#french classes actually paid off????

[upinthecloudss]

SCREAMING

"objective: go fish for compliments"

i just finished playing ep 18 on my spanish account LMAO perfect timing

fanarts des streams de ultia qui m'ont fait retomber dans la nostalgie amour sucré à 1000%

[jessiescock]

save me french wikipedia page about the beast of gévaudan

[eeboshmeebo]

🔗I'll always forgive you. 🪢

Monoma x Reader, Hurt/Comfort

It was a beautiful day outside. Layered clouds in the sky with blue peeking through and the sun was hidden behind the clouds so it wouldn't hurt to look up at the clouds.

You would've been in the mood to do so, if not for the fact that...

...

...that Monoma got himself hurt today.

On the day he was supposed to go on a date with you.

You had gotten all dressed up; the outfit that made you feel good about yourself, all your favorite accessories, and even a bit of help from Setsuna, Mina, Hakagure, and some of the other girls that offered to help, and what did he do?

Get one of his legs broken during training because he taunted his opponent a little too much. One of the more volatile ones, probably. Maybe Sato on accident during his Quirk use, or Bakugo. Maybe Izuku, he could get scarily angry when his classmates were being made fun of. Or practically anyone.

However, it was on accident. You knew he didn't mean to, that he looked forward to this date as much as you did. That he didn't mean to leave you hanging. That he didn't mean to...

Thinking about it more was just upsetting, along with the idea of him being hurt. Of looking hurt and vulnerable when he was confident and cute and strong despite what he always tells his friends.

You stood up, forcefully shaking off the gloom that had settled over your thoughts.

This time, you're going to be the one spoiling him and not the other way around, along with a sticky surprise.

================================================

French canelés.

Freshly baked, still sticky from the bakery, and just-packaged. And, of course, paid for by Shoto's dad using his credit card.

You ran to the nurse's office while licking your fingers of the sweet goodness that somehow got onto your hands.

Running, running, running, oh hi Iida, running faster!

You slammed the door open to the infirmary, death-glaring at a robot who beeped before letting you pass. Probably the facial recognition made it do so and not your grimace.

The door closed behind you, effectively preventing Iida from scolding his way after you into the infirmary.

Unlike your rather violent entrance, the way you walked past the other rooms in the infirmary was rather quiet in comparison. Only when you came to a specific room with 物間寧人 next to the room name, you knew he was there.

So, immediately, with the sweetest smile on your fact that you could muster, you broke in.

Well, not exactly, but close enough.

================================================

Monoma's eyes widened as he saw you. Windswept hair, slightly disheveled clothing, a bag in hand, and a smile on your face that sent shivers up his spine, he knew he was in for a lot of trouble.

"Oh... um, hey, darling! Sorry that I-"

"Date."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Our date."

A cold sweat ran down his body at your tone. Today was date day? Today, date day. And he had to stay in the infirmary to get healed up fully. On date day.

Oh, he screwed it up, didn't he?

He always did, like that class training battle where he got himself captured and was unable to do anything and his class lost.

Like the training camp where he had to stay behind to redo his tests and couldn't help anyone, and everyone got hurt.

Like the battle, where he just stood there and-

He was cut out of his spiraling with a jolt of pain as you settled on his lap and huffed in annoyance as you tried to find a comfortable position that didn't make him wince.

"What're you doing, my dearest? I thought you were angry with me!"

"I am." You responded curtly, opening the bag and revealing what he immediately recognized as canelés. You picked one up, the sheen of caramelized crust glistening even in the infirmary's light...

And you ate it right in front of him.

"These actually taste pretty good. The vanilla custard is nice, mild, and rich at the same time. The crust is crunchy, with the caramelization making it both chewy and crunchy at the same time along with giving it a slight burnt taste to even out the sweetness. And the pastry itself..."

"Darling, stop, please! You know I can't take anymore!"

He could feel himself drooling despite the fact that canelés weren't even his favorite dessert. Maybe it was how you described it to him, how your lips and tongue pressed against the pastry and the way you savored it right in front of him.

Doubled with the fact that you were on his lap, too? Torture.

"Well, I know one way we can share these."

"...pleeeeaaase?"

He saw how you tried your best to keep that angry face, to prevent the softness from breaking through your cold expression. Your lips trembled, but your eyes had already softened as you placed another canelé on your lips and held it there.

"You already know."

His posture relaxed at the fact that you'd let him off easy this time as you moved closer and leaned closer so he didn't have to move much. His crotch had quite a bit of pressure against it from your weight, though that was something that couldn't be avoided.

Monoma took his chance before you could pull away, biting into the pastry bit by bit before he pressed his lips against yours. Despite everything, the taste of your lips was always the best out of everything he's ever tasted.

With the way you melted against him, he was sure you'd forgive him in no time...

The kiss was brief, however, and you grabbed him by the shoulders to announce something.

"Two more dates this week."

Un-negotiable, it seems.

"I'm always up for spending more time with you, my muse~"

"You aren't sweet-talking your way out of this, mister!"

"Oh, but I can. Remember all the times I did so?"

The tension in the air all but disappeared at the teasing remarks he said to you, and the sarcastic but affectionate ones you said back to him.

If he could spend more time like this with you, just you and him teasing each other and eating desserts, he'd be the happiest hero alive.

But he knew you'd basically scold him to death if he did this on purpose repeatedly. So he'd stick with regular dates, and-!

"Darling! What-?"

"Payback!"

And regular nibbles, not ones that left hickeys!

[transmutationisms]

hi! was wondering if you have any recs for some good critiques of Foucault’s historical method (or lack thereof)?

I enjoy reading his theory but I know his methodology can be lacking and would love to learn specifically how. ty <3

i don't have a text off the top of my head that is solely dedicated to making this critique of foucault (usually it's scattered into various historical literature) but i can just tell you:

foucault the historian has the consistent problem of relying on too few primary sources, almost all of which are french or english, meaning his claims are often only applicable to limited local cases (even the differences between the highly centralised, bureaucratised french state and the british situation tend to get flattened). his sources also tend to be authority figures like doctors and government officials, and he frequently makes the assumption that the powers they claim to have (or claim they SHOULD have) are powers they actually do have, which leads to a 'top-down' history that presents authorities and institutions as almost infallible in their efforts to repression, with virtually no attention paid to how people actually received any such mandates, and whether they were actionable, or subverted, or both. he also has a real problem conceiving of liberty in any terms but individual; politics for him is frequently characterised by a group vs individual struggle, which is a problem if what you are trying to understand is, say, the history of class struggle.

as a philosopher foucault articulated some general methodological guiding principles that remain useful in history: genealogical and archaeological methods, the call to historicise (meaning, to problematise; to contextualise) institutions and ideas presented as timeless or transcendent. there are also concepts in his historical narratives that other people have since fleshed out further, nuanced, and grounded in better evidence and 'bottom-up' histories, like biopolitics. so it's not unusual to see his name pop up in historical footnotes, especially in an introduction or conclusion where he may form part of a conceptual framework the author is using to interpret their evidence and turn it into a viable argument. but even these usages are certainly subject to critique (eg, the emphasis on individual liberty that suffuses his conceptual work; the extent to which his arguments can apply beyond the specific early modern metropolitan french contexts about which he was writing) and he should pretty much never be cited as a historian because his methodology in that respect was at best lacking.

[peachhcs]

something funny?

so high school au (emma grace x gabe perreault)

advanced french 2 and econ don’t mix. gabe has no idea what’s going on, but luckily emma does!

2.1k words

wooo first real fic of the au!! this was actually so cutie to write and if anyone has any requests/ideas for emma and gabe pls send them in! :))

au masterlist

emma's gaze slid towards the dark-haired boy sitting beside her furiously scribbling down work for a class that most definitely wasn't for advanced french 2. the graphs and tables for sure screamed economics or something similar because she remembered very well doing those a few months ago before she graduated.

the blonde tore her eyes away from his work and tried focusing on the lecture at hand, but for some reason she just could not pay attention no matter how hard she tried. all emma could think about was the amount of work she needed to do once class was over while praying that a table was open somewhere in the library.

god knows everyone's trying to get ahead before the semester quite literally devours them. the professor started leaving her desk to mill about the classroom while she spoke and the boy beside emma hadn't even looked up once—too focused on econ.

the other thing was that emma was feeling gracious today, so she nudged the boy's leg so he'd at least look like he was paying somewhat attention when their professor walked by. his gaze shot to hers and emma just motioned towards their professor about to breeze right past them. gabe's head snapped right and he immediately hid his econ papers as the lady walked by.

"if you're not paying attention next time she walks by, i'm not helping you out," emma whispered. gabe's eyebrows rose, amusement on his features.

"jeez, okay. didn't ask for help in the first place," the boy shrugged as he returned his focus to his other work. emma studied him for a few moments trying and failing on getting the graph right.

an uncontrollable giggle left her lips at the boy's poor, poor attempt. his head snapped back in her direction, another eyebrow raised, "something funny?"

emma immediately shook her head despite the smile still tugging on her lips, "not at all."

"something must be funny if you're laughing," gabe sneered back. he's had a long day—being up since 6am for morning skate—and the last thing he needed was some girl he didn't even know making fun of him.

"i just think it's funny watching you do econ in an advanced french 2 class," the blonde shrugged lightly.

"it's not like i need to pay attention away. already know french."

emma blinked while the boy turned back to his laptop. why on earth was this kid in advanced french if he already knew french? "you already know french?"

"mhm. fluent in it, actually," gabe's cocky smile almost made emma wanna slap it off him.

"then why are you taking french if you already know it?"

"because i can and i want to. i think it's funny. do you know french already?" there went that stupid eyebrow raise again when gabe looked at her.

"i do, yes," emma mumbled.

"so why are you taking french if you already know it?" his little head tilt and stupid smirk didn't sit well with the girl. she didn't have time to respond though because the professor walked past their section again, eyes probably trying to find the culprits who were talking in class.

"see? didn't have to help me that time," god, he was insufferable already. maybe emma shouldn't have started interacting with him. life 10 minutes ago was a lot better than life now.

"don't you have time to do all this work later?" she didn't know what possessed her to keep talking, but something about this boy intrigued her as much as he frustrated her.

"not really, no. early morning skate then actual practice right after class. by that time it's late and i'm lazy," gabe shrugged and it all finally clicked for emma.

he was a hockey player. made sense now. no wonder why he never paid attention in class.

"don't you like get banned from playing if you don't keep up with your work?" emma didn't know that much about how sports worked here, but she knew if her brother didn't keep up with his classes, he couldn't swim.

"i keep up with my work, don't worry," gabe snipped a bit. this time emma raised her own eyebrow while trying to keep in another pitiful laugh.

"mhm, sure. tell that to your econ class."

the professor walked past their section again, definitely trying to catch emma and gabe whispering. the two watched her stalk by before heading towards the front again. the blonde's eyes were on gabe's homework again, working through the problem in her mind. she immediately saw his issue—he had the wrong numbers on his graph which messed up his calculations. it was an easy fix.

"your numbers are wrong," again, despite the boy's annoying attitude, she was still feeling gracious. her curiosity about him was too high not to help.

"huh?"

"on your graph. it's supposed to be by .02. that's why you aren't getting the right answers," emma pointed out briefly.

gabe studied what she just said and looked back and forth between his numbers and graph, slowly realized she was in fact right. "oh," he mumbled.

"next time i won't help you," emma smirked.

"not like i asked for your help in the first place," the hockey player mumbled as he started redoing his entire graph with the right numbers.

the two didn't talk again until the last ten minutes of class. gabe was still furiously working away on his econ homework while emma took occasional glances in his direction. she thought he was stupid for waiting until last minute to finish it, especially in another class.

he nudged her leg first this time and her gaze snapped to his, "hey. what else you know about econ?"

he probably had about ten more problems left with no finish in sight anytime soon. emma stopped another pitiful laugh wanting to escape her lips.

"a decent amount. why?" the girl raised her eyebrow.

"probably a long shot, but any chance you could help me out later? i really gotta finish this assignment it's already two days late and if i don't, coach will pull me," gabe almost begged, but his pride and ego were too big for that.

the look on his face and big, puppy dog eyes were hard to say no to for emma despite everything in her telling her no. she'd feel bad if she didn't, especially when his mistakes were probably easy fixes. if only she wasn't so nice sometimes.

"i can give you my number and you can text me. i'll be in the library for a few hours after class," emma motioned for his phone.

"really? you'll actually help?" gabe seemed surprised she said yes.

"i feel like i don't have a choice, plus econ is easy for me. you probably have stupid mistakes that are easy fixes," she started punching her number into the boy's phone.

"how long will you be at the library for?"

"i don't know. until 6?" a good three hours seemed like enough time for emma to grind out her three page essay.

"shit, i have practice then. any chance we can meet at like..9? i know it's inconvenient, but i don't have any other time," he was such a hard no. even if emma didn't know him nor did she even really care for him, she felt bad not helping.

"9 works. just text me," the blonde nodded.

a genuine smile painted gabe's lips as well as a somewhat relieved look, "thanks so much. i really appreciate it. i'm gabe by the way."

"emma," the girl smiled back.

—

man, she should've said no. emma didn't think he was coming. it was 9:15—fifteen minutes late—and no text or anything. she left to her dorm two different times and there was still nothing from the the boy. the only people in the library at this hour were her and the few who just didn't have a social life and completely studied their asses off at any second they got.

in some ways, emma was that person just a bit more dialed down. at least she didn't spend hours in the library.

she checked her phone again and nothing. a sigh escaped her lips because she really thought gabe cared a little bit somewhere inside of him to not completely flake.

when all hope seemed lost quick footsteps came up behind emma's table and suddenly, gabe's frame was beside where she sat.

"i'm so, so sorry i'm late. practice ran over and then my friends had to talk to me for..i'm sorry," his apologize was unexpected, but appreciated. emma managed a small smile.

"really thought you'd flake on me," she laughed.

"i was gonna text, but then i forgot. i'm sorry. i didn't mean to waste your time," gabe rambled on as he sat down and dug his things back out.

his rambling actually made emma feel a little bad, especially because he looked so flustered like he ran all the way here from the rink. "it's fine. don't worry about it. i'm here all the time anyway," she shrugged him off to not make him feel as horrible.

"i respect the pjs," gabe commented on emma's flannel pj pants and boston college swimming sweatshirt that was definitely tyler's that she stole.

"oh, thanks. had to be comfortable, you know?" the blonde flushed some. gabe nodded in agreement.

"i did a few more problems, but i'm still kind of..lost, i guess. i dunno. i don't really know how what i'm doing wrong," he pushed his paper towards her feeling semi-embarrassed he couldn't do what should've been simple calculations and graphing.

"let me see," emma pulled the paper closer. she scanned her his work trying to find what the issue could be.

"hold on, i get it. you're not multiplying the right things which i think is giving you the wrong numbers. trying going row x row," emma instantly saw what was wrong.

gabe did as told and five minutes later, everything made a lot more sense than it did before.

"oh, i get it now. i was calculating wrong," he mumbled.

"see? easy fix. the other answers should make sense now," emma nodded, smiling.

"how are you so good at this? i feel like i'll never truly learn econ," gabe's gaze met hers again briefly before they both looked away.

"oh, i don't know. i've always been good at like math and stuff," doing math had always been emma's strong suit. growing up her friends always went to her when they were stuck on a problem.

"i wish i had that kind of talent. it's never made any sense to me," the boy mumbled, smiling successfully after completing all the other problems. "does this look right?"

emma glanced the page over, nodding, "yeah, looks good. the graphs are the hardest part i think because if you don't get those, everything's wrong."

"thanks, i appreciate the help. sorry again for being late," gabe met her gaze again—his eyes looked flushed and tired like he hardly ever slept. that feeling of pity returned in emma's stomach the longer she stared at him.

"it's no problem, really," her lips pushed together into a small smile.

"do you think i could text you again whenever i need more help in the class?" the boy wondered as he packed his things back up.

emma studied him again. those books about the athlete looking for help from the smart, quiet girl was seeming a little too real at the moment. the look on gabe's face though said otherwise like he wasn't trying to mess with her. he looked genuinely interested in the help she could provide him.

"why don't we like meet every other day or something and i can like tutor you. maybe help you understand the class a bit better?" the girl suggested which honestly sounded crazy coming out of her mouth because did she really have time to be tutoring this hockey player? apparently.

"like for real?"

"yeah like for real," emma laughed.

the smile on gabe's lips reappeared when he realized emma wasn't joking with him, "o-okay. yeah, thanks. i'd appreciate that. is it okay if we meet at 9 then? i would do earlier but i like don't have time."

"yeah, 9 works."

"i promise i'll try not to be late, but i can't promise it," the two shared a laugh.

"don't worry about it. see you in class then?"

"yeah, see you," her and gabe left the table together, giving slightly awkward waves to one another as they went in different directions to leave.

it was safe to say both of them didn't stop thinking about the other all night.

[peppermintmagicianlynn]

TimBer Week 2024: Bernard's Birthday

TimBer Week 2024 Day #6: Bernard's Birthday

This one is set in an AU where the Grieves Trio made it to senior year. Oh, also Darla has magic. Because.

--

“Happy birthday, you filthy animal!”

Bernard had two seconds to turn around and brace himself before Darla came flying into his arms. He managed to catch and spin for two rotations before he started to wobble. Luckily, Tim was there to support both of their weight. Other students sent them dirty looks for blocking the school hallway, but the trio paid them no mind. They were always like this.

“Thanks Dal, but I feel that in light of my new age, you should add Mister or Sir in there.”

She gave him a remarkably unimpressed look, considering she was clinging to him like a koala. “Or I could turn you into a frog and you can just be a filthy animal.” She raised two fingers, letting them spark with red magic as a threat.

Bernard, who never backed down from anything, replied. “As long as Tim will kiss me back to a prince, go for it. That’s the best Birthday gift I could want.”

Tim let them both fall into a giggling heap on the floor.

—

“But what do you actually want for your birthday, Bern?” Tim kept his tone casual, hoping to offset how badly he want to hold hos boyfriend’s hand as they walked the halls to lunch. They did that now and then, but Tim didn’t feel like glaring at all the shit-talkers who had a problem with their PDA. He wanted all of his attention ready for what Bernard would say next.

“You know I don’t,” the blond replied, bumping their shoulders together. “My parents max out my gift limit every time a sale comes out. I guess they think if they preemptively get me stuff, I won’t ask for anything else during the holidays. I don’t know if I’m more annoyed that that plan always works or that they know me enough to get things I actually kind of like. I hope to God they aren’t secretly mind-readers.”

“Nah, you’re just easy to read. If the Dowds were mind-readers, they would know about our plan to get you into culinary school and skip out on that biomed college you got a scholarship for. Just 7 more months before I can get the trust fund Mom left me.”

“If you’re not going to let me fight crime with you, you don’t get to pay my way through life. That was the deal, remember?”

“Hey,” Darla clapped her hands to cut off their bickering, “less sugar-baby debates and more discussions about birthday fun. This a big year, guys; we have to do something for it!”

“We’re not going to Trampoline Planet again, are we?”

“I think we’re banned from there, babe.”

“Yeah, but Aquista money gets us into a lot of places we’ve been banned from.”

Darla ignored them both, using her phone to quickly google some ideas for how to celebrate a friend’s birthday. She saw a promising idea though it would be very hard to pull off on such short notice. Maybe if she asked her mother… Darla glanced behind her, where Bern and Tim were shoving each other and giggling like saps. As long as they were distracted, Darla might manage to send some texts out and get this done.

Bernard would love it.

--

“Thank you everyone for joining today’s French Cuisine class!” Despite her heavy French accent, the instructor was bright and peppy as she grinned out over the class. “We arranged for this lesson on very short notice, I know, but I am glad to see so many of you are here. Our dish for today: a simple and elegant chocolate soufflé!”

Bernard squealed in delight.

As soon as school had let out, Darla threw them into her limo and had her drivers take them to the local community center. There was a cooking class that had spontaneously decided to host a lesson this afternoon and there were exactly three open spots available, which was just so perfect as their Bernard-Birthday activity! She’d pointedly ignored Tim’s suspicious glare while taking in Bernard’s sun-bright grin. The only thing he loved more than conspiracy theories (but less than trolling his friends) was learning new dishes.

Tim, however, had some reservations. The instructor had provided neatly drawn diagrams on the whiteboard to help if they got lost, but the detective could only stare at them like he was in desperate need of a codebreaker. He might excel in chemistry, but the baking arts still eluded him at times. Bernard offered him an empathetic pat on the back, taking a moment to admire his cute boyfriend in his sleek black apron they’d all been given, but really couldn’t contain his excitement for this class. Chocolate soufflés were one of Bernard’s favorite desserts and he was stoked to learn how to make them himself.

While the instructor went on with her explanation of the ingredients, Bernard gave her his full attention. Tim leaned into Darla's side to hiss, “We could have just cone to a restaurant, you know.”

“He loves interactive junk like this. Plus, we have a professional here so you can’t burn the place down.”

“I’m not taking that from the witch-wannabe who blew up a microwave. You’re lucky Raven owed me a favor, or else you’d have Shadowpact on your ass.”

“I couldn’t figure out how to change the temperature settings! Besides, you did worse. Dana still doesn’t know about the ‘additions’ you made to her food processor, does she?!”

Bernard placed a hand on either of their dark-haired heads and turned them gently to look towards the front of the room instead of shooting glares at one another. The rest of the class had already started following instructions, but the teacher was sending the three of them dirty looks for slacking off. You could tell she wasn’t fond of having rambunctious teenagers in her oh-so-elegant French cuisine class. The trio arranged themselves to the ‘innocent angels’ formation and this seemed to convince her they were not going to be any more trouble. Naïve.

Despite Tim's worries, they worked well together even in the kitchen. Tim chopped the chocolate, Darla measured the ingredients, and Bernard cracked the eggs and stirred the pot while they poured everything in as needed. Bernard laughed at the faces they made when he started zesting the orange peel into the chocolate. "I promise you, if you avoid the white parts, this does help make it delicious."

Darla opened her mouth to make a joke, but Tim pinched her before she could get the first syllable out, turning her word into a shriek. This got them yet another aggravated glare from the teacher, and Bernard quickly put the zester out of reach before it could become a weapon.

When it was time to whip the eggwhites, Bernard left it to Tim. He made a hesitant face when Bernard handed over the whisk, but Darla was making faces behind Bernard’s back so he had to take up the task. Bernard watched him struggle to move the whisk fast enough while controlling the bowl but after he nearly flipped the entire thing, it seemed like he’d need to rescue him.

Bernard stepped behind Tim, wrapping his arms around the raven-haired boy to help steady both his boyfriend and the bowl. He gently guided Tim's hands to hold the whisk at the right angle, showing him how to make smooth, controlled movements.

"Like this," Bernard murmured near Tim's ear, helping him create a rhythmic motion. "You want to incorporate air into the whites, but not too violently." Their hands moved in sync, watching as the egg whites slowly began to transform from liquid to soft peaks.

Tim leaned back slightly against Bernard's chest, focusing on matching the steady pace Bernard had set. After a few minutes, the egg whites began forming stiff, glossy peaks that held their shape.

"Perfect," Bernard said softly, giving Tim's hands a gentle squeeze. "See? You're a natural. Darla, would you add a pinch of salt?"

"Sure. I guess I have to serve some purpose around here."

Tim's back muscles tensed, signaling he was about to make a snarky comment. Bernard gently tapped his forehead against the back of his boyfriend's head—a warning not to pick a fight that put their creation at risk. Tim settled for flipping Darla off instead, keeping his words to himself.

Folding the whipped cream and chocolate together was Darla’s job. Mainly because Bernard didn’t want to let Tim go, so she would have to carry them now. “You got this, I believe in you.” This was muttered into Tim’s fluffy hair as they rocked back and forth together, but Bernard trusted her to know who that message was for.

Speaking of messages, there was a beep coming from Tim’s short collar that meant one of the Bats needed attention. They’d all had to remove their watches (and the bat-tech Tim had implanted in them) but he’d kept the mini receiver just in case. Bernard released his boyfriend to run out into the hall for a “personal call” while Bernard continued to not help Darla.

“You think it’s Robin on the other side? I think Tim mentioned Oracle is ‘down for maintenance’ so he had to be the call center.” Though Tim had moved on to a new name and mostly patrolled their neighborhood, he and the Bats still helped each other out. Bernard had even seen the Girl Wonder swinging through the streets when that gang war had popped off last year. She’d helped Batman save Gotham, though it was Batgirl and Nightwing who’d helped Tim save their school from those gunmen.

“Don't worry about that, Bear,” Darla said, using her magic to pull him into her side. It was as much of a comforting hug as she could offer while scooping chocolate-cream mix into the rest of the whipped cream. “Robin is way too good for Tim Drake.”

“Then what does that make me?”

“His perfect match.”

“Damn right.”

Bernard ladled the souffle mix into their cups, Darla cleaned up the edges, and Tim took over to the kitchen ovens where they would bake with the rest of the class. This left them 15 minutes to clean up their station and NOT look like total delinquents.

Which of course was when it all went wrong and this time, Bernard was at fault.

Bernard had been tasked with wiping down their station while Tim and Darla handled the dishes. Everything was going smoothly until Bernard had noticed a particularly stuck-on glob of chocolate. He poured on the elbow grease and took a step to the side, right where Darla had accidentally spilled dish soap. With a shriek, Bernard slipped backwards and crashed into the dish rack. Tim was fast enough to catch the dishes before they smashed on the floor, but Darla was knocked into the leftover flour and egg containers. Bernard made a desperate grab for the eggs but only succeeded in batting the basket sideways—launching them into another group’s perfectly clean cooking area. The flour went right into the sink where they’d left the water running.

It was like a nuke had gone off, a cloud of wet flour exploded out to coat all three teens and most of the surrounding area in a sticky paste. The instructor's shriek could probably be heard from the parking lot. "Mon Dieu! What have you done to my kitchen?!"

Bernard turned to his flour-covered friends with an apologetic grin. "Um... oops?"

Tim set aside the dishes in his hands, the only thing left unscathed, trying and failing to look stern. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"At least it wasn't me this time," Darla said cheerfully, looking like a ghost with her flour-whitened hair and stretched out on the floor where she’d landed.

Bernard wasn’t that surprised that their day trip ended with being kicked out of the lessons, only enough time to return their aprons, and left to sit on the front steps of the community center until Darla’s limo came to pick them up. “Well, that could have gone better.”

"Sorry," Tim and Darla said at the same time. They were self-aware enough to take credit for helping push the instructor to their breaking point.

"Nah, it's okay. The chaos is what I like most about spending time with you two." He leaned over to kiss Darla on the cheek. "Thanks for setting this all up, Dall."

"Hey," Tim grumbled, pulling on his sleeve.

Bernard laughed, turning to face his boyfriend. "And thank you too, boy wonder. I wouldn't have had such a great year without you in my life." The kiss he gave to Tim was on the lips, naturally.

"You're welcome, Bear." Tim smiled, with a touch of mischief. "Though, we aren't done yet."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of white candles. "I snatched this from the pantry on the way out. Darla?"

She grinned, eyes glowing as she waved one hand over her outstretched palm. Red smoke circled until a familiar white dish appeared from thin air.

"You stole one of our dishes?" Bernard grinned. It sure did pay to be best friends with a witch in training, even if her magic was a little bit evil.

"Make a wish!" Darla demanded, setting the soufflé into Bernard's hands while Tim put in a candle. Darla snapped her fingers to light the wick.

Bernard looked between his best friends in the world and really couldn't think of anything else he would want.

So he blew out the candle and made a simple wish: to be with them again like this, next year.

[15-lizards]

Friend was making me watch dance moms and I was relieving my ballerina days so here’s an ASOIAF dance studio AU for the soul

-Sansa is definitely one of the best at her studio she is the Lyrical queeennnn. One of the few competition dance girls who trains in ballet and is actually good at it. She doesn’t have insane flexibility but her technique is peak and she’s great at turn sequences. Always very consistent and stable. Gets mad when they have hip hop pieces cause she’s not good at it. Likes recitals more than competitions because she can do ballet more, tends to like the French style. Hair always sprayed and smoothed into a perfect bun even if she’s just going to class, not a single flyaway to be seen. Keeps a neat dance bag that she keeps her entire life in.

-Arya is only in there because Cat thought it would be cute to have the girls dance together. Immediately got proven wrong but she already paid for the full year so. DESPISES the slow ballet and contemporary pieces. Is a fucking prodigal jumper she can do switch leaps, ariels, toe touches, literally anything. Which means she likes the upbeat jazz and hip hop numbers wayyy more. Never has a neat bun it’s a miracle it can be tamed when she goes on stage. All of her tights have runs and rips up the sides. Stains on her leotard. Brings a Gatorade to class instead of a water and gets yelled at for it. Hides in the bathroom during ballet class.

-Dany has pretty good technique, nothing standout, but makes up for everything with her energy and facials. She’s got definite potential, but is unrefined. Pretty muscular and short because she used to do gymnastics. Really likes to try anything. Ballet, lyrical, jazz, contemporary, acro, hip hop, truly everything. Consistently places third in competitions, which pisses everyone else off because they think her technique isn’t very strong, and pisses her off because she wants to place first for once. Is currently working her ass off at the barre to focus on her basic technique, is improving at a rapid pace. Dance bag smells like actual ass, you can find probably anything in there though. Doesn’t wear any padding in her pointe shoes bc she’s kind of a psychopath.

-Marg is the top girl 100% she’s the teachers favorite. Every lead role and center position is hers. Sansa’s biggest competition but they’re such good friends and so nice to each other neither of them really cares. Focuses mostly on a slower Russian style of ballet, perfect for her long legs and arms. Every move is just so intentional and perfectly placed, she flows so well from step to step. Definitely is getting countless offers from academies, professional companies, and summer programs. Alwaysss has the cutest most expensive leotards and skirts. Makes sure to pull some of her curls out of her bun to frame her face. Makeup on during class that she somehow never sweats off. Usually super sweet but tends to be passive aggressive to other studios at competitions.

-Cersei who runs the rival studio, used to be a famous competition dancer, excelled at lyrical and contemporary. Makes all of her dancers take rigorous ballet, even if they’re just competition dancers, super adamant ab ballet as the basis for everything else. Notoriously insane with a hair trigger temper, but parents keep paying out the ass for her to train their kids because she produces results. Probably throws things if you fall out of a turn. Makes kids do pushups if they miss a step. Coddles Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen though, makes sure they always get good spots and roles. Jamie’s there to teach partnering sometimes but he always looks miserable and smells like cigarettes.

-Joffery is one of those insufferable tweens who gets special attention bc he’s a guy, a rare species in the dance world. But what’s even more infuriating is that he’s really good. Great flexibility, and focuses on big jumps and turns like most male ballet dancers do. Genuinely an enrapturing performer but never has any patience for his pas de deux partners, blames it on her if she gets dropped. A mean gay but no one’s really sure if he’s gay or not. Has a posse of tween girls that make fun of everyone not in their clique. Makes snide comments at the barre. Ridiculously cocky even when he falls out of his turns. Barges into the girls dressing room without asking. Demon child.

Bonus: Robb who has to take it because the football team needs to work on their balance or whatever. Really enjoys it actually and will defend it when Theon calls it gay. But don’t ask Theon why he kept staring every time Robb started stretching at the barre

[munson-blurbs]

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 002: The Devil Has Come to America

Summary: Following orders and toeing the line is your specialty, but when Patient 086 tries to bargain with the doctors, you're tempted to step out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, that scene at the end of S4E9, flashbacks, drug/alcohol use

WC: 5k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 30, 1984

“Have you seen the new guy?” Heather giddily asks you and Carol through a mouthful of macaroni salad. A soft blush creeps into her cheeks as it often does when she gets flustered. 

Carol nods enthusiastically. “He sits in front of me in algebra.” She offers a smarmy grin as she tucks into her own lunch. “Let me tell you, I might actually show up to class every day if I get to stare at his ass all period.”

Heather laughs, covering her lips with a manicured hand. “Don’t let Tommy hear that,” she jokes.

“Don’t let Tommy hear what?”

Carol swats at her boyfriend as he sits down next to her, giggling as she explains the situation. “We were just talking about the new kid, Billy…something-or-other.” She waves it off; clearly, the shape of his butt is more important than his last name. “I think he’s from California.”

Tommy nods knowingly. “Yeah, I have phys ed with him. I was gonna see if he wants to go out for basketball this year. He’s pretty damn good.”

“Better than King Steve?” Carol snickers, reaching onto Tommy’s lunch tray and swiping a French fry. “Or should I say, Mr. Nancy Wheeler?”

Heather laughs at this, too, but you can tell by her unnatural lilt that it’s forced. She’s been doing that a lot more often lately–pretending to be amused by Carol and Tommy’s antics just to fit in with them.

Tommy throws a letterman jacket-clad arm around his girlfriend. “And, uh, speaking of dudes who are totally whipped,” he says under his breath, eyes sweeping to the corner of the cafeteria where the Hellfire Club sits. You know exactly what he’s looking at; sure enough, when you drag over your own gaze, there’s Eddie Munson, staring longingly at your table. 

“Ooh, I’ll bet he’s gonna be selling at Tina’s party tomorrow!” Carol flashes you the grin you only get when she needs a favor. “Can you talk to him? You know he’ll give you a discount.”

Never mind the fact that you didn’t smoke, or that the last time you’d done this for her, she hadn’t paid you back a single cent. The question is a simple formality: you will get cheap weed from Eddie, whether you like it or not. 

“Y’know,” Tommy breaks in smarmily, eyebrows raised like he’s offering classified information, “I heard he flunked last year on purpose so he could keep selling at high school parties.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. He could’ve graduated and still swung by to sell.”  The retort spills from your lips before you can stop yourself, but it’s true. It’s not unheard of for recent grads to pop in to snag some beer or jungle juice. 

Your words are met with glares from Tommy and Carol; Heather’s foot brushes your own with a dual meaning of are you okay and don’t get us in trouble. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, desperate to avoid the unwanted social consequences that await you and Heather if you mess this up. “I can, um, talk to him at the party tomorrow.”

Flirting with him for discounted pot doesn’t sit right with you. But since Heather is your only friend, and she’s now friends with Carol, you can’t risk losing her. 

You let yourself look over at the young man who’s been harboring a crush on you since this school year began, feeling a pang in your heart. This is the last time, you tell yourself, and then I’m done leading him on. Carol can buy her own shit, full price. 

But when you hear Heather laughing again, you realize that you’re only lying to yourself. The only thing worse than high school is enduring it alone, and if that means temporarily turning into someone you hate, then so be it. 

March 30, 1986

“EDDIE!”

The shouted word reverberates around Patient 086’s skull as he wakes up suddenly, body trembling from the nightmare and from the headache forming behind his temples. He winces when he opens his eyes, the overhead lighting only enhancing the pain.

“Eddie,” he whispers to himself, letting it melt on his tongue. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” He smiles despite having every other reason not to.

I’m Eddie. My name is Eddie. 

His joy dissipates when he fails to recall whose voice was calling out for him. It’s a balloon that keeps getting whisked away in the wind, just out of reach.

Eddie grits his teeth, overdue tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. I know this–it’s…it’s…

“Fuck.” The swear is all exhalation, hardly any force behind it. His shoulders shake as sobs wrack through him, his quest to remember seemingly still fruitless. He’s so close, but still too far away.

The door to his room swings open without warning, one of the doctors from his earlier scuffle standing in Eddie’s line of vision. It isn’t the one he’d bitten–Dr. Snell–but the one who appeared to be the leader. His mere presence unsettles Eddie, like there’s an invisible evil seeping from his pores.

“086.” An unfriendly grin stretches his lips. “I take it you’re feeling rather…well-rested, yes?” He takes immediate notice of the way Eddie’s hands clench into fists, one by his side and one still cuffed to the gurney. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, 086. Perhaps we should start fresh, now that you’re aware of our non-compliance protocol.”

“Eddie.” Eddie grunts, not daring to make eye contact. “My name is Eddie, not 086.”

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion before he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Yes, right. I forgot that 055 accessed that memory.” His signature smirk returns as though it never left. “We use numeric identifiers here. Easier to keep track of our patients. So while you may have been Eddie, you’re now 086. Understood?”

But Eddie’s mind remains trained on the doctor’s previous statement. “Someone…accessed my memory?” He curls inward at this privacy violation. A person he didn’t even know was able to see his memories–yet he still couldn’t.

“Very briefly,” the doctor confirms. “It was more difficult than anticipated because you were sleeping. We will require your cooperation for this task.” His arched gray eyebrow informs Eddie that this is not up for discussion. “Be aware that while it is challenging for 055 to access your memories while you’re asleep, it’s not impossible. If you choose to behave as you did earlier, the consequences will be the same.” He holds out a water-filled paper cup and a small container of two pills, chuckling at Eddie’s ambivalence. “Just some ibuprofen for the headache. They’re standard after memory accession.”

Every muscle in Eddie’s body tenses, his already-dry throat feeling like sandpaper. He gulps down the medication, utterly defeated. “C-Can I just ask…why do you need my memories?” What secrets could he possibly hold that interest them enough to steal them from his unconscious brain?

The doctor sighs, weighing the options of honesty and deceit. He speaks after a moment with a carefully curated response. “The place we rescued you from was nowhere you should have been. Nowhere anyone should ever be.” His lips purse in concentration. “We need to know who, if anyone, was with you to ensure their safety and wellbeing.” The doctor lowers his voice as though revealing priceless information. “What if they’re trapped there, 086, just as you were? We can’t know unless you allow us to see.”

Eddie doesn’t miss the faintest smile, disappearing almost as soon as it forms, as though the doctor is proud of his presentation. Like he’s telling an elaborate fictional story rather than insinuating true mortal danger. 

“Okay,” Eddie pauses but agrees, despite the nausea pooling in his stomach. There may have been people with me. Family or friends or anyone links to my past. To who I am, or who I was. “I’ll do it, but I want to see more than just the end. I want happy memories pulled, too. Can 055 do that?” He keeps his voice as insistent as possible, vaguely aware that he just may be making a deal with the Devil himself.  

“Of course she can.” He eyes Eddie’s singular restrained wrist; for a second, Eddie thinks he’s going to let him go, but the man just continues speaking. “I’ll bring her in as soon as she’s ready.”

He’s too quick and too smug in his response, but Eddie has no choice but to believe him. It’s the last bit of hope that he has. 

October 31, 1984

You can hear music blaring before you and Heather even pull up in front of Tina’s house. She’s meticulously checking her lip gloss in her compact mirror, one manicured fingernail scraping around her mouth to remove any nonexistent excess. 

“How do I look?” She asks, eagerly awaiting your opinion. It’s a seemingly stupid question; she always looks gorgeous. It’s almost unfair how beautiful she is, not to mention an impossible comparison standard to which you’ll never measure up. 

She’s truly outdone herself tonight, dressed as Wonder Woman. The corset amplifies her cleavage and the blue barely-there shorts showcase her long legs. Diana Prince’s signature crown is perched atop her hair. 

“Amazing. Billy’s gonna lose his shit.” You smile as she blushes and gets out of your car, excitedly slamming the passenger door behind her. There’s no point in fielding her the same question; she’ll placate you with an untrue compliment that won’t do anything to boost your ego. 

You adjust your black mask and step out, cautiously teetering in your high heels. It was Heather’s idea for you to be Cat Woman, claiming that she couldn’t dress sexily without you, but you feel like a fish out of water. The latex suit just doesn’t look right on your body, or maybe the problem is that your body doesn’t look right in the suit. 

Heather waits as you get your bearings, hooking her arm with yours and bringing you an immediate sense of comfort. This is the Heather Holloway you’ve grown up with, the one who’d encouraged you to face your fears and ride a two-wheeler bike, the one who’d used her own allowance to buy you a new pair of pants when you got your first period in the middle of Sears, the one who’d let you sleep over whenever simmering arguments with your parents reached a boiling point. Regardless of her newfound affiliation with Carol–and Tommy, by default–she’s still your best friend.

Someone lets out a low wolf-whistle as you two walk through Tina’s house and to the backyard. Heather holds her head high while your gaze stays glued to the ground, unwilling to make eye contact with the perpetrator. It’s highly unlikely that the flirtation was intended for you, anyway. 

Outside, the crowd is chanting as Tommy stands beside the keg, propping up a guy in a leather jacket. Heather squeals and tugs on your sleeve excitedly. “That’s Billy!” she exclaims, discreetly pointing to the man currently upside down, guzzling beer like his life depends upon it.

After twenty-two seconds, Billy motions to be lowered back to the ground. Foam spews from his mouth and drips down his chiseled abs, slick with sweat.

“We got ourselves a new…keg…CHAMP!” Tommy announces, slipping a lit cigarette between Billy’s fingers.

Billy takes a triumphant drag, exhaling smoke as he declares, “That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He looks around the party with a squared jaw, assessing who is impressed by his feat besides the Tommy Hagan-shaped puppy yipping at his heels.

You turn to Heather, trying your best not to roll your eyes while she outwardly swoons. “There’s your Prince Charming,” you mutter, stomach curdling as Billy’s blue eyes flicker up and down her body, a predatory smirk crossing his ale-drenched lips.

Heather saunters over to him with a confidence you haven’t seen from her before. One hand wraps around Billy’s bicep, pulling all of his attention to her. “That was really cool,” she says breathily, biting her lower lip and peering at him through mascaraed lashes.

Billy shakes his mullet of curls, inhaling from the cigarette again before he speaks. “Yeah, well, someone had to breathe life into this shitty excuse for a party.” He sighs and stretches, causing his muscles to ripple underneath his jacket and snaking an arm around her waist to tug her closer. “But it looks like it just got a lot more interesting.”

He’s a walking cliché, the absurdly attractive new kid obnoxiously strutting around like a proud peacock while girls fall at his feet. You can’t blame Heather for being entranced; you just wish she could see through the shiny exterior and realize that, to him, she’s just another pair of panties on his bedroom floor.

An impatient tap on your shoulder draws you from a disbelieving stupor. Carol stands behind you, arms folded across her chest as though she’s irritated with you before you can even say a word.

“Freak’s here,” she reports flatly, shoving a crumpled bill in your palm. “Whatever twenty bucks can buy.”

Right. The second reason you’ve dragged yourself to this party, in addition to being Heather’s loyal sidekick, is to awkwardly flirt your way to a weed discount.

You shuffle back into the house, spotting Nancy Wheeler sloppily ladling jungle juice into a cup, swaying with the beginnings of tipsiness. Your heart sinks; it seems like everyone is enjoying themselves at this party–or is trying to, at least–except for you.

Why are you like this? Why can’t you just be normal and fit in? It was simple for Heather; Mrs. O’Donnell had assigned her and Carol to be lab partners, and within a week, she’d begun her ascent up the social ladder. But you were resistant, remembering Carol’s constant barrage of snide remarks hurled your way, never trusting her the way your best friend did.

“C’mon, don’t you want to be popular? To finally be noticed?” Heather had pressed, eyes shining with the prospects of landing on Hawkins High’s proverbial A-list. “You can’t just let people trample over you for the rest of your life.”

And so you’d tagged along for the ride, only to find that you’d graduated from punching bag to doormat. You did what they asked because they had the power to obliterate your already meager social life, and they knew it. 

That’s why you currently find yourself looking over at Eddie Munson as he digs through his tin lunch box. He takes a handful of bills from Linda Becker and gives her a pre-rolled joint, shoving the cash in his pants pocket. He shakes his mop of curls out of his eyes and moves onto his next customer, a junior who just crushed a Miller Lite can on his head. 

Eddie only sticks around these parties long enough to sell whatever’s in his stash before he slips away; if you put this off any longer, you risk pissing off Carol, which will upset Heather and further strain your friendship. 

You take a deep breath. It’s just some harmless flirting; you’re not proposing marriage, or even sleeping with him. Bat your lashes, tell him he looks nice, ask him about his day, and get some weed. Yeah, you can do this. 

Here goes nothing. 

One hundred eight…one hundred nine…

The squeak of his door opening disrupts Eddie’s meticulous wall tile counting. Annoyance prickles under his skin when he loses focus. He tries not to let it show, keeping up the cooperative façade so the scientists will be willing to give him what he wants–a glimpse into his past. Not just the parts of 086 they deem important, but the smaller moments that comprise him. The parts that make up Eddie.

The man he’d bitten—Dr. Snell—stands in the doorway with what appears to be another patient. She wears a hospital gown identical to his own, and her hair is also cropped close to her scalp. 

Dr. Snell speaks first. “086, this is 055,” he says, gesturing to the young woman to his right. Eddie tries to get a better look at her, but it proves to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She doesn’t allow her gaze to meet his as though she’s afraid to be seen; ironic, considering she’d infiltrated his mind just hours earlier. 

“Um, hi,” Eddie sputters awkwardly, not quite sure how to navigate this unique introduction. Thanks for uncovering my memories? Sorry for whatever you find in there? Also, if you could look past the bloody mess and let me know who the kid screaming my name was, I’d really appreciate it?

He sighs when you offer only silence in response, using his untethered hand to scratch a spot on his scalp where his hair is shaved a bit too close. Impatience gnaws in his chest. “So, uh, we gonna get started on this memory pulling thing?”

Dr. Snell nods, hesitantly making his way to Eddie’s bedside. “086, I am going to remove your restraints. When I do, I expect you to continue giving us your full cooperation. Is this understood?” He conspicuously fiddles with a button hanging from a cord around his neck; Eddie can only assume it’s used to page the other scientists in an emergency. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” The doctor pulls a key from his pocket and plunges it in the slot that joins the clamps together. The metal digs into Eddie’s wrist before the pressure disappears altogether, and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“Now,” Dr. Snell continues, turning to 055, “you will continue revealing 086’s memories of the Nether. You’re going to determine who else was there and what they may have seen.” He ticks off the two agenda items on his pointer and middle fingers as though it’s a simple task. 

Eddie watches as 055 pulls up a chair across from him, still avoiding making eye contact until it’s absolutely necessary. “Sit up.” It’s an order, but a polite one, and Eddie follows it without a second thought. “I need you to take the memory I pulled and think about pushing it to the surface of your mind. Do your best to focus only on that, and it’ll make my job a lot easier.” 

There’s a familiar cadence to 055’s voice, her last sentence laced with both honesty and a hint of humor. Eddie’s surprised to find himself relaxing a bit, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. He reflexively closes his eyes. 

“N-No…leave them open.”

His eyelids flutter open, embarrassment pinkening his cheeks as though this was something he should have known. He concentrates on the already-fading memory of the boy shouting for him, biting into his lower lip so hard that it draws a bit of blood. The metallic taste stirs something within him, his ribs suddenly aching where they’re scarring.

An earthy scent overtakes his next inhale, a stark contrast from the sterile lab environment. Eddie’s moving too fast to be on foot, the bicycle wheels spinning across dirt and sinking into the mud as he frantically pedals. Something weighs on his back, but he can’t reach back to feel what it is.

He leaps off of the bike without warning, faintly hearing it clatter in the distance, but it’s quickly drowned out by violent shrieking. The sound tornadoes around him as he grabs the items from behind him: a makeshift spear and a garbage pail lid with nails driven through it. 

Clang! Clang! 

The flying objects ricochet off of the lid, the spikes not impaling them enough to do much damage. The shield begins to bend under their impact, but Eddie continues swinging with all of his might. His grunts are barely audible over the screeching bat-like creatures. His chest tightens as he musters up his remaining strength and courage, bellowing into the wind.

“COME ON!!!”

The scream provides no intimidation; it only further depletes his already-limited energy. He pauses for a second to take another breath, but his air supply is cut off by a barbed tail wrapping around his throat.

Eddie instinctively drops the spear to unravel the beast’s grasp from his neck, but he knows it’s too late. He’s done for. While he wrestles with the bat, others latch onto him and drag him to the ground to feast on his flesh. 

“EDDIE!”

The boy.

Eddie hears him over the blood pounding in his ears, willing him to stay away, go back to safety, but shock has rendered him wordless. 

And then the shrieking stops, leaving only the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

“Eddie!” The boy’s voice is quieter but still panicked, his face coming into view as he tends to Eddie’s wounds. Shiny braces adorn his teeth and mucus muffles his speech. “Oh my God, Eddie.”

Eddie can only look straight into the misty darkness, unable to move his body. “‘S bad, huh?” he manages through terse lips. 

“No, nononono, you’re gonna be fine,” the boy sputters, trying to convince himself more than Eddie, “we just gotta get you to a hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees too easily, feeling the fight leaving him with each passing second. 

The two of them grunt in frustration and agony as Eddie uses his friend as a crutch, but he knows it’s no use. There isn’t any sense in this kid wasting his precious energy saving him from his inevitable demise. 

“Just give me a second, okay?” Blood pools in Eddie’s throat; he swallows it down and forces a small smile. This is it. He has nothing left to give. 

His gaze meets the boy’s, and they share an understanding glance. There’s nothing that either of them can do: Eddie is going to die. 

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

“No, nonono. You didn’t run,” the boy reassures him with a swift shake of his head, his curls held in place by a thick band. 

Eddie grabs his hand, shiny eyes flitting over so he can drive home his point before it’s too late. “You’re gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?” 

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!”

“Nah, man.” He needs this; he needs this promise fulfilled before he can fully let go. “Say you’re gonna look after them.”

The boy almost starts to deny it again, but Eddie’s steadily loosening grip informs him that his time is limited. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna look after them…” he chokes out, no longer able to look Eddie in the eyes. 

“Good.” Haziness engulfs him, blurring his thoughts into a swirl of memories that has no beginning or end. “Because I’m actually gonna graduate…” He punctuates the statement with a small snort as he laughs through the pain. 

The boy lets out a strained cry, pity and sadness and the early stages of grief rolled into one small sound. 

“I think it’s my year, Henderson. I think it’s finally my year.” Eddie’s eyes glaze over; with his final breath, he ekes out a promise of his own. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s the last thing he hears before the world goes black. 

Eddie’s eyes snap open now, the dull roar of a headache barely affecting him. The present bleeds into the past, tile and disinfectant replacing dirt and overgrown moss. He blinks a few times to adjust. 

“H-Henderson,” he stammers, looking between you and Dr. Snell. “My friend—Henderson—he was with me there. Dustin Henderson!” He snaps his fingers excitedly, pushing away the discomfort from the rapid movements. “I think we go to school together. Oh, my God, Dustin Henderson!” He laughs aloud, beaming from ear to ear. He remembers Dustin Henderson’s name, which means other memories of him can’t be far behind. 

Eddie turns back to you as you wipe away the trail of blood under your nose, speaking so eagerly that he’s tripping over his words. “Okay, I’m gonna—I’m gonna keep thinking about him, and you pull more memories.” He looks you directly in the eyes, emotion written all over his own. “His name is Dustin Henderson. Got it?”

Before you can answer, the doctor cuts in. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today, 086.” He doesn’t seem apologetic in the least, practically baring his teeth in a sinister grin. 

“N-No, he said—he promised,” Eddie sputters, feeling increasingly pathetic. 

Dr. Snell shakes his head. “Who’s ‘he?’” he sneers. “I don’t recall making any promises to you.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

“The other doctor—he said that she,” Eddie glances at you, “could pull more memories. Good ones.”

Your blood runs cold; this is the first you’re hearing of this, and you suspect it’s one of Dr. Moseley’s many empty promises designed to foster compliance and break spirits. 

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry and his stomach curdles as the doctor says nothing more, cuffs him back to the bed, and leads you away from the room. You look back for a split second, briefly making eye contact with him, but quickly turn around. 

Please, Eddie begs silently, please help me remember. There had to be some good in my life, and I need to know what it was. 

Cynicism chips away at his waning hope as you get farther down the hall until he can no longer hear your clipped conversation with the doctor, your presence becoming a memory in itself. 

Your time in the lab thus far has been spent obeying orders and doing your best to remain inconspicuous whenever your services are not needed. Your allegiance, coupled with your refusal to make waves, is what’s kept you from experiencing the scientists’ wrath. Silent unless spoken to. 

Guilt gnaws at your insides, churning bile in your stomach, and you know what you have to do. 

“Dr. Snell, I have to use the restroom.” You push the words out in a single breath, lungs tightening when he actually stops in his tracks and faces you. Skepticism is written all over his face, and with good reason, but you double down on your statement with the three words that fluster nearly every man: “Got my period.”

Sure enough, his cheeks turn magenta as he sputters, “Yeah, yes, of course.” He steps aside as you rush back towards the bathroom, your urgency very much real though the excuse is a blatant lie. You stand behind the door and silently count to five, peering out to ensure that the coast is clear. There’s no sign of Dr. Snell–or any of the scientists, for that matter–so you make your way to Eddie’s room, cursing the soft noise your bare feet make on the tile floor. 

Turn back. Don’t risk your safety to play the hero. 

If you’re caught, there will be repercussions. You could easily find yourself strapped to the bed or thrown in isolation for days on end; all of the trust you’d built up with the authorities will be tossed in an instant. 

Something propels you forward; perhaps it’s the desire to do what’s right, but you know it’s mostly the guilt of what happened between you two, whether he remembers or not. 

“Ed—086,” you quickly amend, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie looks around, disoriented and fighting the post-accession headache. 

“Y-Yeah?”

You tiptoe closer to him, doing your best to ignore how vulnerable he looks right now. If you think about it too much, you might cry. “You need to obey the doctors, especially Dr. Moseley,” you say. 

“Why?” Eddie spits back. “I tried, and they fucked me over. Why should I help them?”

You lean over and tug on the handcuff. “You see this? Notice how I don’t have one?” You shake your free wrist to emphasize the point. “That’s because I do as I’m told and fall in line.”

“This whole place is a goddamn prison,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “Who cares if I’m strapped to the bed or not? Where the hell am I gonna go?”

“You’re not hearing me.” You want to scream, and it takes everything inside you to hold back. “The less trouble you give them, the less they’ll watch over you, and the more I can access your memories. The ones you want to remember.”

This throws a temporary wrench into his anger, scowl softening until he recalls how he’d recently been tricked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

You cut him off, grabbing his one free hand without warning. Staring into his fear-filled eyes, you pull a memory, though he doesn’t know that it’s easily accessible because it’s one of your memories, too. 

That’s a conversation for another day. 

The smell of stale beer and unfiltered cigarette smoke clouds the bar while a band of four boys plays onstage. Eddie has one ring-clad hand wrapped around the electric guitar’s neck and the other strumming intensely as he launches into the song’s chorus. 

For whom the bell tolls Time marches on For whom the bell tolls!

He turns around and faces the drummer, grinning headbanging along to the beat. The kid behind the drumset is a bit younger than he is, and considerably more nervous, but Eddie’s encouragement allows him to lose himself in the music. 

You end the memory before present-day Eddie can hear the applause; you know you were the one cheering the loudest that night, and you can’t let him recognize you. 

“There will be a lot more of that if you fly under the radar and give them a reason to back off,” you tell him, plucking a thin tissue from a nearby box to clean your nose. “Trust me, they don’t want to watch over you 24/7. They have bigger issues they need to deal with.”

Trust me. The last time he trusted you, it destroyed him, whether he remembers it or not. This is your chance to make it right. 

“Just think about it,” you plead, adrenaline waning and anxiety drawing you back to your room. “Help me help you.”

You leave him with even more questions than he had before. Hopefully, that’s incentive enough. 

--

tag list (still open)

@munsonmuses @vintagehellfire @chrissymjstan @munsonology @lady-munson @roadkill-writes @randomreader1999 @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @the-unforgivenn @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @laurenlokirby @american-idiot-jpg @str4ngergirlw0rld @tlclick73 @gnrquinn @katethetank @inourtownofhawkins @munson-addict

[kittykat3801]

My Julie and The Phantoms headcanons (Sunset Curve Edition)

Reggie is a disaster bi

Luke is pansexual

Reggie has had a secret crush on Luke since the 90s but has been quite good at hiding it (Well, at least up until the Chemistry scene in Ep7)

Reggie comes from an abusive household (not necessarily physically, could be emotionally abusive)

Reggie has nightmares and the boys have had to help him through them many times

Alex’s parents are religious (their reason for not accepting Alex being gay) and therefore Alex has issues relating to religion

Luke’s parents used to let Reggie stay over whenever he needed, and they were kinda aware of his situation but never wanted to pressure Reggie into talking about it

Bobby also let the boys sleep in the studio if they couldn’t go back to their own houses (cause I think we all came to conclusion that Julie’s house used to be Bobby’s)

Alex, Bobby, and Reggie had their driver’s licenses, but Luke didn’t cause he kept failing the test.

Reggie has Inattentive Type ADHD and Luke has Hyperactive Type ADHD (Not Sunset Curve related but I also headcanon that Willie has Combined Type ADHD)

Alex is autistic and has general anxiety disorder

Reggie is dyslexic but is really good at maths

Luke was really good at English in school

Alex can draw really well and used to do it a lot in his spare time

Reggie is still slightly innocent and childlike because his childhood was mostly full of trauma, so he’s making up for it in his teens/as a ghost.

The boys had to have “The Talk” with Reggie (which was probably very awkward) because his parents were too busy fighting with each other, and Reggie never paid attention in health class.

Alex wanted to know how to do the cool drumstick twirl in his hand and practiced it for hours, sometimes even until his hand cramped. He dropped the stick many times and also hit himself in the face a few times, but eventually got the hang of it. He was so proud of himself when he finally mastered it and immediately showed it off to the boys at band practice.

Luke wanted to be able to swing his guitar around his body. He finally learnt how to do it. Though not without breaking many straps, and a few trips to the ER after smacking himself in the back of the head with his guitar.

Reggie has an attachment to Ray because Ray is the father figure that Reggie needed. The father figure that Reggie never had.

The boys can all speak a different language (based on the actors). Alex speaks German, Luke speaks French, and Bobby speaks Filipino. I headcanon that Reggie can speak Italian (idk why but I do haha).

Luke is actually Canadian amd moved to America as a kid, but died before he could lose his accent.

Both Alex's parents and Reggie's parents are conservative. They probably voted Trump in both 2016 and 2020. Unless Alex's parents changed their views after his death.

Bobby’s parents are very liberal, and both Reggie’s parents and Alex’s parents don't like them. Though the Pattersons got along well with all of them cause they refused to talk about politics (though they are probably liberal like Bobby's parents just not as extreme).

[pub-lius]

Why don't you have any detailed posts about Steuben smh do better

AW FUCK NO MY REPUTATION!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE THE GAY HISTORY PERSON IF I DONT HAVE A DETAILED POST ABOUT STEUBEN!!!! i have to fix this...

Early Life

Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand Baron de Steuben was born on September 17, 1730 in Prussia. He joined the Prussian army at the age of 17, so he got a real early start.

Note: I've written his name here as "Baron de Steuben", as this name is from a French record, however he is typically referred to as "Baron von Steuben", as "von" is the translation of "de" from French to Prussian, and they both mean "of" in English. I just wanted to clarify that for the sake of my own linguistically correct sanity

Steuben began his service in the French and Indian War (or Seven Years War if you're a dirty European) as a second lieutenant, and was then wounded at the Battle of Prague, a Prussian victory. Then, he joined General Johann von Mayer's adjutant and principle staff officer in a special detached corps.

Then, he was promoted to first lieutenant and wounded AGAIN at the Battle of Kunersdorf, which was a Russian and Austrian victory. He was then transferred to general headquarters as a staff officer in the position of deputy quartermaster (this is important!!).

He was taken prisoner when Major General von Knoblock surrendered at Treptow, and was released after a year in 1762. He was promoted to captain and then became an aide-de-camp to Frederick the Great, which is as metal as it gets. He joined the King's class on the art of war, where he learned even more super cool military leadership skills.

Life Between Wars

Steuben met St. Germain in Hamburg (a notoriously great place to meet people). If you aren't in the know like I clearly am, St. Germain would eventually be the French Minister of War during the American Revolution. They'd meet again in France when Steuben was serving as Grand Marshall to the Prince of Hollenzollern-Hechingen, and if that sounds made up to you, it's because you don't even know him like I do.

Steuben continued looking for military work, but those European assholes (the British, French, and Austrians) rejected my man for no good reason (probably because he was gay or something). It was during his stay in France where he heard of the rowdy Americans across the pond.

St. Germain introduced Baron von Steuben to Silas fucking Deane and Benjamin "Slim Shady" Franklin, but they weren't able to promise Steuben anything but some regurgitated American propaganda, since, by this time, they were already getting yelled at by Congress and Washington for allowing too many incompetent Frenchmen into the Continental Army. They told him that the only way he could assist in the American fight for independence would be to go to America and present himself as a volunteer to Congress (like Lafayette ended up having to do).

This obviously pissed off Steuben since he was actually experienced trying to get a job, because its not fun being an overqualified, unemployed gay man in 18th century Europe. But still, he settled for being a volunteer, and set out for America, his passage being paid for by the French government.

WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETERRRRRRR

Steuben traveled to America with his Italian greyhound, Azor, and his two assistants, Louis de Pontiere (ADC) and Pierre Ettienne Duponceau (military secretary). They arrived in New Hampshire on December 1, 1777. They were almost arrested upon arrival because Steuben had a blond moment and mistakenly dressed them in red uniforms instead of blue. They traveled through Boston to York, Pennyslvania, arriving on February 5, 1778.

In Steuben's letter of recommendation, Franklin mistranslated Steuben's rank to "His Excellency, Lieutenant General von Steuben, Apostle of Frederick the Great", which made him seem way more distinguished than he was. As a result, he was presented a much higher rank by Congress.

Steuben was ordered to report to Washington's headquarters at Valley Forge, where he arrived on February 23, 1778, and was described by a soldier as "a perfect personification of Mars."

Steuben's good first impression also had an effect on Washington, who appointed him temporary Inspector General, and it was in this position that he had his largest impact on American history, and changed the course of the war

Why Every Army Should Have Gay People, An Essay by Publius

Baron von Steuben began his transformation of the Continental Army by writing training drills, overriding the regional trainings of the state militias into a unified and universal regimen. There was a significant language barrier, however, as Steuben originally wrote the drills in French, which were then translated into English by Duponceau, John Laurens, and Alexander Hamilton. Then, they were given to the brigade inspectors, who made the copies which were then copied to be delivered to each officer. There was definitely a more efficient way to do this, but you know. It was also Valley Forge.

General Washington's Life Guard and some men from each state (totalling around 120 men) were used as a model to show the rest of the army how they were supposed to go through the drills. As they trained and demonstrated the drills, Steuben was writing new ones, only a few days ahead, which is a massive time crunch. This was done intentionally to make the drills as simple as he could, so the training of the army was dispersed in a rapid, orderly fashion. This man was a genius, I can't emphasize it enough.

The officers in the British army, which was the standard for Americans in many respects, would allow the sergeants to drill the men, but Steuben said fuck that, I'm gonna do it myself. This made many American officers uncomfortable because the men developed a bond with him because of how talented he was (and the fact that he was funny and used profanity in multiple languages), and along with the fact that Steuben's office seemingly had no limitations, this caused them to complain to the big boss, Washington. To make them feel better, Washington issued orders on June 15, 1778 to govern the Inspector General's office until further word from Congress.

The reformed Continental Army showed off their swag on May 6, 1778 when they celebrated the news of the Franco-American Alliance, which impressed soldiers, officers, and civilians. More happy news came when Steuben was given his commission from the Congress as Inspector General, with the rank of Major General.

It was at the Battle of Monmouth when the new training of the Continental Army was able to take what would have been a losing battle for the Americans to a technical draw. Steuben was actually almost killed/taken prisoner (depending on the mood of the British) during this battle because he was wearing so many metals of honor that he glimmered in the sunlight, and was spotted by the British. He was fine, though.

General von Steuben went to Philadelphia in the winter of 1778-79 to write his book of regulations, referred to as The Blue Book. Lieutenant Colonel Francois de Fleury, a volunteer, assisted in writing it. It was with the assistance of ~Benjamin Walker~ and Duponceau that the blue book was translated into English, which is why we know Walker as being important! And the fact that he and Steuben totally boned! Anyway, Captain Pierre Charles L'Enfant was illustrated it, and the book was used all the way until 1814.

After the war

General von Steuben rejoined the Continental Army in April of 1779 to serve through the end of the war. He was an instructor and supply officer for General Nathanael Greene's southern army from the beginning of the southern campaign until Yorktown. Steuben commanded one of three divisions in the Continentals at Yorktown. He assisted in demobilizing the army in 1783, and resigned his commission in 1784, which is actually the latest I've heard of a Continental General resigning his commission!

Steuben continuously petitioned Congress for financial compensation for mesothelioma (not really) and fuck ass Congress only gave him a part of what he was owed, which was pretty typical. But! New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia all gave him land grants, which he sold portions off to have enough money to live. So, he retired from NYC to his land holdings to live the remainder of his life.

Oh, and fun fact, Steuben was present at one of the riots in New York that Alexander Hamilton tried to stop, and they both had bricks thrown at them. It might have been the Cadaver Riots, but I could be wrong since I didn't feel like double checking.

Steuben never married, and instead lived with Benjamin Walker for a long period of time. He died on his 16,000 acre farm tract in the Mohawk Valley of New York on November 28, 1794.

Homosexuality

The source I used for this does not mention his homosexuality at all, but I'm going to, because the last thing you'll ever see me do is pretend like gay people didn't exist or are "unprofessional" to talk about in history.

If you say that Alexander Hamilton was gay, you have to say Steuben was, and vice versa. Rumors of homosexuality followed Steuben from Europe all the way to America, and play a large role in why he relocated many times, and never seemed to have a permanent home until the end of his life. This was a form of unofficial exile that many queer people faced in times where their existence was illegal. As soon as your name was associated with possible homosexuality, you couldn't get comfortable anywhere.

But von Steuben wasn't brought down by this, and you've gotta respect that. He threw elaborate parties starting almost as soon as he arrived at the Continental Army. If you're new to the amrev community here, this is what we mean by "flaming shot/pantless parties", because they had shots of liquor that they would light on fire, and in order to get in, at least part of your breeches had to have been missing. While straight men did attend these parties, the subtext in discussions about them seem to imply that they were also a gathering place for queer men.

These parties continued, and some familiar faces were there, such as Duponceau, Walker Hamilton, Laurens, and, later on, Charles Adams. However, I'm not going to speculate on who was fucking who, though it has been largely accepted by historians that General von Steuben and Benjamin Walker were lovers, and I personally think there is substantial evidence to support this when you align their personal correspondence with the close proximity they maintained throughout their lives.

General von Steuben is a figure that is very important to many queer people as a conspicuous queer man in history who had an undeniable impact on the course of American history. Portrayals of Steuben in media typically disregard this, however more and more biographers are discussing his homosexuality and the significance it plays in queer history. So, I'll end this post by saying this: Steuben is just as significant in American history as he is in Queer history, and it is irresponsible to pretend like he isn't.

Source:

National Park Service- Valley Forge

British Battles.com- Battle of Kunersdorf

George Washington's Indispensable Men by Arthur S. Lefkowitz

John Laurens and the American Revolution by Gregory D. Massey

Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow

Anyway, thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about Steuben lol. I didn't previously know much about his life before the American Revolution, so I was very happy to learn. I actually bought a biography about him not long ago, The Drillmaster of Valley Forge: The Baron de Steuben and the Making of the American Army by Paul Lockhart, but I haven't read it yet. If anyone has, pls let me know if it's good or not. After Massey and Chernow, I'm practically on my hands and knees begging for a male author to treat queer history seriously. Anyway, thank you for the ask! I'm going to go watch the george washington mini series for steuben content

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

During my conversation with Richard Hanania about the 2019 Academy Award-winning film Parasite, I talked about how viewers and critics were quick to assume that Parasite was about a rich family and a poor family.

It shows how little people know about class.

This is how the director of the movie, Bong Joon Ho, characterized the Kim family:

“The father has accumulated numerous business failures, the mother who trained as an athlete has never found particular success, and the son and daughter have failed the university entrance exam on multiple occasions.”

This is not the profile of a poor or working class family. The Kims are not poor, they are failed middle class.

This is why, in an early scene in the movie, they were so bad at folding those pizza boxes.

In high school, I worked at an Italian restaurant as a busboy and dishwasher.

In his terrific memoir on slum tourism, Down and Out in Paris and London, George Orwell uses the French term plongeur—a person employed to wash dishes and carry out other menial tasks in a restaurant or hotel—to describe his occupation as he was struggling in Paris.

Plongeur sounds much better than “bus boy.”

Anyway, my coworkers in the pizza station were, like the rest of us in the back of the restaurant, guys from fucked up families. They drove beat-up motorcycles and had long hair and tattoos, or were stoners or community college dropouts whose highlight of the week was getting paid on Friday and drinking away the weekend.

The girls mostly worked as servers, and were generally more put together. Though there was plenty of binge drinking and drug use among them as well. Many restaurants function like this, with sweaty guys in the back cooking food and scrubbing pans and the cheerful women up front, serving food and interacting with patrons.

Guys I worked with could fold a pizza box with their eyes closed while stoned out of their minds.

So the Parasite scene didn’t make sense to me at first, until I realized what I was seeing.

Working class people would figure out how to fold pizza boxes and do it fine. Bitter middle class people think they’re too good for it.

The Kims middle class origins also explains why they were able to seamlessly interact with the well-to-do Park family (more on them soon).

Skeptical viewers have questioned why the Kim son had a friend who studied in a university. And why the Kim son was able to teach English to the Park daughter so well despite his poor background.

And astute critics have wondered how it’s possible that the Kim daughter who is obviously adept at graphic design (forging her art credentials) and interacts easily with the Parks came from a poor family.

The Kim son and daughter were raised by middle class parents, that’s why.

The Kim family represents a great fear of affluent people, including film critics: Downward mobility.

The Kims are middle class people who slipped down the economic ladder. The Parks are middle class people who ascended the economic ladder.

The Park mother is easily duped by the Kim daughter’s discussions of art and its therapeutic powers. This is because the Park mother is a philistine who doesn’t actually know that much about art. She’s not from some well-bred old money family. She and her husband have only recently arrived at their current economic station.

Parasite is not about entrenched class divisions. It’s not about a poor family and a rich family. It’s about a downwardly mobile middle class family and an upwardly mobile one.

Which is why resentment builds and explodes into violence. Envy is reserved for those who are similar to ourselves.

Working class people are generally not envious of the very rich. Nobody I knew growing up hated Bill Gates or Hollywood celebrities. They mostly envied well off people in town. People who had big houses or had a boat docked at the Shasta Marina.

Who envies the actual rich? Upper middle class people.

People tend to envy and resent those close to their social strata.

In his fascinating book Envy: a theory of social behaviour, the sociologist Helmut Schoeck wrote:

“The best means of protection against the envy of a neighbor is to drive a Rolls-Royce instead of a car only slightly better than his...overwhelming and astounding inequality arouses far less envy than minimal inequality.”

There are a couple of reasons for why resentment and envy are strongest for those nearest to us.

First, there's proximity.

Working class people work for, and take orders from, upper middle class professionals. This (sort of) describes the relationship between the Kims and the Parks in Parasite.

But upper middle class professionals work for, and report to, the very rich. We never see the father of the Park family at his job, interacting with much wealthier colleagues.

The second reason people reserve scorn for those close to our social strata is that they remind them of their failings.

When people have expectations for their lives that are not met, but they see others similar to themselves achieve the same things they desire, they experience resentment and anger.

This is why people feel the most schadenfreude, joy from seeing others’ misfortune, when the person experiencing the misfortune is similar to themselves.

Other research has revealed that similarity and domain relevance are key predictors of malicious envy.

This means that a person who is similar to ourselves and who is successful in a field we also aspire to do well in is especially likely to trigger feelings of resentment and a desire to take destructive action to sabotage them.

This is why critics and the chattering classes loved Parasite. The film allowed them to identify with resentful middle class people who are down on their luck, under the guise of sympathizing with the poor.

Parasite allowed identification with resentment and envy to masquerade as compassion.

[andvys]

Can you write some tattoo kiss Cheer! headcanons? Like the ones you wrote with Steve and Eds, but with things that she likes? Pleaseee? 🥺🩷 (Obviously if you want to!)

-🩷

OH yes! I love that!

She is a major bookworm, and has always been one. As a kid she would get herself a new book, her favorite snack and would spend her afternoons in the treehouse in her backyard reading whenever she wasn't with Steve.

She loved to bake but lost the joy in it when Steve left, so she started looking for new things that would bring her joy.

She loves shopping, especially with friends. And she will always splurge and spoil herself a little, no matter what store she walks into, she will always get herself something, whether it's a new nailpolish, new rings, make up or a new shirt, she always gets something for herself.

She loves movie nights and nights in, in general. She actually always preferred it more than going out.

She tried sketching but always hated they way it turned out so she preferred to peek at whatever Eddie was sketching (even though he always thought that she never saw or paid attention to him). But they oftentimes sat next to each other in class and she would admire his drawing skills.

She never knew what she wanted to become and always left her plans for the future open. She really wanted to go to college with Steve though.

She always wanted to wear heavy make up, leather jackets, darker clothes and style her hair differentely but never felt comfortable to do so until she met Eddie. (now she looks like a rockstars girlfriend hehe)

She seems very fragile and soft to others but there is more to her. So much more. There is a side of her that Steve doesn't even know. Oops.

She loves music. She could never live a day without music. When she's not blasting music through the house, then she's definitely wearing headphones and listening to The Smiths or The Cure, Depeche Mode etc. Now she also listens to Rock and Heavy Metal, thanks to Eddie.

She's accompanied Eddie to his campaigns before and the kids loved her -- Lucas dragged Max to one of the campaigns too, that's how Cheer and Max met and they hit it off right away.

Eddie jokinigly calls her his 'groupie', while his friends call her his 'girlfriend' something that both him and Cheer always blush at.

She always made mixtapes for Steve, now Eddie makes mixtapes for her :')

She never lost her joy in writing notes for the people she loves. Steve wasn't the only one who received notes from her. Chrissy and Heather always got some too. Robin did too, they would oftentimes pass silly notes back and forth during classes. And Eddie of course, she always leaves notes around the trailer for him to find.

She likes to braid Eddie's hair, he always lets her but tells her that she is the only one who's allowed to touch his hair.

The rings that Eddie gave to her a holy to her.

She misses Steve and the friendship that they used to have.

She calls Eddie her angel and he thinks she's joking, she's really not. He saved her <3

Oh. Her favorite snacks are M&M's and Doritos. She also loves to dip her french fries into vanilla milkshakes (@taintedcigs please don't hate my lovely cheer. she hates salt&vinegar chips just as much as you do, at least... so yay)

[coffeestainedcamera]

To any Genshin players contemplating Duolingo:

I'm not a hater out of elitism. Actually, I think that free language learning resources are wonderful! Back when Duolingo hadn't gone full AI and I was a high schooler on an allowance, it helped me with Spanish 101 ffs. Unfortunately, it seems that the priority is now more on the quirky ad budget and less on actually providing students with a quality learning resource that feels like a game.

Anyways, I'm on lingodeer for Spanish and Korean nowadays (but the app is paid). Bought a year's subscription during a winter sale for $80 USD. The grammar explainers are very clear and the app has limited gamification via streaks. Cake is more focused on speaking and has lots of video lectures. Also paid, got yearly sub on winter sale for $75.

If you're on Webtoon, the international build lets you swap languages without geoblocking (and the Spanish and French sections are pretty extensive, for anyone taking school classes in these). I've found it to be a fun reading practice that displaced my bad habit of social media before bedtime. You can also start an account on Kakao Page for webtoons in Korean. Only caveat is you'll be reading in a mobile browser bc the app isn't internationally distributed and I don't endorse installing from APK. Security issues for the device and I've previously been banned from online games bc this is technically a TOS violation apparently. Can't rec Naver Webtoon (the Korean build of Webtoon) in good conscience bc I found their account setup process too troublesome and quit.

You can take free Korean 101 classes from a public uni via King Sejong Institute's site at iksi.or.kr. I've been finding their explainers very straightforward. They offer both asynchronous and Zoom classes. If your fam has Netflix, also install the Language Reactor extension in chrome for bilingual subtitles and a hover-over dictionary. Start with slice-of-life shows bc they drop lots of useful vocab.

You can also browse around Coursera's language learning section bc yeah, you actually can take a free college class there. It's basically youtube for college classes, I suppose. Including Spanish ones from UC Davis.

This is specifically aimed at the schoolkids who play Genshin. I just think that y'all deserve better than an AI textbook with a genius social media marketing team.

[cannedcrow]

Arbitrary Darkness (HC Monster Hunter AU) Part VII

A/N ~ Hiya all! Been working on this chapter for a little while. I do about a thousand edits of each draft. Anyway, here's some vaguely spicy content and Scott being an asshole for you :D

~ reblog if ya enjoy! <3 ~

Part VI - AO3

Grian and Mumbo sat in a booth in the Hermiton Arms waiting for Pearl, whom Mumbo had been so good as to introduce only by name. Grian had initially been surprised when they passed by The Foxhole, the little pub he and Mumbo usually frequented, but Mumbo insisted that it was in bad taste to bring a work friend to such a scrappy place. Grian was of the mind that the Hermiton Arms was far too posh - more of a cocktail lounge than their usual pub-quiz-live-music-house-beer haunt, but acquiesced to the change of scenery without too much whining.

“Shall we wait for Pearl or get a drink?” Mumbo asked, evidently rather lost in the etiquette of it all.

“Suit yourself, but as third wheel I’m going to get a drink,” Grian replied rather petulantly.

Mumbo rolled his eyes and sat back as Grian made his way to the bar. It was quite full, though the patrons here had a more delicate, quiet manner to them than those of The Foxhole. Shame, really. Grian always rather enjoyed watching a good bar tussle. Dark mahogany paneled the walls and furniture, dimly lit by oil lamps and candles. Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air with dim chatter. Very posh indeed - though perhaps a little too reminiscent of the Eighth Circle.

He became aware that the bartender had asked what he wanted - “Er, Negroni please,”

The bartender nodded and moved into swift, practiced action.

“Negroni, eh? You didn’t strike me as the type.”

The voice was lightly teasing, and Grian turned to see a woman leaning on the bar next to him, touselled chestnut hair curling around her smiling face. She wore a simple open shirt and skirt and watched him with inviting grey-blue eyes, ink stained fingertips tapping distractedly on the counter. Undoubtedly very pretty.

“That’s your opener at the bar? Insulting people’s drink choice?” Grian replied amusedly.

“Well, I don’t really see the point of empty flattery. You can make a lotta assumptions about people based on their drink choice.”

She spoke in a soft Australian accent. The type of voice and temperament that invites friendship openly, and Grian appreciated it.

Grian raised an eyebrow. “Right. And what does a Negroni say about me?”

“Usually signifies a manly type with a touch of class. Less brusque than an old fashioned, less girly than a whisky sour, only a tiny bit pretentious.”

The bartender presented his drink just then.

“So, you think I’m manly huh?” Grian replied teasingly, “I’ll take it, but unfortunately for you it just means I like marmalade,” Grian retorted smoothly, sipping his drink. It was a good Negroni.

“Marmalade?” She laughed, “You’re off your rocker! Anyway, I did say you didn’t look like the type didn’t I?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve manned with the manliest of men,” Grian replied with mock grandiosity.

Pearl laughed again, “Not gonna touch that one.”

“So, can I buy you a manly drink with a touch of class?”

“Never. If you’re buying though …” she tipped her head thoughtfully, “French 75.”

“Girly drink,” Grian muttered slyly as the bartender went off again.

Before Pearl had a chance to reply, Mumbo appeared.

“Thought you’d gotten lost mate! See you’ve found Pearl though,”

Grian coughed on his drink rather indelicately. “I - what?”

Pearl blushed faintly, giving Mumbo a little wave, “We hadn’t got to names yet actually,” she laughed, “You’re Grian then eh? I shoulda known!”

Grian sighed with a slightly embarrassed smile, offering his hand. “Yep, monster hunter extraordinaire. Told you, manliest of men.”

The bartender appeared again with Pearl’s drink.

“5 diamonds for them two then,” he grinned.

Grian paid with a quick, “Cheers mate.”

“What, I don’t get a free drink?” Mumbo mocked.

“Shut it,” Grian growled.

They stayed at the bar while Mumbo ordered and returned as a trio to their table, settling down in the plush seats.

“It is nice here Mumbo, I’ll give you that,” Grian conceded.

“Right? Papa K took me here once, early on. Thought I was about to get fired, turns out it was a promotion!”

“Naw, he’s a softie,” Pearl said, “I reckon he’d let anyone stay on if he liked chatting to em. Hard to be intimidated by a guy who calls you ‘sweet-face’.”

“I’ll have you know I can be intimidated by anyone,” Mumbo replied sternly.

“That’s a point on your resume, is it?”

“Right between ‘am nice’ and ‘write good’.”

Grian snorted. “So, what’s the story you two are working on? With creds like that, I mean.”

“All business eh? That’s a change,” Pearl winked at him and he felt his cheeks warm slightly as he grinned sheepishly.

“Article on the dead guy they found in Hogshyde Park,"

"What happened to him?" Grian asked warily.

"Not sure really," Pearl replied, "We've been looking into it - funny thing is, cops don't think it was a monster - not that they have much idea - but usually the body would be a bit more ripped up, half-eaten, you know?"

"We saw the body," Mumbo added, "looks like a drug overdose if anything. Maybe he had a weird reaction or something, because it doesn't really look like the usual. His veins were almost black, and the mortician who autopsied him said his blood had basically turned to ash.”

Grian made a face. “Ew.”

“Right?” Pearl looked rather delighted by the whole thing. “We’re planning on doing a little poking around, see if anyone has any useful details. Could make for a proper interesting story.”

“Ought to ask some of the more unsavory group that hangs around there,” Mumbo pondered.

“You reckon they’ll talk to us?”

Grian zoned out of the conversation as it started involving a litany of names he didn’t know, entertaining himself by examining the other bar patrons vaguely. His gaze was drawn suddenly to a man with unmistakable aquamarine hair, a pale, sharp face he’d hoped not to see again.

It had to be him though. Scott sat at the end of the bar, in smiling conversation with a girl whose back was to Grian. He was dressed differently tonight - an elegant, tailed waistcoat of navy blue, draped over a pale shirt that lay open, lazily revealing a v of pale chest.

What the hell is he doing here? Who is that? Perhaps she was a monster of some sort too, but Grian had a nasty suspicion she wasn’t. As he watched, Scott slid a suggestive hand along her thigh. He didn’t like the look of it one bit. Temptation to intervene crept under his skin, but … it was too much of a risk to make a scene. He’d keep an eye on him, hopefully not be noticed. If -

“Grian?”

Mumbo’s voice took his gaze back - it seemed he’d missed a cue.

“Sorry, what?”

“Trying to find someone to go home with tonight?” Mumbo teased.

“Hardly,” Grian retorted. Not that I'd be opposed ... if he weren't a bloodthirsty murderer. That drink was definitely hitting.

Mumbo laughed, “Pearl asked if you knew any monster with venom that'd do that."

Grian thought carefully, shaking his head slowly. "No, doesn't ring a bell. Wonder if it’s a hybrid or infection we don’t know about.”

He wondered silently to himself if he ought to ask Joel. He’d know more than anyone about the shady underbelly of the city, but somehow he didn’t think Joel would want to help him with anything.

“I reckon I could ask about, see if I can glean any useful info,” Grian ventured.

“That’d be great. Shame about Tango, really. He’d have had some insight I bet.”

“Tango?” Pearl asked.

Mumbo met Grian’s stern gaze. “Ex-business partner of Grian’s.”

“I wouldn’t worry," Grian sighed heavily, "He wouldn’t have told me anything. We weren’t exactly confidants.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grian saw Scott stand, offering an inviting hand to his companion. The two began to make their way towards the door, and Grian made a split decision, downing the rest of his drink.

“Going for another drink,” he muttered, pushing up from the table to follow.

The night air was cool and fresh, in stark contrast to the warm, smoky air of the Hermiton Arms. He lit a cigarette as he leant on the doorway, taking a long drag and letting his quarry get a fair distance in front of him before following quietly.

They walked along the canal, brightly lit by lanterns and dotted with cafes and bars, patrons enjoying the evening air and chatting. Their quiet conversation was too muted for Grian to hear, skulking along a good 20 feet behind. He couldn't help but feel like the monster in this situation, stalking after them in the shadows like a cat. They walked for about five minutes, reaching a slightly darker, quieter part of the road, and the pair sat on the canal's edge. The moonlight glinted silver on the water, soft chatter wended its way down the breeze, and a nightingale was singing softly somewhere.

Quite the romantic, aren’t you?

He watched, fairly close behind them but enveloped in the shadow of the buildings, as they talked and laughed like any other young couple. Before long though, Scott cast a surreptitious glance around, evidently missing Grian in the shadowed doorway. He returned his attention to the girl, tenderly brushing her hair aside, and she looked up and him with a smile as he bent his head to meet his lips with hers, traveling a hand down her back to brace securely on her waist.

Grian predicted the next 30 seconds quickly and made his decision, taking another deep drag before stepping out.

“Ma’am?”

He made as though he’d just reached them, and she looked up, blushing furiously.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He started casually, tapping ash from his cigarette, “only I work at the Hermiton Arms - a bartender said you left your wallet at the bar.”

Please don’t tell me he bought all your drinks. And please don’t check.

Thankfully, it appeared she was too flustered (and tipsy, probably) to give it much thought, and she stood quickly.

“Did I? I’m sorry! Thanks for letting me know.”

Scott watched the encounter intently, standing, and Grian turned his back on him.

Stay away from him. Trust me, he mouthed to her inconspicuously.

It appeared she’d succumbed to his illusion of authority, and her face went from quizzical to a look of horror that glanced her face only briefly, and she nodded imperceptibly.

Thank you, Grian thought.

“I’d better be off then, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly to Scott.

“No worries,” he replied in that melodious, easy tone, “I expect I rather distracted you.”

She blushed again, turning to walk down the street in the direction of the Hermiton Arms, glancing back nervously.

Now I’m the one alone with the psycho monster. Just what I wanted.

“The benevolent hero steps in again,” Scott commented idly, strolling towards Grian, who stepped back towards the building walls behind them, “Surely even monsters have a right to a quiet date. If you wanted a three-way, you only had to ask.”

“I think we both know that’s not what you had in mind,” Grian replied sharply, “and I prefer my threeways not to end with two of us being ripped apart at the bottom of a canal.”

Scott shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by Grian spoiling his plans, “don’t knock it til you try it.”

“I don’t think I will, thanks,” Grian replied cuttingly, “Don’t insult my intelligence by trying this game with me.”

A smile played on Scott’s pale face, and he moved directly in front of Grian, leaning one forearm against the bricks and caging Grian slightly. In these quarters, Grian could smell the floral gin on his breath, the slight scent of freshwater.

"Don't you like me?" He murmured, brushing a thumb along Grian's cheek and travelling his fingertips salaciously down his neck and chest. Grian's breath hitched unwittingly, and he was annoyed at the way his heart quickened. That damned drink.

He squirmed out of the contact, scowling. "I don't think you need me to tell you what I think of you."

The moonlight glittered on Scott's cyan hair in an ethereal way as he gazed down at Grian piercingly from beneath spiked lashes, smiling slightly. God, he was beautiful. No human could look like that. He was consoled only by the hand resting on the handle of his knife, concealed behind him in his waistband. With the other, he calmly continued with his cigarette.

“You know,” Scott breathed conspiratorially in his ear, “You could always join in on the ripping apart bit of my nights out.”

Grian scowled and shoved him away, hard, burning him with the cigarette end. Scott stumbled slightly and didn’t approach again, only cocking his head and surveying Grian sardonically.

“Thanks for the invite,“ Grian spat, “But keep your bloodthirsty exploits to yourself. I'll be there as much as I can to spoil your night."

"You really haven't got it yet," Scott mused gently, "We're on the same side. If you keep forcing yourself to be this ... farce, you'll only become an obscenity to all sides."

Grian bristled, striding towards Scott menacingly. "How many times do I have to say," he snarled, "I'm not like you. I've never -- I'd die before becoming anything like you."

He hated how the words stuck in his throat. Even here, even now, his tongue betrayed him.

“Why don’t you kill me then?” Scott asked sweetly, not waiting for a reply, “Oh, right, I remember.”

With that last jab, he turned, strolling away as though they’d just said a heartfelt goodbye, and called over his shoulder, “there’ll always be more bloodthirsty exploits if you want to have some fun!”

Grian watched Scott's graceful silhouette recede, hand curled into a fist around his knife handle. He threw his cigarette end to the ground, spinning around to return to the bar.

"Get lost?" Mumbo asked cheerfully when he returned, frowning when he saw Grian's face, "What happened?"

"Doesn't matter," Grian sighed, "I'm gonna get that drink I promised myself. Want anything?"

"Round of Montenegro?" Mumbo suggested, looking to Pearl.

"Go on then," She acquiesced cheerfully.

Grian grinned and navigated his way through the crowd to the bar, leaning his back to the wood after ordering.

The scene and his position reminded me of his night at The Eighth Circle. The last time he'd been in a place like this, he'd been offered a concoction of blood and liquor.

Can't they just drink a Manhattan like the rest of us?

...Us. The word was steadily becoming more uncomfortable for him. He hated letting them affect his mentality in this way. Blessedly, the bartender arrived then.

"A vodka, neat, too. Thanks."

The bartender acquiesced as he paid and threw back the shot, giving his head a slight shake. Enough of all that, let's have a normal night.

When he brought the tray of drinks back, Mumbo and Pearl gave a little cheer.

"Man, no one's ever that excited to see me unless I have a tray of alcohol," Grian grinned.

"Well, you're a bit broody. Puts people off I reckon," Mumbo contributed helpfully, taking his glass of Montenegro delicately.

"Thanks, I can always count on you to ease my sorrows."

"You're welcome. Cheers then, to friendship and drinks and business. And all three at once."

"You're a natural wordsmith," Pearl laughed, raising her glass to clink it to the others as they drank.

[forsaire]

ACTUALLY you should tell us about your dnd characters (any of your choice. Or all of them)

Do you only use them in dnd or do you use them as OCs for other things too?

OKAY, if you so want it 😌

They're just dnd characters, never used beyond the campaign. I don't have OC's in the way you might think. I create side/supporting characters for my fics or dnd characters to play but they only exist in that context. I don't create headcanons or art or talk about them beyond that like I "own" them.

I've even drawn some of my dnd characters during sessions for fun as well as everyone else's characters. I have kept all my dnd sheets over the past ten years and its getting a bit thick.

Let's try going chronologically order (to the best of my memory)

Annabelle Montgomery VII (f)

Race & Class: Dwarf Ranger

Accent: child, higher pitched

Fun fact: 14 children in her family, all of them named either Annabelle or Craig. Liked chasing squirrels into the forest at a whim (to explain why I was gone for long periods of time while I was away at university).

Rizzo Ravioli (m)

Race & Class: Halfling Fighter

Accent: 1950's Greaser

Fun fact: wore a leather jacket and had slicked back black hair. Just devious. A little nuisance guy. Said something so insulting to one of the other characters that she rolled to slap and got a nat 20. I saw God with that slap.

Olivander Swolkin (m)

Race & Class: Human Bard

Accent: none (it was going to be British then there happened to be a real life breathing British person put in our dnd group. I threw that idea away quick to avoid the embarassment)

Fun fact: a performer who played the saxophone under the stage name Oli Swole. Handsome beyond believe. Was dancing with a girl when she got stolen away by one of the other characters. Absolutely cucked.

Aurora Maravella (f)

Race & Class: Half-elf sorcerer

Accent: none

Fun fact: Of noble background with wild magic. Developed motherly relationship with one of the other player characters. Had a golem she also treated like a child. One of the players made little clay figures for everyone. Aurora is now a permanent fixture shoved in the plastic container of the only set of dice I use.

Benni Bartok (m)

Race & Class: Halfling Rogue

Accent: the exact voice from the funny little bat in the Anastasia movie

Fun fact: Just a guy. But like, good this time. Only a bit of a criminal due to his background, but just a guy. Absolutely loved doing the accent. Everyone's fun uncle. I want to bring him back again.

Sheriquin Florenzio (f)

Race & Class: Half-orc Barbarian

Accent: judgmental

Fun fact: Only played once actually. But she was like, a pretty orc. Had one funny moment where I was talking to a nerd kid and I poured my ramen into his overfilling it. You had to be there.

Kai Dwyn-Eyre (f)

Race & Class: Triton Warlock

Accent: None

Fun fact: Warlock but Intelligence based. Out there to learn and be a scribe. Got the recipe for goat cheese. Hell yeah. It's possible something happened to her family. Idk

Jackie Justice (f)

Race & Class: Human Fighter

Accent: deeper voice, dude-bro

Fun fact: Drinks her own breast milk. That uhh... that kind of accidentally happened. My friends won't let me live that one down. Talks a lot about the old "college buddies".

Marigold Abernathy (f)

Race & Class: Human Ranger / Dilettante Harlequin when we switched to Pulp Cthulhu

Accent: Posh British

Fun fact: Part of the 1950's housewives campaign. Had an affair with the hot blacksmith Jack because her husband was awful but it turns out Jack was just being paid off to keep her busy. She killed Jack upon hearing this (girl power). Fell in love at age 15 to a boy her her father would never accept (because racism) and sent to boarding school when she became pregnant. Baby was given up and never seen again. Had to learn to become a mother when her husband (before he died due to zombies, dont worry about it) adopted a random French child that didn't speak any English. But the relationship between Marigold and Geneviève naturally grew and now she loves the child. Always looking for a nice man to actually love her.

I mostly play dnd just for the improv roleplay and coming up with weird ways to solve a problem, im not super into historical lore or fighting. Worldbuilding is hit or miss but it should be fun and grounded. I care so much more about the quirky person selling me shoes that I can talk to about their wife leaving them and encourage him to yes, finally ask the bar maid out, than I do about patrons or gods or planes of existence or prophecies or things like that.

there they are

i also DM'd a oneshot once and came prepared with maps and puzzles and music and physical notes that people could find and read.

[ifjgh]

For the last of the girlies, Hippie Queen Supreme, Shelby Moore.

Here's some basic info! <3

Goes By: Shelby Nicknames: Shel, (Insert Possible DJ/Radio Host Name Her) DOB: Jul. 11th, 1954 Age: 23 (Summer B-Day, so it stays the same throughout the story) Gender: Female, but isn't picky about it (She/Her/They/Them) Sexuality: Bi/Pan Ethnicity: African-American Occupation: Student (Psychology Major), DJ/Radio Host for a Local Radio Station, Possible side-job, everyone usually goes to her for Counseling, but it's not exactly her ”job“ Socioeconomic Status: Slightly Lower-Middle Class, grew up fairly carefree though Place of Birth: San Francisco, California, USA Family: Takes after her Mother's (South African) Hippie-esq nature, ever since her Father (American) was drafted into the Army Height: 5'5” Weight: 125lbs. Disabilities: None(?) Fashion Style: Hippie Coordination (or lack thereof): Slow, but not a clutz, pretty on top of things actually, most likely the one to catch something falling that one of the others knocked over Personality Type/Trait: Mediator - Poetic, Kind, Unselfish, Always Happy to help a friend Introvert/Extrovert: Extrovert, always wanting to know anything she can about people, most of the time she doesn't even have to go out of her way to hear the latest gossip, people just naturally come to her and info-dump, makes things easy for her Intelligence: Slightly Above Average, doesn't' have to worry about grades, it all comes to her naturally. Very good at helping people with their emotions and always has some sort of “Artsy Sage Wisdom” that is sometimes helpful Self-Esteem: Average, doesn't care for looks, and she knows she's needed, one way or another Hobbies: Catching up with the Hottest Tracks, Mending/Making her own clothes, Reading Poetry, Chilling out to music in her room/office, Adding to her Impressive Record Collection Skills/Talents: Faith, Optimism, Living Music Encyclopedia, Great Counselor, Decent Singer, Great Seamstress Loves: Chill tunes, Poetry, Gossip, Good Vibes Phobias/Fears: Being late for her DJ/Radio Host job (she really likes it and is the only thing that gets her out of bed), People not genuinely hanging out with her, and only using her for advice, Thunderstorms, Her Record Player/Records Breaking Angered By: People Hiding things from her, People touching her records without permission (Watch yourself, BeeDee) Pet Peeves: People taking forever to get ready in the morning (Beedee…), Bland Food Obsessed With: Music, Gossip Bad Habits: Eavesdropping, Not Messy-But Disorganized (not including her Record collection, that's Alphabetized), Can come off as Lazy Desires: To be Happy, and to spread that happiness with everyone, real Hippie Hours here Flaws: Lazy, Slow Secrets: As chill as she may come off, she's constantly worried that no one really likes her. If she doesn't know an answer to a music related question (which is rare), she'll just make something up that's sounds true. All the Gossip and Dirt she has on every one can be shared, but for a price. Regrets: Not being able to fully help everyone, since they can really only help themselves. Being a bit harsh to Beedee after finding stuff out about her, she just rubbed Shelby the wrong way initially. Accomplishments: Was top of her Class in High School, which paid her way into Collage. Whenever her Father was home he'd teach her how to protect herself, which gave her an advantage in her Martial Arts Classes she used to take, won a few competitions. Languages Known: Fluent in English, Afrikaans, some French and Russian (from Lucya as her Roommate), some 'Ōlelo Hawai'i, Vietnamese, and Italian (from hanging out with Keo and Attilio)

(Things are subject to change the more I get things fine tuned, I've also kept some things secret for the time being. - Crow <3)

Bonus! Basic Profile Sheet, for funsies! X