#does theater NEED to be flashy? is that what theater is about? does it have to have pop music and high intensity dancing (which Chicago has)

[glassladyoftheopera]

In Stars and Time But It's a Musical (Part 1)

Okay hi I need to tell you all about this concept.

First off all I just need to say credit to @openphrase123 for the amazing 'ISAT but as a ballet' posts (here and also here and there definitely more but those are some of the big ones) which definitely inspired some choices here and in general inspired me to do this.

So basically I'm a big old musical theater person (and specifically musician / singer) so I've been fleshing out concepts for a what a musical re-telling of In Stars and Time might look like. I'm honestly not going to get into like... the logistics of how you could actually do it, because even with condensing a lot of things Musicals aren't typically long enough to tell this kind of story, so we're just... ignoring that when I don't have ideas to get around it.

We will start with all of the main characters, their voice types, and their characteristic musical styles!

Mirabelle Mira is our soprano, but mostly her singing and music is very much in the style of Disney Renaissance musicals. Think Belle, Ariel, Hercules, etc. I think it fits her up beat but still sometimes anxious personality. Near the end of each King Fight she gets a cool high notes as she finally has some true confidence in herself!

Bonnie Bonnie would be played by a younger performer with an unchanged voice. This wouldn't really be a dance heavy show, but when there is dancing they would take the lead b/c that's cute. In terms of their singing though it's mostly inspired by classic kid characters from Broadway, namely Annie, The Artful Dodger, and Matilda (especially for their more emotionally intense moments). Their music isn't as difficult, and in group numbers they typically sing the melody with at least one other person.

Odile Odile is the alto of the quintet. It helps her sound more mature than Mirabelle and fits her vibe of not taking on the flashy role. Her music leans a bit more classical, almost Gilbert and Sullivan-esque in her more playful moments. Overall though it tends to be a bit more melodically challenging, but not super fast or syncopated. There would be melodic and instrumental flourishes in her music unique to her that are basically 'Ka Buan' musical elements.

Isabeau Leading man baritone! His style also fairly standard musical theater, but leans a touch more modern in it's styling to accommodate his more emotionally open vibe. He'll have the pop-inspired rhythms and chord progressions, but in group numbers he's the rock solid bass part holding everything together.

Siffrin Siffrin... does not sing almost ever for the first chunk of the show outside of group numbers. He's a tenor, and helps fill out the harmonies, but the impression the audience should get at the start is that they aren't really a soloist. As the loops go on, they gain a bit more confidence, taking bits and pieces of all of the other character's musical / singing styles as they go on. They don't get a full length solo to themselves until Mal du Pays. But the character that most influences their style is...

Loop Loop is full on Broadway Jazz, baby! Syncopated rhythms, brassy sound, fast patter lyrics, the whole shebang. Don't look behind the curtain at what all that glitter might be hiding, stardust~

The King Super bass, in the tradition of opera villains usually being basses. At first the only super stand out thing about his singing is that his range is so distinct, but in later encounters he gets both more delicate moments and moments where the true power of his voice to intimidate comes through.

(Also yes all of the Forgotten Island peeps will have a few musical elements in common to set them apart don't you even worry we'll get to it :3)

Euphrasie The Head Housemaiden has a short little mini song she does for the first bit of her speech. It's simple and catchy. Every time it transitions into her final speech as the musical motifs are distorted.

Dormont The people of Dormont sing mostly in a grand opening number ala the opening numbers for Beauty and the Beast, Fiddler on the Roof, The Music Man, etc. Little bits and pieces of the song come back in various combos and Sif loops and jumps around asking people new things. They would also double as disembodied voices for certain musical numbers that could use extra voices for full out harmony, dramatic effect, etc.

More will be coming soon, so I hope you enjoyed my ramblings.

[taketheringtolohac]

being so normal about peoples bad opinions on theater. being so normal.

[hellotailor]

armand’s costumes are such an interesting data point re: his nebulous sense of identity.

when analyzing any costume, there are always many factors to consider: the setting, the character’s personal taste and economic constraints, storytelling concerns like tone and genre, etc. with armand, we also need to remember that he’s 500 years old and violently disconnected from his human origins. everything he wears has an element of disguise, selected to blend into a new environment.

armand was enslaved as a child in 16th century delhi, and barely remembers his mortal life. unlike louis - who can return to new orleans after 80 years and reconnect with his past - armand has no home to return to. his whole backstory, even his name, is rife with traumatic subtext, leaving him with an obsessive need for structure and control. this adds an extra layer of meaning to costuming choices that initially seem like straightforward menswear. 

armand’s 1940s wardrobe is very put-together - primarily three-piece suits and coats that make him look wealthier and more formal than louis, who is purposefully dressing down. most of these outfits are tailored to bulk up armand's frame, leaning into the "maitre" persona. and like his business-casual dubai wardrobe, he always leaves his collar open. when i interviewed costume designer carol cutshall, she described this as a symbolic power move, signalling that he's an apex predator who doesn't need to protect his throat.

my personal interpretation is that while armand clearly likes to look good, he has a complicated relationship with attractiveness. he doesn't always want to draw attention. his color palette is shadowy (black, grey, brown, olive green), and he’s much less flashy than the other Théâtre vamps. however when he’s feeling confident and flirty, he becomes more of a power-dresser - for instance his hunting outfit with the big coat and sunglasses, or his habit of wearing kohl.

interestingly, most of armand's 1940s costumes set him apart from the coven. the Théâtre vampires dress like cabaret performers, embracing a lot of period-specific styles. by contrast armand is more timeless and neutral. in fact, due to the relatively minor changes in men's suits over the past 100 years, there's a lot of overlap between his wardrobe in the 1940s, '70s and 2020s:

the rest of the Théâtre squad share an unofficial uniform of boldly clashing monochrome patterns with pops of bright color. meanwhile armand has a very plain wardrobe, emphasizing the image of him as a businesslike authority figure surrounded by zany artistes. he only wears subtle stripes on a few occasions in the '40s, reflecting the recurring prison motif we see in lestat's trial suit and (most famously) the dubai penthouse bedroom:

if we ask the question, "what does this person like to wear?" there are easy answers for lestat, louis and claudia. we understand their tastes, and the motives behind them. but armand is more enigmatic. we can recognize through-lines in his wardrobe, but his "taste" is dominated by whatever role he's currently decided to embody, whether that's a parisian theater director or a real estate mogul in dubai.

the times when he appears to have the most fun with clothing are when he steals a pair of sunglasses from his human dinner (!) and when he's pretending to be rashid. in other words, when he's explicitly performing for an audience. "real armand" is still a mystery.

(i may write more about armand's dubai wardrobe later, but for now, you can find all of my iwtv costumes posts on this tag!)

[bluepeachstudios]

you have any possible bonding activities you think the fusions would do in their downtime (that wont spoil the fic, of course)? i think daphy should teach mikey how to make fireworks :) fun explosion instead of attention-drawing property damage explosion

Oh god I could go on a long, long thing about this.

If we're talking about the fun thing that Mikey promised Daphy, I shan't be spoiling what it is they do :x Leo is also involved but yeah it involves fireworks.

Pheo likes just. Being around Mikey and Donnie, the same way he likes just being around Deangelo! He doesn't relax easily, he's almost nearly always in "go-mode" out of habit. Donnie and Mikey help him get into that relaxed place. They like watching movies and Pheo does some teaching by sparring them. He feels most confident in his fighting skills, so that's what he tries to help them with. Mikey especially likes snuggling up in Pheo's arms (as the babiest of brothers with the second eldest of them). Pheo, much like Leo, likes to listen to Donnie and Mikey both talk. He's got enough Leo in him where if you get him on the right subject, he'll also start talking a lot, but that Raph in him makes him horribly shy about doing it, so he needs to be nudged to continue.

Deangelo thinks Raph and Leo are the coolest people to ever exist. He will talk all day to both of them. Leo and Deangelo talking is like neurodivergent communication going on and Raph feels very left out when they do talk. Deangelo likes sparring with Raph a lot! Dea relies a lot more on speed and precision than he does on brute force, so learning from Raph is a nice change of pace. He likes to snuggle with Pheo, too. Honestly I think all the fusions wouldn't mind snuggling with Pheo, but they don't get to meet each other face to face.

Mio plays games with Raph and Donnie and will win at anything they can get him to play (except chess, which is so boring that he gives up about halfway through). He loves reading comic books and watching space heroes and being creative! He's not very good at drawing, but he enjoys it anyway. Mio is the most likely to want to watch a tv show or movie. He'll watch just about anything, but Space Heroes is his absolute favorite. He also loves moving around a lot. Daphy and him hand out and bond by Mio hovering over Daphy while he works. He and Daphy will talk to each other a lot, and though Daphy has a very short temper, he's always exceedingly patient for Mio.

Daphy of course likes to build things. They're often destructive things, but it's because he likes the flashiness, the energy that gets released, having a big impact on something. Daphy's a little hard to get into without spoilers if I'm being honest, but he gets along much better with Mikey than he does Leo, even if Mikey does annoy him sometimes. Leo and him have a bit of an awkward relationship because of Daphy's actions, and the fact that Daphy doesn't treat Leo like the leader. Usually their bonding time is silent but close. They read books next to each other. That sort of thing.

Lonny loves designing things. If Raph and Mikey have an idea for it, he can draw it out for them. They're not always the most realistic designs, but the AESTHETICS. Lonny calms down once he has something to focus on, so usually they do targeted activities with him, like playing a game or watching movies. Mikey likes to lay on him (he is the tallest of the fusions) and Raph likes to spar with him. Lonny tends to freeze up with indecision and Raph gets that, so it's nice and helpful.

Machiel is a SNUGGLER. He doesn't care what you're doin, as long as he can snuggle, he'll be happy. He also wants to DO stuff. He wants to go out and beat up some foot bots or go hunting through the junkyard or go hop rooftops or sneak into a movie theater or something. He and Leo bond by sparring, which is off-putting for Leo because Machiel doesn't fight like a normal ninja should, but it's good practice! Donnie often gets overwhelmed quickly by Machiel, but Machiel asks questions and Donnie's happy to answer.

Machiel and Lonny interacting is another spoiler <3 but as you can see, I went on and this was just simple stuff. Enjoy fusion lore?? :'D

[hypocriticalspicewrites]

Hello there! You said you wanted asks that were about selfships so uhhhh,,, here goes!

I ship with Raggedy Andy (Specifically from the 1977 movie). I watched it the other day and I was like “waUGH BOYFIE!! RIGHT THERE!!!!” Because he’s silly and cute and likes to pretend he’s all tough when actually he’s a giant sweetheart,,

My s/i is named Presto (the magic marionette) and he’s a magician puppet,,, arrived at the nursery in a little box one day. Andy is like “oh great cool another guy my age around here we will be friends” but his gender dysphoric ass initially is like “how can you be so flamboyant and still know that you’re a boy?” So Presto lets him know that if you feel like a boy you ARE one no matter what =] (We’re T4T.)

Presto’s shorter then Andy is. Comes about up to his chin. This means that he has to stand on tiptoes for hugs n kisses and stuff,,, (can you tell I think of this often?)

It takes Andy a bit to warm up to and get close to Presto, but when he eventually does his love language is like, a very protective and physically affectionate sort of thing. Typa guy to pick a fight with someone who’s even SLIGHTLY mean to you. Also during the pining phase, he keeps like, trying to grab for Presto’s hand or shoulder when either or scared are worried and he doesn’t notice. (Until Ann or Presto smugly bring it up, then he will skuttle away like a scared little crab and be all like “I didn’t know what else to do with my hands! It wasn’t on purpose!! 😡”)

Anyway yea post pining stage with the actual being together part is VERY physically affectionate. Lots of hugging and leaning against each other and stuff like that. Funny enough I am NOT tweaking with that one because he is quite literally like that in the movie. >=] I can know with conviction that the doll boy is a cuddler~

Their dynamic is shorter bubbly theater bf X taller spitfire jock bf and I get brainrot often. Their theme song is Looking out for you by Joy Again have a great day-

The way I had to take a break looking at my phone to process some of this is unREAL 😭😭

Im sorry just- YES. Raggedy Andy is such sweet doll with a firey personality, he needs a flashy puppet around the nursery to keep him in check. 🤭

I could just imagine him talking to Annie or like- a singing duet with him and Presto AUGH 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

[nobodysdaydreams]

CUTTER'S LITTLE GIRLFRIEND CAN JOIN THE ERRAND BOYS IN THE AIRLOCK, I HOPE THE HEPHESTUS CREW TAKES OVER THE SHIP AND DESTROYS CUTTER, AND I KNEW THE EMPTY MAN WAS COMING BACK!

(or my reaction to Wolf359 episodes 41-43 plus the episode 43 post-credits scene).

Welcome back dear readers. I have had multiple people independently message me to say that this next reaction is a big one, and I'm not sure if that means I should be scared or excited.

Also, is it just me, or are these episodes getting longer? Like...a lot longer? This one is 43 minutes, and the season 1 episodes were about half that. Which is fine, but I might not be able to react to as many in a row, and will likely be doing housework during them. Sorry about that, but hopefully the reactions are still good.

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom

Episode 41: Memoria

Thanksgiving Episode! 🦃 Kind of perfect that I'm listening to this now. But why does this feel like a flashback? Unless Lovelace is in the bathroom and they threw everyone else out the airlock?

Aw Hera...this is beautiful. St. Augustine's Confessions. That did sound familiar. As does "rub a dub dub thank for the grub!"

...what is this? Well that mood changed quickly. Oh this is dark. Oh wow she hears THEM as being distorted. She hears all of them like that all the time. That's scary.

Maxwell this is private. But oh boy am I excited for this one.

So...she's in a robot coma? "Pure Memory Consciousness" okay.

MAXWELL. Those are her memories! DO NOT DELETE HER MEMORIES!

Okay Discount Dr. Garrison.

...and now we have Minkowski's musical theater. That's nice. And yeah, Hera is nice. Minkowksi. Don't say that.

"There's a red flashy light show in the hanger bay" Doug is fantastic.

Yeah constantly dealing with your friends screaming at you to save them and not let them die is a lot of pressure. Leave Hera alone.

Maxwell, you're still here. Oh yeah...Hera's replacement. She doesn't deserve to be replaced.

Okay, I see why so many people were recommending this episode to me. Rewriting and deleting traumatic memories is something that I have written about in my fics. The funny thing is, the people who did that in my fics also started erasing memories in less willing individuals for less than benevolent purposes. But hey, surely the Wolf359 villains would nevvveeerrrr stoop so low.

Oh wow. Now it's Hera hearing DOUG'S voice in her head. 😂😂😂 Yes, Star Wars. 😂😂😂 I need to get Doug's reaction to the Sequels. It's also really cool to hear Hera's voice without the distortion.

"Shortcomings...no one is here to make friends..." she's focusing all her attention on Doug so she can hear him talk about Star Wars? 🥹💕Hilbert shut up that's wonderful.

And yes Doug, good point. She CAN hear you.

Not the count to ten without glitching thing. I don't like this. No bueno.

THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING. SHE'S A PERSON!

As someone who writes about AI, is she designed after a certain person's personality, or is she more of a "free script AI"? Either way, I wonder who designed her and what they had in mind.

"They could have made me better, they made me me". EXACTLY. "This is my life. I don't want to go. But if this is it, I'd rather go as me." TELL THEM HERA!

Oh ew. I knew it was Cutter before they even said it.

Shut up about Cutter. He doesn't know anything. And the fact that Duck and Whisky boy have a bet going is gross.

YES HERA! You can't change people!

The other half is Hera. And YOU. Because y'all have NOT been supportive crewmates. Doug has been stepping up, but everyone else needs get on board.

Maxwell. "Feeling bad is a dumb reason your code can't run". I certainly hope you don't have any friends with depression or anxiety.

Um. Uhhhh... is that her subconsciousness? Is that another Hera? OH MY GOSH DID THEY PUT THAT INSIDE HER TO STOP HER FROM REBELLING? BECAUSE SHE TRIED TO ESCAPE?

They did, didn't they. OH MY GOSH THE COUNTING! Cutter did this didn't he? He needs to go. He needs to go right now. He is such a coward.

"Access Denied" That's Cutter isn't it? Isn't it? Oh and the environment changing with Hera's emotions is a nice touch.

Oh here we are. Buried deep. Welcome to truth town.

"Just a memory" um...are you sure about that.

I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!!!! I KNEW IT WAS CUTTER THAT SLIMEY FOOL.

The best? See. I knew Hera was the best.

Wait. What.

WHHHHAAATTTTT????

Well, well, well, well, well, well, WELL. So THIS is Cutter's Garrison. The whole time I was thinking it was Maxwell. Modeled the AI after her own brain no doubt. Weird that she feels comfortable enough to call him "Marcus". Let's un-pause the episode and see what her deal is (I get the feeling I won't like her as much as I like Garrison in TMBS).

"It Marcus. Never her. It." Oh I hate her. I hate how comfortable she is with Cutter, I hate that she uses Hera's voice, I hate that she clearly modeled the AI after HERSELF and KNOWS they are human but still choses to call them it like she's on a power trip. What's the matter? Scared one of your robot creations will end up being a better version of you? Don't worry. I get the feeling it's a very low bar. (Also you were right Sophie. The pronoun switch here is EXACTLY like what I wrote in my fic).

"Back door into the subconscious...make these things have my voice..." Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. I swear, if a robot shows up with CUTTER'S VOICE I am gonna vomit. That is HERA's voice. This lady is the friend Cutter was talking about isn't she? I bet she made all his tech too, he probably couldn't build a robot to save his life.

Oh ew is she Pryce? Ugh. That would make too much sense.

"Neural restraints but it can hear you". / "Hahaha...good...hi Unit 214. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to clip your wings. Allow me to share a thought." SHE IS DISGUSTING. REVOLTING. She clearly loves torturing her robots. I see why she and Cutter, oh I'm sorry "Marcus" get along so well. They certainly seem rather chummy.

MIRANDA PRYCE I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT.

YOU KNOW WHAT MIRANDA. YOU CAN'T DO THIS. YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Um..."keep it boxed?" Was that the box Doug was trying to open earlier?

A yes deleted scenes...watching a completely different movie...I do love to do that in my writing.

Dr. Miranda Pryce. Hera's Voice Model. Robot Designer. Sadist. Waste of Space.

Not sure whether "Cutter's little girlfriend" or "Cutter's Garrison" is a more appropriate title for her right now. She certainly seems to be his Garrison, more so than Maxwell even, but not loving how close they seem. Not even Rachel or Kepler call Cutter "Marcus". Either way, she need to go.

Can't take it out? You can do it Hera. You are stronger than Pryce. She hasn't even been brave enough to show her face. She had to make you insecure and call you "it" just to have power over you, because she KNOWS she could never earn your respect.

YES! USE YOUR FRIENDS VOICE TO DROWN IT OUT! HECK YEAH!

PFFTTT... Doug telling her to use the force 😂 I love it.

Um...so what happened?

37 hours. Yikes. Good work Maxwell, you're earning a potential redemption faster than Duck Boy and Whisky Boy.

Yeah Hera. You will be okay. Right after we throw Cutter's little robot girlfriend out the airlock with the errand boys.

Episode 42: Time to Kill

Hopefully this episode isn't as intense.

"We'll be FINE" don't jinx it Jacobi.

oh good Doug has cards, so they don't have to play Funzo, a game that Pryce and Cutter CLEARLY MADE UP JUST TO TORTURE THE CREW BECAUSE THEY ARE SADISTS. Seriously. They are the worst. I hope they get everything that's coming to them.

And why do I get the feeling that Cutter's "inner circle" is little just him and maybe this Miranda Pryce person? I seriously doubt Kepler or Rachel made the cut.

Is Minkowski still not talking to him because of the jail time thing? She needs to get over that. He's sorry, and there are more important things going on right now.

"Nothing to hear..."

Well well well. I beg to differ. You all tried to gaslight me dear readers, but at last the truth revealed.

THE EMPTY MAN IS HERE! 🥳

"Who said anything about people?" "It's moving"

"This door is completely secure".

THE KNOCKS.

IT DID ANSWER. IT DID COPY YOU.

THE EMPTY MAN RETURNS!

An incoming hail you say????

Uh...is that...um... oh my goodness. This IS bad. One duck boy is bad enough, we can't handle two.

One is clearly an alien or an evil clone. The only sensible solution is to throw them both out of the airlock. It's sad but a sacrifice that needs to be made.

And that's right Doug. You DID tell them. Just like I said the empty man mattered, and everyone said "it doesn't Bods" but I knew better and so did my boy Doug. Welcome to truth town ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to truth town!

But um. If the aliens can um...copy people then...Lovelace...uh oh. Oh no. It doesn't even seem like she knows.

Though it does make sense. They already copied Doug's voice. Why not copy the rest of him too? Only a matter of time before copies of the others show up. At least they can't copy Hera...or can they? Hm. Would she look like Pryce then?

This is straight out of a dark fairytale where you see or hear someone who looks and sounds like your loved ones.

There's only one way to tell who the real Jacobi is.

We need a duck.

"It's trying to turn you against me" Jacobi, honey, we're already against you, you don't need any help with that.

YES DOUG! I KNEW IT! IT IS THE EMPTY MAN!

Oh right they don't know about that. But Doug is dead on the money.

The flares??? Oh I see...so that's how they do it.

And um...how about the possibility that the clones actually BELIEVE they are Duck Boy. And possibly Lovelace. It certainly sounds like they believe it.

Look. Guys. The solution is simple. Kill them both. It's tragic, and I hate to see Duck Boy go, but we have no choice. We must consider the safety of the crew.

The outside guy is hesitating on his answers.

"If there is any chance that it's A real Jacobi, we can't just leave him out there!" In all seriousness, as much as I hate to say it, Doug is right. You can't risk human life like that. But in the world of the fictional narrative, do we really need to keep any Duck Boys around?

Uh...Lovelace? Lovelace?

So this is why the episode was called time to kill. Because it was time to kill someone.

Oh gosh. The aliens might not like them after this.

Perhaps they should have let him in. Maybe that was the real Jacobi. Or a real Jacobi. Or maybe neither of them were. Or maybe none of them are their real selves. But there is one thing I know is true. The empty man is real, and at last I have my proof.

Nah, he's gone Maxwell. But at least you have a backup Duck Boy.

Just the four of us...all on our own...

But Doug. How do you know? How do you know that you are truly alone?

And that's the end of this one. I see what you mean. The show is getting good. It was already good before but… things are getting interesting…

Episode 43: Persuasion (plus an end credits scene 👀)

I'm glad Maxwell is helping Hera out. But if her allegiance comes down to Hera or Kepler, I hope she makes the right choice.

It's okay Doug. We all miss meetings sometimes.

And yeah...it's nice to know the plan for this alien contact.

"And how relaxed are you at the moment?" it's such a funny line when I imagine Hilbert and Doug as the same guy talking to himself (thank you live show).

YES! Hit him Maxwell!

"We're there for each other" Since when? Since when are Cutter's errand boys there for anyone but themselves?

Same Minkowski. Like what even is their relationship?

Hilbert is me every time Doug coughs.

"You talk about helping people, but what about the real life people around you?" Doug is speaking straight facts Hilbert.

YES! Everything Doug is saying is true.

"You lack vision." "At least I don't lack a soul". Hilbert lacks more than a soul he lacks rational common sense because he is letting one very traumatic thing color his whole view of this. Like. The decima virus will only help people if you get it out of the hands of Mr. Crazy Psycho Man (Cutter). Can you do that Hilbert? If not, your work was for basically nothing.

Oh dear. Minkowski!

Aw, she saved Maxwell. See, she's actually a GOOD boss. Unlike some people, I won't name names.

I hope they can save her.

Oh good. See? Work together, save a crewmate.

"That was some fun" We'll see how you like it when you're in that position Kepler. Try again? Oh no, no, no. How about YOU try it Kepler?

SHE CAN CALL HER HUSBAND!!!

He probably thinks she's dead or missing in action or whatever horrible lie Cutter told him. Oh but he's a journalist. I hope he puts him on blast. I hope he puts Cutter and his whole operation all over the news.

Pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up...

This is agony.

Oh she got his secretary.

HE THINKS SHE'S BEEN DEAD FOR OVER A YEAR????

...and that means Doug's daughter...and everyone else...i just- I- FOR A YEAR???...oh my goodness...

Cutter was already a dead man. But I believe this action just brought him back to life. I have another plan for him now. Something worse. Something so much worse.

Okay...so Jacobi is human...or at least he appears to be?

"You killed a man...that might catch up to you..." do you speak from experience Kepler?

"You're okay with hearing Jacobi screaming in agony as he undergoes a horrible death?" Kepler, you're okay with literally everyone else doing exactly that. Please stop trying to have the moral high ground, you're standing in the world's deepest of ditches.

We're beyond horribly wrong Doug. We are FAR beyond that.

Very specific instructions. Good work Minkowski. Doug will appreciate that.

And yep. You are dead. You've been dead for a while now.

Killing Kepler? This better not be like killing Hilbert where I got my hopes up just for him to start crying about his sister.

I better not be blasting Goodbye Earl by the Dixie Chicks for nothing.

End Credits Scene:

Oh Hilbert and Lovelace...what a pair...

Still kinda dark to manipulate their friends like that, but what else were they expecting from command?

And... wow. Those were some episodes. Normally I pick the best of the three to make my title, but this is gonna be a challenge. Let's see if I can cover all my bases.

Also if Miranda ends up being...idk Cutter's relative or something, I'll change the title, but right now I'm going just gonna call her his little girlfriend because I absolutely despise her.

[lgcsaem]

✰ … ACHY BREAKY. don't worry, he's fine— he does this all time ( solo ).

evaluations hadn't ever been something to worry over.

he'd been tested all his life, exposed to the cutthroat world of dance, theater, and now, in recent years, preparation for the idol status misaki yearned to achieve. while something he'd decided to pursue on a whim, teenage boredom and the fear of missing out weighing heavily on his scatterbrained mind with a dire need for relief, misaki can't deny that this is where he belongs. while his path was ever winding, without fail, it would continue upwards, and no evaluation would derail that trajectory.

he's done then too many times now to properly count, so, while there's nothing for the young boy to be worried over, something bubbles in the pit of his stomach— excitement. this was something different, a test unlike all he'd been made to face in the past, one solely focused on personality, entertainment, and, to an extent, heart.

and, boy, did misaki have a lot of gremlin-like qualities heart.

he's was genuine to a fault, open and eager to be seen, uncaring towards what other people's thoughts about him were ( why should he care? they were bound to learn eventually, so why cry over it when he could simply move on to people who valued all he had to give ). the want to be inherently liked was present, yes, but being disliked wouldn't crush his spirits, so long as he could get a laugh or two to spill out.

so, misaki stands from his seat as his turn to present finally comes, a cheeky grin spread across rosy cheeks and slightly chapped lips. before him are a preappointed panel of coaches, all people who know him well. he'd couldn't disappoint them now.

misaki gives a half-correct salute. "snaggletoothed misaki, a.k.a saem, reporting for duty!"

he'd done well to pick his particular talent, a somewhat flashy show of stretchy limbs and popping joints ( he's overjoyed every day for the limberness with which he'd developed over the years and the double jointedness he'd been naturally born with ), having not only bent himself into a multitude of different shapes, something resembling a pretzel garnering a rather loud gasp from someone in the room, but also showcasing his ability to dislocate his shoulders and pop them back into place like it was nothing— when he claimed he was able to circle his arms around his whole body without unclasping them, he'd been serious!

all in all, misaki had thoroughly enjoyed himself, so he could only believe those around had enjoyed him in turn.

[black-is-iconic]

My Time At Akademi University

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as pink petals fall gracefully from the heavens like a thousand delicate butterflies. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes and breath the scent of cherry blossoms.

The sweet scent of blooming cherries fills you with a sense of calm as the sakura trees sway gently in the wind, there was almost an air of superiority surrounding the prestigious school everyone walked with pride and a sense of purpose when they entered the premises.

The sounds of a thousand steps like roaring thunder in your ear as you slowly made your way to the foot of Akademi High, almost intimidated by it's elegance.

Akademi was know for taking taking Japan's youth and molding them into blue blooded Ivy league students that would someday become Japan's most influential and pristine citizens, perfect students for a perfect school...quite the reputation to live up to....another sigh falls from your lips as you take that first step toward your future with confidence.

As you enter, you notice the sea of students splitting off into their own respective cliques you'd done your research prior to applying for this school, just so you knew whose toes to avoid stepping on and what clique you should join.

For example Musume Ronshaku and her brainless carbon copies, the bullies or mean girls of Akademi High. Like a tight knit group of pestilent pariah picking on anyone below them who didn't fit in either with their class, or lack thereof.

Then there were the theater kids....with their flamboyant and overly dramatized movements, colorful glamorous outfits, flashy accessories and overblown attitudes; it kinda screamed closet gays. Then there were the emos who made their entire personalities...black, black hair, black clothes, black eyeliner, black bags...

Being part of the brainless bimbos would be nice. You would instantly gain status and influence within the inner circle of the student body, but they were also hated by the people they picked on being associated with them would instantly earn you a negative reputation as well.

And you really wanted to stay neutral this time around so that was a big ol nope, it was a no for the drama kids and the emos too.

You were almost sure that joining the emo's would result in bullying, and the theater kids....well they typically sat in a gray zone which sometimes dipped into bullied territory.

Yet another sigh fell from your lips as you made your way to your lockers and swapped your shoes following the slow moving kids through the plain white halls. Taking in all you're new school had to offer, colorful posters promoting the various clubs sat plastered across the walls accompanied by a slew of trophies , pictures, medals and awards encased in a glass case.

As you continued to traverse the halls your phone vibrated in your pocket, pulling out your phone you noticed a little notification pop up and open a text message.

Curious at the message you open up the message and read the message which simply said: Welcome to Akademi High....the text came from an unknown number which you swiftly blocked and kept on walking.

But then your phone vibrated in your hand drawing your attention back to the screen where the same number texted you again :My name is Info-chan I'd advise against blocking my number you may need my services in the future...the text reach and you pursed your lips looking around the with an arched brow at the text before typing a response.

: Thanks Infochan, but I'm good no need but how did you unblock yourself from my phone? There was a long pause before a reply came in :that's just one of my many talents..I assure you you'll need my services sooner then you think everyone does, and with that you slide your phone in your pocket.

Red flags, red flags everywhere your mind echoed at you trying to figure out why you felt something off about Infochan but you shoved it aside for now and vowed to have your phone swept for bugs, viruses, or secret malware later.

As you turned a corner you ran smack dab into a brick wall, or at least something that very similar and fell on your butt.

A boisterous laugh filled your ears "sorry about that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and was kinda rushing see I'm late for my martial arts club let me help you up" his voice was deep smooth and soothing like a velvet soft caress to your senses.

Puberty did him well he was tall and handsome with short black hair, that feathered out around his hair framing his creamy face in beautiful dark wisps.

Two stormy gray eyes peered down at you like two swirling clouds in a winter storm, his lips curved slightly into a kind smile. "Sorry about that" he said offering his hand which you took, his hands were warm rough and calloused as he pulled you to your feet, "it's alright" you managed a nervous chuckle falling from your lips as you took in the school uniform that seemed rather tight along his toned body.

His eyes did a quick sweep of you and you could practically hear the gears turning inside of him, suddenly he snapped and smiled and it was rather.....cute "you must be new here" he beamed in a charmingly manner. "Wow brawns and brains..." your mouth ran faster than your brain could process and he laughed once more as you flushed in embarrassment.

"New girls got jokes" he grinned and you giggled a bit nervously rubbing the back of your neck "I'm Budo Masuta"

"Y/N L/N" you responded he squinted for a moment "huh that sounds foreign you're not from here are you?" He asked tilting his head in curiosity "wow two for two you're really observant aren't ya?"

You mused rubbing your arm and he laughed again "I think I might like you new girl you're kinda funny" he commented with a grin.

"Don't get too comfortable I don't usually make a habit of hanging around meatheads" you quipped and he snickered before dramatically acting hurt "aww come on now I'm not that bad, I'm genuinely a nice guy", you roll your eyes walking past him "well if you excuse me mister nice guy I have places to be" you called over your shoulder as you made your way to your way further down the halls.

[oldschoolcrimefighters]

A Quick Analysis of Arline

Arline Griscom*, wife of Shadow agent Cliff Marsland, is one of those characters whom I adore for her potential rather than for what made it onto the page -- because, to be frank, the page barely gives us anything to work with, and what it does give us kinda sucks.

(*Note: I tag her as Arline Marsland, but she never canonically takes his last name.)

She is in the canon so little that I can -- and will -- transcribe her every appearance in this one post without hitting the picture limit -- and then proceed to wring them for every drop of information I can get. Join me, won't you.

Arline's first, largest, and only named appearance is in #009: Mobsmen on the Spot.

Before her actual appearance, Cliff rudely compares Madge Benton to her.

She was attractive, despite her freakish mode of dress. Too many sparkling rings. Too much makeup. Her blond hair, although effective in appearance, indicated peroxide treatments. Cliff mentally compared the woman with others he remembered from years ago; the others profited by the comparison -- particularly one --

Madge deserves her own post another time, but for now: fuck off, Cliff.

Elsewhere, in a seemingly-unrelated plot thread, we meet Arline.

The door opened and a charming young woman entered. From her manner, one might have placed her age at thirty; her face appeared much younger -- almost girlish. She made a beautiful picture as she stood, exquisitely gowned, against the dim background of the doorway. She was evidently returning from a party. "Come in, Arline," said Howard Griscom, as the woman hesitated. "Arline, you know Mr Ballantyne. This gentleman is Mr Cranston." The girl extended her hand. Lamont Cranston received the clasp, and his keen eyes stared steadily into hers. Arline seemed solemn as she returned the gaze. There was something in those eyes that fascinated her. Their keenness made her think of eyes that she had seen long ago -- the eyes of another man, a man she had tried to forget. As Cranston released her hand, Arline crossed the room and kissed Howard Griscom. The theater owner smiled as he saw Cranston watching them from the door. "My only daughter," he said. "My only child, now.["]

A brief physical description and a not-so-subtle foreshadowing of her connection to the other person in this book who's pining for their ex.

This, the earlier comparison to Madge, and a later mention of her looking up at Cliff are the only physical descriptions she ever gets. Based on that we can deduce that she's intended to be medium-height or smaller, perhaps even petite given her 'girlishness'; she's conventionally attractive by 1930s standards so likely slender and pale, and probably a natural blond to contrast Madge's peroxide blond. She has an elegant but not overly flashy sense of style and understated makeup, again based on Cliff's contrasting impression of Madge.

(You might notice I don't draw her this way. I design her the way I do for Reasons but I won't get into them now because this post is about canon.)

Fifty pages later she returns, and she gets a line!

While Bud Sherman was setting up the camera, Arline Griscom entered the office. The woman smiled pleasantly at Lamont Cranston, who bowed in return. She spoke to her father; then she noticed the camera, and asked why it was there. [Griscom answers.] [Cranston muses.] ["]Saturday afternoon is a time to expect trouble." "What's is [sic] the matter, Daddy?" questioned Arline. "Nothing, dear," replied Griscom. "I am going down to the theater office. Come along with me. [...]" As Griscom and his daughter left the office, Cranston spoke to Sherman.

'Daddy' from a thirty-year-old woman is kinda iffy now but not an unusual word choice for these books so I give it a pass. This scene doesn't really accomplish anything except to further establish Arline as a presence in the narrative.

This book really needed another editing pass, but I'm not sure how many of the typos and punctuation errors are original and how many can be blamed on my New English Library print.

Back with Cliff, we learn Arline is a society dame.

["]You don't ever think of any other woman, do you?" "Not now." Cliff had been thinking of another woman, one whose photograph he had seen in the society section of yesterday's newspaper.

And Cliff is a dirty liar.

Anyway, later.

The door opened and his daughter entered. Arline was beautiful today. She bowed politely to Lamont Cranston; then walked forward to greet her father. With his arm on the young woman's shoulder. Howard Griscom walked into the other office, while Arline spoke consolingly. [...] [Cranston] bade goodbye to the Griscoms as he left. Arline remained with her father for several minutes. Then she, too, departed.

One more fairly pointless scene to establish her presence.

She proceeds to be kidnapped off-screen.

He paused to answer the telephone, which had begun to ring. Belden watched him with catlike stealth. "Arline?" questioned Griscom. "Yes? What!" His face turned ashen. "I can't believe it. Tell me -- where are you now? What's that? If I say a word it may mean death -- to you? Arline! Arline!"

Howard Griscom does not heed this warning and contacts the police, Cliff fortunately gets a tip-off from Madge that leads him to where Arline's been taken, and we get a proper scene!

On the cot sat a young woman[,] her head resting upon her hand. She was alone. Cliff entered and closed the door noiselessly. He approached. She looked up and suppressed a startled cry. "Arline!" whispered Cliff. Sudden recognition dawned upon the woman. Before she could respond, Cliff had gripped her shoulders and had raised her to her feet. He kissed her, with all the ardor of forgotten years; then suddenly, he stepped away and bowed his head. "Forgive me, Arline," he said. "Forgive me. I forgot--" "Forgot what, Cliff?["] The woman was clinging to him now. She was looking up with tear-dimmed, pleading eyes. "Forgot that I'm a jailbird," said Cliff bitterly. "Just out of Sing Sing -- a few weeks ago --" "I didn't know that, Cliff," said Arline. "I've been waiting for you, Cliff, hoping that you'd come back to me." "But Arline--" "I know everything, Cliff. My brother told me -- before he died. It was for him that you went to prison -- and for me, Cliff! He had gone wrong, Cliff -- after father sent him away in a fit of anger. "When he came to your room, fleeing from the police, you took the blame for the robbery he had committed. You fought them with the gun you had taken from him, while he escaped. "He told me months later, after he came back home. He died, you know, after a terrible illness. Father was broken, Cliff. It would have killed him -- that's why I couldn't speak. "Brother had killed a man, too, before the robbery. That was never laid to you. If it had been, I would have spoken. Oh, Cliff--" The woman's voice choked -- "Can't you see that I've been waiting -- that I love you -- love you with a greater, fuller love --" Thoughts of danger were forgotten. Cliff was kissing Arline's tear-stained cheeks. All the grief of years had passed in a moment. Arline knew -- she understood -- and Cliff had not told her. He had remained true to his vow that he would protect the name of the brother of the woman he loved!

Not that we ever learn that brother's name. Seriously, that's a little weird. That's not the only weird thing here but I'll get to that in a second cuz our lovebirds still got shit to take care of.

Cliff whispered to Arline. "There's a woman here," he said. "Where is she?" "In the next room," replied Arline. "It adjoins this one. That's where -- where the brute who brought me here stays. He went out -- with another man. They will be back soon. "The woman -- her name is Madge -- was locked in here with me. She found the door to the next room open; but it was bolted from the outside like this one. She's there now. We must get her--" Arline's head dropped forward. She was about to fall from the chair. Dropping his automatic on the cot, Cliff grasped her before she slipped to the floor. As he steadied her, Arline recovered her senses and smiled. "I'm all right, Cliff," she said. "I'm all right, Cliff--"

Bad timing for a faint, but men in this series faint all the time -- including her dad earlier -- so I'm not gonna dock anything for that.

However, this is as good a point as any to bring up that Arline... really has zero agency. Here, she and Madge are being held together, and it's only Madge who does anything about it. Arline stays behind with her head in her hands while Madge gets to a phone to call for help.

I can imagine scenarios where that's reasonable. What I can't fathom is that Arline never did anything about Cliff, the man she supposedly loves. Sure, her dad seems fragile and maybe trying to overturn the ruling would've killed him -- but she couldn't visit? She couldn't write? Her brother confessed after months, what the hell was she doing for seven years?

Especially considering that passivity is not reflected in her actions to follow.

They get caught, Cliff tries to go for the dropped gun but fails.

Cliff sprawled unconscious. Arline leaped toward him with a small cry of anguish. Shires caught her with one arm and laughed.

I won't transcribe the whole scene but Shires proceeds to manhandle Arline and try to kiss her. She slaps him, manages to break free and backs away against a wall.

Shires's boss Durgan then shoots him, mistaking him for the guy Madge has been sleeping around with.

Arline, startled and bewildered, had her first glimpse of sudden death when she saw the gangster crumple on the floor. Durgan stood above the body, gloating.

As Durgan quickly realizes his mistake, Arline also springs into action.

Arline Griscom realized Killer Durgan's intention. She had been horrified at the sight of death; now, her love for Cliff spurred her to desperation. She flung herself upon the brutal murderer and battled tooth and nail, while Cliff tried vainly to rise. With a mighty effort, Durgan flung the struggling woman against the wall. Before she could regain her feet, she saw his arm turn toward the corner where Cliff lay. Two shots roared. Arline screamed. Then she stared bewildered.

Of course, the shots were not from Durgan.

Then Arline realized whence the shots had come. The outer door of the room had opened. There stood a man in black, garbed in a flowing cloak. [...] Cliff was rising now. Arline could see his tense gaze directed toward the man in black. Cliff's lips were moving. "The Shadow!" he was saying. "The Shadow!" A low soft laugh came from the man in black. It was the strangest laugh that Arline had ever heard. It chilled her; it frightened her, for it carried a tone of menace. Yet, instinctively, she knew that the laugh was one of triumph -- that the man in black had come as a friend. She knew that she and Cliff had been saved[.] [...] [The Shadow] saw Arline rise to meet Cliff. Again The Shadow laughed. Suddenly, he turned and disappeared through the doorway. Cliff had fully regained his senses. The back of his head was aching; but he had one desire that made him forget that pain. He must take Arline from this room of horror! He steadied the woman with his arm. Together, they made their way to the hall. Before them lay an open door that led to a stairway. They followed the path ahead. They reached a side alley and walked through to the street beyond. Cliff hailed a cab. Arline leaned against him as they rode toward her home. She was weak, but happy. She had found the man she loved! He had come to rescue her, against great odds!

D'aww.

So... yeah. When the chips are down, she doesn't faint, she doesn't run, she doesn't sit back and scream (although those are all valid responses). She fights. She fights for herself, she fights for Cliff. She watches people get shot and she pulls herself together and goes after the killer with her bare hands.

You mean to tell me that this dainty little society lady did not lift a finger in seven-plus years but is ready to go toe to toe with a guy literally called Killer? Nah, that doesn't add up.

Back to the story, Shads goes to clear up some loose ends and we get an epilogue with Cliff and Arline.

Cliff Marsland was reading the latest copy of the New York Sphere. The newspaper was a week old. Arline Griscom smiled as she saw him devouring the reports. They were on their honeymoon in France. Howard Griscom had suggested the trip. Arline had told her father the truth about her brother. He had borne it easily, for the ending of his recent worries had made him able to stand a shock from the past. [...] Arline uttered an exclamation of delight as she saw a headline over Cliff's shoulder. She pointed to it.

The headline is about her dad's theater merger going through. Cliff has some thoughts about The Shadow's unstated role behind the various headlines, and then the book ends. Happy ending, they're married now, yaaay. (Although, as I noted before, she does not appear to take his last name.)

So here we have a character who is closely connected to a Shadow agent, who knows he works for The Shadow, and knows that The Shadow is a trusted friend -- but who doesn't work for him, herself. Is that not fascinating? What kind of wrinkles does her presence create? What skills does she bring to the table? How does she get utilized by the narrative?

The answer is, she... doesn't.

Cliff and Arline aren't in book 10. In #011: Double Z, Shads gathers his troops.

--another man who had business in New York was opening a letter at his breakfast table in his home in New Jersey. This was Cliff Marsland, a veteran of the World War, who had done his part in a recent campaign against the New York racketeers. [...] "Darling," he said to his wife, "I think it would be a good idea for you to take that Florida trip with your father. So plan to leave with him tonight. I have work to do that may take me away for a while--"

Scene change. She is not named. She doesn't get a reaction.

In the next book, #012: The Crime Cult, Cliff is once again on a job and making excuses for why he hasn't been in New York, but the truth is--

Cliff was married to the daughter of a theater owner. His wife and his father-in-law were now in Europe. During their absence, Cliff Marsland was back in service with The Shadow.

And then... that's it. She is never mentioned again. She doesn't die, she doesn't divorce Cliff, she's just quietly forgotten.

And it's such a waste.

I won't claim she's well-written or anything. I think I've made it clear here that she is not. She's mostly defined by the men in her life -- Cliff's wife, Griscom's daughter, even her unnamed brother -- and is passive to the point she barely exists away from the page.

But good god the potential is there, and that potential fascinates me.

I have so many thoughts and headcanons and questions about Arline, but this post is long enough, so I'll conclude with this:

I love Arline. I love Cliff being a happily married man. If I ever got a chance to make a Shadow adaptation, I would absolutely keep Arline around-- and delve into what she was getting up to for seven years, because I don't buy that she was just demurely attending society events while the man she loved languished in prison. No way.

I love her, your honor.

[thecynicalcinephile]

So, About Oppenheimer,

While technically impressive, it ultimately boils down to a cramped, bloated, self-important biopic which never actually says or does anything significant whatsoever.

First of all, most importantly, this film has no reason to be three hours long. In fact there are about half a dozen points where it feels like it could have and should have ended except it just keeps going. Apparently Nolan was never taught either restraint or the age-old adage "less is more".

Worse still though, is that this entire bloated excess of time is edited like one big montage. There very well may not be a single scene in this movie that runs, uninterrupted, for longer than three minutes. The result is a senseless and endless assault on the mind that gives neither you nor the actors time to breathe. The characters can never play off each other, we're never really able to explore them, and we can never think about any given element of the plot for more than a second before the next jump cut slams something new down our throats.

This is done to create an illusion of suspense. The illusion that there is some big dramatic bombshell moment just around the corner, except it just never pays off. I can barely remember what the final scene was, because it was almost exactly like every other scene that came before it.

I caught myself thinking, halfway through the movie, that this should've been a miniseries instead, and that maybe ten hours instead of three would let us slow down and actually think for a second, but now I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong, this movie still desperately needed time to breathe, I simply don't think more runtime would be the answer because I no longer trust Nolan to manage said runtime. Ten hours wouldn't give this movie time to breathe, it would simply add an extra seven hours of mess.

We all know Nolan loves using discontinuity editing, but this film takes it to such extremes that I can only assume he was high on cocain for most of the process, and not in a fun way. We're constantly jumping back and forth between three different storylines at three different points in time. While I admit I admire the ambition & vision involved, the execution is almost nauseating in practice.

In case you can't tell, Nolan's name will not be drawing near as much respect from me in the future.

The only good things I can really say about this film, other than the fact that it's technically well-made, are that it's at least something of a spectacle and the acting is sufficient. Nolan promised us a big explosion and we got a big explosion, and Cillian Murphy does a respectable job in the lead role. Robert Downey Jr is essentially playing the same role he always plays, but that's hardly his fault, and most of the other supporting characters are given so little to do that any problems with their performances do not have time to become apparent.

Ultimately, this film is condemned to be nothing more than another flashy, pretentious spectacle that will be rewatched primarily by white wannabe hipsters and edgelords who want to pretend they have good taste. They will like it because it puts up a very convincing illusion that something profound just happened, but because nothing profound actually happened they don't actually have to think about anything.

You should not see this film in theaters. If you insist upon subjecting yourself to it in spite of all I have said, I can't blame you, after all I have admitted there are a few redeeming qualities and it is something of a spectacle, but for your own sake, do it in the comfort of your own home.

[nightwhispcrs]

jason bourne ( jason bourne series , michael b jordan fc ) ; 35 years old ; uses he/him; is aware that he is not from washington dc ; been stuck here for ~ three months. non-magical.

alright u have no idea how excited i am to bring my boy jason. i feel like everyone has vague memories of growing up with his movies but don't quite know the details. or was that just me?? anyway, i watched them and what started as a joke became so real to me i am obsessed with this perennially confused, incredibly brilliant, slightly socially inept assassin. ps the stunts and action in the movies are truly, truly top tier. i wish i could go back in time and watch them in theaters.

if you need a refresher, basically jason woke up in the middle of the ocean with no memory of who he was. slowly he pieced together his identity and life to discover that he was a highly skilled military officer turned CIA assassin for a very sketchy covert operation. the CIA modified his genetics, so he is borderline superhuman (though naturally very gifted and intelligent anyway.) he can also speak eight languages fluently. he is considered a rogue agent and works to expose those in the CIA/government who manipulated, physically tortured, and used him for horrific acts.

though very confident in himself, he's fairly introverted (as any good spy) and keeps to himself a lot. jason isn't flashy and does not care about chasing money, sex, etc. he has a strong sense of justice and tries to do good when he can. he harbors immense guilt for the things he has done, even though it was all done under extreme duress.

in dc jason mostly keeps a low profile. he doesn't have any specific job or anything, but he'll help out when people need him. he will always be inherently skeptical of the government and does his best to steer clear of them. he believes they are responsible for keeping the population prisoner in washington and cause the terror events the plague the city.

*cue extreme ways by moby*

[moonfurthetemmie]

Lear and Puck are very, very close friends. Like. They’d fuck you up if you hurt the other. Aside from Apricot and Cherry (W!JMV Jade and Obsidian. My beloveds), they probably have the healthiest positive relationship of any of their alternates. I know it’s not a high bar to clear but that’s not the point, the point is that they’re best friends and they’re both absolutely deranged.

The others aren’t all that much different from normal, although prolonged exposure to the two theater nerds has infected them somewhat. Jekyll in particular will act very dramatic if someone (usually Lear) isn’t doing what he told them to do to recover from an injury, and Remy will channel his inner Gorden Ramsey if someone leaves food out instead of putting it away.

However, everyone (save Jekyll, Icarus, and Remy) has a ‘character’ that they put on when they’re on missions.

Lear: A radiant. Actor. Drama, villainy, monologues, showmanship, and leadership. He’s the mastermind, and has the lead role in their production of chaos.

He loves it when his audience interacts with him, whether that be trying to fight back when he’s causing shit, or telling him/asking him to do something on social media (which is never serious and they never expect him to actually like…respond). He’s very flashy, literally and figuratively, and can be much more eloquent than normal Obsidian. And by ‘can be eloquent’ I mean ‘he speaks like a Shakespeare character or high fantasy-setting character 90% of the time and only sometimes drops it’

Puck: A corrupt. Special effects, directing, blocking, and planning. He’s got 15000 notebooks with the plot of plays he wants to fully produce, but until then he’s 50% of the brains behind Lear’s operations.

He can’t bring himself to really hurt anyone, so he’s extra careful about his special effects being safe. He usually dips when murder starts happening. He doesn’t like watching it. It’s not fake, it’s real, and he doesn’t really care if Lear does it, but he doesn’t wanna watch.

Mars: The Soldier. Stoic and unmoving, stone-faced and disciplined. As far as ‘the audience’ is concerned, Mars is a perfect killing machine.

He’s not though, he’s tired and he wants to go home but these fucking theater kids are holding him and his family hostage. help. He’s also the second-in command and, at least when they’re doing publicity stunts, the only one besides Lear who can tell Bugs what to do.

Elphaba: Sorcerous trickster. Her voice mimicry can fool crowds into thinking the police are arriving, or confuse them about where the others are, or a thousand other things. And then she’s got her zappy hands and her strings and she’s just a menace.

She’s basically crowd control, when she’s not with Mars and Lear and creating carnage. She’s adopted a spider motif with her costume because of the strings, even if she mostly uses her lightning magic.

Bugs: The Wild Card. Puck actually really likes working with her because he has to get creative with how he signals her to move where they need her.

She’s also very energetic, and with her totally-there undiagnosed ADHD that’s not just projected (lie) it’s very easy to turn ’15 seemingly unrelated trains of thought and in-progress tasks’ into ‘Agent of Chaos who reveals in causing an uproar’. Part of her job is also ‘don’t listen to anyone except Mars and Lear, and act like you’re afraid of them’

Dolus: The Spy. Bugs also has that in her job description, but she rarely plays at it when they’re doing public stuff.

Dolus’ role when they’re putting on a show is to ‘sneak’ around and help Bugs sew chaos in the ‘audience’, and capturing targets as-needed. She’s good at it; she moves almost silently, and can keep her target in her sights even through a large crowd.

Icarus is kinda chilling. He can’t go home, but only because Lear forgot where he came from. He’s being treated pretty well, but he’s so tired of these theater kids. He occasionally hangs out with Puck.

Also, Lear and Puck quote plays and musicals almost constantly. They do kinda make it part of their personality. They will flirt with you using Romeo and Juliet lines.

[coffee-with-a-stranger]

Self Knowledge Quiz #2

Dancing Waters

Fountains at A Touch of Magic to any public space. The fine Mist carried into the breeze, the gentle sounds of water falling into water, the sparkle of light as it plays on the Rippling surface: it's enough to transform a humdrum little Park into a fantasy setting. Perhaps that's why the local Fountain is such a popular meeting place for romantic assignations and getting together with friends.

Close your eyes and imagine a park with a fountain. You have arranged to meet some friends there before a night out on the town. What kind of Fountain do you see?

A single jet of water blasting straight up in the air like a geyser.

A number of medium sized fountains in a sparkling array, they're spray dissolving into droplets of mist.

A smallish, bubbling fountain.

An intricately engineered and complex water structure.

Key to Dancing Waters

They may be impressive, enchanting, even magical. They may Inspire romance or sheer awe. But one thing you can't say about fountains is that they're practical. The water goes up, the water comes down. What else does it achieve? Nonetheless, we sense that the world would be a poorer place without them. Sometimes you need to forget about practicality and just cut loose and enjoy. And therein lies the key to this scenario: the type of Fountain you imagined is related to the way you spend your money when enjoying a night out with friends.

1. A single jet of water blasting straight up in the air like a geyser.

You're like a magician with money, able to make vast quantities disappear in the blank of an eye. It doesn't matter much to you the way you consume it, just as long as you don't leave any leftovers. This makes you everybody's friend the first weekend after payday and explains why people around the office have taken to calling you old faithful.

2. A number of medium sized fountains in a sparkling array, they're spray dissolving into droplets of mist.

You like to use money to impress, spending it in a flashy way to guarantee maximum effect. You have been known to order food you don't even like, simply because it was the most expensive thing on the menu. As long as you're willing to keep paying the tab, there will always be people willing to act impressed.

3. A smallish, bubbling fountain.

You are a conservative Spender, that is, on the rare occasions when you spend anything at all. You figure the sales tax for everyone's bill when you split the tab and then whip out your coupons. You're spending habits definitely aren't going to make you go broke, but you if you don't loosen up those purse strings a little you may find yourself going solo.

4. An intricately engineered and complex water sculpture.

You're a schemer, always trying to make more out of your money than there was to begin with. You count convincing a waitress that you qualified for the kitty meal discount when you were 15 as one of your proudest accomplishments. It's not the money itself that's the issue, it's just a medium you use to express your creative impulses. That may earn you a bright future in trading stock options, but getting thrown out of a movie theater for sneaking in the emergency exit is not a good way to score points on a date.

Hope you enjoyed the quiz. Please feel free to take the survey below.

[patches-and-her-selfships]

patches. i am approaching u at rapid speeds. brace urself 4 i shall harass u abt ur selfship.

sooo twirls my hair and kicks my legs. ill admit i dont know a whole lot of flipline lore so these might b vague but whatever !!!! i need 2 hear u gay ramble or i will die /pos

okay okay so like what's kingsleys love languages ? both giving and receiving if u dont mind. how do u guys spend quality time 2gether ? what r dates usually like ? and a silly random one, what animal do u associate w him ?

OMG HI!!! HI AXEL HI!!!!! ive left this one in my inbox for 17 million years so i think valentine's day's the right time to answer it!! (also flipline lore can get odd at times but kingsley barely has any lore beyond his flipdeck the rest is just elaborate headcanons i made up so you don't have to worry :3)

soooo i dont really believe in love languages thats not something i really do or think about with my selfships BUT he does like giving physical touch and acts of service and gifts and stuff heehee he likes to spoil me :3

he also loves getting hugged and kissed and getting words of affirmation from me we're so obnoxiously lovey dovey with each other it's crazy 🤭

we like to spend quality time together by doing shows together at camp kingsley, joking around about stuff, or just staying at home and talking for hours on end about things! we're a very silly bunch and we've got a lot to say!!!!

and even though kingsley looks flashy with the cute little suit and the whole comedy club thing, he's usually a bit more modest date-wise! we usually go out to eat at one of papa louie's restaurants or watch a movie together at the sugarplex theater!! we may not like the movies there sometimes but that's okay cause the important thing's that we watched it together!! (and we can always riff on it when we're home)

and for what animal i associate with him.. it's a bit of a toughie cause i havent given much thought to that but one time i saw a mutual on discord headcanon him as a gay bear and i think that's 100% the undeniable truth sooooo he's a bear! but like a funny one are there funny species of bears?? like what's the objectively funniest speciesdoesn't matter I LOVE KINGSLEY!!!!!!!!

oohOHIOOHHOHHHHHHH AND WHEN I WAS WWRITING THIS POST YOU NEED TO SEE THIS OKAY!!!!! RIGHT WHEN I WAAS WRITING THE POST I PERUSED THROUGH THE FLIPLINE WIKI AND LOOOKKKKK!!!!!!1!1!!!!! loookk!!!!11LOOOKK!!!!!1

THEY MADE A FUCKING CART FOR HIM!!!!!!!! HE HAS HIS VERY OWN KART NOW!!!! OHHHHHH HIS KART!!!! HHISSS!! AAAASAAAAAA AAAAAA!!!AA!!!!!!! HA STACLES HES SO SILLY!!!! !OOHHH SO SILLY AAA A SCREAMS AAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO SILLY SO FUNNYKISS ME SILLYMAN!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAa

[pretty-boys-book-club]

Lovebug (Chapter 4) | Bylines to my heart

Summary: You are a young journalist navigating the turbulent job of reporting for a local newspaper in D.C. What happens when you constantly bump into a cute boy genius? Can FBI agents befriend journalists? Can they fall in love with one?

Word Count: 4.9k

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.” ― John Green

Janet is a surprisingly nice woman. You strike up a conversation and discover that you have many things in common outside of work, even with your significant age difference. Not only has she taken you to a wonderful place for lunch (and paid for it!), she is using the last few minutes of your lunch break to help you pick out an outfit for your weekend date.

"I can't believe you guys met like that! You're obviously nervous, anyone would be." She says, as you slip into yet another dress inside the fitting room booth. "But there must be something exciting about knowing you're dating a genius."

"We're not dating, we're just going to the theater together. I don't know if he's interested in me that way."

"You're not dating yet . From what you told me, I'd say he is more than interested. But if he's not, it's his loss." You open the curtain, showing Janet the clothes you're trying on. She grins: "This one for sure. Not only does it fit you perfectly, but it also makes your eyes pop out."

Keep reading or read it on AO3

"Are you sure? Isn't it a little flashy?"

"Well, I guess you want to get his attention, don't you?" You laugh, she isn't wrong. But is Spencer the kind of man who would pay attention to how you dress? You don't think so. "You need to feel comfortable, that's the most important thing. But I won't deny, this dress looks wonderful on you."

"I'll buy it, you're right. And even if it's not a date, at least I'll feel confident." you look at the image in the mirror, feeling happy with what you see. You really want everything to go smoothly. At least you'll get to see Spencer again. Is it a date? Neither of you have called it that way. You feel the worries creeping up. It must show, because Janet is quick to reassure you.

"It's going to be alright! You'll tell me all the details later, so this poor married lady can dream of young romance once again!" she jokes. You laugh, but nothing makes the dread in your stomach go away. Janet seems to notice it.

“Being in a negative mindset doesn’t allow you to put your best self forward and shine.” she mentions. “As soon as a worrying thought pops into your head, let it go. Just focus on all the fun you’ll have.”

"Wow, that's actually really good advice”, you’re surprised.

"Yeah, I know." she says humbly. "But it's true."

"I think our lunch break is over," you say, checking your phone as you pay for your clothes.

"Ugh, tell me about it. I still have to finish two more articles to go up on the website today."

"About crime?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I always wonder why I didn't major in Political Science, I'd kill to write about politicians and scandals instead of blood and tragedy. You were brave to cover that conference at the last minute, I'll make sure John knows about how you managed to do great work despite the circumstances."

"Thank you, it's very nice to hear that coming from you."

"That's what friends are for." Friends . You like the sound of that.

—

The case Spencer is working on is wrapped up in a couple of days, with them catching the one responsible for the sarin gas attacks, a man named Mitchell Crossford, who attempted an attack on the LA FBI building, placing dozens of feeding devices in the trunk of another guy’s car, luring him into a parking garage where many employees would gather (and where the ventilation systems to the entire building were located). They got to evacuate the building before anyone got hurt, thankfully.

He's so glad to be back in D.C. because it means he'll get to see you. He's been trying his best to hide the nervous feeling that's been stirring inside of him all this time. He avoided answering Penelope’s questions (So they met? Why hadn’t he told her anything? They had coffee? They texted and he didn’t even mention it?!), tried not to think too much about the little smiles Rossi and Hotch gave him when he left the office on Friday, he did not even make visual contact with Derek, so sure he was that he would find everything out without Spencer even opening his mouth.

So when he takes the elevator and Emily joins him, he knows he's safe. Or so he thinks. One look at him, nervously fidgeting with his phone, is enough for her to read him like an open book.

“I won’t tell them anything if you’re not comfortable.” she says, in a low voice, as if sharing a secret between them.

"What?"

"Reid, c'mon, I saw you two at the station back then. And now you're constantly checking your phone. For a person known as a technophobe, that's unusual. So, two plus two, means you're going on a date with that cute reporter."

"How…?"

"Spencer Reid, I think sometimes you forget you're not the only one who knows a thing or two about profiling." Spencer tries to apologize, that's not what he meant, but Emily puts up a hand telling him to stop. "Don't worry, I know you're used to keeping most of your personal life from us. But you're really bad at hiding when you're nervous."

"I wouldn't say I'm nervous. I'm excited to see her, sure. It's just… Ever since Maeve, I’ve been avoiding getting attached to someone. And trying to keep work and relationships apart.”

“Oh, trust me, I get it. I’ll talk all you want about my cat Sergio but I wouldn’t even dare say the name of the people I’m dating”, she laughs.

"People? In plural?" Spencer asks her, his eyes widening.

"None of your business, Dr. Reid." She smirks. The two stay quiet until the elevator reaches their destination. "If… If I may give you some advice, and this is probably the most clichéd dating advice ever, don't think too much about it. You're more interesting when you're being yourself."

Now, Spencer is replaying her advice in his mind for the past hour. Even though Emily told him not to overthink it, surely he should put some thought into the date, as "under-thinking" can be just as disastrous. Just don't freak out. If he freaks out, Spencer’s just going to panic. What is there to panic about? Nothing, right? Nothing at all. He’s fine.

He makes sure to look presentable, since his appearance will set the tone for the rest of the night. Appearance is key. If he looks sloppy, hair messy or tie crooked, what kind of impression will that make about how he handles the rest of his life? Don’t forget cologne. He doesn't blindly grab pants out of drawers and shirts off of hangers. He really tries. He lays his favorite shirt, a pale purple one, the tie he got from Hotch last Christmas and he still hasn’t worn, a black coat in case it gets cold, his best pair of trousers and mismatched socks in purple hues to match. He even ties the shoelaces of his Converse shoes twice, to avoid having to do them again during his way to the theater.

Then there’s the folder Garcia gave him. The folder with all the articles you wrote, the works: screenshots of profiles on social media, pictures you posted online. Hell, Penelope even checked if there was any criminal history before the date – which there isn’t, of course not. It’s just a brown folder with “Special Assignment” written in Penelope’s loopy cursive, adorned with glitter. Not the most subtle thing, but it made Spencer laugh when she handed it to him. He’s not sure if he wants to actually read all of this or if it’s better to leave things to the imagination. He decides to leave the folder on his countertop, unread.

He's even prepared himself by reading everything he could find about bees, seeing as that was the subject of the book you bought back when the two of you crossed paths for the first time. He armed himself with the most random of trivia: like the fact that bees can detect human faces, which means they can recognize, and build trust with their human caretakers. Or that 1 out of 6 of the world’s flowering plant species wouldn’t exist without bees. Or that D.C. residents can apply to keep a personally-owned honeybee hive, part of an effort by the Parks and Recreation department to support urban beekeeping and to increase pollination in the city. How neat. And even after exhausting all the tangents in his brain, there's still time to spare.

What is he supposed to do with these 10 extra minutes? He decides on just sitting down, looking at his watch. He can't risk doing any kind of activity and sweating through his shirt. If he starts to sweat, it’s going to look like he jumped in a lake on the way to the theater. Spencer has read enough studies to know that imagining yourself succeeding in a high-pressure situation makes it more likely that you will succeed when actually in the high-pressure situation. So he deduces that the same logic must apply to a date: he does a mental walk-through of how things will go, from the moment he steps out of his place to meeting with her, from finding the seat at the theater, grabbing something to eat and to returning home.

Spencer pictures the most charming, charismatic version of himself throughout, and how the conversation will naturally flow from light jokes and occasional comments to more romantic topics, maybe even a few incidental touches. He found a study at the New School for Social Research that says that reading literary fiction — that means Chekov or DeLillo, not Baldacci — has been shown to improve social skills, like empathy, social perception, and emotional intelligence, in the short-term. So he grabs one book from his shelf and reads for a bit. He checks his watch: it’s not time to go.

Even if he’s been looking regularly into the mirror as he’s prepared for the date, he knows better than to underestimate the value of that final review. He takes a look at his outfit in the full-length mirror, examining his posture and facial expression one last time before he steps out the door. This is the time to get a look at the man his date is about to see, making sure your first impression will be on point.

—

You haven’t dated anyone new in a long time, so you find yourself double-checking to ensure that you have everything you might need while you're out. You mentally check yourself, going through all the list of things that you should do as you get ready to make sure everything goes smoothly. It's safe to say that you are a little guilty of throwing logic out the steamy window in favor of giddy excitement.

You shower and put on some nice clothes, practice perfect posture in your mirror again and again until it starts to feel a bit more natural. You brush and comb your hair to the most flattering hairstyle you can do by yourself, you apply the perfect amount of products to your face to feel like you look a million bucks. You listen to a playlist compiled with all your favorite songs, loudly, as you get ready. You even texted Spencer to confirm everything, wanting to make sure that you're both on the same page about details like time and place you're meeting, and he lets you know that he’ll be there, at the door of the theater.

So now, you are hyping yourself up, standing in the mirror and telling yourself how great you look. You need to be your own number 1 fan before going on that date, and the more you tell yourself that you are the best, the more you are going to believe it.

You tell Spencer to meet you at the theater door at 7:00 p.m., and despite your best efforts to take your time getting ready, you still manage to arrive at 6:48 p.m. That's 12 whole minutes to kill before he arrives, 12 minutes that feel more like 20 because you're slightly nervous and jittery and keep looking at your watch. It's hard not to feel like you're loitering. You hold the tickets in your hands, after picking them up from the box office, hoping that he won't stand you up. He wouldn't, right?

The National Theater has seen Pennsylvania Avenue grow from the muddy main street of a fledgling capital, to the ceremonial avenue of a great world power. Festive inaugural parades and raucous demonstration marches pass on the avenue in front of the building. Inside, drama and merriment reign. You think the historical nature of the place makes your encounter feel even more special. Still, a question remains inside your mind: is it a date?

You see other theater-goers walking inside to the foyer, showing their tickets to the doorman. Some people give you curious looks. You’re in an awkward place beside the door and people need to excuse themselves a couple of times to get inside the theater. You finally see your companion approaching, but Spencer's still a few blocks away, so then you just have to awkwardly wave and watch him make his way towards you, stopping at crosswalks.

“Wow, you look… You look great”, he is smiling at you and you feel heat spread throughout your chest. He sounds out of breath, no doubt having walked all the way from the metro to the theater. He has a small paper bag with him, but you don’t want to seem too prying so you don't comment on it. “I’m sorry for leaving you waiting, the metro took a little longer than I calculated.”

“It’s fine.” Your eyes meet for a minute, smiles spreading on both of your faces. “I’ve already got our tickets. One for you.” you hand him the piece of paper. “And one for me. Are you ready?”, he nods.

You walk up to the doorman, who quickly glances at your tickets before letting the two of you pass the velvet-rope, herding you past them in single-file. Spencer walks behind you as you look around the foyer, impressed by how beautiful it is.

“I didn’t know it was so beautiful inside. It’s my first time here.”, you say, louder than you intended, as the place is buzzing with conversation.

“The National has operated longer than any other major touring house in the United States.” Spencer tells you, matter-of-factly. “After its opening on December 7, 1835, the building was destroyed by fire and rebuilt on the same site five times during the 1800's. That’s why part of the original foundation can still be seen in the basement of the building, which was rebuilt in the 1920's, and given a major renovation which was completed in 1984. The history of this theater is a panorama of American culture: a who's who of the stars of the past, the present, and, undoubtedly, the future.”

"It certainly is very imposing." You look around, noticing the luxurious decor who has stood the test of time.

“It’s a really cool place. Rumor has it that it even houses the friendly ghost of actor John McCullough, who was reputedly shot and killed by a fellow performer.” you widen your eyes in surprise. He looks really happy to share his knowledge with you, gesticulating a lot with his hands and it makes him look adorable. “The supposed murder weapon, a rusty pistol, was unearthed under the stage in 1982, near where McCullough's remains are, right beneath the stage.”

“So, I take it you’re a fan of ghost stories?”

“Actually, I am. It might come as a surprise for some people, but as Shakespeare himself wrote: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’. So, I try to keep an open mind.”

You walk up to the door leading to the orchestra section. An usher takes your tickets and walks you up to your seats, which are located at one of the first rows. Spencer lets you follow the usher, walking a step behind you.

“After you.” You two soon find your assigned seats and since two of you are sitting at the end of the aisle, Spencer lets you sit first. You quickly thank him and notice the way your bodies brush against each other as you walk past him.

“These are great seats.”, he sits down beside you, his tall legs having to bend to fit between the seats. You give him the program for the show. "Did you know that Shakespeare was also very fond of bees? Though not, as far as I can tell, he wasn't a beekeeper, bees are one of the animals that appear most frequently in his works."

"Really?" You ask, though you can't for the life of you understand why he's talking about bees during a moment like this. Is this some type of coping mechanism?

"Yes, in fact, he uses them as a link between the natural world and humanity. Nowadays, we tend to see bees as a part of the environment, of our food supply, of a world that we value but aren't part of. Back in his time, bees were valuable because of the useful symbolism they provided for the monarchy."

"I had no idea." You say, and before you can continue, he launches himself at another ramble.

"Actually, there's a long history of bees being used as symbolism in literature. The ancient Greeks and Romans viewed honey as a symbol of love, beauty, and fertility-"

"Spencer, wait a minute, did you think I was interested in beekeeping?" you tease him.

"You aren't?" He looks at you confused. He is just a boy after all. A goofy boy who recites facts to girls to impress them.

"No!" You laugh. "Gosh, I mean, I think bees are cool and important to our ecosystem and all, but I got that book for an event I was covering."

"Oh, I see… I'm sorry. I don't know why I kept telling you all these facts. I have, I have this thing, like a nervous tick. My mind never stops speaking. In fact when I was a little boy, my mom used to say there was never a word I met that I didn't like."

"You're rambling,” You say, an amused smirk on your face.

“Am I?” He looks so cute—with his brows furrowed, a nervous look in his eyes, worried he has said the wrong thing.

“Uh-huh. But you're cute when you ramble.”

"So, what about today? Are we here because of some story you're writing too?"

"Well, to be completely honest, I did get the tickets in exchange for writing a review on the play, yes." You confess, drawing his gaze from the brochure in his hands to your eyes. The beautiful brown eyes of his. Velvet upholstery tickles your arms as you settle into your seat.

“Oh…” he looks deflated, and you're afraid to have offended him in some way or another.

“This doesn't mean this isn't a date." You try to correct yourself. "What I mean is, do you want it to be a date?”

"Oh, this was supposed to be a date? I wasn't sure of it." He surprises you by the way he says this jokingly, smiling openly. Damn, his smile is beautiful.

"Don't play with my feelings, Dr. Reid." You pretend to pout and he laughs at the gesture. “Is it a problem if this is a date?” You search his eyes for an answer.

“No, it's not a problem. In fact, I was hoping it was.”

"That's good, then." You try to hide the smile that leaves your lips. You still feel like you owe him an explanation, though. "But in all seriousness, they usually give front row tickets to the press. It was a nice excuse to go out with you. I would have found one way or another of asking you out, free tickets or not. But since I’m writing about the play, I’ll have to pay extra attention to, you know, the actual play instead of paying attention to my handsome date.”

“I'm flattered, thank you." He giggles. Spencer Reid actually giggles and it's adorable. "And in that case, I have something that might come in handy.” he hands you the paper bag he's been holding this whole time. You open it to find a beautiful hardcover edition of the play you’re about to see.

A million compliments scramble about in your mouth, but only “Wow” comes out. You look at Spencer. He holds out a breath, waiting for you to say something else. You look down at the book in your hands once again. “Spencer, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.” You grab it between both of your hands, eyes skimming over the cover.

You hear the pre-show announcement letting you know that the play is about to start. A humble appeal asks the patrons to turn off their cell phones, so you make sure to do so and see Spencer do the same. The lights of the theater begin to dim. Okay, you're about to be shoulder to shoulder for several hours. This is serious stuff.

You soon find yourselves in silence. You could probably hear a pin drop, because you are both the kind of people who would never ruin another person's theater experience. But you are also experiencing something together; escaping to the same fictional place. The stagecraft is magnificent. It is rooted in the language of the play. The actors, melding word to flesh, make you believe in their characters’ impossibly lyrical, grotesque or otherworldly experiences in the fairy-filled woods at night, as well as in their daylight selves in the ordered world of the court. The dynamic interaction of the actors and the set on stage bring the level of authenticity home in a way that makes you feel like a part of the show instead of a casual observer.

There are few things more thrilling in the theater than its capacity to bring people together, turning complete strangers into a breathing living organism. You realize that you and Spencer are so absorbed in the play that you mimic each other's behavior, leaning forward in one of the more dramatic scenes, breathing together – or holding your breaths. You laugh in unison one moment, find yourselves sheepishly wiping away tears at another.

Your eyes meet, and there is nothing more pleasurable than that fleeting conspiratorial smile that passes between you that silently says isn't it just fabulous that we're here sharing this, a sign you are both quite clearly loving the experience.

After a couple minutes, you place your elbow on a small part of the armrest, leaving enough space for Spencer to do the same. Soon enough, you notice in the corner of your eye that he rests his hand on the armrest as well, and you instinctively bring your arm really close to his. But you try not to be obvious. You wait for a few minutes and find that you’re both trying to touch each other’s arms with the slightest of touches.

And when one of your fingers brushes against his, he doesn’t move your hand away. He just sits back and goes back to focusing on the stage. There is also something about a live performance that makes things more real, and more dramatic. And during those 90-plus minutes, you're building up excitement for what to talk about later. The moment you hit the bright lights of the theater hallway, conversation flows freely. You can share your interpretations of the play, how you envisioned the characters, little details you noticed.

—

“Going to the theater has been a treasured pastime for hundreds of years.” Spencer points out as the two of you walk up to the street in front of the theater.

“It’s been ages since I watched a play.” you admit, still holding the bag with the book he gave you. Spencer feels so content to see how you delicately rest the bag against your body, as if afraid to lose it. “Do you want to get some coffee? Or, judging by how late it is, maybe dinner. Hell, I could even go for dessert.”

“Anything, as long as it’s somewhere where we can actually hear each other. And you let me pay for it.'' he answers. The night can’t end so abruptly. He still has so much to share. And share he does.

You look at your phone, brows furrowed in concentration as you search for somewhere with glowing reviews to take him. Can't have the last part of the date be ruined by taking him to a dodgy restaurant. “I think there’s a really nice place a few blocks away, from what my phone is telling me.”

After the both of you have had something to eat, you indulge yourselves in a nice bottle of red wine, something the waiter recommended to you. Neither you or Spencer know enough about wines to know if this is actually a good one, but the company makes it taste like the best wine you've ever had.

Obviously, even though Spencer doesn’t want to get ahead of himself – it is your first date after all –, he makes a mental note of the wine label and vintage, something quite easy for someone with an eidetic memory like himself. He's sure that if things are going well and you’re still together in a month, a year or a decade’s time, a bottle of the first wine you enjoyed together will be a wonderful romantic gift.

"Did you know that wine increases the release of dopamine and serotonin in our brain? That means that wine can make us feel a surge of positive emotion." He gesticulates, too absorbed in the scientific data. "Actually, chemically speaking, not just wine but any alcohol stimulates the release of several neurotransmitters including serotonin, dopamine, and opioid peptides. These natural brain chemicals will produce pleasurable feelings like euphoria, reward, and-"

In a short moment, so fast you have no time to react, a waiter bumps into Spencer's hand, which in turn knocks the glass of wine in front of him, spilling all its contents into your dress. For a moment, you're speechless and distraught by your sudden state. You're soaked and your clothes are completely stained. You watch as Spencer gets up, apologizing profusely as he does the best he can do under the circumstances and engages in damage control. Taking a bunch of napkins, he begins blotting and dabbing, trying hard to keep a stain from forming. It's no use, though. You feel yourself blush at the fact that he's touching your chest and, like you do when you're nervous, you begin laughing, stopping the movements of his hand.

"Spencer, stop, there's no point in scrubbing this. The dress is ruined, but accidents do happen. I'll be fine. There’s no use crying over spilled wine." He goes back to his seat, looking down.

"I'm so sorry I did this, Y/N, I really am. I can have it dry cleaned, if you want." He hides his face in his hands. He drops them when a thought occurs to him: "Or if you have hydrogen peroxide and soap, you can dilute them…" You stop his rambling by taking his hand in yours, a gesture that calms him a bit. A sign that there's still hope of turning this around.

"It's alright, Spence, it's not my first rodeo. Windex usually does a good job of getting rid of this kind of thing. I'll get around to it tomorrow, don't worry. Besides, it's just a dress, not the end of the world."

"Are you sure? Let me at least buy you a new one."

"How about you make it up to me by continuing what you were saying? Something about alcohol and happy feelings." Even though your dress might be ruined, you still end up staying at the restaurant talking for ages, neither of you making any effort to end your date. You talk for so long that the waiter has to mention a couple of times that they are closing the place, but there are a few places nearby open late if you want to continue the conversation. It’s then that you two decide it’s time to grab a taxi to your apartments. You go your separate ways, smiles on your faces.

—

You’re tired, your dress is stained and your makeup looks messy from sweat, but you still have enough energy to send Spencer a last text before going to bed.

03:17 AM

Y/N: If I were to give our date a Yelp review: 5 stars. Spilled wine on my favorite shirt, but my date was so cute I didn’t even care.

Spencer 📚☕️: Hey! I think I must’ve been a little clumsy because I was nervous.

Y/N: I think you mean tipsy lol

Y/N: Hope I get another date, for which I will be sure to wear something black.

Spencer 📚☕️: I hope so too :]

Sleep soon finds you. You have peaceful dreams, all of which involve a beautiful genius.

A/N: Any thoughts on their first date? Hopefully I was able to write the proper first date jitters one gets when seeing someone they really like. More chapters on their way :) As usual, thank you for reading! – Cat

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Porcelain Obsession•

Summary: Tamaki has a problem, a bad problem. He's obsessed, he's desperate, and he'll do whatever it takes to have you the way he wants you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Yandere Tamaki Amajiki x Reader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, noncon voyeurism, mild manipulation and sabotage, mild coercive behavior, male masturbation, panty theft, male ejaculation, cum eating. It's just real graphic, strap in.

A/N: I am hopeless, this will have a second part that will be so much more sinful with gratuitous tentacle content. Just tagged those that interacted with the posted about this fic as usual. This little series was inspire by a tiktok I saw, and I'm literally writing it for the sake of putting one zinger of line in it lol.

Playlist

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJbubhQN/

Word Count: 4,184

Part Two: Love Me Tender

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Stunning, astounding, enchanting. You're an angel, you have to be. That's the only explanation for the way you shine, surrounded by some ethereal glow.

Tamaki Amajiki has a problem. No, it's not a problem, it's completely normal to fall in love, he's under a spell. He can't be blamed for it, he never stood a chance. Although, most people would call this a problem, but only people who don't understand.

An ignorant person would have seen him watching you from around the corner for weeks, following you to your house after work under the cover of darkness, and finally, finally getting a glance into your window at night and label him as obsessed or disturbed. He should have felt dirty for that, but he didn't, not even close. He felt almost holy.

He felt like some chosen follower that was allowed to witness a sacred ritual. He watched you all evening with immeasurable reverence. He took note of the way you ate, how intently you read, but his favorite part was watching you settle into your bed and fall asleep.

As soon as he saw it the first time, it became an addiction. Watching your body curl around your pillow, clutching the fabric as you snuggled into it. How sweet you looked, so soft, so innocent. It made his chest ache, it made him feel starved. He had to have you, smell you, feel you.

That was nearly three months ago. Now, he watches you every chance he gets. The days he doesn't get to, he feels like a pitiful addict going through withdrawal. He has to at least speak with you, know your voice, see your skin up close.

During his patrol around the city he comes to the conclusion that it has to be today. He feels like he's losing breath without knowing you, captured by your existence but suffocated by the distance. He will have you, he will do whatever it takes.

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At your age, you should at least have a friend or two, maybe go out on friday, possibly even work another job. None of that ever seems worth it, not worth the time or the money or the effort to pretend you enjoy it. Here you stay, stuck somewhere in between discontent for your situation and the refusal to do anything about it.

You only have a half hour left of your shift, everyone else has gone home and you’ve been left to do dishes and lock up, as usual. You huff and puff around the shop as you complete the final closing tasks. Anybody else could have stayed and closed, they probably should have too, considering how often you shut down by yourself so they can all go home.

Naturally, you jumped at the opportunity to stay late, where else are you going to go? Certainly not on a date or out with friends. You feel slightly better about making money while you burn the hours away, so you always end up here.

The sun has set already, leaving the illumination of the shop to the awful fluorescent lights that hang from the ceiling. It’s all so mundane, so simple, so dreadfully boring.

Then the bell above the door jingles.

You roll your eyes and throw your rag into the sink, the sign says closed. Why don’t people read? You huff out of the kitchen and into the serving area.

“Hey, sorry but we’re closed right now, we open again tomorrow-” You freeze, it can’t be him, it has to be some cosplayer, some wannabe.

“I’m sorry, I just- my phone died while I was on patrol and I needed to call my boss to let them know I was finished for the day. I was hoping there would be a phone in here that I could use.” His voice is so timid, so unsteady. It doesn’t sound anything like you would imagine the voice of a pro hero to sound.

You try to stay uninvolved with any hero business, all of the flashy quirks and the gossip and the drama. The theater of it bores you to tears, and you lack respect for anyone that uses their ability to save lives as a tool for gaining popularity. You find most heroes to be so incredibly irritating. Most of them, except one.

Suneater, the emerging pro hero that has been the focus of all of your thoughts lately. You've only seen glimpses of him in the news, seen his face on the back page of a magazine, or heard his name from other people. Any evidence of his existence rapidly became precious to you. You are not some hopeless fangirl, you do not collect merchandise or follow him around and beg for autographs.

You admire him, his subtlety, how genuinely different he is from all the other heroes. He isn’t some attention whore, he isn’t some pretty boy that’s always posing for fan service. His quirk is so unique and powerful, unparalleled by any hero on the charts right now. He’s a real hero, and so much of you wanted him to be your hero.

There he stands, right in front of you, in your shop, asking you for help. He’s far more beautiful than you could have possibly anticipated. He’s all porcelain skin and inky hair, deep indigo eyes pear out from under his magnificent hood. He stands so tall, yet comes across so reserved. He’s spectacular, he’s an angel, he has to be.

“Of- of course, it’s in the back, follow me.” You say, motioning for him to come around the corner with you as you tuck back into the kitchen.

“Thank you, this is very kind of you.” He says as he follows, cape swishing behind him as he moves. You don’t know, you can’t possibly know, how badly he wants to take you into his arms and finally know what your body feels like against his, how he wants to bury his face in your hair and inhale your scent. If he could get away with it, he would, oh how he would feel every inch of you. He can’t though, not yet. He has to be careful, he has to be smart.

I will have her, and she’ll have me.

“It’s no problem, it sucks to be stuck without a phone. I’m happy to help.” You say as you round the corner to your shop’s makeshift break room.

It’s not even a room really, just a corner tucked away with a phone on the wall and a few chairs around a cheap foldable table.

You turn to him and motion to the phone awkwardly, heat settling in your chest and all over your skin. Your heart races and you can feel your palms turning wet.

“Take as much time as you need, did you uh- are you hungry?” You ask, “I’m technically closed, but I can only imagine how hungry you are after a whole day patrolling, I could throw something together for you?”

God, you’re so sweet.

“Oh no, you d-don’t need to do that, I can eat at home.” He insists, your mind fixates on the way he stutters, the way his eyes dart down and his feet shift as he talks.

“I would like to. Please? If you’ll let me?” You say softly, heart pounding even faster when he shifts towards you slightly.

How perfect you are, already asking for permission…

“Are you sure, I really don’t want to create more work for you.” He says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze makes it hard to swallow, he looks at you so intently, you almost feel like you don’t have enough clothing on.

“No! I promise you won’t be. You’d also be missing out on the best takoyaki around if you didn’t let me, and that would be a tragedy.” You say, trying to entice him with your bold claim.

“Well I g-guess, if you put it that way.” He offers you a trace of a smile.

“I’ll get started while you make your call.” You say as you move to squeeze past him in the narrow hall. As you slide by, there’s a brief, precious moment where you stand inches from each other. You don’t dare look up at him as you skate by, You know your legs will fail you if you meet his eyes while standing so close, and you can’t risk the embarrassment of dropping to your knees in front of a stranger, even if he is a hero,

He doesn’t say a word, simple stalks towards the phone as you glide down the rest of the hallway and into the kitchen.

You slip into autopilot in the kitchen, your brain is far too fixated on the fact that Suneater is down the hall, in your shop, using your phone. You clink around some pans, prepare the octopus meat and the batter and get to work. You can’t overhear him talking to anyone with all the noise you’re making, you almost want to apologize for being so noisy.

Your mind settles on thinking about how beautiful he is, how strong he looks, how easily he could overpower anyone… especially you. The thought makes you squeeze your thighs together, it shouldn’t, but holy hell it does.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him come into the kitchen, you immediately start to berate yourself for thinking that way about him. He’s a hero, he would never be interested in something like that with someone like you.

“I think the phone is down, do you maybe have a- a cell phone i could use?” He seems almost ashamed of the question, it makes your chest ache.

“Shit, that line is always being funny. I’m sorry, but I left my cell this morning.” You say, flipping the takoyaki around in their tray so they’ll cook evenly.

“I live just across the street though, I can run and grab it while you eat.” You say, desperate to help him in any way you can.

I know you’re just across the street.

He just shakes his head and bunches his cape in his fists, a very faint blush spreads across his cheeks and it makes your heart do summersaults.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’re already doing t-too much for me. You don’t need to make the extra t-trip, I can just call my boss when I’m home”

“Really, it’s not too much, if you’re worried about the extra trip you can just walk me home and use it when we get there. I imagine you would need to call as quickly as possible and get somebody on patrol now that you’re off.” You say, catching yourself a little when you sound too desperate.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable?” As he talks, he shuffles so he can press himself up into the corner of the kitchen, almost looking like he wants to melt into the wall.

“Well, considering your occupation is literally saving people, I definitely don’t feel uncomfortable, it’s not like you’re some crazy kidnapper.” You chuckle a little as you plate up the takoyaki. You try not to give attention to the twisted thoughts that enter your mind when you mention the kidnapping, pushing down the desire to be taken away from the colorless life you live.

If you only knew how badly I want to take you, to have you, keep you…

“I guess you have a p-point.” He says, taking the plate with a soft thank you. He starts stuffing his face with the spheres of breaded octopus immediately, letting a small content sigh leave his body.

“This is incredible, thank you, um, can I ask what your n-name is?” That damn stutter is going to turn your bones to jelly.

You say your name quietly, he responds by repeating it back to you, like he’s checking the pronunciation. You just nod as you open the fridge and pull out a gallon of green tea so you can pour him a glass.

“T-Tamaki, my name’s Tamaki Amajiki.” He says with his shy voice.

A warm, invasive feeling spreads through you. You have to remain calm, pretend that his real name is news to you, pretend that you haven’t spent hours searching through fanfictions listed under that name.

You chat as he finishes his food, thanking him as he mumbles compliments about you cooking in between bites. It doesn’t take long for him to take down the plate. He thanks you over and over as you clean the rest up. He stays glued to his spot in the corner until you take your apron off and hang it on the rack with the others.

“Alright, let’s get you to that phone.” You say as you grab your keys off the hook and switch the lights off.

When you turn to look at him the breath is stolen from your lungs immediately. He looks so celestial in the dark, somehow glowing in the dark. He’s stunning, he’s perfect, he’s painfully out of your league. You remind yourself of that last fact in order to still your nerves.

You turn on your heels and walk towards the door as quickly as you can without seeming rushed. He follows silently, the heavy sound of his thick cloak floating around him makes the hair on your neck stand up. He even sounds powerful.

After you exit the building, he stands with his back to you as you lock the door. His stance is protective, surveying the streets around you like a real hero. You can’t let it go to your head, it’s not for you specifically, he would do this for anyone, it’s his job.

The walk to your house isn’t really uncomfortable, but it is tense. The energy between you is painfully obvious, just not to each other. You both want to speak, ask about each other, know each other, but neither has the guts to make the first move.

While you walk, Tamaki’s head is constantly on a swivel, and he stays so very close to you. It makes your chest ache, the feeling of being so safe next to such an intimidating man. Nobody would dare approach you with him next to you. You would damn near kill to have this all the time, if not all the time at least as often as possible.

You arrive at your house after not even two minutes of tension filled strolling. Silently, cautiously, you both enter your home after you unlock the door.

"It's so cozy." Tamaki says immediately upon seeing all of the soft lights and pastels that make up your decor. He’s nearly trembling with excitement from finally being able to see inside your little world. After watching from the outside for so long, he can finally learn more about you.

"Oh, thanks, I try to keep it soft looking in here. It helps me decompress after a day at a busy restaurant." You explain, setting your keys in their dish before leading him down the hallway to the kitchen.

The house is nothing special, a simple little single bedroom, one story with a relatively open floor plan. It’s small but easy to afford and keep clean. It works for you.

“I’ll go grab the phone from my room, feel free to sit down.” You say, gesturing at the two chairs on either side of your tiny breakfast nook.

He just nods quietly, taking small glances around the rest of your house. You find his hypervigilance charming. It makes you feel incredibly secure to know he’s so aware of his surroundings.

You walk off to your bedroom then, leaving him to stand in your dimly lit kitchen.

Instantly, his eyes zero in on the laundry basket full of clothes that’s sitting on your counter. His body moves without his mind’s permission, his heart thrums in his chest once he catches something pink and lacy.

He can’t help but think you’ve done it on purpose, like you’re some spider sitting up in your web waiting for a poor little bug to stumble along and get all caught up. He’s more than willing to be that bug, and so desperate to get caught up.

He grabs the fabric quickly, as it unravels in his hands he sees what it is and his breathing stops.

It’s a pair of underwear, your underwear.

His fingers go all twitchy as he shoves his hood off to expose his pointed ears, wanting to be able to hear your footsteps.

He brings the panties and takes a deep breath in.

They’re not clean.

He has to choke back the noise that threatens to escape when he finally smells the intoxicating aroma. You smell so fucking sweet. His body reacts instantaneously, goosebumps raise on his flesh as he’s dick twitches in his pants.

God he feels dirty, but why should he? You lead him in here, after cooking for him and being so kind. You left this little gift out for him, you had to know what you were doing.

The sound of soft footsteps jolts him back to reality. He shoves the underwear deep into one of his pockets, he’ll keep them as long as he can, preferably forever.

“Sorry it took me a minute, I’m constantly misplacing everything. One of those ‘lose my head if it wasn’t attached to me’ kind of people.” You give a half hearted laugh, which he returns with a cute little chuckle as he takes your phone.

“Oh sorry about the laundry, I’m a bit of a mess today.” Hot embarrassment fills you as you grab the basket of dirty clothes off the counter and hoist it onto your hip.

“Don’t be sorry, you weren’t expecting any visitors.” He assures you, voice soft and soothing.

“I’ll run this to my room and give you some privacy.” You say, turning once again to leave him alone.

As soon as you’re out of the room his shoulders drop and he lets out a quaking breath. Having you so close after filling his mind with your smell pushed him to the very limit. He wants to grab you and lay you out on the counter, rip your pants off and shove his face between your thighs. He wants to drown in every smell and taste you can offer him. He wants to gorge himself on your sweet little cunt.

He can’t think straight. He’s fully hard, his skin is boiling and his mind is fuzzy. He has to get out of here, he has to get to somewhere hidden, Somewhere he can fuck his fist and think of playing with your soft body. Maybe, just maybe, if he stuffs your panties in his mouth he can taste a trace of you.

When you return he says a very quick goodbye, says something about stopping by your shop again so he can see you again. He doesn’t know for sure what words he uses, he’s too focused on getting out before you notice his erection, before you smell the shame wafting off of him in thick waves.

He has to go before he makes a mistake, before he ruins all of his plans.

You follow him to the door to let him out, bidding him goodnight with your gentle, enchanting voice.

You’ll never know that the phone at the restaurant worked fine, that he never even had to call Fatgum. You’ll never know that he stole from you, that he almost lost it and took you home with him. You won’t ever know that he’s not going home now that he’s left your home.

Urgently, he swoops around the corner of your house, heading straight for your bedroom window. His pants feel so tight it’s maddening, he’s frantic, he’s slipping.

As soon as he reaches the bedroom window, his favorite window, he slumps against the building with one arm as the other shoots down to his pants. He takes a quick glance around, noting that the lights in the surrounding buildings are all out given the hour.

He should be safe.

Then you walk into your room, the image of you is distorted slightly by the white sheers you have up, but only slightly, only enough to make you look like some fuzzy apparition.

She uses these curtains on purpose, she wants me to see.

You have no interest in showering tonight, now exhausted and confused. Did you say something wrong? Why did he take off like that? He did say he would see you tomorrow, though, which gives you a bubbly feeling.

You strip your clothes off, and it shreds Tamaki’s last ounce of self control.

You little fucking tease.

You undress until you’re left in your simple white underwear.

Tamaki’s hand is in his pants the second you crawl into bed. He grabs his aching length, thumbing at his head as he watches you shuffle around in the blankets. His mouth waters when he sees your collar bones, his breath hitches when he sees the way your stomach rolls when you sit. He starts to stroke himself slowly when you leave one leg out of your blankets.

His chest rises and falls rapidly as he remembers the precious gift in his pocket.

He snatches the panties out as he watches you move, as he zeroes in on the meat of your thigh. He shoves the fabric of the crotch into his mouth and bites. He bites your panties like he wants to bite your delicious looking legs.

His hand jerks more rapidly as the faintest flavor spreads across his tongue. His cheeks are pink and his eyes start to tear up as he trembles from the euphoria of knowing you this intimately. His hips thrust into his fist as he claws at the panites, pulling the fabric tight as he watches you drift off to sleep.

His mind races through every possible way he would take you. How he would ruin and claim every inch of you. The idea of you shaking beneath him, moaning his name so sweetly, begging him to keep going, maybe begging him to stop, it makes him want to break down the window.

He tongues at your panties, wishing he could swallow your slick. He feels so unbelievably envious of the fact that the fabric in his mouth has been so close to your perfect little hole. The thing he wants to taste the most, feel the most, fuck the most.

His hand tightens around his dick as he tries to imagine how tight you would feel around him. He rips your panties out for just a brief second so he can spit down into his palm, wrapping it around his cock the second the spit reaches his skin.

“Shit- fuck- shit- fucking love you.” He chokes out as his eyes stay locked on your body.

Once the panties are back in his mouth, the free hand flattens against the window.

Then you shift, hips rolling gently as you adjust your position, exposing your cute little ass to him.

“Slut- bad little slut.” He huffs out as he claws at the window. He feels his balls start to seize up as he focuses on his swollen head, fucking it as fast as he can whle he imagines you with your head buried in the pillows as you stick your ass in the air for him.

He tears the panties out of his mouth and holds the crotch of them in front of his dick, drool slips over his bottom lip as he lets out a high, broken moan while he starts to spill into them.

His body quakes and shivers as he squirts rope after rope of hot cum into his stolen prize. Tears wet his cheeks while drool soaks his chin as he strokes himself through his climax.

He chants your name over and over again, watching the way his seed ruins your pretty little panties. In his orgasmic haze, he brings the panties back to his mouth full of his own release, he laps it up as he eyes roll to the back of his head, pretending he’s made you cream yourself, pretending he’s tasting you instead.

It’s filthy, it’s depraved, but he doesn’t care, he needs it, he’d die without it. He swallows the rest of his own cum down with a greedy whine as he watches your perfect form lay there so peacefully.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, how many more times he fucks his hand while he watches you sleep, only to leave himself covered in sweat and cum and shame. Somehow, he finds himself walking away, as much as it hurts, he knows he can't indulge himself all night.

Once he’s finally home, he collapses, body buzzing and addicted. He sleeps with your soiled panties clutched in his fist. He wakes up with one thought on his mind, he needs more.