#if we’re being historically accurate

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

does…does he think Romeo and Juliet was real…? just two normal teenagers Shakespeare knew irl 🥲

[chaossmith2]

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 🤔

[quin-ns]

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

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.”

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

[lackadaisycats]

I tried to answer this succinctly, but it turned into an essay. (Sorry.)

The Princess and the Frog was not accurate, strictly speaking, but dinging it for that would be like criticizing the Lion King for not being a realistic wildlife documentary. Accuracy wasn't really the point. Given the fantastical elements and fictional nations like “Maldonia”, I suppose we're meant to understand this as a bit removed from the real New Orleans. It's more a a jazz-flavored fairy tale than a historical fiction.

But for discussion's sake....

Is it fashion-accurate to its 1926 timeframe? Ehhh, sort of. It pays homage to 20s fashion trends with cloche hats, furs and feathery headpieces, but without fully committing to it. The waistline on almost all of Tiana's clothing is too high for the 20s, and the the shapes of her fancier costumes take a lot of liberties, or deviate wildly from the style of the period.

In the 20s, dresses (including workaday stuff) tended to have a straight up-and-down shape to it - kind of a low-waisted rectangle that de-emphasized curves instead of highlighting them. There are valid reasons to play fast and loose with that, though (something I’m definitely guilty of as well). One of those reasons is communication. 

For instance, speculatively, the filmmakers wrote Tiana as a hard-working waitress and wanted her to look the part, so they made the choice to clothe her in something familiar - that gingham dress of mid-century shape that we broadly associate with diner waitresses. Actual waitress uniforms of the 20s had a fair bit of overlap with maid uniforms at the time too, and I can see why they wouldn't want to risk the confusion. It's more important to communicate clearly with the larger audience than to appease a small faction of fashion nerds who'd notice or care about the precision.

I don't think it's a case of the designers failing to do their research - I'm sure they had piles of references, and maybe even consultants - but they also had to have priorities.

With her hat and coat on, she looks a lot more 1920s-shaped.

Pretty consistently, the indication of the characteristic 1920s drop waist is there, but the approach otherwise ignores the 20s silhouette. The clothes hug the body too much. This may be about appealing to a 2000s audience, visually speaking, but also could be an animation thing. Maybe both. For practical reasons, clothes in 2d animation are usually more a sort of second skin than something that wears or behaves like realistic fabric.

These are not in the 1920s ballpark at all. Tiana's blue gown looks like your basic Disney brand invention. Strapless things would have been extremely unusual and the overall shape is far out of step. Excusable, I guess, because it's a costume in context. Charlotte looks like she’s heading for a mimosa brunch in a modern maxi dress.

Charlotte's princess dress did seem to be calling back to the ultra-wide pannier side hoops of the 18th century - something that made a reappearance for part of the 20s, albeit in much milder form called robe de style. I'm not sure if the filmmakers were alluding to that at all, really, but either way, her dress is hilarious.

They only went about halfway with the cloche hats. The 1920s cloche really encapsulated the cranium, almost entirely covered bobbed hair, and obscured much of the face from certain angles, so it's easy to see why they've been somewhat reined in for the film. Still, it ends up looking more 1930s, where the hats started to recede away from the face, evolving in the direction of the pillbox.

Similarly, Tiana's hair is not very reminiscent of the bobbed, close-to-the-cranium style of the period, but I think that could legitimately be written off as characterization. She's not at all the type of person who'd fuss about going à la mode. Not everyone bobbed and finger-waved their hair.

The clothes Prince Naveen is introduced in are very 1920s collegiate in spirit - the wide-leg oxford bags, the sleeveless pullover sweater, the flat cap, and high, stiff collar. The ukulele and banjolele were pretty trendy instruments at the time too.

Definitely some Josephine Baker vibes here. Also, the look of this whole fantasy sequence was reportedly inspired by the works of Aaron Douglas, a luminary painter of the Harlem Renaissance known for his depictions of the lives of African-Americans. (The mural is in Topeka, Kansas.)

They pretty much nailed the Art Deco. It's gorgeous. Looks somewhat inspired by the interiors of some of the Ralph Walker-designed NYC architecture, plus some French Quarter balcony flair for the final manifestation of Tiana's Place. Her dress here does resemble some gauzy mid-1920s looks, too.

------------------------------------------------

Culturally speaking...

New Orleans is an unusual place. Because some of the colonial Spanish and French laws and conventions that New Orleans evolved under persisted even after its inception into the United States; because it was such a heterogeneous hub of indigenous and immigrant peoples; and because it had a considerable population of free people of color (mostly Creole), it did not function quite like the rest of the South leading up to the Civil War, nor for a while after. Its particular coalescence of cultures made it its own unique sort of culture within the country, within the region, within the state of Louisiana even. By the early 20th century, though, regardless of the not-very-binary nature of New Orleans, Jim Crow laws were enforcing a literal black-and-white distinction, and not an evenhanded one, by far. In that aspect, the city had begun to resemble the rest of the South.

The film nods at the wealth disparity, but goes on to paint a pretty rosy picture of race and class relations at the time. Still it's not unbelievable that some people were exceptions to the rules. You could probably find a few compartments of old New Orleans society that resisted segregation or certain prejudicial norms, preferring to do things their own way. That aside, the film wasn't trying to confront these topics. Not every piece of media should have to. Sometimes breaking away from miserable period piece stereotypes is refreshing. I'm not sure it could have handled that meaningfully given the running time, narrow story focus, and intended audience, anyhow. (But you could perhaps also make a case that family films habitually underestimate younger audiences in this way.)

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Raymond the firefly I guess is the film's Cajun representation. There's not much to say about it, except perhaps to note that Evangeline is a reference to the heroine of a Longfellow poem of the same name. The poem is an epic romance set during the expulsion of the Acadians from the eastern provinces of Canada and the northernmost reaches of the American colonies (now Maine) by the British in the mid-1700s. Many exiled Acadians gradually migrated south to francophone-friendly Louisiana, settling into the prairies and bayous, where 'Acadian' truncated into the pronunciation 'Cajun'. Evangeline - who is only finally reunited with her love when he’s on his deathbed - has become an emblem of the heartbreak, separation and faithful hope of that cultural history, and there are parishes, statues and other landmarks named after the her throughout Louisiana.

------------------------------------------------

Voodoo does have a very historical presence in New Orleans, having arrived both directly from West Africa and by way of the Haitian diaspora (where it would more properly be called Vodou). While I don't think Disney's treatment of it was especially sensitive or serious, it also wasn't the grotesquely off-base sort of thing that media of the past has been known to do. It was largely whittled down to a magical plot component, but it wasn't so fully repurposed that it didn't resemble Voodoo at all either - and that's mostly owing to the characters, because it does appear the writers pulled from history there.

It’s apparently widely held that Dr. Facilier is a Baron Samedi caricature - and likely that's true, in part - but I have the impression he's also influenced by Doctor John. Not the 20th century funk musician, but the antebellum “Voodoo King” of New Orleans. Doctor John (also called Bayou John, Jean La Ficelle, and other aliases) claimed to be a Senegalese prince. He became well known as a potion man and romance-focused prognosticator to people from all corners of society. Though highly celebrated and financially successful at his peak, he seems ultimately remembered as an exploitative villain.

To my recollection, the film sort of gingerly avoids referring to Facilier as a Voodoo practitioner directly (I think he's more generically called a witch doctor in the script?) but it does seem to imply his 'friends on the other side' are a consortium of loa. It's mostly abbreviated into nebulously evil-seeming special FX, glazing over any specificity or dimensionality, but it does also loop back around as a vehicle of moral justice. Loa are all very individualistic and multi-faceted, but they do have reciprocal rules for asking favors of them.

There's also the benevolent counterpart in Mama Odie's character. Her wearing ritual whites has a definite basis in Voodoo/Vodou practice, and her depiction as a fairy godmother-like figure isn't entirely out of step with how a mambo may have been perceived...in a very general sense. They were/are ceremonial leaders and community bastions who people would seek out for help, advice and spiritual guidance. More than just emanating matronly good vibes, though, some have wielded considerable political and economic power.

(Just my opinions here. I've done a lot of reading on the subject for research but I'm no authority with any special insider understanding of Voodoo, and I really shouldn't be relied upon as an arbiter of who has or hasn't done it justice in fiction.)

------------------------------------------------

In summary--

Culturally, I think the film is respectably informed but paints a superficially genteel picture. The set pieces are gorgeous, but the story mostly delivers a sort of veneer of New Orleanishness. And as for fashion, well, it’s the 1920s run through a Disney filter. It’s very pretty, but it’s only as proximally accurate as seemed practical.

I don’t know that any of that really matters so much as whether or not it achieved what it intended, though. As a charming yarn and as a tribute to New Orleans and the Jazz age, I think it’s mostly successful. It’s also really beautifully animated!

[eloves-writes]

🔮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.”

[thelightsandtheroses]

5. touch me, i'm golden

Let's Get Lost Chapter 5 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to past drug addiction, references to alcohol, historic argument referenced, one passing reference to body insecurity, reader is unnamed with no physical desctipton but wears a necklace, Frankie and reader are parents, yearning? Word Count: 3600 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I am so excited to share this chapter with you! The chapter title is from Let's Get Lost by Bats for Lashes

Previous | Series | Next

Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, oral (f!receiving), reader wears a dress, reader and Frankie are parents, mentions of alcohol, discussion of contraception, one moment of panic.

Frankie’s arms are around you, familiar and safe. It brings back memories of the mornings before, a montage of happy and fleeting moments you once thought would make up your forever.

You don’t feel bitter about it today.

You kissed him yesterday. The two of you kissed more accurately, because it was definitely mutual. Your plans at showing how mature, how evolved the two of you were that you could share a hotel room and co-parents and put Clara first feel on shakier ground than ever. A crush was one thing, laughable almost, but to kiss him?

You missed him though. The feel of his stubble against your skin, the way his arms encompass you right now, even just the heat of his skin.

You can pretend being single is fine, that sleeping in the middle of the bed is a bonus and a privilege, but you have truly missed Frankie. He was supposed to be your forever after all.

He moves, slowly shifting from his slumber. You hear him exhale and then a sleepy, “Mornin’. Is Clara up yet?”

You shake your head as you turn around as quietly as you can, letting Frankie rest a hand on your hip over the duvet.

“So we should talk.“

Frankie smiles. “Here it comes.” His tone doesn’t match his face, it’s forced and there’s a wistful and bitter edge to it.

”Here what comes?”

“It was a mistake, it’s going to wreck everything, you don’t feel that way anymore.” He shrugs sadly. “It’s okay.”

“Frankie.”

“I mean it, it’s okay. On vacation … we’re on vacation, right? Everything goes topsy turvy on vacation.”

“I - don’t, Frankie, I don’t think it was a mistake.” Or at least you didn’t.

The pause feels like forever.

“You don’t?”

You shake your head, nervously pulling the duvet closer to you. Please don’t say it was a mistake, you think, because what could be worse than falling for your ex at your best friend's wedding and then it not even being reciprocated. The two of you will have to go back to Lia and Ben ferrying Clara between homes, it will be a disaster.

“I -” Frankie exhales, “Fuck.”

“Fuck?”

“I - I don’t know how to …. Look, I don’t think it’s a mistake, I don’t. And I don’t because I’ve never stopped feeling like it’s you, that you and me ... I never stopped. I love you and I think I always will.”

“Frankie,” There’s a lump in your throat and you’re not sure what to say. Frankie’s always struggled with words, his love language is action, physicality.

He showed his love to you a hundred ways when you were together, before the addiction. You would characterise his love as thoughtful gestures, the featherlight touches if you passed him that sent flutters to your stomach, the way he’d bring home your favourite meal if you had a rough day. That might not sound a lot, but for several years you didn’t that Frankie didn’t like that dish at all, that it was one of his least favourite meals or cuisines. He would get it for you though - if he thought it would make you smile.

Words weren’t his forte, he was driven by action, by physical gestures.

“I don’t expect you to be the same,” Frankie adds, “The way I was, the way things were, I know I let you and Clara down so much and I was a mess.” He’s speaking in a low voice but you hear the crack of emotion in his voice when he mentions Clara.

“You were hurting.”

“I hurt a lot of people doing that though. I missed so much with Clara,” he says sadly.

“She only knows you’re her dad who she adores and who, let’s be honest, is wrapped around her little finger. How many times have I picked you up with hair clips in your hair?”

“A few. I’m steeling myself for when she discovers nail varnish.”

“We have a few years before then, I hope.” You reach for Frankie’s arm and squeeze his hand. “You need to stop punishing yourself for the past, please, Frankie.”

“I - yeah.”

“Good.”

“So neither of us think it was a mistake, huh?” he asks after a moment, a wry grin spreading on his face.

“Mummy? Daddy?” Clara calls.

This holiday, your child has clearly developed an uncanny ability to join a conversation at the worst time. You’re not sure where she’s learnt this skill from, or if all toddlers have this, but it’s starting to seem like a pattern.

“Hey, good morning, Clara,” Frankie says, rousing himself from the bed. “What are we thinking we’ll go for at breakfast today? Pancakes? Waffles?”

He looks back at you, a thousand unspoken words in his eyes as he winks - a promise for later.

“It’s me,” Frankie calls as you hear the room door close behind you. You left Frankie and Clara at breakfast a little earlier, partly to escape the tension between you and Frankie that you were sure everyone else could see.

“I’m in the bathroom, won’t be long. I’m decent though.”

You turn around to see Frankie smirking, one arm against the door jamb of the bathroom. He’s clearly been watching you neatening things in the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything but just raises an eyebrow.

He may have already clocked the made bed, you think.

“Well, I don’t want housekeeping to think we’re messy,” you say, holding your hands up defensively. You don’t know why it matters you, but you really don’t want to be judged by the housekeeping, to be one of those awkward tourist families. You’re used to cleaning up a room now, it’s just good manners surely?

“You haven’t changed,” he says with affection.

You’re not sure what to say to that, how to respond. You have changed, you know you have. You feel sharper around the edges than before, cynical and most of all tired. You’re scared about that.

Frankie’s confession fills is reverberating in your mind because what if thinks you’re the same person, or has this idealised version of you on a pedestal? You’ll disappoint him surely.

He’s loved you all this time, through everything. Surely that means something?

“Where’s Clara?” you ask, looking around Frankie to see if your daughter is hiding behind him.

“Kids’ club, they’re doing crafts and apparently she absolutely couldn’t miss it,” Frankie says softly. ”Same crafts she can do at home, but -”

You smile. Clara’s already excitedly told the two of you about the friends she’s made in the club, about the fun she has there. Part of you wants her with you all the time to make memories, so you know you’re giving her the very best time you can, but you’re so grateful for the chance to unwind too, to remember who you are beyond Clara’s parent.

“So, it’s just you and me?”

“It’s just you and me until the boat trip,” he replies in a low voice, standing closer to you and framing his arms around you.

“Whatever will we do?”

“No idea, you said something about a book, right? You had a few to read this vacation - are you done with that?”

Frankie kisses you, it’s lazy and soft and oh so addictive and you immediately return the gesture, enjoying the feel of his skin, the heat of his lips against yours.

“Hmm, yeah, definitely could do with some reading time,” you tease, “but uh, maybe later.“

“Thank god,” he says, deepening the kiss and guiding you against the sink. “I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday. Haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

“Oh really?”

“Uh huh,” Frankie says, kissing the edge of jaw. “Been thinking about what I’d do if this … if this happened. If I got the opportunity to do this again.”

“What were you thinking about doing?” you ask, looking up at his deep brown eyes that are full of mischief.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Colour me intrigued.”

Frankie kisses you, filled with confidence and you let him steer you up onto the counter, instinctively wrapping your legs against him and trying to bring him closer to you. Your hands linger on the edge of his T-shirt and you pull at the hem to bring it over his head.

You’ve been thinking about this since the kiss. Looking at Frankie now with his shirt off and mussed up curls, all you want is him. You have no idea what you want to do first, there’s part of you that just wants to touch him, to validate he’s here and real, and yours for the moment. It’s been so long. Even this week, this realisation at the start feels like an age ago, like you’ve been anticipating him for years.

Frankie’s hands are on your legs, moving up and underneath your summer dress as he kisses the sensitive spot behind your ear. He traces circles on your inner thigh as he pulls away from his kiss.

“Hey,” you start but he just winks.

That wink really shouldn’t make you feel quite as aroused it does. That wink is dangerous. Very dangerous.

Frankie moves his kisses further down, his hands pushing your dress further up your thigh before, your underwear down your legs and you kick them off.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers, awe in his voice.

There’s something about being with Frankie that you’ve never experienced with other men. He has this way of making you feel safe and seen and like there is nothing more he wants than to be with you. It’s addictive and the feeling storms through your mind in a rush.

He kisses the inside of your knee, tracing light kisses up your leg, spreading your legs with his hand as he moves towards your centre.

“Just look at you,” he utters, awe in his voice before he puts his mouth on you.

You reach for his hair, fingers knotted around the curls at the nape of his neck and try not to pull as he swipes up your centre to your clitoris, one hand on your right hip and the other holding your scrunched up dress away.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he says before diverting his attention back to his ministrations. Every touch, every movement Frankie makes is masterful. He’s an expert at building you up, at listening and reacting to every part of your body, to bring you to the very edge. “Missed you.”

You feel like there’s a thousand things Frankie’s trying to tell you through this moment, all those unspoken words and sentiments. Every part of you is reacting, your mind is becoming wonderfully clear, focused only on him, on the way he makes you feel.

The heat builds in your stomach, every swipe or suck causing a new ripple of delight. You try and shift, let your body move in react, your hips bucking at one point as Frankie masterfully maintains his hold on you.

You can feel the pressure building, are barely conscious of the sounds you’re making as your back arches, as you shut your eyes and delight in everything Frankie is doing.

“C’mon, baby, you’re nearly there,” he encourages. “That’s it.”

You feel the way your legs are shaking, the way each muscle is tensing and preparing for that oh so needed release.

You say his name, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie.

The taste of you on his lips, both of your breathing is ragged and you wrap your arms around him, aiming to move but he keeps you in place.

“Steady,” he says gently.

“What about you?”

“Soon, soon, baby. It’s not a game, we got time.”

Have you? Is there time? Part of you wants to protest, to say no, you have to fit in as much time together as possible now because at some point you’ll need to go home. The two of you are in limbo, in the vacation idyll and how, how does this continue in Florida? Would it? Would he want to? What does it all mean?

“Honey, I can see your brain working overtime,” he says softly.

“I just -”

“We don’t need to overthink it,” he replies, but you notice the way he’s stiffened slightly and he’s taken a step backwards.

“I -” you pause, unsure of what to say but wanting to fill the pause, stop the silence. “I’m sorry, it’s a lot.”

“That’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures you.

It’s this that abates the anxiety, finally clearing the buzzing in your brain. Frankie’s gentle reassurance washes over you like a palm The lack of assumptions, the way this man makes you feel safe. He doesn’t even feel real to you right now. As he moves away you pull him closer, entwining your body with his.

“Frankie, I need you,” you say.

He looks at you with clear heat in his eyes. “I - what?”

You smile at him, drawing him closer. “Frankie, please will you take me to bed?”

He smirks. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

The sudden smugness in his voice makes you giggle but then his lips are on you again.

The two of you are touching the whole time you move from the bathroom to the bed. Hands. Lips. You don’t want to be away from him, to break this moment between the two of you.

Your dress is off, his shorts discarded to the floor and boxers kicked somewhere in the room.

He guides you to the mattress, kissing your lips and then the right and left side of your jaw. The reverent way he looks at you makes you wonder if he’s trying to commit every part of you, of this moment, to his memory.

You reach up and touch his jaw. His eyes are heavy with desire, you can feel the coarse stubble on his jawline, the familiarity of his body on you. He smells different and the same at once. It’s all mixed up in coconut scented sunscreen, the same cologne he used to wear on date nights. The one you loved. He looks healthy again, he looks like the Frankie you fell in love with.

He kisses you. “Are you sure you want to -” he begins.

“Absolutely. Do you?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking down to draw your attention to his erection. “I already said I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

“Even when it was bad? Back when you hated me?”

“Even then. And hate’s a strong word.” He pauses. “I just want to - five minutes ago you seemed worried and I don’t want that. We can slow this down, baby, we’ve got time. Or, we don’t have to -”

“I mean it too. I want this. I want you.”

You want to bottle up the smile Frankie wears in response. It would be the purest serotonin, happiness in a bottle.

“I - I’m on the pill still if you don’t have a condom.”

“Good, good. I don’t actually, I can get them though. But I’ve been tested and I’m clean.”

“That’s good, that’s fine. Want you, want to feel you.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he says, groaning slightly which sends an immediate thrill down your body.

Part of you still feels awkward about these conversations but there’s something about the way Frankie’s looking at you, the heat pooling in your body, the knowledge of just how much your body wants Frankie right now. How much you want him.

He guides himself into you. It feels familiar and yet new. This was not the problem with you and Frankie; your bodies connected and every time you were with him, it felt so real, so right. You kiss. entwining fingers together as he moves, as both of you raggedly breathe. He groans into your mouth as he kisses you and you tighten your arms around him and the two of settle into a rhythm.

“You’re incredible,” he says.

“So are you,” you say, “so are you.”

You can feel the sensation rising, a crescendo of feeling and then you are there. A tangle of each other’s names, of gasping breaths and sweat coated limbs.

In the aftermath, you both lie there. A woozy peaceful sensation has filled your body and mind. You're almost afraid to voice your thought, that being with Frankie again just then was better than you had imagined.

“Is it wrong I want to say we’ve still got it?” Frankie asks after a minute.

You laugh. “No, no, not at all. Was thinking something similar. That was - that was something.”

“Shit, I don’t think I’m going to be able to think for five more minutes.”

“Just five? Clearly we need more practice.”

“Well, I could sign up for that,” Frankie says.

“We need to get ready for the catamaran trip.”

“Nah, we don’t. I’ve been on boats before. We can stay right here.”

“Benny and Lia get married tomorrow, baby. We need to -” You break off.

“What is it?” Frankie props himself on an elbow and looks at you carefully.

“We can’t ruin their wedding.”

“What do you mean?”

“After Will’s -”

“That’s not going to happen,” he says, soothing and calm.

“I can’t wreck another -”

“You didn’t. We didn’t. They’re happy, it’s okay. It was, it was bad, yes, but -” Frankie swallows. “I’m sober now.”

“I know. I know.”

“We won’t ruin it.”

“We can’t take away from their day, or … any of it.” What if they find out and ask questions? You have no idea what comes next with Frankie, if this feeling is just a vacation escape or if it’s, as you suspect. real. What you do on vacation isn’t real life. A holiday romance is just that, it doesn’t survive the real world.

You can’t lead everyone through another of yours and Frankie’s heartbreaks. You don’t think you can go through it again.

The calm wash of your pleasures has been replaced with sharp panic. A bucket of water thrown over your delusions.

You love Frankie, but this is wrong. You can’t be together right now. You cannot ruin Benny and Lia’s wedding; you cannot ruin the peace between you and Frankie. What if it doesn’t work again, what if this time it’s worse? What about Clara?

You thought it would be worth it to be with him, but is the cost too high?

“So, you want us to not talk about this with the others right now?” Frankie asks, “Seems fine.”

“Santi’s been glaring at me for days.”

“Santi’s just worried about me,” Frankie admits, “He knows, he knows how I feel. How I still feel. He was worried about me on this break. Thought I was putting myself through it unnecessarily.”

“Were you?”

“We’re here now.”

“But if we weren’t?”

“We are though,” he says simply.

“What if it’s not enough? I love you, Frankie, I do. What if that’s not enough though? I can’t, we can’t mess up everything again. Clara’s not a baby now, she could remember. I don’t want that for her.”

“I know this is a lot.”

“I’m scared, Frankie,” you admit, “I don’t know what this all means for us or -”

He reaches and clasping your hand in his. “Don’t overthink it. We can just -”

“What? We can fuck on vacation and pretend it didn’t happen? You can tell me you still love me and think that doesn’t change anything? That I can say that back to you too? Then we go home in a couple of days and pretend nothing happened? It just didn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. if it’s too much though, if we can’t - we have to figure out how to move past that then and I can. I don’t want this to upset you, or me, or Clara, or fucking anyone.”

“I think we need some space to think.”

Frankie whispers your name.

“It’s just too much right now,” you say, voice thick with tears. “I love you, Frankie.”

“And I think we’ve established, I’m the same. Is that not enough?”

“We should get ready. That trip’s booked soon, isn’t it? We need to get Clara too.”

“Please, can we just talk about this some more?”

You make it to the bathroom before you start crying.

The bathroom makes it worse. It’s a shrine to your previous activities.

You’ll never be able brush your teeth amongst these marble counters and take in the luxury of a heated mirror without thinking of the way he methodically and precisely took you apart on the counter with his mouth and the way he left you saying his name like it was some sort of divine incantation because there were no other words left in your mind.

You want this still, you want him. You want to live in those moments in the bathroom and bedroom before your panic, you want to restart everything and pretend the break-up never happened.

It did though. There’s Clara too and she surely deserves so much more than this. She needs stability and calm parents who are drama free and don’t cause her problems through their own relationship drama.

You love each other though. Is Frankie right, is that enough?

Love didn’t seem to be enough before. It only made the wound wider and pain sharper. You don't want that heartbreak again, you don't want it for Frankie either.

You want love to be enough though. You don’t just want Frankie for this time you’re on vacation. You want Frankie and you back home in Florida. You want regular days with him too. You want coffee before work and organising chores, going to the grocery store even though you hate grocery shopping.

Love - you want to bask in his love and hope he can do the same with you.

You take a deep breath and finish straightening up.

“You’ve got this,” you say. You just wish you knew what this was.

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to the taglist please let me know. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs.

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[chaconnehoonie]

Welcome to Earth- Enhypen(Pilot)

⟿ 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!”

[youryurigoddess]

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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).

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

[scary-grace]

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.

[brainddeadd]

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.

[mayakern]

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.

[b-skarsgard]

•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

[certifiablyinsanez]

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.

[mindutme]

Valya Vednesday #5

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:

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:

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:

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!

[talonabraxas]

The Andromeda Galaxy Talon Abraxas

Many scholars believe that Andromedans are predominantly humanoid races from the Andromeda galaxy, more precisely, the Zenetae star system.

But their civilization isn’t comprised solely of humanoids; other life forms exist there too, like the etheric and plasmic lifeforms.

In total, the Andromedan civilization includes at least 28 different races of beings, and only some of them are humanoid in form.

Their human representatives are 7-10 feet tall, winged humanoids that exist in the higher existential planes and dimensions. It’s believed that they draw origins from the Avian races, though there are no explicit confirmations to such claims. All their humanoids have light blue skin and slightly larger eyes than those of typical humans.

In their works of fiction, the humans depicted Andromedans as having tall but thin bodies, with delicate hands and elongated fingers. However, this is not an entirely accurate depiction.

Andromedans are higher than typical humans, standing at 7-10 feet tall, and regardless of sex, weigh between 400 and 600 pounds.

They are 45.000 years ahead of humans in scientific and technological terms.

Still, their technological and scientific achievements tend to pale before their advanced spirituality. And despite their advancements in all fields, Andromedans always keep a watchful eye on Earth and its humans. They did play a crucial role in our creation, after all.

Andromedans And The Great Experiment

A short time after the Sirians established colonies throughout the planet and began the Great Experiment, Andromedans requested a few outposts for themselves. Of course, the Sirians welcomed them and honored their requests granting them several outposts around and within the planet.

These facilities were used as research stations since Andromedans weren’t exactly interested in hybridizing humanity. Their main focus was to study the ecosystem and perform scientific research on flora and fauna.

Andromedans revere the universal law of free will, which is why they didn’t want to interfere with the human species’ evolution. However, they shared their research with the Sirians, which helped create more durable bodies for their human genome project.

Andromedans contributed only a small portion towards human evolution, mainly in domains of mental abilities. They did contribute to some physical changes in the human genome, but the work was, for the most part, Sirian.

As a result, only a small portion of Andromedan DNA is currently present on Earth, mostly in some regions of Asia. That also explains why there are fewer Andromedan starseeds than those seeded by other star races. However, they did make an impact on our society.

They’re also powerful!

The winged humanoids from Andromeda appeared on Earth in several instances during our cultural and spiritual development. The depictions of winged humanoids are found on several historical artifacts worldwide, throughout writings, reliefs, and paintings. It’s very much possible that our descriptions of archangels are actually referencing visitors from Andromeda.

Who Are Andromedan Starseeds?

Andromedan starseeds are highly advanced, extraterrestrial or celestial souls that incarnate here on Earth in human form.

And as you might’ve guessed, Andromedan starseeds originate from the Andromeda Galaxy.

We can’t really say that they’re our closest neighbors, but we’re getting closer by the day, according to human scientists.

The Andromedan's Home

Andromedan energies vibrate on exceptionally high frequencies, as they exist on higher existential planes, and most of them come from the 12th dimension. More on this later.

The thing is:

This makes them less likely to seek incarnation here on Earth due to various limitations implied by our three-dimensional plane.

That’s one of the reasons why there aren’t many Andromedan starseeds on Earth.

The other reason lies in their involvement in our evolution or the lack of thereof. Andromedans kept the “hands-off” approach to the Great Experiment, and as a result, there very little of their DNA present on Earth. This also makes them less likely to incarnate here on Earth.

Still, hundreds of thousands of Andromedans answered the call to volunteer here on Earth, and guide us in our period of Ascension. They come here to help us restore peace and freedom across the planet and help Earth shift towards a higher existential plane.

Their individual missions here on Earth vary, but their collective tasks are oriented towards teaching and spiritual work. Andromedan starseeds are also exceptionally intelligent, which helps them excel in many academic and scientific fields.

What Do Andromedan Starseeds Look Like?

People would argue that Andromedan starseeds share specific characteristics with Andromedans back home. But the truth is entirely different: Andromedans left very little trace DNA here, and their starseeds don’t share any physical similarities.

That said, some distinctions are to be made. Though they’re indistinguishable from typical humans, Andromedans tend to incarnate among Asians. The exact cause of this is unknown, though many believe that they fit better into eastern-philosophical societies. As such, their main physical traits are those found in the Asian genotype.

However, they do incarnate in various locations on the planet, exhibiting traits that correspond to the native genealogy.

What Are Andromedan Starseeds Like?

Andromedan starseeds usually live understated lives as humans, spreading their influence and teaching on smaller scales.

You’ll often find them in roles of small community leaders who aren’t afraid to challenge giants if they benefit their community. Andromedan starseeds are also known for voicing ugly truths over pleasant lies, making them incredibly popular in their communities.

However, because of that specific trait, they’re often seen as “going against the grain,” especially in their youth. This often makes them into rebellious teens and youths who adore discrediting popular beliefs or archaic societal norms.

Andromedans are incredibly interesting at their young age.

Because of their innate awareness of archaic origins, they tend to assume protective and parent roles towards their peers. This makes them mischievous and freedom-seeking, as young children should be. But it also makes them inspiring, protective, and selfless in the eyes of their contemporaries.

Andromedan star children won’t hesitate to question and challenge adults and superiors’ authority, a trait that follows them throughout their lives. Because of that, they rarely fit into societal molds and have difficulties adapting to 9-to-5 routines. Any resemblance of routines, especially imposed ones, doesn’t resonate well with Andromedan starseeds.

They value freedom and nurture an excellent distaste for manipulation, hence their disdain for imposed routines. Given their love of liberty and their archaic origins embedded in their souls, Andromedans quickly recognize manipulation. So, you can’t actually manipulate and Andromedan starseeds easily.

They’re very protective of their emotional boundaries and dislike drama and mass- and social media.

Andromedan Starseed Signs And Traits

There’s more to be told about Andromedan Starseeds than first glances reveal.

By the way, I made a video about the most common GENERAL starseed signs:

If you identify with our description of Andromedan starseeds, then you very well might be one. Here’s a list of traits that might reveal your Andromedan origin:

1: Rebellious Freedom Seekers

Andromedans are renowned for their perspective on personal freedoms, and their starseeds tend to reflect that. They’ll never compromise their free will and freedom, as long as their freedom doesn’t compromise another.

So, the thought of giving up your life rather than spending it in subjugation is one of the significant indicators of Andromedan origins. Which is precisely why these starseeds have difficulties in following government laws, regulation, and rules. Especially when they’re facing corrupted bureaucracy.

If you’re struggling with deciding whether or not to quit your job, maybe you should consider opening your own business. Andromedans dislike having their productivity evaluated by others while they’re sitting their lives away in a cubicle. They prefer to travel.

2: Great Travelers

Andromedans like to travel, and some of them even choose a nomadic lifestyle. If you’re trying to escape your own cubicle, many unconventional jobs allow you to travel and get paid for traveling.

Andromedan starseeds often regard travel as spiritual expansion, and traveling for a living 0. As members of archaic societies, Andromedans find great pleasure in exploring cultures of ancient Egypt, Atlantis, or Machu Picchu.

It naturally aligns with their freedom-seeking nature, love for travel, and disdain for routines. So, if you’re looking for high-vibrational energies to reconnect with your Andromedan self, we suggest visiting the Great Pyramids in Egypt.

3: The Odd One Out

Andromedans exist in a 12-dimensional space, and their starseeds have their origins embedded in their souls.

As a result, there’s a couple of things that Andromedans struggle with. If you don’t understand any of the following things, you shouldn’t worry; there’s nothing wrong with you – you’re simply an Andromedan starseed.

Firstly, many of these star people don’t understand the concept of taxes. Why should anyone pay someone or something to live on this planet. Off all the starseeds from the surrounding galaxies, Andromedans have the most challenging time understanding this concept.

Secondly, they find minor and significant labeling and societal categorizations entirely unreasonable. Most humans would say that prejudice is useful, as it allows you to make quick assumptions. Andromedans don’t share those views, sometimes to their own detriments, and believe that the only label humans should have is – human.

Though we tend to agree with them on the second point, that’s very conflicting since most Andromedan starseeds question their human nature. They’re very perceptive of the behavioral differences they exhibit and are often worried about how others perceive them. This might cause a lack of confidence in younger starseeds, which they’ll overcome once they realize how much power a single individual possesses.

4: Selfless And Inspiring

As they’re unwilling to sacrifice their freedom, Andromedan starseeds often change friends, partners, jobs, and even an address. We previously mentioned that they dislike manipulation and require autonomy as a prerequisite for normal function. So, as soon they notice someone’s too controlling, they’ll abandon the ship and swim away. Sometimes literally.

However, when they ascend and reach their soul’s truth, they’ll realize that true freedom comes from within. They settle down and transform into reliable, loving, and caring individuals capable of leading and caring for smaller communities.

Though they mostly live understated lives, Andromedans tend to be very inspiring in their desire to learn and grow. They’ll often inspire those around them to seek the same and strive for the same virtues. Innately, Andromedans are teachers and guides, and people will always look to them for a piece of advice or simply look up to them.

5: Humorous

Andromedans genuinely are an odd mixture of qualities.

They’re gentle and kind, yet unforgiving if you cross them. They’re incredibly intelligent and somewhat self-conscious. All these traits describe stand-alone comedians of Earth, who contribute to soulful healing through laughter.

Andromedan starseeds are exceptionally easy to be around, and they’re great at making jokes about themselves. Sure, they might be shy in youth, but once they overcome that shyness, they’re capable of becoming great entertainers.

Final Thoughts

All starseeds come into this world, carrying with them nothing more but the instinctual knowledge of their origins.

The fantastic spiritual potential is what hides behind the locks of our consciousness. So, if you ever felt out of place, you might be a starseed – an Andromedan starseed.

Your power and many of your strengths will become apparent to you as you progress to unlock your soul’s truth. By just being here, you managed to bring two galaxies closed together. Stay positive, and spread good vibes.

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

So I’m just going to say it, understanding that people are not going to like it and will in turn, make that my problem. 

There is a right and a wrong way to engage with media. That is actually an inarguable fact. And there is specifically a right and a wrong way to engage with Fire & Blood/House of the Dragon. I feel like the divide between history geek tumblr and lit geek tumblr is only as obvious as it is because I spent years actively engaging in these conversations outside of the internet when I was having my ass handed to me in male-dominated academia. You cannot dismantle or properly critique F&B/HotD from a historical standpoint. It is not a history book. The only accurate way to critique this media is through the viewpoint of literary analysis - and there is plenty to critique through that lens! All media is imperfect, that is the point. The author’s preferences and icks and whatever else will shine through in their writing and opinions, which is what drives (or should drive) these conversations. 

We see so many people coming through taking F&B and holding it up to this idea of “this isn’t how it happened in history/the real world so I must fix it,” which is very much an interesting conversation, but not the one to accurately judge the writing through. It doesn’t matter that Empress Matilda was fighting her cousin for the throne during The Anarchy. Rhaenyra is fighting her brother and George outlines his clear preferences in the text - which is where people start losing their fucking minds. It’s fine that GRRM has a preference for a specific side of this family. You don’t have to agree with him! His whole schtick in the ASOIAF universe is magical women and succession crisis. We see it over and over with Visenya and Aegon, with Maegor and Aenys, with Rhaena and Aerea and Maegor, with Rhaegar and Viserys III, with Dany and Jon and Faegon. And the focus on the historical accuracy in regard to the time periods that inspired certain events in his story takes away imo from the real conversations that could be had about this content. Rhaenyra represents magic in Westeros (her fertility, her dragon’s fertility, etc), while Alicent and the Hightowers represent the active suppression of magic in this universe (the faith of the Seven being an obvious representation of the catholic church, the obvious church vs paganism element). At its core, ASOIAF is a story about magic! It’s fantasy. It’s not history porn. These conclusions can only really be drawn when you start engaging with the material from a literary standpoint as opposed to a historical one. We’re not meant to strip the magic away from this story - the magic is the story.

GRRM’s work is catnip for history nerds, and as a history nerd who is friends with tons of history nerds, and it’s so fun to discuss the intricacies of our history vs the history we see in Westeros. But to use history to tear apart the work and claim that GRRM is plain wrong for writing it this way is not what this should be about. This isn’t a historical text, it’s a fantasy series. GRRM gets things wrong and as an author asks “look the other way because this is fiction.” We can’t hold the events of the Dance to a historical standard because GRRM created the laws and traditions of Westeros as their own thing. Viserys was not breaking law by naming Rhaenyra heir, just as Jaehaerys was not breaking law by letting a bunch of feudal dork lords name his heir. They were both simply going against tradition and the consequences of those choices is what makes it fun. Embrace the whimsy, people. 

And then we have the introductions of headcanon as gospel. This is something that is absolutely rampant in this fandom (that’s what happens when you have two years between seasons and very little promo and people start getting bored and feral). Headcanons are fun. We love them. In a fandom that’s pushed forward during the drought by fic, they abound! But they aren’t an accurate way to judge and measure the canon material. So many people are falling into the boredom trap of a few BNFs pushing their headcanons in fic (which is the place for headcanons). But to take headcanons over canon, over the information that the original author has given us is…well it’s not fucking cool and it doesn’t help. It actively tears apart the fandom and grinds to dust any conversation we can have about the canon material. Canon is where the blorbo comes from, canon needs to be considered above the fun headcanons that are birthed in the boredom. You want to blame all the bad things on Daemon because he’s 100% evil and nothing but a menace? Okay, well, there’s no canon basis for that. You don’t have to like him, he can just be GRRM’s special little boy, that’s fine! But that is a headcanon and not based on the canon material. You blame Alicent for everything that happened in the Dance because she’s a proto-Cersei and it’s all her fault. Well, okay. Again, no basis for that in the text or the show. You’re actually crying on your lunchbreak over the idea of Aemond potentially betraying Aegon in s2 because your special boy that’s been manufactured in the fanfic factory would never. Well, F&B says differently. And the level of upset that comes when people disagree with these takes is just getting batshit bananas because we’re all understandable desperate for content. 

You have to have an understanding of the canon material. Without it, what are we even doing here? An understanding of how to engage with any kind of media is necessary. And guess what? It doesn’t take the fun out of it, it just lends to a deeper understanding of the themes that GRRM has been playing with for over 30 years at this point. And those themes, not just the history they are nebulously inspired by or the blorbo that gets you hottest under the collar, are the basis for the material we love and deserve to be treated with respect. 

Tl:dr ignoring canon in favor of history porn or headcanons is lame and irresponsible. No one can stop you, but we can judge you.