#but this was a story originally meant for his children to hear

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Ok I know we all like to joke about how the Battle of the Five Armies is only a page long in The Hobbit but like. Sometimes I think about how what if Tolkien wrote it that way because he didn’t want his kids to hear about war.

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - First time (part III)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activity (explicit), mentions of reader being attacked by Double Face's goons, wild cat!reader, needy!Bruce

You had told yourself you would only have one more date with Bruce, just one. For investigation purposes and nothing more.

And yet, when it was time to say goodbye to the man, you realised you didn’t ask the questions you had prepared. You had been too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

So you promised yourself just one other date, and this time you would ask the questions you had. You didn’t really know why Bruce was so eager to have dates with you. You didn’t seem like the kind of woman he usually went out with.

And really, you had no idea how you ended talking to him everyday and seeing him whenever the two of you had time, even for a quick lunch. You were both always finding a way to make time to see each other. It was important. It felt important. You couldn’t even pretend it was because you wanted to know all his secrets anymore. Of course, you wanted to know, but not because you were a journalist, because you really liked to spend time with him.

It seemed Bruce quite enjoyed himself when he was around you as well. For the first time in his life, he did his best to balance a little more his life as Batman and his life as Bruce Wayne. It meant he was trusting his children a little more with the vigilante work. He was now talking a lot about teamwork and solidarity. And so far, the children couldn’t say Batman was lying to them.

A few months passed by, and you were both still spending as much time as before together. It started to be obvious you were finding each other very attractive. 

You couldn’t deny it anymore when you ended up in a very luxurious hotel room with Bruce Wayne. At first, it was because you both wanted to go a little further and the hotel was very close by. That night you just happily kissed each other and slept in the same bed. Bruce left in the middle of the night, and left you a little note to thank you for the evening. 

If it started for kisses, after a few nights, his hands got a little more greedy. He had been careful to not do anything that would make you uncomfortable. When he had moved his hands under your skirt, he softly asked you if it was okay.

You nodded, and started to undress him as well. 

You couldn’t think. 

You just wanted to touch him, you wanted him. You had sex with guys and girls before, but you had never wanted someone that badly. The more heated the kiss was getting, the more desperate for him you were getting as well. You were relieved to feel that it was the same for Bruce.

He needed you.

And yet he took his sweet time to discover your body. You had thought he would be the kind of guy to try and skip the preliminaries, but on the contrary. He was almost scientifically looking for your most sensitive spots. He expertly found them and used them against you. You even forgot about his pleasure when he was playing with you so efficiently. He made you come twice before you asked for him. He wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t asked, no matter how hard he was. Hearing your moans, seeing your face screwed up in pleasure, feeling your body against his were heaven to him. He was getting absolutely obsessed with you, even more than he already was.

Once he got inside of you, for a brief instant before the pleasure completely took over, he thought that he would go absolutely insane if you ran away from him after this. He already knew he would forever want more of you. 

You played with each other as if you could feel what the other wanted. You were in sync.

You both climaxed and Bruce gently removed himself from you before bringing you against his chest. He fully leaned against the pillows and closed his eyes in bliss. He felt truly good for once. He knew he needed to let his children know he was going to be so late for patrol, but for the moment he just wanted to enjoy what he had with you.

You snuggled against him, but you thought you needed to go. You wondered if that was not a mistake. You had promised yourself something like that wouldn’t happen.

Why was it feeling so right at the same time then?

“I should come home” you whispered

“Stay a little longer, please” Bruce murmured back

You looked up at him and you didn’t have the strength to leave his embrace. You completely relaxed against him, and the man softly hummed in appreciation. You started to trace all the scars littering his chest. You hadn’t noticed them when you had undressed him. You had felt them when you were making love, but you hadn’t really registered them. Now you could have a closer look at them.

However his own touch was distracting you. He was drawing abstract patterns on your back. You didn’t want to leave his embrace anymore and he clearly didn’t want to move either. The man was fully relaxed for once. 

The comfortable silence around the two of you allowed you to get a hold on your thoughts after a little while. 

You were wondering what the man did to get so hurt. The scars were deep and you had felt that they were present on his whole body. However Bruce Wayne wasn’t known to be a warrior of any kind. He was so muscular too, so strong. His suits were hiding how powerfully built he truly was. He reminded you of someone but you weren’t too sure of whom yet.

Your mind thought once again about all the "toys" produced by Wayne Enterprises.

You also remembered about his adopted kids who all seemed very well trained as well. And funny enough, whenever Bruce got a new child under his roof, now you thought about it a little more, it seemed like Gotham got a new vigilante.

Batman was known for his silence and his secrets. Bruce too.

You also remembered last week, when Batman saved you and your colleagues from Double-Face goons. Your newspaper had written and published quite nasty words about Harvey Dent so he had sent men to destroy you. Batman had been quick to react, quick to save you all. You had never seen him so close before. You had noticed the broad shoulders and the tense jaw. He had helped you back on your feet and checked on you to make sure you were all good. The intensity of his look reminded you of someone, but you didn’t think of Bruce yet. His presence was familiar; you just thought that was because you lived in Gotham for years now and that Batman's presence was familiar to everyone. But obviously, it was something else.

Now you understood. You personally knew Batman, you just didn’t know it then.

“You’re Batman, aren’t you?”

Bruce stopped stroking your back for an instant before resuming the gesture and cuddling you closer to his chest. It was easier now there was no more secret between the two of you. He had been late to quite a few dates and it was getting harder to find excuses. He had noticed you weren’t always believing him when he was talking to you too. Now he could simply focus on seducing you.

“I knew you’d figure it out easily. You see and get stuff rights away.” he hummed onto your hair before kissing the top of your crane. 

You looked up at him, reaching for his shoulder.

“You don’t seem to mind that I know who you are… And I guess your kids are the other vigilantes in town” you hummed

“From the beginning, I knew you would discover our secret identities if I keep seeing you. But for once I wanted to be selfish” he admitted

“Selfish?” you asked

“I really like you. You… make me happy” he whispered and you sat up to face him

“Look, I don’t usually like rich people, even if… well I guess you’re pretty decent. And yeah Batman is doing a good job. Most of the time. But I don’t know if a “us” would be a good idea” you said

“Why not?” he gently brought you closer to him

“I’m not certain I want to start something, even with a normal guy, which you are not” you admitted and he chuckled

“I’m not asking for any commitment. We can just keep having dates, spending time together, having sex if you want this too. You can see other people. I just need you to stay around.” he offered even if you could tell he wanted more than just this.

“I’m surprised you’re not asking me to keep your identity a secret” you said

“I trust you. You are a good person, you only write about bad things” he said

“How do you know Batman isn't a bad thing?”

“I know you’re not my biggest fan. But I believe you will, from now on, tell me directly what you think and not have to write it down somewhere else.” he replied “You didn’t answer about our relationship” he commented

“Alright”

“Alright?”

“I don’t mind keeping going with whatever we have. As long as this isn’t anything official” you didn’t even really know why you agreed but you enjoyed the sincere smile appearing on Bruce’s face and lighting up his eyes.

--

PART 4

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

[paulmccart]

We're Not Gonna Take It! And the Story of How We Almost Did

Protesters outside of the PMRC senate hearings.

Are you a victim of rock? Well maybe you aren't, but all the way back in 1985 a group of prominent D.C wives felt that they were.

These women, with the help of Beach Boys member Mike Love and Joseph Coors, the owner of Coors Beers, formed the PMRC (Parents Music Resource Center).

Their reasoning for forming as co-founder Susan Baker put it:

"It started because one day my 7-year-old came in and started quoting some of Madonna's lyrics to me, wanting to know what they meant. And I was shocked. I knew that you had to be concerned about movies and TV, but I didn't have a clue that my 7-year-old would be exposed to inappropriate songs."

The goal of the PMRC was to give parents more control over what their children could listen to. As well as implementing a rating system for music with bad language, sexual themes, and anti-Christian messages just to name a few. Eventually the group made a list of the fifteen worst songs, in their opinion and labeled them "The Filthy Fifteen".

(And it also happens to make a killer playlist)

Besides a rating system and lyrics printed on album covers the PMRC had several other goals including:

"...records with explicit covers be wrapped or kept under the counter; that record companies reassess contracts with performers who engage in sexual or violent acts on stage; that broadcasters be pressured to exhibit "voluntary restraint" by not airing offending music videos, which would also be rated."

All that noise coming from the PMRC culminated on September 19th, 1985. When a hearing in the senate occurred. Two musicians were called in on behalf of the music industry, Frank Zappa and Dee Snider of Twisted Sister. Two of musics most studious and serious creatives.

Zappa and Snider both gave eloquent defenses of what they deemed to be free speech.

But the PMRC had a trick up their sleeves... or so they thought.

They'd also invited John Denver to speak that day, assuming that he would stand with the side of "family values" but they were mistaken.

John Denver's testimony was the most scathing that day. He cited his own experience with having some of his music banned from radio. Even going as far as comparing the PMRC and groups like it to Nazi book burnings.

So what did the PMRC end up accomplishing? You know those tiny explicit labels in the corner of some albums? You can thank the PMRC for those. When they were originally introduced they were called "Tipper Stickers" after one of more outspoken PMRC members Tipper Gore (wife of Al Gore).

So while we didn't exactly take it, for a time we almost did. And thanks to testimony from Frank Zappa, John Denver, and Dee Snider, we can regularly enjoy any kind of music we want to- even the songs that promote the occult.

Both photographs come from Mark Weiss who photographed the event for Rock Scene Magazine.

[saintsenara]

wait how bougie was Tom Riddle Sr.? How nice would his Manor have been? Was he like an actually Lord with a title and stuff?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

in half-blood prince, dumbledore refers to tom riddle sr. as "the squire's son" - which allows us to state with certainty that he was a minor aristocrat.

however, the word minor is important here.

there are - historically - two levels of aristocracy in britain. the first are the peers of the realm - which refers to families which hold one or more of the titles of duke, marquess, earl, or viscount. these are the elite of the elite - these gradations of nobility were created in the middle ages as a way of distinguishing those who held the titles from other noblemen, usually because of a close relationship [often one of blood or marriage or both] to the king.

the titles are hereditary by male primogeniture, and the holders - while this is no longer the case - used to have political power [such as the right to sit in the house of lords], simply by virtue of their birth.

[this is why they're called "peers" - it refers to them historically being close in status to royalty, and therefore expected to serve as royal advisors.]

there is another class of peer - a baronet - whose title is similarly hereditary, but whose position doesn't come historically with the right to sit in the lords or advise the king by virtue of birth. [baronets may - of course - have been members of parliament, or royal advisors selected at the king's discretion, but this would be separate from their title. a duke, in contrast, could historically expect to request a meeting with the king simply because he was a duke.]

while some families have historically been ennobled at the king's discretion, access to any of these titles is pretty much restricted to the small group of families who've held them for centuries.

but below the peers of the realm, there is a second, more minor class of aristocracy, the landed gentry - of which a village squire is a textbook example.

historically, what is meant by "landed" is an ability to live off of the rental income of one's country holdings, which would be leased to tenant farmers. that is, they are landlords in the original sense of the term - lords of the land. this is what tom sr. tells us his family does in half-blood prince:

“It’s not ours,” said a young man’s voice. “Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son’s quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village - ”

what is also meant by "landed" is that the family in question is of the upper-classes, but that they are still "commoners" - which in this context doesn't imply a value judgement, but which is a socio-legal term which simply indicates that they don't hold an aristocratic title such as duke, earl etc.

[and gentry families certainly aren't common in terms of financial standing... the most famous member of this class in literature? fitzwilliam darcy, whose ten thousand a year is something like thirteen million quid in today's money...]

gentry families might be very old - they might have received their lands from the king in the middle ages as a reward for knightly service, and it's interesting to imagine generations of gaunts and riddles brought up alongside each other in little hangleton - or they might be comparatively newer - tom sr.'s great-grandfather [feasibly born c.1810] could have been a self-made victorian industrialist who bought the lands from the original holder and established himself as gentry.

by 1900, it was becoming much harder for the gentry to live on rental income alone, and many would also have had jobs. these would have been elite, and very frequently were in politics, the civil service, the military, or the law. tom sr's father - whom the films call thomas, so let's go with that - might, for example, have served as a high-ranking officer in the army [including during the first world war], be the local magistrate, or be the local member of parliament.

in terms of titles, thomas riddle would almost undoubtedly be sir thomas - and this is how it would be correct to address him. but this title would be a courtesy, and it wouldn't be hereditary unless the riddles were also baronets [which it's entirely plausible that they were].

which is to say, tom sr. would not have a title while his father was alive - although he would have the right to be referred to formally in writing as mr thomas riddle esq. [esquire]. the correct form of verbal address for anyone other than friends and family would be to call him mr riddle, although the riddles' servants would probably refer to him as mister tom.

tom jr. would not have a title while his father or grandfather was alive. if the riddles were baronets, he would technically inherit the title after he kills the rest of the male line... but given that tom sr. never acknowledged him and his existence was presumably unknown to the riddles' lawyers this wouldn't be something which happened in reality. the estate's executors clearly took control of the riddles' property, the land was portioned off and sold, and the house became a standalone property for sale.

the riddle house - which is a name used informally for it in little hangleton, it would have a different "proper" name - is described in canon in ways which show that it's a typical manor house, which means it would look something like this:

these houses are obviously very impressive, but they're tiny in size in comparison to the magnificent stately homes - places like blenheim palace, chatsworth, burghley house, holkham hall - lived in by the titled aristocracy. the riddles would entertain - for example - by giving house parties, dinner parties, hunting parties, etc., but they wouldn't have a ballroom or a dining hall capable of seating hundreds.

[they would probably also own a property - probably a flat or small house - in london.]

they would have servants, but not colossal numbers - they would undoubtedly have a butler but not footmen, and the upstairs maids would report to the butler since they probably wouldn't have a housekeeper. they canonically have a cook, who probably had one or two kitchen maids assisting, and they canonically have a gardener - frank bryce - who probably doesn't have any assistants. they may, depending on the size of the estate, have a gamekeeper. sir thomas undoubtedly had a secretary and a chauffeur, and his wife might have a lady's maid. tom sr. would have had a nanny and then been educated until at least the age of eight by a governess, but would then have attended a prep school [either day or boarding] until the age of thirteen, and then gone to a boarding school, from which he likely went on [on the basis of social class rather than talent] to oxford or cambridge.

the family would have enormous social influence locally. most people - and also businesses - in little hangleton would be their tenants, and they would also probably have a say over the appointment of the local clergyman [an important figure in the community in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries], since the parish church is likely to have been something called a "living" - the thing which turns up again and again in jane austen - which means that the church and its parsonage technically belongs to the landowner, but is granted to the vicar as a freehold while he's in post.

gossip about the riddles' doings would also be the main source of local interest - the servants were dining out for months on tom sr.'s elopement and return.

so they're something resembling celebrities - but they're local celebrities. nobody in london - and even nobody in cities we can imagine are nearer to little hangleton, such as liverpool - would particularly know or care who they were. tom sr. might have made it into the london gossip columns if he was part of a particularly scandalous "set" [a group of friends] who socialised in the capital, but these mentions would have been fleeting - and the press would have been much more concerned by the doings of members of his set who were genuinely titled or who were legitimately famous.

[this is the reason why mrs cole doesn't recognise the name. if merope had said her son was to be named cecil beaton after his father, she may well have been prompted to hunt him down...]

so tom sr. is elite - but he's elite in a way which is extremely culturally-specific, and which is [just like the portrayal of aristocracy in the wizarding world - the blacks, for example, are far less aristocratic than the riddles in terms of canonical vibe] often exaggerated into the sort of pseudo-royal grand aristocracy which the british period-drama-industrial-complex makes such a big deal of.

and tom jr.'s character is affected by this in a series of extremely interesting ways.

by which i mean that, in terms of blood, he's probably the most aristocratic character in the series - the absence of grand aristocracy in the wizarding world would mean that [were he raised by his father] he would come from a social background which was equivalent [even as it was divided from them by virtue of being muggle] to any of his fellow slytherins, and would help him easily blend into their society because the manners, genre of socio-cultural reference points [he would recognise, for example, that quidditch heavily resembles both rugby and polo], accent and way of speaking etc. that he would possess would be broadly indistinguishable from those of his pureblood peers.

[this is why justin finch-fletchley and draco malfoy speak in essentially the same way.]

but he would then be given the enormous boost in cachet - one which would genuinely elevate him above the rest of his cohort - of his maternal line.

and we see in canon that this does bestow some privilege on him among his peers while he's in school:

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader. “I don’t know that politics would suit me, sir,” he said when the laughter had died away. “I don’t have the right kind of background, for one thing.” A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader’s famous ancestor.

where he's let down socially is that people like slughorn - to whom he can't reveal his slytherin ancestry and hope to maintain cover for his wrongdoing - don't think he's come from anywhere particularly special. this is because he has a muggle father - absolutely - but it's even more that he has a muggle father who, since he left him to be raised in an orphanage, was presumably working-class.

what the young voldemort lacks is any socio-cultural familiarity with the muggle class performance which the class performance of the wizarding world parallels. abraxas malfoy boasting about how important his father is would be something a tom jr. raised by the riddles could match - "oh yes, my father gives to all sorts of causes too. in fact, he was invited to buckingham palace because of it." - establishing himself as an equal in terms of class and social influence even if he isn't an equal in blood.

what actually happens in canon is that the orphaned tom - with his uncouth manners and his working-class accent - has no hope of gaining any sort of social equality with his posh peers.

so he becomes determined to outrank - and humiliate and control - them.

[prythianpages]

The House of Veilwood | Eris

eris x chaos witch reader | summary: Veilwood was once a small village but when tragedy struck, only one house was left standing. A creepy, old wooden cabin that became the center of many stories and rumored to house an evil being. A story meant to scare children and keep them from wandering in the forest alone. A story both you and Eris grew up hearing that may hold more truth than both of you expected.

word count: 5.5K

warnings: mentions of scary creature

a/n: I've created some lore for chaos witch, more than I thought I would honestly. So consider this like an optional prologue. I originally wrote this only in your pov but decided it'd be fun to also include Eris and young Lucien in this! It also kind of fits Day 4 of @erisweekofficial with tradition as Eris passes the tale of the house of Veilwood to Lucien like his mother did to him and one of his hounds also makes an appearance.

Eris's POV

A scowl tugged at Eris’s lips, one that his younger brother often teased would become permanent.  One that was because of said brother—the small but mighty thorn in his side, always dragging him into some new, unwanted mischief. Today’s trouble was no different, forcing Eris to leave the warmth of his study. 

He should be reclining with a book in hand, his loyal hounds at his feet, but instead, he’s spending his afternoon, venturing into the depths of the Autumn forest.

Laika, one of his hounds, trots a few paces ahead, nose to the ground and tail wagging. She didn’t seem to mind the disruption in their routine. Her nose twitches at a scent and she glances back at Eris, eyes bright with excitement. It softens his hard expression for a brief moment.

As she leads him off the main path and toward a hidden trail, a sinking feeling settles into Eris’s stomach.

“Oh, sweet Lucien,” Eris mutters, realizing exactly where his brother was headed. 

Of course, he’d be off to Veilwood—the village that once was. All but one house was destroyed after some sort of disaster, leaving many rumors to rise such as the one that claims that something dark and wicked dwells there. Eris had grown up hearing the tales of a creature–a monster–who had a great appetite for fae who wandered into that part of the forest, particularly the young fae. 

The story had been passed down for generations, told by parents to keep their children from straying too far into the forest alone. Eris could still remember the way his mother would tell it, her voice dropping to a whisper as she described the creature’s shadow slinking through the trees. Always watching, always waiting. It was one of those stories that curled up in the back of his mind, the kind that made you think twice before venturing too far from the familiar paths.

And so, when Lucien had reached the right age, it only felt natural for Eris to pass the story on. It was practically a rite of passage, a tradition meant to instill caution. The tale had worked on Eris when he was young, keeping him close to home until he was old enough and brave enough to explore the deeper parts of the forest with a trusty hound by his side.

But Lucien was not like him. The story, rather than scaring him into staying safe, had sparked something else entirely—curiosity. 

As he trails after his younger brother, Eris can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the simpler times. When Lucien was just a babe, more interested in drooling on Eris's shoulders than running off on reckless adventures. He remembered the days when Lucien would follow him everywhere with wide-eyed innocence, asking endless questions and clinging to him like a shadow. 

Eris had been his protector from the start, always watching over him. Something his father neglected to do and though Eris had his suspicions, he couldn’t help but feel both a sense of pity and envy toward Lucien.

There was that summer by the great Pyr River—Lucien had just turned ten, and Eris had taken Lucien fishing for the first time. It was a small tradition in Autumn, one that Beron had passed down to Eris when he was that age, and seeing as Beron gave little to no attention to Lucien, Eris took it upon himself to teach his younger brother. He showed Lucien how to wait, how to be patient, how to read the river’s current to help him catch a fish with his bare hands. It took many tries, countless mistakes, and no small amount of patience on Eris’s part, but he didn’t mind. It was all worth it to see Lucien’s eyes light up with wonder when he finally caught a fish on his own.

Those were the days when Lucien’s world was smaller, his adventures limited to the safe boundaries of their home and the woods just beyond.

But now, at thirteen, Lucien had grown bolder, his thirst for adventure outpacing Eris’s ability to keep up. Eris missed the days when his little brother’s greatest thrill was sneaking a lizard into their brother’s pudding or sneaking an extra pastry at dinner.

And yet, despite the exasperation, Eris felt that same old protectiveness stirring in his chest. Lucien might have outgrown drooling on his books and following him like a shadow, but to Eris, he would always be the little brother he had sworn to watch over.

With a resigned sigh, Eris quickened his pace.

**

The house of Veilwood looms ahead, its weathered cabin barely standing against the creeping decay of time. Lucien’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight. A cold breeze stirs the air, brushing against his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, the chill threatening to seep into his bones.

Suddenly, a branch snaps behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the forest. Lucien freezes, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes dart around. Another rustle—a faint, creeping noise—sends his body into a rigid stance.

Before he can react, something barrels into him from behind, knocking him off his feet. Lucien lets out a panicked scream as he hits the leaf-covered ground, his mind racing with thoughts of sharp talons and gnashing teeth. He instinctively threw his arms over his head, bracing for the worst.

But instead of claws, something warm and wet drags across his face.

“Laika?” he gasps, his voice a mixture of relief and disgust. 

Lucien pushes himself into a sitting position, wiping the slobber from his cheek as Laika, Eris’s hound, sat proudly in front of him, tail wagging excitedly. She lets out a bark, as if pleased with herself.

He groans, annoyance flickering across his face as he spots his older brother standing a few feet away. “You followed me??” 

Eris stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, amber eyes glinting with amusement. “You made it far too easy. I thought I taught you better than that,” he replies with a smirk, referring to the time he had spent hours teaching Lucien how to hide his tracks and scent. He had hoped Lucien would use those skills for situations beyond hunting but now realizes Lucien still has much to learn.

Lucien’s frown deepens into a glare, but before he can utter a retort, Eris nudges him with the toe of his boot. “Up.”

Laika is the one to spring to her feet, her tail wagging even harder. “Good girl,” Eris murmurs, patting her affectionately before turning back to his brother, who was still sulking on the ground.

With a reluctant sigh, Lucien got up, brushing leaves from his pants. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he grumbles. “I don’t need to be followed like one.”

Eris arches a brow, his gaze softening slightly as he studies his younger brother. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, Lu. Childhood is fleeting, and once it’s gone, there’s no getting it back. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to be an adult in the future—and then you can earn the privilege of scaring the next generation with myths of the House of Veilwood.”

Lucien’s shoulders slump, his red hair falling into his face and covering the disappointment that has no doubt settled into his face.  “So it was a myth… all of it?”

“Of course it is,” Eris chuckles. The breeze around them picks up, growing colder, but Eris was too focused on Lucien to notice. “Do you really think Father would let a creature like that roam freely in his court? It’s just an old, abandoned cabin—”

A sudden gust of wind howled through the trees, sending a shiver through both brothers. Lucien, startled, instinctively steps closer to Eris, his hand clutching his brother’s arm. Laika’s growl rumbles low in her throat, her ears perking up.

Eris’s attention snapped to the hound, his amusement evaporating as he follows her gaze. His eyes narrow as he catches sight of something swooping through the trees, its wings spread wide and casting long shadows across the ground.

“It’s the monster!” Lucien cries, pressing himself into Eris’s side, his voice high with fear.

Eris reacts quickly, one hand wrapping protectively around Lucien’s head, while the other summons a bright flame. He tracks the creature as it flies closer, his body tense, ready for a fight—until it lands on a tree branch with a soft hoot.

“It’s just an owl, Lu,” Eris says, tugging gently at Lucien’s hair. The fire in his hand fades away.

Lucien slowly pulls away from his brother, peeking out from behind his arm. His face was still pale, fear lingering in his eyes as he looks up at the creature perched above them.

“Why is it so ugly?” he mutters, his voice small.

Eris huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure it thinks the same of you.”

The owl lets out another low hoot, its round, dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on Lucien. It has him shifting uneasily, feeling the weight of its gaze pressing down on him. He turns away, squeezing Eris's arm tighter. But when his eyes flicker back to the cabin, they widen in shock.

“Someone’s inside!”

Eris follows his brother’s gaze but sees only shadows clinging to the weathered wood and windows. “You’re imagining things, Lu. No one’s lived here for centuries. The whole village is abandoned.”

But Lucien shakes his head vehemently, his hands tightening into fists. “No! I saw it—a pair of red eyes! They were looking right at me from inside the cabin!”

“I think you hit your head when Laika knocked you over,” Eris brushes off, glancing down at the hound, who waited patiently for an order. “Come on, let’s head back home.”

But Lucien stands his ground, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I know what I saw.” 

Eris sighs. 

“Alright, let’s say there is someone inside,” he pauses to cast a glance back at the cabin, amber eyes narrowing. “What do you expect me to do about it? I’m not exactly eager to knock on the door and have to interact with whatever strange being has chosen to live in the middle of nowhere like this.”

Lucien’s hands went to his hips in a posture that so perfectly mimicked their mother that Eris almost groaned aloud. He hated when Lucien did that. It was as if their mother’s spirit inhabited his little brother at that moment.

 “Are you scared?” Lucien asks, one eyebrow arching in challenge.

“No.”

“Then go knock on the door.”

“I’m not knocking on that door.”

Lucien’s eyes gleam with a hint of mischief.  “So you are scared.”

Eris glares down at him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not scared,” he insists, voice edged with irritation. “You know, if you were so brave to come here on your own, why don’t you go knock on the door?”

Lucien crosses his arms over his chest, his red hair fluttering slightly in the wind. He gives Eris a smug look. “You’re the adult here,” the younger Vanserra says and with a casual shrug that was far too cocky for someone his age, he adds: “I’m just a kid.”

Eris let out a slow breath through his nose, trying to keep his composure. He was not going to win this one and he found the grin spreading across Lucien’s face grating. It’s not that he was scared to go knocking on that door. He much rather preferred for them to head home instead of entertaining a silly myth. 

Though he hated to admit it, there was a part of him—the older brother part—that didn’t want to lose face. Lucien’s grin widens, sending his hesitation. “Go on,” he says, waving in an exaggerated manner toward the house.

“Fine.” Eris hisses out. His pride was on the line now and he wasn’t about to let his little brother win this ridiculous game. “I’ll knock on the door.” 

Both Lucien and Laika blink at him in surprise. He motions for his hound to stay put, gaze flickering between her and Lucien. A silent understanding comes between them–protect Lucien. The hound steps closer to Lucien, her nose nudging against him affectionately.

“I’ll see if whoever lives there has any appetite for a particular young fae male with russet colored eyes and messy red hair.” 

“Hey!”

Eris turns to face the cabin. The windows were dark and hollow, staring back at him like empty eyes. He squares his shoulders, every sense on high alert. If Beron were to find out he entertained this idea…he much rather the creature from the tales of the house of Veilwood to be true than for the former to happen...

As he steps forward, the wind howls again and the eerie creak of the wood makes the cabin seem even more sinister. There’s a small moat that surrounds the house, the only way to get to the door being a path of moss covered stones. It’s all like a warning–for him to stay away. 

His heart pounds in his chest, but he takes a deep breath and wills the streaming river beside the house to soothe his nerves. The owl, still perched on a nearby tree, lets out another hoot. “I’m going to knock once,” Eris says over his shoulder. “And then we’re leaving, got it?”

Though Eris can't see him, Lucien nods quickly, the younger's earlier confidence dissolving into nervous energy. Eris reaches the final moss-covered stone, his hand hovering mid-air, poised to knock. 

“Any second thoughts?”

Before Eris can respond, a sharp gust tears through the clearing, rustling the branches above and sweeping through his hair. The old, weathered door gave a sharp creak and slowly began to swing open on its own.

“Too late for that.”

Eris squints into the darkness that seems to defy the daylight. The sun should have illuminated at least part of the interior, but the shadows clung unnaturally to every surface, swallowing any hint of light. He blinks, willing his eyes to adjust.

But there’s nothing to see.

 A flicker of relief settles in his chest. “There’s no one here!” Eris calls over his shoulder to Lucien.

He steps forward, one boot crossing the threshold. The wooden floor groans beneath him. He reaches for the door, hand wrapping around the cold, rusted knob. As he tries to pull it close, the door resists, as though something on the other side is holding it back.

Eris frowns and pulls harder, but the door doesn’t budge. The stubborn resistance unsettles him, and he feels a deeper cold radiating from within the house. He lets go, deciding it wasn't worth the effort, and makes his way back to Lucien and Laika.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

“There was nothing.” Eris says and then he’s playfully grasping onto Lucien’s head. ‘Now, let’s go home and get this big head of yours checked.”

Lucien pries Eris’s hands off his head and gives his older brother a shove in retaliation. “There’s nothing wrong with my head and it’s not big!”

Laika walks ahead of them, guiding them on the way back home. Lucien continues grumbling, spouting off complaints about how his head is perfectly fine and how their other brother, Reed, was the one whose head needs to get checked.

As they continue to walk away from the infamous house of Veilwood, an odd feeling urges Eris to look back. It was like a pull, a lingering unease, and against his better judgment, he turned his head.

Two glowing red eyes stare back at him from the darkened doorway.

And then he heard it. A voice–low, ancient and laden with darkness.

“Son of Autumn. It is not time to play yet. Our paths will cross in due time.”

Eris tenses and a sudden, sharp shiver runs up his spine. The door to the house slams shut with a heavy finality, locking those glowing eyes within the cursed cabin.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lucien looks up at him, oblivious to the ominous presence. “Oh, the door slammed shut. Must be the wind, right? It’s been annoying us all day. Can we just winnow home now? My legs hurt...”

Eris doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on the house. He tears his eyes away after a moment, forcing a chuckle. “Yeah, must be the wind.” 

But the words felt hollow in his mouth and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something far darker than a simple myth lay waiting within that cabin...

Centuries later, your pov

Every night before bed, in lieu of a lullaby, your father would tell you a story. His voice was like a soothing hum, his words drawing you into a world of wonder. And when your eyes fluttered shut, those tales would blossom in your dreams, vivid and alive. There were countless stories you held dear, ones you'd ask to hear over and over again. Yet one, in particular, clung to you most tightly. 

It was not just a story—it lingered in your thoughts, haunting you like a memory half-forgotten.

The tale of the House of Veilwood.

Veilwood was the name of a forest in Autumn, just north of the town where you lived and near the great Pyr river. Long ago, before it became a dark and forsaken place, Veilwood was a small village—a humble stop for travelers passing through the court. No one could say for certain what had befallen it. Some whispered of a great fire, while others spoke of a storm so violent it swept the village clean. Whatever the disaster, it left only ruin in its wake.

Well, everything except one house.

The house remained standing, untouched by whatever tragedy had claimed the rest of the village. It had since gained a reputation as a cursed place, where something wicked lingered within its walls. Few dared to enter Veilwood, and as per your father, even fewer returned unchanged. Fear of the forest ran deep with travelers taking longer, safer paths to avoid the looming shadows that stirred within its depths.

According to your father, the heart of Veilwood harbored a creature—a massive and owl-like being with claws sharp enough to slice through flesh, and eyes like polished obsidian. In the story your father would tell you, the creature would glide effortlessly through the night sky and along the riverbank, searching for its next victim to snatch in its talons. It would lure its prey with its terrifying cry, tricking their victims by the volume of its screams. If its cries sounded distant, it meant danger was very near, contrary to what one would believe.

The creature wasn’t what haunted your mind. Rather, it was the house. You dreamt of it often. It appeared as a lonely cabin, tucked away in the tangled embrace of Autumn’s ancient woods. Though shrouded in mystery and menace, the house never frightened you. Instead, it pulled at your curiosity, inviting you to open its door. But in your dreams, there was no sign of the owl-like creature your father had described in such chilling detail. 

Only two glowing, fae-like red eyes would greet you from the shadows—and then you would wake.

As you grew older, the realization dawned that your father had mingled truth with lies to keep you from wandering into the forest. The woods of Autumn were no place for a child, after all, and though your curiosity had often led you astray, this was one warning from your father you had always heeded.

Until now.

Your breath hitches as you come to a halt, eyes widening in quiet disbelief. The house of Veilwood stands before you, exactly as it had in your dreams. 

The towering trees loom overhead, their gnarled branches twisted and tangled. Moss drapes from them like tattered curtains, swaying eerily in the breeze. The cabin is small and crooked, its steep, warped roof blending with the thick canopy of twisted trees. The weathered wood of its walls, nearly swallowed by creeping vines and patches of moss, makes it seem as if the forest itself is trying to reclaim it.

Dim, flickering lights glow from within, casting faint golden reflections on the surface of the murky swamp that surrounds the cabin like a moat. The water feeds into the streaming river nearby and laps softly against the moss-covered stones that form a crude path to the entrance. With a deep breath, you step onto the first stone, your pulse quickening. 

A shadow swoops overhead, dark and sudden, and your heart jumps into your throat. Your father's tales flood back—stories of the creature, the monster that stalks these woods. But then, as your eyes dart upwards, you catch sight of a small barn owl gliding above you, its wings silent as it perches on a nearby tree branch. 

It hoots softly, and you wonder if this simple, cute looking bird had inspired the terrifying monster of your father’s story. The owl watches you with its unblinking, beady eyes as you continue, the wind picking up just enough to stir your hair and coax you forward.

When you reach the last stone, the door swings open before you have a chance to knock.

"Y/n!"

You smooth your dress and offer a small, tentative smile. “Deirdre,” you greet the older fae woman, her features far from the sinister creature your father once described. 

But you wouldn’t dare tell him that. Your visit here was a secret, and if you wanted to avoid becoming the talk of the village—or worse, facing your stepmother’s wrath—you would have to keep it that way. 

There were many rumors about Deirdre, some so outlandish they were easy to dismiss, but others... others seemed to hold a grain of truth. Deirdre was a mysterious figure, always draped in dark, shadowy clothing that made her seem almost a part of the night itself. When she ventured into town, it was only briefly, and she kept to herself, rarely speaking to anyone. Her most frequented spot was the town apothecary, a place she visited so regularly that it drew whispers and wary glances from the other patrons.

That’s where you first met her.

You had been sifting through the shelves of dried herbs, your fingers lingering in an uncertain manner over a selection meant to ease your father’s persistent pains. The owner of the apothecary was frustratingly no help, claiming the same as the town’s healer did–that there would be nothing to ease your father’s pain. 

You must’ve looked so lost, so desperate for Deirdre’s soft, low voice interrupted your thoughts. Without hesitation, she pointed to the right herbs and then pulled a small vial full of dark liquid from her bag. "Mix these with care and intent, and he’ll find relief," is all she had said.

After she left, the apothecary owner pulled you aside, her eyes darting toward the door. “I’d stay away from her if I were you,” she warned, her voice a low hiss. “That woman is nothing but trouble.”

But you didn’t listen.

To this day, you still don’t know what had been in the vial Deirdre had given you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Deirdre’s advice worked, and for the first time in months, your father’s pain eased. So, you found yourself returning to the apothecary more often, despite your step-mother’s growing disapproval. Each time you saw Deirdre, you couldn’t resist finding an excuse to talk to her. 

There was something about her presence that intrigued you, a quiet power in the way she carried herself. It resonated with you.

The last time you crossed paths, she had slipped you a handwritten recipe for a tonic. You don’t know how she knew of your predicament but once again, you didn’t care. The tonic you brewed cured the fever that had a firm grip on your younger brother for days in an hour.  You had hoped to see her at the apothecary soon to thank her and also ask for more of the vial she had given you for your father. When days turned into weeks of not seeing her, you bribed the apothecary shop’s owner for more information about Deirdre.

And now, here you were, standing outside her secluded home. The lonely house of Veilwood, the very one from the story your father told you about.

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask.

Deirdre’s dark eyes glitter with quiet amusement. She nods toward the owl, which remains perched on a tree outside, still watching you. “Alden,” she explains, her tone light. “He’s an old friend of mine and always the first to alert me of visitors. Now come inside before the chill of the forest gets to you.”

A strange sensation washes over you as you step into the house, the thrill of the unknown mixing with the rush of adrenaline. Inside, the cabin is small but cozy. So much more alive than you ever imagined and so much more bright than it had been in your dreams.

Garlands of vines and branches criss-cross overhead, woven together with fae lights that twinkle like stars. Your gaze drifts upward to the wooden beams, where runes—ancient symbols—have been carved. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and the warmth from the blazing hearth immediately soothes your nerves.

“My father told me stories about this place,” you comment, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes scan the room, taking in every small detail.

“Did he now?” Deirdre’s tone carries that same hint of amusement you’d seen in her eyes. “And is it all you dreamed it to be?”

You pause, her question hanging in the air. Your eyes shift to her, but Deirdre’s back is to you as she continues her way to the kitchen. A question sits on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you say, “Well, there’s certainly no monster waiting to prey upon me here. A bit disappointing, really.”

Deirdre turns her head just enough to throw a smirk over her shoulder, her dark, raven hair swaying slightly with her movement. “My apologies. I’ll be sure to summon Caraxes next time, just for you.”

You chuckle softly, the tension in your chest easing as you take in more of the space. 

The fire crackles in the hearth, its warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. A cauldron hangs over it, the smell of something brewing, red smoke curling from its top. Above the hearth, an altar is meticulously arranged—candles, knick-knacks, crystals, and a chalice. To the right of the fireplace, is a simple wooden framed bed, the sheets and blanket a soft cream color with red embroidered swirls along the edges. 

Against the far wall stands a towering bookshelf, crammed with thick, ancient tomes that seem to pulse with forgotten knowledge. At its center, on the middle shelf, a black leather-bound book catches your eye. There’s no title on its spine, only the symbol of an eye engraved in rich gold, watching you. It feels alive, its gaze almost hypnotic, and for a brief moment, you could swear it winks.

Startled, you turn your head sharply, focusing on the left of the hearth. A long, shadowy hallway stretches farther than the cabin should allow, leading to a single, distant door. Along the walls, portraits of fae women, each bearing an uncanny resemblance to Deirdre, gaze out with knowing eyes. Every one of them wears a red pendant identical to hers. They must be her ancestors.

You feel drawn to the hall, eager to study the names beneath the portraits, but a sharp whistle from the kettle breaks your trance and pulls you back to the main room.

Deirdre gestures for you to sit at a small table by one of the windows while she prepares tea. When Deirdre returns, she sets two steaming cups in front of you, along with a plate of bread and cheese. "Tell me," she says, sitting across from you. "What troubles you, my dearie?"

You hesitate, glancing down at the tea swirling in your cup. “What makes you think something’s troubling me?”

“Not many come here without reason…” Her voice trails off, her eyes drifting toward the window. Her hand reaches up, cradling the pendant that hangs from her neck. The stone in the center glows faintly, a crimson hue that pulses with her touch. For a moment, you think you see shadows swirling around it, but then her gaze snaps back to you, sharp and knowing. 

“Do you know what I am?”

There’s a sudden lump in your throat. “Yes.”

“Do you fear me?”

“No.”

A slow smile spreads across Deirdre’s face, her eyes softening. “Good,” she says quietly, her voice like a gentle breeze. “There is nothing for you to fear.”

Your fingers curl and uncurl from your cup of tea, still left untouched. The steam still lingers, the scent of chamomile and lavender soothing your nerves. “I…,” your voice trails off, unsure and uncertain. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Deirdre takes a slow, deliberate sip from her tea, her gaze never leaving yours. She sets the cup down with an air of patience, as though she’s been waiting for this moment. “What makes you think that?”

Hesitation makes you falter for a moment. A part of you—the part shaped by your stepmother’s strict religious teachings and narrow beliefs—screams that this is wrong. That you should flee, run as far as you can from this world of strange happenings, from the unknown that threatens everything you thought you understood.

But then there’s the other part of you, the one that has always felt different, the part that resonates with your heart and finds comfort in Deirdre’s presence. Something about her calls to you, like a whisper of recognition deep in your bones, even though the words you’ve exchanged have been few.  

Her dark gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, filled with a silent promise that there’s nothing to fear. That whatever is happening to you is not something to run from, but to understand. There’s no pity in her eyes, only understanding. You want to sink into that feeling, to let it wrap around you like the warmth of a the fireplace does…

“Things have been happening—strange things. Things I can’t explain.” The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s like there’s something restless in me..."

"Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed, things around me shift, like the air gets thick and…trouble seems to follow.”

You lift your gaze to meet Deirdre’s. “But then you came along and for once in my life, I did something good. My father’s pains at night have subsided enough for him to get some sleep. My brother’s fever lifted quickly. The healer said that if the fever had lasted a day longer, he would not have made it…”

“How long have you been hearing the whispers in the wind?”

“For so long, I don’t even remember when it started…,” your voice trails off, surprise flickering in you. “How do you know?”

“Because I hear them too,” Deirdre replies and as an afterthought adds: “When they allow me to.”

You find yourself leaning in, muscles relaxing in relief. “How do you know what they’re saying?”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Deirdre rises from her seat, extending her hand, and your breath catches as red magic swirls from her palm, flickering like flames along her fingertips. When you meet her gaze, she smiles at you and there’s warmth in her smile that spreads like sunlight after a storm. 

A quiet reassurance. You could say no—she wouldn’t press. But in that same smile is the promise that if you say yes, she’ll be there, like a beacon guiding you through the shadowy unknown. 

Your gaze lingers on her glowing, red hand. “Am I a witch?”

The question leaves your lips in a rush, your voice trembling slightly as you finally say it out loud.

“Only if you wish to be.” Deirdre responds gently.

Her answer sends a flutter through your chest. Only if you wish to be. Once again, you’re given a choice. It lingers in the air between you, thick with possibility, as if the very world is holding its breath, waiting for your decision.

You want to ask more, to press her for answers but you realize that this is a matter entirely up to you. The wind stirs outside, its sudden howl rattling the windows, causing branches to scrape against the glass. A shiver runs down your spine—not from the cold, but from the weight of the choice now resting in your hands.

You glance down at your own palms, your fingers tingling with the faintest hum of power, like something inside you is waking up. The flutter in your heart steadies, and suddenly, the decision feels clearer, easier than you’d expected.

“Okay,” you say, your voice stronger than before, certain.

And just like that, you take her hand, allowing her to guide you into a world you’re itching to understand.

[eris x chaos witch masterlist]

a/n: kudos to you if you got the House of the Dragon reference. I just couldn't think of another name lol. Same with the name I gave Eris's hound in this and sorry for the not so creative name I gave the house.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

[thebetawolfgirl]

Could you do one where the reader and Timmy are co stars and the leading roles in WONKA and they’re doing press tour and stuff and the whole internet ships them but he’s dating Kylie. Kylie and y/n had something like big beef years ago , so when she finds out that Kylie is attending their wonka premiere, she decides to stop press tour completely , I just like some drama idk and I love your writinggg 🤍🤍

A/N: This isn’t my best work but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! Thank you so much for all your support!!!

Dream Come True

Pairing: Timmy x Reader

Warnings: None. Just pure fluff and a little bit of angst.

Dream come True

Y/n met Timmy when they were cast as the leading roles in the new movie ‘Wonka’ telling the origin story of the famous Chocolatier Willy Wonka and they hit it off right away. They spent nearly every day together between takes talking about movies, literature and food, they would debate art and history, Timmy was intelligent and had a certain view of the world she had never seen in anyone else her age. He was sensitive and had passion, he was also very giving with his fans, he would stand and talk to them and listen to them. It was during Covid so he couldn’t get too close to anyone on the outside, which meant the only people they both saw was the rest of the cast and each other.

She stayed with him when he came back to work after his grandmother passed away as he lay in her arms breaking his heart. They had become close.

When Covid ended and he was able to do press finally for Dune, she sent him a quick message to wish him good luck and he replied with a heart emoji.

Now it was 2023 and they were finally able to do a bit of press for Wonka together, they were excited to talk about this project finally, everyone adored them together and the internet was shipping them together already, but of course he had already been spotted out with Kylie Jenner. Much to y/n’s disapproval, she didn’t like the girl but she had no right to tell Timmy who he should be dating. It wasn’t her business.

Timmy noticed how y/n would become distant with him whenever they were together and Kylie showed up, he didn’t like it. He hated not having y/n around him, he knew she and Kylie had a history long ago but he didn’t think she would completely distance herself from him. After his beloved grandmother passed away she was like his rock keeping him anchored as he drowned in his grief, now that Kylie was constantly around him, she wasn’t. And it was making him antsy, so much so in fact when she bailed out of one of their many press interviews for Wonka everyone around him could tell he was agitated because y/n wasn’t by his side. She claimed she had fallen unwell and lost her voice from all the talking and was taking a break.

When she came back he was fine again and back to his usual chatty goofy self.

When it came closer for the world premiere for Wonka in LA Timmy’s management came to him and said Kylie would be joining him on the red carpet for at least two of the premiers and he sighed burying his face in his hands.

He heard through the wall in the next suite y/n going crazy after hearing the news.

‘Is she that fucking desperate for attention that she needs to go to a premier for a children’s movie?! Talk about fucking creep factor! Will she be in the Chanel commercial too, or is this the only thing of Timothée’s she wants to destroy with her existence?’

She was so upset and furious. She sent Kylie a text telling if this movie flopped because of her, she would make her life a living Hell then turned off her phone. She told her publicist to send for her car, she was done with the whole tour and she was going home.

She saw Timmy’s agent in the hallway looking at her with regretful eyes and stormed past his shoulder. ‘I hope this little act was worth the money, she’s going to destroy his career he’s worked so hard for.’ She walked to the elevator and left without saying goodbye to any of the cast or to Timmy.

Timmy had been doing publicity work when he heard about y/n leaving and walking away from the rest of the tour and was devastated.

But when the night of the premiere arrived and y/n was nowhere to be seen he asked around thinking maybe she was just running late, but when his publicist told him with a nervous air that y/n had pulled out of coming to the premier as well as the tours Timmy went pale feeling himself falling back.

He felt Hugh and Olivia grab his arms lowering him into the chair as someone went to get him a glass of water, he buried his face between his legs as he felt his chest tighten.

He needed y/n here, he needed to see her face when the noise got to much for him she was the only one who could calm his nerves with her soothing words. She wasn’t happy about Kylie he knew that, she told him countless times that he could do so much better than her, he deserves so much better than her.

It was always her though, Timmy realised as he drank his water.

The premier came and went he did the whole arm around Kylie looking in love charade, when really he couldn’t stand her. The longer he looked at her the more his stomach turned. How had he not seen how fake this woman was, how vapid! No wonder he couldn’t think straight after being with her, it wasn’t lust his brain cells were dying, gasping out for some sort of stimulation.

No wonder after every conversation with Kylie he would call y/n to just to contradict her about something she said just to rile her up and have a healthy debate with her.

After the premier he ditched Kylie and locked himself in his hotel room and tried to call y/n but the phone just rang out, so he tried to message her and it said her phone was now switched off. He tried to Skype her on his laptop but that was disconnected. He slammed his laptop down getting annoyed, if she thought she could ignore him and he would just leave her alone she was wrong. He changed into his sweats and his hoodie with his baseball cap and grabbed his car keys before sneaking out of the hotel.

He knew where she lived, he remembered her telling him how she had inherited her grandfather’s ranch where she grew up as a little girl. It was out in the California countryside, a place surrounded by beautiful trees and mountains. It was still light for some reason, LA he guessed rolling his eyes. He drove along the road and he knew he was getting close when the desert become more leafy and he was suddenly surrounded by autumn trees, he smiled and came to farmlands and turned into a beautiful driveway dusted with fallen leaves and fenced off grasslands for the horses to graze on, he looked out his window and saw the stunning backdrop of mountains and and greenery.

He parked outside the house and got out of his car. His fancy wheels looked stupid in these surroundings. He looked around in amazement taking everting in, from the fresh air around him to the house and the huge mountains in the background and the horses grazing in the fields beyond. He couldn’t believe he was still in California. Maybe, Montana or somewhere in Arizona.

He understood why y/n loved this place so much, what happy memories she must have made here with her grandparents, he turned as he heard the door open and out she stepped looking at him. Dear God she was stunning, he had saw her all glammed up and he saw her all messy and covered in chocolate and mud and he had even saw her in her pyjamas when he showed up at her hotel room late one night, but he had never saw her like this.

She was wearing a pair of old torn jeans, covered in some sort of white stuff like powder, she must have been baking, and an off the shoulder knit sweater and her light brown hair was in a messy side braid. Her bangs were whipping around her face, as she walked up to him shoving her hands in her pockets.

‘Timmy? What are you doing here? I thought you would be at the after party?’

‘I’m sorry, I am so so sorry. I was a total dick to you!’ He blurted out before he could stop himself and she blinked at him.

He looked around, spreading his arms wide ‘This just proves my theory!’

She smiles stepping closer to him ‘What theory is that?’

‘That you’re definitely an angel, because this,’ he gestures around him. ‘This is Heaven!’

She smiles watching him look around him.

‘I could see myself spending my out my life here,’ he looked her in the eyes ‘With you. I could see me spending my life here with you.’

She takes a deep breath looking at him. ‘Is that what you came all the way out here to tell me?’

‘No, actually I drove out here to confront you about ignoring me tonight and argue with you. Tell you, Plato was an idiot and the Yankees suck ass!’

She glared before raising her eyebrow looking at him ‘And now?’

He sighed shoving his hands in his pockets ‘Well I can’t very well yell at you now.’

‘The Yankees are a great team by the way.’

He scoffed rolling his eyes and she raised her eyebrows. ‘Because the Knicks did so great this season?’

‘Hey! They did their best okay!’

‘My ass they did their best!’ She turned and walked back towards the house and he followed her immediately almost automatically.

He closed the door behind him and stepped inside the cozy house and looked around, there were family photos of different generations scattered along the wall, he saw a picture of y/n in her graduation robes holding her diploma.

‘What did you study?’

‘Before becoming an actor I wanted to work with animals. So I studied veterinary science.’

‘Wow.’ He muttered under his breath as he looked at all of the family photos and saw a picture of a young girl on a horse holding a large trophy.

‘Hey who’s the little girl on the horse with the trophy?’ He called to her in the kitchen.

‘Oh that’s me. I came in first place in the equestrian event. My papa was so proud that he was actually crying.’ She came back with two bottles of his favourite beer and handed him one, smiling at the photos. He watched her closely as he sipped his beer ‘What was your grandfather like?’

She looked at him and smiled ‘You’re the first person to ever ask me what he was like.’

He smiled and waited. ‘He was always smiling, always singing. He liked putting the radio and dancing with grandma around the kitchen. He taught me how to dance too.’ She looked up at Timmy smiling before frowning ‘When grandma died he was never the same again, I think a little bit of him died when she did. The thing that killed him most, I think was that none of the family came to the funeral. I skipped school and took a bus using my lunch money to go. All the other families from the neighbouring ranches came but her own children didn’t come. I moved in here after graduation, I told my parents to stay away, invited my grandpa instead. Haven’t spoken to them since his funeral eight years ago.’

She sighed as Timmy listened intently without interrupting. He knew she had been keeping this bottled up for years. All of the love and pride she felt for her grandparents, the hurt and the shame of her family not paying their respects and her total determination with her loyalty towards her grandparents. No wonder the old man left his entire life to his granddaughter. She was the only who cared enough to stay.

‘I’m sorry y/n.’ He wrapped his arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

‘Your parents sound like assholes. If you don’t mind me saying.’

She shook her head closing her eyes and smirked ‘Not at all. You’re right on the dot. They are assholes. When I made it to the big time they contacted me, wanting to ‘make amends’ I told them to go fuck themselves. After how they treated my grandparents I’m not interested.’

She turned to him and buried her head in his chest wrapping her arms around his waist ‘You’re actually the first person I’ve ever told that story.’

He was shocked as he wrapped his arms around her back he had heard she wasn’t the most trusting person. In fact he heard rumour about how hard she was to work with, she wasn’t good at taking orders and she barely spoke to anyone on set. But Timmy had seen her with fans, she would spend ages with the kids and the elderly, she always made sure was allowed the same lunch hour the actors had. She remembered the names of crew members asking one how their daughter enjoyed her first day of school, she even asked one of his grandmother was getting better.

He took her over to the couch and sat down with her holding her close as she lay against his chest.

He would break it off with Kylie, he didn’t care if he had to pay a big fine for terminating the contract, it would be worth it if he could be with y/n.

The fact that he could already hear the echo of their children running around the house and eventually their grandchildren, was huge. He never envisioned his future with anyone before. But with y/n, he saw himself spending the rest of his life on this ranch with this kind, beautiful woman and one day their children.

Y/n looked up seeing Timmy lost in thought and reached up to kiss his jaw, ‘penny for your thoughts?’

He looked down at her and blinked at feeling her lips on his skin ‘I don’t want to freak you out or scare you.’

She reached up and kissed his jawline again ‘You won’t, please tell me.’

‘I was thinking about our future. A-and I was picturing our children and our grandchildren running all about this house.’

He blushed and looked down and she sat on his lap lifting his face to make him look at her. ‘Are we married or do we live like hippies?’ She smiled and pecked his lips before he deepened the kiss leaning forward. ‘No, we’re definitely married until we’re old and grey, and calling the cops on each other because we can’t remember who the other one is.’ She laughed against his lips at his strange narrative of their future, she pulled away before standing and taking his hand to guide him upstairs to her bedroom.

They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but they were ready for whatever would be thrown their way. They met on a movie based on following your dreams, and they ended up being each other’s dream come true!

@sufferingstarlight

@gatoenlaciudad

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@tchalamess

@mel-vaz

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

The problem was that Harry had certain expectations of Catherine, and by extension, Meghan, based on what he had likely told her about Kate. Harry expected Catherine to treat Meghan in the same way she treated him, without considering her own thoughts and feelings. He was disappointed when his expectations were not met.

I disagree with this, I think K treated M the way she treated H, civil but not too close, I think M had expectations of Kate based on her public image that M built her anti-K personality off: meek, easily influenced, boring, etc.. as someone said(I'm not sure if it was you), she expected Kate to be her Jessica, a wingwoman designed to make her look better.

and in H's book he speaks about feeling like the 3rd wheel with W&K and dreaming of the day that he stops feeling that way because he had a partner as well and they can be a happy four, except that him having a partner to W&K meant that they no longer have to tolerate him to soothe his feelings, that was to be his partner's burden, having a partner didn't mean a happy 4 to them, it meant he can go off with his spouse so that they can focus more on their relationship and their children.

Sorry, I disagree. We do know that Harry and Kate were much closer than “civil.” Harry, William, Kate, and the rota have all spoken about how close they were pre-Meghan. I mean, Harry used to pop over to 1A all the time for dinner and to hang out (according to William) and Harry lived/spent nights close enough to them that he could hear George playing from his bed (according to Harry himself) and then there’s Michelle Obama’s famous story about George asking Harry why he was so quiet during the Obamas’ visit.

That’s a pretty close relationship. If you’re just civil with someone, you don’t give them walk-in privileges to their home and your child certainly isn’t going to notice a difference in their personality or behavior when there are guests.

But it’s clear something happened to cause a distance put distance between Harry and William and Kate. I think the fracturing had already started before Meghan came along. According to the rota and implied by Harry in Spare, the fractures, or a slight cooling, seem to have started around 2014/2015 when William and Kate were settling into their new phase of life (parenthood) and spending more time in (before eventually moving to) Norfolk while Harry maintained his partying lifestyle, which the rota has hinted worsened after he left the Army.

Also, aristo gossip has hinted that whenever Harry did visit the Cambridges in Norfolk and/or they went to parties hosted by friends, Harry brought his partying ways with him (drinking to excess, wanting to stay out all night, loud boisterous and belligerent behavior, etc.) and the Turnip Toffs didn’t like it so they stopped inviting Harry around as often. The “read between the lines” of the gossip was that Harry doesn’t know when enough is enough and kept going too far, which made everyone uncomfortable.

So I agree with the original anon - because Harry had a warm and close relationship with Kate, he expected her to greet Meghan warmly and immediately bring her into her inner circle.

But what Harry didn’t realize is that his relationships with William and Kate had already fractured because of whatever happened in 2014-2016 and his expectations for how they interacted with Meghan ended up being the fatal blow to those relationships more than Meghan’s expectations of Kate or the women not getting along were.

[yuseirra]

What if the Twins were NEVER born?? They weren't meant to be in the first place.

Okay I could be ALREADY off, answers could be popping out anytime now but It occurred to me, like 3am in the morning so I came to write:

The protagonists, the twins, weren’t meant to be born in the first place, but Tsukuyomi saved them…

So, how would the story have unfolded if they hadn’t been born? Couldn't that have actually been better for some characters?

Suddenly, I remembered: Ai was an idol, but she had a boyfriend, and more importantly, children. That's why someone like Ryosuke, thinking "An idol with kids? What a liar," ended up killing her, right?

But Ai's twins weren’t originally supposed to be born; they were destined to be stillborn… Tsukuyomi intervened and let them be born alive.

If Ryosuke hadn’t found proof that Ai had kids, he wouldn't have gone after her to kill her, would he? It’s only because she had children with Kamiki, that he used it as a reason to attack her.

I used to think that the twins were born for Ai's sake. If she had lost those children, Ai may have fallen into despair… So I thought Tsukuyomi helped her out of kindness. And since I also thought Ai was a deity or a reincarnation of one, I believed she might be a "god who loves humans." If that were true, then through her children, she discovered what love really meant, right?

But… I’m not sure how things would have turned out if the twins weren't there. Sigh… I'm not saying it's a bad thing they survived, I never believed so and thus this idea never occurred to me till the very end, but what if it's actually caused more misfortune than good in some way?;;

Let's go with the premise that both Kamiki and Ai were originally gods, the ones that bless the entertainment industry, Sarutahiko and Amenouzume. Around that time, Kamiki had already been pretty broken, and Ai was left as his only support. His eyes had already darkened, and though he might not have fully understood his own powers, maybe they were leaking out unconsciously. What I'm thinking is, if he had wished, "I don't want Ai to leave," back then, that could have prevented their children FROM being born. That’s kind of chilling… I think Kamiki HAS something to do with wishes. He seems to have some kind of power to make wishes come true, but they end up twisted. He proposed right after hearing about the pregnancy, and since Ai wanted to raise the kids together, he probably wasn’t someone who would reject his children. It’s just that… what he wished for always seemed to turn into something that brought him misery. Originally, Sarutahiko is a god who guides things in a "right" "positive" direction, right? Maybe he had already started going down the opposite path by then because he was broken by the malice?

Anyway, if the protagonists hadn’t been born back then, could they have reconciled? Maybe Ai wouldn’t have died?

I think the "divine mission" the protagonists were given is probably tied to their divine parents.

Ruby's role is to fulfill her mother Ai's dream -> surpassing her, shown through comparison and growth in the story.(not entirely convinced that she's the better version but it is still her objective)

As for Aqua, he likely was assigned by Tsukuyomi to do something related to Kamiki. I think Tsukuyomi might have tasked Aqua with stopping or killing Kamiki. If Kamiki is a god, then he’s too broken and needs to be dealt with… I have a hunch that's why Tsukuyomi probably kept giving him hints about revenge.

If Tsukuyomi hadn’t saved the twins…; at the very least, Ai wouldn’t have been killed by Ryosuke, but she might have faced danger due to overwhelming depression. But considering Tsukuyomi is a goddess of fate, wouldn't she have known what consequences her actions would bring? If the butterfly effect of saving the twins caused trouble to both Kamiki and Ai, then didn’t Tsukuyomi just start a snowball effect that sent both gods of the entertainment industry to their demise? What is her deal, anyway? What if she’s the black star? Haha.

Probably not… but it’s unsettling, isn’t it? However, isn't there a chance that the story could have turned out better if the twins hadn’t been born?

I personally still hold onto the idea that Kamiki would have never tried to harm Ai. It wasn't his personality, and he didn't do much in particular before Ai died, did he? What did he do?;; If he was the type to obsess and harass to make Ai come back to him, why didn’t he take any drastic actions for those four years? If Ai was the one who reached out to him first and said she wanted to let him see the kids, doesn’t that mean he wasn’t causing her trouble during that time? Ai was always sharp; she wouldn’t have made a reckless choice for the children she cherished… Would Kamiki have really wished his children gone??;; That's really too messed up. The way he acted in front of his children was so far from that too, and yeah, as always, regarding this guy, I trust Ai's conviction and guts... I want to trust him on this the way Ai did.

If you look at it positively, the reincarnation would have been for Ai and the two reincarnated souls. But thinking negatively, it might have been an attempt to retrieve the two gods who interfered in the human world and rewrite their fate. And the twins’ existence became the excuse for a killer to target Ai, driving Kamiki to madness. He kept acting out of a desire to see Ai again, and that led Aqua to believe he must be taken down for the sake of Ruby's future.

What if the protagonists hadn’t been born back then? If this had all happened when Ai and Kamiki were in their early 20s, wouldn’t things have been different? Wouldn't they have just announced their marriage and lived well together? It’s just that they were too young, so Ai decided to keep it a secret even though she liked him, and they ended up breaking up. But really, if they had gotten married, wouldn’t they have lived happily…? Both of them wanted that, after all. So if the children weren't born back then, but they reconciled later on... is that a possibility that could have been possible?;

If Tsukuyomi is guiding fate, even if she wasn’t the one to plan everything, the fact that she intervened in the twins’ fate means she wanted to change it. Was there any benefit to them being born far outweighing everything tragic that unfolds in the plot of onk? If Aqua's mission was to take down Kamiki and Ruby's was to surpass her mother, then…

Was Kamiki really beyond any hope of recovery…?

Because, he wouldn't have done whatever the heck he's been doing if only Ai didn't die, would he? Did he already have it in him and thus deserved to die?;; Is that it? This is giving me a headache...

[androxys]

Comic Ages: Quick Breakdowns for the Golden, Silver, and Bronze Ages

If you're new to comic fandom, or even if you're not, you may hear people talk about specific "Ages" of comic books. If you don't know what that means, or what people mean when they talk about a Golden Age, this is a quick writeup meant to help you out!

This focuses on the Golden Age, the Silver Age, and the Bronze Age of comics. This is a DC focused writeup, though it's loosely applicable to Marvel comics too.

The Golden Age (1938-1950s)

DC Comics as we know it started taking form in 1937 with the debut of the Detective Comics title. Published by Detective Comics Inc. in partnership with National Allied Publications, the title was an anthology of various detective and mystery stories featuring characters such as Slam Bradley. Have you ever read the first dozen or so ‘Tec stories? Because I haven’t. I care much more about what came next. In 1938, All-American Publications began publishing Action Comics, debuting a character called Superman. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Soon after, in 1939, Detective Comics #27debuted the Batman. Arguably with Action Comics #1, though definitely by 1940, the Golden Age of comics had begun.

The original iterations of the Flash and Green Lantern—Jay Garrick and Alan Scott, respectively—were created in 1940. The savvy reader among you might recognize these two as belonging to the Justice Society of America, which had arrived on the scene by 1941. The JSA would be rounded out with Hawkman, Doctor Fate, the Spectre, Sandman, the Atom, and Hourman. Other characters created around this time include Green Arrow (1940), Wonder Woman, (1941), and Aquaman (1941).

You may notice that the Golden Age overlaps with World War II, and it definitely affected DC’s publication. The newly created figure of the superhero became a more starkly patriotic figure, often spangled in red, white and blue. Plots began to incorporate nationalistic themes, and heroes often fought spies, foreign agents, and saboteurs. Arguably, though, scholars argue that the war era was most important for how superheroes began to move out of a purely print medium to radio and film. (For additional reading on DC Comics and WWII, see the Freeman and Hutchens citations below)

As the 40s went on, however, interest in superheroes began to wane, and DC (though technically they weren’t yet a consolidated DC Comics) began to pivot to other themes, such as Western stories or science fiction. The end of the Golden Age, however, can arguably be traced to 1954 with Frederic Wertham publishing Seduction of the Innocent. Wertham’s book that claimed that comics were an active harm to children due to their depictions of violence and supposed (homo)sexual themes. Seduction of the Innocent led to Wertham testifying before a U.S. Senate Subcommittee, which in turn ended up leading to comics publishers adopting the Comics Code Authority, a sort of self-imposed regulatory authority.

I would personally characterize the Golden Age as having a sort of earnestness to it. Characters are being invented left and right, but the writers haven’t yet had enough time with them to shape them into the figures we now know them to be. In hindsight, a lot of these early stories seem... silly… Superman eating a pocket-knife in Superman #8 comes to mind. But even within the same issue as the goofy knife-eating, you see Superman working against foreign agents representing the real-world anxieties of the time.

The Silver Age (1958-1970)

After the establishment of the Comics Code Authority, the content of comics had to change. At the same time, DC Comics (though they still weren’t technically doing official business under that name) had a stable of characters begging for reinvention. In 1956, Barry Allen debuted as the new Flash in Showcase #4, and the Silver Age was off. Science fiction themes seemed to be all the rage for the Silver Age: Hal Jordan, the new Green Lantern, got his ring from a dying alien. Ray Palmer, the new Atom, was described as a genius inventor who created his size changing powers. Hawkman was brought back, no longer as the reincarnating pharaoh Khufu, but as a police officer from the planet Thanagar. The Martian Manhunter was more thoroughly fleshed out and elevated from a detective to superhero. As individual heroes were getting re-tooled, the concept of the Justice Society was updated in 1960 to become the Justice League of America, which debuted in The Brave and the Bold #28.

After establishing refreshed versions of some of their older heroes, DC decided that they wanted to begin to reincorporate some of their older characters into their modern publication. This effort began in 1961 with the spectacular “Flash of Two Worlds” in Flash #123, which featured Barry Allen, the Flash, teaming up with Jay Garrick, the Flash of the Golden Age. This issue established that the Golden Age characters all still existed, but on a parallel Earth that vibrated at a different frequency than the Earth of DC’s main heroes, which was designated Earth One. By using their powers, characters like the Flash were able to vibrate at the other Earth’s speed, crossing over. This concept would soon be expanded upon, leading to frequent crossovers between Earth One and Earth Two characters and teams.

Having two separate Earths, each with their own history, allowed DC to have multiple variations of the same characters, offering greater storytelling breadth. The Bruce Wayne of Earth Two, for example, had retired as Batman to become Gotham Police Commissioner, passing on the torch to his daughter Helena Wayne, the Huntress. Huntress would cross over to meet the Bruce Wayne of Earth One, the younger, childless Batman. DC would develop other Earths, such as Earth Three, with villainous versions of Earth’s heroes, of Earth Prime, with a single Superboy as Earth’s only superhero.

The Silver Age, as a whole, can be looked at as campier than other eras of comics thanks in no small part due to the regulations imposed by the Comics Code Authority. Stories tended towards science fiction and the fantastic, and creators were very interested in making pre-established concepts new again. Comics continued to expand through new mediums, often keeping with the tone of the time: the Adam West Batman TV show, for example, ran 1966-1968 and is a great example of Silver Age camp. While the Silver Age has an event that can be pointed to as a relatively agreeable indication of the era’s beginning, its end is slightly less clear.

The Bronze Age (1970-1986)

The Bronze Age of Comics came about during the 1970s, but it’s not easy to discern exactly when or with what event. Comic readers had been indicating a desire for darker or more mature stories. (In some ways, this desire can be considered as a reaction to the trend of the Silver Age as a whole. For further reading, I suggest The Caped Crusade: Batman and the Rise of Nerd Culture by Glen Weldon, which dives into how Batman media specifically follows a tone-pendulum.)

Some point to the death of Gwen Stacy over in The Amazing Spider-Man as the event that heralded in the Bronze Age, others point to Jack Kirby leaving Marvel to join DC and begin the Fourth World. The Bronze Age was emboldened by the revision and weakening of the Comics Code in 1971, after Stan Lee published a comic about drug use without the Authority’s stamp of approval. The comic was a success, leading the code to reevaluate or be left behind.

In the realm of DC, Green Arrow’s joining the Green Lantern title in 1970 in what would then be Green Lantern/Green Arrow #76 is generally considered a Bronze Age hallmark. The series focused on contemporary social ills, with its arguably most famous story tackling drug addiction in America. 1971’s Green Lantern/Green Arrow #78, “Snowbirds Don’t Fly,” depicted the teen hero Roy Harper's addiction to heroin and the other heroes’ reaction and response. In the Batman comics, Dennis O’Neil and Neal Adams began a long campaign to bring Batman back to a more gothic, brooding figure with appropriately dark villains. O’Neil and Adams’ 1971 Batman #232 debuted Ra’s and Talia al Ghul, while 1973’s Batman #251 would see “The Joker’s Five Way Revenge” take the Joker from his Silver Age clownish portrayal to a more menacing, murderous villain.

As DC Comics approached 50 years of publication in 1985, they began to recognize that five decades had left them with quite a mess of continuity. There were the Golden Age heroes on Earth Two, the Silver Age heroes that had become the Bronze Age heroes on Earth One, and a plethora of alternate Earths and company acquisitions to make it muddier. To mark the anniversary and clean house at the same time, DC embarked upon the Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Crisis on Infinite Earths, often referred to just as “Crisis” was a year-long maxi series running from 1985-1986. The plot involved the destruction of the DC multiverse, and resulted in the establishment of a New Earth with a new continuity. Nearly everything that came before was taken off the metaphorical table, and writers got to choose which pre-Crisis elements to re-canonize and which elements to create fresh.

[pranabefall]

ノㅤA FOREIGNER'S GOD // zhongli x reader.

syn. bingyin finds himself with a broken child and a fuller house post performance ( and you...you are a little lost ).

CONTENT WARNINGS. ( 2.14k ) implied parental death, landslides, one traumatized child, brief mentions of grief, reader's nation of origin is left ambiguous ( though my indulgent ass does lowkey hc the sumeru gang ), grumpy old men. the chapter is relatively tame. no zhongli yet hehe. the art within the chapter, save for the banner, belongs to me. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS WITHIN THE CHAPTER LIST.

ENTRIES. reposting this piece from my old account!!! wish me luck!!! this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice. artwork used in this chapter belongs to me!!!

LINKS. chapter list ノ ao3 ノ next »

PROLOGUE : his garment is covered in dust.

"open thine eyes and see thy god is not before thee! he is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the path-maker is breaking stones. he is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!"

― GITANJALI 11 , RABINDRANATH TAGORE.

There is a story the young ones love — of the heavens, a god and a chariot of gold filigree. 

It was told to him in passing once, when he asked about a streak across a painting ( the rice paper had blotted at the edges with ink. The grass had bled into the fallows ). The painter was an old man. Too old, perhaps, to be holding a brush and hobbling to the stepped terraces of Qingce. But Bingyin could appreciate that flavor of stubbornness that steadied those trembling fingers. The man talked about his children first, then his wife, then the fallen sun and the yawning chasm. He listened in turn, because stories were meant to be heard and now he tells it to his audience.

Today, there is another to follow the usual. The sun chariot was a mainstay. The children like skyward carriage crashes for some reason ( is it inherent violence? A sadistic pleasure in divine accidents? He is worried ) and they liked dragons more. So this one has a dragon. 

A dragon encrusted with cor lapis and a mountain cave that cloistered its coiling wreathe. 

It was an undulating, glimmering thing. The skin puppet he carved out and painted was long, segmented and his hands ached navigating the way it flies and flies and flies ( dragons fly a lot. Far too much for his tastes. Damn dragons ). 

But Bingyin could see the clapping through the thin screen, hear the laughter. He keeps singing. He sings about the flooded plains and the guided people and the mountain erected at the harbour’s head. Then he sings about how the dragon retreated into Jueyun Karst once more, curling under the cavernous tunnels like jade pressed to the earth.

His voice is hoarse when he stops and the cheers ring out. The puppets were tucked away. He stretches out his arms and feels the throbbing press on before it fades. It was another day of work for him. Tomorrow, he’d be working the tea slopes then returning home with a new story to tell and it would grasp and grind at his mind till he writes it down and forgets it’s existence. Perhaps he’d make a few new puppets, perhaps not.

This time though, when he gathers the last of his spoils, he sees Haoran lingering by the wooden seats, and you, still too young to properly let your feet touch the ground below. Bingyin had seen that look on your face, and he’d seen the mud caking your shoes and hem. They shouldn’t belong to a child. Not those eyes. Not those distant, dead eyes. 

“Is there something you want?” he tries to pack faster despite this. His drum rolls to his feet. Bingyin tries to right it up again, half flailing like a winded octopus. 

“Yes.” Haoran nods with a solemn set to his mouth. Why does he look like that? Bingyin thinks with a frantic shriek echoing at the back of his mind. He peers into his mora bag, at the glint of metal peering back up, then at you wearily. Why am I being stared at? Stop. Stop staring. “Could we have a moment of your time please?”

“No. I’m busy now. You should have been quicker.”

“Please.” 

Oh hell to it.

Bingyin puts on a show of tempered frustration and glares at Haoran with his lips pressed to a harsh line. He needs to crane his neck up a bit. That foolish boy was a head taller than him with a gangly set of arms to match. You are attached at one end like a leech struggling to keep up. “Alright. Don’t waste my time.” 

“Okay.” words stumble over themselves. “Do you recall the rains a few days prior? They were particularly heavy weren’t they?” 

“Yes.” he wasn't stupid. He could see rain just fine. 

“Well…” Haoran casts a glance at you. There is pity there. It’s cloying and it’s unpleasantly thick. You seem to disappear within the shadow cast upon you, small, so small and so fish eyed. “There was a landslide at Juehyun Karst and a few travelers were caught within it. This little one lost their parents.”

Haoran’s voice drops to a whisper. He talks about it like it’s forbidden. A taboo. A cover up. He doesn’t mean it. Bingyin can’t quite judge a fool’s pragmatics and Haoran was well intentioned in keeping you separate from something dour. But Haoran’s pragmatics were meant to be judged at this point because he was, in fact, terrible at it.

“They can still hear you,” Bingyin points out. He is right. You can. You are trembling. His story was about the Karst too, wasn’t it? He wonders if you heard it and he hopes to the wayward gods that you did not. “Why are you telling me this?”

“They meant to come to Chenyu Vale. They meant to come here…them and their parents. They were tea farmers…” Archons. “Yes, yes I'm getting to it. Their parents knew your wife.”

Bingyin stills. 

“My wife?” he repeats.

“Your wife…oh don't look at me like that Mr. Bingyin.” Haoran helplessly looks between the two of you. Bingying shuffles in place, discomfort edging his stance. He feels flayed open. 

“And…?”

Haoran blinks. “I…well…that’s all I suppose. We were hoping…they’re still a child, you see…”

He knows what he’s asking for. He knows why he’s asking it. Bingyin seizes up and his throat runs dry. He thinks of the mora tucked away in his cupboard and the supplies it would buy for the week. Just enough for two. Not three. 

“No. Absolutely not.” he decides then and there. 

“But.” Haoran begins a protest. Bingyin cuts him off. 

“We have no time for children,” he states.

“You could ask your wife first — ”

“And she’ll say the same thing.” His words are sharp, metallic, cold. They shudder against the impact like a weak knife. “We have no time for children. Find someone else. A relative. Where are they from?” He doesn’t bother listening to what comes next. The conversation is dead at this point. Still the footsteps behind him persist between Bingyin navigating the stone walled houses. There was white at his periphery and the mountain green of Haotan’s hanfu and the flashes of your clothes after. A perpetual annoyance

Stubborn little —

“You wouldn’t abandon a child!”

“I don’t even know them!” 

“They have no one else!”

“You seem eager to find them a home. You have a perfectly decent one!”

Haoran throws his hands up. They are drawing gazes at this point; the beady eyed, nosey sorts. People will be talking after this in the rumor mill. “Someone needs to go to the harbor to sell your tea. I cannot ferry the youngling with me on my travels!” 

“You’re just a coward! I’m old and frail and near death! I can't keep up with a child!” he spares a glance your way. “No offense kid. Strangers and their dangers, I suppose.” You almost look pensive as you nod. Maybe you being ‘perceived as a threat’ was taken as a vague flattery. Bingyin can’t quite tell. He swears under his breath. There is a bitter aftertaste. He despises it, how his movements slow and let Haoran and you clumsily keep up.

( He’s worked his craft and walked these beaten paths for years. Bingyin still can’t quite call himself jaded. Not yet. )

“Their mother was one of her students.” Haoran continues. “We managed to salvage a few belongings and there was a photo…” He fumbles, unfolding a faded bit of paper. Bingyin recognized the younger face of his wife sidled up next to a smiling girl ( she was dead now. He looks at you again. You don’t look at the photo. You do not want to ). He gives pause, lets that bat around his mind.

( He remembers the letters. He remembers Nayao talking about a visitor. His stomach lurches. It’s unpleasant. )

Finally, he speaks. “You can stay for tea. We will see what we can do.” 

Haoran’s shoulders sag. “Oh.” and there is relief there, clear relief like witnessing the rainclouds shadow scorched lands. “Oh thank you.”

Bingyin only shuts his eyes and utters a sound of defeat.

The walk home took longer than it should have. Your shoes kept getting stuck in the mud and your small hands were caked with it till the lines of your wrists. Bingyin tries not to mind. Children stumble and fall and he watches you straighten yourself up with a near robotic stiffness and pace after him. He half wonders if you died in that landslide too. He half wonders if you were just a ghost. 

Nayao, perhaps, was the softness you might have needed, between Haoran’s awkward comfort and his own brittle countenance. She lets you clean up by the basin and warm up by the stove and let the pleasant heat of tea brew spot your skin. By the time Haoran had left, she was already reaching for the mat and spare sheets.

“So he wasn’t lying then?” he asks. 

“No.” she replies. He rests his hand on her shoulders. There is a weight to her voice. She seems ready to cry and she almost does, between her furtive wiping. “I did know her…”

“I suppose we’ll be caring for them, then.” Bingyin reasons. Because there was a cruel world behind these walls and no other face to have you. Nayao had made up her mind. Bingyin knows he can’t protest. She had the same stubbornness that painter did. 

He visits your little space with a blanket. You were curled up and a little shaken and swept, and still quiet. 

“Thank you.” you mumble. It’s the first words you tell him. Bingyin jerks his head. 

“Don’t. It’s the least we could do.”

Your hold on that single photo tightens. You’re shaking, shaking, shaking and Bingyin knows that you want to cry. Not now though. Not in front of him. “You’ll be living with us. At least until another relative comes to take you…if there are any.”

“I can do things.” you continue, half rambling. It’s almost obsessive. “I can work…my father was in a tea farm too…Mr. Haoran told you right so of course you do, and I helped him a lot. We grew lots of things and…and…”

Bingyin considers you. His lips press. “I think that’s child labour.” he admits. “No, it actually is. And it’s quite illegal. Do you really want to do that?”

You fold into yourself, hands clasped and trembling. You look raw, scraped hollow. “I don’t want to stay.”

“I know.”

“You’re really mean.” you sniffle, wipe at your eyes and squeeze them shut. “And you lie.”

Bingyin tilts his head. “Did I lie?” he intones. He didn’t speak to you much before this. There was no room to lie.

“You lied about the dragon.” you repeat. “You lied about the dragon in that show. There’s no dragon there….otherwise…” you trail off. The tears start prickling through. Your shoulders hunch and your nose prickles, fighting back against it. You sound sad, raw, lost. “Are they really gone?”

“Seems so, yes.” he tries to be as kind as he can. However there is so much he could be kind about with a question like that. Dead means dead and sugarcoating it meant rubbing salt over an unwanted wound. He is brittle, a little rough, yes, but he is not soulless. “And that was just a story. It’s not real. I’m sorry if it made you sad.”

“There is no dragon then?” you seem heartbroken, saying that. .

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, there isn’t a dragon. Just a few vishaps, yes but they spend their days letting the sun burn their backs.”

“If there was….would he have saved my parents?”

Bingyin looks you in the eyes. “Maybe. They said he was a god. Can’t be sure if gods exist, but I think he would have.” They don’t exist though. There were a few who did believe, perhaps. Once upon a time, he did too and those stories were a greedy mouthful after mouthful of assurance. But if Liyue did once hold gods within its mountain scathed scape, Bingyin assumes they were long gone.

You lay down against your mat. Bingyin lets you be, lets Nayao soothe you with some cut fruit and a few kinder words. You take them quietly, delicately picking at the sunsettia flesh and the sweet juice till a half empty plate was politely pushed away and you face the wall. 

When they both leave you be, they hear a faint sob ring out. Nayao leans her head against his shoulder.

They linger by the door and let you cry. 

please do not rework, repost to other websites without prior permission, steal or feed this work to AI.

[telvess]

Headcanons for all the characters including Jack since it’s based on Hamlet watching The lion king with the reader. (the original animated movie not the live action remake.)

Record Of Ragnarok Characters x Reader watching together The Lion King (headcanons) 🔞

You know, I haven’t watched The Lion King in… well I watched it once when I was kid and that’s it. Mulan, Hercules and Tarzan were my movies. Anyway I ended up watching The Lion King again to refresh my memory.

Qin

A what? Are you involved? Then Qin would agree to do anything.

He’s like a big kid - chill and carefree, even more than usually. Both of you goof around, Mr. Emperor tries to sing without knowing words, popcorn flies around, you pause a movie in stupid moments to make him laugh etc.

You get a stomachache from laughing too much and Qin obviously has to get infected.

Just two morons have time of their afterlife.

The only moment when there is silence is when Simba loses his father. That scene just hits too close to home and remains Qin about Chun Yan. However he doesn’t let it bother him too much.

HAKUNA MATATA

You both loudly encourage lions to battle.

At the end he asks what other movies you like.

Jack

Because he isn’t familiar with the concept of love and how to express it, spending time with you is probably Jack’s way to show his affection. If you ask him to watch an animated movie together, he’d politely agree, even if it’s not his thing.

Expect tea. And cheddar apple pie.

Jack sees Simba’s journey as a lovely and naive story. Deep inside he does compare himself to that lion cub and wonders what kind of person he would've become if he had only received help from strangers. On top of that Jack actually killed his parents, so it’s odd to him to see how much Simba struggles with remorse over Mufasa’s death which wasn’t his fault.

Truth to be told Jack might mentions some quotes from Shakespeare IF you point out similarities between the movie and Hamlet. These resemblances aren’t very visible. But it may be enough to start an interesting conversation.

The ending of the story may seems a bit bitter to Jack. Whoever was meant to be good, stayed good, and whoever was meant to be bad - stayed bad. Kinda depressing outcome for a man who’s trying to change himself, right? You’d have to talk about it and remind that it’s just a simplification made for children.

Now it’s time for a cuddle session.

Loki

Do you really want to do this to yourself? You’re very naive if you expect to have a fun with this guy while watching this kind of movie.

At first it’s just boring to him, but after awhile he amuses himself by coming up with new ways to destroy the show. He makes a loud comment every time the opportunity arises. For example, there is a scene where Zaku tells young Simba and Nala that they’d be married one day, to which Simba replies: No way! She’s my friend! You can hear a loud snort on the side, followed by She’s your SISTER, dumbass!

Loud chewing.

Hey, y/n, do you know that once Simba becomes the king, he will have kids with every lioness? Even his mom?

Do they have to sing all the time?

DON’T YOU DARE mention that you can see a similarity between him and hyenas or forget about chips, popcorn, whatever you two are eating.

Phew! It’s finally over. Wanna do something funny, y/n?

Adamas

Childish entertainment but once he sees that your eyes get wet with tears, he quickly agrees.

A cheerful start bores him but except tactless way of sitting, he doesn’t do anything to ruin your fun.

Even if Mufasa’s death was expected, it still hits hard Adamas. Basically catches him off guard. It remains him about his last meeting with Poseidon: his brother’s pure contempt towards him, that dead, indifferent expression of his face when he pierced Adamas with his trident, then cold surrounding body and Poseidon’s back as he walked away. But while the movie continues, a new digression haunts Adamas. He plays that scene again in his head and it hits him harder, because he realizes that he almost became Scar to Zeus.

So now he sits stiffly on his ass with a very depressed expression. One look at him is enough for you to know that you have to pause the movie and talk to a guy. At first he rejects your attempts, but very quickly ends up letting you hug him tight. Still plays a tough idiot tho…

Beelzebub

Most of the time he just sits next to you with lifeless expression.

Hakuna matata his ass.

Beelzebub secretly enjoys when you sing, but it’s really hard to catch him with a smile on his face. If you manage to do so, he reluctantly admits it. Good luck with convincing him to join you.

He doesn’t have any deeper thoughts about the movie.

If you mention that Timon and Pumba remain you Samael and Azazel, Beelzebub would just give you a dull look. After awhile he starts to notice that too and has mixed feelings about it.

Hrist

She finds this idea very sweet. It’s relaxing and enjoyable.

When Scar kills Mufasa: RAGE MODE ACTIVATION!

Since then you sit with angry Hrist who really does not like phrase hakuna matata. She starts to hate Simba for being so thoughtless.

Screams SHUT UP every time they start singing.

When Simba lets Scar leave, Hrist in heat of the moment chokes you and loudly screams how dumb he is. You wonder if it can get worse and the answer comes very quickly - Simba fights Scar on the TV screen and you fight for every breath on a couch.

Hermes

Hermes approaches the movie from a different angle: he focuses more on a soundtrack. The movie itself is simple story with moral, standard for humans’ approval.

You both consider an improvement of some songs and probably start doing it in the middle of a movie. Sorry, Simba.

Ares

Ares doesn’t care much about Mufasa’s death - it's necessary plot twist to move on with thread… but the ending kinda touches him. It's very climatic in his opinion.

He is NOT crying, okay?

Well you are. Or you pretend very convincingly so he doesn’t have to play tough boy. He has no idea…

Hades

Because he is a gentleman, your wish would be granted.

It’s animated movie but Hades drinks wine. No cola, no popcorn or other snacks. Please, have some dignity.

Hades has weird uncomfortable feeling in his chest when Scar kills his own brother. Scene just awakes something he doesn’t like to mention: conflict between Poseidon, Adamas and Zeus. Hades never could bring himself to blame any of them for how things turned out, so now he doesn’t try to look too deep into Musafa’s murder.

Afterwards he would share his honest opinion with you, almost like professional critic.

Poseidon

No expression throughout the entire movie.

Scar is pathetic.

Mufasa is pathetic.

Simba is pathetic.

Timon and Pumba aren’t even worth mentioning.

That movie proves that humans are lower forms of life.

At least you have chance to hug Poseidon. If he spends time with you, it means he demands it.

After a movie: Y/n, such entertainment is unworthy of the gods.

Leonidas

Books are better than movies. But fine, if you insist, the King of Sparta would spare some time.

The best comforter: Why are you crying? It’s fiction! It’s not even human! By the way - that lion could kill you with a single paw swing. These mfs are huge! Better him than you, hon!

He smokes so much that you have trouble seeing the TV screen.

Stop couching, hon! I can’t hear what they’re sayin’!

The moment Pumba approach, Leonidas starts talking about his love for venison.

You need truly heroic self-denial to not kick him out. The only option to get him to shut up is to kiss him. He doesn’t get why the kiss is angry but he likes it that way.

You two probably miss the ending. Leonidas thinks Simba isn’t worthy of being king anyway.

Apollo

Ah, y/n, aren’t you adorable for loving such innocent enjoyment? Of course he agrees!

You have to feed him snacks.

He sings along with the characters and makes the movie much better. You end up watching him showing off instead of the movie. Your dirty side may bait off a bit more mature show.

He knows exactly what you're doing and doesn't mind at all.

Later you might catch him humming songs from the movie.

Hello, dear. May I be your king tonight?

Rudra

Simba’s and Nala’s childhood brings nostalgia. Rudra spent his entire youth with Shiva and they were both free spirits. Watching these lion cubs brings back many funny memories.

Rudra’s favourite moment is Simba’s reunion with Nala. He gets mad if he notices you smirking.

Parvati, Kali, Durga and Shiva

You decide it’s time for girls’ night out.

None of you is focus on the movie, it’s just an addition. You mostly talk and laugh. Very loud that it may attracts Shiva.

He just sits down between you with Whatcha doin’? then proceeds to eats all the popcorn and other snacks like vacuum cleaner.

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - His denial (Part VIII)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 //

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of crying several times, hard times for reader and for Bruce, language, ANGST and more ANGST

“You know Ma, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me what happened between you and Bruce, but we’re all wondering why you broke up with him?” Jason asked you as he was helping you prepare a meal for the two of you. “Also, everyone's a little bit worried you won’t be our mother figure no more.” he added

“I’ll send a message on our group chat to let you kids know that I’m still there for you, no matter what happened between Bruce and I.” you replied instantly. 

You loved those kids as if they were yours and you were eager to keep taking care of them, even if it wasn’t at the manor anymore.

“Good to know,” Jason hummed and kissed your cheek. 

He would have been devastated if you had run away from his life, like all the adults that were supposed to care for him - apart from Alfred, of course. And he was well aware that all the other children - adopted or not by Bruce - loved you. You were bringing some peace and joy in everyone’s lives. That was why they nicknamed you “Hope” for when they talk to you over the comm’s. 

“And I didn’t break up. We agreed on it, Bruce and I.” you finally said, to which Jason arched an eyebrow. 

“Really? That’s not what he said”.

“Well, we agreed that I’m a civilian and that it was making things too difficult. Bruce has also been very busy and… I don’t know, maybe it was just not working anymore” you explained, trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.

You had spent the whole night crying over this break up. You had never been heartbroken like that before. You loved Bruce like you never loved anyone before. You just didn’t want to resume crying in front of Jason.

“Bruce can be an asshole… But I really don’t think he meant to make you feel neglected” Jason frowned

“Are you taking his defence now?” you softly teased to hide your sadness away

“No, never. Just… He loves you” Jason whispered

“I don’t think so. But that’s okay. I never thought I’d date someone for so long anyway. And I’ve meet all of you, and I’m very grateful for that”

“Ma…” Jason started but you cut him off

“I don’t really want to keep talking about him” you said and Jason dropped the subject

You did your best to forget about this conversation. You didn’t want to hear the little voice in your head saying that maybe Bruce was still in love with you, but was too stupid to let you know about it. 

You managed to push the voice away, until during an interview with Bruce Wayne, the journalist asked him if it was true you were not together anymore. You hadn’t meant to watch this interview, but your boss needed you to write an article about it. At the question, you couldn't help but fully focused on the TV and you caught a glimpse of vulnerability flashing across Bruce’s face. Only people who knew him well enough could have seen it. He quickly smiled at the journalist. 

“We’re only taking a break, nothing permanent” he instantly replied and you stared at the TV, thinking “wait what??” 

“Oh so, you’re not open to any new relationship?” the journalist asked “A lot of women in Gotham are eager to know if they have a chance with you or not. Men too. And everyone else, really”.

Bruce softly chuckled, but you could tell he was actually quite uneasy

“No, I’m not open to any new relationship. I still belong to Y/N.” he replied and you started to cry again.

You hated him for lying so blatantly in front all the whole city. He didn’t belong to you, you would know otherwise. You felt so sad, so angry. You hated yourself for having fallen for a man like him.

“Belong to? Quite a strong expression. Are you in love, Mr. Wayne?” the journalist hummed in interest

“Now I believe you didn’t ask me to come to talk about my romantic relationship” Bruce quickly changed the subject, but no need to say you started to cry even harder.

Of course he wouldn’t say he loved you, because he didn’t. You didn’t want to be such a mess again so you turned the TV off.

But a few instants later you received messages from the kids asking you if it was true that it was just a break and that you would come back home at some point. They were all so adorable, saying they understood if you needed to take a breath from the Batfamilly, especially when things were so difficult in Gotham. They promised to keep protecting you no matter what anyways.

You had no idea what to answer at first. You didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Eventually you told them the truth: “I’ve told you I’m still there for you as well, and I’m touched you are all so eager to have me back at the manor… But in all honesty, I’m not too certain what is going on and why Bruce said all of this. I don’t want to talk to him, but I guess you can ask him directly”

No need to say that everyone was pretty disappointed in your answer and that none of them asked about it to Bruce.

You didn’t want to go back to the manor. You didn’t want to run into Bruce. You thought several times to ask the children to grab your belongings for you, but it would mean for them to come into Bruce’s room and the man wouldn't be happy about it. They were welcomed to come into his room only when they needed help or reassurance after a nightmare. You could also tell that the children didn’t know how to deal with the break up.

You didn’t want to force them to be in between Bruce and you. 

Unfortunately you needed clothes from his place because you were soon going out of Gotham for a couple of days. You waited until the last minute to finally go back to the manor.

Everyone was out, except Alfred who greeted you with a warm smile. His smile flattered when you told him you needed to take some belongings from there. He didn’t stop you. However you were certain that he sent a message to Bruce.

You were in a pretty dark mood. Your mother had discovered your father wasn’t dead. You were a little bit surprised that the Batfamilly wasn’t on the case yet. Maybe Falcone did a good job to hide things away. Or maybe no one wanted to deal with something that might end up hurting you. 

Either way, you knew things were going to be hard and your mother was going to hate you for having lied to her about your father. You wished things would have been better with Bruce, because you would have loved to have someone with you. You didn’t want to drag the children in this mess, so once again it was you alone against your past.

You jumped when you heard Bruce’s soft voice talking to you. You had been so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard him gently opening the door.

“What are you doing?” he leaned against the door frame to seem relaxed but you could tell he was watching you with great intensity and concern.

You wouldn’t have believed it if he would have told you, but watching you removing your belongings from your shared room was eating him up alive. He needed all his willpower to not prevent you from doing so. When you resumed your action of packing away, he felt his chest tightened.

“Packing. Need to go see my mom. Some stuff happened with my dad… And I need to deal with this mess.” you explained

“Anything I can do?” he offered

“Of course not. You have enough to deal with anyways.” you shrugged “By the way, I won’t be able to grab everything right away, so I’ll probably come back for the remaining things. Obviously you can send everything to my flat if you don’t want me to come again” you added, looking for a brief instant back to him

“Look, Y/N, I guess this isn’t the right time to speak with you, but can we maybe plan something for when you’ll be back to Gotham?” Bruce offered, almost pleading with you

“You mean to speak about how we went from “we agree to break up” to “you break up” and finally to “this is just a break”, Bruce?” You paused and turned around to fully watch him this time. 

Bruce moved a hand into his hair. He had no idea how to fix your relationship.

“You broke up. For my answer to the journalist... It was just easier to say that” Bruce tried and you rolled your eyes at him. 

He internally cringed, why wasn’t he able to say the right thing when he was already missing you so dearly?

“Whatever, Bruce.” you finally said

“So yes for a date when you’ll be back?” he insisted

“Whatever, Bruce” you said again which hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

--

PART 9

--

Taglist for all my work <3

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Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

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Taglist for this series <3

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[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! First off, it makes me so happy to see you out there fighting with your writer friends to ensure they receive a decent living wage for the amazing work that they do.

As for my question, I would love to hear about some of the inspiration for making Before I Wake. It and Absentia were the last two of your films that I watched, and BIW just absolutely destroyed me. No other movie, including and especially a horror flick, has ever made me bawl like a baby like that. The entire tone of the film is so spot-on, and the climax of the nightmare monster “dissolving” from its evil form after being embraced…. To me that scene just perfectly encapsulates what it’s like to be a parent, and human; sometimes we just need someone to hold us and let us know things will be all right. We spend so much of our time making sure that our children feel loved and cared for, that sometimes we forget about ourselves. And you just fucking nailed it, my dude.

Like I said, I would LOVE to read any backstory or inspiration that you have for this film! It’s so beautiful and underrated.

On the WGA front, don't be too impressed with me - I mean, I'm a professional writer, I've been a member of the WGA since Absentia, so I'm out there fighting for myself as much as everyone else.

But on the Before I Wake front, you know I very rarely get asked to talk about this one, so I'm happy to... fair warning for another long post!

Before I Wake was originally titled Somnia, which is latin for "dreams." It was part of an unofficial trilogy of sorts, comprised of Absentia, Oculus and Somnia. All three of those movies were meant to work together as a thematic triptych.

Ultimately, Before I Wake was brutally sabotaged by its own studio, who drastically undermined it creatively and then destroyed any hope of a meaningful release. It remains a particularly heartbreaking chapter of my career... but a film I have and will always have tremendous affection for.

A lot of people think that Somnia was made after Hush and Ouija: Origin of Evil, just before Gerald's Game, but this is entirely incorrect. It was actually the second "real" movie I ever made, and was actually shot before Oculus was even released.

The basic premise of Somnia focused around a little boy whose dreams manifested physically in the world around him, and was an original concept I carried around for a few years before Oculus got picked up by Intrepid Pictures. In fact, I've talked about my first meeting at Intrepid, where I pitched a few ideas that were rejected... Somnia was the first one I pitched. Trevor Macy opted to pursue Oculus that day, but he ended up producing Somnia right after.

This unofficial "latin trilogy" seemed to fit together well. Absentia was a somber and bleak look at the loss of hope, Oculus was more thrilling dive into the labyrinth of past trauma, and Somnia was meant to take that loss and trauma and end the triptych on a note of hope and healing.

In fact, the script for Somnia was written before Oculus was greenlit. On the page, it was my favorite of the three. I was very taken with the story of little Cody and his personal boogeyman, and of the revelation at the end of the story... that with understanding, even the most monstrous of our fears can lose their destructive power.

Cody's birth mother had died of cancer, and he had seen her just before her death. That final image of her, as well as a misunderstanding about the pronunciation of the word "cancer" had led to the creation of a monster in his mind, who he called the "Canker Man"... a gaunt figure who took away people that he loved. When he finally learns the truth about his monster, and about his mother, he begins to understand it all... and the monster loses its awful powers as empathy and understanding take root.

While Absentia finished its festival rounds and Oculus inched its way toward production, Somnia was my first script taken out to market by my new agency. I had signed with APA just as Intrepid engaged me on Oculus, which was my first studio writing and directing job. Jeff Howard and I finished our first draft of Oculus and turned it in to Intrepid, and immediately turned around and started writing Somnia.

The script got some interesting attention. While some of the more mainstream horror companies balked at the emotional ending and preferred a story that was "more about a boy and his monster" than the emotional wrap-up we insisted on, others understood it right away.

Elijah Wood and his producing partner Daniel Noah sought me out when they read the script. We met for drinks in Venice and I was absolutely starstruck, and we've remained friends ever since.

Jada Pinkett Smith was another big fan of the script, which led to a surreal afternoon at her stunning home where we talked about the story at length and watched an early cut of Oculus in her home theater. Will Smith joined us toward the end of the meeting, and I had a difficult time speaking.

I've written before about the drama surrounding Oculus' premiere and eventual sale to Relativity Media, so I won't rehash that now, but as Oculus raced toward release, Trevor Macy at Intrepid made an offer to produce Somnia for Relativity and I eagerly accepted. My first "real" movie was going to be released wide in theaters, and the same studio was going to double-down on me - Somnia was greenlit by Relativity for a big domestic theatrical release. We'd pre-sell our foreign territories on this promise, and they eagerly snatched the movie up. This was my own Hollywood dream, coming to life.

It wouldn't work out that way. In fact, Somnia would turn out to be the first nightmare of my career.

It started well enough. We had filmed Oculus in Daphne, Alabama, taking advantage of an aggressive tax rebate. We would do the same with Somnia, bringing back a lot of my Oculus crew and shooting in and around Fairhope. We began shooting in the fall of 2013, less than a year after we'd wrapped Oculus.

We hit the ground running. Very little time had passed since we wrapped Oculus, and the movie hadn't come out yet, so at first it felt a lot like we were just picking up where we left off.

Bruce Larsen, who also carved the Oculus mirror, working on a prototype of the Canker Man.

We had casting challenges. I was still a relatively unproven director, my first studio film hadn't been released, and this was an ambitious script. After a lengthy search (driven by foreign pre-sales, a process I knew nothing about and now quite detest), Kate Bosworth signed on to play Jessie, and Thomas Jane - who I admired greatly from his recent work in The Mist - joined the production as Mark. (Funny story - Tom arrived with hair down his shoulders, and vehemently didn't want to cut it. That disagreement put us off on an awkward foot, and I ultimately conceded the point to him... though I do regret that now.)

The major discovery was 7 year-old Jacob Tremblay as Cody. Jake had only made one movie before this, he had a small role in The Smurfs 2. His self-tape audition came out of nowhere and we knew was a a phenomenal talent. Right after we wrapped, I got a call that he was being considered for a movie called Room, and we shared some footage to help him get the part (that movie would establish him as one of the biggest and most sought after child actors in the world... but we had him first.)

We were committed to practical effects wherever possible, and creating a striking suit for our monster. It all felt like it was going to work. But the shoot would prove to be much more challenging than we anticipated.

The shoot itself was challenging for the typical reasons. There was a little creative tension on set with particular actors, we didn't have enough money to pull off our more ambitious visual moments, and we were forced to remove several production days at the last minute, throwing our schedule into a bit of chaos.

But none of these issues were particularly unusual for a lower budget film, and while it was more challenging and frustrating than Oculus had been, overall the shoot was just fine. I felt that our third act was pretty drastically under budgeted, and what was scripted to be a deep dive into a child's imagination was stripped down to a few vines on the walls and some moths... but other than that, I don't really have much to complain about.

(Fun fact: it was also the first time I would work with Annabeth Gish. We were fast friends, and though she was only with us for a few days, I knew we'd end up working together again.)

We wrapped the movie, I got to editing, and all seemed fine. It was a unique story, much less horror-centric and much more of a fairy-tale. This was, of course, by design. There was a delicate vibe to the whole thing, anchored on Jacob's arresting performance, and a shadowy magic. It felt innocent, wondrous, and ultimately cathartic.

Then, Relativity got their first look at the cut, and the problems started in earnest.

We had been clear (and aligned, I'd thought) about what kind of movie this was. But almost immediately, despite these conversations, the studio began to push the film more and more toward being a traditional horror movie.

We had designed a practical monster in the Canker Man. Our creature was tactile, practical, and - we believed - appropriately simple. After all, it was meant to have come from the mind of a child.

The studio kicked hard, and the directive came down to try to make the monster "much scarier."

There wasn't a lot we could do; we'd shot what we'd shot, after all. The decision was made to take our footage of our practical monster and drastically alter it using visual effects.

The Canker Man would be digitally warped and molded into a skeletal, grinning creature. The visual effects artists would be using footage that wasn't captured with the intention of being altered that way, so a lot of the artifice would be obvious. He'd become a little rough around the edges. We told ourselves that this would be okay... it was a dream, after all.

Early camera tests of our practical Canker Man suit

The final VFX-enhanced monster This began to nudge our monster away from our core concept. While our practical suit would always need some help from VFX, this was now tilting into an area that strayed from the true identity of the creature.

Another major sticking point was the plot itself.

In the movie, Cody's adopted mother Jessie is shocked to find a physical manifestation of her deceased son, Sean, after Cody sees his picture. She then goes about trying to "rebuild" her dead son in the imagination of her new foster child, hoping to see and interact with him more... "I just want to hear his voice."

This morally questionable exploitation of Cody was, to put it mildly, the entire point of the story. Jessie goes too far, and when she finally resorts to drugging Cody to force him to sleep in the hopes of seeing her lost son, he is unable to wake up from a nightmare and her husband is killed.

Jessie spends the rest of the film clawing her way back to redemption, and having to atone for what she's done, all while finally focusing on Cody's past and healing instead of her own.

As a character, Jessie does things we do not agree with, and they have serious, permanent consequences. And the moral murkiness of this was, frankly, the point.

The studio was flinching hard. "It makes her unlikeable," they argued. There was a push to try to back off of this, and to pull the punch... sure, she could exploit him somewhat, but they wanted to pull it back. Kate Bosworth's performance began to be altered in the cutting room, flinching away from some of the more decisive choices in favor of a more watered-down, morally generic heroine.

This middle ground would prove to be ill-advised.

As we were battling over the edit, something else happened. Oculus was released in theaters in April 2014.

If the movie was a huge hit, it would mean I would likely win more of these arguments, and Somnia would be restored to something closer to my vision. If the movie bombed, the studio could (and likely would) run ramshot over Somnia, twisting it into a more generic studio horror story and jettisoning things they didn't quite understand.

Ultimately, the movie performed... moderately. It was kind of right in the middle. It wasn't a failure, but it wasn't a hit either. Both sides dug in. And suddenly, Somnia was being twisted into something between two tones.

Citing the "disappointing" performance of Oculus (which, frankly, did just fine), the studio insisted that we write and shoot some additional "scares". Among them was one of the worst studio notes I'd ever receive (well, at least until I started working for Netflix.)

The entire premise of the film was that, when Cody slept, his dreams would manifest physically. When he woke up, they would vanish. This was, to put it bluntly, our only rule.

The note came in: "We need a scare set piece to occur when he is awake."

Now, I can't understate how nonsensical this is. It defied the entire premise of the movie. Their rationale (such as it was) was that the audience wouldn't ever be frightened when Cody was awake, because they knew the monsters only came when he was asleep.

"Well yeah," I said. "That's why it's important that the movie isn't just about scares."

But they were insistent. If a monster showed up while Cody was awake, that would be "truly thrilling" and "catch the audience off-guard."

It was the equivalent of saying "the shark in Jaws only attacks people if they're in the water. We need an attack to occur on land." I mean, that would really catch the audience off-guard.

I had no idea how to address this note.

It was early in my career, I didn't have a theatrical hit under my belt, and I didn't have the ammunition to fight it. So I had to address it somehow, and it had to satisfy the studio, or else we may not get our theatrical release after all.

So I ended up writing a scene where Cody is wide awake, only to be attacked in his bed by the specter of a deceased bully (a previous victim of one of his dreams).

How the fuck were we going to make this make any sense? Well, we had to write a whole other scene - much earlier in the film - where a therapist explains the concept of "waking dreams." Jay Karnes (who was a lovely person and one hell of a good sport) had to randomly say "you know, some people can dream while they're awake" to Bosworth, desperately trying to set up this moment.

It doesn't quite work, to say the least. Cody looks under his bed, sits up, and is attacked by this eye-less specter. Then, he's dragged screaming under his bed, until the attack just... stops, for some reason.

We filmed it, and I thought it was the stupidest thing I'd ever shot (it wasn't, though - the stupidest thing I've ever shot remains the on-screen stalking and murder of a cat in the pilot of Midnight Mass, a truly braindead scene that Netflix insisted on adding.)

Along with this scene, which would become the crux of Relativity's trailer, we shot several other random scares that were peppered throughout the movie. Now, this wasn't enough to tip the film entirely into being a horror film... just enough to make it exist awkwardly in between two genres.

It got worse. The addition of all this new "horror" material made the film longer (go figure), so the directive came down to begin removing other elements to make room. Those elements were character development and context.

The cut began to get bumpy. The fairy-tale tone of most of our original footage was at odds with the overt horror tone the studio was insisting upon. Every time we tested one of these cuts, the audience was understandably confused... they really loved the concept, they really loved Jacob, and they all loved the ending revelation - but along the way, what was this movie? Was it a horror film? Was it a drama? A fantasy?

Even with this, our test screenings were actually pretty good. We were testing in the high sixties and seventies - which is, infuriatingly, right in that middle zone: not good enough to kill the studio interference, but not bad enough to let them take over.

So we kept fighting. And we kept cutting. And we kept testing. And with each screening, the studio forced it further and further into this no-man's land.

There were a few victories, though. Danny Elfman came on board to collaborate with the Newton Brothers on our score. Some of our non-horror sequences, like a scene involving Christmas-light butterflies, were being called out by our test audiences in the best ways. But the tug-of-war over the basic identity of the film was tipping decidedly toward the more horror-centric approach.

Finally, the studio came after the title. Somnia was too confusing, they said. Nobody knew what it meant. So, we added a scene where Jay Karnes - once again having to naturally sell force-fed exposition - literally defines the world "somnia" during a therapy scene (these therapy scenes were basically being used to spoon-feed material to the audience.)

That wasn't enough, though. The studio began workshopping other titles, and they landed on perhaps my most hated of all of the options: the ultra-generic Before I Wake, a title already used by a handful of low-budget thrillers over decades. We conceded after it was made clear that it wasn't really up to me in this case, and we limped into what I consider to be the worst title of my career.

With our new uneven tone, a new and "improved" monster, and a groan inducing title, they finally agreed to stop messing with the movie and honor their commitment to releasing it wide.

You tell yourself a lot of things in this business, and I told myself that the heart of the story - the revelation about where the concept of the Canker Man came from - was still intact, so all would be well. Viewers would be able to look past some of the bumps because the payoff was worth it.

But we didn't know what else was happening at Relativity.

They announced the release date for the film, posters started showing up in theaters, and we were anxiously awaiting our big wide theatrical release... when suddenly everything stopped.

We didn't know it yet, but Relativity Media was having huge financial problems. They were on the verge of bankruptcy, as a matter of fact, and though they weren't admitting it yet, internally they were in a state of absolute chaos.

Without warning or explanation, the studio moved us off our date. The movie wouldn't be released after all. We immediately knew something was very wrong, despite Ryan Kavanaugh's insistence that our date was "just a bad date," and that he'd moved the movie in order to make it "an even bigger success." No, this whole thing stunk. It stunk bad.

They set another date, and we watched and waited. But no trailers. No marketing. And then... that date was pushed as well. Again, they insisted everything was fine. But we knew. Something was deeply wrong with the company, and they were lying to us.

Some of this played out publicly. Kavanaugh and I got into a spat on Twitter when I suggested that the studio wasn't able to release the movie theatrically after all (I still don't regret saying this, and man oh man, was I proven right).

Meanwhile, our international distributors were scrambling. We'd sold a lot of international territories off the promise of our big theatrical release in North America, and they weren't going to wait forever. By the third time Relativity pushed our release date, the whole house of cards fell down, and various international territories started releasing the film haphazardly on whatever platforms they could.

There was no coordinated release strategy. Suddenly, the film was just available in Argentina, for example. Or it was On Demand in Russia. I remember being shocked when a German Blu-ray appeared on eBay without warning.

There was no rollout to critics, no coordination at all. Within a few weeks, it was pirated and available on torrent sites everywhere. And without a proper press rollout, the only reviews available were trickling in from these international markets, or random blogs in other countries. A slew of reviews - many of which were from obscure blogs in Russia and Turkey, not even written in English - hit Rotten Tomatoes. With no counterpoint from any credible critics, we debuted with a 30% rotten rating.

It would stay this way for years.

Relativity finally admitted the truth, declared bankruptcy, and went to court. Our movie was dragged down into the vortex with it. Our abysmal tomatometer score suggested that the movie wasn't released because it was bad, not because the studio had gone bankrupt. This assumption stuck to us like glue as the film languished in bankruptcy court.

Heartbroken, we turned our attention elsewhere. I would write and direct both Hush and Ouija: Origin of Evil before the whole distribution saga of Before I Wake was finally resolved.

In the years that followed, very little would be said about Before I Wake, and whatever was said was absolutely not positive... how bad must this movie be, after all, to be so unceremoniously pulled from the release? Some theaters just left the poster up, still saying "Coming Soon." I know of one theater in LA that had it up for over a year.

By the time Relativity finally settled their mess, and the film was unceremoniously given back to us with the most lackluster apology imaginable, and our chances of a domestic theatrical distribution were entirely obliterated. The film was already available online through piracy and a tiny handful of foreign blogs had defined our critical reception. No other studio would touch it.

We were able to arrange one screening of the film once it was unencumbered... we had a single showing at Fantastia in Montreal, a festival I adore. Instead of a huge worldwide theatrical release, the movie would play exactly one time, to one audience.

It was sold out, it played wonderfully, and it remains one of my favorite screenings of my career.

With Mitch Davis, Fantasia's artistic director, Kate Bosworth, and my wife Kate Siegel.

In the years that had passed since we shot Before I Wake, Kate Siegel and I had gotten married. At the premiere, and in the picture above, Kate was pregnant with our son.

We named him Cody, after the little boy in Somnia... the little boy whose dreams came true.

In 2016, Netflix acquired the North American rights to Before I Wake, and quietly dumped it on the service. There was no premiere, no rollout, no screeners sent to critics. One day it just appeared on the service without fanfare, as Netflix does to so many titles.

It didn't even appear on the New Releases tab.

A few critics found the movie on their own, and slowly some new reviews started to trickle out. Bloody Disgusting led the charge, discussing how the film had been wrongfully maligned over the years, and correcting identified it as a "haunted fairy tale" that was being handicapped by the expectations that it was a horror film.

Our tomatometer began to slowly rise. After some time, it tipped out of "rotten" into "fresh"... and today stands comfortably at 66%. Those early, malicious reviews are still there, the movie is still scarred by them... but despite Relativity (and eventually Netflix's) efforts to rebrand the movie as a straight horror film, most critics were able to see it for what it truly was.

Our audience was as well, for the most part. Some viewers yawning their way through the Netflix original horror feature section would find it, and get something maybe just a little more thoughtful than they were expecting. A few people reached out to me to talk about losing their own loved ones to cancer, or about how the sweeter elements of the story impacted them. I've always been grateful for that.

But ultimately, the movie was just brutalized by its studio. I've never again had so much damage inflicted on a project by a creative partner and supposed collaborator. And while Netflix did the bare minimum when it came to releasing the movie, I am still very grateful that that they even did that much... if it wasn't for Netflix picking it up, I think there's every chance Before I Wake would have never been made available at all.

I'm proud of the movie. It's not perfect, by any means - it was an ambitious sophomore effort and I had a lot to learn about a lot of things - but it has some beautiful ideas and some moments that really work. I see its flaws clearly, too, and while I tell myself some were out of my control (like the awkward scares forced on us by Relativity), others were most certainly entirely on me. Not everything works, and that's okay.

But man, Jacob Tremblay is phenomenal in this movie. And I absolutely adore the final ten minutes.

My son Cody is almost 7 now, exactly as old as Jacob was when he was cast to play his namesake. I hope Cody's dreams come true; that's why we named him what we named him.

Sometimes, our dreams don't come true quite how we might expect.

Hollywood is just kinda like that, I guess.

[pendragonsclotpole]

i’ve been keeping up with dominic noble’s lost in adaptation series for pjo, and i just finished watching his review of episode 8. he made a point of saying that he didn’t consider the tv series an offense to the book, and i’m glad he did because i think a lot of show fans hear the criticism that some books fans have of the show and misunderstand why we’re so upset.

i think the tv series is a good, decent adaptation that attempts to appeal to a younger audience/an audience as young as the book series first readers when it was published. it modernizes a few things (shoutout to that completely unnecessary scene of sally listening to olivia rodrigo), expands on a bit of the central characters, updates the relationships the gods have with their children, and keeps the spirit of the original series, if not always the execution.

i think if the tv show had come out in 50+ years, long after a book accurate and beloved adaptation had come out, the show would be a fresh take on a classic children’s story a la lotr. but the issue is that the last adaptation came out close to 15 years ago and while it was good and entertaining for a blockbuster movie, it wasn’t percy jackson.

it wasn’t the story we got to see and get to know: a complex tale of parental neglect, greek gods and mythology, and most importantly—a young, misunderstood boy trying to navigate the complexities that arose from the circumstances and consequences of multiple sets of beings, far more powerful and older than him, trying to control him and take away his agency, all because of the circumstances of his birth, which were not his fault and which he didn’t ask for. sure there was magic, sure there a suspension of disbelief, but at the heart of the story there was enough darkness and realness for the story of the book to mean something.

we spent years listening to rick riordan promise us that he would find a place to create a faithful adaptation of the book. but he didn’t. and that’s okay, because at the heart of it all, he wrote pjo to appeal to a set of kids younger than i am now and closer to the age i was when i first met percy jackson. i understand the dozens of fans that love the show, even the book fans that enjoy it as an adaptation, but to me, the girl who admired the brutality of sally jackson turning the man who abused her to stone, who loved the emotional complexity of a dad who could never quite say the right thing to his own child and always left them feeling so disappointed and like a mistake and alone, who never quite fit in with the other kids and felt unwanted, who wished she had some sort of powers and the capacity to rebel against the forces older and more powerful that controlled her, i just can’t love the show as much as i love the books.

i know what i just wrote sounds weird. no, i don’t want to essentially kill and turn any men that may harm or abuse me to stone (tho people if you get the chance, godspeed). but i do love the idea that sally when given the choice, had the power to petrify a man who likely petrified her. she made her choice to get rid of him. she made a choice many women or victims of abuse in general don’t often get a chance to make, and it was presented in such an unrealistic way, in the guise of a medusa’s head, that it felt even more real. i love that a man that is meant to be from an idolized and integral part of your mother’s past, who in many ways is a god, can be a horrible father and partner, and say the wrong things and never be enough. i love the idea that we can all be tempted by the wrong things but eventually make the right choice and be the hero we needed all along.

i think i’ve rambled long enough, and i hope you all can understand what i mean. obviously some of the points i mentioned have yet to be adapted. i hope the show gets to bring to life all 5 books and potentially even beyond. i think the tv show is good, funny, entertaining, a little slow at times, and not enough action or tension. i love leah, walker, and aryan as annabeth, percy, and grover. i think the designs are beautiful. i think it is a good adaptation and i think with a rewatch it’ll grow on me, but it just isn’t the percy jackson i grew up with. maybe that’s on me. maybe i’ve grown up idolizing a book series and appreciating what it meant to me, instead of reading it and appreciating it for what it is: a children’s series. maybe the tv show and book series are mediums meant for other kids and new audiences to enjoy. in which case, enjoy them. i’ll still watch along to see some iteration of the books i love be brought to life, and to appreciate a good show but a part of my heart will always yearn for a faithful book adaptation.

[toons-inkwell]

Finding "Frankie" AU. Chapter: 1

Warnings: Death, blood, this is a horror game AU ya know so all that.

Words: 4,980. (Check reblogs after for author's notes if interested)

The sound of metal springs rapidly coiling and relaxing reverberated off concrete walls deep in an area hidden from the public's eye. What once was an attraction built to harbor cheer, joy, and entice adults and children to come play now was a demented trap built to trick unsuspecting fools looking for money. Posters and murals depicting what the mascots were supposed to look like were plastered all over, nothing but imagery that would give people a false sense of security before finding out what those mascots really looked like. Originally cartoons, the cast of a once beloved TV show now were twisted beyond recognition. The one the springs belonged to and what lurked through staff only areas was none other than the titular protagonist and namesake of the entire show, Frankie. Of course Frankie was a bit different from his on-screen appearance, in fact he wasn't Frankie at all. Sure his name was effectively the same and he had some semblance to him in terms of appearance, but from the very moment he was created he was told a different story. He was born of the soul and in memoriam of one of the departed showrunner's who died too soon, "Franky"—with a Y. Out of grief the remaining showrunner and the brother to the deceased crafted him to carry on the legacy, for him to help continue the show even in its... New format. He didn't like to think about that though, truth be told he didn't know what he was in his current state. He held no memories of what he was like, what Franky was like, nor did he feel like something that was once a man. All he knew was that he was created to help his brother get their show back and if that meant being a ruthless monster who would rip contestants apart, so be it. He knew his place and that was right alongside his brother–

["FRANKY!"]

Franky's long lop-ears twitched as he heard his name be called out over the facilities' intercom. His body jittered unnaturally, all the springs connected to his limbs froze up and he rotated his head to face a camera on the wall pointed directly at him. On the other side of the screen watching him dwelled his creator and only family, the real Frankie.

["Sorry there Franky, didn't mean to alarm you yet we got SO MUCH to do in such a SHORT amount of time that I thought it was important enough to use the intercom to speak to you!”]

The rabbit’s ears twitched again. With a tilted head he looked at the camera and stood still, not wanting the rustling of his springy joints to drown out whatever was about to be said

["While nobodies watching right now that won't mean they won't be soon! As of this very moment I've been getting everything in order for when they are! Apologies Franky for not telling you sooner but I'm sure you'll be happy to know that we managed to earn enough donations to get this show renewed for ANOTHER SEASON!... Just barely at least..."

Franky's ears raised slightly hearing the last few words muttered quietly. Keeping the show running as well as all the expenses of the parkour palace had eaten up most of the money they were supposed to be saving up to renew the long canceled television show. He usually didn't concern himself with the finances but if it was affecting the chances of them getting what was once theirs it would soon become his issue as well.

["Heh, don't you worry your big ears about it! Just meet me in my office, we have some BIG things to discuss this new season, I'm thinking for a little shake up!"]

With directions being given, Franky scampered towards the other rabbit’s office, scrunching down here and there whenever he needed to go down an elevator or up stairs. He often wondered why he didn't have an office like Frankie did, did he merely not need one? He did run on electricity, at least his body did, so wouldn't it make more sense to give him some sorta special room where he could recharge instead of having to share a room with the other mascots? Was it that he didn't... Deserve one?

With a shake of his head he dismissed such a silly thought and he pressed on into one of the final areas of the little show they had crafted. A momentous attraction dubbed "Frankie's Frozen Peak" that was ripe to face the action of people attempting to reach the top. Sadly no one even made it past the first area, let alone this final one. Despite the rather grim decor he had been commanded to setup, not a single soul was ever able to bear witness to the various platforms, hazards, or the rising pink "slime" that were installed into the mountain. Franky didn't really care about the lack of use the mountain saw though, in fact the less people he had to deal with the better. The only thing he really paid attention to in the immediate area were the various cardboard cutouts placed along where people would line up to participate. The friendly smiling face of what he was modeled after and what a cartoon should look like followed him as he veered to the side and ignored the mountain, instead heading towards a staircase on the side. With a quick stretch of his hand to the very top, Franky let his stressed coil arm relax and skyrocket him upwards. The entire stairway shook once he landed on it, his heavy feet kicking up dust as he tilted his head towards the human sized door with a sign next to it reading "CEO OFFICE". It was a tight fit but he was more than adept at squeezing into tight spaces, with a contract of his springs he waddled over and opened the door to the office.

There awaiting him sat Frankie, his supposed brother and the one destined to eventually take the role as the host once this silly gameshow came to an end. While Franky himself looked rather unruly with rows of horrendous sharp teeth, a maw always partially agape, and accessories that consisted of old scrap metal with a sloppy, almost worn down paint coating them, Frankie had none of that. The once human was what the TV show Frankie was supposed to look like, pristine, cleanly, and friendly looking. The only real difference between the cartoon appearance of the magical rabbit and Frankie’s body was the fact that Frankie had these small beady eyes and while his was smaller than his own prototype body, it was still quite large unlike the tiny toon that was showcased everywhere. Once upon a time when Franky first awoke Frankie himself was human as he once was. His brains and nervous system wasn't exactly attuned to his body like they were now but he could still remember opening his eyes and through faded vision being greeted by a smile of his brother who welcomed him back into the world. His creation was what led to Frankie becoming as he was now, once he was created and subsequently Henry Hotline, Frankie perfected the process and ditched his old human self to become Frankie to take back the old TV show and renew his place as the host. Franky was aware once the TV show was renewed he would not be showcased in it, he wasn't perfect nor anywhere near as appealing looking as his brother, but being the main one who the cameras focused on when slaughtering the contestants was more than enough to satiate his desire for fame. After all he has 57 seasons worth of footage of him doing what he did best, and soon it was to be 58.

"FRANKY!" Frankie greeted as soon as he saw his brother's rustling limbs and head squeeze down the corridor "took ya long enough! Now take a seat because you may wanna sit down for this one"

Franky looked towards the wall and noticed a chair. Considering his torso was twice the size of it he silently rejected and stared back at his brother.

"...Okay that's perfectly okay—now DOWN TO BUSINESS!" Frankie reached down and from his desk he pulled out a file holding a stack of miscellaneous papers "we got a lot of ground to cover... A lot..."

Although Franky didn't know what was in the folder of the papers, the intensity of his brother's stare alerted him to something being off. The air grew thick and he felt unsettled to know that something changed his brother's usually cheery mood. If he was capable of sweating in his metallic body he would at the sudden light switch tone shift and feared the worse about their current show and the future renewal of the original. With a small raise of his hand he reached over, hoping to take a peek at what could possibly be considered "a lot".

FWHIP

Frankie had slammed the folder shut and leaned back "HA! No, no, no, no! You don't need to worry yourself about this!" Frankie opened it once more and sifted through the papers, his head moving with each scan of the contents "I wouldn't want you to get stressed with all this, after all I know how sloppy you can get when you're out of the zone, wouldn't want a repeat of season 26 would we!?"

Franky's hand went back into its resting position and a growl emerged from his mouth. It was his personal way of expressing subtle annoyance although it quickly subsided at the mention of season 26. The cries were something that stuck with the viewers even after all this time.

"That's what I thought, now as for what we gotta discuss–" Frankie picked up a piece of paper displaying a graph, one that had the direction one line steadily set in the red "things haven't been... Great with the gameshow and for the past 3 seasons we've had to dip into the savings just to keep this place up, running, and funded"

Franky let out another growl, this time one of worry. If they weren't profiting or bare minimum breaking even with each season that meant there would be no big Finding Frankie comeback. With how much they desired to get that show back it made him fear their dream would be out of reach.

“What I wanted to go over with you was the ratings regarding the past few seasons and why we are actively losing money, it seems here that nobody getting far becomes boring, honestly the fact that barely now it's starting to become repetitive is a miracle!" Frankie chuckled and waved his hands in the air "now we are running a gameshow here and while we certainly can't let anybody win there's at least gotta be players to play in it"

Franky didn't understand...

The mascot saw his brother's confusion and sighed, with a shake and roll of his head to mimick and eye roll Frankie spoke in a quieter, more serious tone "Listen, while I know you just loooovveee~ ripping the contestants to shreds or squishing them underneath your feet we gotta break even this time or else there may not only be no TV show, but there may be no gameshow or even parkour palace!" Frankie held his head as it spun around on his spring neck before stopping "All you gotta do is simply hold off until I give the signal, heck maybe at least let them meet Henry, I'm sure he's probably dying to chat with somebody that isn't over the phone."

Franky didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of that one bit.

His entire body vibrated in discomfort. The very idea of anything different being done made him unleash a guttural noise from the depths of his head that was lined with bolts. Springs of his emitted a rattling sound as they stretched out, his hands and feet pushing against the confines of the tiny room. It was his show, not Henry's, why would the audience care if the contestant met Henry or not!? It was bullshit on every degree and account, until they got the money HE should be the one with all the attention on him. This gameshow would be the only time he got the spotlight so why was it being stolen by the person who the show was named after—Oh wait! That's right! IT WASN'T! The shows named Finding Frankie! NOT FINDING HENRY FUCKING HOTLINE!

"FRANKY!"

Franky froze up. The heavy tone carried by the other rabbit made him feel like his entire body had spontaneously rusted. Although incapable of seeing any emotion other than a giant smile, he could feel the rage in those black dots that stared at him.

With Franky slowly retracting back Frankie sighed, releasing his anger at his brother "...listen, I know you love to kill but just this once let at least one live okay? Just long enough to give the audience false hope, donate some more, and then once we reach a goal you can do with him whatever you please" With a wag of his finger Frankie switched back to his energetic persona, speaking hoppy and jolly "we're running a game show here, we gotta at least showcase somebody actually running through a few obstacles right?! This isn't just some snuff livestream!" Frankie suddenly perked up and looked towards a printer that had a stack of cold papers in the output tray "well... At least it wasn't intended to be" Frankie reached over and looked at a few of them, each page lined head to toe with requests of donors. It was times like this the once-human wished he could grimace and not be held back by his wide smile "I'm pretty sure everyone who sends us some of these just wanna watch you kill people in different ways, pretty uhh... pretty disturbing stuff now that I think about it" he scratched his head seeing only a few of the very graphic descriptions "eugh... whatever—THIS IS A GAME SHOW AT THE END OF THE DAY!" Frankie tossed the papers and let them fly about in the air before turning to Franky one last time. With a shoo gesture he gave one last command "go tell Henry he'll be expected to actually chase a contestant this time around, maybe that could liven up that old sourpuss, last I saw he was letting the stress of that talk show of his get to him again”

Franky said nothing and did as he was told, crawling out through the small area he fell all the way to the floor of the mountain parkour area. The springs his legs consisted of broke his fall upon landing down, his torso bobbing for a few seconds absorbing the impact. As he made his way to Henry's local he couldn't help but feel... Robbed? Was robbed the right word? He didn't know, all he knew was that he didn't like this direction the show was going in if it meant he was going to get shelved. The people didn't want to see Henry, and they definitely didn't want to see some loser in a costume run about, they wanted him! They wanted Frankie—or at least who they believed to be Frankie. His name was pronounced the same and even if he wasn't the host Frankie, that title belonged to his brother, he was going to cherish every moment of attention he could get where the audience believed him to be the one and only. Just the thought of having to give up something that belonged to him made his body quake but he tried his hardest to not show any emotion, not wishing to risk having an outburst that could easily be recorded on one of the many CCTV cameras scattered about. He'd just tell the objecthead the plan and get ready for what attention he could garner by only killing 3 of the 4 contestants immediately.

"Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! It's all they FREAKIN' DO!"

Franky came to a halt as he heard the familiar voice of the talkshow host lament his frustrations. He was only at the museum and was surprised to find Henry out of his household, the mascot just trying to exert the pain of his head constantly ringing. The monstrous rabbit couldn't help but watch the sad display before him, smelling the distinct scent of rot that filled the air from a few of the people who he had killed.

Henry stood with his back to him, preoccupied with using some of the blood of the past contestants to create a grim mural as a testament and hopefully message to all those that saw to stop calling in "why does Frankie gotta insist on playing reruns—actually better yet why do the MORONS that watch them call the number—WE AIN'T ON AIR! QUIT CALLING MY GOD DAMN PHONE!" Henry placed his hands on his receiver, repeatedly picking it up and slamming it back on the hook to hang up whoever was calling "AGH! If I could get my hands on that stupid rabbit and his STUPID FREAKIN' SMILE I'D–"

Henry turned around and was met with the sight of two springs extending upwards. The rabbit had approached him as he rambled on and upon looking up and seeing Franky face to face he felt his blood and oil run cold. Henry dropped the receiver he held and let it dangle off to the side by its cord, his pitch black eyes eyes fixated on nothing else other than the rows of large sharp teeth and black spheres with glowing circles on the center that the rabbit had. His limbs felt heavy as he took a step back and tried to speak, his once normal voice now broken revealing a nervous one overlaid with what sounded like dead air or static.

"F-Franky! How nice of you to stop by! What can I uhh... Do for you on this lovely day?"

Franky didn't respond. Instead his eyes "blinked", the blue light turning off and back on. With a slow look past the mascot he stared at the mural behind Henry, one made out of pain from simply serving his role. Henry's "eyes" followed the path Franky's took, landing on the crude drawing he made depicting him with the message "DON'T CALL" next to it.

"Oh that?... Uhh d-don't worry about that, I'll clean it up, I promise! I know Frankie leaves you in charge of decorating after all" Henry clasped his hands together, the blood smearing further over his glove-like hands "I didn't mean to make that mess I just... Just... I can't deal with this GOD FORSAKEN ringing anymore, you understand? Right?"

Henry's voice glitched again, going back to its previous tones as he surveyed Franky's eyes for any sign of sympathy. Instead all he saw were those cold lights staring back at him. With a raise of a giant "gloved" hand Henry soon began taking more steps back, the springy appendage coming near him.

"Woah! Woah! Hold on there Franky!" Henry felt his back touch the smooth surface of the wall, the dark blood smearing all over his suit "Listen I wasn't talking about you! It was your brother who I was mad at!"

Henry winced and shrunk under Franky's gaze. With a past memory playing back in his head where the rabbit had been commanded to hurt him, the telephone head covered his face in order to spare whatever damage would soon come. Franky's big hand approached closer by the moment and Henry could only imagine the worse, what if Frankie had heard him and commanded his monstrous sibling to teach him a lesson. What if the Deputy had put him up to it? That quacking AI was always looking for every excuse to lock him up and maybe this was the opportunity the duck was looking for. His mind raced with ideas of both what Franky would do to him or what set the beast off. The constant flip flop between thoughts made his head rattle and shake as if he was getting a call. The migraine he had a moment ago returned in full force and he fell to his knees, desperately grasping at himself to keep his head still and quiet down.

click

"Huh?"

Henry opened his eyes, the heavy weight of a hand was brought atop him but there was an odd sense of relief brought along with it. Instead of hitting him or using those hands to crush the plastic his face consisted of, Franky had reached down and fixed the receiver back on its hook. The rattling stopped and the talk show host sighed, relief filling him as Franky continued to look down at him. This time with the knowledge that the rabbit had no malicious intent or cause behind his surprise visit.

Truth be told Franky pitied his fellow part machine part man. Henry was the second creation made using the leftovers of another deceased person, another predecessor to what Frankie was and his perfection. The mascot head wasn't as hideous as he was, but he still suffered from the result of imperfection and ultimately being just a prototype. While the idea of a character whose head was a telephone was a good idea on paper and worked well in an animated format, sadly when that fictitious character became a reality he suffered from horrible pain from the nonstop calls he received. Each time anyone would call in on the hotline Henry would be forced to advertise on his show or press a button on the many rotary phones placed about the facility it would go directly to his head. Even if he was nowhere near the museum or household he could hear the ringing every night when he was charging. The ringing and attention had driven Henry mad and Franky wished for nothing more than to relieve him of the horrid sound and pain, to be able to take over his segment just so the object head could catch a break. Sadly he couldn't, instead all he could do was be there and hopefully provide him some solace.

"Franky... You gotta stop, you can't just scare me like that!”

Franky understandably knew where Henry was coming from and gave a small nod in response. Against his will back when Henry lashed out at a caller on his talk show Frankie had sicked him on the telephone and knew where the fear stemmed from. He couldn't fault him for thinking in such a way and recoiled his hand away, letting Henry catch his bearings before giving him the message.

"Err– thanks for hanging up for me" Henry stood up and dusted himself off, although still dirty he tried to maintain what the pristine color of his red suit should look like "Now did ya come all this way to meet with lil' ol' me or did the higher-up boss man send ya?"

Franky raised 2 fingers.

"Of course..." Henry made a sighing sound and pressed his blood stained fingers to the numbers on his head, repeatedly turning the metal dialer around he said "What is it now? I certainly didn't blow up at anyone last night nor do I think I did anything to make the big man mad" he looked back to his drawing and pointed at it "it wasn't for that... Was it?",

Franky shook his head and pointed to one of the turned off TVs. It was at this point Henry got the message, it was an all too familiar gesture signaling what soon would be the airing of a new season of the gameshow they starred in. Well, they all supposedly starred in it but it was only really Franky who did the dirty work of taking out contestants. This season was clearly different though, Franky pointed at him and Henry didn't know what to make of the gesture. The cogs in and wires in his brain started to turn and after staring into those glowing blue eyes of his mascot partner in crime it all clicked.

"Wait! Wait! Wait! No! ya don't mean that I–!?" Henry pointed at himself "But I thought you were the–" he turned his finger to Franky "I know I am using their bodies for paint but I don't–" Henry gestured to the bodies before finally letting his arms rest to his sides. With another sighing noise he looked upwards, hoping he was mistaken "You don't mean to tell me the boss wants me to actually participate in the show right? I thought you were supposed to kill 'em quick!”

Franky continued to point at Henry and gave another subtle nod. He didn't like the idea either but ultimately knew better than to get jealous, besides this would be a temporary break for the object head where he'd be free of the ever present ringing. Franky regretted thinking such harsh things earlier, seeing how Henry reacted it was clear he didn't intend to steal the spotlight in any way shape or form. The rabbit overall did enjoy his phone—associate? Friend? Brethren? Whatever he was—he found Henry not only somewhat humorous but a stark contrast to his brother. While he occasionally worried and was fearful of what Frankie would do, Henry was the complete opposite and actually feared him. Franky didn't exactly like being feared but he understood it, trying his best to appear friendly and to ease any nerves he caused to someone he never wished to harm again.

This friendly and relaxed attitude did help. Henry took a step past Franky and started to head out of the camera’s blindspot, watching closely as the rabbit tailed him "Well I can give it a shot but I wouldn't know what to actually do, it's just chasing them and trying to grab ‘em right?”

Franky stood still. That was essentially it at a first glance but there was a bit more complexity to killing in his book. There was a right and wrong time to do it, like when they are trying to run back out from whence they came and they are only a step away before you quickly grab them, yank them back, and watch as they scream as they watch the exit they were so close to get quickly farther and farther. It was small things like that that made killing a lot more than just “grabbing someone”.

“Honestly if it's as easy as you make it look then I'm sure I can put on a show that'll be close to what you're capable of” Henry stroked his phone as if he were slicking his hair back and nudged Franky’s springy legs “of course no one does it better than you big guy, honestly it may be better if I give them one little scare and BOOM! You can come out and finish ‘em!”

Franky immediately nodded at the suggestion, his head rocking so fast his spring made it bounce up and down a bit.

Henry gave a small chuckle at the rabbit’s enthusiasm and kicked a vent open “alrighty I guess that's settled, be seeing ya once we're on air then Franky”

With one final wave the objecthead departed and Franky finally calmed down, giving a wave as he watched his friend intently.

Was Henry truly his friend? It was very well established the object head did fear him to a certain degree but simultaneously Henry was the only one he felt truly comfortable with. He loved Frankie of course but sometimes he couldn't help but feel like he just wasn't his brother. As horrible as that was to say, certain moments made the rabbit consider he was wrong in one more way than he thought. He held no memories of what Franky was like when he was alive nor did he have any interest to have those memories. Franky, the original, would probably unconditionally do what he was told and not question the commands of someone that was family.

So why was it that he was questioning Frankie?

It didn't make any sense and he felt himself grasping at ideas in his head that would perhaps explain. Instead all that Franky could think of was what happened with Henry and the mural still on the wall. The demented drawing made from the deceased was a straight cry for help made because Henry was created with a massive flaw. Frankie surely didn't intend for Henry to be pained by the very shtick he was known for but why was it that he forced the telephone to do his show every single night? Why did he force Henry to continue pretending to want people to call in? The question that plagued him most of all and was what caused Henry to fear him in the first place was why did Frankie force him to punish Henry for rightfully getting mad once? It wouldn't have affected the show that drastically and it was a small mistake. Was it simply that he was in the wrong here? Were the begging words of Henry truly meant to be ignored and he was supposed to blindly carry out such a task without question? Franky didn't know. He felt like he probably didn't need to know. After all, with a new season coming on the air he should focus on getting things set up for the incoming contestants. Everything had to be perfect, and if it meant blindly following orders then so be it. It wasn't just about the TV show anymore, this was about Frankie and his desire for this entire gameshow to grow into what it originally was. To be so much bigger, better, so much more than they currently had.

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Hey! I really like your stories. How would a Yandere! Alfred react to his S/O already having a kid from a previous relationship? (Maybe kid doesn't like him and compares him to their father?)

Ooooh one about complicated relationships :) Here you go anon! Enjoy <3

Alfred F. Jones is the type of man who can take things in stride. This type of situation would be one of them. He’s smart enough to know that you’d be a package deal when you became his target. He would gladly take on the role of stepfather & would even do his best to be way better than your former lover. After all, that's why you’re not with your previous (husband/wife). 

Toys, outings, paying for afterschool activities, etc., will all be tools for him to get close to your kid and build a bond of sorts. Alfred will ask subtle but prying questions about why your previous relationship didn’t work for your kid. What are your greatest fears? What's your extended family like? Things of that nature. All of this information will be used for the nefarious purpose of never being able to leave him. After all, children do take some of their parents' psychology. Alfred will observe the child's behavior to gauge how difficult it will be to manage them. 

This is also highly dependent on the kid's age, which is a huge part of how Alfred will manage them. 

(0-5 years old) Oh yeah, he has time to make your kid love him like a real dad. Manipulation will be easier since the kid isn’t working with much mental capabilities yet. 

(6-12 years old) Now that your kid knows how to say “no” & be independent to a degree this is where things will begin to get tricky for Alfred. However, he still has the upper hand. He’s already braced himself to hear the tried and true hallmarks of being a pre-teen just beginning to discover themselves. 

“You’re not my real dad!” 

“I hate you!” 

Alfred of course, won’t behave violently like he’d typically want to. He’s worked far too hard for you to be within his trap. So he can last, however, many years until your kid reaches that magical age of 18 before he will try to alienate you from them. But trust me when I say he has already begun to plant seeds of discontent meant to get you detached from your child when that day comes. 

He does end up having a lot of joy derived from punishing your kid. Things like not receiving allowances, watching television, playing video games, or having cell phone access—you name it—your child probably had it taken away. Alfred did have a conversation with you, and the both of you did agree that he should have the ability to punish your child since all three of you did live together. It is his home originally, so Alfred has a great deal of leverage. 

However, 12-13 in most U.S. states, children can vocalize who they’d like to live with. So, if you’re child hates Alfred at some point during an argument, he will shout out:

“You hate it here? Fine, you little brat, you can live with your real dad (or mom) since you’re so ungrateful!!!” 

(13-18 years old) Holy hell, will the tension be high if you’re all living together? It’s a new life change for them. This will be especially bad if the kid doesn’t like Alfred. It’s not a situation that can last for long. This works in Alfred's favor. He will push the kid to want to live with the other parent. You’ll have visitation that will start off at being every weekend; then it will slowly diminish to every other weekend, then once a month, and so on. 

This space away from your former child will give Alfred the time to tie you down with his own children. During this time, he’ll get busy subtly telling you how your kid from your previous relationship hates you. Alfred will sew the doubt about your child's love for you. Alfred will have more to stand on if your EX also has a new S/O; he’ll compare you subtly to substantiate why your kid doesn’t love you anymore.