#but this *entire* scene is so moving and so Well performed and Well spoken i

[5ftboy]

"We never said that we think you should've been with grandpa." "You won't even tell us what happened to him."

[edgeray]

*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role 

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold. 

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.  

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind. 

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character. 

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen. 

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her. 

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons. 

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to. 

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.) 

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not. 

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity? 

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role. 

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control. 

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted. 

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them. 

[jbaileyfansite]

The finale of Fellow Travelersis now streaming, ahead of its Sunday night airing on Showtime—a conclusion to one of the year’s best series that is gorgeous, devastating, and cathartic in equal measure.

The story of a tortured-yet-beautiful romance between two men over decades, the show waltzed through those emotions throughout the entire season, as Matt Bomer’s Hawk and Jonathan Bailey’s Tim weather the historical circumstances that prevented their deserved happily ever after. Bomer’s nuanced performance as an infatuated, conflicted man is the best work of his career, and, in the emotion-packed finale, Bailey is a revelation. Across multiple timelines, he showcases how intertwined grit, defiance, and joy in spite of darkness are for gay men determined to make their lives mean something in a world that actively works to strip them of dignity.

The series spans Hawk and Tim’s meet-cute during the Lavender Scare and McCarthyism-led panic of the 1950s through the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. The final scene, set at the unveiling of the AIDS Memorial Quilt at the National Mall in D.C. that might as well have been an anvil plummeting straight onto my heart, it shattered me so much.

There are two images in the final episode that have seared into my brain since I first watched, tableaus charting the arc of a doomed, yet life-changing relationship. First is Hawk and Tim slow dancing naked in the privacy of a secret apartment and, later, Tim’s head nestled on Hawk’s chest as they take a post-coital nap—moments of bliss stolen in a society that won’t allow them that pleasure. Then there’s a mirror of that position decades later, when Hawk climbs into Tim’s hospital bed to cradle him, as Tim struggles through a rough night during his last days battling AIDS.

The power of those moments is amplified by Bailey’s performance. In the earlier timeline, his wide, giddy eyes betray a man fully aware of his good fortune to be so madly in love, cognizant of how precarious and fleeting the feeling could be and determined to live in the splendor of it. Later, as he faces death, his resignation to fate is not one of defeat, but a catalyst for clarity.

So much of his life was impacted—some might say ruined—by his inability to move on from his connection to Hawk. But in a sensational monologue delivered after Hawk questions how much pain he’s caused Tim, Tim corrects the narrative: “I spent most of my life waiting for God to love me. And then I realized the only thing that matters is that I loved God. It’s the same with you. I’ve never loved anyone but you. You were my great, consuming love. Most people don’t get one of those. I do. I have no regrets.”

Bailey’s performance of this monologue stunned me. It is spoken with such certainty, an outpouring of a lifetime of emotion funneled into a searing, pointed declaration. He’s speaking to not only a complicated romance with his lover, but also on behalf of generations of gay men whose great loves were colored and, it often seemed, marred by the misfortune of the times in which they were kindled. That’s the revelation that Tim, through Bailey’s delivery, speaks to: There’s no misfortune when it comes to love; we may now be aware of the hideousness with which society treated (and still treats) the gay community, but how dare we assume that the love found was any kind of misfortune.

I’ll be thinking about this episode, that monologue, and Bailey’s performance for a long time. Do yourself a favor and watch it.

Source

[soft-girl-musings]

Comedy of Errors (MK Spring Bingo #3)

Steven Grant x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: theater kid slander (affectionate), amateur references to Shakespeare, steven and reader teach high school, no use of y/n

wc: 1,341

fic summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. And neither does the play you watch unfold.

A/N: as a recovering theater kid, this was a fun one. enjoy!

_____________________

It's poor etiquette to laugh. Right?

How you ended up sitting in a high school theater on a Sunday afternoon, you have no idea. Well, that's not true: you never can say no to your favorite students. When they begged you to come to their closing matinee, you had no choice but to cough up the ticket money (with no faculty discount, to add insult to inconvenience).

So here you are, seated in the darkened auditorium, watching what could only be described as chaos unfold on your school's professional-grade thrust stage.

In the lobby you'd heard whispers of how last night's cast party had gotten a bit too rowdy, rendering a few upperclassmen unable to attend their final performance. It didn’t matter what circle you ran in at their age: you’d learned years ago that a “mysterious illness” following any high school party probably isn’t the flu.

Thankfully there were enough students to fill in the missing principal roles, but with only the morning to prepare, it’s a wonder they've gotten through each scene. Draped in ill-fitting costumes with scripts in hand, the students have tried their best to piece together one last staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. All you know about this play is that it’s a comedy, but you don’t think you’re supposed to laugh at every blunder and mishap.

(It’s very hard not to.)

Across the house you see Mr. Grant, one of the younger teachers on campus, whose face mirrors how you feel. He’s probably trying for a look of statuesque stoicism, but all he's managed to pull off is mild bewilderment.

You haven’t spoken to your coworker much– mainly because there’s rarely a moment where he’s without another colleague talking his ear off or hanging on every word of his (admittedly delicious) accent. He’s a newer hire, having come from London to teach a few history courses but was moved to the literature department the moment your principal saw the top of his resume. The modern education system, ladies and gentlemen.

The man is dressed to impress: black turtleneck under a sharp tweed ensemble, his usually wild curls tamed a bit as they grace his forehead, he certainly looks the part of a private school instructor. But there’s no denying the entirely unserious look on his face: he is one blunder away from losing his cool.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until his bright brown eyes connect with yours. In an instant you understand why so many students doodle his name in the margins of their notebooks: his exasperated stare has you instantly weak.

–which is poor timing, given the scene unfolding onstage between you. An unrehearsed kiss goes wrong, and the two of you slap your hands over your mouths to subdue your laughter.

The rest of Act I goes the same way. You try to follow along, but every so often your eyes drift to Mr. Grant white-knuckling his way through the rough performance. When your eyes connect again (and again, and again) you both struggle to contain your laughter. Knowing that tears are likely stinging your colleague's eyes the same as yours makes you feel like less of an ass.

The curtain closes for intermission and you rest your head in your hands. How is this only half over?

“Bit of a rough watch, yeah?”

Your head snaps up– those brilliant brown eyes widen at your expression, now only one row of seats between the two of you.

“Mr. Grant–”

“Steven,” he says quickly, offering his hand. You take it and smile.

“Steven,” you begin again, giving your name in return. “I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t some of these kids–”

“–in my Shakespearean Studies course? Quite a few, really.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ve focused more on the historical tragedies. Don’t think a textbook can teach comedic timing.”

“Oh, I've laughed plenty.” You fidget with your program and look back to the stage. “At least they’re trying their best, I’m sure part of you is proud.”

Steven’s smile grows as he shakes his head. “I’ll be honest, it’s nice to know they’ve looked at the material for once.” He leans in. “Last week I asked them where the phrase ‘double, double, toil and trouble’ came from, and someone said Harry Potter.”

You laugh out loud for the first time all evening. It feels nice to not hide it. You miss how Steven takes in the sight of you, as well as his loss for words when you calm down.

“I have a confession to make,” you say hoarsely, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “I have no idea what’s supposed to be happening. I’m lost as hell.”

“Maybe I could–” he trips over his words and his feet as he clambers around the seats to sit next to you. “Maybe I could help you out. Bit of an expert, myself. What they pay me for, and all–”

“Sure,” you stop him with a smile. “I’d like that.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and settles in. Pulling out a pair of reading glasses, he opens his program.

“Right. So, A Midsummer Night’s Dream…”

The rest of your intermission is spent receiving a crash-course in William Shakespeare. You’re amazed at how he spouts the most minute details about recurring symbolism, character motivations, and even the historical context of the play up until the lights dim and the show resumes. You squeeze his forearm to silently suggest taking a break, and he chokes down whatever factoid was about to tumble out next.

Maybe it’s because the students have found their footing. Maybe your mini-lecture has filled in the gaps so you can better follow along. Or maybe it’s the sight of Mr. Grant– Steven– sitting beside you, rapt attention on the stage as his readers slide down his nose each time he laughs and leans in to explain the joke, drawing closer and wafting his subtle cologne your way between still-too-loud whispers. Whatever the reason, you’re enjoying the second half of this show much more than the first.

The play draws to a close with a happy ending. One of the fae characters comes downstage to address the audience as the rest of the cast departs.

“If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear…”

“Star pupil, that one,” Steven whispers once more. “Deserves every bit of the spotlight.”

You squeeze his arm again, this time not moving your hand or looking his way. You both take in the last words of the performance in dazed silence.

“...Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.”

With that, the fairy bows and the stage fades to black.

The audience erupts into applause as the cast returns onstage. You and Steven cheer and swap last-minute quips about the performance as the standing ovation thunders around you.

You exit the auditorium together and are immediately swarmed by a handful of students– some yours, some his– who eagerly await your feedback. You each congratulate the cast, getting them to sign your programs to commemorate the day.

Finally you’re able to break away and step into the brisk evening air.

“Well that was… something,” you laugh.

Steven grins as he fastens his coat. “‘Least they’ll be tuckered out in first period, yeah? Might get a bit of peace tomorrow morning.” He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Sorry, don’t want you to leave that behind. Could be worth something someday.”

You take your folded program back from him. “Oh, I'm sure.”

With an awkward wave, Steven steps back. “Right. Well, see you around.”

“See you, Steven.”

You turn to head toward your car. As you walk, you unfold your program to see a new signature on the back page, followed by a phone number.

Let me know if you need any more Shakespeare translated. I’m fond of the love poems, myself ;)

_____________________

A/N: mk bingo has been a blast, i'm grateful for the chance to put these guys in Situations. that's one for each of em now. we'll see who gets attention next...

also, some inspiration was taken from this post (rip)

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[thegreatwizardelwin]

The Sea Hare: Scene 1 

A Freminet x Gn! Reader

Reader is a theater kid, vision holder, and upcoming librettist. They have been close friends with Freminet for some time now, but as it would happen, the symphony of their hearts has begun to swell. Crescendo!

You paced around your studio, acting out a scene for an upcoming show that was being written. As the librettist, you were in charge of writing the spoken dialogue. 

“Constantine, you poison me with your words of calumny! The more I am beside you, the more I hate the people of the world.” you exclaimed in character. “No, that’s no good.” you tapped your foot for a moment before returning to the typewriter and settling on a different line.

In the midst of your work, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter!” you called from the desk.

Through the door came Freminet, one of your good friends, escorted by the receptionist for the building.

“Oh, it’s you! Evening, Fremi!”

He looked around the studio, taking in everything. A moving staircase with small spotlights. A barren stage below it and other equipment to the side; microphone stands, low quality props, and a piano covered by a sheet.

“Good evening. So, this is the new studio you mentioned?” he questioned.

“Mhm, this is where I work, for now. It’s a lovely little arrangement, nice and quiet and next to the lyricist I work with frequently.” you explained, rising.

Freminet wandered over to you. His gaze was curious, wanting to know more about your work. The two of you stood, simply staring at each other. You pursed your lips, awkwardly looking away. 

“Would you like to see the manuscript so far?” you walked to the desk, seating yourself. He followed.

“Sure!” he said, placing his hands on the back of your chair and leaning forward.

You handed back a couple papers you had already typed up. Some had pen scribblings on them where you had made typing errors.

He looked over them with interest for a little while, having ransacked another chair and made himself cozy.

“How does one write dialogue so well? Do you just sit here and think about it?” he asked, handing the papers back to you.

You chuckled and took the papers. Then, you began to traipse your way across the room to the stage.

“Yes, but I also do some experimenting. I can act out what I write to make sure it feels natural, and to visualize how the real performers might take it.” you explained. 

You cleared your throat and began reading from the page in your hand. “Oh, Mr. Letterman, you are too late! That train has already left.” you spoke expressively, acting as a train conductor. You then pivoted and took on a new role: “For Archon’s sake! …Perhaps it is for the best that I never see her again.” you dramatically turned away from the now invisible conductor.

Freminet cocked his head, amused by your little performance.

“You have such charisma, why not try acting yourself?” he asked.

You paused, arms falling to your side, the paper making a crinkling sound.

“My stage fright is terrible.” you admitted. “I can handle one or two people, but entire crowds… I lose my voice and just stare off into space. But I still love theater, so I decided to be behind the scenes instead.”

Freminet looked down at the paper in the typewriter.

“You write good.” he commented quietly.

You smiled at him, using your vision to swiftly appear by his side. He shifted a bit, surprised by your closeness.

“And what about you, dear Freminet? Can you act?” you grabbed his shoulders and gently escorted him to the stage as well.

He made a sound of discomfort being moved, looking around at the stage.

“No.” he said flatly. “I’m too… calm… for it all.”

You laughed a bit. 

“There are plenty of calmer parts in shows!” you reminded him.

“I know but you have to be so exaggerated so that the audience can get it!”

“Not necessarily-”

“I’m too shy.” he stated with finality. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to be myself around others half the time. How could I be someone else?”

You backed off, sensing he was serious. You took his arms and spun him in a slow circle.

“Individuality is easy to know but hard to express, hmm?” you said, walking over to the steps of the mobile stairway.

He sighed softly, looking down at his boots.

“You’re right. But you seem to express yourself just fine!” he turned to you.

You gave him a little laugh.

“I’m not as open as you think. There are bits and pieces I guard too, you know. And, it’s ok to be quiet and not be conversational, that’s part of who you are.” you ran your hand up the railing.

“I’ve been this way since I was a little kid, though, I feel like I should be growing more open as I get older.” he put his hands on his hips, looking up at you.

You leaned on the railing.

“You wait, little boy, on an empty stage for fate to turn the light on.”

You flicked the small spotlight on, illuminating Freminet and the stage. He jumped, covering his eyes with his hands. 

“Your life, little boy, is an empty page that people want to write on.”

He gave you a dry glance.

“Stop quoting old musicals.”

“Timid and shy and scared are you of things beyond your ken~”

You giggled, flicking the light back off.

He pouted slightly.

“You’re not listening to me.” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

You descended the stairs.

“I hear you loud and clear, but I just like seeing you get all annoyed with me.” you patted his head, passing by him on the way back to your desk.

He blushed a little, accentuating his freckles. 

“Rude.” he huffed, yet trailed behind you like a duckling. “When are you going home?”

“In an hour or so. Do you want to wait and walk with me?” you perked up.

He nodded in confirmation. 

“I’d like that.”

+

You strolled down the streets of Fontaine, Freminet at your side. It was a humid twilight, having rained an hour or so ago. The lights of the city were just beginning to stand out, glistening in the puddles.

You were both rather quiet on the walk. Freminet was always quiet, of course, but for some reason he was distracted tonight. 

Arriving at your boarding house, you faced each other. He looked at you expectantly. You wrapped your arms around him, inhaling his fresh scent. He was quick to squeeze you, resting his cheek on your shoulder. 

Of course you had to make all the first moves, no matter how much he wanted it. It was part of his nature.

He’s so touch starved, you thought to yourself, feeling a little flustered at how much he clung to you. His gloved hands pressed against your back, keeping you close. 

You gingerly broke away. His eyes were glued to the ground, a soft pink dusting his face. He had the sweetest smile.

“Night, Y/N.” he spoke, waving shortly and continuing on his way.

“Night, Fremi.” you responded; a little lost, watching him walk away.

You opened the door to the boarding house, moved inside, shut the door, and took a deep breath. 

Whoa.

You sank to the floor, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. 

Your landlady looked up from her book and coffee.

“Oh? Y/N, what’s the matter?” she asked, a little concerned.

“Not sure.” you muttered absentmindedly, drawing your knees up to your body and staring at nothing in particular. Your heart was racing.

Freminet is the matter.

She set her things down, approaching you.

“You’ve practically collapsed, are you feeling sick or tired?”

“Ms. Maddie…  I can hardly breathe!” you said wistfully, your tone conveying exactly what you were feeling.

It clicked for her. Being an old lady, she knew quite a few things about youngins.

“Were you with someone you like?” she suggested.

“Well, it was a close friend. But I…” your mouth hung open, picturing Freminet’s docile blue eyes, “I don’t like him… like that.” 

That was more of a question now than a statement. 

It was ridiculous really. You were always affectionate with him, it was bound to grow genuine at some point.

Ms. Maddie chuckled as old ladies do when they find something amusing.

“He takes your breath away it would seem.” she noted.

“I’m being silly.” you closed your eyes, leaning back against the door. “But then again he really is so…” you hid your face. “Why is this happening!”

“I think, Y/N, you are developing a crush on this friend.” she stated obviously. 

“I guess,” you conceded, “but, that complicates everything. Now that I’ve admitted it, it will be harder to ignore it.”

“Hmmm… then maybe you shouldn’t do that. You never know, it could be mutual.”

You spaced out even more at the notion that Freminet might feel love for you.

Ms. Maddie walked you to your room.

“Now, if you need anything else you come knocking, alright?”

“Thank you, Ms. Maddie.” 

You locked the door for the night and prepared for bed.

Nice, cozy pillows and blankets awaited you. A thought slipped into your mind about being able to sleep beside Freminet one day. To see him tired and peaceful and resting rather than the diffident little sand crab he was normally.

I’m losing my MIND. you lightly smacked your cheeks. But maybe she’s right. I’m not one to throw away my shot!

You rolled over, pulling the covers up over your shoulders, dead set on finding some way to express these emotions.

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

sooo what do we think about theater kid mc? I just wanted to do something different i drew mimi on my computer but its too silly to use for the cover art

doodlebob freminet

Part 2:

[billpottsismygf]

Okay, rewatch complete and my feelings are just so *mixed*. When I was halfway through, I wrote this whole thing about the weak plot and bad pacing, but having watched episodes 4-6 in one sitting today, I’m now feeling much better about it. In fact, the emotions of the last scene were even more hard hitting this time, and I no longer have as much of a character issue with Aziraphale’s decision as I did my first time through.

To get my bad thoughts, all written yesterday, out of the way:

The plot is so weak and the pacing is all over the place. What is series 2 about? Crowley and Aziraphale take in an angel who has lost his memory, they successfully hide him for a few episodes while trying to set up two shopkeepers, then we find out what was going on. The End. Series 1 works because we get all this amazing character stuff for Aziraphale and Crowley on top of an engaging romp about the end of the world, with a huge cast of characters and lots of moving parts that all come together at the end for a satisfying finale.

I found episode 3 a particular slog, which is a shame because I do actually like the Georgian setting of the flashbacks, but it gets very flimsy very quickly. I just don't believe Elspeth's sudden desire to kill herself (with an apparent sudden change of heart re: bodysnatching, since she says she doesn't want anyone digging her up), then another sudden turnaround once she's been given the money. I liked the general message they were going for wrt poverty and Aziraphale's ignorance of how the world really works, but it just doesn't quite work for me.

I also don’t buy into Nina and Maggie at all. If it was established that they knew each other a little already, then it might work, but Maggie’s deep investment in Nina liking her just reads as either overbearing or unbelievable. They’ve clearly never spoken about anything other than coffee before, and Maggie has a crush fair enough, but after one somewhat awkward evening locked in a shop, she’s crying and declaring herself in love. I like both of the actresses, but I’m not sure they completely sold it either. (I feel bad pointing out particular instances, but when Maggie’s “crying” when Aziraphale goes to ask about the song, she doesn’t even believably read as upset, let alone crying.)

There's also just the, fanfic-ness of it all, especially with Gabriel and Beelzebub. I've always seen that pairing as a bit of a crack one, though I'm glad there are people who enjoy it, and for it to become canon like that... Maybe if they were still bitches at the end? But the mushy lovey dovey 'wherever [they are] is my heaven/hell' stuff just doesn't read as in character for either of them. It's like they switch into totally different characters at the relationship reveal (though on the rewatch, I did appreciate knowing why Beelzebub was so keen on finding Gabriel).

Really the main things this series has going for it is, firstly, that it is often pretty funny, and, secondly, the chemistry between David Tennant and Michael Sheen, on top of their individually brilliant performances. I am deeply invested in their relationship at this point, as well as the wider implications for Heaven and Hell, but if I weren’t I don’t know that I would be all that excited for series 3. 

I do think series 3 will be better, as this was always described as the series that got us to where series 3 needed to start from, but this is so obviously a filler that it’s hard to see why it was made in the first place. I imagine we needed that break up scene at the end to lead into the final series, but I wonder if that couldn’t have been achieved with a special, or honestly if we couldn’t have just found out what happened through flashbacks within series 3 itself.

Now, onto the good, written today:

The second half of the series is actually much more enjoyable. I adore the entire conceit of having a Regency ball, and it works so well alongside the gathering menace of the swarming demons. I also love the entirety of the 1941 flashback, even if it doesn’t have much to do with the main plot - sidenote, but the thing of calling the flashbacks ‘minisodes’ is very odd given that they often take up the vast majority of their respective episodes.

Now that I was expecting the Gabriel and Beelzebub stuff, it wasn't quite as jarring as the first time. I stand by what I said above about the out of character-ness, though.

The Nina and Maggie of episodes 4-6 are also much more believable, because they're actually talking. They're taking part in the main plot, too, and they get to have agency at the end and tell Crowley off for trying to manipulate their love lives.

As said above, this time the entire final scene between Aziraphale and Crowley packed an even bigger punch. I loved it the first time round, though of course I found it devastating, but this time knowing where it was leading, it hit me all the more. It’s a real showcase of both Michael Sheen and David Tennant’s acting chops, as well as the complex relationship between their characters.

Derek Jacobi, master that he is, is of course completely fantastic as the Metatron. I wonder if he’ll have a bigger role in series 3 (if we get it). I really hope so; I’m always delighted to see more of him. Muriel is so adorable as well, and I find the rivalry between Uriel and Michael so enjoyable.

This series is such a mixed bag and I just cannot settle on a consistent opinion. I think perhaps it would have fared better with either a more complex plot, or fewer episodes. I’ll probably do another rewatch soon, but on a much slower episode-by-episode basis.

[alexhwriting]

Ludonarrative Harmony and Engaged Narrative Drive: The Success of Unpacking and Inside.

VII. Conclusion

Having spoken about two games that achieve ludonarrative harmony through environmental storytelling and engaging the narrative drive of the player, I will now discuss an example of a game that does not provide this experience, Goodbye Volcano High (KO_OP, 2023).  This game blends the two genres of visual novel and rhythm action to tell a story of a musician in high school, except that they are an anthropomorphic dinosaur named Fang.[1] The entire game takes place over the course of a week, during which rumors spread that there is a meteorite coming to kill all the dinosaurs on earth (mimicking the actual meteor that killed the dinosaurs). It is worth talking about for two reasons: it fails to use its environment to its full effect and thus fails at achieving ludonarrative harmony.

In Goodbye Volcano High, the high school setting is never fully utilized. While there are back and forth conversations with individual characters and one scene where a mass of dinosaur-people is present as part of a light puzzle, there is never anyone in the background of the game or its scenes. Rather, every wide shot of the school or the town in the game is left devoid of dinosaurs in what should be very populated areas. While this makes sense in the later part of the game where the characters are all facing assured destruction because of the oncoming meteor, the certainty of their death is only made a part of the story in the very last bit of the game after a brief bit of time-skipping. Thus, the earlier empty space just leaves the game feeling underdeveloped. This is in part due to the generic nature of these background spaces as well, which take the form of – unpopulated – streets, building facades, and school interiors, which give the player little to latch on to when it comes to non-explicit narrative clues.

Similarly, the game struggles to engage the player through its mechanics. While the narrative is of a musician composing songs for their garage band, the actual moments where the player must hit notes to a beat in the rhythm action sections are completely optional and cannot be failed. While this may sound as though they are simply very easy, the reality is that the moment of engagement is lost in the absence of stakes. Rather than having a “game over” screen and blocking the player from progressing, or giving narrative consequences for failing to perform, the story moves on as if nothing had happened. The band acts as a narrative catalyst for the core conflict of the game, that all the band members are drifting apart as they come to the end of their high school careers, making the concerts that they play together very important, and the music is put across as though it should have some weight and impact to it. All of this falls flat when there are no narrative consequences for failing, removing the emotional stakes from this interactive component of the game. The other mechanical way that the player engages with the game is through making choices in the dialogue to affect conversations, befriending, or pushing away, the other characters that they meet. However, the consequences and ending remain unchanged no matter how the player engages with the other characters. This begins very early on in the game when Fang gets caught on their phone in class by a teacher and the two options that the player is given two options: to hand it over willingly or to insist to keep the phone. Both choices lead to a different reaction from the teacher but do not persist beyond the different reaction. The narrative tension is all brought to a head in the penultimate scene, that either disregards the player’s choice to push away other characters or seems out of left field as characters who were all befriended turn against the protagonist so that they can move past their issues and play one last big show. In this scene, all of the main cast of characters gather at the beach for a bonfire to talk about how they should handle the incoming asteroid that is set to clear the planet. However, in discussing their plans, regrets, and fears, the characters get emotional and begin fighting about perceived slights, after which the player can get an extra scene of dialogue with any of the characters, they have built strong bonds with. Regardless of who is spoken to, or who was befriended, the beach scene and the final send off concert both play out exactly the same. Through these two mechanical missteps, we can most clearly see what ludonarrative dissonance looks like: the misalignment of the mechanical structure and the narrative.

By understanding ludonarrative harmony and its relation to forms of storytelling, as theorists we gain another form of description that can be used to analyze these complex interactive narrative structures. It is this dual nature that video games have that allows them to work well, the interactivity working in harmony with the narrative elements or in dissonance with each other, and effectively engage the narrative drive of their players. A key part of these two aspects working in harmony with each other is the environmental storytelling that takes place, blending the interactive environment with the story being told. By looking at environmental storytelling as a way in which game developers leave gaps in the story for the players to fill in, the players are provided with another level of interactivity that goes beyond the one provided in just the mechanical use of a controller and an avatar, but also as creators with investment in the story itself.

Bibliography

Aarseth, Espen. “A Hollow World: World of Warcraft as Spatial Practice.” In Digital Culture, Play and Identity: A World of Warcraft Reader, edited by Hilde G Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg, 111–22. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008.

Altman, Rick. A Theory of Narrative. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008.

Christopher, David, and Aidan Leuszler. “Horror Video Games and the ‘Active-Passive’ Debate.” Games and Culture, April 27, 2022. https://doi.org/10.1177/15554120221088115.

Green, Amy M. Storytelling in Video Games. McFarland, 2017.

Grodal, Torben. “Video Games and the Pleasures of Control.” Media Entertainment, 2000, 209–26.

Hocking, Clint. “Ludonarrative Dissonance in Bioshock.” Click Nothing, October 7, 2007. https://clicknothing.typepad.com/click_nothing/2007/10/ludonarrative-d.html.

Jenkins, Henry. “Game Design as Narrative Architecture.” In First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game, edited by Pat Harrington and Noah Frup, 118–30. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004.

Kirkland, Ewan. “Storytelling in Survival Horror Video Games.” In Horror Video Games: Essays on the Fusion of Fear and Play, edited by Bernard Perron, 62–78. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2009.

KO_OP. Goodbye Volcano High. KO_OP. Windows/PlayStation. (2023).

Krzywinska, Tanya. “Blood Scythes, Festivals, Quests, and Backstories.” Games and Culture 1, no. 4 (October 2006): 383–96. https://doi.org/10.1177/1555412006292618.

Playdead. Inside. Playdead. Xbox/PC/PlayStation. (2016).

Ruberg, Bonnie. Video Games Have Always Been Queer. New York: New York University Press, 2019.

Ryan, Marie-Laure. Narrative as Virtual Reality 2: Revisiting Immersion and Interactivity in Literature and Electronic Media. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2015.

Soriani, Alessandro, and Stefano Caselli. “Visual Narratives in Videogames: How Videogames Tell Stories through Graphical Elements.” Img Journal 3 (2020): 474–99.

Wolf, Mark J. P. “Beyond Immersion: Absorption, Saturation, and Overflow in the Building of Imaginary Worlds.” In World Building, Transmedia, Fans, Industries, edited by Marta Boni, 204–14. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2017.

Witch Beam. Unpacking. Humble Bundle. Xbox/PC/PlayStation. (2021).

[1] A ‘visual novel’ typically involves a branching narrative based on player choices, branching narrative structure, a character focused story, and visual elements to show the player who the characters are and some basic scenes they are in, usually with very minor animation; A ‘rhythm action game’ is usually a game where the primary activity within the game is based on music, rhythm, keeping time, and colorful visuals that match up with the timing of the player.

[neilcaiman]

Villain Within GM's commentary: Background

Its been 2 years and 2 months since i started dming my first campaign, Villain Within, and yesterday we had the epilogue session and wrapped up the whole thing so needless to say im feeling very emotional about the whole situation. I think i'll make this into a handful of individual posts about different groups of characters in Villain within, their development and concepting, and how they developed over the campaign. This post is just for the background for the campaign's development.

New Frontiers Character Action

Something im going to reference a lot in the rest of this is a story concept i had before starting Villain Within- New Frontiers. I started work on it after wrapping up the meat of VESSEL (the project in my banner) and was intended broadly as being a RWBY-esque university shounen with a large extended cast and with a power system focussed around each character cultivating a personal 'superpower', tied to their identity, out of interlocking secondary magical powers (EG to be an effective pyromancer you need to be able to move fire relative to yourself, sense the shape of the fire in question, be largely fireproof, and be able to keep fire burning without an source) . I scrapped the project eventually after realising that it didnt really have any interesting motivating ideas behind it; all it was was a collection of individually cool characters with no narrative or thematic backbone. Fortunately, a collection of individually cool characters unconnected to an existing premise or story would soon end up very useful!

Untitled DND Campaign concept

Theres one bit in the musical Be More Chill which i am very comfortable with crediting the entire Villain Within campaign to- our protagonist Jeremy has realised his classmates are going to be mind-controlled via a prop-potion during the performance of a play, and tells his goofy drama teacher not to let anyone drink from it- but the teacher has already tried it, and suddenly gets mind-controlled. Jeremy turns to leave, but before he does, the teacher puts a hand on his shoulder and says, with an almost monotone seriousness completely incongruent with all his previous lines,

"I can't let you do that, Jeremy"

In retrospect, its not like, the most dramatic scene every put to stage, but it was the pursuit of a moment that made other people feel how that made me feel which drove me toward concepting a DND campaign- the protagonists would be mercenaries working for a sect of paladins of a god of justice, and their main antagonists would be this mysterious network of criminal agents, represented by a sly Hag who made use of various esoteric charms to manipulate the people of the city. The campaign was designed with a main plot twist in mind- that the Hag had secretly implanted the party's main talker with a charm that allowed her to mind-control people who they had spoken to- a plot twist that would be revealed when they finally spoke to the leader of the paladins after taking a grand victory over the anarchic sect, only for- well im sure you could imagine. However, before development really took off, i would find myself playing in a non-dnd campaign; Hero Within: Heroes Rising, and the rest is history.

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT EPISODE OF THE VILLAIN WITHIN GM'S COMMENTARY: THE TEEN SUPERHERO SQUAD 'THE MAJOR MINORS'

[hectormcfilm]

NAPOLEON

Ridley Scott's newest historical drama has hit the big screen to a very mixed critical reception. On the lead up to this film I was very excited, loving both the director and lead actor. I was expecting some strong Oscar contenders in this film until the early reviews came out and it was mostly along the lines of mediocre to good nothing amazing but I still went in with relatively high expectations. Personally I think this film is good... but not great.

I'm going to start with the positive aspects which for me mainly shine within two sequences, the battle on the ice and the invasion of Russia. The battle on the ice is a perfectly tense battle scene, it is slow and methodical and really gives a great sense of Napoleon's systematic nature and his pure tactical genius. The way the music builds up with an ominous ticking clock (as a side note the music throughout this whole film might be the best part, the use of classical and traditional French music is beautiful and so atmospheric). The strategic ways Napoleon's army give messages to each other and ready an ambush, forcing their attackers to retreat and then striking them with their most dangerous and intelligent move of destroying the hidden ice, completely outsmarting and Annihilating the combined forces of Russia and Austria. This sequence is visually gorgeous, tense and satisfying, proving how well Ridley Scott constructs and frames battle scenes, the most spectacular shot being one of a horse charging across the ice dodging cannon balls. The other best sequence is the Invasion of Russia, I adore the way the film becomes desaturated and gains acold colour palette to reflect the harsh winter that defeats his army. The scene of Moscow burning and Napoleon's realisation of complete defeat is riveting.

Disappointingly, I am not as positive about most of the film as these two sequences. I believe Joaquin Phoenix's performance is good but nothing amazing, it feels like he doesn't actually get much to do and his character never felt like he was changing too much both mentally and physically. One major problem I have links to this as despite the story spanning around 40 years Joaquin looks the same age throughout, the only change being a slightly receding hairline. I didn't need him to be recast when younger but some slight makeup or hair change like how Nolan made Cillian seem younger in Oppenheimer flashbacks would've been appreciated. Vanessa Kirby has a very strong performance but her character really let it down for me. Within two short scenes of Napoleon and her meeting where they had little chemistry or dialogue exchanged they are married, then instantly she cheats on him and they argue, it felt like their entire relationship was side-lined and rushed, focusing more on strange and kinky sex scenes between the two that just made me uncomfortable and laugh. I also wish we got to see her final moments instead of her dying off-screen.

Now to get onto my biggest problem with the film... the pacing. The first act of this film was a huge shock to me as it felt like it was trying to speed run through Napoleon's history as if it was a slideshow or a YouTube video explaining his history instead of a deep historical character study. The rapid pacing gave me no time to take in the location or really comprehend what year we were in, similarly character would have no introduction and just appear, being given nothing and most of them becoming forgettable or just disappearing. I definitely believe a longer maybe 3 and a half- 4 hour cut of this film would benefit it greatly as it felt simply like important scenes were cut out.

One smaller issue I have is the lack of accents or foreign languages, there is only one use of subtitles for two lines of German dialogue but no French spoken. Most of the actors even keep their American accents and it feels so jarring and unnatural. Something that tackles this issue well is the Vinland Saga manga where if a character is speaking French they write in French what they say then translate it to English underneath, giving an authentic experience whilst allowing the audience to understand them.

[meraki-yao]

What a wonderful post to wake up to, I can’t stop giggling. I freaking love this. (and ended up answering with an essay)

Here’s my two cents on it:

I do think actors have a sense of professionalism that us non-actors don’t understand that allows them to have conversations about scenes and on-screen intimacy fairly seriously, the same way we don’t understand how they can act so in love with each other without actually falling. That being said, Taylor mentioned in a Podcast interview that it felt funny thinking about it afterwards, that they were talking so seriously and detailed about sex or a kiss or a touch, so we’re not completely alone in that sense of “what the fuck”.

A bit of tangent: When it comes to a character’s body language, there are two things. (Full disclosure, this is in no way professional, I’m a big fan of performing arts but I have absolutely no training whatsoever, this is just how I understand it) There are character designs, and then there are actor habits that carry on to the character. Take Henry as an example: fidgeting with the signet ring is a deliberately designed move. This isn’t something Nick himself does and probably needs to consciously remind himself to do it when he’s Henry. But Henry did a thing when he was talking to Alex at the NYE party, where when he laughs, he covers his eyes (it’s adorable), and that’s not just Henry, that’s Nick. Nick, as himself, has a tendency to do that. Hell, he does it in the GQ interview when Taylor’s naming different types of cheese. (again, adorable, both of them.)

On the subject of the hair grabbing, it kind of depends on whether the line was written first. If Matthew wrote the “He grabbed my hair” line first, it’s fair to assume Matthew took this line to the boys and told them “hair grabbing is a thing between them now” and the boys, consummate professionals, go “alright then”, and the intensity of hair grabbing varies with the intensity of the scene. But if they had that discussion first, then Matthew went to add the line, well… yeah pretty much what you said, and I also want answers as to which of the four clever bastards came up with this genius, sexy idea of a character design.

I am also immensely curious how the discussion on the love-making scene went because no matter how professional the boys are, come on. Doing what they did is an entirely another level. Matthew mentioned he and Robbie actually… got into bed together to figure out the logistics of it. Jeeze, imagine the boys showing up and Matthew going “hey, we figured it out, here’s a video, pay attention.” God, with all the details in that beautiful scene, the discussion must have been… a lot. And I wanna hear it.

But what I’m more curious of, is WHO THE FUCK MADE THE DECISION TO LET ALEX/TAYLOR BARE HIS FUCKING TEETH IN MORE THAN HALF OF THE TIMES THEY KISS????

BECAUSE THERE’S NO SPOKEN LINE ALUDING TO THIS. EVEN IN THE BOOK, AT MOST THERE IS THE “I’LL TAKE YOU APART WITH MY TEETH SWEETHEART” LINE AND EVEN THAT SOUNDS LIKE A STRETCH FOR THIS DESIGN.

THIS IS ENTIRELY A BODY LANGUAGE DESIGN. MEANING THIS DEFINITELY BELONGS TO THE TYPE OF DISCUSSION MENTIONED ABOVE, WHERE THE FOUR OF THEM SAT DOWN AND ONE OF THEM DECIDED, “HEY TAYLOR, YOU KNOW WHAT ALEX SHOULD DO WHEN YOU TWO MAKE OUT? BITE.”

It’s just… such a distinct thing I picked up when watching it? There are times when Alex smiles into the kiss, which is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.

But during the first kiss, Alex/Taylor bares his teeth into the kiss, but he’s not smiling. In the red room, it’s also not a smile. The man is straight up biting Henry/Nick’s upper lip. In the kiss after “It’s your royal highness!” in Alex’s room, you can hear their teeth clack. In their open mouth kisses in Paris, you can literally see Henry/Nick’s upper lips get caught by Alex/Taylor’s teeth. Hell, there’s a considerable number of times where Henry/Nick’s upper lip is red, a bit swollen, and like, two times thicker than its usual state.

This isn’t a usual kissing thing, right? Having your partner bite your lip, that’s got to be extremely intimate.

SO WHO THE FUCK DECIDED ON THIS???? SERIOUSLY WHICH ONE OF THEM SAID “LET’S PUT SOME MORE BITE INTO THIS” I WANNA KNOW, I WANNA KNOW HOW THAT DISCUSSION WENT, AND TO WHOEVER THE PERSON TO STARTED THIS, WOW, AND I THANK YOU FOR THIS DECISION.

Alright, I have mostly restrained myself, but I cannot stay quiet any longer. There is a question that has been eating at me...

Whose fucking idea was it to have Henry (Nicholas) constantly grabbing Alex's (Taylor's) hair?!

Note: I'm adding this in after finishing writing this because this was supposed to be a relatively short post, and then it spiraled out of control, so if you want to listen to me gradually lose my sanity over this question, feel free to keep reading, cause it is admittedly funny lmfao

Another Note: This is me being overly sarcastic and hyper cause it’s funny for me to think about that situation. This is supposed to be a funny post. I said that at the end, but I’m adding it here too.

Listen, remember what they said about the intimate scenes: they were planned down to every detail. Remember what Nicholas said about having conversations with Taylor, Matthew, and Robbie about boundaries, what was okay, and not okay. Remember that they have A LINE IN THE FILM ABOUT HENRY GRABBING HIS HAIR (iconic).

Do you see it? Do you see where this is going?

The hair pulling/grabbing is not random. It doesn't happen in just the New Year's kiss to set up a funny line later.

It happens all the time.

Even in soft moments, Henry has a hand in his hair.

The hair grabbing gets its own shot in their love-making scene.

Consistent small actions (twisting a ring, biting nails, drumming with fingers, etc.) are character habits. They're things that they do all the time, subconsciously or for a decisive reason, usually if you know that action causes a specific response that you want for any reason.

There's a coworker that drives you crazy, so you purposefully hum really loudly whenever they're in the room to piss them off. Your friend has a sensitivity to the color red, so on days you know you're going to see them, you avoid wearing it. Your partner has muscle cramps, so you massage their shoulders whenever you're standing behind them.

These habits usually start as conscious decisions, then gradually become subconscious, hence the term "habit". You've been doing something for so long or for frequently enough that you do it while on "autopilot".

I think it's pretty obvious why this action happens. It's because A: Henry likes feeling of his hair, and/or B: Alex likes when someone touches his hair. Note: This could be in any context, not just sexual; running fingers through it, washing it, styling it, etc.

Either you figured out what I am going to say, and you're wondering why I'm blabbering on so much, or you're just confused about where I'm going with this at all, so here's where it all clicks together.

When you have a character, habits are something you give them to give them more personality, more insight into their mentality through subtle things they do. It's something the director/writer/actor chooses to give to the character.

BUT - nothing in the intimacy scenes happen without being discussed and agreed upon.

This isn't like Nicholas fidgeting with the signet ring to show Henry's nerves. This isn't like Taylor frequently making little hand gestures (peace signs, finger guns, tapping the side of his glass, etc.) because Alex has undiagnosed ADHD and that's one way to physically imply it.

They can do those things without being told or given "permission" because it's their portrayal of the character, it doesn't effect anyone else, and small details like that are typically up to the actors, unless the director is incredibly strict.

BUT - AGAIN WITH FEELING - NOTHING IN THE INTIMACY SCENES HAPPEN WITHOUT BEING DISCUSSED AND AGREED UPON.

That means that someone, one of the four of them, brought up grabbing his hair as a suggestion, and further more, Taylor (and Nick, but obviously Taylor's consent is more important in this specific case) was fine with it.

Think about it. Think about them sitting around a table discussing the kinds of stuff that Matthew and Robbie would want to see, and what Nick and Taylor would be okay with. Think about the fact that one of them was sitting there, and looked at the other three, and said: "What if Henry grabs Alex's hair a lot?"

And then the four of them had to sit there, and talk, in depth, about what that would mean.

*inhale*

Who... the fuck... said it?

WHO SAID IT?!

Did Matthew and Robbie present it as part of the initial planning?? Or did one of them look Taylor and Nick in the eye and say it?? Did Nick throw it out there as something he thought Henry would do?? Was it Taylor??? Since it's his hair???

Cause it's not just like, running Nick running his fingers through it, combing it during some tender moment, like when Alex talks about his father being an immigrant.

HE FUCKING GRABS IT.

What the fuck were these conversations like?! I cannot think of a single way to have that conversation where someone wouldn't have to say something that would make me make me go UHHH-

What? So - Matthew's like "how do you guys feel about touching each other's hair?" -and they're like "what, you mean like running our fingers through it?" -and he's like "nah yanking it while you're making out"

Like... what do you say to that?! - "oh which one of us would do it to the other?" -and what, did Taylor fucking volunteer?? Just like - "he can pull my hair, it's chill" - WTF?!

Or did he suggest it in the first place, like they were discussing things that would that could be part of Alex and Henry's dynamic and he's just like - "he could pull my hair?" -and the other three just stared at him for a second, because wtf that's a intensely intimate action to suggest?!

Hair touching in general is really intimate, in like, every context, at least I think to most people, and definitely to me. Most people wouldn't just let someone, even someone they were friends with, start playing with their hair or touching their head. I wouldn't even let my best friend randomly touch my head; I would instinctually try to bite their hand off (not a joke). Maybe I'm a slight bit more touch-repulsed than most, but I feel like it's safe to say that the majority of people don't want their hair and head being touched, grabbed, or played with unless they say so.

And again, they do it CONSISTENTLY. It's not a one and done scene. It is an actual dynamic between Alex and Henry they chose to establish.

SO I ASK AGAIN: WHOSE IDEA WAS IT?!

I'm looking at you four, Matthew, Robbie, Taylor, and Nicholas. I know it was one of you cheeky bastards that suggested it. One of you brought it up, and the rest of you were like "sure".

I will be forever haunted by this mystery, as I doubt I will ever get an answer.

Note: - Please don't take this super seriously. I'm not trying to imply anything; I'm literally just joking around cause the concept of having that conversation boggles my mind lol

[luvfae]

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR HENDERSON STORY!

Can I request 1 and 24 from Comedy; and 12, 17, and 22 from Romance?

And can you have one of the jock flirt and get real handsy with the reader in front of Eddie

MY FAVOURITE

HENDERSON

PART EIGHTEEN

fandom: stranger things

parings: eddie x f henderson reader

warnings: swearing, sexual harassment, violence

note: ive already used most of these prompts for this series, so i changed them up a little! <3

1: “…so, is that a yes?”

24: “excuse me, i have a scene to cause.”

12: “can i kiss you?”

17: “i’ll marry you one day, that’s a promise.” > “we’ll be married one day, just like I promised.

22: “just talk to her already instead of gawking over her like a creep!” > “you should go over there, talk to her, instead of standing over here gawking at her.”

masterlist

It wasn’t often that you saw Eddie at a basketball game, in fact this was the first time you had ever spotted him sitting on the bleachers, your brother by his side.

So you put on the performance of your life, like you were the star of the show tonight. Even your cheer captain commented on your moves.

“You should be that enthusiastic more often, Y/N. You know what, next routine i’ll have you front and centre, so you better perform your little heart out,” she said.

The basketball team won and once again, you performed as if it was your last performance ever. As if this performance was going to cure cancer. And Eddie’s attention was on you, the way your hips moved, the pom pom’s in your hands, the huge cheerleader mandate grin on your face, pearly whites shining underneath the lights of the basketball court. Your eyes never left him.

But Eddie wasn’t the only male who had their eyes on you and once the game was over and it was time to celebrate with your squad, the basketball team and the entire school. One of the players, who you recognised quite well, someone you had known your entire high school career, Tony, approached you.

“Your moves were fire tonight, Y/N,” Tony said, arm wrapping around your shoulder.

You chuckled, looking up at him. “Thanks,” you replied, shrugging him off. He grinned at you, hands slipping down to your hips as you pulled your jacket over your shoulders. You furrowed your eyebrows, slipping away from him. ���What are you doing?” You asked.

Sure, you and Tony were friends, you had been for as long as you could remember, but not once had he touched you like that. Arms across your shoulders, sure, he did that with almost every cheerleader, but hands on the waist. Awkward, to say the least.

“You really grabbed my attention,” he shrugged, standing behind you again. “Like really, grabbed it,” he whispered into your ear, pushing his crotch into your ass.

You gasped at the feeling of his boner pushed against you. “Tony!” You exclaimed, skin heating up, yet again moving away from him. You turned to face him, hands crossing over your chest.

Eddie watched the scene from afar, he was seeing red, watching another guy get a little too handsy with you. Dustin appeared beside Eddie, following his gaze onto you and Tony.

“She’s clearly not into it,” Dustin said, sticking up for you. “You can tell by her body language that she’s uncomfortable.”

Eddie hummed, narrowing his eyes at Tony. He wasn’t mad at you, how could he be? He had watched you push Tony away 3 times now.

“You should go over there, talk to her, instead of standing over here gawking at her,” Lucas said. “Tony is a pussy, he won’t do shit anyways,” Lucas shrugged. He didn’t know Tony that well, he had only spoken to him a few times at practice, but he knew him enough to know that if it came down to it Tony would back off in a fight. He was all talk no action.

“I don’t want to embarrass her,” Eddie shrugged.

“Embarrass her?” Dustin scoffed. “She’s being felt up by a guy right now, she needs your help.”

Tony’s hand were on your hips again, pulling you towards him. You pushed at his chest, trying to get him off of you. “Tony c’mon,” you said, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

“Excuse me, I have a scene to cause,” Eddie said, stalking over to you and Tony.

“Come back to my place,” Tony smirked, clearly not reading the room.

“No, I don’t want too,” you said.

“Why not?” He chuckled, ignoring your struggle to be free from his grip. “Don’t you wanna be alone with me? That’s fine, I know a bunch of guys who’d be down for a gang bang.”

“She said she doesn’t want too, asshole,” Eddie said. You heard his voice and instantly felt relief, closing your eyes and letting out a breath as Tony finally let you go.

Tony laughed at Eddie, looking him up at down. “And who the hell are you to be talking to me, freak?” Tony asked, smirking hard at Eddie.

Eddie wanted to punch the look right off his face.

“Don’t be horrible, Tony…” you muttered.

“Shut up, slut!” Tony snapped. You gasped at his words, hands flying to cover your mouth. Never in you entire years of knowing this guy had you heard him say something so horrible about you. “Oh don’t act all surprised, Y/N. Everybody knows it’s the truth, that’s probably why Munson is here trying to act all hero, because he knows if he tries hard enough, shows you even an ounce of affection, that you’ll be all over his dick.”

“What is wrong with you?” Eddie asked, glaring at him. But before Tony could reply a fist connected with his cheek. Eddie’s eyes widened watching as you shook your hand, biting your bottom lip to mask your pain.

Tony was hunched over, his hand holding his now reddened cheek from where you had punched him. “What the fuck, Henderson?” Tony asked, death glaring you.

“Oh don’t act all surprised, Tony,” you said mocking his words from earlier. “Everyone will now know you as the pussy who got hit by a girl. How embarrassing,” you teased, motioning to all the eyes that had landed on the scene.

Tony looked around, glaring at you one final time before stalking off.

“Fuck that hurt,” you hissed, staring down at your swollen knuckles. “Shit, I hope this doesn’t ruin my chances of a scholarship.”

“A guy just sexually harassed you and you’re still worried about that damn scholarship?” Eddie asked.

“Y/N!” Dustin yelled, running over to you. Lucas and Mike following after him. “That was so badass,” Dustin smiled.

“Yeah, badass,” Lucas grinned up at you.

“Can we just get the hell out of here?” You asked. The four boys nodded, following you off of the court and out into the cold night, heading towards Eddie’s van so he could drive all of you home.

“How’s your hand?” Eddie asked as the pair of you slowly trailed behind the three kids.

“Fucking hurts,” you mumbled, letting him grab your hand to inspect your knuckles. “I don’t know why but I just never thought punching someone would actually hurt your hand.”

Eddie laughed at you. “It’ll bruise and then it’ll be fine, as if it never happened,” Eddie shrugged, dropping your hand.

“Thanks for coming to my aid,” you smiled at him.

“Of course, can’t have other guys feeling up my girl,” Eddie said. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you or anything.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “It was sweet, just proving that one day you’ll be a great boyfriend.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a great husband,” Eddie said. “Y’know, considering we’ll be married one day, just like I promised.”

“God, one thing at a time Eddie,” you grinned as you reached his van. Dustin, Lucas and Mike already sitting inside waiting for the two of you.

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asked.

You glanced around, nobody was in sight. “As long as no one catches us,” you smiled.

“…so, is that a yes?”

“Yes, Munson, but make it quick. I’ve already drawn enough attention to myself for one night,” you said as he pulled you close, hands on your cheeks. Eddie connected both of your lips for a sweet short kiss.

You heard Dustin, Lucas and Mike making gagging noises in the backseat of Eddie’s van and when you pulled away Eddie was flipping the three of them off.

© luvfae 2022

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @ppartridgee​. Naughty, spooky, fluffy. Well, I know I’m perfectly content now! :D

Words: 2616 Warnings: smut, fluff

Additional NSFW warnings: Daddy kink (well, that’s certainly a first on this blog!)

-

Thud. You scrambled to your feet when the door fell shut, shutting the book in your hands and frantically shoving it under your pillow. William Ransome had no business finding out what you were reading. You had bought the novel on your trip to London and Lord, was it sinful… about a young woman who fell in love with the priest of her town after he had convinced her that the only way to repent for her sins was to pleasure him… You bit your lower lip. Yes. William Ransome definitely had no business finding out about any of that.

“Don’t you think…” he began instead of a greeting, “…that you are exaggerating a little bit with all of your Halloween decoration?” You grinned when he stepped into your field of vision and crossed your arms before your chest, holding back a cough. You’d been feeling quite horrible and worn out all morning, like an invisible force was pulling at your limbs. You already suspected that you were getting sick but as long as you still had chores to do, you were unwilling to give in to it.

“No. Why?” The entire house was full of pumpkins. Some you had drawn funny faces on, others now made scary grimaces. Nearer the spookiest day of the year, you would carve some of them too and stuff them with a candle so they’d illuminate the darkness after dusk.

The vicar smiled and shook his head.

“I made some pumpkin soup, you want some?”

“Oh? Pumpkin soup? Good god, where did you get the pumpkins for it?” He asked jokingly as he sat down at the table.

Chuckling, you staggered over to your small kitchen area to heat up the pot. Will regularly came here ever since his wife died. There was a sad loneliness about the vicar that deeply touched you and somehow… you had found friendship in one another. Well… Will had found friendship in you. You had found a man you didn’t dare confess your love to.

You had not spoken about Stella in a while but you were unsure whether Will was still grieving, for if he was… you would never want to put him in a position where he’d have to choose between your friendship or… you sighed. Whatever the second option was.

“The kids and teens in town will go crazy again…” He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I just hope they’ll live the church alone.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will. Last year was an exception and those responsible moved away. It’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to handing out some sweets, in any case.”

“They’ll be running your door in. You are the only one who puts effort into Halloween. I just wish you would…” Will looked up with an apologetic expression on his face. “I just wish you would… tone it down just a little bit. I couldn’t bear the villagers starting to call you a witch and ask me to cast you out or perform an exorcism on you.”

Heat pooled in your core, making you gasp quietly. Instantly, you were reminded of that one scene in the book where the priest had tied the protagonist to the altar as naked as Eve and then proceeded to lick every single inch of her body until he’d reached her wet folds, a teasing flick to her most sensitive part… You cleared your throat, finishing up Will’s meal.

“It’s just a holiday, I’m allowed to be excited about it. Besides, aren’t the Jack’O’Lanterns supposed to scare away evil spirits? They should thank me I’m doing your job!” You chuckled and set the soup on the table before him. Will dug in immediately.

“That’s not exactly how it works, darling.” Darling. He always had you weak in the knees when he called you that. Not that he knew.

You closed your eyes for a moment. The headache that’d been tormenting you since this morning kept getting worse, and no amount of fluids you drank helped. You winced after you’d finished cleaning up and Will had finished his soup.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concern radiating over to you.

“Yeah… just a headache. I’m probably coming down with the flu or something.” The vicar frowned, rising from his seat to walk over to you. You gasped quietly when he brought his palm to your forehead.

“You are burning up, darling. You should be in bed. Come on… I will get the doctor.”

“I’ll be fine, Will. I’ve had this a dozen times before. A bit of rest and I’ll be…” You got interrupted by a coughing fit so bad your stomach hurt by the time you were done.

“Bed. Right now,” was all he said. Your lower regions clenched. That… fuck. That was by far the most dominant thing he had ever… you swallowed thickly. He never once took his eyes off you until you were back in bed, allowing him to tuck you in and sit on the edge of the mattress.

“I can brew you some tea in your kitchen if that is alright with you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And after that,” he said when he rose again, “I expect you to stay in bed until you recovered. No more decorating with pumpkins, okay?” He was so sweet. And loving, and kind, and caring and hot and handsome and…

“Okay, Daddy.” Your eyes widened. Fuck. You had said that out loud. Will stopped dead in his tracks and gave you a hesitant look.

“What… did you just call me?”

Biting your lower lip, you avoided his blue gaze, looking around your bedroom in an attempt to find the perfect excuse for what had just happened… but you couldn’t. Daddy was what the main protagonist in your book had started calling the honourable Father. Pure filth had followed the statement in the book… but Will wasn’t exactly fictional. Quite on the contrary. He was very, very real.

Panicking, you opened your mouth without a single sound escaping it, shuffling back a little on the bed and managing, on top of your embarrassment, to knock the book hidden under your pillow on the wooden floor.

Will frowned, giving you a questioning look before his blue eyes landed on the title. His lips parted as he picked it up. You watched, frozen in place when he flipped it over and skimmed the blurb. And then, his eyes locked with yours again.

“I can explain…” You started. But could you? The only explanation here was that your feelings for the town’s vicar went way beyond friendship and that you desired him like a dragon desired treasure. Will was your treasure. And up until now, you had been perfectly content with having him in your life as a friend, even if your heart… and your body… longed for more.

“It’s just a novel.”

“A novel about a young woman and her… vicar. And you calling me ‘Daddy’ surely was no accident, was it?” He looked at you, not in a reproachful way, but as if he wanted to, no, needed to figure you out. Your thoughts, your feelings. As if he suspected… The way he said “Daddy” made you shiver with need, even more so when he said your name.

“If we go… there… you know things would never be like they were before then.”

“You… Will… Do you…”

“I… I do. I do reciprocate.”

Your lips parted, both excitement and shock filling your core at the same time. “Why… why did you never tell me?”

“Because…” He paused, looking up to the ceiling as if fetching the words from there. “Because I am your vicar. I am supposed to protect you and provide comfort, not lure you into a romantic relationship with me.”

“You needed company and comfort as much as I did, Will. You can’t possibly believe that God will provide you with that when you’re all alone in that church praying.” Another coughing fit. Damn that flu.

“I did not allow myself to go any further. I am supposed to be mourning my wife…”

“It’s been over a year, Will. She wouldn’t want you to waste away and…”

The vicar closed his eyes for a brief moment, finally setting your book aside. “If we do this…” He repeated. “I’m not sure I will be able to go back to being your friend, darling.”

“I… I know.” But you felt like you might die if you didn’t get to feel him. Taste him, smell him, let yourself be consumed by him. “I don’t want you to.”

Will’s gaze was so loving you feared you’d melt into a puddle, even more so when it darkened with a start and he said, “Then be good for me and sit on my lap.” Testing the waters. Seeing how far he could take it. Exploring and daring. This was as new for him as it was for you.

The corners of your mouth twitched when he sat down on the bed and you crawled over to him to obey. “Okay.”

“Okay…?”

You pressed your legs together. Fuck.

“Okay… Daddy.” You blushed, making him chuckle.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out. “I didn’t… the book… and it’s kind of hot given you’re…”

Will smiled. “No need to be ashamed. I like the idea… I simply didn’t think you’d have such a filthy mind, darling.”

You grinned despite your growing headache. “Is that a sin? I might need to be… punished if it is.”

Will took the hint and smiled. “Perhaps another time. For now, we need to nurse you back to health. Are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor?”

“No… it’s that time of the year, I’ll be fine. A sore throat, and a bit of a fever… I’ll just… stay in bed and rest. I don’t want to miss Halloween.”

“Very well then… I’m sure we’ll find a different way to make you feel better. You know…” he began, moving your skirts out of the way so the only piece of fabric still protecting you from his soft hands were your cotton knickers. Your heartbeat sped up, along with a familiar heat pooling right between your legs. “…last time I was in London, Dr. Garrett and I had a very interesting conversation about how the release of endorphins… is believed to reduce stress and pain. And do you know what causes a high release of endorphins at once?”

“N-no?” Your breath was shaky, and so was your entire body. You brought your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself all the while Will spread your legs even further. This was happening. This was truly happening.

“Orgasms, darling.” Your knickers were wet. Soaked.

“So let me take care of you…” Sucking in a deep breath through your teeth, you let him push the fabric aside and then leaned forward to press your lips against his. Oh… Quickly, you turned your head.

“Let me kiss you, darling.” He smiled, hiding his irritation.

“I don’t want to infect you.”

“Ah… but what we are about to do will not infect me?” As if to make a point, Will began to unbuckle his belt. Then, suddenly, he paused, looking you deep in the eye. “Are you certain you want this?”

“Y-yes. Are… are you?”

“More than anything, love. I just never thought you would feel the same way. I would never pressure you into…”

“You’re not!” A cough. “I promise you’re not. I want this,” you stressed. You inched forward, feeling his hard length hidden beneath his trousers.

Whimpering when he freed himself, Will then grabbed a hold of your bottom and gently lifted you up, onto his throbbing member. Fuck, you were quite positive you had never seen a cock this beautiful. And every fibre of your being was aching to feel it inside of you.

Eager to ride him, you bucked your hips to sit down, the vicar, however, stopped you.

“Slowly… we don’t want you to exhaust yourself, right?” You shook your head, biting your lower lip so hard you feared you’d draw blood.

“No, Daddy…” Calling him so only fuelled your arousal, even more so when he growled. He actually growled. Fuck. Inch by agonising inch, you impaled yourself on his hard manhood until his tip was pressing against your cervix almost painfully.

Will was guiding you as you began to ride him, heeding his advice to go slow. His large hands were on your hips, rocking you back and forth in an almost soothing manner—and at this point, you were already so lost in your pleasure and quite possibly your fever that you would have done anything he asked for. You had a feeling that the vicar was very well aware of that and it was touching how thoughtful he was being with your vulnerability.

Never before had you felt like this. So at ease. So innocent, so… you took a deep breath, increasing your speed a little. Subspace. You’d read about it before. Deeper and deeper you fell into that blissful state all the while your arousal grew higher and higher.

Your clit was rubbing deliciously against Will’s pelvic bone, the sound of sex echoing through the room.

“Easy… don’t rush it…” You heard him mumble when you sped up yet again, eager for the orgasm that was slowly creeping up on you like a poltergeist.

“But… what about… you…” You breathed out in response, barely able to form a functioning sentence anymore.

“I am already struggling to hold out for a while longer, sweet angel.” Sweet angel… Your pussy clenched around him, a delicious precursor of what you were hunting like a hungry lioness.

“You’re close…” He said. It was not a question. Nodding mutely, you dug your fingernails into his clothed shoulders, looking him deep in the eye with parted lips. Your mouth formed a perfect O when you finally came undone, gushing all over him as you let your climax consume you.

Will moaned. “I have to… pull out, darling… We can’t risk…” He groaned once more. It took you all of your willpower to stop riding him, to avoid feeling him cumming inside of you and filling you up with his seed. But in the end, you managed, if anything because you were not exactly fond of the idea of getting pregnant just yet either.

Will lifted you off of him, flipping you over so you came to lie on your back, and wrapped his hand around his thick length, finishing what you had started. A couple more eager thrusts were all it took for him to stain both the bed and your stomach with his warm seed, accompanied by heavy grunts and groans.

Then, for a few peaceful and quiet seconds, it was utterly silent. You were too exhausted to lift yourself up, instead left it to Will to stand, adjust his trousers, and then reach for the cloth next to your washing bowl on top of the vanity to clean you up.

“Thank you…” You whispered, allowing him to tuck you in straight after, smiling weakly when he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Are you feeling alright? Perhaps… we should have waited until you feel better…”

“No… no, I’m fine. Tired but fine. That was… God, that was amazing.”

Your eyes fell shut but you felt his smile nonetheless.

“It was. I only ever dared dream of being with you like this.” He paused, stroking your hair. “I’ll get you your tea now. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You smiled. When he turned around to leave the bedroom, before you could utter another cheeky “Thank you, Daddy”, you had already fallen asleep.

-

A/N: *logs out of Tumblr to bathe in Holy Water*

[retrievablememories]

too good to you | ten (m)

title: too good to you pairing: ten x black reader, slight xiaojun x reader genre: smut, angst, fwb-2-lovers summary: being friends with benefits is fun until it’s not. because you’ve always loved him, and you can’t pretend anymore. word count: 5.4k warnings: ten and reader being messy bitches who live for drama, conflict/arguing, cursing, oral sex, face sitting, fingering, protected sex a/n: the sequel to just as friends. i have absolutely not felt like writing fic the last few weeks, but i figure i should post something soon so...why not this fic since y’all will not let me live about it lmao

the whole first part of this fic was inspired by That One Ten Fancam because i saw some stans saying he looked mad during it. yep. that’s literally it. also, that scene with xiaojun is pretty self-indulgent but you ain’t hear it here

song recs: bussit - ari lennox | too good - drake & rihanna | hit different - sza & ty dolla sign

➤ tennie🐱: can i come over ? ➤ tennie🐱: actually i’m already on the way so

➤ y/n: thanks for the advance notice 🙄🤕

The sudden message doesn’t give you much time to get ready, but you do what you can before he gets to your place. When he messages you like this, you know he’s upset and is looking for your special type of comfort.

When Ten shows up on your doorstep, he’s still wearing his makeup and hairstyling from earlier that day; you know they’d had a stage performing Kick Back. The only indicators of his restless mood are the slight twitch of his lips and the weary expression in his eyes, which you don’t even get a good look at before he has his mouth on yours and is backing you into your house.

You kiss him back for several moments until you have to separate yourself from him so you can actually close the front door, because his hand is already ascending up your shirt and you don’t need to give the neighbors an eyeful. “I don’t know why you didn’t take the makeup off, it’ll just get fucked up anyway.”

“Because it looks good on me,” Ten responds, like it’s too obvious for words.

You roll your eyes and giggle. “Hmm...well, you’re not wrong.”

The corner of his mouth lifts as he steps close to you again. “And look, you’ve even got my favorite shorts on...” His hands are firm on you as he gropes your ass, pulling your body towards his. “You wanted to be a good little baby for me, didn’t you?” Those words make your stomach pitch, and you think of how ridiculously easy it is for him to get you just as pliable as he wants.

“M-maybe.” Ten presses his lips to yours again and cups his hands under your thighs so he can carry you over to the kitchen counter. You protest lightly when he sets you down on it, though it’s difficult to form a full sentence when he’s got his tongue in your mouth. “Here? I make food here.”

“We’ve already fucked here, Y/N, don’t act so fussy about it.” There is truth to it; he’s bent you over this counter more than a couple times before.

“But that’s different,” you sigh, listening to the smacking of his lips as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I don’t feel like walking all the way to your bedroom.” He’s pushed your shirt up above your chest now, his mouth trailing up your sternum and between your breasts.

“You’re so lazy, it’s only a few feet away.” It gets a bit harder to focus on your words when he latches his mouth to one of your dusky nipples, suckling it and teasing it gently with his teeth.

“Lazy?” One of his hands dips past your shorts and underwear, his fingers nudging between your lower lips. The soft touch over your clit makes you shudder, and he keeps his fingers there, rubbing it in a maddening circle. “All I do to make you feel good, and you call me lazy…”

Ten’s fingers dive lower still, pressing against your entrance and gliding through all the slick that’s already gathered there, then pushing in deep. You grasp the back of his neck, your hand sliding into his gelled hair as he simultaneously focuses his attention on your breasts and your pussy.

The pads of his fingers rub that honeyed, pleasurable spot inside of you as soon as he finds it, making your legs weaken, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down. He makes sure the knuckles of his other fingers slip across your clit as he fingers you, heightening the stimulation, and this motion drives you a little further up the wall.

“Ten,” you sigh, leaning back slightly as he scissors his fingers inside you and sucks on your breasts. His tongue rolls around your nipple, sending heated tingles through your body and down your spine. His fingers keep hooking into that sweet spot, and it makes your stomach get warm and your walls grow wetter until you are dripping around him and onto the counter below you. You have a vague thought about how you’ll have to clean this up later, but you know he gets his thrills from getting you this wet, and you can tell by the stiff outline of his dick pressing against his sweatpants.

And just when you are inching closer to feeling that rope of tension snap within your body, your chest heaving against his eager mouth, his fingers slide entirely out and leave you feeling empty.

“Wait, don’t stop,” you cry out, reaching for him as he steps back from you. Your complaint goes unheeded as he reaches for your waistband and strips your shorts off, but not your underwear. He slips a thumb over the black fabric of your panties, dragging it momentarily over your clit before pulling away; he smirks at the stickiness covering the pad of his thumb even through that layer of clothing.

Then he shoves his sweatpants further down over his hips, freeing his reddened cock from his confines. You didn’t see him pull the condom out but it’s there now, and he rolls it hurriedly over his shaft.

“Not even gonna take your clothes off? Ah...you must be really upset today,” you remark absently. An abrupt moan punctuates the end of your sentence when Ten pulls your panties to the side and pushes into you, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“Mm, don’t wanna talk about it,” he replies, but it’s mostly spoken into the side of your neck as he buries his face there and leaves over a dozen open-mouthed kisses. His grip on your thigh tightens fractionally as he begins thrusting into you, dragging his hips away until his tip is just kissing your entrance, and then shoving back in like he’s trying to bury himself wholly within you. “Just wanna forget...god, you’re so tight…”

He ends up laying you across the counter, one hand supporting you by the back of the neck for leverage as he thrusts into you hard enough to make your body shift up the counter slightly. His thighs smack against your own as he fucks you, and it is all you can do to let him pull one of your legs over his shoulder and continue pushing into you like a man starved. Your mouth parts in a silent, overwhelmed moan, and you let him push his thumb past your lips, sucking around the tip of his digit like you often do to his dick.

“Y/N, Y/N—Fuck.” Ten’s voice is a lot less steady than you expected it to be, especially with how nonchalantly he was talking earlier, and you get the inkling that he is already close to cumming. His hold on your leg tightens and his head tilts back as he mindlessly thrusts into you, using your body to get himself off; his thumb stays hooked into your cheek, keeping your mouth parted so you end up drooling on yourself and his hand. The furrow between his brows, the wild strands of his hair in his face, and the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth is sexy, but not quite sexy enough to get you off, which you want him to do, with his fingers or dick or anything else.

His tip hits your spot every few thrusts, and this alone could be enough to get you off, just a little more—you focus your attention on that single delirious point of pleasure and the way his hips crash against yours—

The palpable tension that was coming off him earlier unspools itself quickly as Ten spills into the condom, his pace stopping as he holds himself deep in you but flexes his hips for that barest hint of friction. You still haven’t come yet, though, and you’re irritated about it, especially with how he barged into your place fiending for sex. But then he pulls out and disposes of the condom in one deft movement, then strips you out of your underwear before picking you up off the counter again. His hands never leave your ass as he carries you to the couch. 

“Don’t worry, kitten. You know I always take good care of you. Don’t I?”

If you had it in you, you’d want to hate him for calling you by that pet name. It makes you delusional enough to think there could maybe be something more between you.

Ten had even taken to calling you kitten outside of the bedroom. It first happened in front of the WayV members, and you’d wanted to die of embarrassment from how everyone else gave either surprised or knowing looks. Despite the momentary panic of the situation, Ten found that his precious little name for you came way too easily off his tongue and kept on calling you that. And despite yourself, you did not tell him to stop—couldn’t even if you wanted to. It gave you something to cling to, no matter how slight.

“Don’t I?” he repeats, pushing his face into your neck to kiss your throat and feeling your pulse thump wildly against his mouth like a butterfly’s wings.

“You do, Ten,” you sigh. Then he plants a satisfied kiss on your lips in response, nipping at your bottom lip and sucking it between his own. His lip stain is almost completely rubbed off now, giving way to the natural pink of his mouth.

Ten pulls your body on top of his, tugging at your hips and coaxing you to move up more until your pussy is over his mouth. He looks up at you with eyes dark like charcoal, and just as hot.

He parts your lower lips with his fingers and dips his middle finger into you, creating a soft squelching sound from how wet you are. With his other hand kneading your hip, he pushes a couple digits into you to get them wet and pulls them out again to drag the wetness over your clit; he circles it lightly with only the very tips of his fingers, giving enough friction to keep you on edge but not enough to satisfy you. You take a deep breath, your hands moving restlessly against the couch arm, trying to be patient—and not just knock him on the head and tell him to eat you already.

Ten leans up and brings your pelvis down so he can lay wet kisses over your clit; he reintroduces his fingers and immediately goes looking for that bunch of nerves again, the button that will have you dripping down his chin. Then he shifts his hand from your hip to pull the hood of your clit back, exposing more of that sensitive nub, and he mouths at your clit so intensely that you have to focus on not clamping your legs around his head.

You’re already wound up from him fucking you earlier, and it does not take much longer to finally come, your inner muscles squeezing around his fingers as they stroke in and out of you. Your hands slip to his hair as he parts his mouth a little wider, like he’s trying to suck your entire pussy. You are not even embarrassed by the messy slurping sounds he’s creating—it feels good enough to push you over into another orgasm right on the heels of the first one.

“Woo, oh fuck, okay,” you choke out once he releases your swollen clit from the tight grip of his mouth. He takes his fingers out of you too and licks them clean of your cum.

Ten looks up from between your legs with his mouth messy with cum and his hair ruffled out of place, still looking very much insatiable even though he’s already fucked you once and eaten you out. You’re still holding onto his dark strands, and you slide one of your hands down further to thumb at the corner of his eye.

“Just like I said,” you murmur breathlessly, smudging some of the eyeliner that’s already running outside its lines. “You’re two seconds away from looking like a raccoon...go take a shower.”

He drops one last little kiss on your clit, and your legs tremble on either side of him. “Come with me.”

You go with him all while knowing that little actual washing will happen. And as you predicted, Ten pushes you against the shower wall as soon as you’re both naked and fingers you again until you have to slump against him to be able to stand. When he is done, smirking and dick hard against your stomach, you suck him off until he’s cumming down your throat and calling out some semblance of your name in a long, shivering moan. By the time you both get around to cleaning up, the water has turned cool.

Neither of you bother to put on any clothes once you get into bed.

“You better feel better after all that,” you say, blinking your eyes at him within the dimness of the room, trying to make your pupils adjust to the dark faster. Ten’s hair is damp against the pillow, and a distant memory sparks in your mind of that dream that became the catalyst for all this. Feeling suddenly disarrayed, you turn on your back and look at a spot on the ceiling, wondering what the fuck your friendship has transformed into.

“I do,” he hums, grinning. “You’re too good to me.” He draws his fingers up the length of your arm as he tells you this. His eyelids are already closing halfway, weighed down with sleepiness. Though he is beautiful with his stage styling, he is also painfully attractive scrubbed down to his bare face, and it makes your heart throb to look at him.

“Maybe I am,” you whisper back, closing your eyes.

--

When you wake up next to Ten the next morning, it once again feels like waking up to a boyfriend. You try to move out of his embrace, but he complains, half-asleep, and pulls you closer. You are too defenseless to reject the promise of his arms around you and allow yourself to mold your body against his once more. Somewhere between his arms gripping you more tightly and his hair fanning across your neck like down feathers, you fall asleep again.

Waking up the second time comes by way of him kissing your neck and shoulder—you with one of his arms around your back and your breasts pushed against his chest. When he notices you’ve woken up, he moves back to look at you and brings his hand to the side of your face. His own face is half-illuminated by the sun spilling through the crack in the curtains, some silly little smile on his lips and his eyes crinkled like he’s just seen the happiest, cutest thing in the world, and you decide then and there that you can’t do this anymore.

His nose nudges yours, like he’s about to kiss you. “Kitten…”

“Stop,” you say.

Ten’s face drops, and he pauses. “Stop what?”

“Stop this. I don’t want this anymore.” You successfully shimmy away from him this time. He lets you do it, but stares at you with a troubled expression.

“What...do you mean?”

“We can’t keep doing this.” You get off the bed to pick your robe off the hanger it’s on, and you wrap yourself up in it as if it will protect you from your own emotions.

Ten scrambles up from the bed, the sheets gathering at his waist. “Y/N, tell me why. I thought we...”

“I love you. I am in love with you. That’s why.” You cross your arms and look at him angrily. You want to cry, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to stop yourself if you do. You feel very small in this moment.

“...What?” He looks at you as if he’s been slapped, his eyes widening.

“I hate this, Ten. I hate it when we go somewhere and you call me kitten and everyone thinks we’re together. I hate how you always want to touch me, even when it’s not sexual—especially when it’s not sexual. I don’t want to know how it feels to have your hand in mine or your fingers on my cheek. I hate it how you wake me up in the morning like this, when you look at me like…” Your voice catches, and you belatedly realize that you are almost shouting. “...like this is more than what it really is.”

Ten’s face is a storm of emotions, and if you didn’t know any better, you might even say he looks frightened or panicked. What could he be afraid of? If anything, you should be terrified that everything is now ruined between you. “But...Y/N, we agreed to—not take things further.”

“Ten, you are the one always taking things further than they need to be. Stop treating me like I’m your girlfriend when all you want is sex! I don’t want to do this with you anymore.”

You expected him to be more upset about this, maybe even angry, but he seems untethered. It’s as if you’ve just left him out at sea with no knowledge of how to swim. Your words seem to spark some kind of realization in him, though you don’t know what that is.

“I’m...sorry if you misunderstood me, but it wasn’t my intention to make you think we were going to be together.” He speaks weakly, like he feels bad about what he’s saying. Maybe he thinks you’re pitiful and is trying to handle you with kid gloves to avoid hurting your feelings, and that thought makes you even more upset. Maybe you would’ve preferred it if he’d just gotten angry.

“Misunderstood…” You don’t know whether to yell or cry. “But what am I supposed to think when you…” You try to search for the words, but it feels useless and ridiculous. How can his actions not be obvious to him? “Just leave, please.”

So you watch him gather his clothes, redress, and leave your place. There’s a hesitation before he passes through your bedroom door, but in the end he just says I’m sorry again. It is still not enough and not the answer you want to hear, so you let him go for the sake of your own sanity.

You let the tears drip only after he’s gone, feeling like you’ve just experienced a breakup. The thought of the relationship-that-never-was makes you sniff angrily again. When you sink into your bed, the sheets pulled over your head, you try to convince yourself that you do it because you’re tired and not because the linens still smell like him.

The next two months after that day are the most awkward and annoying ones of your life.

Much to your own surprise—because you were sure everything would end in flames and rubble after that rejected confession—you and Ten try to go back to some semblance of your previous friendship. However, every interaction is strained and weird; he never acknowledged your confession again after it happened, and you refused to do so to avoid being rejected for a second time. You can’t shake the feeling that every one of his glances is filled with some odd sympathy, as if he just can’t believe you’ve gotten yourself into this unrequited love nonsense. There’s an even stranger anxiety in his demeanor, too. A nervousness you are unable to assign a meaning to.

You try to distract yourself from it all with hobbies; you even adopt new ones. You’ve never cared much about knitting or collecting postcards or scrapbooking, but you do those things now just to fill in the empty spaces and quiet the mess of your mind. You don’t have to wonder about what Ten is doing, because you already know; Kun keeps dry begging for your help, as if you want to hear about any of Ten’s business in the first place.

“To put it lightly, we’re dying in here. Maybe if you could talk—”

“Oh please. Sounds like he’s having fun with his new buddies, and who am I to stop him. Like he’ll listen to shit I have to say,” you say dryly.

“Having fun, sure, but I’m not. There was the guy he brought home last week—and the girl I caught him in the living room with even before that. And the others,” Kun sighs wearily.

Jealousy curls like a snake in the pit of your stomach, but you dig your heels in and try to throw it to the side. “Tch. Tragic, and also not my problem. If you’re that worried about noise complaints, talk to him yourself. Would hate to hear about y’all getting kicked out.”

“I’m not necessarily concerned about that, I’m talking about him sleeping with all these people because you two—”

“Oh, damn. I can’t hear shit. Looks like you’re breaking up. Talk to you later!” You feel a little bad about hanging up on Kun, but the last thing you want to do is talk to him as if he’s your therapist and discuss the mess between you and Ten that was never truly resolved. And as far as you can discern, Ten is not thinking about you in that way anymore.

Rolling your eyes, you toss your phone away and roll over in your bed with your face in the sheets, trying for the hundredth time to not think about what Ten is doing with people who are not you.

One night when you’re hanging out at WayV’s dorm and attempting to pretend there isn’t some weird tension between you and your (former?) best friend, Yangyang and Xiaojun talk you into going to the club. Ten tells you all he will meet you there later, and it makes you roll your eyes—because you know he has plans to pick someone else up, but also because everything he does lately makes you roll your eyes—but you’re also glad you won’t have to sit awkwardly next to him in the car on the way over.

The club is dark and hot and pungent with the smell of alcohol. Once you are inside, you suddenly feel a little lost within all the chaos. You also realize you don’t want to let Xiaojun out of your sight—Yangyang has already bounced off somewhere with someone he knows, otherwise you might’ve clung to him similarly—because you don’t want to be left alone, so you grip his hand and he squeezes back, pulling you onto the dance floor amongst the crowd of bodies. 

You aren’t sure when Ten shows up. One moment he’s nowhere to be found, and the next moment he is right there, attracting your eyes like a magnet out of all the other people in the club. While you’re in the mass of people with Xiaojun, dancing and trying to empty your mind of anything important, you spot something you would rather not see, and it makes your body come to a standstill.

Some girl is talking to Ten at the bar—maybe the same one Kun says he’s been seeing lately, you aren’t completely positive about it—and pressing her body against his. He’s likewise leaning into her, giving her that same look he’d lavished on you months ago. The one only reserved for lovers. It was never exclusively for you, you know that, but seeing it directed to someone else again after everything that’s happened only incenses you.

She whispers something into his ear and kisses the corner of his mouth, and he pinches her chin to kiss her back, full on the lips this time.

You turn your head away from them with your mouth screwed up. Xiaojun stops dancing when he sees what you’ve seen, and he looks at you with a frown. “I think I should leave.” Your voice sounds watery, and you hate reacting like this. Life would be a lot easier if you could just Bad Bitch your way out of this and forget about him on the other side of the room with some girl you don’t know from Adam, but you can’t.

“Wait.” Xiaojun grips your shoulders with a pleading expression. He acts like he’ll say something more but then abandons whatever that thought is and says instead, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t kick my ass for this.”

“Huh?” 

Xiaojun kisses you. 

You stand there unmoving and bewildered for a few long seconds, and it’s awkward. You think you know what he’s trying to do though, and it’s fucking nonsensical because Ten has clearly moved on from you so why bother, but you shut the rational part of your brain off and respond to the kiss anyway. It is surprisingly easy to reciprocate; Xiaojun is attractive, and he kisses you intimately, like you’re both true lovers instead of two people attempting a cliché scheme. His hands are on you, one on your nape and the other on the small of your back, though maybe slightly lower than it needs to be for this little act. When his tongue parts your lips, slick and hot and faintly mint-flavored, you begin to wonder if this is all just acting.

Then it all abruptly ends when a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“So you two are hooking up and didn’t think to tell me?” Ten stands in front of you both looking unimpressed, and you are genuinely surprised by this.

Xiaojun’s mouth moves aimlessly—his lips are noticeably shinier from your lip gloss—and you can guess he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider what he’d say if Ten really did respond to his impulsive trick.

“Fuck you!” you blurt out, and they both look at you. “I don’t need to tell you a damn thing.”

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake—he’s my groupmate! You don’t think that’s important to mention?”

“What do I owe you? You’re not my man, and we barely even act like friends anymore.” His face falters when you say this; a nerve has been struck.

“If you fucking hate me, just say so Y/N; I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Xiaojun gives a feeble attempt to jump in. “Now wait, this wasn’t her—”

You laugh, though your expression is marred with anger. “Hate you? That’s the last thing I ever did, but you didn’t want what I offered.”

Ten looks pained at that. “You don’t understand, I…”

The rest of his words are lost to you as the song changes and the music’s volume rockets up further, and you have no choice but to shuffle closer to Ten to narrowly avoid being bowled over by a couple who dances too near to you, oblivious to their surroundings. This puts you close enough to him to feel the heat radiating off his body, to smell the hint of sweat mingling with his cologne, and you think it might’ve been better to just get knocked over.

Unbeknownst to you, Ten’s hand had instinctively reached for your back to steady you, though he stopped himself from touching you just before his fingertips made contact. Suddenly, it dawns in his mind that neither of you have touched each other in quite some time, hardly even in a platonic way, and this knowledge disappoints him.

“I think we should go outside,” Ten says, staring at you intently. It’s a look that’s far too serious for the context of standing in a hot and sweaty club, and it makes you feel peeled apart, much like that first time you both had sex. Xiaojun has turned his eyes elsewhere in a laughable attempt to look like he’s searching for Yangyang; he’s caught between your tension and feeling much like he’s witnessing something he’s not quite supposed to be seeing.

And even though you are angry with Ten and want him to shut the fuck up and explain himself all at the same time, you still find yourself staring back, your gaze catching on the way the lights glint on the smooth skin of his exposed chest. “Fine.”

--

A few minutes later, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Ten’s car. His phone buzzes with an incoming call, and then a text message. And then another. You both watch the phone vibrate on the console until it falls into one of the cupholders.

Because it doesn’t seem like he’ll speak first, you say, “I think she must be calling for you. Go tend to your little girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Go see what she wants.”

“I don’t care.”

You shift your head a little to glance at him, but you won’t yet give him the satisfaction of your full attention. “Now you don’t care? Didn’t look that way earlier...”

“None of that meant anything.”

“Oh…the same way with us, then. I get it.”

Ten grips the steering wheel and leans his head on it like he’s tired. “No. It’s not the same as us.”

“What’s different?”

“I can’t fucking forget about you,” he scowls. “I can’t forget how you taste, or how you look when you wake up in the morning, how you say my name when you’re happy or sad, how pretty you smell right out of the shower, how your mouth falls open in that cute way when you’re asleep and dreaming about something, or how you ask me to tie your scarf at night because you don’t feel like doing it.”

You sit back against the seat, unsure what to think of that revelation. “So what does all that mean. You miss the fucking and pretending? Because you experienced all those things and still only ever wanted to be friends.”

He sits up again to look at you. “No, it means I miss you and I love you and I’m a dumbass.” The way his voice softens reminds you of one of those chocolate candies with caramel in the middle, and you sigh shakily. Some unconscious part of you has already made up its mind about how this will turn out.

“Yes you are,” you agree instantly, although your heart pounds. You stare at the blackened tail-lights of the car in front of you and don’t know how to feel or what to say. Everything feels like a live wire right now, like the situation might explode no matter what move you make. Not the kind of explosion that destroys, though—the kind that clears the way for something reborn. “...I had to kiss Xiaojun for you to realize you felt that way? That was never even my plan.”

“Maybe I can be a little oblivious sometimes. And...I tried very hard to distract myself from...thinking about us.” 

“You could’ve just told me.”

“I thought you might’ve moved on or wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” Ten slides his hand over top of yours where it rests in your lap, though it is a tentative move. “When was the last time we shared our dreams with each other?”

“You’re getting all sentimental now.” You look down at his hand on yours, and for the first time in months, it is the one thing that makes sense to you. “I don’t know. Definitely before any of this mess happened.”

“I miss you.” He squeezes your fingers tightly where they’re entwined with his. “Do you still love me?”

“Ten, please. As if I could stop,” you respond softly.

A quiet moment passes between the two of you. Finally, you turn your head to look at him, his silhouette illuminated by streetlights and the club’s neon signs, and he chooses that moment to lean towards you.

You hold your free hand up to his face. “Huh...no. You kissed that girl.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “And you kissed Xiaojun, but do you see me complaining?”

“Then we’re both even. But I ain’t kissing you tonight.”

Ten sits back in his seat and sighs, although there is a tiny smile on his lips. “Ugh. You kill me.”

You snort and tighten your grip on his hand, feeling the imprint of his rings against your skin. “But, you can still come home with me. I’ve missed just having you around...or whatever.”

He smirks. “Tell me how much you missed me on the ride over.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

[nildespirandum]

I just finished watching ‘The Sandman’ (which I loved, though I kept my eyes firmly shut during the slightly scary, bloody scenes) and need, NEED to talk about episode 6, because that episode and Morpheus’ looks have been haunting me for a whole week. Those clothes? That hair? That supermodel face? Superb job, all around.

My husband was REALLY mad at me that I didn’t warn him about 24/7.  Unlike me he isn’t a horror fan.  Trust me, as bad as it was the comic was much worse.  If you ever read them you might want to skip that issue.

I love The Sandman.  I still remember when the first issue of the comic came out, falling madly in love with the whole idea of it, the whole world.  I had the entire run of the series, sadly lost during a move.  

So from the first time there was talk of there being a movie or a tv series I was excited and incredibly nervous.  After what seems like so many false starts and rumors (including that Tom Hiddleston might play Morpheus!) to have it finally here and to have it be so beautiful and upsetting and funny and ugly and hypnotic and unsettling and all of the other things is - well I was about to say like a dream come true but even I am not that hokey.  Mostly.

The Sound of Her Wings and Men of Good Fortune are two of the best issues of any comic I have ever read, and the idea of blending them together was genius.  Death in The Sandman is - along with the Discworld interpretation of Death - a bit of what I like to believe in and perfection.  

When the last moment comes it is that sweet faced and gently plain-spoken woman that I hope everyone sees.  Death as an anodyne to life for those who suffer, or as a loving friend who ensures you are not alone at the end no matter how small your death may be in the grand scheme of things, is the kindest idea I can think of.  

Combining the sibling story of these two embodiments with the story of how Dream met Hob Gadling and of Death’s gift to him, was such a good idea because Hob is perhaps the most human character in all of the series.  He has no noble asperations, no artistic goals, he simply wants to live.  To see everything he can.  To do as much as he can for as long as he can.  What could possibly be more human?

Tom Sturridge’s Morpheus is ... I have no words.  Ok, yes I do.  When he was cast I had no idea who he was, and certainly no idea that he would perfectly embody the petulant, imperious, so Goth is hurts, struggling to understand humans and sometimes failing, King of Dreams.  The performance understands that while it is impossible to take your eyes of off Dream, it is not his story.  Not really.  That he is observing the stories of the humans, and making new stories from them, for them.  He is regal, broody (even a bit pouty, really), fascinated, yet also a little put off by all of these little lives.  

And that isn’t even getting into how he looks.  I love that from one angle he is utterly gorgeous and from another alien and a bit off putting.  His bone structure is not entirely human.  I am going to assume that some ancestress of his had a wild night in a fairy circle.  

He also has very long legs.  And that is not nothing.

I want to hear everything you thought about the series.

[ot3]

hey kinda heavy ace attorney question ig but I agree with you on many things about aa and feel like you have a good understanding of Phoenix and Trucy so I really wanna ask. How do you think the creation of the bloody ace was handled? I’ve seen the idea that Trucy took matters into her own hands and made it as a failsafe without his knowledge, and that he then covered for her, but if that were the case I wonder how he knew about it and planned around it at his trial. I’ve also seen the idea that he made it himself, but gave it to her for delivery to Apollo; which maybe seems the most apparent but I really dislike it because…. It means he uses her to deliver forged evidence. In much the same way he was given the diary page, really. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve also seen some people suggest that he made it but only gave it to her for use at her discretion, which does give some agency back to her but I also question whether Phoenix would be right in placing that on her shoulders and making it her responsibility. Sorry this expanded into a ridiculously long ask but I really am curious about your take on it?

eoooh yes yes yes i love talking about phoenix and trucy lets goooooo. i actually have a scene from my (still pretty rough and probably never to be finished) wip longfic covering this scene, which ill sick below the cut, but i'll just give my generic thoughts here first.

i think phoenix asked her to do it. trucy having enough detailed knowledge of the crime scene and the events leading up to it and the actual mechanical operation of trials that would be required in order to come up with this plan just doesn't make any sense to me. phoenix is really the only one who could have theoretically concocted this particular move. but since he was presumably held in the detention center until trial, trucy is from there really the only person who could have actually done the thing.

phoenix and trucy are pretty notoriously codependent; i'm headachey and melting from the heat today so rather than doing what i normally do and trawling the wiki to find the quotes that back me up on broadstrokes statements like these so i'm just gonna pull a 'dude just trust me' moment here. the fact that she helps take care of her daddy is a point of pride for her. i don't think it strips trucy of any agency for this to be phoenix's decision because it's not like trucy spends her whole life (or even the entire game) blindly following other peoples orders. her (and phoenix's ) priority at the beginning of aa4 is each other and their own wellbeing, and the decisions they have to make in turnabout trump are indicative of that.

yes, it echoes her bringing the forged evidence to phoenix 7 years ago, but it's more of an inversion/reversal (one might even say a turnabout) than a repetition of past mistakes. in the past she was an unwilling pawn in someone else's plan where her life was collateral, now she's an active and conscious participant in the plan of someone she cares about that she's doing to protect the life she and phoenix have built for themselves. She's not being forced to do it, but i don't think there's any world where she would have said no either. she and phoenix are the most important thing in the world to each other. in their own words, if one of them falls, they both fall.

was it right of phoenix to ask this of her? was it okay for him to do this to apollo, too? obviously it's not a good thing. but it was his only option at that moment. phoenix found himself in a very difficult situation. as an attorney he promised himself to the truth, and that was the principle he lived by, but as a father what he lives by is the promise he made to trucy to never disappear on her. at that moment phoenix did what he had to do to make sure the trial ended the way he needed it to. truth had to take a backseat. his priorities have shifted.

i've also spoken before at length about how i don't think phoenix was plotting against kristoph in the longterm, at least not to the degree which popular fanon seems to agree upon. so really everything he did in turnabout trump was phoenix being backed into a corner using every tool at his disposal to try and snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. was it right of him to get trucy involved? it's no worse than bringing 8 year old pearl along to crime scenes because he needed her channeling skills. phoenix cares about people deeply but he isn't capable of shielding them from all the harm the world has to offer, and he knows he isn't. half of his capability comes from his shrewdness and willingness and ability to take help when he can get it because he knows, even if its a strain in a short term, he's fighting battles that need to be won at any cost. if that makes any sense

anyway heres the little scene i wrote below the cut.

---------- APRIL 17TH, 2026 DETENTION CENTER VISITOR’S ROOM ----------

Trucy shows up on the dot as visiting hours begin. It’s funny, she thinks. The last time she did this she had a different daddy altogether. Only it really isn’t particularly funny at all, is the thing about it, and she’s going to have quite a few stern words for the man when he gets home.

She picks up the phone on one side of the pane of bulletproof glass and he grabs the other.

“Daddy,” she huffs. “You promised me you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Truce.” He puts on an easy smile as he says it, and he uses the same affected tone of voice she had used to start the conversation off. Affected. Cautious, in the sense that it’s levity is entirely manufactured. A performance.

It had been like that between them for real at the beginning, both of them still unsure of each other, pantomiming something resembling a sitcom and playing the real feeling filled in as it went. Thankfully, it did, but the theatrics still lend themselves better to specific conversation.

“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you! But this isn’t going to look good on your employee review, y’know. I’ll have to bring it up with HR.”

“I’m sure Charley can find it in his heart to forgive me, too.”

“He’s a gentle soul.” She nods.

“You should come watch the trial on Monday, I think it’d be good for you to see.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Trucy doesn’t like the courthouse. Daddy knows that. She never comes when he goes to use the library there. She also hates, hates the idea of watching her daddy sit in the defendant’s chair not knowing if he’s ever going to come home again. He knows that too.

“Well, there are always interesting things to learn during a court trial. Plus, having you there would help me out a lot!” I need you to do something for me. She reads through the tone into his words’ real meaning. Her stomach clenches. A favor he can’t just outright ask for, not over the phone in the detention center, where every word would be recorded.

“Oh, daddy, no! I’m a magician, not a lawyer, although I understand the confusion.” She drapes a hand over her eyes in faux anguish. “I simply couldn’t, it isn’t my stage.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a perfect stage. Lawyers need cheering up too, you know! Back when I was a lawyer, I used to get really stressed out during cases like these. I bet one of your tricks would do the job.”

“Well what sort of trick do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember the first trick you ever did for me? It was the day we met, at the courthouse. You pulled a piece of paper out of your hat and gave it to me.”

“Yes,” she chirps, forcing a vibrant bubble into her voice. It feels like a pile of rocks in her gut and her pulse starts to quicken. “Of course I remember!”

“I bet if you did that trick again, it’d cheer up the whole courtroom! I bet I’d win my case in a heartbeat.”

----------

Her legs feel like jelly by the time the bus drops her off at the stop near the office. Daddy had kept on like that, loaded phrasing and a lopsided smile as he laced vapid banter with instructions. With warnings. She walks into the storage closet and grabs a deck of cards - one of his, the same style they use at the club, not hers for her tricks. Abruptly, she has a moment of panic as she realizes she’s not even sure what color she’s supposed to use, but then, just as fast, she forces her head clear and just grabs one of each.

They’re unopened. This makes it a cinch to find the card she’s looking for. Her stomach flips.

The worst part isn’t even what she’s doing. The worst part is that she’s doing it at all. Daddy knows well what this situation is making her feel and he’s asking her to do it anyway.

The only explanation left: he’s completely out of options.

She pulls her gloves off and grabs a needle from her sewing supplies. She pricks her finger, and lets a drop fall onto each ace.

----------

[redrobin-detective]

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way. 

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking. 

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons. 

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green. 

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked. 

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.” 

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.   

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up. 

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.