck in a glass elevator with a mime. Again.

It was amazing how well flattery worked. Even though I only knew ten words of French.

Although elderly there was still a good chance he would beat you in a fight          

[drawnaghht]

so I've been seeing this in various fandoms but ppl tagging stuff like "help this post in the tumblr algorihtm" or "help my post won't go popular" has been catching my eye again and wanted to make a post to adress this... I guess?

tumblr is a blogging site.

it's not like twt or even like insta/tiktok. even if it seems tumblr tries to add new similar features.... it seems it has mainly stayed for blogging purposes despite its own unique blogging system (the reblogs and multiple blogs system which I hadn't really seen much anywhere else before tumblr in 2009).

i also just remembered tumblr only uses the first 5 tags for the "Tagged" system they have now next to the "search" system,and the rest are "viewable" just on your blog,,,,, so yeah, no reason to use every tag possible unless it really does apply to your post ^^

This is fine for me, since I still use it mainly to archive my art, but I figured maybe this sort of reminder could help any other artists worrying about getting notes or people sharing their stuff. like posts "pop off" completely randomly, and even in big fandoms, sometimes the work you poured your heart into gets just 2 notes while the meme you made the same evening gets like 50+ and so on. it's pretty normal for most people.

Like it's fine. it's the internet, so many things are a little transitory anyway. It might feel a bit sad but it is what it is. what I've learned here is that having your 5+ friends is one of the finest ways to just enjoy your fandom stuff quietly (but I'm kinda rambling now) enjoy the fandom posts you make! don't feel bad bad about not getting notes! it's your experience and you curate it, and that includes just chilling and forgetting about the post that wasn't seen by anyone!

lol u can add here if u know anything else abt this, I haven't been using tumblr as much recently, but it seems things are mostly the same as 5+ or so years ago, with minor changes here and there.