#if we’re being historically accurate
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secretagentsagainstwhatever · 9 months ago
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does…does he think Romeo and Juliet was real…? just two normal teenagers Shakespeare knew irl 🥲
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chaossmith2 · 1 year ago
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So the inclusion of Anne Bonny makes me wonder if Mary Read will also be in S2 and if the death of Calico Jack will then be brought up at all 🤔
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quin-ns · 2 years ago
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Neighborhood Dilf (Joel Miller x Reader)
Word count: 2.7K
Summary: joel finds out he has a nickname and he asks you what it means
Tags: pre-outbreak this is a happy fic guys!! I didn’t specify a year but let’s put it at 2000 for funsies so sarah is like 11 and joel is like 30ish. also fluff, humor, flirting, age gap, goofy plot (I don’t know what this is honestly), joel being the definition of a dilf and not knowing it, crushes, overall cuteness. also suburbia
A/N: I saw a tiktok where someone said they just knew joel was the neighborhood dilf and they were so real for that I had to write it. and no I don’t care that the word was popularized online we’re using it here. I’m here to provide a cute fluffy fanfic not a historically accurate one lol. also sorry if your name is bee, I tried to come up with a name for the friend that was a nickname so if it was someone’s actual name they could just imagine their full name (I overthink)
TLOU masterlist + main masterlist
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The loud music coming from outside woke you up from your afternoon nap. After spending a semester at college struggling to find even an hour of sleep, you were taking as many of those as possible. You were a little grouchy at first as you threw your covers off and stormed to your window, but quickly calmed down when you realized it was the annual block party your neighborhood hosted during the summer.
You’d gotten an in-person invite from Bee, another girl home from college who you’d been friends with in high school before going your separate ways. You still kept in touch since she was nice enough, which is how you found out her family was hosting this year. She’d confided in you personally that she would quote “go crazy if it was all kids and old people.”
As you looked out into their front yard, which was diagonal to yours, you saw that’s pretty much all it was. Since you were such a good friend, you decided that you’d go. 
You were getting dressed (at a leisurely pace) when your phone started to ring. You picked it up from your desk after you pulled your pink sundress on and flipped it open. The caller ID read Bee’s name and you answered, ready to tell her you were on your way.
“He’s here,” she said, sounding mistified, before you could even open your mouth. 
“Who?” you wondered, furrowing your brows a little to yourself as you went to the window.
“The neighborhood dilf,” Bee replied under her breath. 
The nickname made you laugh. It reminded you of high school. It had started as a joke, something you had started calling the new guy who’d moved into the neighborhood with his daughter a few years back. Later you found out his name was Joel Miller, but the nickname spread like wildfire to all the other girls in the neighborhood and it just stuck. 
Everyone knew about it; the girls of course, their confused parents, jealous boys who thought Joel was stealing their attention—the only person who wasn't aware of the moniker (as far as you knew) was Joel. Well, you hoped his daughter didn’t know either. Thankfully, after time, everyone forgot that you had started it. It was a bit embarrassing.
You walked away from the window to your closet and slid on your flip flops—it was summer in Texas, after all.
“You need to get over here, Y/N—what?” the last word sounded distant from the phone. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be on her way,” Bee replied, but to someone else.
“Um, hello?” you asked, waiting.
Bee was quiet for a few seconds, then whisper shouted into the phone, “you’ll never guess what just happened!”
“Let me guess, Joel just walked up and professed his love for you,” you teased, laughing at your own joke. “What, were my parents asking for me or something?” you guessed for real that time, recalling the small bit you had heard her say.
“Unfortunately no, and also no,” she sounded a little too disappointed about the first part, which made you chuckle again. “He did just ask me about you though.”
“Who?”
“The dilf.”
“Just use his name,” you told her with a roll of your eyes, heading out of your room to the stairs. “Wait.” You stopped for a second. “Joel asked about me?” 
“Yeah. I changed my mind, you’re not invited.”  If it wasn’t for her obvious sarcasm you might’ve thought she was serious. “He heard me say your name and asked if you’d be here soon. I—hey!” she yelled, causing you to pull the phone from your ear for a second. You continued your descent down the stairs as she yelled something about ‘kids’ and ‘stay out of there’. “I gotta go,” she said suddenly, then hung up.
You just shook your head with a small, amused smile and left your phone on the counter. Stupid dress and no pockets. 
You headed out the front door and walked across the street towards the party. 
It was in full swing. Music, games, food table—it looked like something out of a magazine. The Grants had a huge front yard—it was one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood—and it seemed like everyone was there. There were kids running around, adults all mingling—some sitting at the fold out tables, others walking around, others chasing their kids—there was also a group of dads surrounding the grill. You glanced that way and didn’t see Joel. You wondered where he was and if you should find him, but Bee found you first.
“The kids aren’t supposed to go inside alone and two of those little jerks went into my room,” Bee complained right away, straightening out her white blouse over her jean shorts. Her pinned back brown hair was a little messy, though. You wondered what happened, which she quickly answered. “I saw them jumping on my bed through the window.”
“Sounds like fun,” you commented sarcastically. Bee looped her arm through yours. 
“My dad set up ring toss and it’s all little kids, I don’t wanna be the only adult playing. Come on.” She dragged you along in that direction and you willingly went with.
You saw a few kids from the neighborhood playing, mostly the preteens who were too old for hopscotch but whose parents had told them they weren't old enough for the mini golf (one of the boys had overshared that little comment). 
“Y/N!” a girl's voice called. You looked that way and saw Sarah Miller walking towards you. A few days out of the week when her dad was working late, you’d go over to their house and keep an eye on her (before you left for college). It was the easiest babysitting gig you ever had; she was polite, always did her school work, and hardly caused any problems. Her dad had raised her very well. 
She looked older than you remembered her being, but you had been gone for both fall and spring semesters—well, you had been home for winter break briefly, but not enough to see anyone other than your parents.
“Sarah, hi!” you greeted, accepting the hug she offered when she got close. “How are you?”
“Good!” she said with a smile. “Are you guys gonna play with us?” she asked you and Bee. “I keep beating them and it’s not fun anymore.” 
You and Bee both laughed at that. “Sure, why not.”
“It feels weird playing with her after talking about how hot her dad is,” Bee whispered in your ear when Sarah went first. “You think he’ll come over here?”
“And what would you do if he did?” you challenged while hiding a chuckle, raising your brows at her.
“Um, probably nothing,” she admitted, cheeks a little pink. “He’s fun to look at though.” 
You hummed. “You’re not wrong.” 
The two of you played a few rounds of ring toss, although Bee got very bored quickly. “Can we go get some drinks?” she asked after not that long of playing.
“Sure,” you decided. You waved bye to Sarah and the others as the two of you walked off towards the cooler.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed some of the other girls in the neighborhood that hadn’t been in attendance before. For a couple that you knew, it didn’t seem like their scene. 
“What are they doing here?” you asked Bee.
“I may or may not have also told them the neighborhood dilf was here. They, uh, wanted to… see him,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.
You raised your brows in slight disbelief. “Are you serious?” 
“I wanted more people our age here,” Bee defended. “I wasn’t sure if you were even gonna show.”
You scoffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you told her.
You reached the cooler and knelt down. You handed Bee a water, but she didn’t accept it. You looked up at her.
“Keep an eye out for the dilf, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be right back,” Bee told you, taking off before you could say anything. You guessed the bathroom given her speed walking inside.
You laughed a little to yourself as you stood back up. You kept the water for yourself. You looked out amongst the crowd, realizing you were now on your own while everyone was in groups. You saw a couple people you were friends with and thought of maybe going up and joining them, but someone else spotted you first.
Joel Miller, the aforementioned neighborhood dilf, was walking towards you. Bee would be jealous, especially if she knew you and Joel were actually friends.
You had thought about telling Bee and some of the other girls that you were friends with Joel, given how much they just loved to gossip about him (how he was still single, how he looked really good in his pajamas getting the mail, that one time he took his shirt off while mowing the lawn—that was a big day) but then you thought better of it, not wanting to be run out of town by a jealous mob.
You were already getting glances by the time Joel stopped by your side so maybe your humbleness was pointless.
“Saw you all alone, thought I’d come keep you company,” Joel broke the ice with ease.
How long had he been watching you? The thought made your cheeks feel warm.
“Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased lightly, causing Joel to chuckle.
“I try,” he joked back, shooting you a small wink.
When you had first met Joel you were nervous around him. It was much easier to talk to him now that the two of you had become friends rather than acquaintances. He was an easy guy to get along with and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company rather than just gawking at him in his yard from your window (like you used to do in high school). Your crush hadn’t disappeared though, so you joked around with him as a way to keep things casual and avoid getting in your own head. 
“Sarah told me you were finally here, she was happy to see you,” Joel mentioned with a light smile.
That made you smile back. “She’s a sweet kid,” you told him. “I was happy to see her too.”
You fiddled with the water bottle in your hand as you spoke, trying to unscrew the cap. The stupid thing was stuck and after a few seconds you gave up.
Joel gave you an amused look, glancing between your face and hands. “You want help with that?”
“Yes, please,” you handed it to him. “There you go again, proving chivalry isn’t dead. Thank you.”
Joel unscrewed the cap with ease and handed it back. “Happy to be at your service.”
“So, you guys been here a while?” you asked, sparking up conversation.
“Not too long, only an hour or so. It’s been fun though,” Joel explained. “More for Sarah than for me,��� he admitted, glancing around to find his daughter. He spotted her and she waved, then continued playing with her friends.
“Why’s that?” you wondered, looking up at him just as he looked down at you. 
“Just… I mean, everyone is nice and all,” he started. “But I just feel like I got nothin’ to talk about with them, y’know? Except you.”
“Really?” You tried to not sound too thrown off by that, but you didn’t know he felt like that. It was interesting to say the least. 
“Is that such a surprise?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow curiously.
You shrugged. “Maybe a little. I get it though, I haven’t really talked to anyone other than Bee yet.”
“I don’t know if you’re friends with them, but I saw a bunch of girls your age walking around,” Joel said as a suggestion. 
“Nah, I’d rather just talk to you,” you said casually, before you could even think about what you had said. The look on Joel’s face changed a little, like he was trying to bite back a bigger smile.
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said after a moment. Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You had to look away to be able to breathe, almost certain you were reading into things. You really, really did not want to be disappointed.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joel said, making you realize you hadn’t spoken yet.
“Sure, yeah.”
“You know… young person lingo, don't you?”
You laughed at the awkward wording. If it had been any of the other adults here using the word “lingo” you would’ve cringed, but there was something cute about the way Joel said it. You tried to snap that thought out of your head.
“Mostly, yeah,” you replied with a little chuckle paired with a curious tone. “What’s up?”
“Do you know what a dilf is?” he asked bluntly. That alone told you he had no idea. 
You were so stunned, all you could think to say was, “why?”
“Well, those girls I mentioned… I overhead some of them calling me that,” he explained, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “It’s not bad, is it?” 
Was this karma coming back to you for starting the nickname? It wouldn’t have surprised you. 
“It’s not bad, no,” you assured while also avoiding the main question.
“What is it then?” Joel’s interest was piqued now and while you couldn’t blame him, you also couldn’t think of a way to make this not weird.
“It’s an acronym,” you started. Joel watched you intently, waiting for an explanation. “It means dad I’d like to…” you trailed off, hinting at him the word to fill in the blank.
Joel just looked even more confused. “To what?”
Somehow he made cluelessness incredibly attractive.
Screw it, you thought. This was already weird. Rip the bandaid off, right? “Fuck,” you finished before you could think better of it. 
“Oh,” he stated. You knew it took a second for realization to hit. “Oh. So that means they, um,”
“It’s basically like saying you’re hot,” you explained, filling in when he couldn’t. You hoped he wouldn’t find it insulting or anything like that.
Joel looked a little bashful but found amusement in the situation nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” you suggested, then sipped your water. You looked out at the people milling about rather than meeting his gaze.
“Do you think I’m one?”
You nearly choked on your water. “What?”
“Sorry,” Joel apologized quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I shouldn't've asked that.”
“It’s alright,” you assured him. You paused for a minute, contemplating what you might say to that. You got a rush of bravery. “If you’re asking if I think you’re attractive… the answer is yes.”
Joel couldn’t hold back his smile. He tried, but it was a failed effort. It was like he was trying to contain his anticipation. “What about if I wanted to ask you out? What would your answer be then?”
“Yes.”
Joel grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. 
“Dad!” Sarah’s voice caused the two of you to look away from one another. You saw her running up to you guys and hoped she hadn’t heard a word of your conversation. “Can you come play with me? Mr. Grant just set up a bean bag toss!” 
“Sure, kiddo,” he told her. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him away. 
You smiled a little to yourself at the interaction—he was such a good dad.
Joel slowed her down a little bit to look back at you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 
“Sounds good,” you replied, chuckling lightly. 
The Millers disappeared into the roaming people. You tried to follow them with your gaze but your attention got torn away.
“Waiting in a line for the bathroom in my own house is messed up,” Bee said, popping out seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s got you so happy?” she wondered, eyeing the smile on your face that couldn’t be erased.
“You won’t believe what just happened,” you replied. A part of you still couldn’t believe it. “I’ve got a date with the neighborhood dilf.”
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joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee
if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message! <3
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notbecauseofvictories · 19 days ago
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50/50
Well, 2024 sure did...happen.
Anyway! I didn't set any sort of goal to watch 50 films and read 50 books this year, but that's where I ended up. Neither number is exactly accurate, and I'm leaving out television, revisiting what I've already read/watched, and all the ridiculous novels I pick up when I'm hungover, but still. I'm kind of impressed with myself. I didn't get to 50 books last year, and I don't think I've watched 50 movies in a year ever---but the more I watch them, the more I explore what they can do and communicate, the more I want to see. As a lifelong reader, it's interesting to explore a new kind of art, to try and intuit your way in through a strikingly different form of communicating the exact same humanness.
TOP FIVE 2024
FILMS
The Florida Project (2017)
Crimes of the Future (2022)
M (1931)
Something in the Dirt (2022)
We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021)
It's been months and months since I saw The Florida Project, and I still think about it. The bright and artificial sherbet coloring of it; the dank and mold and shadows that linger around the edges....Actually, I think of all these films in terms of their aesthetics first. Not that there wasn't a story there, but because they all represent such a marriage with form. Consider Crimes of the Future with its fading decay, its browns and rust; M with its stylized, refined cityscape even in the greyscale of 30s cinema; Something in the Dirt where every shot is mundane, or fantastical or both; and We're All Going to the World's Fair, with the particular blue-grey loneliness of the internet age. Surely the benefit of watching a movie (as opposed to anything else) is being presented with something to watch, and I like when directors and creative teams understand that.
Honorable mention to American Psycho (2000) since I'm still a little insane about it---or maybe Corsage (2022) because whether or not it was a good movie, it was nevertheless the most uncompromising, brutal portrait of a historical figure I've seen.
BOOKS
The Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton
Big Swiss, Jen Beagin
Vintner's Luck, Elizabeth Knox
Wylding Hall, Elizabeth Hand
Diavola, Jennifer Thorne
Some people may try to tell you that horror is a discrete genre---I am here to tell you that it's not. All great novels are horror stories, and those listed above especially. From The Rehearsal's self-important artistes, to the therapy-speak Millennials of Big Swiss, to the musicians of Wylding Hall (who miss every sign that Something Is Happening) and the Pace family of Diavola (who deny that the signs mean anything, even after fleeing their vacation home in the night)....all these novels are a study in people experiencing something painful, even terrible. And yet, that provides incredibly fertile territory for their authors to explore the things that come with horror---complicity, desire for closeness, narration and performance, the open wound of family, the thin netting of modernity that keeps us from plunging into something older and darker than we can comprehend.
The only exception might be Vintner's Luck. Not because it's not there as a theme, but because the novel itself spans the narrator's life. By the time he's middle-aged he's committed so many errors, he can't judge too harshly when others do. In this respect it's almost an answer to the questions horror poses---not just how do you survive this? but how do you go on, having survived that?
Honorable mention to Dead Inside, by Chandler Morrison, because it was stomach-turning in the very best way. Echoes of Cipher by Kathe Koja---when an author really knows, really understands, how to wield grossness without shirking or apologizing for it, the result is delightful.
Books of 2020 | Books of 2021 | Books of 2022 | Books of 2023
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eloves-writes · 5 months ago
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🔮with Charles, I just have a vision that maybe I can telepathically send to you! THANK YOU<3
really testing my telepathy skills today, i hope the vision has been adequately received🤞🏻 i feel like this prompt is very versatile, but this felt like biblically accurate charles leclerc to me
song lyric prompt: “tell me all the ways you need me” houdini ~ dua lipa🔮
warnings: sex, oral sex (m+f receiving), swearing, love confessions, needy charles tbh
minors dni
——————————————————
having your best friend charles leclerc on his knees in front of you wasn’t on your bingo card for this year, yet here you were in that very situation in his monaco apartment.
you’d been in love with him since you met him, of course, and he’d felt exactly the same way, but you’d been playing pretend for a good few years now, telling everybody who asked that you were close friends and nothing more; the stolen glances, lingering hands, and flying rumours were a way of life for you. it took a historic home race win to finally give charles the courage to admit his true feelings for you in a way you would never have imagined; charles had kissed you, in front of everybody. the high emotions had overcome him and he couldn’t stop himself from crashing his lips against yours as soon as he saw you after the race. he had walked off without saying another word and headed to the podium celebration, both of your heads rushing with emotion.
when he saw you again, he gave no explanation, only asking you to come back to his apartment, which was how you had gotten to where you were now.
“i love you,” he said simply in his monegasque accent. “i’ve loved you since i met you. and i need to show you how much.”
you were sat on the edge of his bed, your heart was skipping every other beat. “what?”
charles dropped to his knees between your parted legs. “i need you. i need to feel you, i need to taste you. i’ve dreamt about this every night, y/n, please. i’m an idiot for not telling you sooner. let me make you feel good, baby, i need it so badly.”
“yes,” you breathed, confused but happily letting him place quick, soft kisses up your thigh as he looked up at you with those big, puppy dog eyes. he removed your underwear, gently pulling your hips forward so your cunt met his mouth. laying back on his silk sheets, you moaned faintly as he ate you out and you tried to gather your thoughts that were becoming more and more lost in pleasure. this was all you’d wanted.
when you finished, charles moved you further up the bed and got on top of you, removing his own clothes to show his perfectly toned physique. “god, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “need to be inside of you, feel how tight you are around me.”
he fucked you good, making up for the years of mutual pining. he was careful with you but not gentle, asking to fuck you different positions that he needed you in and waiting for your consent before manhandling you, easily throwing you around and holding you up against him. he made you finish twice more, the third time with you on top of him, charles holding your hips still as he thrust into you from below.
“too much, charles,” you panted, exhausted from the activity and overstimulated from his rough pace. he brushed your sweaty hair out of your flushed face.
“ok, baby, then i need your mouth,” he replied, lifting you off of him and watching in awe as you shifted down the bed so your face was level with his dick, already wet from being inside you. you took him in your mouth and he grabbed your hair, only tugging lightly as he held it into a makeshift ponytail whilst you bobbed your head up and down, using your hand to cover what your mouth couldn’t reach.
“so good, my love. so good,” he moaned. “i’m gonna cum.”
you kept going until you felt him release into your mouth, swallowing his load.
he kissed your head as you cuddled up to him afterwards. “i love you, y/n. i really do.”
“i love you too. glad we’re finally admitting it.”
he chuckled softly and kissed your head again. “me too, baby. there’s so many things i need to do with you, i’ve had a lot of time to plan.”
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anabdaniels · 21 days ago
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Local God
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A Secret Santa gift to @papipascaaaal.
Huge thanks to @pedrostories for this marvelous event.
Paring: Marcus Acacius x Female reader
Summary: It was supposed to be the best work of your life analyzing the general's statue, you just didn't expected the statue to turn into the general himself.
Word counting: 7.6k
Rating: +18
Warnings: Major spoilers of Gladiator II, descriptions of damaged mental health, heavy angst.
A/N: This ain't 100% historically accurate for the sake of convenience, but nothing too serious. I created Acacius' full name based on this post by @elflutter.
Divider from: @saradika-graphics
Masterlist || AO3 Link
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You couldn’t contain yourself.
And actually, you weren’t the only one, after all, it wasn't every day that a statue from 210 AD showed up so well preserved, especially after the failed attempt of a damnatio memoriae. You spent your whole day in the museum room where the statue was placed, walking around it as you took notes about what you already knew and what remained an incognita, fascinated about all the information you had and wondering about the things you might never find the answer to.
You were about to roll your eyes and dismiss whoever was knocking at your door and interrupting your line of thought, but you promptly smiled sympathetically as you saw the kind old man who worked on the museum's cleaning team.
“We’re closing, Dr.” the senior man warned in his usual sympathetic tone, refusing to let go to address you by your academic title even after the many times you asked him to.
“Already?” you stated surprised and checked the hours on your computer, surprised by how you didn’t see it passing “I fear I’ll stay a little longer.”
“New boyfriend?” The man joked while opening the door slightly more to take a better look at the statue “I don’t know how you’re not afraid of being locked with these things.”
“Yeah, the big boy is keeping me occupied.” You joked back while patting the statue “You get used to them with the passing time.”
“I’m fine being away from them.” He laughed and shook his head “Good night, dear.”
“Good night.” You turned back to your notes when the man closed the door, recovering your line of thoughts and inevitably getting lost in them, wondering about so many things. You had spent most of your life studying ancient civilizations, especially Egyptians and Romans, and some events always got you thinking if the ancient rulers were truly that full of themselves or were simply dumb.
That statue in front of you was one of those cases.
You looked at the inscription on the marble plinth, a few bronze letters have fallen, but the dented gaps where they used to be had the shape of the letters, keeping the phrase complete and readable: ACACIVS VICTOR AFRICAE. Being face to face with such an opulent statue you wondered how crazy or stupid Geta and Caracalla were to think that the people would be amused with what and how they did to Acacius after they had converted him into Rome's greatest hero.
“You must have lived a hell of a life, hum, general?” you chuckled and shook your head, putting down your notebook on the nearest table and walking to the coffee machine on the opposite corner of the room, pulling your phone from your pocket while you waited for your espresso to be ready.
After the first shot of caffeine of the night, you hopped to get your brain to work faster, especially having drunk it while watching that sequence of short videos, remembering your psychologist explaining to you how they were probably the biggest cause of your troubles to fall asleep quickly. As you put your phone down and took back your papers, you were just about to write down what the next subjects you needed to check about the statue, until the noises of the street cats distracted you, making you involuntarily look towards the window.
And that simple action made any thought you could have shut down completely.
You blinked once, twice, rubbed your eyes, looked both sides, and still couldn’t gather a single logical thing in your mind, after all, wasn’t every day that an almost 6ft tall statue simply disappeared from its plinth. By the morning when it was brought to the Capitoline Museum and you got in charge of studying it, you thought that could only be a dream while seeing that it seemed to have evaporated, you prayed to all and any gods for it to be a dream, but your hope to be living a nightmare was crashed at the very second you heard a noise among the shelves near the door accompanied by a huge shadow; definitely wasn’t a mouse trying to gnaw old papers.
“Who’s there? This ain’t funny.” You felt like a stupid character from a low-budget horror movie while taking a few steps closer to the origin of the noise, but it wasn’t even a conscious move. You froze completely as the figure came out of the dark, not knowing if you wanted to run away or get closer.
“I apologize, ma’am. I mean you no harm.” The man spoke calmly, his deep voice echoing in the room.
“How did you… There’s no… You were just…” you still were incapable of making any coherent statement while facing a Roman general alive and right in front of you.
“I do not know how I am here either, ma’am.” Acacius explained himself while raising his hands at the level of his shoulders, wanting to guarantee you didn’t see him as a threat.
“This can’t be fucking real. You were a pile of bronze just two minutes ago.” You shook your head, rubbing your face one last time to make sure you were awake. “How could you just pop in here, Acacius?” The man seemed a bit surprised by your crude lingo, but what caught his attention wasn’t that.
“You know me?” he asked in a genuine mix of surprise and doubt.
“Of course, any dumbass that heard about ancient Rome knows the great General Marcus Acacius Justus Sacratus.” You said as if it was obvious, still shocked by the absurd situation.
“Ancient Rome?” he asked cluelessly, raising one eyebrow.
“Yeah, I mean, you lived on 210 AD and we are now on 2024 AD.” At that point you were sounding more casual, still not believing such circumstances, but holding yourself to the idea that you simply didn’t remember falling asleep and were having the craziest dream. Acacius digested the information with a frown, seeming to simply accept your statement.
“And what did you call me?”
“Acacius Justus Sacratus. They gave you the Sacratus agnomen after the chaos people made in Rome when the emperors tried to erase you.” You were quite surprised as you saw the shadow of a smile forming on his lips “Whatever, this is all kinda unbelievable. You weren’t supposed to be here. Oh my god, how I’m gonna explain to the director that a whole ass statue simply disappeared under my watch? I’m so fucked up, it would be our biggest exposition this year. I’m gonna be fired.” You had a small outburst of despair when the whole scene finally got solid in your imagination, after all, saying that one of the most searched historical objects had simply converted into its human form wouldn’t convince anyone.
“I deeply apologize for any inconvenience I might be causing you; I will leave immediately if it could help you.” Acacius’ sincere tone hit straight on your nerves, making you unsure if you were mad or sentimental about it.
“Leave where? The Rome you knew has fallen long ago and everything has changed. The empire you used to know and serve is now no more than a bunch of ruins spread across the whole Italy. Let aside the fact that you wouldn’t adapt to this new world by yourself and no one would believe your story. In no time you’d turn into an indigent or end up locked in a mental hospital because everyone would be convinced that you’re schizophrenic or something similar. And don’t get me started with your festive dress.” You said referring to his armor with the golden head of Medusa on the chest and the pompous red cape around his shoulders. “I can’t let you go, Acacius.” You sighed frustrated, all of that becoming too much. Acacius was lowkey confused about a few things you said, but also your temper was starting to annoy him.
“Well, since you know everything, tell me the way back home.” He rolled his eyes halfway, bothered about how you were speaking as if he wasn’t in a difficult situation either or had chosen to be there.
“Don’t start with that, I’ve dedicated a great part of my life to studying yours. I know your sassy temper.” You rolled your eyes, for a second lowkey forgetting that his personality was your smaller problem. Acacius had an answer ready, but your declaration got him unprepared.
“You studied my life?” he questioned, raising one eyebrow.
“Of course I did. You turned into the military version of Julius Caesar in terms of popularity, one of the most mentioned names when the subject is ancient Rome.” You sighed heavily, looking away from him “And I never got over what they did to you.” Acacius wondered for a moment what you were referring to, but he imagined you meant the whole situation in the coliseum.
“I remember all that.” He started in a contemplative tone “I remember being there, the exhaustion, the despair of my dear Lucilla, the pain of the first arrows, then I woke up somewhere else and remained there until today.” He sighed and shook his head “Do you have any idea of what happened?”
“No. Despite all the theories about time traveling and supernatural events, there’s nothing concrete about it that could explain you coming back to life.” You passed one hand over your hair, taking a deep breath. “Well, since I’m already screwed up with all this, can you answer a few things I always wanted to know?”
“Go ahead, it is not as if I have anything else to do.” Acacius agreed while taking a couple of steps to approach you by your desk, looking curious at your notes written on those peculiarly connected letters.
“Are the theories that you were trained by Maximus himself true?” you looked at him expectantly, feeling like your life would finally make sense with that answer.
“Yes, I had the honor of having him as a mentor.” He confirmed while curiously nudging the mouse of your computer, looking abruptly back at you when you slapped the wooden surface.
“I fucking knew it.” You sounded like an excited child “The behavioral pattern in matters of war is so obvious and explains your ties with the royal family. I know I wasn’t crazy!” you got slightly self-conscious as you realized Acacius’ confusedly staring at you, surprised that such a simple thing seemed to be such a big deal to you. “Now you probably think I’m crazy.”
“Not much shocks me after Geta and Caracalla. You look very normal to me.” He affirmed casually, taking a genuine laugh at you with how he seemed so casual about everything.
“Speaking about our crazy boys, the urban legend that you laughed when they threatened you with a damnatio memoriae it’s true either?” Once again you saw yourself breathing slowly to not miss a thing of the answer.
“Sincerely, I am not proud of it, but yes.” He shrugged with a discreet grin “But how do you know such a thing?”
“Well, we believe that it started as a rumor among the Pretorians that spread like fire on the straw due to people’s compassion for your history.” You looked away as your phone screen turned on with some random notification, but what got your attention was Acacius’ suspicious gaze toward the object. “Don’t be amazed so quickly, there’s a lot of weirdest technologies nowadays.”
“Everything seems quite familiar to me.” He said while looking around the room.
“We’re in the middle of the Capitoline Museum, what did you expect?”
“Capitoline?” he ignored your sarcastic remark, more interested in the familiar name.
“Come with me.” Before he could agree, you already had grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to the hallway.
“But this is...”
“Yes, the imperial palace.” You finished his statement as the two of you walked through the hallway full of statues.
“But you said more than a millennium has passed since my time. This place did not change at all.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, stopping a few steps away from the staircase, pissed at yourself for assuming Acacius would magically guess what happened in the last 1814 years.
“This is a museum now; the idea is precisely to keep all of this the most intact possible. Look at that.” You pointed to The Dying Gaul behind Acacius “This is from around 60-40 BC, approximately 150 years older than you and still perfectly preserved, just like everything else here. That’s why your statue was brought here, to be studied, cataloged, and exposed to the public, while we made sure it was kept safe and intact.” Acacius attentively listened to your explanation, actually surprised that those things were from his time or even before since they looked very much like they used to in their time.
“Now it makes sense to me.” He took another look around the hallway and then back to you “What do you want to show me?”
“C’mon, general.” You passed your arm on his while going downstairs, laughing at his expression mixed with confusion and surprise. You got out of the building, getting to the courtyard and leading to the front door, you hesitated for a second before opening it. “Please don’t lose your mind.” You sighed quietly when he nodded and opened the door in front of you.
Acacius took a first hesitant step, at first not seeing anything so different, but then he paid more attention; the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius showing the signs of time with the marks on the bronze, if only he knew that wasn’t even the original one, the pavement also didn’t pass unnoticed by him, definitely that wasn’t there the last time he saw the place. Afraid with which other changes he could find, but unable to hold back himself, he walked closer to the edge of the square, taking a full view of the city, unable to identify what he was feeling while seeing a completely new city, despite still being able to see the Rome he used to know on those ruins. Acacius leaned against the plinth of one of the two enormous statues at the entrance of the Capitoline square, only then seeming to completely understand how much has happened in the world since his death.
“Are you alright?” you asked, approaching him, noticing his distress.
“Yes.” He answered while looking again at the city for a moment, then back at you “I just did not expect all this.”
“You’ll get used to it.” You said casually, not wanting to make the situation worse. “C’mon, we can’t stay here for too long, it’s almost 6 am, soon the team will be here to prepare the guided tour.” Acacius just followed you while still looking around, less shocked, but still not totally believing in what he was seeing.
“What is this?” he questioned as you opened that unknown metallic device.
“It's nowadays carriages.” You answered with one arm lying on the car door “Get in, general. I’ll take you home.”
“You are quite an odd lady.” He said unable to suppress a chuckle.
“I’m not the one wearing a dress and a crown of golden laurels.” You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh as he got into the car the best someone from his time could. You closed the door and walked around, getting into the vehicle and looking at Acacius, smiling at his childish curiosity at the screen showing the GPS.
“Is this a map?” he asked while recognizing the image.
“Yes, and this little dot there moves simultaneously as we move.” You mentioned starting the car and moving on the street.
“Fascinating!” Acacius’ enthusiasm was obvious “This would have been so useful to navigations.”
“You would love to be a general nowadays.” You kept looking at the street in front of you but could see Acacius’ head turning to every side it could.
Your way back home at these hours used to be boring, but not when you had your favorite historical figure asking you tons of questions: “What happened to the coliseum walls? What are those red and green lights? How does the map dot know where we are going? How did those strange street torches extinguish themselves?” Most times you’d be annoyed with so many questions, but the way he sounded so fascinated and curious kind of warmed your heart, making your brain occasionally click; you’d never give any of your male coworkers a ride to the next street corner, yet you felt completely at ease near to an ancient roman general you only knew through the tons of history books you read over your life, truly feeling like some kind of good aura came from him.
And the same was true for him. Despite the little harsh moments you had earlier, he trusted completely his judgment about people, and you definitely were on the trustworthy side for him, after all, he understood you would be in trouble with whoever was your superior, yet you refused to let him at his luck.
Finally, at your house, Acacius’ fascinations with the modern world didn’t cease, some of them quite comprehensible, like his shock when your Alexa turned on all the lights on the house, and some others funnier like his interest in your thermal cup and how it was able to preserve temperature.
“Slow down, I still do not understand how people get inside this thing.” Acacius said in complete confusion while pointing to the TV in your bedroom.
“They don’t.” you laughed and sat next to him at the edge of your bed “What we see is that thing called video that I told you about.”
“Sincerely still confusing, but I think I understand.” He admitted while exploratory pressing the buttons on the remote, shocked with how many things existed inside that illuminated box “I know this.”  You turned to look at the same spot he was, realizing he was talking about some random movie with the Roman legions on the cover.
“Oh yeah, there’s quite a bunch of movies about y’all and your fancy battle clothes.” You mentioned while looking into the grocery store bag you just found next to your bed, not remembering when that got lost there.
“But how do they have video from that time?” you couldn’t hold a genuine laugh at his adorable confusion.
“It’s not from your time, Acacius. It’s all acting as they did in Roman theaters, but now instead of only doing it in real-time, they record it so we can watch it multiple times, at any time we want.”
“How many amazing things exist in this time?” he questioned with an amused frown.
“A lot to be fair.” You found a bag of chips among your lost groceries “Lemme show you modern food.” You said as you opened the package and held it to him, with no second thoughts Acacius took a potato from the bag, savoring it as if it was a fine delicacy.
“This is what you eat every day?” He was already grabbing another chip from the package.
“Not ideally, but sometimes it happens.” You chuckled and grabbed the remote “Let’s watch this. Nothing like a real Roman general to tell me how accurate it is.” You settled better and played the movie.
You were surely amazed at his observations about the movie, sometimes perplexed with something absurdly inaccurate or highly excited with the facts that matched the reality while gladly savoring the potato chips. The most entertained you were, it was almost 8 am on Saturday and you’ve been awake since 6 am on Friday, so you didn’t even realize you started to melt on the bed, until you ended up fully asleep in an awkward position. When he stopped to listen to your opinions about his comments, Acacius looked at you, smiling discreetly as he saw you knocked out with one arm hanging out of the bed. Careful to not wake you, Acacius placed your asleep body the rest more comfortably and laid down on the other side of the bed, turning his gaze at you after looking around the whole room, still processing how amazing those modern things were and how you could be such a pleasing company despite your occasional rude manners.
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"Acacius, I'm back." You said by the front door while taking off your coat. Not much later he showed up with a dishcloth in hand, taking a smile from you. "Hope you didn't make any mess in my kitchen." You joked despite knowing he hadn't.
"Can you trust me at least a bit?" He raised both eyebrows "I was just dealing with that plate cleaner thing." He said referring to your dishwasher, making you chuckle and shake your head. A week has passed and you were shocked by how good of a roommate Acacius was. He quickly understood how things worked nowadays to keep a house in order, accepting easily that no one would be around organizing the place and bringing him food as it used to be in his time, and he seemed to be quite fine with getting some tasks done, feeling useful and entertained while you were at work.
"I need to teach you how to use the vacuum cleaner." You chuckled and fell on the couch, pressing your temples and closing your eyes.
"Is everything alright?" Acacius moved to sit by your side, noticing your tension.
"They want to open the exposition next week." You said with a heavy breath "I don't know what I'm gonna do."
"Oh, my dear, I feel so sorry for causing you all this situation." He reached to touch your hand, looking at you with a guilty face.
"It's not your fault." You looked at him and smiled "And at the end, if I have to get stuck with any historical figure, I'm happy it's you." you hesitated for a moment, but surrendered to your desperate need for some comfort, tucking yourself between his arms and resting your head near the medusa figure of his armor he refused to take off. "Damn, you're probably the best man I ever met." It all got Acacius unprepared. You had exchanged some casual physical contact, especially because the two of you ended up falling asleep together every night while you showed him some new modern thing or asked him about how accurate the information you knew about his time was, he even occasionally woke up with your head resting on his arms a couple times, but nothing like that.
“I am really sorry to have met you in such complicated circumstances.” He started while wrapping his arms around you “But I have to agree with you about it, I wouldn’t choose another awkward sorceress to get stuck with.” He mentioned that in that casual sassy manner, making you look at him with a frown despite the silly smile on your face.
“I’m not a sorceress, it’s just technology. The awkward part, you might be right.” You shook your head while your fingers brushed against the medusa on his chest.
“It fits your beauty.” He said it with no flourishes, making your brain freeze for a moment, that was the last thing you expected to hear. Aware that your current situation couldn’t be worse, you stopped fighting against your rational thoughts and leaned forward, pressing your lips on his, not knowing what to expect from it, but being gladly surprised by the warm big hand rubbing your back as Acacius instinctively pulled you closer to him.
And everything became a blur. Nothing else mattered. For a moment you forgot that your job was at risk, that you had no idea why Acacius was there and for how long he’d stay, that was completely insane to fall in love with a man who could disappear in the blink of an eye just like he showed up, but you couldn’t do anything about it. Even before knowing him in person your affection towards him was a thing, since you never accepted how fate could’ve been so cruel to a good man, and after spending a whole week with him, feeling more at home and happy than ever, that feeling could only grow. To your luck, it wasn’t a one-sided thing. Acacius’ mind was a complete chaos on the first day, cursing the gods for having done such a thing with him, making him live once more with the vivid memory of his tragedy, but after spending some time with you, he started to consider it a gift from the gods; the chance of live again while having the company of such a peculiar figure like you, while having the unique experience of see by himself how the world evolved after Rome.
“I’m sorry.” Your whisper cut the line of thought of both of you as you leaned lightly backward “I shouldn’t have…” you were silenced by the thumb softly pressing your lips.
“Do not worry. I have finally known how the most spectacular thing from this time feels, I could not be more blessed by the gods.” You were incapable of thinking about an answer and he didn’t give you the time to do such a thing, pressing another kiss on your lips.
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“Please, Mr. Bianchi, I promise you this is the last extra time I ask you.” You begged with all your might, unable to decipher your boss’ expression.
“Dear, I know your amazing work and for me, you could have a whole year with that statue, but it doesn’t depend solely on my wish as you know very well.” The old man spoke while aligning the pile of papers on his desk.
“Another week is all I ask.” You tried your chances, twisting your keys between your fingers.
“Impossible. The best I can do for you is a couple of days.”
“I understand.” You nodded, trying to keep yourself together, and got up, leaving the room after a weak goodbye.
You crossed the building of the museum faster than you ever had, glad that the visits were already closed, so you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing the tears of despair rolling down your face. As you got out at the Capitoline Square, you walked around a couple of times in complete confusion. What would you do when they searched for the statue and only found the empty plinth? How would you convince anyone that your new roommate and lover was the lost statue? You certainly would go to jail accused of robbing the historical piece. Your academic career would be dead and buried and Acacius would be completely alone. Damn, you couldn’t bear the idea of him not knowing why you didn’t come back home or worse, thinking you had abandoned him voluntarily. The only way your life could not end in a disaster was if Acacius became a statue again, but that you could never wish for. Not only because your feelings towards him were almost unhealthily growing with each passing day or because you couldn’t imagine sleeping without his warmth again, but also because he seemed to be so happy and living such a light life, the life he deserved of all the misfortune he experienced before.
Standing in the middle of the empty Capitoline square, you stared at the replica of the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, feeling your rage on the verge of getting out of control.
“Your stupid bastard. Couldn’t you have kept your damn dream of Rome to yourself? Couldn’t you have changed the fucking Roman rules and let your damn daughter assume the empire so she would’ve never involved Acacius in all of this? Your dumb old man.” You angrily shouted at the bronze figure of Marcus Aurelius as if he could hear you and as if Geta and Caracalla’s cruelty towards Acacius was his fault either.
Not wanting to bear your thoughts any longer, you ran to your car and drove like crazy back home, aware that you would probably receive some notes from the transit department, and not caring about anything else but hiding yourself in Acacius’ arms and pretending nothing of that was true and that you were just a simple roman peasant that got lucky enough to catch the attention of the empire’s greatest general.
“Acacius?” you called passing by the front door, your heartbeat getting wilder when he didn’t show up like every day until then “Acacius?” you called louder while starting to look around the house. You heard some noises from your backyard and headed there, sighing relieved as you saw your general there, safe and sound. Then your attention moved to the whole scene and you finally understood Acacius’ unending questions about modern table setting and the specific things he asked from the grocery after going into your grandma’s recipe book. “What is all of this?” you asked with a wide smile, observing the picnic towel in the middle of your patio filled with most of the recipes of your grandma that you told Acacius were your favorites.
“You have been so good to me and you’re one of the best hosts I ever met. I thought it would be the minimum to try to reciprocate it.” He explained while stopping in front of you, placing his golden laurels on your head with a playful smile then held out one hand to you. You were anesthetized while holding his hand, your mind going blank of all worries and concerns. How could he become better at any passing second? You would never know.
Your heart felt light as a feather on the wind while you two shared that meal under the starry sky and your body was almost in a trance, making you unable to do better than nod with a silly smile at every word that fell from Acacius’ lips, fully convinced that if the afterlife paradise existed, it must be like that: sit on the grass and be fed on the mouth by a gold-hearted man while using his laurels crown.
“You look distracted.” Acacius observed while fiddling with a lock of your hair.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that all of this seems better than any good dream I ever had.” You moved to sit sideways on his lap; after two complete weeks and five days of living together, that already had become a casual move between the two of you.
“I am glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled warmly, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your forehead “And be warned that I intend to do it again.”
“You won’t hear a single complaint from me, general.” You chuckled and passed your hand through his graying hair, laying forward to rest your face against the curve of his neck.
“I am not sure if your personality would allow you such a thing, but I will have faith in you.” Acacius pressed a soft kiss on your temple and remained like that, enjoying the warm feel of you all nestled on his lap, not knowing when was the last time he felt so at peace, not even the annoying cold on his arm being able to disturb him at that moment.
 Having spent most of his life in the Roman wars, the feeling of being at home wasn’t a familiar sensation to him, but Acacius knew very well that being tangled at you in the middle of your patio with your breath tickling his neck was certainly his new definition of home, even in that strange period with its mechanisms that looked very much like some kind of wizard work and the memories of his first life haunting him, he still was unbothered by any of it.
“Are you tired?” he asked softly as your eyelids fell closed, caressing your face.
“No, I’m just too comfortable here.” You shifted slightly to look at him, smiling when he aligned the laurels on your head.
“Very well then, this was the goal.” He playfully pinched your cheek, making you chuckle and shrug.
“Damn, your hand is freezing.” You straightened yourself on his lap, rubbing his biceps to confirm that he was cold. “You’ll need a long-sleeved tunic to survive the winter.” You laughed and gave him a soft peck on the lips before leaning a bit backward, frowning as you felt a weird nudge on your back. You turned to look at what it was and immediately wished you had never done it, feeling the tears promptly forming in your eyes as you tried to deny the horrible truth, refusing to believe that Acacius’ whole right forearm was turning back into bronze. His gaze followed yours and he could only sigh exasperated when he saw it; despite imagining that the gods may not let him stay forever, he hoped it’d happen later. “No!” you shook your head in complete denial “This can’t be true.” You hugged him tight, hoping that was just a nightmare, but at the same time, you could feel his warmth fading away and his skin becoming as cold as the metal of his armor.
“Darling,” he cupped your face with his left hand, unable to move the other one “we both knew this might happen. Do not cry, everything will be alright, you will not have any trouble explaining my disappearance now.” It broke your heart how calmly he told you that, reminding you that he was the same man who surrendered in the coliseum to spare his stepson’s life, of course, he would only be happy and relieved that you would have a statue to present to your superior.
“It isn’t worth anything to me if I have to come back to my empty house every day. How am I supposed to go back to my old life now, Acacius? Who’ll make me explain to them that the singers aren’t trapped inside the radio?” you were already sobbing, holding onto his red cape for dear life.
“Ease yourself, dear. You are a very clever lady; I am sure you will be alright without me.” Acacius smiled tenderly, his eyes watery.
“I’ll not. This is not fair. I’ve dreamt my whole life about meeting you, and now that I did, you’ll leave me.” You clung to him like a scared child, feeling heartbroken with the idea of him coming back to be just a pile of bronze.
“Little dove, we both know this is not my place, no matter how much I loved every second spent with you. Furthermore, you’ll be close to me every day at the museum. It will be okay.” His voice was calm despite the crying tone. You still were in complete denial, but the rest of his arm also turning back into bronze was harshly bringing you back to reality.
“We should take you back to the museum, then.” That was the last thing you wanted to do, but there was no other choice.
The ride to the museum was dead silent, just like many authors said it happened at the coliseum the day Geta ordered Acacius’ assassination, and then you understood why the sepulchral silence was always mentioned in every work about the event, it was indeed a horrible thing to experience.
The way into the Capitoline Museum wasn’t the easiest, Acacius’ mobility was getting reduced and you could only curse Michelangelo for having put those huge ass stairs when he designed the place in the 16th century. Finally, at the Gallery floor of the Palazzo Nuovo, you entered the room you were designated to work in when Acacius’ statue arrived, feeling even more heartbroken when an invisible force seemed to put him back on top of the marble plinth and position his body exactly as it was the first time you saw it, the process of turn back to bronze seemed to be faster.
“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” you asked, sitting by the floor, desolated resting against the cold marble.
“Maybe not in this life, but I am sure we will meet again someday.” Acacius answered in a weak voice, just the upper part of his torso still in its human form.
“This is too much time.” You whined completely miserable, feeling like you didn’t have any more tears left.
“I am sure my clever lady will find a way to spend this time.” That warm affectionate smile was the last thing you saw before the rest of him turned back into bronze and his face recovered that serious imposing expression that made you so happy when the statue was found, and now would forever haunt your nightmares.
You grabbed the laurels crown that still was in your head holding it tight against your chest, wanting to protect the only tangible memory of him you had, but of course, fate wouldn’t be so generous, taking your last hope away when the golden crown unmade itself, just to show up again at the head of the statue that just a half hour ago was your companion, then you couldn’t hold it back anymore, screaming and crying while holding into the cold metal legs of the sculpture, feeling your stomach twist and your heart ache, sobbing until your whole head was hurting and you had no more forces to stand on your feet.
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You had no idea of how you made your way back home that night when you woke up on your couch, you didn’t dare to lay on your bed, fearing that Acacius’ scent might no be gone from your bedsheets and already certain you would never have the courage of wash them. You spend the whole day walking around the house like a zombie, also not daring to look at your backyard, aware that you didn’t have the strength to revive that final happy memory with him. You ignored the 20 lost calls of your boss, only calling him back by the end of the day to ask for a few days off, claiming that you were sick and your voice hoarse from your uninterrupted cry made the excuse very convincing.
A couple of days later you heard that the opening exhibition of Acacius’ statue was a success, and that would be all your contact with it. You wouldn’t dream of showing up there, you didn’t even know if you’d be able to ever enter the museum again, especially when you found out that after the first week, it would probably go to the same room as The Dying Gaul, so every day when you got up the staircase you would face it, wanting you or not.
That whole next week passed like a confused mess in your memory, you never knew when was the last time you had slept, eaten, or taken a shower. All you knew was your computer screen and the pile of papers and snack packages forming around it, wasn’t an unusual scenario, since a lot of your work required research, however, the difference this time was the content. You always valued facts with reliable bibliographical sources, yet there you were, reading articles written by people that in any other scenario, you would completely despise the work and refuse to read, but in desperate times, desperate measures are called for. You started with serious stuff such as Einstein's theory of gravity, but it didn’t lead you to any positive answer about time traveling or anything that could bring Acacius back, so you started to dive into dubious corners of the internet and searched all the roman mythology book you had to see if there was any legend that could give you any clue of what to do, but of course all that lead to nothing, you would even had searched about it on the dark web if that tutorial you followed had worked.
After days of non-stop research and at the edge of burnout, your logical thought finally seemed to be back, making you come to your senses for a second and realize that all that was bullshit. What happened to you and Acacius was probably an isolated situation that never could be replicated. Overthinking everything and having a manic episode, you saw yourself finally having the strength to deep clean the nasty place your house had become while talking to yourself about how ridiculous that was.
The only thing that you didn’t foresee was that brand new wave of sadness when you saw yourself standing in the middle of your perfectly clean and silent house, hoping that at any moment you would see Acacius showing up with a random electronic device asking you how it worked.
But he wouldn’t do it, never again.
The unique nature of your relationship that a few hours earlier served as a consolation, turned into your new nightmare. It had been an exceptional occasion, supposing that the gods existed, they probably just had accidentally messed up with some timeline and put you and Acacius together. Of course, it had to be an accident, there was no way your relationship would be manageable, at least not in 2024, if you were the one mistakenly showing up in ancient Rome, maybe it could work, but it wasn’t like that.
You entered another spiral of insanity, repeating to yourself that there was no chance of it ever happening again while you sobbed curled up on the side of the bed Acacius used to sleep, confirming that his scent indeed was still there. As you planned originally, you didn’t wash the bedsheets or the dishcloth he last touched, just like the dress you were wearing the night he turned into bronze again, preserving every crumb of his smell you could, and also going into some more serious business, taking a tone of pregnancy tests as you realized your period was late and praying to every force above for a positive result, hoping to have a part of Acacius with you, and feeling like the world was ending when after all the negatives, your period showed up.
Despite feeling like your life was over, after two weeks, you had to go back to the museum, looking away or closing your eyes every damn time you had to pass in front of the Sala del Gladiatore where now Acacius’ statue was, facing the Dying Gaul sculpture and the door, making it harder to ignore, especially if added the fact that the Gaul was your favorite statue of the museum, certainly a cruel joke of the destiny.
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On that random ordinary afternoon, you were unworriedly turning off the hallway lights, after so much time working there, you managed to walk among the statues in the dim light without being terrified. You were ready to go downstairs, but saw that someone did you the favor of forgetting to turn off the light in that room you avoided for so long, for a moment you considered just letting it be, but you knew that was a risky move that could even start a fire, so you built the courage to walk in, planning to quickly turn off the light and leave, but you failed even before trying, passing through the switch near the door with no second thoughts.
You smiled as you stopped in front of the Dying Gaul, only then realizing you had missed him too; you used to pass there almost every day to look at him, but since they brought the general’s statue to the room two months before, you never entered there again. For a moment you wondered if it was just your confused mind or if the Gaul and Acacius looked a lot like each other.
After building the courage, you turned around to face Acacius, feeling that familiar sting in your heart. Indulging your search for some comfort, you sit by the floor, resting your back against the wall, just staying there for a moment.
“I have to admit you were right. I found a way to spend time. I adopted a dog, you know, a Pitbull mix, the cutest little guy. I named him Justino if you catch my drift.” You chuckled and looked at the other statues in the room. “Y’all stop judging me, I had to share with someone.” You looked up at Acacius, smiling widely as you briefly recalled the night when he became human. “I miss you, general, and sometimes I rewatch that horrible movie about the Roman army you found amazing. I hope you know I haven’t stopped thinking about you, I just needed time to put myself together. I’ll probably never stop thinking about our time together, and probably will show up here every day from now on.” You sighed and got up, looking at him with a sad smile “I cursed your gods a lot, but now I can only thank them for having messed up with whatever cable that controls the timelines of the world.” You reached one arm up, managing to touch one of his hands, relaxing with the familiar form, even with the warmth absent. “You’ll always hold a place in my heart.” You closed your eyes and allowed your head to fall forward, resting your forehead against the bronze surface. “Ubi tu gaius, ego gaia.” You mumbled quietly, taking a moment there before building the courage to walk away, turning off the light, and getting downstairs, wondering if would be a good idea to try to convince Mr. Bianchi to allow pets at the museum, at least for one day, so you could take Justino to meet Acacius and finally see the man you told him so much about and named him after.
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chaconnehoonie · 10 months ago
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Welcome to Earth- Enhypen(Pilot) (discontinued)
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⟿ Extraterrestrial! Enhypen x Fem! Reader
Synopsis- The idea of extraterrestrial life was never a deeply interesting topic to you. Of course, that was before you found a wrecked spaceship and seven inhuman beings.
Estimated WC: 20k-25k
Pilot WC: 812
Warnings: Aliens, cursings, angst, smut(hyung line), fluff, idiotic humor, mythology, [etc. will be added on]
Taglist-
@deobitifull @shinrjj @notevenheretbh1 @skzenhalove @jooniesbears-blog @kgneptun @minniejenseo @strxwbloody
Please comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist, and please have your age in your bio!! I will not be tagging minors or anyone without an age.
A/N: Although this is titled as the Pilot chapter, this will not be a series! The purpose of having this short Pilot chapter is for everyone to get a taste of what’s to come, and to test the waters with a less common genre. So, there will not be chapters, only the pilot and the full length fic.
The depictions of aliens and extraterrestrials in this writing are not meant to be “historically” accurate or follow society’s standard view, these characteristics are made to fit the storyline.
This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are like this in real life, MDNI!
“Seriously- who’s idea was it to visit another galaxy just for some stupid party!?” Sunghoon stands up from the table he was sitting at, abruptly leaving the game he was playing with Sunoo and Jungwon. He stomps his way over to the spaceship’s control system, catching the attention of Jay who was taking a nap. “And why is Riki flying us? Who’s supposed to be controlling this ship!?”
The panic in Sunghoon’s voice rises, quickly attempting to shove Riki out of the seat but the younger just shoves him back. “Chill, Jake was steering but he needed a bathroom break so I took over.” Riki shrugs casually. Jay finds interest in the conversation and walks up next to Sunghoon, heavy yet squishy feet slapping the tiled floor underneath him.
“Chill? Chill?! Do not tell me to chill when we’re at risk of dying!” Sunghoon is yelling now, drawing their friends’ attention to the situation. Jay groans at Sunghoon’s volume ringing in his sleepy ears.
“What’s going on? Where’s Jake?” Heeseung hears the commotion and comes to rest a hand on Sunghoon’s slimy shoulder, speaking calmly to steady his friend. “Jake left to take a leak, and told Riki he could steer the ship. So unbelievable.” Sunghoon shakes his head in disapproval, mentally listing off the ways he’ll punish Jake in the future. “Maybe if I water his favorite plant with acid rain he’ll get the message.”
Heeseung attempts to relax his raging friend, forgetting about their younger one now steering the ship in the wrong direction. “Wait, Riki- do you even know where we’re going?” Heeseung looks towards the radar, noting how the small image of a ship was further than it should be. “Well…Jake didn’t tell me where to go, he just told me to keep steering.”
The eldest rubs a long finger against his temple, trying to remain calm unlike Sunghoon. Just in time, Jake comes strolling out of the bathroom with a sharp-toothed grin. “See! I knew he wouldn’t crash. You guys just have to trust me.” He sits in the passenger seat next to Riki, encouraging him to keep flying as he’s doing a great job at “keeping everyone alive.”
Before Jake was able to take over the steering, a loud shriek comes from Jay who was now pointing towards the radar. “Guys look! What is that?” All five boys focus on the electronic, watching the way the ship is now suddenly turning towards a massive unidentifiable object. “Not you Riki! You’re supposed to focus when you steer!” Jay turns the boy’s large head back towards the windshield, but it’s too late.
“Watch out! It’s an asteroid!” Sunghoon grabs the steering wheel above Riki’s hands, trying to take control of the whole ship, sighing as the flying vehicle becomes stable again. “Seriously guys, who lets a child have this much power?” Everyone lets out relieved laughs, although Sunghoon wasn’t cracking a joke.
Just as they thought they were safe, a loud crash is heard behind them followed by the screams of Sunoo and Jungwon. Everyone turns to see the two of them holding onto different pieces of furniture as a hole in the large broken window threatens to suck them out of the ship as smaller pieces of furniture fly out. “There’s more!” Jungwon shouts as him and Sunoo look out of the big broken window next to them, watching as the star-speckled sky fills with large flying meteors.
Jungwon grabs Sunoo’s arm, pulling him towards the front of the ship with everyone else to huddle for protection. “This is bad guys, there’s too many!” Sunghoon is cautiously dodging any meteors and debris while everyone else is balled up together, slimy cold skin pressed tight as they get ready to say their goodbyes forever.
“I never thought it would end this way.” Heeseung starts speaking, voice shaky as he tries not to worry the younger members. “I always thought Jake and Riki would accidentally light a mushroom forest on fire or something…not this.” He finally breaks down and everyone else follows, sobbing and gripping each other tighter.
Sunghoon doesn’t give up, continuing to steer even with multiple asteroids denting and destroying the ship. “I can try to land us somewhere.” His voice sounds frantic as he tries not to show his panic. Before he can find a clear planet to land on, a sudden asteroid is seen rapidly flying forward and into the windshield.
A fire erupts from the destroyed engine, any alarms enabled on the spaceship are now blaring and flashing red as the whole aircraft plummets down. “Hoon!” Sunoo cries out as he extents a hand to the older who is cowering away from the windshield and running over towards his friends.
“We’re going down! Prepare for impact!”
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youryurigoddess · 9 months ago
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The biggest Easter egg yet
I’ve been meaning to address this for a while now, but @camdenleisurepirates gave me the final push after reading my piece on Gabriel’s cross. Huge thanks for that morsel of motivation, my ADHD brain loves you.
This is going to be yet another long read, although not as extensive as my bookshop statues meta. Still, better get yourself some hot chocolate or another drink of your choice and make sure you’re comfortable!
Now, remember the X-Ray interview with Peter Anderson on Easter Eggs in the opening animation he created for the second season? Forget red herrings, apparently our fandom has a literal red phone box! I’m convinced that this whole scene is a one big — the biggest, actually — Easter Egg, and I’ll explain why step-by-step.
The red phone box Crowley used to warn Aziraphale about the Antichrist and the following Armageddon in S1, the exact one where he left change for an emergency call, seems important enough in terms of the future S3 plot, but there’s so much more going on in this frame. Not only the lift.
The angels
At the very start of this sequence we can see a fragment of an elaborate bridge guarded by cherubs sitting on two columns, maybe globes, leading to a distant structure built over a literal mountain of trash — all elements of the S1 and S2 openings which were consciously picked out by the animators and put together in a very ominous pile.
Ready for some scavenging?
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In the Gabriel’s cross meta, I already mentioned the importance of Ponte Sant’Angelo in relation to the ex-Archangel’s statue. Now it’s time to widen our perspective and focus on the full picture — quite literally. Apparently the bridge from the opening sequence has ten statues of angels, exactly as the Italian historical monument.
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First things first though: the two big cherubs guarding the entry to the bridge might seem familiar to some of you. While they’re obviously not copies of the same statue, a very similar pair of brass cherubs is placed in Aziraphale’s bookshop to symbolize Aziraphale and Crowley. And looking at the screenshot above and the way they sleep or sulk with their backs turned on each other, they are most certainly not talking. The addition of more than one set of eyes is a lovely reference to biblically accurate angel memes though.
If we assume the traditional left-right positioning of the characters, Aziraphale is on the left and Crowley is on the right. Directly behind Aziraphale we can see a ship named “Good Traits”, but in reverse — kinda sorta confirmed by the animator Peter Anderson to be connected to the concept of the seven deadly sins on Twitter. Same that was mentioned recently by Neil in one of his asks.
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The presence of Gabriel — a renegade Archangel wielding a broken cross — on the right, Crowley’s side, seems to match this theory. It could also support one of the possible interpretations of the very last bookshop shot in the S2 finale.
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Out of all ten statues, Angel Carrying the Cross by Ercole Ferrata is considered inferior to the others on the bridge in that it appears to be a two-dimensional relief sculpture rather than an unbounded three-dimensional artwork, which seems to match Gabriel’s first impression as a character.
The inscription on the statue reads, “Dominion rests on his shoulders" — that is the weight of the cross that Christ was forced to carry through Jerusalem before being crucified. Even though Gabriel’s burden partially disappeared, the whole bridge and its environment is covered with crosses. It’s clear that we’re looking at a direct parallel of Via Crucis, the Way of Sorrows.
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Towering over the Italian bridge, at the very top of Castel Sant’Angelo, is a statue of Archangel Michael, seen as the golden angel on the top left part of the trash pile. Aziraphale’s side, perhaps as his assistant, perhaps a rival? Legends of the Jews mention Michael as the chief of a band of angels who questioned God's decision to create man on Earth. The entire band of angels, except for Michael, was condemned to Fall — which could explain why they have such a good access to the Grapevine That Obviously Doesn’t Exist. And whatever’s going on between Michael and Dagon, perhaps.
In Roman Catholic teachings, Michael has four main roles or offices. Their first role is the leader of the Army of God and the leader of Heaven's forces in the final triumph over the powers of Hell. Viewed as the angelic model for the virtues of the spiritual warrior, their conflict with evil taken as the battle within. The second and third roles of Michael deal with death. Their second role is that of an angel of death, carrying the souls of Christians to Heaven. Michael descends at the hour of death and gives each soul the chance to redeem itself before passing; thus throwing the devil and his minions into consternation. In their third role, Michael weights souls on perfectly balanced scales they are often depicted with as their attribute. In their fourth role, Michael appears as the guardian of the Church. Might be the reason why they’re the closest to the building on top of the mountain.
It looks like Michael lost their sword though, just like Gabriel lost a part of the cross he was supposed to carry. The sword in question was supposed to be used to slay the dragon — Satan, the Adversary — according to John of Patmos and his Book of Revelations.
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Speak of the devil: interestingly, there are two copies of an anonymous variation of the Angel of Light statue appearing twice on both sides of the bridge. Both the title as well as the statue itself seem like obvious references to one (former) angel literally called the Lightbringer, Lucifer. Perhaps one of them is representing his son, the Antichrist, instead, with the both of them helping out the Ineffables on two opposing — or perhaps only parallel — sides of the bridge?
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The light carried by Lucifer appears to be green, a color used in the series as a visual representation of Hell, but on the intertextual level might also serve as a reference to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel The Great Gatsby and the green light at the end of the Daisy’s dock symbolizing the undying love, desperation, and longing for an unattainable dream. In the story, the color represents the limitations of power and money. Not surprisingly, the novel appears on Jim’s bookshelf and is part of the Good Omens book club — a list of personal recommendations from Neil Gaiman and Douglas Mackinnon for the fans to catch up on before the next series.
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Last but not least, the possible connection to Libertas as the inspiration for the Statue of Liberty, shown multiple times in S2 as a foreshadowing of our character’s trip to America in S3. The related quote of Patrick Henry “Give me liberty or give me death” becomes even more relevant if we consider how the motto of the French Revolution was sometimes written as Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort (“Liberty, equality, fraternity or death”). A lesson surely learnt by a certain angel back in 1793, when he was held prisoner for the last time before being forcefully taken Upstairs in the Final Fifteen.
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The bridge and the castle
Okay, these are the basic observations. Now a brief historical overview and we will reach the fun bit in a jiffy.
Have you ever wondered about the meaning of this whole complex? It wasn’t always angelic, but named after a Roman noble dynasty. The Aelian bridge was built by the Emperor Hadrian in 134 AD to span River Tiber from the city center to his mausoleum. With time, the remains of more emperors were put to rest in there, until it was plundered and destroyed in a war. Then the remaining structure was transformed into a military fortress and a castle serving as the papal residence in times of war.
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The Papal State also used Sant'Angelo as a prison; the Renaissance philosopher Giordano Bruno was imprisoned there for six years. Executions of the inmates were performed in the small inner courtyard, but they weren’t the only deaths in the area. On the other side of the bridge, in the adjoining Piazza del Ponte, under the watchful eyes of the stone likenesses of two saints, the public executions were held, and the heads of the criminals were brought onto the bridge and exposed to public view there.
As a prison, the former mausoleum is also the setting for the third act of Giacomo Puccini's 1900 opera Tosca. Long story short, the eponymous heroine convinces her lover to feign death so that they can flee together. Unfortunately, they are betrayed and the firing squad shoots at him with real bullets instead of blanks. Tosca believes in the quality of his acting performance rather than the truth, and when the realization hits her, she leaps to her death from the Castel’s ramparts.
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After Nero’s bridge was destroyed, the travelers were forced to cross this bridge as the only direct route to the Vatican and St Peter’s Basilica, earning it the nickname “the bridge of Saint Peter”. That’s why in the 16th century Pope Clement VII erected statues of Saints Peter and Paul at the ends of the bridge, guarding it as they are supposed to protect the entry to Heaven.
In 1688 the bridge was embellished with ten angel statues, five on each side of the bridge, carrying Arma Christi, the Instruments of the Passion. The Good Omens characters represented by those statues in the opening sequence might be other instruments of Christ’s suffering as parts of the system that needs to be overthrown or replaced.
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One angel appears particularly important in the context of both the bridge and the Second Coming — Saint Michael the Archangel.
Legend holds that the Archangel Michael appeared atop Hadrian’s mausoleum, sheathing their sword as a sign of the end of the plague of 590, thus lending the castle its present name. A less charitable yet more apt elaboration of the legend, given the militant disposition of this particular Archangel, was heard by the 15th-century traveler who saw an angel statue on the castle roof. He recounts that during a prolonged season of the plague, Pope Gregory I heard that the populace, even Christians, had begun revering a pagan idol at the church of Santa Agata in Suburra. A vision urged the Pope to lead a procession to the church. Upon arriving, the idol miraculously fell apart with a clap of thunder. Returning to St Peter's by the Aelian Bridge, the Pope had another vision of an angel atop the castle, wiping the blood from his sword on his mantle, and then sheathing it. While the Pope interpreted this as a sign that God was appeased, this did not prevent Gregory from destroying more sites of pagan worship in Rome. In honor of the vision and Michael, the bridge was renamed in their name.
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What if the procession from the opening sequence was meant to imitate the procession led by the Pope from the legend? What if Aziraphale, now officially a Supreme Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Host, is the one actually leading it, with Crowley finally at his side as his partner and second in command, just like it was proposed by him in the Final Fifteen?*
What if by some reason, maybe personal ambition, maybe just a tragic coincidence or situational necessity, there really was an impostor in Heaven, and Metatron — the so called Voice of God who seemingly doesn’t speak up for Herself since Job’s test — has been playing a winged version of the Wizard of Oz all along?
It would make just the perfect sense if not for one tiny detail. The procession we see on the bridge is actually led by Crowley, which doesn’t fit the parallel at all — unless it’s actually a proof of an ongoing body swap, as the mismatched names of the actors could also suggest?
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The mountain of trash and the bookshop
The symbolic mountain of trash we can see Aziraphale and Crowley climb is a reference in itself. To an actual mount called Zion, believed to be the place where Yahweh, the God of Israel, dwells (Isaiah 8:18; Psalm 74:2), the place where God is king (Isaiah 24:23) and where God has installed king David on his throne (Psalm 2:6).
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In a literal sense, it’s a hill in Jerusalem, although the sources refer to three different locations in different contexts — although for the purpose of this meta the Upper Eastern Hill (Temple Mount) makes the most sense. Its highest part became the site of Solomon's Temple. The same King Solomon the rituals in Freemasonry refer to. Masonic buildings, where lodges and their members meet, are sometimes called "temples" specifically as an allegoric reference to King Solomon's Temple, not actual places of worship. And Aziraphale’s bookshop is built around Solomon’s Magic Circle.
In a metaphysical sense, and especially in the context of the Christian New Testament, it is also believed to be a part of Heaven — the heavenly Jerusalem, God's Holy, eternal city. Christians are said to have “(…) come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven” (Hebrews 12:22-23 cf. Revelation 14:1). Just like the procession were following in the opening sequence.
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There’s been some speculation whether the lift on top of the mountain could symbolize Aziraphale’s bookshop, or, more specifically, the oculus in its centre. If you look closely at the enhanced screenshot, you can see that the dome isn’t made of glass and that it looks like a tower (a church’s bell tower, perhaps) more than a whole building.
And there is an actual doorway in there — not like the modern lift doors — opening up towards the source of that white, heavenly light. And what kind of enlightenment can you usually find up in the skies or heavens?
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We’re welcomed to crack open the doors to the Heavenly Sanctuary — the Most Holy place, Sanctum Sanctorum, the Holy of Holies — to undraw the final curtain and finally stand eye to eye with God. Who knows, maybe even ask some questions or listen to some answers.
Or, at the very least, to meet one of Her forms known as Jesus Christ. Because that’s precisely where he serves as our (humanity’s) Mediator and the Holy Priest after his Ascension to Heaven. The structure at the top reminds of some temple architecture seen in Antiquity and Christianity.
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The Catholic Church considers the Church tabernacle or its location (traditionally at the rear of the sanctuary) as the symbolic equivalent of the Holy of Holies, due to the storage of consecrated hosts in that vessel and their meaning as the Body of Christ. Tabernacle is commonly marked with a red light turned on and off depending on His presence or lack if it.
Looks like He’s already in the area, one way or another, keeping eye on some things.
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Are we following a procession of believers happy to embrace their one and true Savior? Or are they actually protesters on their way to dethrone the authority and the system?
Guess we will have to wait and see.
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scary-grace · 5 months ago
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Off-Script - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic
Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)
This is my second fic for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, with the prompt 'summer blockbuster'! As usual, thank you for running this event and congratulations on the milestone!
Act 1 Act 2
Act 1
“No.”
“No?” Midoriya Izuku repeats. He taps his headset, like there’s something wrong with it instead of what Dabi just said. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t do swordfighting,” Dabi says. “It’s in my contract.”
Midoriya looks baffled, just like every newbie director who’s ever hit their head against one of the batshit provisions in Dabi’s contracts. And Dabi’s not anywhere close to done with kicking the director around. “How come I’ve got a sword, anyway? Quicksilver didn’t have one in any of the other movies. Or the comics.”
In Tomura’s opinion, Dabi should keep his mouth shut about what happens in the X-Men comics. Everything he knows about the comics and the character he plays is something Tomura had to explain to him way too many times, in detail. “We’re rebooting the Apocalypse arc,” Midoriya says. “The premise is that Apocalypse rises in every age – long enough for people to forget about him in between – and the same characters have been fighting him the whole time, reincarnated over and over again. Only this time it’s different, because four of those characters have been chosen as Horsemen, and they’re fighting for Apocalypse, not against him.”
“Great. Why is there a swordfight?”
“In the original arc, technology provided a boost to the anti-Apocalypse forces,” Midoriya says. “By setting it in the Iron Age, we’re taking that advantage away. That’s why everyone has weapons. Including Quicksilver.”
“Cool.” Dabi lights up a cigarette. “I’m still not doing it.”
“But –”
“That’s what I pay him for.” Dabi jerks a thumb at Tomura. “Talk to him.”
Tomura’s been Dabi’s stunt double for basically all of Dabi’s career. Most stunt doubles stick to stunts, but over the years, Tomura’s role has expanded from stunts to include anything Dabi doesn’t feel like doing. Swordfighting isn’t a stunt. It should be well within Dabi’s skills. And it is – he just doesn’t want to do it. Which means that Tomura’s up.
Midoriya looks at Tomura hopefully. Tomura levers himself up off the wall and rolls his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
Midoriya follows him to costume and makeup, yapping the whole way, trying to figure out what he did to upset Dabi so much. Tomura thinks about explaining that it’s not Midoriya’s problem and Dabi’s just like that, then decides against it. Midoriya’s the one who decided not to recast Quicksilver, and Dabi isn’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He made his own bed. Tomura’s not here to tuck him in, and he’s not here to make excuses for Dabi. He’s here to do stunts. That’s it.
Quicksilver’s costume isn’t skintight, which makes it miles better than any of the other Quicksilver suits Tomura’s had to wear since Dabi was first cast in the franchise. It’s his first time in the outfit, so he asks the costumer about it. “There was no Lycra in the Iron Age,” Magne explains as she stitches one last panel into place. “The director wanted historically accurate materials. And the SFX team threatened to quit if they had to edit any more bulges out of the shots.”
That’s a relief. Whenever a new movie in the franchise comes out, the fan blogs make lists ranking all the bulges, which is awkward at best and career-threatening at worst, given the one time a list used a shot where Tomura was doubling Dabi and ranked it higher than Dabi had ever placed on his own. Midoriya is deeply weird, even as far as directors go, but Tomura will take the wins where he can get them.
He tunes back in to what Midoriya’s saying as Magne screws around with his hair to mimic Quicksilver’s signature look. “Who am I fighting again?”
“Psylocke. You read the script, right?”
Sure, Tomura read the script. The script isn’t the problem so much as the fact that the actress playing Psylocke quit last week. “Did you find a new one?”
“Of course!” Midoriya brightens up creepily fast. “Right, you should meet her! She’s – um –”
“Up at the site already,” Magne says, spraying Tomura with hairspray without warning him first. “She was pretty quick to costume. I didn’t even have to put her in a wig.”
Midoriya beams. “She’s great,” he says. “We’re lucky we found her on such short notice.”
“Who is she?”
Midoriya says a name Tomura’s never heard in his life. Magne hasn’t heard it, either. “Come again?”
“She’s on the newer side,” Midoriya says. His smile’s looking a little insane. “Are you ready yet?”
“Just a sec.” Magne sprays Tomura again, then attaches three motion-capture dots to his forehead. “There we go. All set.”
Tomura stands up, but he doesn’t get clear fast enough to avoid Magne’s customary ass-slap. “Break a leg,” she says.
“Thanks.” Tomura slinks out of the costume tent, already in a mood.
They drive to the site in one of the various beat-to-shit Jeeps Midoriya inherited from the person who directed the last X-Men movie. Midoriya drives, which is bad all on its own, but halfway there, Tomura realizes there’s someone missing. “Don’t we need Aizawa on this?”
“Aizawa’s choreographing the first big fight scene. Most of the actors haven’t done real swordfighting before, so it’s taking a while.” Midoriya’s grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled in a way that makes Tomura wonder if he should be bailing out of the car. He’s pretty sure he can do it without getting a single bruise. “Even if it’s just for a few tracking shots before we cut away to you – sorry, Dabi – chasing Psylocke, it needs to look good.”
That’s fair. Tomura hates a lazy background shot, on the rare occasions when he watches a movie. Midoriya glances at him. “I know you said you read the script, but – give me your take on what’s going on in the scene.”
Tomura’s heard Midoriya ask people that before. Correction: He’s heard him ask actors before. “I’m not an actor.”
“There’s not a ton of dialogue in this scene. The physical aspect has to tell the story,” Midoriya says. “So?”
He’s not going to let this go. Tomura decides to get it over with. “During the main fight, Psylocke lifts the artifact everybody’s fighting over and runs. Quicksilver goes to catch her, but she uses her mutation to slow down time around him, which puts him on the same playing field as she is. They fight, he pulls her mask off, and figures out she used to be on his side. Then she cheap-shots him and escapes with half the artifact. Did I get it?”
Midoriya nods, but he’s frowning. “Quicksilver and Psylocke are foil characters in this interpretation of the story. He’s Magneto’s son and she’s part of a family of heroes. When they recognize each other, it should be a shock – they’re not just seeing a friend who’s now an enemy, they’re each seeing the person they should have been. So the back half of the fight should, like, reflect that.”
Tomura doesn’t do emotional turmoil. “You want Dabi for this.”
“That was the plan,” Midoriya says. He sighs. “Just – do your best, okay?”
Tomura was doing high-wire stunts while Midoriya was still in high school. He doesn’t need hyping up for a swordfight he can do in his sleep. But just because he can do it in his sleep doesn’t mean the actress Midoriya pulled out of a cattle call will be any good at it. “Does Psylocke 2.0 know what she’s doing?”
“That’s why I picked her.”
Huh. Tomura crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat for the remainder of the ride.
The site is up on a bluff, in a stretch of forest thick enough that barely any sunlight gets through. “This is supposed to be a nighttime scene, but thanks to the tree cover we can fake it,” Midoriya explains as he parks the Jeep and scrambles out. “Hey, guys! Over here!”
The crew looks like they’ve been waiting a while. Tomura knows most of them after spending the last seven years on the sets of various X-Men movies and hanging out at C-list afterparties. Of the group, he really only gets along with Spinner, who handles props. Everybody else is just someone else to be irritated with when they inevitably start bossing Tomura around. He props his feet on the dashboard and waits for something to happen.
“Psylocke! Quicksilver! Over here!”
Midoriya’s beckoning to him. Tomura forgot about Midoriya’s habit of using character names during shoots, and he thought Dabi was just using it as something to bitch about until right now. It’s annoying as hell. Tomura gets out of the car and skulks over, but someone else gets there first. Midoriya’s talking to her as Tomura approaches. “I know the script says you’re shooting with Dabi, but he, um, doesn’t do swordfights, so he sent his stunt double instead.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not you,” Midoriya says hurriedly. “He’s just having an off day.”
“An off year,” Tomura corrects. Midoriya jumps, steps aside, and gives Tomura his first look at you.
He sees right away what Magne meant about your hair – you match Psylocke’s design from the comments in length and color, even if the texture’s wrong. You’re a little shorter than the original actress, and you don’t look like an actress, even though the makeup artists already got to you. Actresses in big-budget films look a lot like each other, because they’re all wearing the same makeup and getting the same plastic surgeries, and they’re all the same kind of hot. You look way too much like a person. Like you should be behind the camera, not in front of it.
As Tomura sizes you up, he’s well aware that you’re doing the same thing to him, probably having the same thoughts. But you smile and hold out your hand to shake. “Hi. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Tomura shakes your hand for lack of anything better to do. “Go see Spinner for props,” Midoriya instructs, “and think about how you want to do this. Maybe get in character also? I’m not sure how many takes we’ll get before the light changes.”
“Got it,” you say. “Spinner is –”
“The guy with the swords,” Tomura says. It’s hard not to roll his eyes, and it gets harder when you fall into step beside him. Spinner is waiting for you both behind the props table. “Hey.”
“I was expecting Dabi,” Spinner says, picking up a sword. When Tomura reaches for it, Spinner chucks it to one side and lifts another. “I was gonna give him that one, but you’re better than he is, so I can trust you with this.”
Instead of the kodachi, he’s holding out a tachi to Tomura. “See how you like the balance on that. And for you, Psylocke – one katana, coming right up.”
Tomura keeps one eye on you and your sword while he’s testing the balance on his. You’re not being stupid with it, at least not yet. Holding it properly is the lowest possible bar, but Tomura’s met plenty of actors who can’t even manage that, and at least your grip looks solid. You walk a few steps away to practice sheathing and unsheathing it, and Spinner elbows Tomura. He nods in your direction. “What do you think?”
“What rock did Midoriya find her under?”
“I think she’s a stage actor,” Spinners says. Great. “Mainly musicals. She’s never gotten cast as anything bigger than an understudy.”
Tomura would facepalm, except he’s holding a sword. “Still,” Spinner says speculatively, “the director’s not a total moron. He must have seen something he likes.”
“Yeah. He likes not having to blow the costume budget on a wig,” Tomura says, probably a little too loudly. He sees your shoulders stiffen, and you turn to face him. You don’t look like you’re going to cry or anything, but Tomura’s been wrong about that before. “What?”
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to practice, or if we’re doing it blind,” you say. Before Tomura can answer, you make the decision. “I say blind. It’ll look more authentic if we’ve never fought each other before.”
Tomura likes that idea, if only because the chaos will mask his total lack of acting skills, but he was counting on a practice round to test your actual abilities. Still, it’s your funeral. “Fine by me. I’m not going to go easy on you or anything.”
“I’m glad,” you say, and smile. Tomura already saw you smile once, but it was nowhere close to being this spooky. You have to be doing it on purpose. “I wasn’t planning to go easy on you, either.”
Tomura should say something – maybe along the lines of ‘we just got off on the wrong foot, don’t cut my fucking head off’ – but before he can, Midoriya orders everyone to places. He must have given you instructions ahead of time, because you vanish into the trees, leaving Tomura to follow Midoriya’s hyperspecific directions for hitting his first mark. “We’re just going to roll,” he says, as Tomura steps out of frame and braces himself to run. “I’ll call cut once things go sideways.”
Things go sideways in choreographed fight scenes all the time. Things going sideways in an improvised fight is a guarantee. “Right.”
“Psylocke, are you set?”
“Set,” you call out from somewhere.
Midoriya takes a deep breath, like he’s the one who’s about to start a fake fight. “Okay. Action!”
Fake-running and skidding to a stop isn’t Tomura’s specialty or anything, but he can make it work. He hits the mark Midoriya specified, raises his hand to the hilt of his sword without drawing it, and takes a look around. Right here and now, there’s no reason for Quicksilver to think that someone’s about to attack him. Even Psylocke using her powers to slow him down could just be a tactic to ensure her escape. She’s basically already escaped. All Quicksilver has to do is wait for her grip on time to slacken, and then –
A twig snaps behind Tomura and he throws himself forward into a roll, pivoting as he gets to his knees and drawing his sword in the same moment. You put a lot of strength and a lot of momentum into your first strike, and if this was a real fight, Tomura would be injured or dead. As it is, you checked yourself at the last second, and you take your time settling into your next attack, giving Tomura just a second or two to plan out his own.
No attack yet. His wingspan is wider than yours and the blade of his sword is longer, which means the first step for Quicksilver to avoid a katana through the neck is to get out of Psylocke’s range. You’re not screwing around, so Tomura won’t, either – he picks up a handful of leaf litter, throws it into your face, and gets to a safe distance, remembering at the last second to make it look even sort of stylized. It’s a movie, after all.
You’re taking it seriously. The suddenness of your first attack has Tomura on edge, and the lack of any direction or choreography means he’s got no idea what you’re going to do. They won’t be in the back half of the fight until he pulls your mask down, and haphazard grabs look stupid on camera. He needs to get your mask on the first try, and between now and then, he needs to put on a show.
Tomura strikes at you, and you duck, pivot, halfway inside his guard before he can reverse the strike. But you’re in too close to use your katana effectively – on purpose – and Tomura aims a punch at your torso, hoping you know how to fake a hit. You do. You exhale sharply, jerk backwards, and Tomura separates from you again.
Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? Why are you going this hard? It occurs to Tomura as he parries your counterstrike and returns a few of his own that these are the same thoughts Quicksilver would be having if any of this was real. Now that Tomura’s introduced hand-to-hand combat into the equation, you start using it, too, throwing a high kick that brushes ever so slightly against Tomura’s jaw. Tomura snaps his head sideways to make it look good, then lurches backwards in response to a fake punch to the solar plexus. He’s holding his own, and he’s in control of the fight, but to the camera and everybody else it’s going to look like Psylocke is handing Quicksilver his ass.
And you should be. Tomura underestimated you, then insulted you, and now you’re making him pay. But as interesting as the fight’s getting, it’s a movie, not a grudge match. Tomura shortens his attacks and you step in closer, close enough for him to grab your mask. Or it would be, if your face was where it’s supposed to be. Instead you’ve gotten all the way inside Tomura’s guard, stepped across him, and grabbed his shoulder with your free hand – and now you’re throwing him over your hip to the ground.
You’ve got the physical strength to pull it off – Tomura can feel it – but he gives you some help anyway, making the resulting fall look even harder than it’s supposed to. He lands flat on his back with you poised above him, pinning him down with your katana at the ready. Now would be a great time to grab the artifact, since it’s hanging on a loop around your neck, but Tomura’s got his orders, as stupid as they are. He reaches up, seizes the mask over your mouth and nose, and pulls it down.
You really can act. Tomura watches your expression shift from startled to shocked to something else, and you recoil backwards away from him. Tomura’s slow to rise, because Quicksilver’s supposed to be shocked, too. Dabi’s going to have to deal with whatever character choices Tomura’s making here, and he’s going to be pissed. Tomura doesn’t care. If Dabi wanted to have a say over what this fight looks like, he should have done it himself.
You’re pulling your mask over your face, pressing it down. You’re so busy with it that Tomura almost gets away clean with grabbing the artifact from around your neck. You catch him at the last minute and pull it back, and it splits cleanly between his hand and yours. You take one artfully reckless swing with your katana and Tomura ducks back just a little farther than he needs to. Which is when you turn and run, booking it out of frame and towards the far edge of the woods.
Some camera guy – Iida, Tomura thinks – chases after you. Tomura’s off the hook, but he holds still anyway. He’s gotten yelled at more than a few times for moving before the director’s officially called cut. But Midoriya isn’t calling cut. He keeps not calling it. Tomura can hear him, though. He’s muttering to himself.
“Hey, boss-man!” hollers the unit director – Togata, or something. “Want to call a cut?”
“Oh, oops! Cut! Definitely cut.” Midoriya sounds like he couldn’t give less of a shit. When Tomura turns to look at him, he’s got a notebook and he’s writing furiously. And mumbling again. Tomura’s worked with a lot of directors and more than a few weird ones, and once he rules out the hand fetishist and the guy who wanted the fight scenes to include real knives and real blood, Midoriya’s definitely the weirdest.
You come back from wherever you ran off to, and you don’t seem to think Midoriya’s as weird as everyone else does. “Are we waiting for notes?”
“Huh?”
“After we run a scene in a stage show, we get notes,” you say. You’re not quite breathing hard. Neither is Tomura. “Do you not do that around here?”
“Nah,” Togata or whoever says. “Usually the director just hollers at whoever screws up and makes everybody do another take.”
“Okay,” you say slowly. “Who screwed up? Was it me?”
“You certainly took some liberties with the scene,” Iida says. “The original intent –”
“You want original intent, don’t tell us to improv,” Tomura says. The fight with you was maybe the most intense fight scene he’s ever done. When Midoriya inevitably nixes it, Tomura wants a copy. He addresses you. “It wasn’t you. Somebody on the sound side probably fucked up.”
“Excuse me?” The sound tech – maybe Jiro? – looks like she wants to club Tomura to death with a boom mic. “I fucked up? If you two hadn’t gotten all –”
“Midoriya,” Togata sings out, patting Midoriya on the shoulder. Midoriya jumps. “Hey! Good to have you back! Should we get set for another take?”
“No.”
Mirio looks confused. He’s not the only one. “Are we taking this one back to the drawing board?”
“No.” Midoriya shuts his notebook and looks up, his eyes shining in the crazy way movie people get when they have a really wild idea. “That was the take. We’re done.”
“What?”
“That was it.” Midoriya’s grinning. “It was perfect.”
Now you look weirded out. Finally. “No notes?”
“We need some close-ups, but –” Midoriya grabs his radio and hollers for somebody to put Dabi in his costume “ – you guys did a great job. Like, even the timing – it’s going to be so easy to use those beats for close-ups, and all the character stuff – you were so in sync it was scary, but emotionally you were each totally on your own journey, and it looked –”
“Hey, take a breath. Don’t faint,” Jiro instructs. Midoriya sucks down some air, and Jiro turns to you. “You did your first fight scene in one take. Congrats.”
Spinner lifts the sword out of Tomura’s hand, then takes the two halves of the artifact from both of you. Tomura’s done here for now. He’ll hitch a ride back on the Jeep that brings Dabi up and find a place to nap. Hopefully. He feels a little too keyed up to take a break right now.
You’re still standing there, looking sort of dazed. It annoys Tomura for a second, until he remembers that you’re used to understudying in musicals, not shooting superhero movies. “Hey,” he says, and you startle. “That was a solid fight. You’re better than I thought.”
“That’s not hard,” you say. “All I had to do to be better than you thought I’d be was to not impale myself or anybody else.”
“I haven’t seen you work before today. Sue me,” Tomura says. “You know what you’re doing. That was a really good fight.”
You shrug. It pisses Tomura off. Fishing for compliments always does, and Tomura hates it – but instead of telling you to grow up, he tries to hit you over the head with it for real. “You might not know your head from your ass yet, but I do, and it was a good scene. I haven’t had a fight like that in –”
Years? A decade? Tomura doesn’t think he’s ever been in a fake fight that felt real without actually feeling unsafe. “That’s the best one I’ve done in a long time,” he says finally. “You’re a real actress now. That modesty shit isn’t cute.”
You shrug again and make your way over to where Midoriya and Iida are talking. You’re probably going to ask Midoriya if you did something wrong, and he’ll get weird and reshoot the whole thing. Or he won’t, and he’ll think you’re insecure, which drives most directors up the wall. The fight scene was good on the first take. That never happens. Excuse Tomura for wanting to enjoy it.
“Shigaraki,” Spinner says from behind Tomura, and Tomura looks at him. “That’s not how you talk to girls.”
“Huh?”
“You, like – negged her. A lot,” Spinner says. Bullshit. Tomura knows what negging is. He knows he wasn’t doing it. “You told her she sucks, and then you told her she doesn’t suck as much as you thought she did. And then you trashed her whole career before now –”
“When did I do that?” Tomura’s done with this. “I said she knew what she was doing.”
“Uh, yeah. She took you to the cleaners on camera,” Spinner says. “And I hate to be the one to say this, but you looked really into it.”
What does he mean, into it? Tomura was doing his job. If he doesn’t get into it, he has to do extra takes. “So, like I said,” Spinner continues, “if you want to talk to girls and have it go anywhere, you have to give actual compliments. Not just tell her you’re surprised she wasn’t worse.”
“That’s not what I said,” Tomura growls. He doesn’t like anything about this conversation – not what Spinner’s implying, not what Spinner’s telling him to do. “Since when do you give me advice about girls?”
“Since I’ve gone on a date in the last six months,” Spinner says without blinking. “When was the last time you went out?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Dabi spent the last six months in rehab. You could have gotten out there,” Spinner says. Tomura glares at him. “All you did was work out and play League.”
“That’s what I was busy doing,” Tomura says. “I don’t need lessons on talking to girls.”
“Sure,” Spinner says. “Give her a real compliment next time. It’ll help.”
It’ll help with what? Tomura doesn’t know what Spinner thought he saw, but whatever it is, it wasn’t there. Tomura doesn’t date actresses. Or actors, in spite of what a bunch of Dabi’s fans seem to think is going on between the two of them. And even if Tomura was going to date an actress, he wouldn’t date somebody like you – somebody new to all of this, somebody naïve, somebody whose confidence can barely survive a single hit. Maybe you’ll be the kind of actress Tomura would date if you make it through this shoot alive. The fact that no actress would ever date Tomura doesn’t matter at all.
Even if this is the only blockbuster you ever do, he’ll get to fight you at least one more time. There’s another fight scene between Quicksilver and Psylocke later on in the script. As Tomura leans against a tree waiting for his ride to show up while you talk way too earnestly to Midoriya, he finds that he’s already looking forward to it.
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brainddeadd · 3 months ago
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Halloween Party
The New Jersey Devils' Halloween party was destined to be anything but normal. You knew that from the moment you walked into the venue—a rented-out lounge decked with fake cobwebs, jack-o-lanterns, and strobe lights—only to be tackled by a very enthusiastic Jack Hughes in full Spider-Man gear.
“Y/N!” Jack yells, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground. “You made it!”
“Put me down, Spidey,” you laugh, squirming in his grip.
Jack grins under his mask but finally sets you down, brushing invisible dust off your costume. “What even are you supposed to be?” he asks, squinting at your outfit.
“I’m a vampire,” you say, flashing the plastic fangs you barely managed to keep in.
“Cute.” Jack winks, slinging an arm around your shoulder just as Nico Hischier—dressed as a very convincing pirate—walks up, giving both of you a fond, exasperated look.
The lounge is packed with players, staff, and their partners—everyone dressed to the nines in goofy, spooky, or downright ridiculous costumes. Luke Hughes stands by the snack table, inspecting a bowl of candy with the kind of concentration you usually only see him use on the ice. He’s rocking a cowboy hat, boots, and a vest that’s way too small for his frame.
Dawson Mercer, meanwhile, has gone all-in with a werewolf costume, complete with fluffy ears and a tail that keeps smacking people as he walks by.
“I swear to God, Dawson,” you mutter, swatting at the tail when it brushes your arm again. “Control that thing.”
“It has a mind of its own!” Dawson defends himself with a mischievous grin.
As the night progresses, the chaos only multiplies.
Nico keeps trying to convince everyone to join him for a game of beer pong, insisting that pirates have an unfair advantage because they’re “naturally gifted at throwing things.” You’re not entirely sure that’s historically accurate, but no one argues with him.
Jack somehow convinces half the team to start a limbo competition—using a hockey stick, of course. Luke crushes it, his height somehow not being a disadvantage for once, though he nearly trips over his boots at the end.
Dawson, in typical Dawson fashion, sneaks up behind you at one point with a fake severed hand, pressing it to your shoulder.
You jump and swat him again. “You’re asking for a punch, Mercer.”
“Worth it,” he laughs, scampering off before you can retaliate.
The highlight of the night is, without a doubt, the costume contest.
You watch as Nico steps onto the makeshift stage, adjusting his pirate hat dramatically. “Arr, mateys,” he says, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Who dares challenge the captain?”
Jack boos from the crowd. “Your hat’s crooked, Captain Fraud!”
“At least I didn’t dress as Spider-Man for the third year in a row!” Nico fires back, making everyone roar with laughter.
Luke takes the stage next, tipping his cowboy hat. He pulls out a toy gun from his holster and blows on the barrel dramatically, earning a mix of cheers and teasing catcalls from the crowd.
When it’s your turn, the boys start cheering before you even reach the stage.
“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Jack chants, getting the whole room to join in.
You roll your eyes but strike a dramatic vampire pose, hissing playfully at the crowd. Nico, Jack, Luke, and Dawson lose it, clapping like you’ve just scored the winning goal in a playoff game.
“Best costume ever,” Dawson declares loudly, like a proud big brother.
After the contest wraps up (Nico wins because, as Jack puts it, “the pirate hat has plot armor”), the team settles into smaller groups, chatting and dancing to the Halloween playlist someone threw together.
Jack stays glued to your side for most of the night, making sure no one gives you too much grief—though he’s not above throwing in a little teasing himself. “You’re lucky you have us,” he jokes. “Otherwise, these guys would eat you alive.”
Nico walks by, overhearing. ��We’re protecting you from them,” he says, tilting his head toward the crowd of rowdy teammates. “Not the other way around.”
You laugh, but you know it’s true. These boys are chaos incarnate, but they’re also fiercely protective. And if that means surviving a Halloween party filled with ridiculous costumes, bad jokes, and limbo competitions—well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The night winds down with Jack flopping onto the couch beside you, half-asleep but still grinning like a kid. “You have fun, Y/N?”
You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for dragging me here.”
Jack gives your shoulder a gentle nudge. “Anytime, little sis.”
Nico, Luke, and Dawson join you shortly after, each collapsing into the nearest seat. The five of you sit there, surrounded by the aftermath of the party—empty cups, candy wrappers, and a whole lot of memories.
And as you glance around at your chaotic, overprotective teammates, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
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xypheris · 11 days ago
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Batfam Watches Titanic
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Imagine this chaotic family sitting down for movie night, begrudgingly agreeing to watch Titanic because Dick said it’s a “classic.”
Dick
Crying before the iceberg even shows up. “It’s about the journey, not the destination, guys!” Overdramatically quotes the “I’m the king of the world!” scene while standing on the coffee table. Shushed several times for giving an emotional monologue about love and loss during the “Jack and Rose on the door” scene.
Jason
Constantly pointing out who would’ve survived if he were there. “You don’t just let go, bro. Hold on. What’s wrong with you?” Cheering when Billy Zane gets called out. “We love a rich jerk takedown arc.” “Wait, are you saying the diamond wasn’t cursed? Missed opportunity.” Definitely the first to say, “There was enough room for Jack on that door.”
Damian
Complains the entire time. “This is a waste of my brain cells.” “Why is the dialogue so… sappy? Is this supposed to be realistic?” Calls the iceberg the MVP for being the only logical thing in the movie. Storms off at the end, muttering, “Rose is a fool for throwing away the diamond.”
Cass
Silently vibing. Not a single word the whole movie. Absolutely loses it at the scene with the old couple holding each other as the ship sinks. Somehow ends up with the loudest sobs in the room during Jack’s death. Shoves popcorn in Jason’s mouth when he says something snarky.
Steph
Lives for the drama. “Omg, the tension between Jack and Rose? Immaculate.” Pauses the movie during Rose’s iconic “draw me like one of your French girls” scene to say, “This is art.” Cry-laughs at the guy who falls off the ship and hits the propeller. Glares at Damian when he calls the love story “unnecessary fluff.”
Tim
Watches the whole thing through a critical lens: “So, technically, this movie has several historical inaccuracies.” Pulls up Wikipedia articles mid-movie to fact-check. Argues with Jason over whether Rose would have been better off staying with Billy Zane’s character for survival. “Okay, but have we considered the logistical challenges of building that door?”
Alfred
Sits quietly, sipping tea. “This is a cinematic masterpiece.” Tuts every time Jason interrupts. “Master Jason, kindly refrain from ruining the experience for everyone else.” When the ship sinks, he mutters, “The folly of man’s hubris.” At the end: “There’s a lesson here, Master Bruce. Perhaps don’t take on more than you can handle.”
Bruce
Pretends not to be interested but watches the entire movie with a furrowed brow. “They could have planned better evacuation procedures.” Overanalyzes the structural failures of the ship. Gets weirdly defensive during the “rich people are awful” scenes. “Not all wealthy individuals lack compassion…” Quietly agrees with Damian about Rose tossing the diamond being ridiculous.
Barb
Laughs every time Dick cries. “Again, Dick? We’re not even halfway through!” Agrees with Jason about the door: “Rose really said, ‘Sorry, Jack, sink or swim!’” Points out how Rose’s story wouldn’t pass as a valid eyewitness account in a real investigation. Records everyone’s reactions for blackmail material.
Duke
“So y’all are just now watching Titanic?” Emotionally invested in Jack and Rose’s romance until Jason and Damian ruin the vibe with their commentary. Absolutely loses it at the propeller guy scene: “I know I’m going to hell for this, but—BAHAHA!” At the end: “Rose could’ve had a whole lifeboat to herself if she had my luck in emergencies.”
Post-Movie
Jason starts a Twitter poll about whether Jack could’ve fit on the door. Dick hosts a group therapy session for his unresolved feelings about “the fragility of human connection.” Tim tries to plan his own historically accurate Titanic story. Bruce just quietly leaves the room, muttering something about “better ship designs.”
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b-skarsgard · 3 months ago
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•The bold choice means on another such night, in a dark and shrouded set-build, the first time Hoult and most of the crew will even see Eggers’ vampire, the moldering Count Orlok (an unrecognizable Bill Skarsgård), will be in this dance between light and dark. And every dance has its quirks.
“I had all the prosthetics pieces and the big fur coat,” Skarsgård recalls with a smirk. “And [Cinematographer] Jarin would have hundreds of candles, and the way he would light a face would just be like, ‘Light more candles; kill these four candles; light those up.’ I remember being very hot and sweaty.” It’s not necessarily the effect one expects in the presence of a vampire, but it was satisfying all the same to Eggers and Skarsgård. After all, the pair have chased the demon for nearly a decade.
•The director’s quest for authenticity likewise led him to retain certain elements of Murnau and Grau’s iconic Orlok design (the talons are still there) while reinterpreting others.
“My main goal was to ask, ‘What would a dead Transylvanian nobleman look like?’” Eggers says. “The hairstyle and all of the clothing, and all the trappings come down to that, and then creating a scary, imposing, masculine vampire rather than a sad vampire, although Bill still adds some needed pathos in a few moments.”
Skarsgård indeed brings a wounded ferocity to the character while vanishing in Orlok’s design. The Swedish actor reveals he would sit for six hours in the makeup chair for full-body prosthetics, which was only the beginning. Since Eggers’ Orlok is supposed to have once been a 1500s sorcerer who survived the grave, Skarsgård felt liberated in other areas.
“There’s no historically accurate accent of what that would sound like anymore,” Skarsgård explains. “He could possibly be Hungarian or he could be Romanian. So I just took little things, idiosyncrasies that they possibly would have, like rolling Rs, without going too Bela Lugosi. It was just finding these little things to anchor it in.”
•In this vein, Depp sees Ellen’s draw toward Orlok as tragic since she is so deeply in love with Thomas. He is genuinely good for her, but there’s something inviting about darkness.
“I think that it touches a lot on taboo and being drawn to something that scares you,” the actress says. “A lot of people live with a true fear of death, understandably so, but we’re kind of drawn to it and intrigued by it… because it’s the most terrifying thing, it’s the most titillating thing.”
Perhaps it is the actor who plays Death himself who can best make sense of Orlok’s thrall. In Skarsgård’s mind, the vampire represents anything humans are drawn to despite knowing better. “It could be an addiction, it could be an abusive relationship, it could be all of those things,” Skarsgård says. “He’s the embodiment and allure of attraction to destruction. Sometimes you want to be destroyed or you want to be corrupted, and that’s Ellen’s inner struggle. Then sometimes, from Orlok’s perspective, it’s the craving to destroy that which you find so beautiful.”
excerpts provided by the link above where you can read more
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mayakern · 2 years ago
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i know you’ve been getting flak from people for using synthetic fabric instead of natural, and as a fat person who doesn’t make a lot of money, i just wanted to throw in as a counterpoint to those people that i really appreciate that you use synthetic fibers because it means i can actually afford your clothes! i’m so used to all clothes for fat people being either 1) $200+ for a single garment 2) ugly as sin and/or 3) so cheaply made they fall apart within a month of regular wear, so finding your store full of clothes that are reasonably priced, extremely cute, and super well made has been a HUGE relief.
i also just really want to emphasize to people who don’t make clothes that natural fabric can cost a LOT of money compared to synthetics—i like to sew historical costumes, and while i’d love to use period-accurate materials, i often go with synthetic blends because most 100% natural fabric runs $20-60/yd (compared to $6-10/yd for synthetics). and that’s just shopping for mass-produced fabric, so i have to imagine that even if you’re getting some kind of bulk discount, procuring custom-printed, high-quality, ethically-sourced natural fabric would be a huge increase in cost compared to synthetics.
i would love for all my clothes to be made with natural fibers, but as someone making barely above minimum wage in a super high cost-of-living area, i just can’t afford that. and i honestly really appreciate your commitment to making clothes that fit fat bodies while also being well-made and affordable, because finding clothes that hits all three of those things is a rarity.
you’re gonna make me cry, goddamn 😭😭 thank you this is really sweet and it means a lot
yes natural fiber fabric is much more expensive as a base cost than synthetic but the kicker is the printing. for reference, we’re reasonably confident that we will be able to sell the solid dyed natural fiber skirts for around $45-50. it’s literally just that custom printing is so damn expensive it’s not even worth pursuing.
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andromeddog · 29 days ago
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Hi! Thank you for responding to my previous ask about helmets during wwi. I was also just wondering if u have any tips for drawing hair? this is for working on art in general and not a project. i have tried to use references and sketches a bunch, have practiced a ton, but it is still difficult. i was just wondering if u have any tips for drawing hair, esp male hair? thank you!!
oh wow anon hi again, coming in hot w an interesting question bc i genuinely don’t think ive ever consciously considered or examined the way to draw hair/the way i draw hair…. (apologies in advance this got really long)
ig first of all when u mention “male hair” u mean short hair? given the men i draw r p much all historical military dudes they tend to have short short hair so im going to assume u mean that (bc i know men w very luscious locks.) drawing it is something that took me a while to get used to…… when i was into golden kamuy my fave had a buzzcut and i was struggling to find someway to showcase that without it looking like a helmet (i started to figure it out towards the end) i think the big balance there is trying to manage level of detail. w some styles u rly dont need much (buzzcut is mostly about hairline and shape of the head, i break up the smooth silhouette by adding a few lines to suggest that it’s fuzzy or spikey) and others require way more attention (wavy/curly hair comes in a variety of shapes so figuring out the specific curl pattern ur going for is crucial, fine line between showing that accurately and just making a bunch of visual noise)
(also also this is just a fact of the media im into and to b completely honest w myself and you - we’re talking mostly white dudes here in this specific post, this is not a catch all for any hair type but esp more curly/coiled hair textures. i would recommend seeking out artists of color who have more experience w that bc i do b drawing a lot of white guys! and they are not the only type of guy!)
genuinely hair can feel like more of an obstacle for me, slowing down the process for what i would rather be drawing (uniforms) so im always stoked when i can just draw a helmet (sometimes, as previously established helmets r also my mortal enemy). often times ill start with the face but skip everything above the forehead until the very end of the line art, which leaves behind a very silly looking half decapitated soldier (there’s no tip here, just a weird quirk in how i go through a piece lolll) hair on its own is usually delicate and ive never once in my life been able to render something delicately, so thank god for gross war dudes who’s hair is messy enough for my style to finally make sense
IN GENERAL…..watch out when doing the lines, you don’t need to include EVERY single hair or EVERY single lock, blank space can imply they’re there and trying to capture every single centimeter of hair can be too much in the finished product. this is something i suffer from and have talked a bit about BUT it especially rears its head (lol) when drawing hair. i just get too lost in details and then i zoom out and have an insanely dense area of detail right on top of the head that distracts from everything else below it (aka basically all the stuff i WANT to showcase). the eye will automatically b drawn to that spot and no matter how nice the rest of the drawing is ppl will b more focused on whatever the fuck i did w the hair… being frivolous w lines in general can look good when zoomed in but when zoomed out can just make the whole piece…… busy
idk if i have “tips” so much as kind of a reference for how i would go about drawing hair…. here r some examples of hair i’ve drawn that i think dont suck complete ass with a wee bit of analysis. u can tell my absolute fav thing to do is put a lot of detail right where the hair meets the forehead- idk why i just think it makes that intersection more visually appealing.
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when im beginning to draw hair i start w the head shape and where approximately the hairline is. then i kind of block off the general shape of the hair on top of that- getting an accurate idea of the boundaries and being able to fill in the details within that space. i try to identify the big “chunks” of hair, the major shapes/flow within the entire shape itself. longer/thicker lines segment those, and then i can fill in that space w shorter/lighter lines to show more detail (if im using a brush w line weight, if im doing mono line i feel my style skews more simple to make up for the lack of line weight)
the next step is a slightly more cleaned up version, getting a better idea of the silhouette and general hair direction. then its lines! and i spend 3 million years destroying my wrist and trying to make sense of earlier sketches…. esp w curly hair oh my god. truthfully i’m still trying to find a balance between “too much” and “not enough” when it comes to curls. again, i have a tendency to go overboard with detail!
also this is a personal plea, but if that hairline is receding, PLEASE for the love of god make sure to include that hairline receding. the hairline is one of those little things that can really help capture likeness; getting it wrong will result in a certain “off-ness” that can make u confused or frustrated as to why this guy doesn’t look quite right. u can also get one of those weird style conflicts where ppl who usually draw younger “””attractive””” men try to draw an older one and it’s very clear they r unwilling to do anything to make the older man look another other than like, 25. (or, from their perspective, unattractive) (i could get up on my soapbox about ppl’s unwillingness to even consider drawing features that aren’t like iphone face hot but that’s my hot take and no one asked) one thing i personally strive for in my work is an accurate depiction, or as close as i can manage w my skills being where they are, so i push that hairline back and i do it will all the love in my heart
ALL OF THIS TO SAY…… idk. this is just my general process, what i’ve been doing and what works for me. maybe it doesn’t make sense or won’t work for you. i will b the first to admit hair is not my strongest skill! i will also b the first to admit my work in general is far from perfect, i have a lot to learn in p much any and all conceivable ways!! but i hope this small novel helped even a little???? anyway have a great day anon mwah mwah mwah 💕✨🦆
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certifiablyinsanez · 7 months ago
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My boomer mother told me once, “we thought we would change the world too”. And she isn’t wrong. Boomers were forefront of the hippie counterculture, the anti-war front for the slaughter in Vietnam, were home to the Gay Liberation Front, Stonewall, the Civil Rights Era, and the entire second wave of feminism that fought for our right for abortion, contraception and the right to self determination. They were the people that perished in the AIDS Epidemic and the ones who took care of those afflicted. When you look at the historic track record, boomers would seem to be our natural allies rather than those we are in constant conflict with.
This is something Gen Z needs to keep in mind, not for the future, but right now. Gen Z is often convinced that we are the generation who is gonna save the world. But I can say with confidence that this is not the case. Not only would that sentiment disregard historical precedent, it also allows us to disregard the ugly truth of what we are rapidly becoming. Gen Z is reactionary as hell. You’ll tell someone “we should have love for our fellow people” and some fucking keyboard warrior will say something stupid like “eVEn pEdO’s???”.
I never thought I would complain about cancel culture, but here I am. Because people can’t seem to differentiate between holding people accountable for reprehensible behavior versus having a whole “guilty before proven innocent” mentality. We all grew up in an imperialist, colonial society. White supremacy has not left a single inch of the earth untouched. Every single person has done something wrong in their lives; it’s a feature of the times we live in. It’s a feature of being a human person period. I’ve seen people harass an artist who has been extremely vocal about Palestine and has used their platform for donations and attention and people were in arms about something distasteful he did in like 2002. Be so ffr guys.
I see European Gen Zers saying the most abhorrent things about Romani people. They still actively call them a slur, and when called out they always reply “that’s just what they are”. Some brag about how desensitized they are to gore or sexual content because they were so young when they were exposed. I still remember kids at lunch trying to convince me to watch an ISIS beheading video and couldn’t conceive why I refused to watch it. I’m gonna say it.
So many of yall are just as apathetic and narcissistic as boomers, if not more so. Because boomers pretend, but yall are brutally honest about it. Sure a whole bunch of us believe in liberation and see how shitty capitalism is, but a good chunk are also so extremely far right that even my boomer republican father would balk at the things they readily say. I actually have had conversations with my dad as his queer communist child and I think we had more agreements than these right-wingers in my own generation.
This trend is enormously widespread with Gen Alpha but Gen Z isn’t clear of it either. The inability to fortify their own mental understanding using concise, accurate, and vetted information. In the 14 years I’ve interacted in fandom spaces (where this happens all the time), I’ve never seen such a trend as now where a singular person will just pull something out of their ass and people all over the internet just readily agree. People believe photoshopped photos every day. We make fun of old people for believing everything on the internet, but we’re equally guilty.
Listen I can go on for ages, but let me make my point clear here. We are quickly becoming the very thing we all hated most, and I’m sick of the mass facade that we aren’t.
End of rant.
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mindutme · 5 months ago
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Valya Vednesday #5
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Today I’ll talk about the (ongoing) development of the writing system for my conlang Valya! What you see above is the earliest stage of the Valya syllabary, written in wax. Valya is spoken on an island on another world, but it’s connected to this one: at various times throughout history, doors have opened up between the two worlds, allowing people to pass from one to the other. It’s how humans made their way to that world in the first place, and it’s how the concept of writing arrived on the island centuries later.
That particular door was a small one. Only a few people came through to the island, maybe a dozen or so. The doors aren’t exactly physical things (I haven’t figured out the details of how magic works yet but it’s rarely visually obvious; it’s more like you get lost in the woods in one place and wander out of the woods in the other) but they do connect specific places in this world with specific places on the island. In this case, the door went to somewhere in Europe, sometime in the Middle Ages. Only one of the people that came through was literate, and he happened to have with him a wax tablet. He was old and never properly learned to speak Valya, and therefore never taught the Latin script to the speakers of Valya, but through him and his companions the concept of writing was transferred to the island.
When it was first written, Valya had a very simple phonotactic structure: every syllable was CV or CVV. There were sixteen consonants and only three vowels, which made it ideal for a syllabary. There were 51 glyphs: 48 for all the possible CV syllables, and three more for i, u, and a as the second vowel of a syllable. Unlike many real-world early writing systems (as well as the first stages of some of my other conlangs’ writing systems), these early glyphs were not representational in any way. Rather, they were based on the sorts of shapes that appeared in the writing on the wax tablet.
Syllabaries seem to be a natural choice when developing a new writing system: the Cherokee Syllabary was developed in the early 1800s, similarly based on Latin writing without actually being a descendant system. In that case, several of the syllabograms are basically identical to particular Latin letters, but without any correspondences between their sounds! The situation with Valya is similar, with certain letter forms getting borrowed but not the system as a whole.
The forms of Latin letters that were used when writing in wax were somewhat different than what we’re used to today, because of limitations of the medium. In order to understand and emulate this, I actually made a little wax tablet of my own—not at all historically accurate, but enough to get the right idea (I think). My “tablet” is the lid of a scented candle, with a thin layer of wax poured in. It’s a soy candle, not beeswax, so it’s quite a bit softer, but I find that putting it in the freezer for a bit helps get something closer to the right texture. I also read a bit on the subject, and found this to be a particularly helpful source—see figure 9 for a very nice reconstruction of the writing on a tablet from the first century CE!
What I found through using the tablet matched up pretty well with what I read. Shorter strokes were preferable, as were downward strokes (toward you as you’re writing). Curves are okay as long as they’re not too sharp and don’t continue for too long. Strokes shouldn’t cross, because wax from the second stroke will get into the groove of the first stroke and mess it up. Two strokes can meet, but the second one should be drawn from the meeting point outward, to avoid the same issue of wax getting into a previously-drawn stroke.
So here are the 51 syllabograms of the first Valya writing system:
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The image at the top of the post is this same list (through ti, because I couldn’t quite fit them all). Here are a couple of examples of early Valya written on wax:
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Va-miuru lu mii, “The two cats are small.”
Ra visi gi mulii tu luiti, “I found two ammonites on the beach.”
After a time other mediums for writing were developed. The Europeans who came through the door knew of paper (or at least parchment) and ink, of course, so it wasn’t too long before people started using those on the island as well. Once the change in mediums had taken place, there were also changes in letter forms, with separate strokes within a glyph getting connected together and the shapes getting curvier in general. The modern forms of these 51 glyphs are shown here, but there are many more letters besides in Modern Valya, derived from ligatures of pairs of these original 51 letters.
In Modern Valya, the above sentences become Vamüru lu myi and Ra fsi gi mülyi tu lüti. Here’s what they look like:
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Back outside of the fictional history of Valya writing, I knew how I wanted the writing system to work, generally (a syllabary with ligatures), but I had a few different ideas as to its origin. I did consider starting from pictographs, like I did with the Mindutme and Tlette alphabets, but that would have been difficult for a few reasons besides just having to come up with at least 51 unique and easily distinguishable glyphs. The idea of borrowing a writing system came next, and since I knew there would be travel between the fictional world and the real one, it seemed reasonable to think that some real-world syllabary might have made its way to the island.
The ones I looked into the most were Japanese kana (likely a combination of katakana and hiragana) and Linear B. However, I also really liked the idea of wax tablets being used, which probably rules out Linear B (as far as I can tell, it was used somewhat before the earliest known use of wax tablets, though not by too long) and definitely rules out kana, unless the wax tablets were independently invented for some reason. Also, it was a challenge to wrangle the glyph shapes of both systems into the sort of aesthetic that I wanted for modern Valya writing. So in the end I decided on a looser approach, inspired by the actual history of the Cherokee syllabary and allowing more freedom with the early stages of the script.
The font for the modern script is coming along nicely—I’ve now made 120 glyphs. Just six more and I’ll have all of the CV and CGV glyphs made!
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