#i rarely write younger muses

[symp4nat]

heyo!! Can you write a clarisse x apollo reader fic where everything reader tries to write or draw it ends up being about her. Some of her siblings saw it and began teasing her about it. Eventually, Clarisse finds out about it and tries to draw reader and give it toher, shes all shy about it bait doesn't look that good but reader doesn't care and loves it anyway, also they get together

thanks :)

Crayons

clarisse la rue x reader

warnings - wee bit suggestive

Your girlfriend lingered somewhere around camp, you already had asked her to give you space. No, you weren't in an argument, you just wanted some alone time. To draw.

Usually, you'd draw at night time, in the dimness of the moonlight, but recently, that wouldn't suffice. Daylight was undoubtedly the appropriate time to do something like this, but the fear that you'd get caught had you in shambles.

You were a singer, a poet, a songwriter. Although you usually could write without a muse, you couldn't imagine a life without Clarisse as your muse now. Except, you couldn't stop. It was like Clarisse was your favourite candy, you were addicted.

Everything you did had a secret connotation that somehow led back to her. She was the emblem of your creativity.

"Hey, you," Clarisse said excitedly as she barged into your cabin and plopped onto your bed. Anddd.... your gentle moment of bliss had dissipated. Her head leaned onto your shoulder and you tucked your notebook away while leaning your cheek onto her head.

Your fingers managed to find a way to intertwine themselves with hers and you mumbled, "How was your day?" She shrugged and hummed in response. Her legs entangled with yours and she straddled your lap and your eyes widened.

Clarisse quickly grabbed your notebook and rolled off of you. You gasped and lunged onto her to grab it. A few of your siblings walked in and they looked at you in surprise, in shock; they had assumed the worst. "No, I swear," you exclaimed.

They giggled out and one of your younger siblings grasped the notebook from Clarisse, "Hope you don't have dad's luck with love."

With a gasp, your notebook was snatched from your siblings as they observed it dramatically. Clarisse's eyes skimmed over the pages that fell open and you closed it before you could embarrass yourself even further. You stuffed the notebook in a lockbox and shooed your siblings out.

A sigh left your lips and you rested your head on Clarisse's chest. "Shut up," you groaned as you felt her about to say something.

-

A rare sight was met as big, bad Clarisse sat at the Arts & Crafts table with all the younger kids. She was also interacting with them, happily. Which wasn't usual.

A pack of crayons sat next to a paper on the table she was at and she didn't spare a glance at the people sending awful, judgmental stares.

Her new friends helped her scribble on the white sheet of printer paper. She showed the paper proudly to all the kids and they cheered. Clarisse leaped up and ran to the Apollo cabin. She opened the door and shoved the paper in your face. "Look," she said excitedly.

You beamed and held the paper away from your face to examine it. It was a drawing of you and her, holding hands. It looked like an eight year old drew it, but she did, your eight year old drew it, your Clarisse.

A soft, bubbly laugh erupted from your throat and you thanked her. You pinned it up on your headboard as she rambled, "I.. um... sorry if it's bad, I tried and the kids helped me, I just thought it's a good little gif-"

She was cut off by your lips on hers and she melted into your embrace. "It's cute, I love it, I love you. Thank you," you mumbled against her lips.

[reiniesainyo]

IN BETWEEN. charlie bushnell x reader – 01

01 | SPARKS FLY previous | next | masterfile

SYNPOSIS. when a girl's co-star is good to her and now she wants it more than everything in between. (smau)

A/N. this chapter is more like world building (it's where i explain what the fuck i'm doing with the YN okay)

The "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" series at Disney+ has added an unexpected pick to its growing cast.

The new live-action series is based on the hugely successful novels from author Rick Riordan of the same title. We will be seeing YN LN join the series as Rina Velasco, one of the supporting characters of the show.

LN's Rina Velasco is referred to as "the offspring of The Muses, goddesses of the sciences and the arts." Unlike most other demigods, she is born out of the artistic and scientific output of the muses. When the moral ingenuity of humans meets the divine musings of The Muses. Her character is described as a unique allrounder who becomes a mentor figure to our main cast as they embark on their journey.

This will be LN's first on-screen role of her career. LN's experience mostly lies in Broadway, she is known for playing Kim in the Miss Saigon revival on Broadway. LN was nominated for a Tony in 2022 for the same role. She is repped by Salonga/Chien Entertainment and B817 Agency.

Riordan posted on the Meta app, Threads, about this update to the casting saying: "YN was one of the actors we didn't expect to see a tape of but when we saw it, we couldn't help but fall in love with her. She embodies the spirit of Rina so well and is such a kind spirit, we can't wait for you to fall in love with her too! Welcome to the cast, YN!"

The live-action show is based on Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson book series. It tells the fantastical tale of the titular 12-year-old modern demigod (Scobell), who's just coming to terms with his newfound supernatural powers when the sky god Zeus accuses him of stealing his master lightning bolt. With help from his friends Grover (Simhadri) and Annabeth (Jeffries), Percy must embark on an adventure of a lifetime to find it and restore order to Olympus.

Production on the show is now underway in Vancouver. Riordan and Jon Steinberg are writing the pilot with James Bobin directing. Steinberg and his producing partner Dan Shotz are overseeing the series and serve as executive producers alongside Bobin, Rick Riordan, Rebecca Riordan, Bert Salke, Monica Owusu-Breen, Jim Rowe, Anders Engström, Jet Wilkinson, and Gotham Group's Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Jeremy Bell, and D.J. Goldberg. 20th Television is the studio. Salke was formerly the president of Touchstone Television and originally put the show into development.

liked by percyseries, iamcharliebushnell, and 37,789 others thelnarchive the child of the muses @percyseries

percyseries OUR MUSE!

user1 this is literally perfect casting who cried i did ↳ user2 she's so rina coded! thank the gods for the casting directors

iamcharliebushnell only muse in my life ↳ thlnarchive only traveler in my life ↳ user3 the way filming hasn't started and they're already like this ↳ user4 their chemistry is chemistry-ing

user5 roman empire. she is my roman empire.

dior.n.goodjohn i LOVE LOVE LOVE women ↳ thelnarchive HELP i love you

user6 this is so fcking random but i NEED her in a taylor swift music video

A/N i truly hope you guys can forgive the horrible editing in the pictures. the article portion is based on (and has some parts that are directly pulled from) this article from variety ! here's some succint information about rina velasco, the PJO character YN LN plays (and is my childhood OC!) - rina velasco, filipino, 18 years old (year younger than luke) - she's an offspring of the muses, not directly a child or daughter, though she may be referred as such - by her being an offspring of the muses, i mean that she was born in the same way athena's children are born. - but in rina's case she's more like a weird conglomeration of each muse. her birth is a rare event, but her mothers are honored as minor goddesses so she stayed in the apollo cabin (connection to music) - rina operates as a guidance figure for the main trio, especially annabeth - she's also luke's love interest, there's a lot of tragicness and doomed romance stuff with those two - and for the sake of everyone, we pretend like the weird i love you from the books didn't happen !

[parvulous-writings]

It may come to absolutely no surprise to you but.......I have a preference to Halsin in BG3.

If you have any desire to write some fluff......If I could gift this man some honey comb in a jar with a handkerchief wrapped around the top, and there is a duck stitched on the corner of the cloth. I would. Cuz I really wanna. 💕

Words: 2.06K

Notes: Honestly, I do not blame you! Who couldn't love this big bear of a man? He's amazing! Takes place after the main game plot <3 My requests are currently open, though limited! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Halsin Silverbough - Archdruid and friend to many - was an absolute sweetheart, through and through. It was no secret that this strong hulk of a man was not only reasonable when it came to conflict, but actively sought the betterment of those around him. He sought it so actively, in fact, that he rarely ever left time for himself. He was always so ingrained or focused on what he thought needed to be done to right what wrong he could, that he gave little thought to when he may need to just take a step back, and relax. So, you took it upon yourself to give him the opportunity to.

Of course, being the lover of the Archdruid comes with some perks; one of those being that you knew everyone within the Grove. One of the younger druids, a young halfling named Barnan, had taken up beekeeping once the druids had re-settled, and that gave you the perfect idea for Halsin's little treat. "Good morning, Barnan!" You greet the shorter figure as you approach, glass jar in hand. Barnan jumps, startled by your somewhat sudden appearance. "I was wondering if you could lend me a hand.." You chuckle lightly, as Barnan recovers. "Oh, but of course-" He says quickly, patting down the apron that he so often wore over his normal plain clothes. "What is it that you need?" He asks you, a smile starting to spread over his face.

"I was hoping to get Halsin a little something... He's been practically run off of his feet again recently, and I think he deserves a treat..." You explain, not getting too into all the details, but giving the Halfling enough to know that it was important to you. He nods enthusiastically, turning to the shelves he had pitched up outside his little shack; "Let me see if I have anything that might take his fancy..." He muses, tapping gently at his chin. "Actually, I had something in mind already..." You gently tell him, and as he turns, you hold up the glass jar you had brought with you. "Halsin likes honey - I was wondering if one of your hives could spare some honeycomb for him?" Barnan blinks, then begins to nod, reaching for the jar. "Oh, but of course, of course! Let me take that for you..." He then pauses, looking at the jar for a moment, almost... Concerned. "Are you quite sure this will be enough..?" He turns his gaze back to you for a moment. You seem almost shocked - that was one of the larger jars you had found. Though, looking at it now... You supposed Barnan had a point - Halsin naturally had a large appetite. "Do you have a larger jar?" You ask after a moment's pause, and Barnan grins. "I wouldn't be a very good beekeeper if I didn't, now, would I?" He replied, making you laugh. "I'll grab one for you," He tells you as he hands you your jar back. "Wait here, I shan't be long.." You nod and move to take a seat on a stool Barnan often sits on in the morning - he loves his spot here, with a perfect view of the morning sun.

The breeze is lovely; warm and inviting, and carrying the many scents of the various wildflowers that are nearby, that grow all over the grove in fact. Branan really knew how to pick a good spot for himself to stay - and an even better for his beehives. There wasn't much that you considered 'perfect', but this place? A place so gorgeous, and the home of those you held so dear? This was perfect, without a doubt. Lost in your thoughts, you're unsure of how much time actually passes whilst Barnan retrieves some honeycomb for you. When he returns, he's carrying in incredibly large jar in his arms. "You're in luck," He pants to you, as he places the filled jar on the grass by your legs, "There was a fair deal of surplus comb in all the hives - I really should be keeping on top of them more, this far into summer... Ah well, I just suppose the days have been getting away from me!" He laughs. You chuckle along with him. "Thank you, Barnan... I really appreciate this..." You get to your feet, leaning down to pick up the jar with both hands. "Oh it's no trouble, no trouble at all... Give Master Halsin my regards!" "Of course - I wouldn't dream of neglecting to mention your help," You muse. "Have a good day, friend." You smile at him, and Barnan gives a nod, still smiling warmly. "And to you, my friend."

And with that, you start the short walk back to yours and Halsin's shared quarters, deeper in the Grove. It's always a pleasant walk - whether it's in the middle of the day, or the dead of night. During the day, you're greeted with polite 'hellos' and 'how are you's', and at night, you get to bask in the blissful sounds of nature as the world sleeps. By the time you manage to get back to your shared space, Halsin is already awake, half dressed, and lumbering out into the near midday sun. He stretches, basking in the warmth the light blesses him with, as you quickly try to hide the jar behind your back, not quite ready to give him the gift. "Good morning, my heart.." He greets you, smiling lovingly down at you. "I see you did not wake me..." He muses as he moves a bit closer. "May I ask why?" "I just thought that you deserved a bit of a rest... You haven't given much time for yourself recently, and I think you should." You reply, nodding as you spoke. Halsin starts to nod with you, humming quietly in agreement. He could find no fault in your answer. He starts to chuckle lightly; "Sometimes I feel like you know me better than even I know myself," He tells you, opening his arms and stepping forward for a hug. You quickly duck under his arm, spinning round before he can see the honey pot you're concealing with your torso. Halsin's head turns, trying to catch up with where you've flitted to, his expression portraying his almost comical bafflement. "My love..?" He starts, trailing off mid-sentence. "No you haven't done anything." You quickly clear up for him, giving him a smile of reassurance. "Then why do you dodge my embrace, hm?" "I have a surprise for you," You divulge, your tone almost cheeky. "And it'd be an awful shame to ruin it." Halsin can't help but laugh a little bit at this - he thinks himself almost foolish for so quickly jumping to the idea that you would recoil from his embrace, and your audacious tone did also amuse him so. "Alright, I shall... Let it go, this time." He teases. "I hope that the surprise will be ready before this evening, so I may embrace you at least once today..." "It will, it will... So long as you actually let me go continue preparing it.." You tease, and Halsin bows his head a bit in laughter. "As you wish, my love..." He murmurs. "I shall leave you to whatever antics you've managed to entrench yourself in today... Just don't get into trouble." He warns, only half joking. You roll your eyes playfully at him, before ducking inside, and out of his sight.

You're quick to rummage through what belongings you have to find the sewing kit you keep, mainly for clothing repairs, picking out a larger needle than normal, alongside some yellow thread. You set to work carefully, threading the needle carefully through the corner of the cloth that covers the honey jar, keeping it safe from bugs and other wandering hands. The little image comes together rather quickly and with a splash of other colours - a dash of black, and orange - you've finished your little project, and before you sits a embroidered duck chick. You admire it for a moment, proud of it. You know for a fact, that Halsin will love this - even if you weren't as proud of it as you were now, he'd still love it. You push yourself to your feet after a moment or so of making sure that you're satisfied, making your way out into the sun again. You shield your eyes with one hand, cradling the jar in your arm much like a baby. It doesn't take you long to find Halsin, knife and woodblock in hand, carefully chipping away at the carving he's started. You stroll towards him, smile growing on your face as you wait for him to notice you. "Ah, my heart..." Halsin starts, his gaze still focused on the block of wood as he carves. "I thought today may be a good opportunity to finally set about making us some new utensils.." He tells you, before finally glancing up. His jaw goes a bit slack, before he starts to laugh. "This was your surprise?" He asks you, as you present the honeycomb to him. "It is indeed... Do you like it?" "Like it? My love, I'm not quite sure how to express my thanks... You really did mean it when you thought I deserved time for myself, hm?" "Oh, I wouldn't say something I don't mean... I know better than that.." You muse quietly. "Barnan also sends his regards..." You grunt softly as you move to sit beside him. He leans over to you and presses a kiss to your cheek, and you can feel the smile still on his lips. "I shall thank him when I see him next..." He tells you as he moves to take the cloth-lid off of the jar, pausing to chuckle at the embroidered duck. "And I presume this is your handiwork?" He asks you, turning the corner of the cloth slightly towards you to show you. You nod at him. "Such a small detail..." The elf muses, smiling as he ran his thumb over the stitches. "Thank you, my love. Truly." He takes off the cloth, placing it on his lap for later, and before you can say anything else to him, his hand is in the jar, grasping for some of the sweet comb inside. You can't help but laugh at the sight - but you knew there was nothing you'd be able to do to stop him. He ignores you, choosing to focus instead on crunching down on the sweet treat you'd procured for him. He practically groans as the taste hits his tongue, and your grin stretches ever wider. "Enjoying yourself, my love?" You ask him, and he nods hurriedly as he takes another mouthful of honeycomb; you start to wonder if it's even touching the sides at this point. "Slow down, you don't want to eat it all in one sitting, do you?" You tease, and at this, he does slow down a little bit. He pauses for a moment, honey dripping off of his hand and into the jar as he finishes his mouthful. He then brings his hand towards your mouth. "Open," He prompts gently, and you comply, soon tasting the same sweet honey you had gifted to your partner.

As he pulls his hand away to eat the rest of the honey stuck to it himself, you give another quiet chuckle. "I didn't think you'd want to share this treat - I wasn't expecting you to." You tell him, and he picks up another chunk of comb, handing it to you. "I know you didn't expect me to. But with you, my love, I would share all of nature's bounty... It is not for one person to hoard it to themselves, it is to be shared and revelled in.." He says, rather sagely, as you bite into the crunchy snack he had bestowed upon you. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about honeycomb." You teased him, smirking as you did. "Of course I do. And don't talk with your mouth full." He playfully chides, gently bumping his shoulder into yours. You both lapse into a comfortable silence after that, sharing the honey and gazing out on the landscape that you call home. It's a peaceful moment, and one that both you and Halsin will certainly treasure for a very, very long time.

[oonajaeadira]

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it. 

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall. 

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante. 

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet. 

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311? 

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services. 

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders. 

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to. 

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink. 

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities. 

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[vampylily]

Notes from the new Rolling Stones Japan article with Pete and Patrick Pt.1 :

[WARNING: The article is in Japanese, I'm not a Japanese speaker. I'm machine translating the article from Japanese to Korean & English, and then doing paraphrasing in English. Thus, the wording is not entirely accurate, and may contain errors. Please don't consider this as a proper translation. This is so I can have a reference more than anything. ]

When the interviewer noted Patrick's Los Crudos t-shirt, he responded enthusiastically that it was a Chicago band! Pete was in a Napalm Death t-shirt.

Interviewer asked about how Summer Sonic was, especially since it was their first since 2019. Patrick said the show went like they hoped, which rarely happens (lol). Said Japanese audiences are special. He gets asked about how concerts in Japan are, but it's hard to explain unless you experience it. Said can't explain it well, but there's a lot of give and take of energy.

Interviewer asked about Pete saying there was a song inspired by Japan on the SMFS album. Pete said "The Kintsugi Kid" was the song about how he felt when he was in Japan, it's obvious by the title. "The Kintsugi Kid'' bridges "I Am My Own Muse" and "So Much (For) Stardust." Said Patrick wrote the songs but in his interpretation, the sonic landscape of the song reminds him of Japan.

Patrick said he's always been quite influenced by Japan, especially on this album. Said people might not register it from the sound, but he's been influenced by the Yellow Magic Orchestra & their synthesizer sounds. He didn't use much synthesizer on the album but a lot of the songs started with synthesizers. He got the same synthesizer Yellow Magic Orchestra used and started writing songs from there. He's a big fan of Studio Ghibli movies and loves Joe Hisaishi's music. Said when doing string/orchestra horn arrangements, he wanted to create a sound that was as appealing to the heart/poignant as his. Even though their music/sound was completely different, he wanted to try it. Said he especially tried to evoke the feeling he got on "The Pink Seashell."

Interviewer asked about TTTYG's 20th anniversary and how they could have done an anniversary tour but they didn't and instead released SMFS with gusto.

Pete said the most important thing is that you stick to what you think is right. Said there was a punk band he liked when he was younger, and they didn't change at all. Talked about how artists like David Bowie or the Clash changed their styles to almost unrecognizable lengths and how some fans left because of it. But when he listens to the albums after getting older, he can reflect on his own changes and find new appreciation for songs he might not have liked at the time.

Pete said celebrating the past too much feels patronizing and not very fall out boy-like. They continue making new music, sometimes they succeed, sometimes they don't. Even if something doesn't work out as well, he's like [it is what it is/that happens], and that some people might say they liked it. He's got albums he likes and albums he dislikes from his own favourite artists. Said they always make new albums that challenge their past works. Of course they hope people like it, but getting good reviews/being appreciated isn't the only reason they continue making music.

Patrick said he doesn't like making an album to celebrate the 20th anniversary, or having an anniversary to showcase past songs. Reasons was that first, the past songs are always in rotation in their sets so they don't stop playing them. Second, like Pete said, they prefer to keep pursuing new music and that stance hasn't changed from 20 years ago. Said deviating from that feels dishonest like they're lying to themselves.

Pete was like [it's how Steven Spielberg didn't make E.T. Part 2.] Patrick was like [exactly!] and said that being honest with themselves was their pure form.

also there's a page 2 to the article but i'm tired :[. they talk about "emo" changing from a specific music genre to the word entering the mainstream vernacular, patrick talked about how when they started out they didin't consider themselves "emo," they were a hardcore band. said he liked playing hardcore though when he sang people used to tell him his voice was too cute. they focused on making the music they wanted to, and before they knew it, they were being called "emo." Pete talked about the word, how it encompasses too much, feeling restricted by that in the past, etc. Talked about wanting to become like Metallica in that the word Metallica has becomes its own thing, Metallica doesn't need a description, etc. Patrick talked about perfoming in Japan, from small venues way earlier to now, etc

-

-

I love long FOB articles and I quite liked this one.

Love that Patrick talked about musical inspirations and SMFS. It’s so cool to hear because I love how beautiful and grand the sounds are in SMFS, even with spoken tracks like The Pink Seashell or Baby Annihilation. 

Also him buying the same synthesizers is so real. He’s a music nerd <3 

They’ve been consistently talking about always wanting to make new music and looking to the future instead of the past. And getting questions about their sound changing since forever haha.

It's really cool that they're very self aware and how convinced they are about making new music. Love that Pete can look back at older albums and find new appreciation for them. I’d be down for another half dozen FOB albums if they are, so (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

The new Pete and Patrick photos!!! They've got such pretty eyes <333

[ghostofaboy]

Personal Armor

Summary: Danse muses about what he likes about Nate and his thoughts drift to Cutler.

Pairing: Danse/Cutler (past) Rating: General | Word count: 546

Notes: My first time writing for Fallout. This has not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with mentions of gay/bi characters. Dividers: @saradika-graphics

If he had to put it into words, Danse would say he wished he had Nate’s way with people. While he knew he could command troops in battle and give informative debriefs, Danse knew he struggled when it came to forming connections and relationships. He thought he could remember a time when he was younger when it was easier, but when he really took the time to focus on those memories one cold night while he watched Nate talk yet another settlement into joining the Minutemen, Danse realized that it was all Cutler.

Back in Rivet City, Cutler had been the one who always made the deals, made the friends, talked to security on the rare occasions that the pair ran a foul of them. Perhaps that had been why Danse felt so drawn to the strange vault dweller he often found himself travelling with now. Nate reminded him of Cutler.

Not physically, of course. At would have been too much, even after all this time. But Danse could see it now in Nate’s mannerisms, his attitude and his sense of humor. Danse would smile to himself sometimes as he realizes that they would have gotten along so well.

But it also makes him sad, just as thinking about Cutler always does. So Danse stopped thinking about Cutler and decided to think about Nate instead. 

He thought about the way Nate laughs and the way he goes out of his way to talk to everyone when he arrives in a settlement. How he goes off on odd personal missions of behalf of people he barely knows in exchange for caps or junk. How he looks when he’s exhausted as the sun starts to dip below the horizon and the sky begins to get dark.

Nate is charming, easily striking up conversation, and Danse has found himself on more than one occasion telling him all about Cutler. Even the end. Even though it still hurts like it was yesterday. And Nate did what Nate does best and talks to Danse. About his wife, about his worries, about how he’d like to build a life. 

But amazingly, Nate also listened. He listened as Danse starts to awkwardly share personal information. He listened with that beautiful smile on his handsome face, while Danse remembered fun moments with Cutler he’d long pushed into the back of his mind. He listened with a hand on Danse’s own, while Danse laughs louder and longer than he had in a long time.

After Nate had gone to sleep, Danse found himself watching him, wondering if there could ever be something more between them. He’d never dared open up that side of himself, not since Cutler. Their last night together had been rushed, with neither of them realizing it would be the last time they would touch each other, hold each other, love each other. 

The next day Cutler had gone out on that damn patrol and Danse’s world had changed forever. As Nate sleeps, Danse knows that he wouldn’t survive going through that again. Perhaps that’s why he won’t make the first move. Why he knows it will have to be Nate that will have to pursue him. Because he can’t bring himself to step out of the shell he’s crafted around himself. 

[joannerowling]

i'm just disappointed that the fandom latched onto the marauders and teens and do the most boring gay male ships imaginable out of them while basically no one but me thinks that the dynamic between lily and petunia is interesting to explore. disappointed but not surprised, because i know the fandom thinks writing (bad, homophobic) out of character yaoi is more fun than exploring literally any female characters (especially if they can't write sex into it). disappointed nonetheless.

You and me both. I'm doubly interested in Lily and Petunia's relationship because i can't stop myself from comparing it to Jo and her sister Dianne's relationship. (Truly, in general, siblings relationships fly under the radar a lot in this fandom, it's all about shipping, but when you look at canon the deepest and messiest dynamics are all familial. And it makes sense for a child lit series, i think! Fairy tales follow that very pattern, romantic issues rarely feature in them, even when the pursuit of a love interest is central to the plot; whereas parents and siblings are more complex, they can be the hero's strongest ally or enemy.)

Anyways, i'm endlessly fascinated by the fact that Jo mimicked her own familial structure with the Evans specifically, and the character she put in her own position - the older sister - is Petunia, who is jealous of her younger, prettier and kinder sister and of her literal magical powers.

I mean, it could have been the opposite, right? The older sister could have been Harry's talented and beloved deceased mother, but that's not the choice Jo made. We'll never know if she did it consciously or not but imo it kinda gives out a self-deprecating nature. I'm only speculating but it's possible she at some point shared some of the feelings of resentment Petunia has for Lily. We know from interviews that the Rowlings had a bizarre way of referring to their daughters as "the Smart One" (Jo) and "the Pretty One" (Dianne) which without overblowing it doesn't feel like something that would have been good for either of their self-esteem.

However, unlike Lily and Petunia, JKR and her sister are very close, in fact Dianne Rowling was the one who helped her after her first marriage ended and she came back to the UK. She dedicated Philosopher's Stone to her (alongside her mother and daughter). So perhaps she built Petunia as a version of herself that could have existed had she been unable to move on from old hurt or rivalry (again, all of that is speculative and my own musings).

Regardless of biographical connections, i find Petunia a very compelling character. Vernon Dursley is a great caricature (whose echoes continue to entertain in Jo's later adult books), but Petunia feels real past the satire. The way i see her, she's a deeply self-hating person who clings to "normalcy" because she feels abnormal inside. People don't naturally like her, she doesn't have Lily's charisma and easy personality, she's difficult. When she calls Lily a "freak", it's obviously a projection, she uses the insult she secretly would apply to herself. It doesn't make her too dissimilar from the likes of Hermione (especially since Hermione was supposed to have a little sister too!), and so i can't help but find her a bit sympathetic, despite her terrible life choices, cowardice and refusal to self-reflect. Much like Snape, she was terrible to Harry but she also saved his life.

[colibrie]

Confrontations: Bullseye, Krang.

This installation wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for @trilobitepunch. Not only is she responsible for the amazing art, but she got me through when life and writer's block hit me hard. Parts of the writing here is hers, and I am so greatful for her input and her patience.

There were three truths, as fundamental to the foundation of universe as the force. The first was that strength always prevailed. The second was that there were many, many ways to exert one’s strength. The third was opportunities were rare, and thus every one was to be exploited to the fullest. Krang had always known these rules, and had followed them faithfully even when trapped within the sanctimonious confines of the Jedi order.

They had kept him sharp when others had become complacent, had kept him focused when arrogance had blinded that pompous council to what lay right under their upturned noses. He had seen and seized the opportunity of the Empire. He alone strode from the smoldering ruins of the temple, ready for what lay ahead. And next to the emperor, he alone understood the art, the sever beauty, that lay within the dark side of the force. Unlike the other imbecilic inquisitors, or the emperors simpering apprentice, he knew that killing jedi was a waste, and torture alone was lazy. The best paths to breaking a jedi were often the slowest. Pressure was key, but timing was everything.

His longest running projects had just handed him two gilded prospects. Two force sensitives, unaware and untrained. Two individuals his masterpiece had taken pains to hide not just from Krang, but from his own flesh. He could practically taste the potential, feel the scales of the force teetering to-and-fro. Whoever these two were, they were essential, the missing piece to complete his magnum opus. Two lambs, perfect for the sacrifice. He just had to think…

A knock shattered the silence within his office, bringing him back to the present, and his waiting opponent.

Earlier than he’d expected, but he would adapt.

“Enter.”

Heavy footsteps shuffled across the floor, armor clicking and clanking as its wearer snapped into a salute. Determination and fear flooded the air in a sweet and sour scent, and he allowed himself a brief, hungry grin before schooling his face into a stern scowl.

“I don’t recall sending for you, Inquisitor,” Krang mused, sinking back into his desk chair. He laced his claws togethers as he swiveled to face his visitor. Raphael. The simple brute was less of a challenge than his prodigy brother, yet he possessed characteristics that were their own unique form of intriguing. Ones that made him worthy to play the game.

“I trust you have a good reason for this interruption.”

“I do, sir,” Raph replied, massive body shifting with discomfort as his gaze flickered between the red eye of the mech suit and his golden eyes. It was an easy opening move. The indecision and anxiety of which to maintain eye contact with was such a simple means to discomfit the weaker chattel within the Empires ranks. From whole suites of pompous admirals, intoxicated with their engorged egos and perceived importance to ranks of pawn level inquisitors, all could be caught wrong footed without having to exert himself.

He let the tension build, keeping his face the picture of cold indifference as Raphael’s shoulders slowly bowed inward, as his eyes finally settled on some far point over Krangs shoulder. Signs of submission. Finally, Krang raised a hand, claws skimming the air in ambiguous invitation.

“Then speak but make it brief. I am busy.”

“It was Raph’s fault the mission failed,” Raphael reported, hands tightly clasped behind his back as his eyes remained fixed on their chosen spot. “I underestimated the younger targets’ agility an took out one of the ruins supporting walls. Donatello nearly had the other target apprehended before the place came down. I figured you should know before you start deciding punishments.”

“I see,” Krang hummed, anticipation building. “Are you so eager for punishment?”

“I own my messes,” Raph growled, chest swelling slightly as his eyes finally drifted to meet Krangs own. Something shone in their depths, a molten red that Krang relished seeing. Now, the true game could begin. “Donatello woulda been successful otherwise. He doesn’t deserve punishment.”

“You forget yourself inquisitor. That decision does not lie with you. Do you require a reminder?”

“No! I... I’m sorry." Ah, but how quickly he backtracked, those brilliant carmine emotions running so hot then cold. His boldness was perhaps admirable, if ill formed and entirely misplaced. Krang waited, fingers drumming steadily against the metal of his desk as the stocky young Inquisitor reigned in his resolve once more. "But really, it was my fault! Please, ya can’t punish Don.”

There it was. The thing that made Krangs time and efforts worthwhile. Earnest fidelity spread wide like herald’s banner for all to see. A pillar of strength that refused to bend or cede, no matter how the darkside of the force crashed against it. It was a trait that once would have been hailed by the Order, the dead Order that would also have ironically condemned the very bond that fed into it. The bond of brotherhood... While not an intelligent player, Raphael would still perform above and beyond expected parameters for his brother's sake.

It was harder to hold back his hunger for dominance, to keep the smirk he felt from surfacing upon his face as he thought of the earlier debriefing. How hard Donatello had fought to control himself, to control the flow and shape of the information reported. The silent symphonic devastation that had slowly built as his witless older brother revealed everything, placing yet another victory squarely in Krangs crown. Young Donatello’s mind was Krangs to command, and it was a far more effective punishment than any of the physical penalties preferred by the indolent thugs within the Empire’s ranks.

Yet Raphael had presented the opportunity, and Krang never let an opportunity go to waste. It was time for the next phase.     

 He remained aloof as he intoned the rule, one he knew Raphael to be aware of, savoring each step as their game drew closer to its inevitable climax.

“Punishments are shared. There are no exceptions.”

“I-”

Krang silenced him off with a look, his next words subtly sweet as they rolled off his tongue. “However, the proportions of said punishments can be…adjusted.”

“A-Adjusted?”

The elder brothers face lit with the light of a false hope. The snare was set. All that was required now was a final push…

“Since you confess that the failure was primarily yours, you may choose to take on half of Inquisitor Donatello’s punishment in addition to your own.”

“I do! I mean, I will!” Raphael blurted all too eagerly.

This time Krang very nearly did smile, savage glee making it difficult to manage the façade of bored acceptance.

“Very well,” he straightened just a touch, brandishing his claws in a casually sweeping gesture towards the door. “The isolation chamber awaits.”

He sat back, savoring every moment as the snare snapped tight.

 Raphael paled, pupils dilating as his whole body shuddered in primal terror. It was as satisfying as watching Donatello try to hide his spiraling collapse, watching as the pillar trembled, tiny microfractures hidden within its foundation spreading like broken wings. The banner faltered, colors fading as darkness loomed.

“Th-e…the isolation…”

“Changed our mind already, have we?" Krang scoffed, one claw coming up to mockingly tap the edge of his face plate, glancing dismissively down at the documents on his desk as though intending to resume his prior tasks. "Very well, Donatello’s punishment will be-”

“NO!"

The dread from the other side of the desk was palpable, its progenitor so tightly coiled that Krang half-expected the boy to lunge at him. Some part of him, the part that sang for battle and conquest half hoped the fool would do it. He arrested the urge as he watched Raphael wrestle with himself before taking a step forward. Eyes filled with miserable determination dropped to the floor, head bowing in defeat as his arm slowly rose to a salute of surrender.

“No, I…Permission to begin my punishment, sir?”

“Granted," Krang replied, putting weight into the word like it were a sentencing. Raphael nodded, body shuffling away, blind to the wolfish smirk that had finally slipped across his superior’s face. A few quick taps to his personal consol, and Krang was leaning forward in his chair, grin now a full-blown sneer as he watched Raphael curl up into the smallest physical ball within the isolation chamber, head buried deep in the circle of his arms as he slowly swayed side to side.

“I wonder how long he’ll last this time,” he idly mused to the ether, eyeing the deep, overlapping claw marks gouged into the walls. “Perhaps he’ll make things interesting and go for a full two hours. Heh.”

The shadows of the room swallowed the tartness of his laugh, heavy hush ruling once more as he closed the screen. As amusing as it would be to watch the pillar break itself, he had work to do, and two new subjects to account for in the greater game.

“Now…where are they?”

[medali-meltdown]

🌻Brassius headcanons🌻 (companion post to this one, now with added imagery (a single screenshot but so worth it))

-In his mid-40s but refuses to accept it, which manifests in ways such as: pulling all-nighters like a young student, skipping/forgetting meals, continuing to make an impression on gym challengers by leaping from the tops of windmills, roofs, whatever's convenient. Any of these habits could break his fragile body. Speaking of which...

-He started doing the wild leaps in school as a cool stunt and way to show off and be memorable, but he has a private reason also — it's his way of defying death and mocking his illness. By gods he's going to live and not only that, he's going to do it in the most avant-garde way.

-tbh I haven't pinpointed exactly what is his chronic illness. Asthma? Hey wouldn't it be ironic if he has a severe pollen allergy while loving and being surrounded by plant pokemon? (just like me fr) Also I'm still on the idea a friend told me of him describing his symptoms as thorny vines in his lungs (which could be his creative way of describing a common asthma attack, and of course he styles his hair in the same manner because he's just Like That).

-Nature and the turns of seasons are his religion. He dabbled in paganism in his younger days. Found the modern practices too commercialized, but keeps it in his heart, in private.†

-Super pretty when he was younger. Wore his hair long, and with it being so thick and wavy, it cascaded about his (fuller, more lively) face and slender neck, even when he had it pulled into a ponytail. Stormy grey eyes always in deep contemplation of Art. Elegant ways of moving and speaking, radiating beauty with every step and word... honey what happened.

-(Nothing, it's all still there if you know what to look for and Hassel sure does, he is an expert on beauty, after all!)

-Hassel 💗💗 What a long, complex history he has with Hassel. They were good friends as students long ago, both being in arts & music classes. Brassius looked up to the multi-talented Hass from day one, always inspired by him and his bravery. Of course he fell in love with his muse, but for one reason or another, they never could quite be together, at least for very long. It might take Hassel until the present to reconcile his feelings, but will it be too late? (please I have a whole fic I want to write about this, of course I love them being Extremely Married but consider this: 20 years' worth of Mutual Gay Pining and the angst what follows)

-Just like born musician Hassel has some art in him, natural artist Brassius has some form of musical talent. After all, he's the Verdant Virtuoso — a term that skews toward musicians. I like to think he's got a good singing voice.* Belts out tunes while he's in the Art Zone. In perfect Spanish Paldean because he's bilingual.

-Whenever the mood strikes him (rarely, anymore), this guy can get a little kinky. He may carry a rope to help him climb high for tall sculptures (I guess???), but it also comes in handy for tying up unruly dragons~

-He's had many more partners in the past than Hassel has, and therefore a lot of practice. Not so much these days, however. His art, gym, and health come first.

-The Surrendering Sunflora Story: it's easy to tell that Brassius, at the beginning of his art career, let his personal vision suffer because he was focused on being more of a content creator, gaming that algorithm in endless pursuit of fame, fans, and money. The stress got to him, making his illness flare up to near-fatal levels. Was there anything else stressing him out at the time? Was he battling debilitating depression as well? Because he was prepared to die from it all — whether or not his debut work succeeded. And then Hassel appeared. "It was then I met Hass." So they must have become friends a little later in their student lives? Out of nowhere comes Hassel to remind Brassius of the meaning of Art, and that saves his life. Where's that meme picture of the creature holding onto a wall and going i think i need a moment wait

-It's p much universally accepted that Brassius gave Hassel the Applin that would evolve into the latter's Flapple. I think Brassie did so after the Surrendering Sunflora exhibition was complete to express his feelings. Unfortunately, Hassel, not being from this part of the world and unfamiliar with nearby Galar's customs, thinks it's simply a friendly gesture of appreciation. Hang in there, Brassie ❤️‍🩹

-Maybe once Hass figures it out he'll give Brassius a Dipplin in return. "There are two bodies sharing one sweet home! It's more symbolic than the Applin, right? Surely they know this in Galar...?" "No, Hass, Dipplin's apple is only found in a region that's very far away, so it doesn't have that kind of meaning..." "🥺🥺😭 B-BUT IT'S USSSS"

†Meta: isn't the Pokemon world inherently pagan? I know we like to throw around the name of Arceus and/or Mew as though they are God, but... they're not really? Do not let me get theological on this post about my grass blorbo hfhfhsh

*Look, his deep, deep Japanese voice did things to me, and learning that seiyuu Nakai Kazuya voiced Mugen of all people (and some other guys I guess, Zoro if you go there) amuses me to no end hhhn

[emicat1159]

So I wanted to try out some creative writing with this new auuuuuu~ gave it a cool name, "Into Ashes", not too bad right? To start of I thought to write a few paragraphs about how the main three angels- Mike, Gabe, and Raph, are told that they are to travel to a different universe and see what's there. Maybe I'll have one or two others go with them, I dunno yet. Something simple like that as a little test, you could say.. I don't know what I'm doing honestly but hey! It's fun

Anyway, writing and art:

"Listen, my son. I have an important task for you and your brothers.

There exists a world which has been abandoned by its Lord.

Go to this world, Michael. See what can be salvaged"

The final words his father spoke to him echoed through Michael's mind as he descended through the highest Heavens down to where his brothers awaited him. The skies swirled with purple and blue hues, illuminated by the stars and the ophanim who held together the galaxies. A sight he wasn't privileged to often, his work within heaven rarely gave him any free time to explore their skies the way he could when he was younger. And yet, he still felt like a young child when lifted by father's hand, as if he never left his light all those millennia ago. He tries to not think too deeply about those times.

'A rare event' he thought to himself, 'father hasn't spoken to any of us in centuries' he straightened out his suit, still wearing it after returning from a mission down on earth, he hadn't had the time to change before being summoned to his father's throne.

'I might even be completely camouflaged against the colour of the heavens right now, perhaps they won't even notice my return' he thought, amused.

Passing through the golden gates that lead to the throne of his father and into the archangels' domain, the figures of the two younger angels appeared through the thick layers of cloud. Raphael, the fourth oldest of the angels welcomed his brother back with a warm smile, his halo glowing brightly behind his head. Gabriel- the third oldest- walked up to Michael, being the first to break the silence,

"I almost thought you'd never come back down to us!" He joked, absentmindedly twirling a lock of his long hair in his hand

'A nervous tic' Michael mused

"You were gone for quite a while" added Raphael

Gabriel began again, "so... what does father want from us? It must be quite important if he asked to speak to you in person"

And so the eldest began his account of the events from the past few hours.

"We are to travel to another realm, a world that has been forsaken to ruin by its God and left to its own devices. He did not tell me what to expect, and really, this is the last thing I expected...." he trailed off, his expression perplexed, just what was his father's plan this time?

"Wh- huh? And.. how are we to get to this world?" Raphael's voice chimed in, bewilderment written all over his face. His short fluffy ears swaying as he turned his head to look back at the eldest.

"I... assume he will somehow transport us there once we are suitably prepared..?" He wasn't so sure in his answer, it wasn't unusual for his father's words to be vague. Regrettably, this is the one time Michael wishes they weren't. However, he was raised to trust in his God and His abilities.

To accept the way things are and not to question anything.

Gabriel spoke once more before turning to head back down to the lower levels of Heaven

"Well then.. no time like the present to get ourselves ready, right?"

[justforbooks]

Odyssey by Stephen Fry

The last in Fry’s four-book retelling of the Greek myths is relatable and full of humour

Not long ago, Elon Musk took a break from predicting civil war to offer his followers on X a book recommendation. “Can’t recommend the Iliad enough!” he tweeted. “Best as Penguin audiobook on 1.25 speed.” He accompanied this with a screenshot of the Penguin edition of The Odyssey. Erich Auerbach, thou shouldst be living at this hour.

Still, one way or another, Homer’s great poems have fulfilled the injunction to be news that stays news. Scholars of the original Greek, or partisans of Emily Wilson’s acclaimed recent verse translations, might roll their eyes at the injunction to speed-listen to an audiobook version. But one of the great virtues of myth is that it is robust to being reimagined: The Odyssey gives us Ulysses in one direction, and The Wind in the Willows or Watership Down in another.

And for practically as long as we’ve had the written word, we’ve had simplified retellings of the classical myths suitable for children and tech billionaires. Stephen Fry’s chatty and urbane but slyly erudite prose retellings fit right into this tradition. His Odyssey – which was preceded by Mythos, Heroes and Troy – brings a four-book sequence satisfyingly to a close.

Stylistically, Fry mostly eschews epic grandeur for the immediacy and relatability of modern idiom. The tone is spry rather than stately, and full of humour. Cassandra – wailing fruitlessly in the background all the way from Troy – is largely played for laughs; and when Agamemnon finally makes it home, the King of Men sounds for all the world like a red-trousered bon vivant back from the golf club after a bit too long at the 19th hole:

“Well, well, well! My darling, you grow ever more beautiful. The treasure ships are not far behind. The things you see! […] What’s that you say? A bath? Oh, my dear darling wife, there is only one thing I have been looking forward to more. And that can follow the bath, eh, eh?! Or maybe can be included in the bath, what?”

If he’d listened to Cassandra, he’d know what was included in the bath, but hey-ho.

Nor, though, does Fry altogether ignore the story’s pathos and poetry. There’s moving material about the easy love between father and sons – Odysseus is pierced at having missed out on Telemachus’s childhood – and here and there Fry’s default whimsy gives way to graver passages of writing. “A salt-caked, sun-burned, wind-scoured man lies face-down and naked on a beach. Sandflies skip on the scarred skin of his back.” Penelope, waiting on Ithaca, “strained her eyes towards the bar of haze that separated the blue of the empty sea from the blue of the empty sky”.

It’s not quite, or not only, a children’s book. The language gets fruity here and there – when Odysseus reveals himself to the suitors, he sounds positively Tarantinoesque: “He asked me who the hell I thought I was. I’ll tell you who I think I am. I think I am Odysseus of Ithaca, come back from the dead to revenge myself upon you. You fucking animals.” And the sexual violence is, if downplayed, not entirely absent (though perhaps to avoid muddying the moral clarity of the story for his younger readers, Fry omits Telemachus’s massacre of the maidservants).

There’s a lot of action in the footnotes, where Fry discusses lexicology or pronunciation, digresses on modern parallels, editorialises, or floats pet theories. He notes that Odysseus’s arrival on the Phaeacian coastline on a plank of his shattered raft may be “the first ever description of surfing in all literature”. He muses on why Hera is always “cow-eyed”, and notes that “cows (to us) are rarely imperious in aspect in the way Hera manifestly was, but perhaps this is a failure of observation on our part”. He argues, with reference to Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies and the name of the island Cos, that the lotus eaters are actually munching lettuce. He has Athena accusing Zeus of planning to “usher in an age without treaties, promises, honour or law”, and adds in a glum footnote: “A plan that finally has come into being in every detail it would seem … ”

This is a book with a theory, too. It completes a historic arc that has taken us from gods and titans, through demigod heroes, to the deeds of mortals in whose affairs the gods meddle freely – and it points to an era in which men, in a substantially disenchanted world, will find their own way. The trial of Orestes, in Fry’s account, is something like the thematic heart of the book. In it, Princess Erigone argues for “a new order” where “we are to reconstitute the world according to reason and sense, rather than impulse and bloodlust”, and the wise Athena “is the only god we need”. How’s that working out? Ask Elon Musk, I guess.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[heartsbind]

❤️ + ✈️ + 🧶 !!

shannon yaps about themself time!

❤️ — what are some of your best qualities?

i see you making me be positive about myself -- DKJFSNKJSD 🥺 anyway okay so i would say... my sense of humor and i am good at making myself look physically calm under pressure and organized (at work) even though i never feel that way DKFDSFDSF like at my mother's wedding this weekend. like... ok story time DKJFNDSF so i have three sisters, all younger, the youngest two are twins and the one in the middle is the one who just had a baby. the older twin is engaged and the younger twin has a bf. so older twin's fiance was standing by my brother-in-law and the baby and when he saw us starting to file out for like the procession or whatever the walk to the altar is, he starts like gesticulating and pointing at the baby and giving a thumbs up, but my sister could not tell what he was doing and was like starting to get anxious and asking us like "what's he saying, what about the baby-" and i, who had just been in a 2 hour long car ride with him and just know what he's generally like, could calm her down bc i knew they were positive gestures like "hey i see your baby! she's all good!" and then at the exact same time my mom was getting nervous bc the youngest twin was singing and we'd rehearsed walking according to what verse she was on and like nobody in our lineup could hear her from the building we were coming from EXCEPT i guess another good quality is that i have good hearing (my husband also can't hear for shit so i'm always hearing shit for him me vc oh that car is playing seven nation army i can hear the bass / him vc WHAT are you talking about / ANYWAY--) bc i could be like "ok she's on first verse. ok she's on the chorus. ok second verse is coming up. ok time to go" so anyway i hadn't considered much about any of it until the hostess that was helping us run the event that night came up to me later and was like you did really great!!! and all that and i was like oh! i did nothing!

i am also very humble and yap a very normal amount ---

✈️ — ever traveled anywhere interesting?

ok i can keep this one short bc i haven't gone too many places! i cannot drive and am broke and rarely have the chance to take more than a few days off at once so i've never left the country nor traveled very far across the country. i've pretty much stayed on the east coast u.s. but!! i got lucky enough to go to savannah georgia for a couple days for my sister's bachelorette party a few years ago and that was really fun! they had this place where they did brunch and they would put rubber ducks in your drinks. i think i still have mine somewhere

🧶 — any non-writing hobbies/interests?

video gaming primarily! beyond the games that i have muses for i really like all kinds of different sims. all sorts of farming sims that i just keep collecting, i have like gas station sim and powerwashing sim, supermarket sim, house flipper, pool-cleaning, crime scene washing... i'm currently juggling two/three bg3 runs, early access fields of mistria, just completed the demo of metaphor re:fantazio last night (the gameplay was so fun and it looked so incredible oh my gosh!)

i am god awful at watching things, tv shows i'm the worst at and movies i'm hit or miss - i just have soooo many things i want to do that it's hard to pick what to do next haha! but i have a background in scriptwriting and media studies so i really enjoy watching movies when i have the time!

i used to play the alto saxophone for a symphonic band at a local college that was open to community members! i miss it, but the last place i moved to it was just too far of a drive to justify doing it, plus covid put them in limbo for a bit and i don't think i ever got an email when they started in-person up again, probably because i wasn't in a position to do online meetings with everyone and practice at the time. i'm hoping to move back into the city next year, and maybe i can try to go again!

anything else... i like doing puzzles with my husband, we love tabletop mystery games (we used to have a hunt a killer subscription), and i love collecting even though i am too broke to really do it DKFSDJFDSFS and have no space to put anything. oh and i did start to practice drawing but i haven't done that in a while DFJDSFDSF

[theemptyislost]

Fade into You

Here is a treat - most of my writing is on AO3 but I will share this here since today is today.

Sometimes, with Raphael and Haarlep, it takes a bit of giving before you can take.

Week 1, Day 3

Raphael sunk into his bath. Reveled in the hum of healing over his damaged flesh.

With a sigh, he released his favored cambion form. Dulled teeth ground together, vexed by feel of his human façade sliding back into place – smaller, softer, weaker.

Raphael reclined with a muffled growl. The notes not hitting the right pitch, its impact butchered his mortal condition. Arms lazily perched on tepid marble. The flame of a candle warming the side of his face.

“You are in a state, master dearest,” His incubus sung, settling along the opposite side of the bath.

Annoyance rippled up his spine in tandem with the disruption of the water’s surface.

Raphael cracked an eye open, slanting a glare at his paramour. It was rare his incubus left Tav alone.

“Where is our mouse?”

“Resting,” they snapped, coltish smirk decorating their attractive face. “Well, as best the poor thing can.”

“Haarlep,” Raphael warned, not having patience for their games.

“Is that all you care about?” Haarlep was hurting, Raphael realized. Covering up that hurt with malice, picking at those closest. “What about me? Who will cater to my needs when you tire of – “

Raphael flicked water at his pest.

Haarlep sputtered at the unexpected attack. Their false vitriol evaporated, giving a glimpse as to what actually troubled them.

Ah,  Raphael mused. Tav was reopening old wound, it would seem.

“State what you mean plainly, dearest,” Raphael graveled, voice dipping. He flicked his wrist, adjusting the temperature. The faucets recycled the water at a faster pace, the soft trickling would muffle their conversation should his mouse take to sneaking around the manor. This insufferable part of Avernus, torrid still – but stifled enough that steam hovered in the air.

Raphael would have to distract Haarlep from their laps, he did not need them fracturing with their pet.

Discreetly, he flexed the muscles of his arm, rotating it just so. Allowing the residual water droplets to clinging to his skin to fall along the outline of corded muscles. Each translucent pearl glistened under the candle light, dripping ominously back to the bath’s surface.

Raphael knew the effect it had on his lustful wretch –  a subtle action that allowed for the building of desire.

A lesson in seduction taught to him a long time ago.

One should, at first, introduce the concept of longing slowly. Kindle its flame within your prey’s subconscious.

Pluck at their weakest points, make them think the growing arousal was their idea – a natural reaction to something mundane.

Then, once you drew them in deep enough, that is when you sweetened the pot…before sinking your claws into their throat as easily as a knife through butter.

Haarlep’s gaze warmed, the tension slowly bleeding from their shoulders and wings.

“Let me help her,” Haarlep implored, falling back into their argument from the previous eve. “With the way she is now –“

“No,” Raphael rejected that non-option.

“Raphael – “ An abysmal growl rippled the water around them.

“There is a price that comes with that spell, Haarlep,” Raphael leaned forward, Haarlep mirrored him. The younger visage of his devil heritage a painful visual reminder of how he would never be whole; not until he controlled the hells – not until Asmodeus’ throat was pinned beneath his boot. “You are forbidden from using it, do I make myself clear?”

Haarlep snarled.

That was not an agreement and Raphael hated repeating himself.

“My mouse is to heal without any form of crutch. Tav is – “

“She is not your little mouse,” Haarlep barked, a crazed look in their eyes. “She is not my little thief. Not the way she is now – ” Haarlep shoved Raphael back, crowded their master until his spine hit the marbled step. They settled on his lap, tail flicking hard enough to break the waters surface, wings blocking the rest of the boudoir. “Tav is broken,” Haarlep’s hushed, claws sliding along the side of Raphael’s face. “Our little mouse is far too damaged; her mind, her body.”  Fingers trailing those defined features, courting a hint of silver until they tangled in his hair at his nape. “There is nothing to play with –  nothing to mend and break the way we want; not with the state your little mouse is in now.”

They would make it seem like their master had the power, encourage their little brat’s ego and obsession.

Haarlep rocked themselves against Raphael, feeling him grow hard against their own length. Knew the sensation would compound his own poorly restrained arousal.

They knew his ploy; could appreciate his previous attempt, a boy playing at seduction.

A near half mortal trying to seduce a creature such as themselves – an incubus born of darkness and desire.

Raphael would cave to their wants; their brat could deny them nothing.

Haarlep would get their way when it came to caring for their little thief, it would just take a bit of persuasion.

Their tail coiled around Raphael’s hardened cock. Haarlep caught their master’s strangled moan with poisoned lips. Their tongue slipping to tangle with his own, tail constricting and pumping around him. One of their hands pet down the planes of his trembling abs. Falling to dip between Raphael’s legs. Haarlep gently cupped their master’s balls, squeezing with just enough pressure to make him whimper against them.

They supped from their cambion king. Thrilled at the way his hips jerked against theirs, his human nails falling to dig into their borrowed flesh.

Haarlep would have to wear Raphael’s resolve down, and they knew just how to make their little brat beg.

[lily-avenue]

Musings on Gold Digger (2019)

** Warning contains major spoilers **

** Also warning: massively long-winded ramble **

Julia Ormond, Ben Barnes and an exploration of a may-december romance in the midst of complicated famillial dynamics and an underlying unease.

Both leads are very good. We see Julia Day (Julia Ormond) reclaim herself as she moves out of the roles to which she has been assigned, or perhaps more accurately, has assigned herself; while Benjamin Greene (Ben Barnes) treads the fine line of someone who is not entirely what he seems to be, and who in pursuing the path he has chosen, is moving both closer to, and further away, from what he needs. We all, or many of us at least, want to be known and loved for who we actually are.

The supporting cast are uniformly excellent, with each episode putting the spotlight on one of Julia's now-adult kids (Patrick, Della and Leo), her ex-husband (Ted), her ex-best-friend (Marsha), and her new lover.

The series poses a range of complex, thorny questions, such as what it means to take a much younger (or much older) lover; the immediate and long-term aftermath of domestic violence; the loss of confidence and trust following betrayal; the ripple effect of those pivotal moments that each of us have in our lives; and the small (and large) lies that we tell ourselves and each other.

Nearly everyone in Julia's life is openly and vocally "concerned" when she introduces the much younger Benjamin into her life, and the series also explores the cost of pursuing your own happiness in the face of others' disapproval.

For the most part, the two sons (Patrick and Leo) are Not Very Nice. While they are not necessarily unjustified in their concerns about Benjamin, and are each grappling with the fallout of their parents' shared history, how they act upon those concerns is rather unpleasant. (And slighly nonsensical. Patrick is a well-heeled lawyer, surely he would have hired a private investigater to do some digging?) Della, her daughter, is the most open of the three to their mother's new relationship. And while for the most part that isn't saying much, Della's growing acceptance and support of Julia's right to be her own person and the strength she demonstrates in doing so, make for a lovely subplot - particularly as it starts to positively impact her own life.

While the series asks a lot of questions, it doesn't necessarily answer them in a way that fully satisfies. We see Benjamin and Julia's attraction in numerous sex scenes, and it is fabulous to move from the early scenes, in which she turns off the light, to later scenes in which she has pushed aside some of her insecurities. But we don't see enough of their intellectual attraction, of the non-physical side of things, and of how they navigate the fact that in terms of cultural milieu, he has far more in common with her children than with her (sort of, that too is complicated). There are some lovely glimpses - the book of walks he gives her as a gift, for example, rather than ubiquitous and offensively-generic flowers. But their growing closeness is mostly given in montages of them walking around holding hands in various locales - we are rarely privvy to the intimate discussions that would show a deepening relationship.

Much goes unquestioned by Julia, which given her intelligence and life experience seems somewhat implausible, although perhaps newly discovered and unexpected love can make fools of us all? Her lack of curiosity about Benjamin's past, which clearly continues to affect him, or his financial situation (mid 30s, professional job, but about to be hounded by bailiffs?) is hand-waved away at one point. This is one of those instances where I cannot tell if it suboptimal writing (maintaining suspense at the cost of characterisation) or very clever writing (Julia tends to avoid conflict; her reluctance to ask questions to which she doesn't necessarily want to know the answer has precedence). Herein lies the dilemma of suspense-based drama: in keeping Benjamin an relatively unknown quality we lose the opportunity to get to know him and Julia as a couple, and that becomes problematic later on.

We experience Julia's growth as she takes responsibility for her own destiny, eventually starting to question what it is that Benjamin isn't telling her, and taking the necessary steps to find out more. And when she finds out more, and it is rather confronting, she still chooses to listen before coming to her own conclusions. But we don't see the same for Benjamin. His journey is more opaque, and because we only get very few snippits of his life before Julia, is largely for the viewer to infer, or only becomes evident after the fact. He wants to run away when things start to close in on him, but he doesn't. Ultimately his hand is forced and he breaks a long-held agreement with his brother to put his own needs first. (There is a small subplot about an engagement that didn't happen; a former girlfriend broke up with him the day he proposed, and one wonders if it was because he also told her the truth about his past.)

There are interesting contrasts between Benjamin and Ted. Both are outwardly well put together, but neither are what they seem. Ted is successful, wealthy and enmeshed in entitled middleclass-ness, while Benjamin is not, despite his facade of the urbane younger man.

But the outward trappings hide the fact that Ted is controlling and violent, while Benjamin - despite what the criminal justice system would say - is neither. And that contrast is backed up by the scene with Ted in the forest on the morning of the wedding, compared with that with Benjamin on the beach (in which Julia asks him to not touch her, and he listens and respects her wishes instantly). Even throughout the argument with his newly re-emerged brother Kieran, which escalates into low-level violence, Benjamin only ever reacts, never instigates.

And it would be entirely remiss of me not to mention Marsha, who has made her own bed, unfortunately with Ted in it. We meet Marsha just as she is beginning to realise the extent of the poor bargain she's made, and it really only gets worse.

I am still not sure whether the series simply had very high expectations of the viewer, or whether the script spread itself too thin and undercut itself. The distrust and deception that flows throughout the series was almost catching, and in the face of it I wanted stronger closure, a deeper resolution of the issues that came to light late in the piece. In the absence of that, Kieran's words after the fight with Benjamin resonate just a little too strongly for me. Are they actually in love with one another, or are they in love with what the other represents to them?

Is Benjamin a gold digger? Not, I think, in the traditional sense of the term. He sees in Julia an embodiment of the life he wants to have, but had always been excluded from. My take is that the attraction and burgeoning love is real, but that it is also inseparable from her aura of wealth, education and intellect, which are an integral part of who she is and how she moves through the world.

He was certainly not honest with her, and that also poses an interesting question about how much of our ourselves, and our actions, we can mask, ignore or conceal before sliding into deception or disaster. Alongside Benjamin editing his past to hide a terrible act (in which he played a supporting role but shouldered much of the consequences), we have a younger Julia peddling the fiction that all was well with her (first) marriage, Ted hiding his violent streak, Patrick having an affair, Leo knowing about Ted and Marsha but not telling his mother. The list goes on.

The lingering disquiet of how much of Benjamin is a performance, and how much is real, never quite leaves. We do see sharper edges to him at times, which are in keeping with what is revealed about his past (you couldn't come out of young offenders unscathed, and you certainly wouldn't get through it without developing some pretty decent survival mechanisms), although Julia herself is not privvy to them. It is in the rawness and desperation of a couple of his reactions that a measure of confirmation is provided that his feelings towards Julia are genuine. There is a two-fold element of unreliable narration with Benjamin, yet it feels not entirely unreasonable to conclude that Benjamin the construct is underpinned by a longstanding and deep-seated need, and has largely become Benjamin the actual. But how recent was this process, and was it a legitimate one? We don't ever really find out, and that matters when it comes to our central conundrum.

But as may have become evident throughout this long-winded ramble, one of my own personal failings is that I like my fictional endings to be happy, and unambiguously so. I want Julia to enjoy her 'after', just as much as I want Benjamin to revel in the safety and belonging she provides. So holding onto a suitable measure of optimism (or perhaps of wishful thinking - our characters may not be alone in their penchant for self-deception), let us now return to their wedding reception and one of my favourite scenes. Watching a truly beguiling Julia invite Benjamin to dance, and an utterly charming Benjamin follow her onto the dance floor, made me smile. A lot. And with that in mind I am going to find myself a glass of champagne, ensure my best smile is firmly in place, and head out onto the dance floor to wish the two of them my very best.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 3.8K~ Summary: A young human-Gem hybrid- a soul yet unknown to the rest of the Crystal Gems- takes their first brave steps towards greeting their heritage firsthand.

W o e, more OC content be upon ye

In this one, Jean meets Greg and the Crystal Gems. (There's a bit of Greg POV at the beginning, just to mix things up.) I had so much indulgent fun writing it, and hope anyone who checks it out enjoys.

Enjoy! <3

__

Absentmindedly humming a few bars of a commercial jingle he must’ve overheard on TV the other day, Greg finishes stirring up some instant oatmeal he just took out of the microwave. It’s a bit of a late breakfast for his tastes given the clock is nearing 10:45, but hey- anything’s better than nothing. Better to eat now than to find oneself running on low energy by lunchtime.

He licks his lips in anticipation, and carries the bowl over to the beach house’s living room couch.

Stars, what’s on his docket today beyond breakfast, anyways?

Groceries, for one. He’s running low on milk, butter, parmesan cheese, spaghetti sauce, and a number of vegetables. If he really wants to think ahead, now would also be a great time to stock up on bagels to toss in the freezer for later. No matter how many of those he buys, he always seems to be running out of ‘em. It’s also one of Steven’s days off from work, thus a good opportunity to try a video call. His son doesn’t always answer immediately, but that’s okay. He’s a grown adult now, a soul yearning to forge his own identity separate from the people and place he called home back in childhood. He needs his own space, and sometimes that just means ignoring your clingy ol’ man until you feel ready to chat.

And then, of course there’s his ongoing music project he can work on— a concept album of sorts, chronicling the tale of an optimistic, yet lonely young musician and his lover from beyond the stars. For nearly two decades her death silenced his work, but… seeing her framed face on the nightstand next to him every morning when he wakes up… living so close to the crystalline stage he knelt on when he sung his first romantic ballad to her… it must’ve stirred some aching desire that he hasn’t entertained in a very long while. He’s written about half of this album in the span of the last two months, and hopes to complete it by the end of the year. Beyond that he’s not sure where this project will take him… whether he’ll keep these songs close to his chest or email his old industry contact Sunshine Justice and see if she can hook him up with a decent recording studio for ‘em. Only time will tell, in the end. He’s got options.

But before he can get more than a few spoonfuls of oatmeal under his belt and reliably plan out his day, his musings are interrupted by a timid knock rapping against the front door.

Greg sighs, setting the bowl aside on the coffee table as he gets up to check who’s here.

If he had to guess, it’s most likely a recently arrived Gem— spellbound and confused— desperately trying to locate Little Homeschool after seeing one his son’s many adverts about it. That’s the most common visitor they see at the house entrance these days, beyond the rare training visit from Connie to refresh her sword fighting skills with Pearl. He’s not sure who else would go to all the trouble of hiking across the beach to reach this place. And anyways, if he’s visiting human friends in town, he always walks to their houses.

Which is why he’s surprised to open the door and see just… what seems to be a human stranger standing there, hands stuffed in pockets and expression filled with palpable apprehension.

The stranger is young— easily Steven’s age or younger— with a shock of short, wavy brown hair and teal tinted glasses, clad in overalls and a pair of ratty old tennis shoes.

He waves a quick greeting, a potent dose of curiosity painting his tone.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

__

“Should I even be doing this?” Jean mutters to themself as they trudge down the far side of the beach, following the directions the cute pizza shop girl gave them last night.

But the closer they creep towards their destination, the sillier this whole stupid trip starts to feel. So they expect to… what? Simply drop in uninvited to the home of four of the most influential beings in the whole galaxy, and say “hey, guess what, you never knew I existed but I’m actually a half-Gem too?” Ughh. Oh, geeze. This was such a bad idea. Why did Dad even agree to bring them here? And what do they even want from this? To train? To harness whatever hypothetical powers they might have resting dormant within their gemstone? To… to just go on one of those zany, magical adventures they always dreamed about as a kid? To be freely invited into their little school for Gems? (Even though they’re not a Gem… not in all the ways that matter, at least.) Are they hoping to uproot their entire life and outright live here one day? Or are they literally only here because they’re craving closure to the questions they’ve been asking their entire life— who was Mother? Who am I? Is there any place in this vast universe for people like me?

What do I actually want to do with my life?

Heaving a long, exhausted sigh, they trek onwards anyways. After such a long road trip to reach this place, it’d be unthinkable to back down now.

A set of crumbled but monolithic stone arms come into view a few dozen paces further, a mere taster of the majestic vista awaiting them on the furthest point of the peninsula. Jean’s seen plenty of pictures of Beach City’s infamous temple statue online, sure— images of a regal, curly haired figure boasting enough limbs to rival a goddess— but nothing can prepare them for the sheer level of spellbinding awe that courses through their soul as they break around the edge of the cliff and finally gape upon it with their own two eyes. As melodramatic as the sentiment may sound, seeing this temple for themself is like tasting air for the first time, like waking up from a decade long fantasy to a world more vivid and colorful than they could’ve ever dreamed. Surely not a single photographer alive could capture the true scale of this ancient carving. A watery smile stretches across their cheeks while they drink in the sight. The cliffside is mossier than they expected. The earthy greens make for such lovely contrast against the colder browns and grays. Then, their gaze drops towards the statue’s navel… to the humble beach house nestled there within a set of stone arms.

Here it is. This is the place. There’s no turning back now, not unless they want to return to their motel room a coward.

Their hands fidget restlessly at their side as they climb up the sandy stairs leading to the porch. When they reach the top, they cross towards the front door and— heart pounding— rap their knuckles against the frame as politely as they can muster.

Beat.

Jean can hear the shuffling of feet from inside. They shove their hands in their pockets as the footfalls grow closer and closer, before—

The door swings open. Their expression narrows in bemusement. The person they’re greeted by isn’t one of the famed Crystal Gems, but rather… a human. A somewhat plain looking human, if they’re frank. (Which— in this situation— is a good thing, because it finally disarms the sheer spine tingling anxiety that was racing up and down through their veins prior.) The portly individual looks to be somewhere around their father’s age, with greying shoulder-length hair and a full beard. He’s sporting shorts and what looks to be a band t-shirt.

The man flashes a quick wave, and then speaks.

“Hi, uh… can I help you…?”

Jean scrunches their nose— a nervous twitch they’re unfortunately hyper-conscious of in high pressure situations like these— before working to piece together a halfway coherent sentence.

“I, um— y-you don’t know me, but my name is Jean. Jean Maverick, and I’m… well, I’m kinda hoping to—”

Before they can even reveal the crux of their mission, they feel this person’s full attention fixate upon the upper facets of their pale gemstone, just visible over the neckline of their shirt. His eyes widen.

“O-oh, yes,” they interrupt their own introduction, cheeks reddening. “That. Y’see, I may not look it, but I’m actually part Gem, like all the Gems who live here in town, a-and—”

He shakes his head, giving a laugh tinged with a bit of what they can only describe as sheer disbelief. “No, no, trust me— I more than understand this kinda stuff. I’m Greg Universe,” he says, extending his hand in greeting. “My, uh… my son’s like you.”

It’s Jean’s turn for their eyes to blow wide open with shock.

“You- you’re Steven’s dad,” they breathe, reaching out for his offered shake.

“Yup, guilty as charged. Now, what can I do for ‘ya? You looking for Steven? The Gems?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk with the Crystal Gems, b-but…” They pause, their brow wrinkling inwards as the ticking cogs of their mind consider the possible implications of their fellow hybrid’s father being present. “Steven’s not here now, is he? I heard he left town a while back…”

“Nah, he did. He’s out living on the west coast right now. The Gems, however… now that I can help you with.”

Introductory small-talk concluded, Mr. Universe invites them inside to wait for the Gems, grabbing his phone from his pocket to— they can only assume— shoot a quick text to one of ‘em.

Jean glances around the interior of the house with ample curiosity, admiring the dense collection of old CDs and cassette tapes that fills much of the shelf space behind the couch. It looks like mostly classic rock and a bit of R&B, many of them artists they don’t recognize. (Though the name Kerry Moonbeam leaps out at them— they remember jamming to a few of his top hits while on the road with Dad, like “Midnight Spectacle” and “Life on Venus.”) On the top shelf there’s an intricately detailed pink sword on display, shattered just beyond the hilt. And on the far wall midway up the stairs they spot a colorful canvas portrait, featuring what looks like a grinning, teenaged Steven sitting at the front and Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl poised behind.

All in all, it’s a very cozy, lived-in space… enough so to almost distract them from the crystalline cavern connected directly to the living area. Their interest immediately piqued, they give a sharp exhale and advance a few steps closer. Is that…? Why, yes it is! It’s a warp pad, just like the ones they’ve seen pictures of online. (And one in person, thanks to a tip from a local.) From all their research it seems that there’s a whole network of these low, crystal platforms stretching across the surface of the Earth. And as rumors go, Gems can use them to travel from one point to another near instantaneously. Jean has no idea if this ability is one that translates to half-Gems, though. They had no luck with the one they visited years back.

Their mouth scrunches into a little frown upon that musing. There’s still so, so much about Gems they don’t know, isn’t there?

“So, Jean,” Mr. Universe says, finishing up with his phone. “Where’d you say you were from, again?”

“Prudence, Calizona?” And when his expression merely wrinkles in unawareness, they add: “It’s, um… a small university town out in the middle of the desert, so I’m not surprised you aven’t heard of it way out here.”

“And you traveled all the way to Beach City just to meet with the Gems? Wow, that’s… a pretty big journey for someone your age. This must be real important to you.”

“Well, there’s no Gems out there,” they explain with a shrug. “I’ve always known I was different, but— I never got to learn anything about that part of my heritage, y’know? So that’s why I’m here, I guess. For answers.”

“Well, I really hope you can find what you’re looking for.”

Jean’s gaze drifts down towards the gem inlaid in their chest. “Yeah,” they say, resting their palm over the central facet. “So do I.”

A tiny frown blooms across the man’s face as he observes them further. They rock back and forth upon their heels as they attempt to dodge his frustratingly intuitive gaze, unsure of what else to say or ask. Such lingering attention makes them feel twitchy.

“Here, why don’t you have a seat,” he offers then, gesturing towards the flat cushioned sofa against the far wall of the living area. “They should be inbound any minute now. Can’t imagine them dawdling on news like this, heh. And hey, uh… while you wait, d’ya want anything to drink, or snack on, or—?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” they say, sitting themself down on the far edge of the couch and noting the soggy bowl of oatmeal left half uneaten on the coffee table right in front. It’s bad enough that they’re crashing this man’s morning routine, the last thing they want to do is completely put him out. Not to mention, he probably doesn't have much they could safely digest, anyways.

True to his word though, the famed Crystal Gems arrive on the warp pad with not a second to waste, ringed in by a beam of dazzling cyan light and the platform’s resonant chime. Heart pounding a coward’s thrall, Jean averts their gaze low to keep from downright staring at the trio.

Holy fucking shit.

“We came as soon as we could,” the pale, lithe one— Pearl— says to Mr. Universe, crossing straight into the living room like a soul on a mission with the other two hot on her heels.

It’s them. It’s actually them. The Gems they’ve dreamt of meeting ever since they were just a starry-eyed preteen researching a small town mystery in the vicious trenches of obscure conspiracy theory message boards. Their jaw falls entirely ajar in the shock of it all. Oh stars, be cool, be cool, be cool—!

“—is our mystery visitor?” Pearl continues with a quick gesture towards them, the first half of her sentence consigned to auditory oblivion with how damn rapid fire Jean’s thoughts are blasting around their head.

Mr. Universe nods.

“Yeah, I was grabbin’ some breakfast, and she—” (they don’t bother to suppress that instinctive cringe. Hoo boy, they really need to step in and complete their introduction ASAP, huh)— “just showed up at the door, askin’ after you.”

“They,” Jean blurts out, mouth entirely dry with anxiety at this point.

“Huh?”

“It’s… they, actually. They/them. Sorry, I- I kinda forgot to mention.”

His brows shoot up in understanding. “Ahh, gotcha. My apologies for not asking. Anyways, these are the Gems! Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl… though I get the sense you’ve already done your research, huh?”

They nod, still working to shake that hazy, star-stricken sensation out of their system.

“So then, mysterious stranger,” the shorter, purple Gem— Amethyst— says, sliding right across the living room towards them. “What’s your whole deal? Gimme all those good deets!”

“I, uh… well, I’m Jean,” they stammer, clasping their hands together behind their back. “Jean Maverick. I’m eighteen, I use they/them pronouns as I just mentioned, and… my mother… was a Gem.”

They tug down the scooped neckline of their shirt ever so slight, revealing the full cut of their pale lavender gemstone to the room. Pearl lets out an audible gasp. The other two simply gape in stunned silence, not uttering a single word at all.

“And now you probably understand why I called you over,” Mr. Universe comments, gesturing towards them.

“Another hybrid?” Amethyst says, her brow furrowing as she glances up at Garnet, the tallest of the bunch. “Like Steven? Is that even possible?”

“It is now,” Garnet replies with an almost mystified tone, crossing her arms as she leans back against the counter.

“But for a Gem to shapeshift human reproductive organs for that long,” Pearl muses, hand balled at her chin as she paces back and forth across the wooden slats. “Stars, for anyone but a diamond, that should be unachievable!”

The purple quartz simply waves the notion away. “Pshh, nah, that part’s easy, P- you just poof, and then reform with those organs! I do it with a stomach like, all the time. Mainly, I’m just surprised that another Gem would come up with the idea to have a baby in the first place.”

“Or that another Gem was living on Earth uncorrupted all this time, and we never knew,” Garnet comments, expression uncertain.

They swallow hard. Normally they consider themself pretty skilled at overanalyzing people’s emotions— an unexpected perk of living with generalized anxiety— but Garnet in particular is dauntingly hard for them to read right now. Pearl’s an easy one… she’s invested in the mystery of their arrival here today, too busy sorting the potential puzzle pieces in her mind to give anything else surrounding her much notice. Amethyst seems equally as puzzled by their presence, although out of the three of them it’s her who’s been the most accommodating of their awkwardness, so far. (Jean thinks back to how Amethyst leapt in amidst that weird conversational lull to give them a chance to officially introduce themself, and finds it rather perceptive of her.) Garnet, though—? Is her tense yet closed-off body language signaling confusion? (At how they could exist?) Vexation? (That they exist?) Distrust, even?? (That they’re here, now?) Or is she chewing over something else entirely, something they couldn’t ever hope to guess with their extremely limited outsider’s context?

And why do they care so much about how the three of them feel in the first place? Chill, Jean. Geeze.

“Well, if it helps,” they shrug, “my dad said he met my mother out in the wilderness of Calizona, while on a backpacking trip.”

“Calizona, eh…” Amethyst says, squinting as she thinks. “Hey, wait— the Beta Kindergarten’s out that way, yeah?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Pearl asks, her eyes lighting up with clear intrigue.

“I’m saying… isn’t it possible that Jean’s mom just emerged late… like me? It would explain how she avoided the corruption. And their gem does look pretty quartz-like.”

“Sounds like a more sound theory than I could ever come up with,” Mr. Universe pipes up all of a sudden with a broad shrug.

“In any case, all our broad theorizations can wait,” Garnet waves them all off. Inhaling deep, her gaze levels straight on them. “I know you came here with a purpose,” she says.

A blunt observation, not a question.

Jean shuffles upon their feet, feeling as exposed as a budding nerve under the sheer magnitude of their scrutiny. The half of them that’s merely a tangled ball of anxiety masquerading as a person craves nothing more than to spin on their heels and bolt away— too scared of potential rejection, too scared of all the unknowns bleeding through at the very edges of their future’s canvas— but then… this is what they drove hundreds of miles for, yes? Plus, they don’t want to disappoint Dad— he knows how much they’ve dreamed of this moment, and they’re sure it’d break his heart if they backed down right at the cusp of achieving said dream.

It’s now or never.

Deep breath. Hold your spine straight. Brave heart, Jean.

What do you really want?

“I… heard about your school,” they begin, weathering that treacherous unknown to make direct eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. “And I know the technical purpose of it is to teach Gems about humanity, but… I was wondering if maybe… you’d also be willing to teach a half-human how to be a Gem.”

“Hmm,” Pearl hums, leaning back against the counter at Garnet’s side. “Well, I suppose we already have a sort of human exchange program at Little Homeschool. Anyone who’s curious about the work we do there is allowed to spend a day on campus and attend whatever classes they wish, provided they give our students a quick informal lecture on a topic that interests them. Perhaps we could discuss developing a program like this that’s more long-term in nature, and customized to your needs as a half-Gem.”

Their mind reels in giddy circles at the very notion. Them? An official student of Little Homeschool?? It’s an alluring prospect, to be sure.

“Hey, y’all?” Amethyst cuts in before they can move to respond, upper lip curling into a half-grimace. “Not to like, totally derail, but I just checked the time and we’re gonna be late for the fusion seminar if we don’t start heading on back now.”

The tall, ivory Gem winces. “Oh stars, you’re right.” Then, glancing across the living space towards Mr. Universe with a somewhat apologetic expression: “Sorry, Greg— you caught us at a bit of a busy time. Do you mind entertaining our guest a little while longer as we finish up today’s classes?”

“Why don’t you just take them with you?” he suggests. “Seems they’re interested in what goes on there anyways.”

“Bismuth or Peridot may have time to give a tour,” Garnet voices, breaking her little understood silence. (Oh, a penny for her thoughts right now…)

Jean beams at the idea, a joyous little burst of energy soaring through their system upon realizing they’re one step closer to realizing that shining desire they set their eyes on the day the ocean’s disappearance kickstarted their research into their Gem heritage in the first place— to actually nurture and embrace this part of themself. “I’d love a chance to look around, if it’s not too much trouble.”

The three Crystal Gems ultimately approve, beckoning for them to join them on the warp pad. It takes every single scrap of self restraint within their soul to not do the cringiest little happy jig as they scuttle across the floorboards and step up onto the crystalline platform. Getting to experience a trip on one of these suckers is honestly a dream come true all on its own. They’ve seen one in person before— back during their forum-surfing research days, they managed to convince Dad to drive them all the way out to a lone warp pad a local enthusiast posted the coordinates of— but couldn’t manage to activate it on their own. Now, though? With the possibility of joining Little Homeschool officially on the table, there’s no telling what they may one day learn to achieve.  

Jean waves farewell to Mr. Universe as the warp activates, whisking the four of them away. It was super kind of him to take time out of his morning routine to help them contact the Gems— they’ll have to think of some meaningful gesture to thank him with later.

Pushing themself out of their comfort zone just to reach this point proved to be a bit of a challenge, but beyond the thorny confines of all their social anxieties, their future suddenly feels very bright.

[thequeenofterror]

hi hi everyone! formally announcing that song sunyoung's fc is now miss im jinah ♔ while i adore park jiyeon, she's not as active in the industry anymore and i'm limited on what i can use for 2024 visuals and such. having nana as a fc gives me a lot more room to play with while also keeping that foxy eyed nature to the muse! aside from obvious physical traits, the only other difference to note is that now sunyoung's fashion style will feature a more prominent influence of preppy/sporty looks. other than that, everything is the same! i'll also use this opportunity to list down some wanted connections/plots! now that i've had the chance to plot with most of you amazing people, i have a better idea of my muse and what i'd like to write for her. below the cut you'll find timelines for both parts of the event, as well as some general non-event related plots i'd love to get to! tysm for being incredible all of you btw i'm in love with every single muse and having so much fun!!!!!! ily all ♡♡♡♡♡

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔 —

02:00 PM — arrival at the midas resort 02:00 - 09:00 PM — open for plots ! 09:00 - 10:00 PM — banter with han wonbin after yoojin's announcement 10:00 PM onwards argument with jin yohan on the way to the lake

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 —

05:40 PM — arrival at the mansion 05:40 - 07:00 PM — open for plots ! 07:00 - 07:15 PM — argument with zhang xiaotian by the pool 07:15 - 07:30 PM — moment with kim seunghan in the library 07:30 PM onwards — banter with lee sowon over dinner

𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 —

family connections — sunyoung has two younger brothers that i'd love to use as a way to tie families together! the middle one was born in 1995 and hates sunyoung with a fiery passion, works for the immigration policy division and was never recruited to the club; the youngest one was born in 2002, looks up to sunyoung and is a 2024 chessmaster looking to be a civil court judge one day. perhaps your muse has relatives that would be dating/married to one of them, or got entangled with them at work in any way?

perpetrator — during her initiation days in 2013, sunyoung was quick to form alliances with a couple chessmasters and create a divide in the group. as a result, during a trial, a "rival" chessmaster caused an "accident" that resulted in a hand injury for her and set her off on her path of revenge and general bitchdom. would love to have someone take up this role!

human rights — sunyoung has always been an activist for human rights (funny, i know), and she was elected president of the snu human rights committee three years in a row, 2014-2016. throughout the undergrad program she would organize surveys, affirmative actions and projects to discuss and mitigate discrimination and sexism in the university. i would love to have some fellow students helping her champion the cause - or on the other hand, they can find her activism shallow and bothersome!

paganini who? — sunyoung plays the violin and loves classical music. it would be an adorable meet-cute of sorts if your muse walks in on her practicing one day as it's a rare opportunity to witness her softer side! (yes it does exist, shocking!)

favors — sunyoung knows everyone and plays 4d chess with herself to try and place people in positions that will boost her own power in the club and beyond. as a result, she can make almost anything happen for you by talking to a guy who knows another guy - but for a price, of course.

more favors? — it's also very possible that sunyoung one day overplayed her hand and failed miserably, and now she needs to run to your muse for help. she'll owe you big time and hate every second of it, but she won't let a debt go unpaid.