#but like her and diverse never goes well together

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Can I just say this part of the casting call for the new golden trio of the Harry Potter reboot is fucking hilarious as shit for so many reasons???? For starting orders, JKR with diverse characters??? The jokes write themselves, really, because the same woman who had characters defend elf's being slaves to someone trying to free them and the same woman who can't even google Asian names and named a black character Kingsley Shacklebolt, being diverse in a reboot??? Let alone the same woman who wrote werewolf's as being a representation for AIDs and claimed a character who had been dead for a while by that point was gay the whole time but had chosen to stop being gay or at least never love someone else because his one love had been a villain being fine with new actors having sexualities that aren't straight??? And the same woman who throws up at the mere sight of a cis woman who isn't up to her standards of a woman and throws tantrums about trans people on a daily basis??? Potentially around kid actors who don't identify as cis??? And I cannot even recall if we had ANY character in the books who was disabled, so like, uh, I'm scared how JKR will tackle this one, and its not mentioned but religion is among those protected by law with casting and just, given JKR had every single character celebrate Christmas and confirmed only ONE Jewish student attended Hogwarts...yeah no.

[come-see-our-show]

I saw an early screening of the Mean Girls movie last night, so here is a summary of my thoughts, comparing the movie musical to the Broadway musical, which I was lucky enough to see live in 2018!

Changed that I liked:

The usage of social media in the Broadway show made it very clear that it was written by adults who didn’t know much about Gen-Z. It was probably one of the worst parts of the show in my opinion. But Tina Fey must have done her research since 2018, because the way the movie uses TikTok, memes, vlogging, and FaceTime to push the story forward worked VERY well. I think there were some influencer cameos, but it didn’t feel they were included to show how “young and hip” they were, It actually added authenticity.

The diversity within the cast and changing last names to reflect the characters’ backgrounds (Karen Smith ➡️ Karen Shetty, Janis Sarkisian ➡️ Janis 'Imi'ike)

Cutting down “Meet the Plastics.” It’s a very exposition-heavy song and doesn’t need to be super long, even though the full version is quite catchy and fun.

All of the new jokes landed so well, probably because Tina Fey’s writing style is better suited for the screen as opposed to the stage.

This is more of a comparison of the musical vs. the original film, but a big change was The Plastics’ weaponized wokeness (which I talk about here).

The production design for most of the songs was very different. The stage musical has a lot of rock songs, which were changed to a pop sound for the movie. I personally prefer rock musicals, but it was a good way to give the movie a separate identity from its predecessor so it doesn’t risk becoming a carbon copy. It worked on some songs (“Someone Gets Hurt” and “World Burn”) but not on others (“A Cautionary Tale” and “Revenge Party”).

Cutting the joke about Regina’s ass being big. It was a very low-brow joke, which I’m not a fan of, and was just really immature. Thank God that was changed to her falling, which still shows her being embarrassed without her body being the joke.

Explicitly making Janis a lesbian! (It’s only implied in the stage show with “It’s not even true… I only have one butt”) And she goes to prom with a girl while Damien dances with a boy! ALSO THERE’S REJANIS LORE AND IT’S SO HEARTBREAKING I LOVE IT

megan thee stallion just… being there

Miss Norbury and Principal Duvall being a couple and owning a dog together!!!

As a low mezzo, I appreciated whoever decided to lower the key for “I’d Rather Be Me.” I felt very represented 🩷

Having Cady be raised in a single-parent household so it focuses in more on her relationship with her mom. Jenna Fischer was so motherly and sincere and brought a warmth to the movie. Their scene together near the end made me emotional (you’re never too old to ask your parent to stay with you until you fall asleep) (also this is my request to make jenna fischer my mom)

Changes that I didn’t like:

Cutting BOTH of Damian’s solos??? (SHE’S LEAVING!!!!!!!! JUST LIKE MY DAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Cutting “More Is Better.” It wasn’t necessarily a memorable song, but it did give both Cady and Aaron more depth, both as separate characters and within their relationship.

While cutting some of the songs helped with pacing, cutting HALF of the score made me forget that it was a musical sometimes, which sucks because I really like musicals!!!

Other stuff:

The movie was marketed horribly. One of my friends didn’t even know it was gonna be a musical because there were no songs in the trailers 💀 (Also, this isn’t just a Mean Girls problem. The Color Purple also didn’t have any songs in the trailer. I didn’t even know Wonka was a musical until I saw it in theaters, so that was a bit of a shock.) If you’re producing a musical movie, maybe your focus groups should be musical fans, because that’s still a HUGE market.

Auliʻi Cravalho’s voice is STUNNING! She and Jaquel Spivey had great chemistry and their friendship felt so genuine!

The opening and ending transitions from the garage were everything to me

The EDITING

Angourie Rice is a great actor and fit Cady perfectly… except for her singing. Out of the entire cast she was easily the weakest in terms of vocals and it was pretty disappointing since she’s the LEAD. I could barely hear her in the new song “What Ifs” because of how quiet and breathy she was. I think it’s a better written song compared to “Roar” though.

Jon Hamm cameo!

Ashley Park cameo!

I cannot stress enough how funny this movie was. I was probably laughing louder than everyone else in the theatre.

I lost my shit during “Meet the Plastics” when Regina unzipped her jacket and Cady was staring at her boobs. She’s just like me fr 🏳️‍🌈

I know that Regina is a horrible person but I couldn’t find it in me to dislike her in the slightest. She just served too much cunt 😩

Christopher Briney is a good actor, but I don't think he was the right choice for Aaron Samuels. I would hate to ridicule anyone for their looks, but it still plays an important part in casting. Aaron is supposed to be a somewhat naive, wholesome, hot jock (and Regina has high standards, so he better be a fucking model). Briney is definitely a cutie, but gives off “smoldering badboy with a secret sensitive side” energy, which isn’t what Aaron should be.

The fantasy sequences (Stupid With Love, Revenge Party, October 3rd). I LOVE when movie musicals USE the medium to tell stories in a way that they can’t on a stage!!!

THE CHOREO!!! Everyone freezing then shaking in “Someone Get Hurt” AHHHH that entire number was HYPNOTIZING!!!!!!!!!!! My friend told me the choreographer’s name is Kyle Hanagami, so shout out to him. (also reneé rapp was so fucking hot while singing that oh my lord)

I will be calling my pimples “face breasts” from now on (avantika ilysm)

DAMIAN’S FRENCH COVER OF THE ICARLY THEME SONG 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

why was there a 0.5 camera shot of cady during revenge party 💀

“I’d Rather Be Me” was so much fun and I felt so fucking empowered. And the transition from the song to the bus was just *chef’s kiss*

“donut worry i am still your freend” 🥺

Lindsay Lohan cameo!!!!!!!!!

NOT ENOUGH RENEÉ RAPP 😭😭

Overall, the movie was not perfect, but the Broadway show already had plenty of flaws, so it’s understandably how that would affect the adaptation. I still a LOT of fun and would definitely see it again. Go stream Snow Angel by Reneé Rapp. i love women 🥰🥰🥰

[apenitentialprayer]

why do anglicans still exist like their entire church is built on the fact that some guy wanted a male heir. or do anglicans believe that this isn't rly why their church came about

Okay, I do love clowning on my Anglican friends, but there are a few angles (da dum tss) that we can look at in terms of why the Anglican Church is a distinctive tradition.

Theologically, the Anglican Church might have started off as "Catholic without the Pope," so to speak; the Anglican Church was essentially Gallican in nature, meaning that the head of the church wasn't the seniormost bishop, but the head of the state. But even if it started off simply being in schism with the Roman Church, it didn't take very long before Reformed theology started entering the Church through the efforts of Anne Bolelyn, Thomas Cromwell, and especially Edward VI. There were preceding documents, but the Thirty-Nine articles passed by Queen Elizabeth I in 1571 helped to solidify a distinctively Anglican identity.

But it's a little more than that, too, because in addition to this Protestantization of the Anglican Church, there have also been movements within to.... "Latinize" might be the wrong word, but to bring back some traditional Catholic elements. We see this, for example, in the Oxford movement of the 1830s; many of its members would end up converting to Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy, but those who remained behind started the Anglo-Catholic movement which still has a strong presence. (My girlfriend goes to an Anglo-Catholic parish, and our city has at least three other ones).

This kind of dual accommodation of Reformed and Catholic theological ideas has created a unique situation for the Anglican Church; Bishop J. Neil Alexander tries to articulate this by distinguishing the Anglican Church as a "pragmatic church," in contradistinction with "confessional churches" (Catholic & Lutheran, which focus on creeds and councils) and "experiential churches" (Baptist and other groups whose memberships require a born-again moment):

What, then, does it mean to be pragmatic? It means that within the generous capacity of the Episcopal [American Anglican] Church, we do not always agree on matters of biblical interpretation or theological definition. It means that we have all gotten here by way of hundreds of different and often unique experiences of God's presence in our lives. It means that those things which other churches depend to hold themselves together will never be a central feature of our common life. We find our life together driven by our willingness to stand together at the table of God's gracious hospitality. […] That, I believe, is the pragmatism at the heart of what it means to be an Episcopalian. We are a variegated tapestry of theology and experience, and we are all the richer for it. But no level of theological agreement or experiential commonality will ever be the basis on which Episcopalians will live together well. What is possible is that we will be pragmatic —we will keep our differences in perspective— and we will recognize that ultimately nothing will divide those who are willing to stand together before God's altar to sing, to pray, and to receive the gift of God's eternity.

Now, this is a very fascinating situation, because it means that the Anglican Church has a lot of diversity in religious thought and doctrinal opinion. On an official level, that means you will have bishops aligning with different theological orientations working side by side — and, in theory, the office of Archbishop of Canterbury is supposed to alternate between Anglo-Catholic and Evangelical holders. On a more personal level, I have found that the Episcopal clergy who I interact with have varying spiritualities and theologies; one priest I know has Catholic sympathies that are so strong that he was referred to as "the Papist" in seminary, while another clergymember I know doesn't think Confession is necessary and is ambivalent about her parish's practice of Eucharistic Adoration. And they work at the same church.

Liturgically, they are also distinctive. The current bedrock of Anglican prayer is the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, which is clearly inspired by Benedictine spirituality, but with continuing liturgical revision and innovation that kind of fits with the 'pragmatic church' mindset explained above. Some Anglican parishes even preserve pre-Tridentine traditions (remember, they split before the Council of Trent), like the Sarum Use.

The Anglican Church has had a developing liturgical patrimony for the past five centuries; one of the reasons why the Catholic Church created the Anglican Ordinariate was because it recognized that fact, and wanted former members of the Anglican Church to be able to preserve their traditions even after re-entering communion with Rome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, like, the Anglican Church may have started off as a more-or-less Catholic particular church that was in schism with Rome, a schism orchestrated by a king who wanted fuller control over the Church in his country, but the Anglican Church has had five centuries of development. And, as much as I like to clown on my Anglican friends, I can definitely see why the Anglican communion has a deep appeal.

[warpcoreweirdness]

just finished season 2 of Lower Decks and i'm SO glad i tried this show again

i actually started the show a while ago, but the constant easter eggs put me off.

(i still don't know how non-Trekkie viewers are meant to get the jokes where the punchline is "reference!! 😂", but lots of people enjoy it so ymmv).

i stopped a few minutes into episode 2 after Rutherford agrees to quit his job as an engineer so he can watch the Trivoli pulsar with Tendi.

i honestly thought it was going to be a storyline about a guy giving up a job he loves and making his boss angry so that he can spend time with a female friend he has a crush on, because that's the plotline i've been conditioned to expect from tv. i wasn't feeling excited about the show, so i put it on pause.

but if i'd watched for about two more seconds before noping out for a few months, i would've seen this:

when i started watching again, i realised that the episodes never bog themselves down in drawn-out, uncomfortable storyline or character staples - they're actually incredibly well-written, tightly paced, and tell their stories in just the right amount of time. Rutherford wants to be Tendi's friend (at least for now), his boss Billups is really supportive, and Tendi brings a PADD into the Jefferies tube so they can both do what they enjoy, separately but together.

another great part about that scene with Rutherford and his boss is something that Lower Decks does a lot, which is make jokes that actually rely on subverting audience expectations. a big example - and a way of referencing other parts of the Star Trek franchise that does work for me - is when the creators gently poke fun at or subvert common story beats, emotional arcs, or dramatic moments from other parts of Trek.

like when Rutherford loses his memory and Tendi is excited to get to know him again, rather than devastated that he doesn't remember her.

or when they save themselves from being smooshed by Dooplers by dramatically ejecting the warp core of their tiny model starship.

or when Tendi goes on an arc of significant personal development over the course of one (1) whole episode.

they're general enough that even people who haven't seen other Star Trek shows (or movies) can still recognise and appreciate them.

beyond this, the show also has great moments where they (lovingly) cast a light on some of the flaws and foibles in the franchise, often in subtle or comedic ways.

like showing people in beep chairs living their best lives (in contrast to TOS and SNW's view of the beep chair as a tragic, doomsday fate for Pike).

or using Tendi to comment on Trek's depiction of Orions specifically as all pirates and slavers, and alien cultures more generally as monocultures.

or even just acknowledging that Trek shows mostly focus on the bridge crew doing heroic first contact-esque adventures, when that can't be all there is to Starfleet.

heck, they even have Rutherford go on a journey of acceptance and self-discovery after a permanent memory wipe (in contrast to Uhura in TOS, where it's never mentioned again).

another reason i really appreciate the show is that the creators have taken the time to think through what a more inclusive future could look like, in ways that are noticeably lacking or absent in many other Trek shows:

beyond exploring diversity through explicit identity representation (which is still very important), it does this through its world building as well.

i love this communal sonic shower scene for what it says about gender and body politics in Trek. in the future, why would we still separate bathrooms and changing rooms by gender? and why would we have the same views and expectations around bodies that we (by "we" i mean Western countries) do now?

this short scene dismantles the idea that nudity is inherently sexual, that gender is binary and biological, that some genders can't be trusted around other genders while naked, and that heterosexuality is the default (and when you bring dozens of alien species into the mix, why wouldn't we have more and newer ways of thinking about gender?). it even has a little mention that Boimler prefers not to shower with others, leaving space for people to act however feels most comfortable for them.

it's such a little thing, but after years spent (lovingly) yelling at the screen during TNG, TOS, DS9, etc saying, "why are they assuming everyone is straight? WHY would people be this sexist?", i noticed it immediately and appreciated it immensely.

(this isn't related to the storytelling, but i also have to say - the animation in Lower Decks is so pretty???):

this isn't a perfect show, but it's funny, has fantastic storytelling, and it loves the source material without worshipping it. (which is not something i expected to say, given how it started).

plus i love these characters SO MUCH.

so far, so very good 🤞.

(image descriptions in alt text)

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

❝ just like magic, here you are! just like magic, in my heart. ❞

━━ ⁎˚ ໒ 🍥 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞!𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐱 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐢!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⊹ ࣪ ˖༄

request — @snipersiniora : " Cool! Cool! As a ROTTMNT big fan my requests goes there especially either platonic, romance or sister reader in general (you can say i love these types of HCs/one-shot). ⨾ About the request; May i please - and as always if you don't want to, don't feel comfortable about it you can delete the request - Rottmnt romantic hc about Leonardo x fem!reader who's a Unicorn yokai? ⨾ Like she has a habit to flip her wings whenever leo is aroundshe loves wearing pink but once leo became her boyfriend she wear blue his color and she's super sweet and trusting of him. Something rotten tooth sweet type of hc. "

𝐚 / 𝐧 ༝༚༝༚ ☁︎ :: my dearest love. at user sniper siniora. here it is. i bestow this upon you with trembling hands and a stoic grace. i won't lie! — with this being my first time doin' an official sorta " request " outside of the usual shenanigans with my shawties, i was more than a little nervous. but this was a lot of fun!! i hope it makes you feel at least a lil better :')) <3 thank you for your endless patience, the creativity juice, and most of all - for requesting from me! 🩵💫 it's been an honor, and i reeeally hope you like it because if you don't i will JUST BE CRUSHED.

now, on with the show. *bows with a flourish*

HE'S OBSESSED WITH YOU Awww, look guys!! It's couple of the year! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

༘⋆✿ No but seriously. How dare you exist? How dare you become the exact embodiment of this boy's wildest dreams? (/lh + /aff)

The world of the yokai is already a diverse plane, so the possibility (read: literal existence) of unicorn yokai being a reality was never not thereeee . . . .

Our Neon Leon just never got that far. Haha.

So trust that when homeboy sees you for the first time, he does a whole double-take.

༘⋆✿ He is, enthralled. You have him entirely wrapped around your pretty li'l majestic finger. Ope- there he is, kissing up your knuckles! (Just shove him away.) (He'll come back. He knows you can't resist his charm.)

Let's be real: the first time he caught a glimpse of you, it was in passing, and he could not stop thinking about you for the rest of . . . well, until you see each other again!

His brothers probably know every little detail about you (physically wise) before you guys even get together lmwoooo.

He would NOT SHUT UP about the "majestic unicorn lady down in Times Square down in the Hidden City (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ . . . NO, HE WAS NOT HALLUCINATING DONNIE. He really saw you! >:("

(Donnie definitely wouldn't miss out on an opportunity to tease his twin but I feel he'd be just as interested in the aspect of your existence! What can I say? The man's a scientist. He tries to run genetic tests but Leo doesn't let him and shoo's him away each time he even comes close to you with in-the-name-of-science intent lolz)

༘⋆✿ Thinks you're the most magical thing to ever grace this wretched earth.

And, if magic is a bit of a stereotype for your kind?

If you can't actually- . . . if you don't have magical abilities— that doesn't make you any less in Leo's eyes!! To him, your whole existence itself is magical. ✨ His words, not mine. (/lh)

He's all over you any other way.

Casual settings, ranging from cozy atmospheres such as date nights to the eccentric zany missions, circling back to midnights on the rooftops,

Just sneaking into your everyday life in broad daylight,

with or without his signature hoodie,

but always with his charming smile.

He's your new constant, just like you're his.

However! If you do share in the mystic aspect that comes with being a yokai, or a direct descendant mutant of a mysticism involved bloodline (*stares hard in bro's general direction*) —

you're gonna get dragged into a bunch of crazy thematic shenanigans that

- more often than not -

end up with you guys bustin' your butts in a mad escape from some rogue yokai of sorts.

During the calmer times tho? You'd indulge him.

Set off little magical cotton-candy pink shadow puppets dancing across the walls of his bedroom while he cuddles close to you, churring softly while rubbing his cheek against yours, his eyes sparkling with nothing short of adoration.

Whether you're casting those little puppet shows out of your own volition,

or from the music box Leo had gifted to you on a date he'd nabbed from a cute little shop in the Hidden City,

that's up for you to decide.

It's a sweet bonding time either way. (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾

༘⋆✿ . . . He has his moments of trademark insufferability, tho. You knew it was coming.

"Ooo! Ooh, I know!- can you magic up a pizza?"

"Can you teleport like me? If I got you in a high enough position, could you defeat our enemies with the power of friendship?"

"Can you make fireworks come outta your fingers? It'd make a lotta sense, seeing as you have magic fingers; that massage last night did wonders for my scales, cutie. I'll help brush your feathers later, hm?"

"Oh- OH! I know! Can you-"

"Leonnn."

༘⋆✿ Magic abilities, no magic abilities. Noodles, no noodles . . . One thing about this funky blueberry muffin is he will be absolutely obsessed with you, through and through.

"You're all the magic I need in my life, [Name]."

༘⋆✿ If being one of his favorite existing creatures wasn't enough, let's talk about your fashion!! Now he adores your fashion sense. Your entire aesthetic. He loves unicorns, he loves every sugar-spice-and-everything-nice thing surrounding said unicorns! You're such a vision to him.

But shortly after you both got together, and you started incorporating blue into your everyday style??

Mm.

Reeeeemember when I told you that he's a little (read: extremely) obsessed?

Yeah. Good luck tryna get him off of you like this. (/hj)

Like, girl- as soon as you step into the lair and he catches you wearing blue?

It could be the most inconspicuous detailing of an accessory - and he'll still catch it.

NOTHING EVADES HIS NINJA TRAINED SUPERWEAPON MUTANT VISION.

—And he is ZOOMING OVERRRRR with the biggest grin and just.

Purely cajoling. An absolute cajoler.

A professional flatterer.

Honey is what his words are made of, made to drown you in their syrupy sweetness and trap you like a helpless fly in his venus flytrap of all-encompassing love.

(Except he's being 100% serious.)

"I knew it'd be a matter of time before I rubbed off on you, bonita. Look at you! Spitting image of absolute beauty, if I do say so myself. Blue is definitely your color. You should wear this forever, actually, from now on. Always."

Expanding on this, he lends you his clothes! :'))

If they can't fit you (y'know, wings and all) HE WILL LITERALLY CUT HOLES IN THE BACK SO YOUR WINGS CAN POP THROUGH AKSHDJDHFH —

*SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* YOU GUYS WILL DO THE ICONIC BOYFRIEND-GIRLFRIEND HOODIE STEALING THING, IT IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.

(He's a simp. And a little bit freaky. (/ns) But you didn't hear it from me.)

Something about seeing you in his clothes just makes him feel so fuzzy and warm inside.

It makes him feel wanted. Sorta gives him a sense of security. A reaffirmation that you're his and he's yours.

Soft, warm, pure, fuzzy feelin'. Good for the soul. ☁

Like when you hug him with your wings!

He loves that feeling. (..◜ᴗ◝..)

༘⋆✿ Speaking of those luxurious wings . . .

Each time they start to fluff up and flap when he comes within your general vicinity, he gets SO SMUG.

What can we expect from Mr. [Macho Ego] Charmer himself??

"Looks like someone's happy to see me." As if he's not over the entire universe to see you too, smh.

and then you excitedly affirm his words — rather than getting annoyed, even if playfully — and he just gives you the most enamored expression.

Well — it's a fine mix of smugness (because I mean c'mon. It's Leo.) and fond adoration.

He thinks you're so, so adorable.

Cuteness aggression galore.

Once you're trapped in his embrace there's no escape.

Nobody is safe, and

He is fooling NOBODY.

I mean, his own tail starts wagging whenever he sees you . . .

and sometimes, he subconsciously churrs loud enough for you to hear whenever you guys are close, which is literally all the time, . . .

So he can't really speak. Now can he?

(He does anyway. It's Leo.)

If you're okay with it, he definitely pets your wings.

He likes to run his fingers through the feathers. They're just so fluffy.

' Is this what clouds feel like? '

At first he mostly did it to fluster you, seeing as it seemed to have the same blissful effect of him getting shell/chin scritches, but over time, it just happens naturally.

He seeks it out ─ it becomes a source of comfort to him.

Not only because they're so soft and fluffy, hereby appeasing his sensory needs, but also because it's you.

Asks you if you can fly lmwo.

Begs you to take him for a flight by moonlight but y'all will literally go crashing down AJSHDJDHD

Until, you actually do . . . pick him up, that is.

Until you actually do . . . take him for a moonlight flight.

Until you indulge him in everything because you love him so much and would do anything and everything to put a smile on his face.

He's shell shocked (I AM SO HILARIOUS).

A blushing, stuttering mess.

Bro doesn't know what to do with himself.

A turtle? Nay. A tomato.

Someone tell bro not to dish what he can't take lolllll.

༘⋆✿ Sure, he'll tease you a little bit (It's Leo.) but it's all out of love!! Pardon his major ego, he'll throw it all away for you at the drop of a pin; he genuinely loves and cares for you and how you perceive him.

In turn, this causes him to show out a lot more whenever you're around, subconsciously standin' on bidness 25/8 to 'prove himself' to you,

but you also just make him so giddy.

How can he not want to squish and hug and cuddle you and plant kisses all over your cute little face every time he sees you?

He treats you so, so gently.

You're his princess and he beholds you like absolute royalty.

Yes, he may roughhouse from time to time, but he's capable of handling you like fine china.

It makes you feel just as special as it sounds, aughhh.

It's a nice balance in your relationship. <3

At first, he may be a little shy and not know how to handle how trusting and loving you are.

Well, lemme rephrase : he loves how much you love him, because he loves you a lot too!! Whatever affection you give him, he returns tenfold.

You're just so precious he can't help himself, nor would he try.

It's the trust part.

He's . . . well, he can get kind of overwhelmed and in his head about it sometimes.

Especially when his insecurities come to play at the surface :(

He just cares for you so much, it's scary. How much he cares.

— it's a swirling mess of many different things: "you'll put her in danger", "you'll end up disappointing her", "there's someone better out there for her", "why should she trust you?" but at its core, it's all the same:

does he really deserve you?

Precious, pure, sweet, ethereal you?

Surely not, is what his mean brain tells him.

But you're persistent. And with time, dedication, and consistency, you get him to realize that.

Leo is family-driven.

He's deeply devoted to his loved ones and would give the entire world for those he cares about.

Despite his boasting of how awesome of a character he is, he doesn't really believe it like that all the time :((

But he really is a wonderful person.

and you help him further recognize that!!

༘⋆✿ He wants to become the best version of himself when he's with you. He wants to be worth your trust and affection and attention; the self-expansion that manifests from your guys' relationship is one that will turn him for the decades to come. (bro just needs to realize he was worth it all along 😔✊ he's a little slow but he's trying his best, that's what matters.)

It's wondrous what can come from a foundation built on mutual love and trust and respect.

Trust and be trusted.

Love and be loved.

Leo is one who gives and gives, even when he's running low on it for himself.

Blessedly, breathtakingly, you're there to fill that cup for him every time.

And he couldn't be more grateful.

Cuddles close to you, planting loving kisses all over your soft face, from your eyebrow ridges to your lips and relishing in the sweet giggles that he's rewarded with in return.

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you"

And onnn and onnnn he goes. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

Because he does.

He really, really does.

And you believe him too.

━☆・.ೃ࿔:･♡

One thing will forever remain for sure:

Choosing and loving you was the best decision of his entire life.

And having you choose him day by day as well? Ah, well, what can I say?

He's in the sugary pink cotton candy clouds, and it's the beautiful serenade of you. (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

@cafekitsune + @rookthornesartistry + @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers / "hc" banner ! 🩷

[danielmolloystits]

looks just like an angel (Armand/Daniel, 1/1)

Summary:

The man in the chair—who Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collar—looks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes. “Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.” “Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.” — The drug den Daniel wakes up in after his encounter with Louis and Armand gets busted, and Armand decides to pretend to be the priest at his court-ordered N.A. meetings. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Pairing: M/M, Armand/Daniel Molloy (Devil's Minion) Rating: E WC: 5,555

It’s 9:52 in the morning. Daniel’s mouth tastes like he ate roadkill for breakfast and his head is pounding so loud he wants to tell it to come back with a warrant. Across from him sits his probation officer, whose name he’s pretty sure is Sarah, wielding a kind expression and a notepad that contains a quick summary of Daniel’s many sins.

So far, he likes Sarah. Sarah is nice. Sarah is telling him how she’s going to get him through this without it destroying his entire life. Well, she hasn’t used those precise words, exactly, but Daniel has been able to glean the gist of it—she’s been saying things like “first offense” and “dismiss the charges” and it has all vaguely sounded like it might not screw everything up for him forever.

So that’s something, at least.

“Of course, pretrial diversion does come with some requirements on your end,” Probably-Sarah is saying, with a look of what appears to be genuine concern on her face. Maybe she’s a good liar, but Daniel thinks there’s a chance she actually cares about the dumb hungover kid who’s half-sitting, half-melting in her office chair. “You’ll need to start attending NA—Narcotics Anonymous, that is—and we’re going to administer periodic drug tests to make sure you’re keeping clean.”

Christ, he’s such an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot who’s just lucky to not be dead right now. His innards churn miserably in agreement with that thought, and Daniel hopes that they’re at the tail end of this pretrial check-in thingy. He really doesn’t want to throw up on this nice lady’s carpet.

Sarah continues, “But if you hold up your end of the bargain, then I’ll hold up mine.” She smiles at him, apparently oblivious to the imminently-threatening hostage situation that is Daniel’s stomach right now. It’s kind of sweet, though; she looks like she really believes he’s gonna make it through this program. Like she thinks he could maybe be somebody someday.

A bright young reporter with a point of view.

“And if all goes well, then after your probationary period is up, you’ll never have to see me again.” She tilts her head at him, and sure, it’s condescending. But, like, in the nice way moms are sometimes. “Let’s try to make sure that happens, yeah?” She passes him a stack of papers that repeat all of the information she just gave him verbally, which Daniel is grateful for, because it’s been challenging to try to pay attention when his insides are so valiantly attempting to become his outsides. “I’ll see you two weeks from now.”

Daniel nods and hurries out of the room, right as the hostage situation devolves into a massacre with no survivors. He swallows against the gastric acid and bits of egg that are currently attempting to escape his throat and rushes to the single-stall bathroom down the hall, sending a prayer of thanks to every higher power he can think of that it’s unoccupied. By some small miracle, he manages to keep his shit together until he is on his knees in front of the toilet, at which point everything he’s put in his body for the past week unceremoniously comes back out.

Idly, he wonders how many public bathrooms he’s done this in by now, how many times he has been in this same stupid situation—his mouth and nose hovering above a filthy fucking toilet seat that’s touched the asses of God knows how many strangers—as the choices from the night before come back to haunt him like an ex-lover after a bad breakup.

Too many, he thinks. Definitely too many.

He looks down at where the informational materials are still crumpled in his left fist, pastel-colored pamphlets with titles like Self-Acceptance and Am I An Addict?, and thinks he could probably use a break from living like this. Thinks maybe this won’t be such a bad thing if it leads to him finally getting clean.

After all, it sure as hell can’t get any worse.

***

Two nights later, Daniel arrives at the church closest to where he’s staying in the Castro, which the Welcome to Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet told him hosts meetings three nights a week. Our Lady of Most Holy and Ardent Redemptions, or whatever. He doesn’t actually remember, but he’s sure it was something like that: all overwrought and Catholic, a name that’s meant to imply you have to absolve yourself for the crime of being born.

As he walks through the vestibule, he’s surprised to find it utterly abandoned, blanketed in a thick layer of silence that clings to the dusty pews and eggshell-colored walls like a film. It’s eerie, almost, this conspicuous absence of life—if it weren’t for the printed-out sign attached to the back of the pulpit that reads NA meeting downstairs in Rosary Room!, he’d assume he’d gone to the wrong place entirely. As it is, he wanders around the nave with a vague sense of unease until he finds the stairs to the basement, then follows the unsettlingly-cheery instructions of yet more signs until he reaches one that says NA Meeting here!!! taped to a mahogany door.

For a moment, he has the absurd impulse to knock, as if he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be. He shakes himself out of it and opens the door.

Inside, there isn’t much to look at: a handful of low bookshelves pressed snugly against the wall, a long table with a coffee pot and an unopened box of donuts, and seven or eight folding chairs arranged in a circle.

Only one of them is occupied.

The man in the chair—who Daniel assumes must be the priest, judging by his black button-down and white collar—looks up and smiles as he enters, all gleaming white teeth like one of those ads for toothpaste that four out of five dentists recommend. He has deep skin and dark, curly hair that he keeps having to brush away from his brown eyes.

“Hello,” the priests greets him. “Welcome.”

“Um,” Daniel says. “Hi.”

“It would seem you are our only attendee for this evening.” A sheepish little laugh rumbles out from the priest’s chest as he adds, “I suppose sobriety is not so much in vogue these days.” He has an accent, Daniel notes, like maybe he emigrated from England but was somewhere else before that. The way it squeezes around his vowels is dimly familiar.

“Guess not,” Daniel agrees, casting a sideways glance at all of the empty chairs. The poor attendance doesn’t bode great for the overall well-being of the Castro’s citizenry, he reckons; it’s certainly not because they don’t need to be here. “Isn’t NA supposed to be group therapy? Is it still gonna...work?”

The priest chuckles softly again, a light exhalation of air to break the stillness in the room. “Yes, though it appears our session will perhaps be a touch more intimate than most. I hope you don’t mind a bit of individualized attention.” His eyes sparkle, almost seem to shine, as he gestures for Daniel to take the seat across from him. “Please, sit. I’m Father Armand.”

He does. “Daniel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Daniel,” Father Armand says sweetly, and wow, he has really thick eyelashes. So thick and dark that Daniel wonders briefly whether he’s wearing mascara—though he isn’t sure whether priests are allowed to do that. “What brings you to Narcotics Anonymous?”

“Um.” He stutters, flushed and awkward with the weight of Father Armand’s undivided attention. “This is the part where I’m supposed to say I’m an addict, right?”

“It’s just us, Daniel,” the other man replies, in a low and conspiratorial whisper. Like the two of them are getting away with something, like this is a part of an inside joke they’ve shared for years. “You may say whatever you’d like.”

“What if I don’t want to say anything?”

“That’s fine, too,” Father Armand answers easily, a reassuring smile on his face. “Though we might not make much progress on the issues that brought you here if we sit in silence.”

“Fair enough,” Daniel says. “All right, I guess I’m here because a court ordered it. I’d really rather not be.”

“This is not the outcome you’d have wanted, then, but perhaps it is the one you need.” And, warm and friendly as he is trying to be, the priest’s stare seems to cut straight through him, right down to the ugly things inside him that he endeavors to hide. It is wildly discomforting. “An intervention from a higher power, of sorts.”

“Not how I’d put it, personally,” Daniel says, simultaneously bemused and on-edge. He scratches an itch on his forehead. “More like an intervention from the SFPD.”

“Even the SFPD answers to God, Daniel.”

“O-kay.” Unsurprisingly, the fatalistic religious bullshit is not doing much to set Daniel at ease in this situation. “But yeah. I’m, uh. Here because I got busted. In a drug den.”

“What were you doing in a drug den?”

“Well.” Daniel blinks at him. “Drugs, mostly.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Father Armand says, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “But what compelled you to the drug den in the first place?” Then, before Daniel can answer, he continues, “Don’t say ‘drugs’ again.”

Daniel was definitely about to say ‘drugs’ again. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for here, man,” he answers instead, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally. “I like getting high. Not a lot more to it.”

“There’s always more to it,” the priest replies, sage-like and frustratingly stoic. “Whether we want to admit to it or not.”

“Orrr,” he drawls the single syllable out sarcastically, “maybe it’s just not worth telling. I was there because I wanted to do drugs and I got caught, dude.”

Father Armand hums thoughtfully. “Surely something in the evening must have led you there, though.”

“I don’t really remember,” Daniel says, and he’s maybe starting to lose his patience a little. “Probably on account of being radically high.”

“You can’t recall anything about the evening other than its conclusion?” In the dim lighting of the basement, the priest’s expression is difficult to read.

He frowns. “I might’ve met a guy at a bar, before. I think I was at Polynesian Mary’s, maybe?”

“Do you meet guys at bars often, Daniel?”

Immediately, he tenses, a frisson of indignation alighting in his gut at the priest’s thinly-veiled judgment.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He probably should’ve known better than to expect anything approaching compassion or understanding from the Catholic fucking Church. Lesson learned for next time—maybe the Episcopalians are running NA somewhere in the city.

“I meant no offense, Daniel,” Father Armand says, voice calm and composed in stark contrast to Daniel’s rising indignation. “I’m just inquiring as to your habits, to get a sense of where you could benefit from some lifestyle changes.”

“Oh, and I’m sure whatever you think I’m doing with these men is high on that list, right? This is the Castro, dude. Fuck you.”

“You have quite a lot of anger,” the priest comments dryly, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as though he’s inspecting Daniel. “Is that what drives you to use?”

Is that what makes you fascinating?

“No, seriously, dude: fuck you. I’m not putting up with this shit.” He stands to leave, but Father Armand reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can, his grip unexpectedly steely.

“A reminder, Daniel, that your participation in this process is necessary if you wish to avoid jail time,” he says, still smiling that same, infuriating smile.

Daniel stops in his tracks. “Maybe not. I’ll work something out with my P.O., I’ll–”

“Yes, Sarah, was it?” Father Armand asks. “I wonder how she would react to news of your resistance to the process.”

“You–”

“I’m only here to help, Daniel,” the priest interrupts with an infuriatingly placid smile. “Now, are you intending to cooperate, or shall I go ahead and inform Sarah of your refusal to participate?” He gestures once more for Daniel to sit, his expression replete with a cool smugness. Begrudgingly, Daniel complies.

“Fucking—whatever, fine.” He closes his eyes and exhales noisily through his nose, trying to will himself into a state of calm. When he opens them again, the priest is staring at him expectantly. “I guess I use because I...I get bored.”

“Bored of what?”

“I dunno, dude.” He shrugs. “Sobriety. Life. Everything.”

Father Armand leans in even closer. “Interesting.”

“If you say so, man.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Mostly it’s just tedious. I mean, all of it.”

“How so?” There is nothing but apparent sincerity in the question, which makes Daniel’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“It’s the same shit every day, isn’t it? Wake up, go to work, eat dinner, watch TV, over and over until you die,” he says, and the priest nods along as he speaks attentively. “At least drugs break up the monotony a little.”

The unnamed malaise you feel on Sunday afternoons.

“Sure,” Father Armand agrees breezily, his eyes never straying from Daniel’s. “If you do them once in a while, maybe. But they’ve become part of your routine, haven’t they?”

Daniel crosses his arms belligerently. “You don’t know me, man. You’re not my fuckin’ friend.”

“I’m not here to be your friend, Daniel,” Father Armand replies, tone clipped and succinct; annoyed, almost. But then, more delicately, he adds, “I’m here to help you get better. The first step is admitting you have a problem, no?”

“I guess.” Daniel slumps back in his seat, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “All right, so let’s say I have a problem. What next?”

“The next step is coming to believe in a power greater than yourself.” The priest’s hands are clasped together, his thumbs twiddling idly as he speaks, “One that is capable of delivering you from your illness.”

“So, what,” Daniel deadpans. “I’ve gotta convert to Catholicism?”

“If you’re so inclined,” Father Armand responds wryly, as if he’s privy to some great secret that eludes the poor, ailing addict. Daniel wonders in that moment how old the other man is. He can’t have too many years on Daniel, surely, but he seems so much older that it’s almost a little unnerving. “However, it could be anything, really; your love for your family, your will to live. It could even be me, if you wanted.”

He says it like it’s meant to be another bad joke, but something about it brings Daniel up short. Like he’s not really joking at all, actually. “You could be my higher power?” he asks flatly, unsettled and using a fair amount of bluster to cover it. “Isn’t that sort of sacrilegious?”

“I’m not suggesting you pray to me; I’m suggesting you allow me to carry some of the pain that troubles you. To share in the weight of the dreary mundanities that lead you to use.” The priest’s eyes bore into his, his tone soft and reassuring. “I assure you, Daniel, God will have nothing to say about it.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Father Armand smiles. “I want to help you. Is that so difficult to believe?”

And it is, really. But despite his misgivings—practically against his will—a sense of calm washes over Daniel at the sound of the priest’s voice; the crash of a wave lapping gently at a shoreline, soothing the impotent swell of restless irritation that has been building inside of him since he first sat down. All of that rage, those years and years of tiresome anger, snuffed out as easily as the flickering light of a candle. With nothing more than a few words, Father Armand has taken the heft of that burden from him, as effortlessly as if Daniel had handed it over to him willingly.

Rest, now.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much after all, he thinks—putting the confusing knot of chaos inside of him into someone else’s hands. Maybe it would be nice to give his will over to something greater than himself.

“Okay,” Daniel hears himself saying, as though from a great distance. He’s hardly even aware he’s speaking. “Okay. It can be you.”

Rest.

Father Armand beams at him then, and Daniel realizes for the first time how beautiful he is; he looks just like an angel in a Renaissance painting, like a portrait of a martyred saint. His eyes seem less brown, now, closer to the rich and vibrant glow of an ember. Of course Daniel can trust him. Of course.

“Excellent,” he says, and his hands extend to clasp around one of Daniel’s. The leather over his skin is cold. “You are safe with me, Daniel.”

Rest.

Mutely, Daniel nods. The part of him that wishes to object is so quickly subdued, as if smothered by an insistent hand.

“Now,” Father Armand begins, the dingy gold of the basement lights glistening off of his teeth, “you’re going to tell me about what happened before the drug den. What do you remember, Daniel?”

I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for.

As the unspoken words pierce through the veil of his cognition, Daniel jerks like a sleeper agent awakened. In between one moment and the next, his mind is inundated with lurid images of an apartment, the apartment he was in before he wound up in the den: a man—if he can even be called a man—who looks so much like the priest is hovering over Daniel, whispering devastating kindnesses into his ear until the fight slowly drains from his body. He tries to hold onto the shape of them, to remember what it was that happened, but the flashes slip through his fingers as easily as soap bubbles off of a dinner plate. As he reaches for them, grasps at them, a pressure builds in the base of his skull like a low roll of thunder, and a scream tears through his shaking body. He cannot hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can feel it, feel it rattle his chest and reverberate in his bones. It is agony, unending and complete. It is torture.

The only comfort through all of it is the weight of Father Armand’s hand around his own.

“It hurts,” Daniel whines, instinctively trying to shy away from the throbbing fissure in his head by leaning further into Father Armand’s touch. Tears prick the corners of his eyes like pins.

“Does it?” the priest asks, voice steady and still like the face of a mountain. “Good. Pain is your body’s way of telling you to avoid something. If it hurts, move away from it.”

Daniel sobs, and the next thing he knows he is on the ground, having fallen off of his chair; the hard press of the floor underneath him is the only thing holding him up. “Please,” he begs, not really sure what it is he’s asking for.

A cool finger crooks under his chin to tilt his head up. Through his swimming vision, Daniel sees Father Armand looking down at him. “Do you want me to make it stop?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his body curling up into the fetal position like a dying cockroach. “Please.”

The priest frowns, dispassionate. “What would you do for it? What would you give?”

I could be on my knees in a second.

Another burst of pain blossoms underneath Daniel’s eyes and he winces, cries out. “Anything,” he promises, his fingers reaching out to clutch at the leg of Father Armand’s trousers. “I’d give anything.”

“Would you give me money, Daniel?”

He nods enthusiastically even as the motion of it only exacerbates his anguish. “Yeah,” he says, “everything I have.”

“Hmm,” the priest hums. His expression as he watches Daniel is calculating, frigid. Slowly, he lifts one Doc Marten-booted foot to rest on Daniel’s chest. “Would you give me your obedience?”

Instinctively, Daniel’s spine straightens under the weight of his heel, the firm way it presses down on him a strange but poignant comfort in his addled state. The feeling it grants him is not quite relief, but it is something adjacent to it, something that loosens the tightly-wound tangle of anxiety that squeezes his lungs. He craves more of it. “Yes.”

“Yes what, Daniel?”

He swallows roughly. “Yes, Father.”

Lowly, the priest murmurs, “Good boy.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, his gaze growing half-lidded and hungry. “Ask me what you can do for me, Daniel.”

A shudder runs through him, sharp and electric. His mouth tastes of ozone. “What can I do for you, Father?”

The priest grins at him, then, wicked and predatory. “Worship me.”

The words echo around Daniel’s mind like a hollow room, silencing all other thought. Silencing the terrible cacophony that has been threatening to rend his very self in two. He squirms with the ecstasy of it—the unparalleled bliss of reprieve—mewling his acquiescence to the priest’s demand.

He can feel Father Armand’s pleasure at his submission trickling like a leaky faucet down his spine. “Do you feel that, Daniel?” he asks, as calmly as if he were asking about the weather.

Tears are still streaming down Daniel’s cheeks; his nose is stuffed and snotty from crying. “Yes, Father,” he croaks.

“That is solace, my dear boy,” the priest tells him, unwavering and impassive. “I have given it to you, and I can take it away from you just as easily.”

At the thought of the pain returning, a fierce panic slices through Daniel, hot and pointed as a knife in his guts. “No,” he moans, his bottom lip quivering as he stares at Father Armand. “Please don’t.”

The boot presses down harder, pinning him to the yellowed carpet. “You forget yourself, Daniel,” the priest replies.

He whimpers and corrects himself: “Please don’t, Father.”

“That’s better,” Father Armand says with a mean twist of his lips. “Tell me: where is your place?”

And Daniel has played this role before, knows the script by heart. Could recite it in his sleep if he had to. “Beneath you, Father.”

The priest grinds his heel into Daniel’s sternum, then, wrenching a pitiful cry from between the boy’s lips. It hurts, of course, but in a different way than before; this isn’t the horror of his soul being cracked in half and poured over the ground. This is a familiar pain, a welcome one, one that Daniel arches up into like a cat stretching its back.

“Do you like that, Daniel?” Father Armand asks, a trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Do you like it when I hurt you?”

Wordlessly, Daniel nods, because he does. He always has. He’s always pining to feel something, anything. Whatever it takes if it means not being bored.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” Daniel wheezes, forcing the words out from underneath the weight on his chest. “I like when you hurt me, Father.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” the priest purrs, half-aroused and half-contemptuous.

“Yes.” Daniel hisses, his fingers clawing into the carpet as his body curves to accommodate—to seek out—the press of Father Armand’s heavy boot. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, that he wants this after everything that’s happened today (the past week, some distant part of his mind whispers), but he does. Maybe he simply craves the release of oblivion after teetering over the edge of it. “Yes, Father.”

“I could make you feel good, too. If I felt like it.” He lifts his foot a fraction of an inch, enough to make Daniel’s lungs expand gratefully where they’ve been compressed. Then, slowly, he drags the toe of his boot down, down, down to where the boy is hard and aching in his jeans. He runs his instep along the shameful bulge that presses against Daniel’s zipper, pressing just lightly enough to tease. To threaten. “Do you want me to make you feel good?”

Daniel moans, a needful, pathetic little sound that makes Father Armand snarl. “I do, Father.”

“Do you think you deserve that, Daniel?” His boot pushes down a bit harder, and Daniel writhes into it, gasps at the delicious torment of the priest’s brutality.

“No, Father.”

“Beg for it, then.” Even though Daniel’s eyes are screwed shut, he can feel the burning weight of the other man’s stare boring into him. His boot steps harder still. “Beg for me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Daniel wants to reply, knows that he needs to reply, but he can’t; his mouth is too occupied with crying out, held captive as he is in a state of delirium.

“Pathetic,” Father Armand spits at him. “Must I speak for you now, too?”

He can do nothing more than nod, than accept the fate he has been dealt at the hands of this cruel master.

“You want me to fuck you.” It isn’t a question; rather, the priest speaks flatly, clinically, down at the boy he has pinned. “You want me to bury my tongue in your ass until your voice gives out from screaming and then fill you to the point of breaking, is that right?”

The words are torn directly from Daniel’s thoughts as though Father Armand heard them uttered aloud. As though he can read the twisted desires playing on repeat in Daniel’s mind as plainly as thumbing through a children’s picture book. The noise Daniel makes isn’t so much language as one of desperation distilled.

The boot lifts off of his chest, suddenly. “Stand.”

Daniel does, albeit slowly and on shaky legs that threaten to buckle from underneath him.

Father Armand smiles. “Good boy.” He gestures with his chin in the direction of the table, still covered in untouched donuts and cold coffee. “Bend over. And drop your pants.”

Sweating and trembling, Daniel feels more of a mess now than he did the day he awoke from his bender. Like the screws holding him together have been loosened and he is the lightest touch away from falling to pieces. Nevertheless, he complies, bracing himself on his elbows as he awaits further instruction.

“You’ve been insolent,” Father Armand comments as he slowly comes to stand behind Daniel. He runs the fingertips of one gloved hand over the swell of the boy’s ass. “Don’t you think you deserve to be disciplined for that?”

And Daniel is still beyond the point of language, so all he can manage is a thin, reedy little moan. Internally, he is only capable of thinking the word please on a recursive loop.

There’s a rush of air, then, followed by the sharp sting of Father Armand’s leather-covered palm striking one cheek. Daniel sucks in a harsh breath, an involuntary inhalation somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp. He gets almost no break before he is being hit again, then again, over and over until he can feel the blood rising to the skin from the burst capillaries. Almost as if from another room, he can hear himself crying out. Although the soles of his feet are rooted to the church carpet, he feels as though his consciousness has abandoned his body to wander elsewhere. The pain is practically transcendent in its savage persistence, the only thing anchoring him to this material plane the rhythmic pulse of the blood rushing to his cock.

Father Armand is relentless, and Daniel wonders whether he is going to be punished past the point where he can no longer withstand it. Until suddenly, the abuse stops, and the priest instead permits his cool fingers to trace over the damaged skin. His touch is surprisingly gentle, laced with a fragile sort of reverence; Daniel can hear the rustling of fabric as the priest crouches down, as if seeking out a better angle from which to admire his own handiwork.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, spreading Daniel’s ass open, the word ghosting feather-light over the sensitive flesh. Daniel whines, restless with the effort of keeping himself still against the overwhelming urge to arch into the contact. “What a beautiful little thing you are.”

The praise wrenches a strangled cry from Daniel’s throat, wanton and depraved. He wishes he still possessed the ability to speak, wishes he could beg for Father Armand to please, please fuck him now. Beg the priest to make him full, to try and satisfy the yearning cavern inside of him.

He’d do anything to not be so fucking hungry.

The priest laughs as though he knows precisely what Daniel is thinking and then, with no warning, he is blowing a teasing breath over Daniel’s hole.

The boy nearly screams, his mind still running on the frantic hamster wheel of please, please, please, please, please—

Father Armand interrupts that train of thought by dragging the flat of his tongue over the skin that his breath just kissed, carefully unraveling what little remains of Daniel’s sentience until all that is left in its place is a moaning, bestial creature. A thing composed entirely of impulse, the only thing he understands at this point being what it means to want.

Instinctively, Daniel tries to grind back into the sensation, but the priest does not allow it, his leather-clad hold on Daniel wrought in immovable iron. At the denial, Daniel merely whimpers, no longer able to beg with anything other than his body and sincerely running the risk of going mad with need.

Patience, Daniel, he hears Father Armand admonish, as if from a stereo system inside of his head while the priest licks over him once more. He doesn’t even question it, really, content to assume that the universe is fracturing around him and that reality itself is simply splintering. It certainly feels that way, with how Father Armand’s tongue writes filthy love poems into his skin, with how he fucks into Daniel just enough to torture.

It is not unlike he is drowning, stranded in the middle of a vast ocean and being pulled under by the grasping appendages of the monsters below. He is overcome with a pleasure too fathomless to name, one that threatens to steal the air from his lungs and fill them with something more volatile and fluid. It’s exquisite. He needs it to stop. He never wants it to stop.

Again, Daniel hears the priest’s voice inside of his mind. So very needy, aren’t you? Filled to the brim with unrealized desire, aching for anything that might scratch the persistent itch deep within you.

The words seem to strip him bare, to peel back his skin and the viscera that holds him together until all of his nerves are exposed to Father Armand’s touch. At this point, he is cognizant only of the places where the two of them connect, the world zeroed in like a pinhole on the press of the priest’s tongue against his ass. He has no self outside of this point of contact, he thinks, and he doesn’t care at all. Can’t imagine caring about anything else ever again.

He keens, his hips attempting to roll back once more. This time, Father Armand lets him, allows Daniel to ride his tongue in the way he so desperately craves, and he gasps with the relief of it, his face buried in the crook of his arm as he thrusts backwards to where the priest’s mouth is waiting for him.

Then, one of Father Armand’s hands snakes around to grip Daniel in his fist, and it only takes a few strokes before the feeling of it swells into a feverish crescendo, before Daniel is twitching and spilling messily over the priest’s fingers.

Good boy, Father Armand says, tongue still deep in Daniel’s ass as he works him through the spasming aftershocks. Now, I need you to do something for me.

Daniel slumps onto the table, barely able to hold himself up, and nods limply. Anything. He’d do anything.

Stay still, Daniel.

Father Armand’s mouth moves to lavish a hot, wet kiss to where Daniel’s pulse pounds in his thigh, his teeth scraping delicately over the skin there. Then, there is the sensation of ice piercing his arteries, of numb and cold and bad and wrong.

The world begins to grow dim around the edges. The last thing Daniel remembers thinking before it all goes dark is, Please don’t kill me.

***

When Daniel awakens in his apartment the next morning, he has a bruise on his butt the size of an apple, a killer headache, and a voicemail on his answering machine:

Hey Daniel, this is Sandra. I was wondering why you missed your first N.A. meeting last night; Father Reynolds said you didn’t show. If you need help getting to them, let me know and I’ll help you work something out. Either way, try not to let it happen again, okay?

As he listens to his P.O.—who is apparently not named Sarah—speak, a lot of conflicting thoughts occur to him at once. Most of them are confused, disoriented, wondering what the fuck happened last night and who the fuck Father Armand really was.

But perhaps the loudest of all of them is the realization that that part of him that is so constantly reaching, so constantly starving, is finally contented.

For the first time he can remember, he is satisfied.

[superbat-lmao]

Honestly, the whole batfam literally a circus in its own right, so give me an au where all of the kids started out in the circus together. Like, Bruce didn’t just adopt Dick that night, but all of his brothers and sisters as well. And sure, maybe they were a foster family to begin with in the circus, like Dick’s parents kept taking kids in and giving them a family, because that’s what a circus is, a family of diverse individuals.

So when Jason talked Catherine into going to the circus, and after she’s gone, he goes to see them again, and he stays, Dick gained a little brother.

Or when Tim started following the circus and the Grayson’s realized he was alone too often as a small child, they let him stay.

Or when Cass escapes her father and is on the run but can’t speak and is incredibly talented in her movements, they gain a sister.

Or Damian and Steph and Duke and Babs, like a lot of people get taken in, in some capacity, by the circus. Idk how much of canon to change, and like definitely their ages will be way off, but the family is already insane.

So when Bruce finds Dick that night, after the horrible tragedy - it’s not just seeing himself in a young orphan, but also realizing that Bruce Wayne might be the only person on the planet with enough resources to adopt an entire, literal, circus all at once.

So when he shows up at the manor with a minimum of 7 or 8 children, Alfred resigns himself to being a ringmaster and shepherding them all around because of course his son could never do anything in half measures.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 3 : Bardie Girl

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Previous Chapter 3.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ✨️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

Once upon a time, in a fantastical fantasy realm that was akin to a small girl's dream, there lived a princess.

One glorious afternoon, as the gentle glow of the sun shone brightly in the mesmerizing blue sky, a single cottage castle could be seen standing tall in the center of the forest.

A pair of bluebirds then fly upward into view from below, holding a white banner between their beaks that reads 'Princess Clara's Castle' for a moment before taking off, a trail of clear magic dust fluttering behind them.

The castle resembled a standard cottage home, with white and grey stones used for its exterior construction, but what differentiated it from others was its royal structure.

Inside, Princess Clara slept soundly beneath the comfort of her soft and woolly comforter, dreaming a lovely dream as a cozy smile rested upon her soft and tender face.

While the princess continues to sleep, her bedroom door creaks open as a small group of critters from the forest enter inside.

These cute critters consisted of birds, rabbits, deer, chipmunks, squirrels, and raccoons.

The fauna were her companions and inhabited the castle with her.

As the diverse group of animals crowd together closely around Princess Clara's bedside, a doe lightly nuzzles her cheek with her nose in an attempt to gently wake her.

As the princess slowly opens her eyes, she gets a glimpse of her friends surrounding her bed and lets out the gentlest of laughs.

"Good morning, everyone," she softly greets with a yawn and stretches as she turns to look at the time on her handmade wooden wall clock.

"Well, afternoon," Princess Clara corrects herself with a sheepish smile on her face, rubbing the back of her head with one hand.

Although the princess didn't mean to be such a sleepyhead, she could never resist the temptations of her warm bed.

"Who's hungry?" she asked her animal friends, putting aside her embarrassment for now.

"I'll make up for sleeping in so late with some brunch. How does that sound?"

The offer caused the eyes of the critters to light up with joy as they accepted with nods, causing Princess Clara to giggle in her hand as she sat up.

 

"Then it's settled," she said, stepping out of bed and dancing across her floorboards on her tippy toes toward her closet while she hummed a merry tune.

Princess Clara's feathery companions tweeted the catchy melody of the song with her, their voices harmonizing beautifully.

Two of them flew over to open her closet door for her, helping the princess slip into one of her favorite house dresses while tossing her nightgown into the hamper.

Now dressed for the day, Princess Clara dips and twirls out of her room and into the kitchen, her forest friends happily following behind her.

…

"Hmm," Princess Clara hummed to herself in thought, tapping her chin with her index finger as she stood in front of her dainty stove, a frying pan sitting on top, as fresh veggies and oil sat on her counter.

Her animal friends, also in the kitchen, were eating their feed of mixed berries that she had prepared for them and placed in pretty porcelain bowls.

"What goes good with fresh veggies?" she whispered.

Tweet, tweet!

Shifting her sights to her open window sill, Princess Clara spots the pair of bluebirds who were holding her banner in the beginning, fluttering over with eggs well wrapped in silk.

The eggs are gently placed on the counter alongside the veggies and oil as the birds took their place on her window sill.

"Oh, eggs! Of course!" Princess Clara exclaims excitedly, finding the answer to her question as she cracks a smile, just like she was planning on cracking those eggs.

"Thank you," the princess told the two birds, who both received gentle rubs to the skin behind their beaks from her as they happily chirped.

With a gentle clearing of her throat, Princess Clara gracefully twirls in place, placing a hand on her chest, and begins to sing lyrics to a theme.

While singing, the princess twirls for a second time, holding out her index finger for one of the bluebirds.

One decides to flap over and step onto it, joining Princess Clara for a lovely duet.

As the caroling continues, the two take turns.

When Princess Clara hits a high note, she allows the bluebird to do the same.

The princess keeps hitting higher and higher notes, and the bluebird struggles to keep up with her.

As the theme comes to a close, Princess Clara hits an ear-piercing high note that causes the bluebird to gradually bloat up and explode.

The princess's eyes widen in shock at this as her animal companions who had witnessed the small explosion gasp.

The room was filled with frightened faces while a deep silence lingered in the air.

…

"… And there!" Princess Clara said, carefully slipping the small sweater she had knitted with the assistance of her animal friends onto the bluebird who had previously exploded and was now featherless.

The sweater fit like a glove and had a few of his feathers nicely glued on to it.

When the bluebird gazed down at his new outfit, he instantly let out a chirp in delight, hopping in place.

"Yay! He likes it!" Princess Clara cheered brightly, her animal friends joining her.

Placing her index finger under the bluebird's foot, the princess lifts gently as the bird steps onto her finger and proceeds to perch.

She starts to rub her cheek against the side of his face, causing him to chirp softly at the affection.

"I'm so sorry about that," Princess Clara whispered, soft sincerity weaving through her voice.

She believed that his feathers would eventually return over time.

...

Late afternoon, Princess Clara contentedly dusted her wooden organ.

As her flightless animal friends swept the floors with their tails, her winged ones collected flowers in a vase, some of them having to be propped up.

A hummingbird hovered over the pot with a watering can that matched its size between its beak and gently poured a pocket-sized amount of water into the pot.

Upon hearing a brief knock at the door, all those in the cottage stopped their work and gazed forward at the front entrance.

"Oh!" Princess Clara gently went as she set her feather duster down and walked toward the door.

"I wonder who that could be."

Upon opening it, she discovered that no one was present.

"That's strange...," she whispered.

It could have simply been the wind, but Princess Clara saw no signs of it being a windy day.

Setting her sights on the ground, the princess let out a small gasp, bringing a hand to her mouth in sheer wonder.

While gazing downward, her light green eyes glowed with twinkles.

In front of the princess's feet, beautifully bestowed on the ground, was a tiara that was comprised of lightly-colored wood.

The coronet was meticulously carved with so much solicitude and had a heart adorned in the center of it.

Laying alongside the tiara was a bouquet of beautiful flowers that looked to have been hand-picked and a heart-sealed envelope.

After obtaining all three items, Princess Clara returned inside and closed the door.

The flowers were safely placed in the ventilated space of the vase, joining the flowers that were already there, as Princess Clara set the rectangular paper down on the console table and slowly placed the treen tiara on her head.

 

Her animal friends watched her do so, curiosity shining in their eyes.

"Oh, it fits beautifully!" Princess Clara softly exclaimed, her bright voice bursting with excitement as she clapped her hands and gently jumped in place.

The critters in the cottage cheered in delight at this revelation.

Next, the princess took the envelope, carefully removed the pink wax heart stamp from it, and revealed a letter written on a very silky piece of paper inside.

Princess Clara was completely taken aback by the beautiful text that was perfectly written across the page.

A closer examination from the princess indicated that this was indeed a handwritten letter due to the sheening of the ink.

Princess Clara sat down in a chair and began reading the letter to herself while still making sure her animal friends could hear her, her heart fluttering at every sentence.

Dearest Princess Clara,

Today, I contemplated the magnitude of my love for you and how I've never expressed those passionate feelings that swell inside my soul before.

Thus, I aim to convey my genuine affection for you in this letter.

I vividly remember the day I spotted you wandering around town.

You greeted everyone you encountered with the most endearing smile.

I knew right away that I had to meet you.

I attempted to find the courage to have a conversation with you, but I felt like it wouldn't work out because of my lack of confidence and difference in appearance from everyone else.

I hope to one day be brave enough to meet you in person and properly converse with you.

Eternally, yours,

A secret admirer

The princess's smile remained unwavering after the letter was read.

It warmed her heart greatly to see that someone cared about her so much that they arranged a letter along with florals and a tiara and delivered them to her door.

"Chirp, chirp, twee, twee?" asked one of her birds.

Princess Clara shifted her gaze to the birdie.

"How am I going to meet them?" she repeated the bird's question, an idea forming inside her mind.

"I think I know how."

...

Carpenters from the town lined up from Princess Clara's cottage castle to the forest end, excited by the news that she wanted an exact replica carving of a tiara she had received from a stranger.

They all had crafted tiaras for her to try on in their hands, believing that theirs were identical to hers.

The princess was aware through the details of her diadem that the admirer was proficient in carpentry.

Despite offering a generous currency reward for the replica, her primary goal was to locate her devotee through the long line.

Several tiaras were tried on by her, but none were suitable due to being too big, too small, or incorrectly colored.

Finally, a young man wearing a green cloak and suspenders over his outfit, who was the final contender waiting in line, approached her.

Princess Clara's eyes lit up immediately upon seeing the tiara that he held flat in his hands.

It appeared to be the exact one she had on!

After that, she fixed her gaze on the man's eyes.

His warm chestnut-colored eyes were accompanied by a bright, friendly face, guarded by shy excitement.

"It's you," Princess Clara whispered in amazement, taking the offered tiara and examining it with a keen smile.

She took her tiara off her head and compared the two.

The details matched to a T.

She finally found her admirer.

Setting the handed tiara down and placing hers back on, she asked the man, "Did you really mean what you said in that letter you left at my door?"

The man nodded, a small laugh of delight escaping him as he pulled his hood down, revealing his long golden hair tied perfectly in a ponytail and a set of strangely rounded ears that looked otherworldly.

"Oh, my!" The princess squeaked, causing the man to flush by her surprised reaction and quickly cover his ears with both hands.

"I-I'm sorry!" she quickly apologized.

Now it was her turn to blush as the two both shared red faces.

He was human.

She could have sworn that they only existed in fairy tales.

Regardless, she felt as though her unkind response was highly unnecessary.

"I truly do apologize for my impolite reaction. I've just never seen ears like those before. Are... my ears strange to you?" she asked, cupping both her pointed ears.

The man, gazing at the princess's ears, slowly lowers his hands.

He gives a small nod, hoping not to have offended her with his honesty.

 Now stuck in a state of bemusement, they both end up letting out a laugh after seconds of silence.

They then exchange shy smiles as the magic of love leads them to hold each other's left and right hands, interlocking their fingers together.

...

After a time skip, this song begins to play.

Inside Princess Clara's cottage castle, her organ is being cheerfully played by the young man who is now her friend.

She happily claps along to the tune while her animal companions are dancing and do-si-do-ing with each other.

In the evening, the two engage in a slow waltz together by a small lake, gentle smiles on their faces as they step and spin.

Upon nightfall, the pair sit side by side with their legs criss-crossed in front of the same lake under a flowering tree while peacefully observing the fishes inside the water who spurt water trickles from their lips.

 

Love was literally present in the air as those trickles took on the shape of hearts.

When the princess lets out a sigh, she slowly leans her head against the man's shoulder as he looks down at her with a soft smile.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss on her forehead, and a light show of fireflies appear around the couple, forming a massive heart around them.

A swarm of fireflies then fly by, and the scene transitions to a snowy winter wedding taking place in a meadow as Princess Clara and the man, now her husband, are joined in matrimony.

After the groom and bride's lips meet, the wedding guests, Princess Clara's animal companions, cheer as flower petals and confetti are merrily whisked into the air.

After taking their first steps together into a new life down a small staircase, the newlyweds began their walk down the aisle, approaching their awaiting carriage, which was entirely made of gingerbread and decorated with frosting and various colorful candies.

Princess Clara's husband opens the carriage door for her with a gentlemanly bow, and she curtsies to him to show her appreciation before entering.

...

After both partners are aboard the cookie-candy carriage, it begins riding off into the woods as the animals wave them goodbye with hankerchiefs.

The carriage arrives at a large gingerbread house.

Being the first to step out of the carriage, Princess Clara's husband helps his new bride out bridal style.

Trying to enter the open entrance of the house with his wife, the husband bumps into its sides.

It seems that he and the princess are too big to fit through the small entrance.

He makes another attempt to get in, but the outcome remains the same.

However, an idea comes to the husband's mind as he positions himself sideways.

Gently lowering his beloved down, the two are about to lean in for a kiss when suddenly a mistletoe on a string comes between them from the ceiling, making the romantic moment even better.

The initial plan was to go inside that way, but he ended up simply walking forward with great force, causing minor damage to the sides of the cookie house when he finally managed to get inside.

This causes the couple to giggle as they continue leaning forward. Just as they are about to kiss, the solid chocolate bar door of the house shuts on its own.

The words "The End" are displayed on the door in pink frosting with a heart around it as the medieval melody comes to an end.

Their honeymoon was going to be wonderful as well as the rest of their days together. 

[savethegrishaverse]

Pankhuri Bhutani, the journalist who coined the term 'Third Army,' has graciously given us the chance to interview her. Read on for an insightful conversation, where we learn what she thinks about our campaign, what it was like interviewing the cast, what she thinks comes next for us, and more!

Here's a compilation of her interview in our newsletter issues, in order, with Questions in bold and Pankhuri's answers in text;

"It all came to me when I was reading the Shadow and Bone trilogy. There were mentions of First Army and Second Army. I was a bit confused at first trying to understand just which army included the Grishas and the Otkazat'syas. Then I perused through the Six of Crows duology as well and had a better idea.

Q&A with Pankhuri Bhutani: Third Army origin story - What inspired you to come up with a name for the fans campaigning to #SaveShadowAndBone and greenlight the #SixOfCrowsSpinoff?

One of the most memorable things about a fandom for me is the name bestowed upon them. While Shadow and Bone fans have been embodying different personas—some of them calling themselves “The Crows,” some “The Summoners,” reading the books, I genuinely believed the fandom needed an official name that amalgamated the diverse abilities of the fandom and unified their interests.

And that's when the idea of "Third Army" struck me. An army combined of both the lovers and fans of the original trilogy, as well as the iconic Six of Crows duology, alongside the King of Scars duology and all the chronicles affiliated with the Grishaverse, "Third Army" represents a union of all the fellow Grishaverse fans.

Somewhere along the lines, I did imagine the fandom fighting together as an army. And I was struck with the name "Third Army." I added it to the article I crafted for the billboard launch, and I guess the rest is history. "

Since you have followed the campaign from the beginning, what's your opinion on the different projects undertaken so far? And comparing it to other fan campaigns, is there anything you would have done differently?

To be blatantly honest, I'm not aware of a lot of other fandom campaigns. But I fairly think this is by far one of the strongest contenders out there in terms of a campaign initiated by fans with such monumental strength.

I don't think there would have been anything I would've done differently or quite distinct to what has been happening had I been involved in a wonderful fan campaign like this. But I will definitely request and wish to see more cosplays and other creative work! All of you are so immensely talented!

There have been a lot of talks about the show, and even though the future seems uncertain for now, the hard work and dedication of the fandom will probably never be forgotten.

What made you decide to go with Third Army as a name?

When going through the fandom and the petitions, a lot of people claimed themselves to be a Crow or a Darkling fan. But the fact that all these souls came together to fight for one goal made me believe there should be a united name that could be showcased and witnessed at the forefront of the campaign.

I knew "First Army" and "Second Army" being a part of the Grishaverse world, so I contemplated as to what or who might be the "Third Army" if that was ever a possibility and the first element that emerged into my mind was the fandom. The fandom is the Third Army.

What has been your favorite initiative by the campaign so far? Is there anything you'd like to see in the future?

That's a good question. The fundraiser for the billboard just showed how many people believed in the project to such an extent that they were actively ready to pitch in their own money for the launch.

I do not have a favorite initiative because I believe that even if one of the campaigns is initiated by someone with the best of their interests, it already goes into my favorite book. So, all of them?

I'm not aware of all the initiatives currently being partaken within this specific campaign but I absolutely love seeing people cosplay and talk about their favorite book characters.

The petition as well. I just checked and it has over 200,000 signatures. That's a lot!

What impact do you think having a name to unite fans has had on the campaign?

All of the popular fandoms have a highly recognizable name. Swifties, Arinators, Barbz, Army (BTS). We say the name, and the project/artist's face subconsciously appears in our mind.

You instantly know the artist and the project by the fandom's name. For instance, what comes to your mind when I say the words Potterheads, Half-Bloods/Demigods, Ringers, Thronies?

Potterheads for the fascinating world of Harry Potter, Half-Bloods/Demigods for the Percy Jackson fans, Ringers for lovers of The Lord of The Rings franchise, and so on. The name instantly affiliates a fandom with the project.

I know it's a very strange thing to say, but to me personally, a fandom also sometimes feels like a citizenship. As if you're an official member of the particular fictional world.

You have interviewed several Shadow and Bone cast members. Can you tell us a bit about what that was like? How did you prepare for those interviews, and are there any anecdotes you can share that didn't make it into the final published versions for brevity's sake?

I do believe fandom names are very impactful as it is showcased at the forefront of the project and affiliates the love and passion of all the souls who admire the work of the cast and the crew. And that's exactly what the Third Army has been doing so far!

It was a surreal experience.

There wasn't any question that I believe was left out from my interviews. Everything is out there just the way the initial interviews were conducted. It was an honor to have had a conversation with such phenomenal people. All of them were very kind and very insightful regarding their experience on the project.

I was given access to the screeners of the second season, and I based my questions on things I really wanted to ask the creatives about their performance.

At that time, there weren't any interviews out since the second season had not been launched yet, so I crafted the questions I believed I really wanted to know more about at that specific moment and hopefully ask some novel questions that weren't already thrown their way previously.

As a journalist, what's your opinion on the media’s reaction and coverage of our campaign and the cancellation?

It's actually quite a lot. Especially for a fandom initiative, I do believe a lot of phenomenal journalists and media platforms have conveyed a plethora of coverage pertaining to the unfortunate cancellation.

Everyone affiliated with this project, be it the cast, crew or even the fandom have showcased massive strength and opened up a potential turmoil for several decision-makers, further forcing them to take a second look. Just shows how impactful a united fandom can be.

As we speak, there are still many more such significant pieces coming to light.

Which part of the campaign do you think has had the biggest impact on visibility and public perception so far?

For me as an outsider, I definitely noticed the petition and the billboards that were launched in Los Angeles and London. Those were the two that come to my mind, but I've seen some posts about origami and fan-books too, which seems so kind!

I also notice so many beautiful fan cosplays, artwork, book posts and other impeccable creative endeavors that people and fans like to immerse themselves into using the world of Grishaverse. That's so cool!

Showrunner Eric Heisserer recently attended his studio meetings for Shadow and Bone wearing a Third Army badge. Coincidentally, our Discord server also has a permanent "Third Army" role for all the members. Also, Jessie Mei Li mentioned to fans at a recent convention that they absolutely loved the Third Army name! How do you feel knowing that the name you coined and bestowed upon the fandom has gotten such acknowledgements?

Oh, wow. That's so interesting. That's something I definitely didn't know! I was made aware of the Third Army badges being used during one of the conventions but not about the other lovely acknowledgements. That's a massive milestone for the term.

Very grateful for that, but I really do believe it should be the entire fandom getting the credit—not me. I'm just a journalist who came up with a name that I believed aligned more with the fandom of this amazing fantasy project.

I have personally witnessed the dedication and immense passion each and every fan has committed to the show and its hopeful renewal, so I think we should be celebrating such an established fanbase and the success of a massive campaign like this. Thank you to everyone who used the name! And all the best for your future! Hopefully, we get to hear some good news really soon! And thank you for having me!

Subscribe to our Brekkin' News fan newsletter for exclusive articles, interviews and campaign strategy updates delivered straight to your inbox every week!

[cklukilutz]

FFXIVWrite2024 : Masterpost Prompt 4 : Reticent Title : A Secret She Keeps Summary : [Early Teen Luki] Growing-up in the perfect place, how could she possibly want more?

[Read below, or over on AO3]

Above, a sky full of stars and clear of clouds. Below, a relaxed yet busy gathering around a firepit. And all around, a pleasant summer night’s breeze, carrying with it the sounds of chatter, laughter, and the warming scent of woodsmoke.

In the branches of a large tree, several young teens idle away together. Summertime is one of the best times, as they get to stay-up later much more often. The nights can be far too hot and sticky for most to sleep well, so many choose to sleep outdoors. But, even with the original intention to sleep, it only takes two to start a conversation, which turns into a hang-out as more make their outside, which then encourages more and more to gather, and pretty soon you’ve got a fit going, drinks flowing, and more often than not, soon there’s a party in full-swing.

Tonight, there may not be a party, but there’s certainly a crowd. This is just one of the reasons Lukita feels lucky to be growing-up here. Lutz village is unlike any viera settlement she’s ever heard of. The rest, and even the center here, sound so strict and stressful to her.

Here in Lutz, the village spreads out in varying degrees of diversity. The center, known as “The Root”, is like most other viera dwellings. They follow the traditional ways, and those living in the middle or outers are forbidden to enter. The only exceptions being those of registered representatives, and those seeking relocation, joining the traditional ways.

There are thick, specially grown walls of woodland that keep The Root secluded from the others, but no such separation between the middle and outer. These are known as “Branches”, and the further ventured from the middle to the outer, the less and less traditional things are. So much so that there are many multicultural families living in the outer Branches.

Whilst those of The Root may disapprove of such practises, they value the extra layers of protection their Branches provide. Their presence allows The Root to remain completely hidden from outsiders. And in return, The Branches are able to live as part of their own community, away from big cities and the complications that come from overly governed lands.

On a deeper level, The Root also benefits from any Branch viera that chooses Root life. And the Branches benefit from those tasked with protecting The Root, and the land in general.

Being on the outers, Lukita, herself a mix of viera and miqo’te, feels like she’s getting the best of both worlds. What more could anyone want?

And yet, there’s an ache she never speaks about. She has everything she could ever need right here. But something still pulls at her. Maybe a curiosity toward other cultures? But that’s nothing she can’t learn about here. She could ask passing travelers, or even those living here that originally came from elsewhere. Perhaps a longing to see new lands? But if anywhere out there’s so great, then why do so many leave there to stay here? Could it be a feeling of isolation and she just wants freedom to roam? But there’s nothing holding her down. Everyone is free to come and go as they please. And the land here is so vast, it’s not like there isn’t plenty to see and do as is.

It’s a frustrating feeling, and one that comes and goes in intensity, especially as she doesn’t know where it comes from, or why. Not to mention, downright greedy and ungrateful. How could she want more when she already has everything!?

And could she really leave her friends and family behind? Even knowing she could come back at any time, she has no idea where she’d end up, or how long she’d be gone. She’d be alone out there…

“Hey, you comin’ or what?” A familiar male voice snaps her from her thoughts. It’s Lokinovu, who tells her they’d all decided to go play with the fireflies for a while. She must’ve missed that conversation whilst in her daze. “Heh, what planet were you on!?” He teases, as he starts his decline through the tree branches.

Lukita tries to think of a funny comeback, but her mind still hasn’t caught-up just yet. She takes one last look at the stars, before making her own way down from the tree.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

What do the M6 spent an exorbitant amount of money on? So much so that it could be considered an addiction? (Doesn't need to be expenses related to the MC, but could be.) I feel like for Lucio it would be Furry Comissions (regardless of whether or not you want to set the hc's in a modern AU or the regular story).

The Arcana HCs: M6 and their shopping weaknesses

~ a request from my wonderful fantastic mutual @helshollowhalls ? Anything for you, friend! Enjoy the madness - brainrot ~

Depending on how the two of you like to split your duties, it may be more or less frequent for you or your beloved to shop alone. Most of the time you don't have to worry too much, they're an adult! They know what they're doing.

Until they creep into your shared quarters one evening, oozing both excitement and guilt as they hide the results of their errands behind the door. "MC, you wouldn't believe what I saw for sale in the market today."

Julian

He's standing almost like a soldier, chest bared and feet braced for your reaction, arms folded under his cape behind his back

"What did you buy, Julian?"

He's not ready to answer your question. "I have it in good faith that it may one day prove essential to saving someone's life."

He's really getting into character now, and you're beginning to worry

"What did you buy, Julian?"

"A rare instrument necessary to my practice! A scientific breakthrough! Behold!"

And with a grand flourish, he pulls out a feat of engineering that seems to be an obscure medical instrument. Fair enough

"So what does it do?"

You watch him deflate like one of those car dealership tube men at the end of the day

"... I don't know."

"And how much did you spend on it?"

He clutches it to his chest protectively. "Does it matter? I'll figure out a way to use it eventually! Maybe it pairs well with leeches!"

Asra

You can't tell if they're grinning or grimacing, but their dimples are out and they're almost sparkling with excitement

"They had so many options, MC. I've never even heard of most of them before!"

He can see your eyes widening as Faust tips over the duffle-sized bag behind the door, slithering over the piles of packages that pour out across the floor

"How much did you spend, Asra!?"

"Not as much as I could have, and only my own money. They had sample packs!"

Now that their secret is out, they're excitedly unwrapping every bundle and disappearing in a mountain of paper and twine

Faust seeks refuge on your shoulder and the sheer diversity of smells filling the room are making both of you a little dizzy

Small bottles of perfumed oil, tiny pots of lotion, mini candles and twigs of incense cover every surface of the room

All the candles and incense are lit. Every tester is being applied in random patchwork

He got over 50 new scents and he is thriving

Nadia

She feels a little guilty for going without you, but she's so excited to have been part of your world like this

She went to the central marketplace

And she got everything suggested to her

Because who would know better than the people selling what she needed to get?

Two menservants are bringing in the multiple bags she brought back in the carriage while she goes over each thing with you, excitedly repeating their sales pitches

She's halfway through the second bag, telling you all about her new gilded mop holder when you finally interrupt

"Nadia, my love. How many things did you get?" You're holding your breath, hoping the question doesn't burst her bubble

"Oh, nothing extravagant. You should see the shipments that come in for palace events! We'll go back together, my darling, and we can do a proper shopping trip then."

You do go back together, and this time you steer clear of the salesmen taking advantage of her inexperience

Muriel

He's peeking around the door of the hut, and you can tell by the set of his eyebrows that he is embarrassed and has no regrets

You smile up at him, walking over to greet him after his trip into town

And the door swings a little further open to reveal his cloak, stuffed to the brim with something that keeps cheeping

He's got the squirming mass wrapped protectively in his arms, slowly kneeling to lower it to the ground

And from the depths of his clothing burst a tidal wave of baby chicks, spreading out to cover the yard and sending the chickens already present into a ruffle of squawks

"Muriel, how many are there?!"

" ... twenty-four. The pet shop had them with the kittens and puppies and," he pauses to peek at your face, "chickens are different. They wouldn't be happy in the city."

The ground is yellow. Inanna has turned into a sulky, wolf shaped jungle gymn. Muriel watches quietly. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes. But they are your responsibility."

Portia

You see the way Pepi perks up and Portia moves to guard the giant paper bags she's holding, and that's how you know it's food

You pick Pepi up to protect the goods and take a closer look. The two bags are each nearly the size of your beloved's torso

"Portia, what small army are we feeding!?"

She drops them on the table, flicks a stray crumb from her sleeve, and deflects Pepi's swipe at the pastry that tumbles out

"Ok so don't be mad, I may have overspent just a teeny little bit, but she was a traveling baker from up north! And I had to try some!"

"And then?"

"And then we started talking about baking, and she gave me a discount so I tried one of everything, but I didn't want you to miss out so I got two more of everything for us to eat together!"

You're not sure what to say. It's a lot of food

You end up inviting the Palace bakers to enjoy it with you (they'll be able to really appreciate the technique) and eating lentil stew for the rest of the week

Lucio

You're having flashbacks while he fidgets in the doorway. This used to happen every time you let him do the shopping alone

In his defense, nobody ever taught him to budget. His job was to hunt his food or eat his rations until the old Count took him in

But you two have been working on it together, and he's gotten pretty good at making and sticking to a list and limit

Which can only mean one thing:

"It was so shiny, MC. I know I made an oopsie, but look at it! It goes on my arm!"

It's a jewelry piece that he's clipped to the grooves on his gauntlet. It's not that big, so you can't see how it's an oopsie unless ...

"Is that an emerald? Is that real gold!?"

He nods excitedly. "Don't feel bad, MC, I got you one too! Now we match!"

It's beautiful, but, "Lucio, where did you get the money for this?"

"Next week's budget." He sees your face and grabs your hands. "But don't worry! I did the math, and I already found a job to cover it."

This man is going to be the death of you

[duckprintspress]

10 Books for Pansexual and Panromantic Visibility Day!

May 24th is Pansexual and Panromantic Visibility Day, so make sure to say hi to your pan friends before they’re invisible again! We’re celebrating with (shock) book recommendations! Explicit pan rep is hard to come by, and in cases where it’s implied, the difference between interpreting a characters as bi versus pan is often down to personal perceptions of the character and the sexuality/romanticisms in questions. With that in mind, we present 10 titles we loved with either explicit or implied pan rep! The contributors to this list are: Nina Waters, Tris Lawrence, boneturtle, E. C., and two anonymous contributors

All Systems Red (The Murderbot Diaries series) by Martha Wells

“As a heartless killing machine, I was a complete failure.”

In a corporate-dominated spacefaring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. Exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids, for their own safety.

But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

On a distant planet, a team of scientists are conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid—a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module, and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, all it really wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is.

But when a neighboring mission goes dark, it’s up to the scientists and their Murderbot to get to the truth.

A Fisherman of the Inland Sea by Ursula K. Le Guin

The award-winning stories in A Fisherman of the Inland Sea range from the everyday to the outer limits of experience, where the quantum uncertainties of space and time are resolved only in the depths of the human heart. Astonishing in their diversity and power, they exhibit both the artistry of a major writer at the height of her powers and the humanity of a mature artist confronting the world with her gift of wonder still intact.

Commit to the Kick by Tris Lawrence

For eighteen years, Alaric has lived under the cloying politics of family and his Clan community. His freshman year is supposed to be a chance to explore a world where Clan and his shapeshifting Talent isn’t central to his life. But when his inner bear bursts forth during his first football game, endangering those around him, Alaric realizes that it’s not so easy to ignore his past, or his own internalized anger.

In his quest for anger management, Alaric begins to train in taekwondo, and makes new friends in both sports. He finds that he is creating his own small community, where Clan, Mages, other Talents, and even humans come together and build their own found family.

When Alaric receives news that something has happened to his brother Orson, he must return and deal with his Clan and his place in their world. He discovers that old prejudices are still strong between Clan and Mage communities, but that both may be in danger from a creature long thought to be only a legend. Alaric must figure out how to move forward and prevent a war and protect both his home and newly built communities, his found family with him every step of the way. 

Count Your Lucky Stars by Alexandria Bellefleur

Margot Cooper doesn’t do relationships. She tried and it blew up in her face, so she’ll stick with casual hookups, thank you very much. But now her entire crew has found “the one” and she’s beginning tofeel like a fifth wheel. And then fate (the heartless bitch) intervenes. While touring a wedding venue with her engaged friends, Margot comes face-to-face with Olivia Grant—her childhood friend, her first love, her first… well, everything. It’s been ten years, but the moment they lock eyes, Margot’s cold, dead heart thumps in her chest.

Olivia must be hallucinating. In the decade since she last saw Margot, her life hasn’t gone exactly as planned. At almost thirty, she’s been married… and divorced. However, a wedding planner job in Seattle means a fresh start and a chance to follow her dreams. Never in a million years did she expect her important new client’s Best Woman would be the one that got away.

When a series of unfortunate events leaves Olivia without a place to stay, Margot offers up her spare room because she’s a Very Good Person. Obviously. It has nothing to do with the fact that Olivia is as beautiful as ever and the sparks between them still make Margot tingle. As they spend time in close quarters, Margot starts to question her no-strings stance. Olivia is everything she’s ever wanted, but Margot let her in once and it ended in disaster. Will history repeat itself or should she count her lucky stars that she gets a second chance with her first love? 

Maneater (Monsters of Moonvale series) by Emily Antoinette

If something ever seems too good to be true, it probably is. That’s how the “friendly” invitation to join a new coven turned into a surprise demon summoning. At least it wasn’t a virgin sacrifice. Then I really would have been screwed—and not in the way they plan for with the succubus they’ve bound. 

When I help free her from the bindings and offer her a ride back to work, things get even weirder. She tells me she wants to see me again. This captivating woman wants to see me—a nerdy witch who spends his free time playing D&D. 

There’s no way she means it. Because that’s definitely too good to be true. Still, there’s no way I can resist the opportunity to spend more time with a goddess like her. 

There’s Magic Between Us by Jillian Maria

A diehard city girl, 16-year-old Lydia Barnes is reluctant to spend a week in her grandma’s small town. But hidden beneath Fairbrooke’s exterior of shoddy diners and empty farms, there’s a forest that calls to her. In it, she meets Eden: blunt, focused, and fascinating. She claims to be hunting fae treasure, and while Lydia laughs it off at first, it quickly becomes obvious that Eden’s not joking-magic is real.

Lydia joins the treasure hunt, thrilled by all the things it offers her. Things like endless places in the forest to explore and a friendship with Eden that threatens to blossom into something more. But even as she throws herself into her new adventure, some questions linger. Why did her mom keep magic a secret? Why do most of the townspeople act like the forest is evil? It seems that, as much as Lydia would like to pretend otherwise, not everything in Fairbrooke is as bright and easy as a new crush…

Fire and Flight (ElfQuest series) by Wendy and Richard Pini

The forest-dwelling elves called the Wolfriders are burnt out of their ancestral home by vengeful humans. Betrayed by cowardly trolls, the elfin band, led by Cutter, Blood of Ten Chiefs, must cross the Burning Waste to find a haven they’ve never seen before. Can the Wolfriders survive? If they do, what surprises await them at Sorrow’s End?

Fledgling by Octavia E. Butler

This is the story of an apparently young, amnesiac girl whose alarmingly unhuman needs and abilities lead her to a startling conclusion: She is in fact a genetically modified, 53-year-old vampire. Forced to discover what she can about her stolen former life, she must at the same time learn who wanted-and still wants-to destroy her and those she cares for and how she can save herself.

Final Draft by Riley Redgate

Laila Piedra doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, and definitely doesn’t sneak into the 21-and-over clubs on the Lower East Side. The only sort of risk Laila enjoys is the peril she writes for the characters in her stories: epic sci-fi worlds full of quests, forbidden love, and robots. Her creative writing teacher has always told her she has a special talent. But three months before graduation, Laila’s number one fan is replaced by Nadiya Nazarenko, a Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist who sees nothing at all special about Laila’s writing.

A growing obsession with gaining Nazarenko’s approval–and fixing her first-ever failing grade–leads to a series of unexpected adventures. Soon Laila is discovering the psychedelic highs and perilous lows of nightlife, and the beauty of temporary flings and ambiguity. But with her sanity and happiness on the line, Laila must figure out if enduring the unendurable really is the only way to greatness.

Before I Let Go by Marieke Nijkamp

Best friends Corey and Kyra were inseparable in their tiny snow-covered town of Lost Creek, Alaska. But as Kyra starts to struggle with her bipolar disorder, Corey’s family moves away. Worried about what might happen in her absence, Corey makes Kyra promise that she’ll stay strong during the long, dark winter.

Then, just days before Corey is to visit, Kyra dies. Corey is devastated–and confused, because Kyra said she wouldn’t hurt herself. The entire Lost community speaks in hushed tones, saying Kyra’s death was meant to be. And they push Corey away like she’s a stranger.

The further Corey investigates–and the more questions she asks–the greater her suspicion grows. Lost is keeping secrets–chilling secrets. Can she piece together the truth about Kyra’s death and survive her visit?

You can also view this list on the shelf on our Goodreads, or visit Bookshop.org and check out this list in our affiliate shop! Note: due to the difficulty of differentiating a pan characters versus a bi character unless which they are is explicitly identified in canon, we have put bi and pan characters on joint lists – so these lists linked are bisexual and/or pansexual character lists.

What are your favorite books with pansexual and panromantic characters?

[moghedien]

obsessed with the saga of Selûnite drow mommy vs Shadowheart’s deeply rooted Mother Superior issues & goodest girl complex. her selûnite closet is made of GLASS. what does your character think about everything that’s happening between the two of them?

So usually I think of characters for a while before I play them but this one I was just like “I wanna make a drow Selunite” and made one the same day without much thought so I’m like developing a backstory and how she acts in the moment more so I’ll probably be in a different spot as the pt goes on

I’ve played a very dogmatic lolth cleric before (literally would not let myself kill spiders even though the game wouldn't really punish me for) and so I’m being much more chill this time for playstyle diversity which does help when you have a Sharran yelling at you about how your goddess sucks. I gave her an urchin background and the game still tagged me as being from the underdark, and I imagine being an urchin child in the underdark to be a bad time, so I’m like “there’s no way this girl grew up as a selunite because there’s no moon underground so she to have been converted once she came to the surface.”

All this to say, that in order to go from an underdark urchin from some drow city to a relatively chill cleric of Selune, she’s got to have dealt with most of her baggage and hang ups already. So she meets the most obvious Sharran in the world (who is probably also the first Sharran she’s met) who very very clearly has not dealt with literally anything in her personal life ever, and it’s just like “well let’s explore this.”

Admittedly her interest in Shadowheart was probably just “what the fuck is this Sharran doing” and wanting to see where this went. Like she’d want to keep an eye on a potentially dangerous person while also being somewhat practical about taking help where help is offered.

But then Shadowheart is being cagey as fuck while also begging for them to stick together, and seeing her be very clearly wanting to help people and be nice and struggling against that (and sometimes feeling literal pain when she does) and it’s less a vague interest in what the suspicious Sharran is doing more a specific interest in what the fuck is going on while Shadowheart and getting more and more confused the more she learns until she can finally get the girl to admit that she’s a Sharran.

And then when she does admit that she’s a Sharran, she just starts yellling about how shitty Selune is which is admittedly hilarious. I made the choice in the moment to basically never shit talk Shar or Sharrans to Shadowheart. Partially because that tends to end conversations early but mostly to counter how aggressive and clearly upset Shadowheart is every time she has to think of Selune.

At the point I’m at now, I just got her to admit to being Sharran and then she talked to me about wanting to be a DJ so we’re really just at the beginning of the Selunite vs Sharran tension between them and I don’t think my Selunite girly is gonna realize there’s like actual like attraction/romance until the first romance scene. Right now she’s just constantly going over to Shadowheart like “I wanna study her like a bug” because she wants to know how Sharrans think of Shar and Selune and how their religion actually works and whatnot. She is someone who was drawn to Selune so she wants to see what it takes for someone to be drawn to Shar and what that life looks like compared to hers.

And I mean she also has like an incurable disease where she has to help every shitty little kid she finds because of her upbringing as a shitty little kid with no one to help her, so it’ll probably trigger something in her once she gets the scene where Shadowheart shows her what happened to her as a kid. Also because of some things im thinking about with my Selunite’s own conversion involving that rite

Once the romance kicks off tho I imagine she’ll be thinking a whole lot of complicated things about what’s going on between them and she’s gonna be like clawing at her thigh resisting the urge (lol) to just be like “please leave Shar” but I also never wanna like specifically ask/tell her to deconvert from Shar/convert to Selune. It’s all gonna be a big fucking mess with Shadowheart never wanting to discuss their religious tensions because it’ll ruin the mood while that’s literally all my girl wants to talk about because thats what’s getting her into the mood

[afticxs]

TWILIGHT GEARS chapter eight

“okay,” michael begins, his approach is fast in contrast to the car that now has to obey–safe–city laws as it drives through rifle, colorado.

“so considering we don’t actually know each other that well, how about twen’ny one questions?” he asks, making a turn onto another street. you look at him quizzically, “twenty one questions?”

“you can’t be that clueless?” michael’s eyebrows furrow, “seriously?” you shrug, “i’ve never played it, remember i suffer from amnesia and chained to my house!”

you hold your wrists together in the air to imitate being shackled, “remember?”

he rolls his eyes, “okay, uh it’s just where you ask questions about the other.”

you nod, “i know, i was messing with you.” you look away, a hint of a smile on your face while michael scoffs, “look at that, we have a comedian on our hands.”

it goes quiet between you both as the two of you look at each other from the corner of your eyes. whatever song that was playing faded out and on cue, your stomach rumbled.

you gasp and hold your stomach while michael’s mouth twitches as he tries to hold back his laughter. you listen with embarrassment as michael’s throat crackles and bursts after numerous attempts to keep his giggles in.

wincing, you stare at him through your lashes until his laugh becomes contagious. you join in, a chorus of chortles overpowering the music in the vehicle.

“should’ve asked for something at the gas station,” michael scolds, jokingly as a few final giggles slip and he wipes a tear from his squinted eyes.

“ask me a question,” you demand, trying to get michael to forget about your hunger but your sickly sweet tone doesn’t have the harshness for it to really be a harsh commandment. michael hums in thought. his tongue clicks, “you have any pets?”

you shake your head and michael can see your hair move with your motions, “no, dad says they’re too expensive.”

“he’s not wrong,” michael murmurs, stretching his mouth as he reminisces all the times he’s needed to chip in on pet bills or food in general, “i have a cat, lovely girl but very codependent. when it suits her anyway.”

you chuckle, “i’ve always wanted a cat, i see them on the streets all the time back at home.”

“okay, okay my turn,” you suddenly burst, “what’s… what’s your favourite colour?”

michael taps his thumb on the wheel, “maybe orange or purple. they just happen to be nice, y’know? how about you, what’s yours?”

you hum, “maybe.. i like blue. my dad let me paint my bedroom ceiling and at first it was just baby blue, but then i saw a painting of cherubs for sale on an advert on tv and i decided i’d paint them on my ceiling too!”

“yeah? you must be quite the artist,” michael analyses you with a fond smile.

you shrug, “i have a lot of spare time on my hands. i did get carried away though, he came home to find all my furniture in the middle of my room while i painted the walls… so now i just have cherubs playing in clouds all around my room.”

“was he mad?” michael asks, the tiniest hint of concern in his voice. you shake your head, “no, he liked it but there wasn’t any paints left when i was done.”

“what’s school like?” your question catches michael off guard. what is school like? “well, it has its ups and downs, i guess.”

“it’s just diversity. different age groups, people look different, talk different. you make friends and enemies.”

but michael’s lying. he hasn’t gone to school since he was fourteen.

“really? how long have you been in school for?” you ask, fully intrigued in the life you don’t have. michael hums, “a while, i left school this year.”

if he stayed in school, he would’ve left this summer. but michael’s been homeschooled since 1984 because school became too much for him. how the tables have turned on him.

“but i was barely at school anyway, i preferred to work,” michael dashes a hint of truth into his statement because it looks like you have a good and easy perspective of life outside of your home and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“oh..” you look down in thought, “i don’t remember going to school, i sometimes think about what my friends think? if i even had friends before.”

michael makes a ‘psh’ sound, “school isn’t that interesting, nothing to fret over missing to be honest. it’s one massive cliche, mean girls, bad boys, nerds and jocks. really, you aren’t missing out.”

michael’s lie is slipping as he rants with passion about the reality of school because he’s experienced it, been on the recieving and giving end.

“my dad homeschooled me when he could,” you noted, “which was hardly ever, but he left me books to read on the kitchen table and then he’d come home late in the evening and ask me about them to see if i read them.”

“that’s effective if you think about it,” michael theorised, “if he didn’t do that, you wouldn’t have a single smart thought in that noggin of yours.”

michael reaches over and taps your forehead, pressing down and jutting his finger for a second before pulling it away and switching the gear on the gear stick.

“yeah, i guess so..” you agree. you look out the window, admiring the mountainous terrain surrounding the town you were currently riding through.

michael asks another question, but you don’t hear it. you’re too busy looking at the clouds that sit on the mountains like a hat. you giggle, spotting how they form to make different images, “that one looks like a fish.”

he stares at you as the car comes to a stop. you feel it, it breaks you out of your imagination, “why’d we stop?”

michael points to the store he stopped outside of, “i’m hungry, you coming in?”

you nod and wait for michael to leave the car first before you do yourself. your legs feel like jelly after sleeping and sitting in the car for nearly eight hours. michael seems unaffected but he notices your sluggishness.

he chuckles, “stiff?”

“yeah, i think i have pins and needles,” you frown and hobble your way over to michael, who waits for you on the pavement. he holds his arm out and you hook your inner elbow around his, “thanks.”

“no biggie,” michael smiles and walks you into the store. you’re met with cool air and the scent of an old carpet. the two of you look at the drinks in the fridges and you shiver, goosebumps run along your exposed arms, “it’s cold.”

“i noticed,” michael notes as he lifts his sunglasses and settles them in his hair. his eyes are blue, bright blue. the sun shines through the window to his left and it peaks at you through the irises of michael’s eyes. you don’t notice how michael reaches for a can of coke.

“pick a drink, i’ll go get snacks,” michael suggested, unlinking your arms and soon, you are left alone. you fiddle with your skirt as you look at all there was to offer. you know your legs are also affected by goosebumps under the thin fabric.

you make eye contact with the glass bottle of sprite and you reach for it. it freezes your palm but you continue to hold it. it’s refreshing, especially in this heat. finished with your task, you go down the aisle michael did to find him hauling a pile of junk food in his arms.

you chuckle as he struggles, “do you need help?” you ask stepping closer to michael as he grunts. he looks at you and smiles, “it would be much appreciated.”

you take three family packs of chips off the top of the pile and his can of coke, “good?”

michael nods, “good. thanks.”

you’ve noticed how well-mannered michael is. he breaks the typical teenage boy stereotype. you’ve watched grease enough times to know that he doesn’t fit the description.

michael has a certain way of words, he doesn’t know exactly what to say. you know because he has been insensitive sometimes, but you’re getting used to it because you know that he’s not rude on purpose. he’s charismatic, like his dad. when you first met michael, he was kind to you and offered services to a complete stranger which is why you’re both here now.

he welcomed you because he’d never seen you before, michael wanted you to feel comfortable because he noticed. he’s a pure soul. you admire and look up to him.

like a guide, or guardian angel–there’s really no difference with michael–he eased your readmission into a once familiar society, helped you every step of the way during such a stressful time. you don’t think you could be more thankful.

you follow him to the checkout counter and slide your portion alongside michael’s as he pulls out some cash from his back pocket. the man tells him the price and michael gives him a ten dollar bill, recieving one dollar and forty five scents in change.

a bag was offered to you two and you accept, stuffing the plastic with as much as you can but even michael has to hold larger items that didn’t fit. you both thank the man and pick up your halves. walking away, michael looks at you, “we should continue our game of twenty one questions.”

you nod and readjust your hold on the bag you have when you notice the handle digging into the base of your fingers. michael kicks the door open with his foot and the bell chimes to signal that people were leaving.

“okay, what’s your favourite food?” michael asks as he tightens his hold of the snacks in one arm to fish out his car keys from his jacket pocket. you hum, looking down and watching your steps as you walk across the car park.

“maybe the pizza at freddy’s,” you confess with a fond smile but when you finally look up at michael to ask him his favourite food, he has this grossed out look on his face that makes your own scrunch up.

“what?” you ask with a sad and confused frown. michael exaggerates and gags, “those greasy things?”

he points to his mouth and sticks his tongue out, gagging again, “yuck..”

you nudge him, “there’s nothing wrong with them..” you’re so confused. michael’s lip twitches, “the only people who enjoy those pizzas are people with burnt tongues.”

“my tongue isn’t burnt,” you tilt your head and, once again, is confused by his vague term of expression. you hear the car unlock and the back door closest to you open. you watch as michael puts his share inside and you do the same.

“i’m ninety-nine percent sure that the cheese is plastic,” michael dramatises. another trait that you’ve picked up on is that michael exaggerates things often when he really dislikes or really likes something.

“don’t be dramatic..” you round the car and get into your side. michael is already in the car by the time you even get there. he twists the key and the engine starts, “what’s your favourite then?”

michael smiles, puffing his chest out, “my ma’s lasagne!” he’s awfully proud of the statement and you’re happy for him.

“i don’t have a ma,” you point out, your comment unnecessary and nonchalant. michael coughs, “oh..”

“we should probably work on your awkward.. er, comments,” michael suggests and your brows twist, “i don’t think i’m awkward.”

“you are seriously awkward,” michael mirrors your expression and you apologise. you don’t view the silence as uncomfortable but michael does and he clears his throat. you’re thinking of how to rekindle the conversation.

“uh.. oh! lasagne’s nice,” you comment and he agrees, “glad you have some taste to you.”

his smile appears again and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. he approves of your opinion and it matters a lot to you.

“what’s your favourite song?” you ask, hoping to start another round. michael doesn’t take time to think, instantly answering with, “let’s dance by david bowie.”

your lips thin, “david.. bowie?”

“please don’t tell me you don’t like bowie…” michael pleaded and you held your hand out, “wait, wait, wait. it’s not that i don’t like david bowie, it’s my dad that doesn’t.”

“i’m not allowed to listen to him so i don’t know if i like david bowie or not.”

you were so.. casual about this. michael was seriously passionate about things he strongly liked, loved. he loved david bowie. it really would not be dramatic to say he was appalled.

michael’s jaw dropped, “if i had known about that, this trip would’ve had a slim chance of happening..” then he realises what he said and takes a good look at you to monitor your expression, “joking, of course.”

his chest sinks with a deep exhale when you chuckle, “i get it, don’t worry.”

“good,” michael says, reaching for the stack of cds and goes through them until he finds one. while he takes it out of the case and slips it in, he speaks, “since you have never listened to bowie, i can introduce you to him.”

michael drives out of the car park, singing to the intro. his right hand bangs the steering wheel on beat while the left steers out onto the street.

you’re sat stiffly in your half of the car, listening to the song that michael treated as karaoke. it wasn’t bad, honestly. it wasn’t like what you usually preferred, but you really didn’t get why your dad hated bowie so much.

your head tilts from side to side with the beat as you finally feel the rhythm. michael’s a good singer, you realise. this song doesn’t require fancy vocals or anything big, but he’s quite in tune and blends in well.

you can hardly tell the difference.

turning your head, you see michael dancing in his seat and singing. he’s passionate. his hips sway not stiffly but more rigid in a way it looks good. his chest moves to the opposite side of his waist and his arms jerk above the wheel.

you smile, “this song is good!”

instead of responding, michael turns to you and squeezes your cheeks together. your lips jut out, all pouty and plump while michael leans in. not close, but not far either.

he sings at you, eyes squinted nearly shut, “if you say run, i'll run with you..” he takes a breath, “and if you say hide, we'll hide!”

michael sings the adlibs. you feel your cheeks warm up, possibly heating michael’s hand but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything, “because my love for you would break my heart in two.”

he pulls away, pushing your face away gently. michael mindlessly soothes the thumb mark he spots on your cheek, looking away but his hand remained.

“if you should fall, into my arms and tremble like a flower!” when bowie sings ‘flower,’ michael takes his hand away and lifts his arm like freddy mercury did at the live aid concert in ‘85.

you remember watching it on tv.

you still feel the phantom ghost of michael’s strong yet soft grip on your face and it’s all you think about for a while. you’re feeling something unfamiliar, but you’re not against it. it’s warm and fuzzy and your heart pumps twice every second.

by the time the full cd finishes, you and michael arrive at your motel in arrowhead. michael checks you both in with a room with two single beds on the second floor.

“you can shower first, i can put together a meal with what we have..” michael offers, looking at the disastrous bag of snacks that he placed on the small table in the corner.

you thank michael, dropping your bag onto the bed as an act of claiming. you silently move into the bathroom, examining its condition. you expected it to be sort of gross but the walls were spotless and the towels were soft; new.

the sink was built into a counter and the mirror had a light above it. you smiled at your reflection. your hair was messy from the wind coming through the window at such high speed. you’ve looked like this all day.

it’s different from your usual ‘put-together’ self, and you like it.

you twist the knob, waiting for hot water to filter through the cold. while you do that, you take your clothes off. you don’t shiver, it’s hot enough to walk around like this.

when you step in, it’s bliss. you find that mixing hot with hot neutralises your body temperature. you sigh, feeling droplets of water soaked up by your hair drip down your temples. it’s comforting, a reminder of home.

you don’t stay in there long, however, you just relax, wash, rinse and get out.

you pick up the grey towel, swiping it up and down your limbs until they’re dry. you step into the room, your towel wrapped tightly around you, “bathroom’s free.”

michael turns around in his spot on the armchair, eyeing your form in the open doorway. his arms fall off the back of the chair as you head soundlessly to. the bed closest to the door, digging through your bag that was left on your bed.

he finally gets up, pausing the movie he was watching. michael breezes past you without a word, the bathroom door shutting behind him.

considering the weather, you pull out one of your shorter nightgowns and slip it on. you dig for a flimsy pair of shorts to accompany it, just in case.

you find a book so by the time michael is out of the shower, you’re through the first chapter. when he comes out, you don’t look up but you see his figure whisk past the bed and back into the bathroom.

only when he comes back out the second time do you look away from your book. you laugh, tossing your head back and michael has an offended expression. he knows you’re laughing at him.

“what?” his arms are crossed and you can’t help but giggle more. he’s so serious but he looks so silly. michael, in all his glory, is stood infront of you in a red robe and a blue pyjama set.

“it’s too hot for the robe,” you state with a smile, looking at his brown slippers. this is something your dad would wear.

michael shrugs, “utah is way hotter than colorado, it’s cold.”

“really? i’m boiling..” you told him but he sat down, shrugging as he says, “that’s too bad, i’m freezing!” and ending the conversation. you went back to your book, starting chapter two.

after a while, maybe an hour, you check the clock on the wall. nearly eight o’clock.. you turn to michael, he’s draped over the armchair, feet propped up on the sides and he snacks on a large pack of chips.

he’s watching something. its interesting but you don’t know the name, so you go over.

“what are you watching?”

michael is visibly startled, shuffling up the small chair.

“oh, erm,” he stops to think, staring absentmindedly at the tv, “ricco.. uh, the mean machine.”

“can i watch it with you?” you ask, already sitting down on the floor infront of the chair. you see the remaining snacks piling out of the bag and reach for them.

“i don’t see why not,” michael allows you to watch with him and it’s quiet apart from the tv and the rustling of wrappers. he can’t help but notice how you shuffle every now and then and he soon realises that you’re trying to get comfortable.

“hey, do you wanna swap spots?” he’s in a thoughtful, generous mood right now and he enjoys the look in your tired eyes. they light up as if to say how did you know? and you nod. after standing up, you watch michael swing his legs onto the floor and soon he’s towering over you.

“thank you,” you grace as you settle down into the arm chair, curling in on yourself against the arm. michael smiles at you, replacing you on the floor, “it’s no problem.”

once again, it’s silent between you two until the end of the movie. michael expects to hear something from you, however he finally notices your tiny snores once the tape finishes. he chuckles fondly, finding it amusing how your arms are holding onto your bent knees but your head is tilted to the side.

michael walks past, pulling the duvet from his bed off and heading back over. draping the heavy fabric over you, michael doesn’t miss the hum you let out and how you nuzzle into the warmth you’re brought. he lets himself stare for just a second longer before he digs through the stack of leftover tapes for a final movie prior to when he’ll go to bed.

[paodocinh]

Can you draw more plus-sized Summer Rose? Do you have other body diversity headcanons in RWBY, such as Qrow with a beer belly?

Hellooo lovely anon!

god, when i saw this ask i went absolutely ballistic. No words can explain just how much I adore my hcs of Summer Rose, she's my favorite RWBY character because the little details i added to her character as hcs just kind of made it for me, even if she has next to no screentime in the main series.

Personally, in my aus, i have tweaked and changed a LOT of the main cast so it'd have more representation. I couldn't draw all of them sadly, but here goes the little list:

Body diversity HCS ->

1. Blake Belladona is poc! This is the more obvious one but I decided to make her a dark-skinned woman as a general hcs in everything I do. You could also go further and say that her hair texture is different, and that she just straightens it.

2. Yang Xiao Long has a muscular build! (No shit sherlock) but yeah, she's buff! Give the girl her muscles! I also made her anatomy a little bit less off and she probably has a little belly too, because I can't really accept that she's so thin while her breasts are completely disproportionate to her body. She's also tanned!

3. This isn't exactly my HCS, because I haven't specifically added them to any AU, but I really like @peixedobar's take that Weiss Schnee has albinism.

4. Ruby Rose is also a bit stronger physically! She isn't as buff as Yang or Raven, because these two are absolute units, but she also isn't as thin as she is in cannon.

This is also more prominent for my Zombie!AU because Ruby lends Crescent Rose to Oscar for a good part of the plot, and after that she just... fucking punches everyone to oblivion. (I know it's a bit OOC but in-universe it makes sense)

5. Lie Ren is blasian! I don't really know where I got this from, but while thinking to myself about what I could do to make my Zombie Au more inclusive, the thought just crossed my mind. His hair is also textured, he has braids.

6. Raven Branwen is fucking jacked. Seriously she's probably the most well-built character I can think of in my AUs. She isn't like a massive war tank(or similar to League of Legends Illaoi for example) but she is very in-shape and has very well-defined muscles along with a body adorned by scars. Aside from that, she's also part asian, part... Brazillian? More elaboration on that on Qrow's part lmfao.

7. Qrow Brawen with a fucking beer belly LETS GOOOOOOOO!!

Anon, when you suggested that, i went insane. It had never crossed my mind, because I often drew Qrow with a very muscular build, mostly out of anatomy studies — But gosh, I adored this hc in so many ways i'll probably add it EVERYWHERE. QROW WITH A BEER BELLY SHALL BE MY MARK ON THIS PLANET.

Aside from that, I also made his face more detailed. Usually it was difficult for me to draw him because he lacked a lot of facial details that often make irl people more unique, and I believe that's due to RWBY's artstyle. On mines, however, he has beauty marks below his right eyebrow and one above the right side of his lips. Scars all over, too.

He has a Japanese descent(Assuming that The Branwen Tribe is from Anima + Raven's choice of wear cannonically) and asiatic features on his eyes, but him and Raven also have heavy latin-american characteristics. They're Brazillian in my aus, mostly out of a inside joke(I too am Brazillian) and the fact that Qrow gives me a lot of latino vibes(Contrary to popular fandom belief, his hips do not lie !!!!), but after a while I started noticing that It actually wouldn't be too far-fetched to believe this, because if you look back at the history and relationship between Brazil and Japan, you'd find that these two countries actually have a LOT of story together!

Brazil homes a bunch of different cultures and ethnicities in it's lands, it's a country with a lot of diversity so in my opinion it wouldn't be too otherworldly to make The Branwen Twins brazillian in my aus :p

That's it for body hcs! I'll probably have more in the near future, but for now these are the ones I can remember.

Other diversity Hcs ->

1. Autistic Penny, Ruby, Summer Rose(this wasn't on purpose, it just happened as I was writting her LMFAO), Neopolitan

2. Transfem Nora, He/They Lie Ren

3. ADHD Jaune, Qrow Branwen

4. This is specific to a AU I have, it isn't present in my other works, but in La Vie En Rose(Royal Au) Neopolitan eventually has a leg injury during a major plotpoint that leaves her disabled, so her Parasol is also used as a cane of sorts since she can't be as agile and flexible anymore. She's still slaying though, always.

5. Summer Rose is blind of one eye!

I'm quite sure I forgot a few, and with time I'll update you on everything, but for now these are the ones! Thanks for asking, Anon!

And just as you asked for~ A lovely Summer Rose on a Beach day for ya!

[chlorinecake]

so, after a couple of hours (days) contemplating this, Darling you gotta share ur writing story with me. (if someone's asked this alrdy my apologies, feed me anything and I'll be grateful). But I'm just so downright curious🙂. i like hearing people's writing journeys and like, I need to know how u found urself here today in terms of your writing because I think about it more often than I should 🤣

─ hayzie

🤍 Hi, Hayzie !! I don’t know why it always gets me so excited whenever I hear from you on here, but anyways, this is such a great question, and I’m flattered by your curiosity :( Here goes my long as frick answer for ya, lovey ~

GROWING UP ⊹ I was homeschooled, and hanging around the house all day led to me picking up a lot of random hobbies, one of which being freelance creative writing. I wrote so many original songs, short stories, and even poems during that time, and I'd say this sort of upbringing is what helped foster the strong love for literature and art I hold in my heart today ⊹

DISCOVERING TUMBLR ⊹ So this is where the story gets interesting. Imagine a 17 year old me introducing my former Kpop-fan sister turned anti to the wonderful era of 4th gen Kpop. She fell in love with the culture all over again, which led to us doing this thing where we would role-play as certain Kpop idols through texts and gifs 🥴...

• So one night as I was looking for a Heeseung gif to send her, I stumbled upon one that looked really high quality, and it so happened to be posted by this page on Tumblr. Though st the time, I had never heard about that app/website before. When I clicked the gif, it took me to this link , and all I remember seeing was a bunch of ~freaky deaky~ warnings, but I scrolled past them (out of curiosity) before actually reading the words, and that’s when I realized "Oh, this is a story about Heeseung that a fan wrote…"

• To this day, I never forgot that story, but like, back then, I didn't even know what "smut" meant 😭 so when the story started describing a sexual scene between Heeseung and the MC, I was honestly a bit uncomfortable to the point that I couldn't even bring myself to finish reading it, yet at the same time, I was so intrigued.

• I ended up telling my sister about Tumblr (after she begged to know where I kept finding those high quality gifs), before she eventually fall into a DEEP hole of K-pop fanfic, which later compelled me to read more fics myself. Our favorite blog back then was @kpophubb, because of how diverse and well written her content was, but I also discovered other blogs like @starrywonie and @hee-pster who really inspired me to wanna start a blog for myself where I'd upload all of my original work, but I was still nervous about it... that is, until my sister told me about her blog, four months after she had already created it that sneaky bitch ⊹

INTRODUCING CHLORINECAKE ⊹ The very next day after my sister told me about her secret blog, I had this surge of motivation to start my own page! Using a short story I found buried in one of my forgotten writing apps, I edited it over night, and got my pictures and title together. I'll admit that I was very nervous at first, as I didn't know what to expect from the people who’d read it, especially considering how it was my first ever original written work to be put online. Fortunately though, I instantly fell in love with the engagement, the environment of Tumblr, and the new people I was meeting along the way... and yeah, that's pretty much how I got here today ⊹