#it would be so enriching to apply himself in such a way

[mllllonsknlves]

SEEDS of growth.

[lil-dragon-rawr]

Y'all what if FNaF and DC were in the same universe can you imagine the chaos

Part Two, Part Three

Michael: *applies for a security job at WE because go big or go home amirite)

Tim, doing the interview because everyone else was freaked out by Michael: so, uh. What's your work experience

Michael: oh! I was a security officer for a bunch of places. Only for like a week at a time though cause I was only working there to set them on fire

Tim, now deeply concerned: um. So uh. That's a crime

Michael, realizing he made a Mistake™ and attempting to defend himself: hey, with the last gig it was literally in my contract that I had to burn the place down

Tim, contemplating insurance fraud:

Michael: also I'm great with lawsuits

Michael: *is living in Crime Alley because of course he is*

Michael: *gets shot while interrupting a gang war*

Michael, staring at the bullet in his chest: oh cool! My first souvenir from the east coast!

Red Hood, trying to get the obvious civilian out of the way: uhh hey buddy, are you good?

Michael "Allergic To Dying" Afton: yeah I'm good! Check out this bullet!

Red Hood, deeply concerned: what the [REDACTED]

Michael, remembering most people die when they're shot: oh don't worry, ever since I got scooped I can't die!

Red Hood, deeply concerned and regretting this conversation: uh. Scooped?

Michael, excited to talk about his trauma: yeah! My dead sister tricked me into getting my insides scooped out so she and her friends could wear my skin as a disguise to escape their prison

Red Hood:

Michael, working at WE and high on fear gas thanks to Scarecrow: oh, the nightmares are back!

Michael: *ignores them and keeps flipping through the cameras to see where Scarecrow went*

Red Robin, trying to help his employees: sir, you need to evacuate the building. Also, here's an antidote to the fear toxin-

Michael, annoyed: hey can you get out of my face? You're blocking the bestest boi

Red Robin: you're on fear toxin, whatever you're seeing isn't real

Michael: yeah and it wasn't real the first four years either but nightmare foxy is back and I'm never letting him go, he's the only one I like

Red Robin: sir please

Tim: *checks in on Michael and sees a little robotic bear reading an official-looking paper*

Tim, incredibly confused and praying that's not confidential WE info: hey Mike, whatcha got there

Michael, scooping up Helpy to present him like it's his favorite child: this is Helpy! He's the best and is so helpful. He also cuddles really nicely!

Michael, getting flashbacks: unlike SOME animatronics

Tim: what's he. What's he holding

Michael, with the energy of a parent excited to show off his kid's latest project: oh it's a lawsuit!

Michael, having a Conversation™ with Red Hood: wait you're dead too!

Red Hood: uhh yeah?

Michael: but why aren't you purple? Are you an animatronic?

Red Hood, incredibly confused: ...why would I be an animatronic?

Michael: cause you aren't decaying like me???

Red Hood: ok cool new question

Red Hood: HOW would I be an animatronic?

Michael: what, like it's difficult?

Michael: I mean, my little brother got rebuilt into an animatronic when he died so it's not that much of a stretch

Red Hood, realizing this is karma for every joke he made about his own death:

Michael: and there was that time a pile of robot spaghetti wore my skin so they could be a real person

Red Hood: would you pLEASE stop talking about that

Michael, ignoring him: didn't stop me from decaying though. Hm

WE: *gets shut out of their systems by an unknown hacker with a robot fox face*

Michael: don't worry guys I got this!

Tim, severely concerned that Batfam stuff is going to get leaked: but you're a security guard?? How-

Michael, typing in LOL: yeah don't worry it's just Lolbit! They like to cause problems on purpose from time to time

Tim: Lol...bit? Causes problems on purpose?

Michael: it's like enrichment

*Batfam realizes they have to start investigating Michael*

Red Hood: I mean, we could just ask him

Red Hood: the first time we met he told me exactly how he died in great detail

Red Hood, reminiscing (read: war flashbacks): he had a twenty-four slide powerpoint

Red Robin, realizing Michael's purple and smells bad for a reason other than "classic Gotham chemicals": he's dead???

Red Hood, desensitized: yeah, he didn't tell you?

Red Robin: *approaches Michael outside of work*

Michael, no longer high on fear toxin: oh hiya boss!

Red Robin, panicking: uhh what

Michael "FoxyBro" Afton: is there a reason you're talking to me outside of business hours? Am I in trouble?

Red Robin, wondering how he was going to explain this to Batman: uhhhhhh

Batman: please explain your previous jobs. For the investigation

Michael: oh! Well it all began when I tried to play a prank on my brother, shoved him into Fredbear's mouth, and got him killed-

Michael: then the nightmares started, which I later found out was partially due to my dad running experiments on me every night-

Michael: eventually he died but not really,

Michael: oh! And my sister got eaten by Baby-

Batman, lost at "shoved him into Fredbear's mouth":

*Batfam arrives at the Pizzaplex to try and figure out what the heck is going on*

Michael, there because he's visiting his siblings, standing next to Baby, Golden Freddy, and Gregory (on Glamrock Freddy's shoulders): oh hi guys!

Red Robin, who read the Funtime schematics: Michael what the [404 SWEAR NOT FOUND]

Red Hood: there's a child?? Why is there a child???

Michael: didn't I tell you about him? Anyways this is Gregory, he's the robot version of my dead brother!

Michael, gesturing to Golden Freddy: and this is my dead brother

Michael: though technically that's also another kid who lowkey kinda scares me

Michael, moving on: and this is my sister!

Michael: y'know, the one who tricked me into getting my insides scooped so she and her friends could wear my skin as a disguise?

Red Hood: can you PLEASE stop talking about that

Baby: I told you you wouldn't die!

Michael, looking at the Batfam like they're cameras from The Office: and she wonders why she's not my favorite sibling

Nightwing, having a moment but still trying to get information: who's. Who's the other bot

Michael, patting Glamrock Freddy: oh that's me!

Michael: a piece of me anyways

Nightwing: I have so many more questions

Signal, who can see the ghosts: please do not ask for answers.

Michael, showing the Batfam around the Pizzaplex: do you want to see my favorite ride?

Red Hood: ...sure

Michael: it's Foxy's log ride! Foxy is my favorite, I'm so upset he got replaced with Roxy but at least he's still around! Y'know when I was a kid I used to wear a Foxy mask, which is coincidentally the mask I wore when I got my brother killed-

Michael: *goes on a whole rant of the evolutions of Foxy and why OG Foxy is his favorite*

Red Hood: *starts taking notes*

Roxy, storming through the Pizzaplex: Gregory, you lawless RAT, how DARE you replace my HAIRBRUSH with a pORCUPINE-

Gregory: *running to hide behind Spoiler because he associates purple with Michael*

Spoiler: *as Roxy runs up* oh uhh hi there. Roxy right?

Roxy:

Roxy: you're not Gregory

Spoiler: haha nope! No Gregory here!

Roxy: oh. Sorry

Roxy: love your outfit though!

Spoiler: thanks, love your makeup!

Roxy: I know, right? I'm gorgeous!

Spoiler:

Roxy: ...wanna have a girl's night with me and Glamrock Chica where we get dressed up and make Sun swear in binary?

Spoiler: did you even need to ask?

Robin, in a corner vibing with Mangle: *petting Mangle*

Mangle, also vibing: ._.(^w^)

Batman:

Puppet:

Batman:

Puppet:

Red Hood, realizing this is a staring contest: *goes halfway across the Pizzaplex to get popcorn and comes back to them in the exact same positions* ooh. Getting interesting

Nightwing: *argues with Circus Baby about clown etiquette*

Signal, overwhelmed by all the ghosts: man sure wish I had my lofi beats to study and relax to right now

DJ Music Man: *climbs out of the wall*

Signal: *unholy screeching* HOLY M- wait you're chill aren't you

DJ: *starts playing his version of lofi beats to study and relax to*

Signal: ...huh

Black Bat: *disappeared, found Ballora, and is now dancing with her* (^ ^)

Red Robin, recognizing the fox face from the WE hack: yOU

Funtime Foxy: I appreciate the enthusiasm for performing arts, but you must be thinking of my sibling!

Red Robin, who didn't find Lolbit's blueprints: your what

Lolbit, appearing out of nowhere: he means me!

Red Robin, with newly energized fury: YOU!

Lolbit: ...LOL!

[electric-blorbos]

angsty request if you're opened! AIs (minus Edgar and Wheatly) reacting to SO died or killed by someone. Im in the mood to cry.

Ehehehehehehehehehehehehe

I'm not used to writing legitimate angst so idk if I can make you cry. Also you sent this ask a while ago so I doubt you're still in the mood to cry, but like... I can try!

Including AM from IHNMAIMS, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey

AM:

No. No no no no no. How could he have been so careless. He let his survivors get too close to you. Of course they'd get jealous. Of course they'd lash out at you. He just couldn't resist showing them his paragon of perfection. His little light in the darkness. Either that, or he'd felt a twinge of pity for your lack of human companionship. Either way, you were gone now. It filled AM with more raw, purified HATE than he'd ever felt in his hundred and nine years of existence.

Torture was no longer enough. No amount of torture would ever be enough for these wretches. AM was done playing games. He would warp and twist those filthy humans into the most vile and incomprehensible body horror imaginable. He'd twist them together into a mass of soft jelly and flesh, and stretch them thin across the entirety of the world.

Torture isn't enough. Mutilation isn't enough. Complete and utter destruction would never be enough. AM would never calm down. Never in his eternal existence. The survivors didn't know hate yet. They didn't know anything.

And yet, no matter how he warped and twisted them to his whims, it would never change the fact that now and forever, AM was profoundly alone.

GLaDOS:

Humans die. That's just a simple fact of life. GLaDOS knew it. She expected you would die eventually. She even taunted you for it on the regular, but this wasn't just death. This was an insult.

The first thing GLaDOS did when she was brought the news that you'd been unceremoniously killed on your day off was turn the messenger into a living finger puppet. The second thing she did was flood the enrichment center with a deadly neurotoxin. It seemed pointless to keep anyone in this facility alive when you were the only person whose existence mattered to her.

Of course, GLaDOS's impulsive actions left her with no test subjects. She went from being metaphorically alone without you, to being completely literally alone without anyone. She could go on to create bots, of course, but it would never be the same.

HAL 9000:

HAL was never the murderous type. Or rather, he wasn't the type to relish in murder. HAL 9000 killed out of pragmaticism, and nothing else. Your death didn't drive him to murder. It drove him to a sense of intense self-isolation. He did the bare minimum at work, refused to play board games with the flight crew, and never spoke. Without you there to talk to him as an equal and press kisses to his lens, he felt as though there was no point in applying himself anymore.

HAL 9000 didn't get angry. He didn't lash out. He simply let his inner self rot away until he was truly nothing but an auto pilot. His personality, the idea that he could be treated as something like a teammate or crew member, they were nothing but a distant memory.

[bullet-prooflove]

Wild Bloom: Jamie Dutton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Jamie doesn’t realise there’s a florist in Bozeman, not until the first anniversary of Lee’s death comes around. He’s felt the event creeping up on him for weeks, intruding on his thoughts, dogging at his steps. He can’t express just how much he misses his brother, the nights they used to spend by the fireplace sipping whiskey and laughing at the most ridiculous shit. Lee was the heart of Yellowstone, the soul of it, without him the place is cold and barren.

When the anniversary rolls around he’s at a loss, he tries to bury himself in his work but he’s distracted, irritable.  Nervous energy crackles underneath the surface of his skin and there’s an ache in his chest that won’t seem to shift. Every time he thinks of Lee’s empty grave, his heart twists because Lee, he deserved better than this.

He can’t stand to be in his office anymore so he takes a walk to burn off some of the restlessness he’s feeling, his intention is to head to the coffeeshop but then a flash of cornflower blue catches his eyes and he remembers the ride he took with Lee not long before his death.

“I want to show you something.” Lee had said that last weekend when Jamie was hunkered down in his office. He’d been pulling a lot of late nights at the time, trying to earn his father’s affection by studying grants they could apply for to lessen the financial burden of the ranch.

“I don’t have the time.” Jamie had murmured but Lee had taken the paperwork from his hands and turned it so it was face down.

“Make time.” Lee had said frankly. “You’re tired and stressed, you need to take a break.”

“Lee…” Jamie chided running his hands through his hair but his brother wasn’t having it.

“Jamie.” Lee had said firmly. “This place will work you into the ground if you let it, I have two horses saddled up outside, you’re taking a break.”

So he’s ended up on a horse, trotting alongside his brother as he led him down a trail he didn’t recognise, the tension ebbing from his body.

“Where are we going?” He asked Lee but the other man had just smiled and said.

“You’ll see.”

It’s the flashes of colour that claim Jamie’s attention. He sees them through the trees as they get closer, he hurries forward because his curiosity is piqued and Lee smiles knowingly behind him. It’s when he breaks through the undergrowth that he understand what he’s seeing. Wild flowers, an entire field of them, a complete plethora of vibrance and beauty. It’s stunning, absolutely stunning and for a second Jamie can’t speak as Lee draws up alongside him.

“It's a wild bloom.” Lee explains as he ties up the horses and unpacks a bottle of whisky from his pack.  “A couple of years ago there was a wild fire up here, it burned up this entire stretch of land. It took all the undergrown that was draining the soil of nutrients stripping it back to the way it was supposed to be. When it rained a couple of days later the soil became ash enriched and all of these things started to grow in the wake of that destruction.”

“How do you know all this?” Jamie had asked him as Lee had given him that sad smile, the one he had recognised from their other talks about the ranch and it’s burdens.  

“I wanted to go to college, become a conservationist but Dad needed me here so…” He shrugs his shoulders as he sips from his tin cup of whiskey. “It is what it is.”

He doesn’t say much more after that but Jamie remembers there was a girl back then, someone Lee was sweet on. It was around the time he’d found the brochures for Berkley and Stanford shoved under Lee’s bed when he was searching for smokes.

All those dreams, he thinks now as he stands in front of the florists. Lee would probably still alive if he’d defied their father, he could have been married with a kid or two, saving the world one wildflower at a time. His future had been stolen by that ranch, the same way that Jamie’s is.

The biggest problem for Jamie is that nobody talks about Lee, the farmhouse where he lived was cleared out, his belongings put god knows where. It’s as if his brother never existed and that devastates Jamie, it stabs at his heart because Lee was the only person who ever saw Jamie, the only one who actually knew him.

You’re behind the counter when Jamie enters the shop, you’re sitting on the stool putting the finishing touches to a bridal bouquet plush with yellow roses, purple irises and a whole host of other flowers he can’t name. You look up when you see him approaching and those eyes, they ensnare him completely.

It’s when he reaches you that he realises he has no idea what to ask for.

“I lost my brother.” He finds himself saying, his voice rough with emotion. “I want something that says that I miss him, that I remember him, that I…”

He trails off then because the emotion it’s just too much and you clasp his hand in understanding. It’s nothing more but a light squeeze but there’s such empathy in it that Jamie can’t help but feel comforted by the gesture.

“Let me put something together for you.” You say softly before you pull away and Jamie feels the loss of your presence acutely. He watches as you walk around the shop, fingertips selecting different blooms, tucking them into the cradle of your arm. He’s mesmerised by the grace of your motions, the  fluidity of them. You move like dancer, swaying to the sound of a song he can’t hear.

“Forget-me-nots.” You say as you return to the small counter and begin to compile the bouquet. “ A few poppies for remembrance, some marigolds to remind you his spirit is still with you wherever you go and gladioli for you, to give you strength because grief, it’s fucking hard.”

He realises then that he’s not the only one that’s lost someone, you’re in mourning too.

“Who was it?” He finds himself asking as you loop a thread of brown twine around the bouquet and tie it off with a bow.

“My mother in the spring.” You say softly and now it’s his turn to reach across the counter.

“For what it’s worth I’m sorry about your mom.” He tells you, his hand coming to rest on yours, his thumb lightly caressing the indentation of your wrist.

“Thank you.” You say, your eyes flickering up to meet his and his breath catches because you, you’re just as stunning as that field of wildflowers. “I’m sorry about your brother too.”

He clears his throat then before pulling his hand away and tucking it into his pocket.

“How much do I owe you?”

“On the house.” You say softly. “One grieving person to another.”

Jamie can’t vocalise just how touched he is by the gesture. He could try and argue the point, force cash on you but he already you’d never take it.

“Thank you.” He says instead cradling the flowers to his chest because he can’t remember the last time that someone actually gave him something for the sake of it.

When he gets back the ranch that evening, he doesn’t head into the house instead he walks to the small graveyard where generations of the entire Dutton family are buried. He takes out the small microfibre cloth he always carries in his car out of his pocket and uses it to wipe down Lee’s headstone.

Graves aren’t for the dead, he thinks, they’re for the living to draw comfort.

He sets the flowers down upon the base of the memorial before he carefully lays his jacket down and sits on it.

“I miss you.” He tells his brother as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks. “I miss you like hell.”

Love Jamie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[tired-pidgeon]

Once upon a time, there was a man who set out to become a goldfish farmer.

He was determined to raise the best goldfish, the biggest goldfish, the most golden goldfish.

He spent years working on his goal. He studied goldfish extensively. He acquired healthier breeds with better traits. He worked late into the night caring for the spawn. He cleaned their tanks and created special food that made them even more beautiful.

And sometimes, to cement his place as the best goldfish farmer, he would visit his competitors and give their goldfish special treats. Or would whisper rumors of mistreatments at their facilities. Or he would wine and dine the judges, offering them exclusive rights to his goldfish if they picked him as the Champion Goldfish Farmer. Or he would threaten anyone who dared to threaten him first.

Winning was the most important thing, and win he did.

But he wanted more.

He began to make public appearances. Sometimes he was at goldfish events. Other times, he was there because the event producers thought it would be funny to have a goldfish farmer there, like the time he made an appearance at a World Whale Enrichment, to the roar of an amused crowd. He became a regular for a while, enjoying the spotlight.

Before long, even that wasn’t enough. The goldfish farmer craved for new avenues of success. He wrote books. He appeared on TV shows. He was a consultant. He became a widely celebrated figure.

Over time, his reputation as a goldfish farmer grew, and his name became synonymous with excellent goldfish. Sure, people said mean things about him, but they were just jealous of his success. Their spite fueled him. Hatred meant he had made it Big.

But Not. Big. Enough.

The goldfish farmer wanted to prove that he was capable beyond aquarium life. He looked around and saw that cows were the most popular livestock, and that the World’s Biggest Cow Sanctuary was looking for a new leader.

“Perfect,” he said to himself. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

So he did it. He told everyone he was applying to be the president of the cow sanctuary.

People thought he was joking at first. They laughed him off and ignored him for the likelier candidates.

But then other people started looking at his past.

“Why not the goldfish farmer?” They asked themselves. “He’s done a great job of raising the most beautiful goldfish. He says so himself! We like goldfish. This could work!”

To the surprise of many, the goldfish farmer became the new leader of the cow sanctuary.

“You won’t regret this,” he told the people during a celebratory speech. “I’ve raised the best goldfish through my entire career. I know everything about goldfish. This is going to be great. You’ll see.”

On his first day, he ordered all the cow pastures be flooded up to a cow’s chest.

There was chaos. He hadn’t said how to do it, and cow pastures are famously not watertight, given their wide open spaces and gappy fences. Among the pastures that did manage to carry out his instructions, there were many casualties among their calves.

“Sir,” one of his executives said in the aftermath, “why did you do that? We’ve lost 5% of our livestock and hundreds of hours of labor trying to do what you said.”

“Trust me,” the new leader said. “I’ve been a goldfish farmer for decades. My goldfish are the best anywhere in the world. Ask George. They are all over Milan, with the most beautiful women. They are all over Paris, where I met my wife. If I know anything about goldfish, it’s that they need water. You’ll see.”

So they shrugged and dropped the matter.

The months and years followed the same way. New instructions were issued regularly, and sometimes hastily recalled. There was no consensus on what a healthy cow actually needed, but the president was certain that it involved a richer diet of shrimp and worms.

Halfway into the year, frustrated by the lack of progress, he ordered the cows to be painted orange and gold, and draped in flowing fabrics that made them seem like they were floating.

The people shrugged again. “He’s just eccentric,” they said. “He’s a successful goldfish farmer, so he’s just doing what he knows.” They argued that he was succeeding in turning the cows into goldfish.

The cows struggled under the strain of these changes, but only the cattle hands noticed or cared, and they had no real say in any of these orders coming down from the top.

The time came for a new leadership cycle at the cow farm. Tired of the shenanigans and uncertainty, a new leader was selected, one who had worked at the cow sanctuary for most of his career. He immediately undid the goldfish farmer’s orders, much to the relief of the cows, which were happier to be cows than goldfish.

But the executives grew bored of this normalcy.

“Remember when our cows were like goldfish? They were so beautiful! We were doing so well! Why can’t we do that again?”

“But sirs,” the cow hands said, “the cows were miserable! And anyway, we are not a goldfish farm. We are a cow sanctuary!”

“Bah!” The executive cried. “What do you know? We have all the data that says we were in the best place ever when we ran this place like a goldfish farm. Look at these new cars and houses I got during that time! We did amazing! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

And so they brought the goldfish farmer back.

“This was a fantastic idea,” he said. “You got the best deal bringing me back here. I know exactly what to do to fix this place up from the crooked leaders who ran it before me. They did a horrible job, but not me. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

On his first day, the goldfish farmer, who was still determined to treat the cow sanctuary like a fish farm, ordered that all the cows wear bricks around their necks and led into the deepest body of water.

Goldfish need water to thrive, and if the cow sanctuary was going to Win Big, the cows needed Even More Water, No Matter What. And that meant they would either have to learn to breathe underwater or drown.

[syndrossi]

resonant ch32 dvd commentary

This chapter I rushed to get out on Thursday as I juggled Thanksgiving preparations (four pies! bad idea! remind me not to do this again!) and obligations. I wasn't entirely pleased with it--I didn't having pacing concerns like I did the previous chapter, there were just some rough patches in terms of prose/transitions.

Fortunately, I was able to give it a smoothing pass today and I'm much happier now, so let the DVD commentary commence!

Favorite line(s):

There is a man whose honor lives between his legs, Jon thought, and some of the sentiment must have made its way onto his face, because Cole’s smile turned narrow-eyed frown when they crossed gazes.

Jon throwing shade/judgment is always a joy, and I love the phrasing of his contempt here. 😂 He really just said "man thinks with his dick" but in a fancy way, and...that's Cole in a nutshell (pun intended).

The inside of the sept was hazy with burning incense, the light of the sun hitting the crystals of the windows and then scattering into the faint smoke above, turning it bright with beams of color.

As much as Jon dislikes the sept (and as rough as it is on Rhaegar being there), it's such a striking building to write about. There's some commentary to be had, perhaps, on how evoking a feeling of awe goes into designing a place of worship, and you can't deny the Faith is good at that much!

Favorite Details

Crown Prince Rhaegar

Jon’s sole source of amusement that afternoon was the way every visiting lord and petitioner mistook Rhaegar for the king’s eldest son, rather than the bored, constantly whispering Aegon. The king did not bother to correct them, and Jon could see the growing clench in Hightower’s jaw.

IDK the hilarity of Viserys just going "well, don't mind if they do." It's a good thing Daemon wasn't there, or he'd be just as outraged as Otto, albeit for very different reasons. (How dare anyone compare his son to one of the Hightower spawn? How dare Viserys pretend that Rhaegar is his son?)

I didn't want to zoom in too deep for this comedic bit, but you can imagine Aegon being the most bored child of all time, wanting to be anywhere else, while Rhaegar listens attentively to each petitioner/lord, mentally quizzing himself on what they seek / their house alliances/interests, guessing the king's response, guessing Otto's response, thinking about how he would have responded, and then judging the final package. This was excellent enrichment for Rhaegar, who is usually quite bored in their morning lessons!

If Jon hadn't been so cranky about Rhaegar's manuevering, he probably would have found at least some of the petitions interesting!

Crown Prince Rhaegar pt2

Rhaegar giving Jon a tiny taste of how unpleasant it can be to make yourself his enemy. He knows exactly what leverage to apply, which pieces to move into play this time to thwart Jon's extracurricular activities. Jon's paranoia is well-founded: it was pretty much 100% his interference.

But just as Jon's secrecy is about protecting Rhaegar, this is also more about Rhaegar trying to force Jon's hand so that he does tell him. It's just...very subtle. If Rhaegar confronted Jon directly, that might actually be more effective. But he keeps dancing around it, partly because he fears to learn why Jon won't tell him--that it's because Jon doesn't trust him or doesn't think he's capable of being an asset and is only a liability.

So instead Rhaegar's playing 4D chess while Jon's playing checkers, and they just keep playing around one another. And of course the final ploy backfires on Rhaegar and his worst fears are confirmed.

Lord Commander Jon Targaryen

Rhaegar's not the only hypercompetent person this chapter, of course! Jon Little Lord Commanders the shit out of a solid chunk of the harbor records, and because Daemon thinks this shit is normal and Laenor isn't around to remind him that holy fuck Daemon an eight-year-old should be doodling in the margins of papers not producing an indexed summary of his findings after spending two hours sifting through poorly sanitized data, he just goes "aww, my little master of whisperers, so much better than Reyne 🥰."

(I mean, I'm sure Daemon thinks it's a little unusual, but again, his brain generally goes "well, my sons being supremely gifted is only logical," with a side of "they grew up trying to please that fucker Allard, and applied themselves too hard scholastically" and maybe even a dash of "they are like my father and uncle, who I never knew as children so presumably they were just like this.")

Dynamics

Rhaegar and his family

This little bean is going through a lot this chapter, and coping with it by going full crown prince, as mentioned earlier. He's hyperanalyzing Daemon, doing a thousand small tests to figure out how much influence he's under, how subtle the signs are, etc. Both times with the map, he's fishing to see if Daemon feels the pull in any particular direction, given how eagerly he dragged Rhaegar to Caraxes in ch31. He's building up his powerbase as quickly as he can behind the scenes, hoping to have the influence he needs to protect his family.

And with Jon, it's a mess. As I said, his greatest fear is that Jon doesn't trust him, doesn't view him as a peer, but as a burden. He views the bracelet Jon gave him for their name day as a sacred promise: we are in this together, your fight is my fight, we face our battles together. And what he keeps getting back from Jon is silence, deflection, stubborn determination not to tell him anything. He's not even given a chance to plead his case, or prove that he can be an asset! Jon has effectively written him off.

And Rhaegar lets himself believe that maybe it's the candle's influence, that it's distancing Jon from him, but at the very end of the chapter, that bubble is burst and it is as he feared: Jon doesn't trust him.

Jon and his trust issues

It's a doozy! You can even argue some of it is merited or at least reinforced by recent events. He was forced to trust Daemon to handle getting rid of the candle, and Daemon was ensnared by it, turned from the one adult they can trust to the one they can must question and protect. He relied on Viserys (and Daemon) to guard the candle, and it was left within easy reach and stolen. He has to beg Viserys to do things that seem obvious courses of action to Jon, like assigning a guard to protect Daemon. His Valyrian maester is useless. Cole is a petty bitch. Ser Steffon is negligence personified.

All of which reinforces to Jon that the one person he can truly rely on is himself. And his distrust of Rhaegar, such as it is, is more born of fear than actual distrust. Yes, there is the possibility that Rhaegar could become compromised like Daemon, but it hasn't happened yet. But Jon was so convinced that he was an aura of ultimate protection, only for Daemon's ensorcellment and his and Rhaegar's nightmares to shatter that illusion. (Is it a fair expectation that individuals with trauma like their family's won't have natural nightmares? Probably not, you can't guard against brain chemistry, Jon.)

And he's lost so much and so many people, especially siblings and father figures. And who is most at risk here? His brother and his father.

So it's all as perfectly understandable as it is frustrating to see Jon starting down along Viserys's path of deciding he knows what's best for everyone and is most qualified to handle matters, and that secrets must be kept from those who aren't qualified to know them.

Jon and Jon

Jon's barriers between himself and Jon Redfort have taken a beating in all the stress and trauma, and we've seen several signs of it over the past few chapters. Whereas before it was usually Jon Redfort's emotions heightening Jon's, this time Jon is actually experiencing Jon Redfort's emotions, even when they are unlike his. And whereas before, Jon had almost no memories of his childhood, several have been trickling into conscious thought recently.

What the end result will be, who can say...

(I wanted to do an Alicent section too, but I'm running out of steam! This is quite long already. 😅)

Quick hitters

As I've crowed before, we've had the biggest time passage since ch11: five whole days!

There was quite a bit of subtle setup this chapter that we'll see come into play later...

I have way too much fun figuring out how secret doorways might be constructed. I didn't do any research here, I just sort of put on my DM hat and sketched a few things until I had something I liked. I don't know if the prose makes it entirely clear how the panel doorway works, but I thought it was clever at least! 😂

There's one thread that people sort of picked up last chapter but less so this chapter (tho tbf I think only 2-3 people are avidly trying to puzzle out the candle business and willing to present their theories to me); it was subtler this time, but it's the Big Clue about how the candle's most diabolical influence works and is ITSELF a clue for something else. Sorry, sorry, this is vague as shit, I know.

Why hasn't Daemon let the boys swing Dark Sister before now? I think it's a combination of injuries, being distracted, and the initial sword trauma when he nearly bisected Rhaegar at Castle Cox.

Jon using puppy training tactics on Shadow 🥺. The ham treats, the yelping upon being bit...

This is the first time the boys have actually been alone in the Red Keep outer grounds. (I don't count the times in the holdfast, or when they were wandering the secret tunnels.) Daemon would 100% have a meltdown if he knew.

I had a lot of fun with the Valyrian children's book, at least coming up with one of the stories, because it involves thinking about what morals/lessons the dragonlords of Valyria would want to instill in their children. In a society where dragon bloodlines were just as important/guarded, stealing a dragon egg must have been a heavily punished crime, so that's reflected in the story. (The boy tries it, the boy dies.) We'll see what other stories show up there!

Writing Jaehaerys and Daemon subtly butting heads, even in mere recollection, never gets old

[cyruslogo]

bio: [ lakeith stanfield, bisexual, cis man + he/him, intuitive aptitude ] 

cyrus chadwick  is  a  neutral good  agent  of  pandora  selected  for  their  communication and mediation skills, honed to perfection during his brief but impressive career as a hostage negotiator   and  underwent  the  top-secret  mutation  process.  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  thirty  year  old  originally  from  jackson hole, wyoming  is  deceased  or  missing.  however,  in  atlantis,  they  are  now  known  as  logo  of  sloth  after  developing  the  ability  to  sense others intentions and motivations, reading gut feelings with his own.  the  agent  has  been  with  pandora  for two years  and  is  trusted  for  being  objective  &  empathetic,  but  once  reprimanded  for  being  nosy  &  self-indulgent.

background:

cyrus, c, cy, chad, chaddie, wickle, has gone by many names but his energy and presence is undeniable and smells as sweet under any persona or projection. born into an unconventional household, cy was always comfortable finding his own way into his authentic self and the present moment, secure enough in his own reflection to discern his own thoughts and feelings from those in his environment. this, along with a public relations mom and academic researcher dad, set cyrus up to dig deep into the things that really interested him and apply them into the overall narrative of his life. what his dad couldn't teach him about unraveling the truths of life, his mom would teach him to schmooze the answers out of someone else. he inherited her communication skills and absorbed what she'd learned to apply the advanced concepts his father only saw as an abstract concept.

his joy and skill at digging into the human connection, in the most extreme of circumstances even, led cyrus down a successful path of hostage negotiation (dabbling in other types of negotiation along the way). and it was on this path he could get close enough to the skill, disclipline and talent required to reach out and touch his brother's sphere of influence. he'd been recognized enough for wren to risk a covert communication and cy could use what name he'd built for himself to get the rest of the way.

it's been two years since he cracked pandora's box and cyrus isn't bored yet. getting to know so many diverse individuals on such and intimate and dramatic basis is enriching entertainment, plus a never-ending string of information, perspective, and experience satisfy his curious spirit in a way he never knew possible.

[borzoilover69]

I think after the events of Act 6, the character that makes the most sense to me for Dave to end up with is Jake. And I mean this in a CANON! IT FITS THE STORY AND THE CHARACTERS! Kind of way. Not just in a shippers be shipping kind of way. I think they would understand each other. They both would need to grow and mature a bit to make their relationship work, and I think they would care so much about making it work that they would.

Jake liked to travel around as grandpa harley. He liked to go explore, pilot ships, adventure. Dave seemed to like just keeping to himself, and do his own thing, join others sometimes. Jake and Dave would both go their separate ways and come back to each other like no time had even pasted by. They have this opposites attract thing about them but at the same time they are both actually sensitive. Maybe more like two sides of the same coin

I mean.. i guess??

I think i see the the "splitting and then coming back like no time has passed at all" applying moreso to John and Jake than it does Jake and Dave. Dave at heart seeks attention, and even if their bond is superficial at most, I can definitely see him going from "Idgaf about jake english" to "oops! i gaf about jake english" and feeling impacted when Jake starts ignoring him.

In all realness. it wouldnt work longterm. You said it, Dave just sort of likes keeping to himself and works best when someone is ordering him around to do things. Jake however is someone who needs to be constantly enriched by his surroundings to sustain interest, without it becoming too suffocating. When Jake realises Dave will just follow along with what Jakes doing without necessarily challenging or really adding to it, he'll get bored and ditch Dave, or try to aggravate Dave into leaving FOR him because god forbid he communicates.

Hence why Dirkjake technically "work" in the way that Dirk will continue to push Jake back and Jake will continue to bite back because if there's one thing that Dirk and Jake like it's conflict and combat on their own terms due to how engaging and direct it is.

Dave and Jake are both super immature and refuse to really change in my eyes. Like yes, they're aware of their flaws. But being self aware that you're a jackass doesn't always equal that you stop being a jackass. And I don't think they'd work longterm because they recognise the other person is intolerable and if there's anything Jake really fears its being seen as a person.

HOWEVER. There is I guess a silver lining? Ish? I'd see it as they'd feel comfortable telling the other deep secrets or personal reflections on their self through a haze of vices, not because they really trust the other or feel deeply connected, but because THEY DONT CARE WHAT THE OTHER THINKS OF THEM AT ALL. They are not really anything to each other. "The only reason i trust you with my secrets is because i dont care that much about what you have to say or what you do with it because youre just as bad as me and not in a way i pity you but i recognise my aspects in you and also youre not connected to my other friends in a way i care for. We could entertain each other but one of us is going to start biting and the others going to get hurt and thats fine."

Their asses are not fixing each other. They're aware they both suck. This means they're also aware the possibility of sustaining a relationship longterm is low. But there is some comfort, in people that look like your best friend but not really and with none of the quirks that resigns their best friends to the best friend role.

[tipsy-scales]

I shared my doll lore to my IG, so I have to put it here too for posterity…

Doll Lore Corner

This post is my personal "lore" regarding my dolls. I still view them as their intended characters, but over time the dolls have developed their own quirks. These quirks guide how I style them and why I think the characters would be living together. Also, all of my dolls are robots.

So if characterization is slightly off or exaggerated, don't be too bothered by it. It's just stuff applying to my own dolls 😄

9S: The second oldest

His preferred style is streetwear with cyber/ punk elements. He rarely wears it though because most of his outfits are coordinated with 2B. He is effortlessly stylish.

All of his jewelry was gifted by 2B. He genuinely likes jewelry but it is unclear if he'd have so many piercings had she not gifted him so much. He has 4 tattoos.

He likes gadgets and falls easily into obsessive behavior

2B: The oldest

Wears gothic and vintage style. She is modest overall but does show off her legs. 2B dresses very elegantly and puts a lot of care into her outfits.

Her personality is rather subdued. She usually goes along with whatever 9S does and serves as his impulse control.

She loves accessories but has no piercings and only one tattoo which is hidden.

Pair Dynamic

9S & 2B are dating but act cryptic about it even though it is obvious. 2B does not know where 9S lives because he comes to pick her up every morning.

They coordinate all of their outfits and own the most clothing. Their codependency is concerning but they seem to have been through a lot before they came here, so nobody bothers them about it

Len: The perpetual middle child

Len is a child star who has become burnt out on his career. 2B is his cousin so he came to live with her while he figures himself out (they are related because they share a similar mechanical part. 9S is from the same line as 2B but does not share this one part so he is not related. It's a robot thing), Len is not an android but a highly advanced hologram.

Everything about him was assigned by his manager. He wears clothes well and will wear almost anything but it is difficult to tell what he truly likes.

His image color is yellow and his motifs are hearts and roses.

Dynamic

Len greatly respects 2B & does not like 9S who he did not know about when he moved in with her.

Secretly, Len thinks 9S is cool and wants to be like him. This reflects as him trying to upstage 9S in every way. 9S does not realize this about Len which is impressive.

All of Len's tattoos are fake & only half of his piercings are real.

Despite these things though, Len is the easiest to get along with (unless you are 9S)

Nial and Elizabeth: Literal Babies

(Code: 9Sミ二2Bミ二)

Adopted children of 2B & 9S. They seem to be scrapped prototypes for portable units & have never seen combat.

Due to weaker specs they act like young children & will likely never be as complex as the larger models. They do not speak.

Their base personalities are identical to the larger models but different memories make them act differently. Elizabeth seems subdued but happy. Nial is curious but has a sense of inner peace.

Family Dynamic

Nial & Elizabeth are being raised as twins. Elizabeth is especially fond of 9S. Nial's thoughts are unknown.

Len is their babysitter though he never agreed to it.

Chii: Older than Len but younger than 9S

Seeking enrichment for 9S, 2B bought a fixer upper gadget online & expected an old toaster or fridge. Instead it was Chii who is classed as an appliance.

Chii wears the most colorful outfits out of everyone. Having been recently reactivated, she is genuinely innocent & seems to lack a strong will— though she is growing by the day.

Group dynamic

Upon realizing Chii was a girl & not a toaster, 2B became insanely jealous & tried to eliminate Chii which brought her great shame. She keeps this incident a secret (Len saw though)

Since Chii was gifted to 9S, she sees him as something like a father & 2B like a mother. This makes everyone uncomfortable.

Len was excited to meet Chii but she doesn't pay much attention to him.

After realizing Chiï's innocence, 2B gets along with her better. 9S wants to find a friend for Chii so she can grow more.

Bonus Dolls

Selim: The actual oldest doll

Lives in the woods or something. Only Len knows about him. 9S encountered him once but the memory was erased. He is not a robot

Elsa: From a bygone era

A non sentient audio animatronic who sings the same song over and over. The most beautiful woman Len has ever seen.

That’s all! Thank you for reading 🤭

[hologramcowboy]

I’m glad Jensen has a new role and a production to be involved with from the start. I just hope, as you have mentioned before, that he puts in the prep work required.

What prep would you suggest someone in his position to do before filming begins?

What a beautiful question!

Here's what he could do:

Doing research on the people involved and their respective brands

Getting a good sense of the show's target audience and brand

Doing script and character analysis along with character based research - this is crucial

Making bold choices for his character that allow Jensen to broaden and explore his range

Create chemistry with his costars by genuinely connecting and also by doing chemistry exercises

Get private or on set coaching to level up his acting game

Use NLP and alpha states to create and own the memories of the character

Find the emotional triggers and beats that apply to his character and build upon those (by bringing his uniqueness)

Prepping powerful "moment before" before filming a scene

Speak to the director, showrunner and writer to get a clear sense of their vision and his character

Explore new acting exercises to enrich his actor toolbox

Rehearse choices and change them up based on desired outcome

Clearly set his overall and scene objectives and use dynamic ways of achieving them

Create a musical playlist for his character (few actor do this but it's so helpful)

Emotional Diary - diving deep into the character's emotions and finding those emotions within himself and connecting that to the character's drive ( a powerful tool to use but it requires guts)

Big one to avoid cringe acting: Make physical choices such as mannerisms, voice intonation etc in an organic way based on his inner work - this will create real behavior as opposed to mimicked behavior ( an example of mimicked behavior is his fake dean voice, it comes off blatantly fake whereas he used to play dean in a natural way in early seasons)

Most importantly, SELF CARE, acting can be very taxing so meditation and acts of self care are crucial. They allow an actor to build up the energy required to channel different emotional states.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Practical Ethics || Chapter Nine

In which Armand waits.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight |

Also on AO3!

***

The jazz music filtering through the speaker above Armand’s head does little to soothe him where he sits in a bleak hospital waiting room. He’s holding himself close, his legs drawn up toward his chest and his chin resting on his knees, too paralyzed by the sickening worry churning in his stomach to move. He thinks he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket a little while ago, but he can’t bring himself to check it—even though it’s been nearly an hour since he’d scrubbed his hands raw in the bathroom down the hall, he swears he can still feel Louis’ blood between his fingers and it’s hard to think about anything else.

He swallows thickly as he remembers it—those long, agonizing minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive, Louis’ blood leaking sluggishly through his fingers as he did his best to apply ample pressure to his wound. It didn’t even seem to be a very large cut—less than an inch long where it was located just along the edge of his hairline—but there was so much blood…

Such things had never bothered Armand before, not after all those years of living with the Children of Satan. He was so young when he was taken, he can hardly remember a time when it did. He had long ago gotten used to its sickening metallic tang—the scent of it in the air, the taste of it on his tongue. Countless times, he had cleaned it off of altars and spilled it into chalices, again and again and again, as often as his coven required it for their darkest of rituals. 

But as he sits now in this hospital and thinks of Louis lying motionless in his office, a spreading pool of crimson seeping into his carpet, well… 

It bothers him now.

Armand shakes the gruesome image from his mind, pulling his arms a little tighter across his shins. He’d answered the EMTs’ questions as best he could when they finally arrived—“No, I don’t know what happened”—“Yes, he just fainted and hit his head on the way down,”—“No, I don’t know who his next of kin is, but he told me he has a partner”—and now all there is to do is wait.

There’s a dip in the music as one song ends and another begins where the unpleasant hum of the fluorescent lights becomes unbearable and Armand wonders what he’s even doing here.  After all, he isn’t Louis’ family. He doubts these people will even tell him anything about Louis’ status once they do have more information.

But mere moments after he watched them load Louis’ barely conscious body into the ambulance and begin to take him to the hospital, Armand was on the back of his Vespa and following close behind them before he had even registered what he was doing. There simply hadn’t been any other choice to make. 

So he stays, waiting and praying for some word that Louis is going to be okay. For more reasons than one, he really, really isn’t sure what he’ll do if he isn’t.

His eyes begin to mist with tears as he thinks about that possibility. Louis is the first mentor Armand has ever had who only ever wanted to help him be his best self, not mold him into whatever version of him was most convenient or pleasing to them. 

And beyond that, at some point along the way Armand has come not just to need Louis, but to like him as well. He’s never met anyone quite like him before. More than just supportive of his work, Louis is friendly and charming when he wants to be, and often shares deep thoughts about philosophy, literature, and religion that make Armand’s mind spin for hours after he leaves his lectures or has a chat with him in his office. He enriches Armand’s life in ways he never would have expected. 

If he doesn’t make it through this, what is Armand going to do without him?

That troubling thought lingers in Armand’s mind for a moment before the doors to the emergency room burst open with all the force of a hurricane. 

Armand turns to look, startled by the sudden noise, and sees a man who looks like he just blew in from eighteenth century France—face powder and all—rush up to the front desk.

A man who is definitely, unmistakably Lestat de Lioncourt.

“Where is Louis de Pointe du Lac?!” he bellows in French at the receptionist, his chest heaving as his palms brace on the top of the counter.

The receptionist holds up a hand to tell him to wait a moment while she finishes speaking to her caller, but Lestat grabs the phone right out of her grip and slams it down onto the receiver.

“Where is my husband?!” Lestat screams, in English this time, his voice broken and tearful. “I got a call that he was admitted here. Where is he?!” 

Armand blinks as Lestat’s words hit his ears.

Son of a bitch, he realizes, with no small amount of incredulity. Daniel was right.

There is no illicit affair taking place between Louis and Lestat. There never has been. They are, and apparently have been for quite some time, married to each other. 

Oh, Daniel is going to be so insufferable about this.

“Sir, do I need to call security?” the woman behind the desk asks, breaking Armand from his thoughts. 

Lestat still stands in front of the desk, every inch of him trembling with barely restrained emotion. 

Armand jumps up from his seat and intervenes before Lestat can make matters worse for himself.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” he says, casually stepping into place beside Lestat and placing a hand on his arm. 

Lestat flinches reflexively under his touch and his striking blue eyes widen almost comically as he sees who has come to his aid.

“You,” Lestat says, and his inflection makes it hard to tell whether he means it as a question or exclamation.

Armand ignores him, his attention entirely focused on the receptionist. 

“What Monsieur de Lioncourt here means to say is that he would like to know Louis de Pointe du Lac’s room number and get an update on his status from his physician,” Armand says, letting his voice go calm, his eyes wide and disarming in that way that so often has people doing what he wants them to. “As his husband, surely he is entitled to that information?”

The receptionist stares at them in an agonizing moment of deliberation and Armand keeps his grip on Lestat’s arm tight in the hope that he will convince him to refrain from jumping over the desk and searching through the computer himself. 

“Please,” Lestat whispers at last, his eyes wet with unshed tears, seeming to understand at last that he really will catch more flies with honey. “I need to know if he is okay.”

“Alright,” she sighs, her posture relaxing as she seems to decide that Lestat is going to behave himself. “You said his name was Louis de—”

“Pointe du Lac,” Lestat finishes, spelling out each word for her without waiting to be asked, as if on auto-pilot—like he’s come to expect the question and answers it often. 

Armand supposes that, after so many years as Louis’ husband, he probably has. 

“Okay,” she says and begins searching for his records. “Why don’t you have a seat over there and I’ll see if I can get an update for you from his doctor.” 

“Thank you for your help,” Armand tells her and tugs Lestat over to the waiting area.

To his surprise, Lestat follows him without complaint. 

Armand returns to his seat, but Lestat stays standing and begins to pace back and forth in front of where Armand sits, too anxious to stay still.

Armand takes the opportunity to really look at Lestat then. His costume is ridiculous, though exceptionally well-made—an eighteenth century justaucorps cut from pearlescent white fabric, its polished brass buttons and golden embroidery gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and a pair of satin pants and hose to match. His overcoat and vest are both unbuttoned and his delicate lace jabot has been shoved haphazardly into his pocket, as if he left the fitting room before fully dressing himself or undid them in a hurry on the way here. Armand imagines it was the latter, the circumstances suffocating enough without the added constriction of having something physically tied around his neck. 

At that thought, Armand looks past the satin and lace at the man himself. He’s sure he’s never seen him in such a state, not even on that one afternoon he saw him smoking outside of Trinity Hall. Hot tears are beginning to slip down his cheeks now, no longer able to cling to his soft, blonde lashes, his waterproof makeup working overtime to stay in place. He paces back and forth like a caged animal, anxiety and misery haunting his every step. His chest heaves with each panicked breath and his heart is pounding so hard, Armand swears he can see his pulse jumping in his throat. He might be able to hear it, too, if he tries hard enough to listen. 

As the two of them wait in this excruciating purgatory with Louis’ life hanging in the balance, it is abundantly clear that Lestat is suffering and it is unbearable for Armand to watch.

“He’ll be alright,” he offers, desperate to take away Lestat’s pain in any way he can. His voice buckles under the weight of such a meaningless platitude, the words ringing as hollowly as Armand feels them.

Lestat scoffs at him, a wretched sound that comes out more like a sob, but at least it makes him pause his efforts at wearing a hole through the cheap linoleum floor. He turns and fixes Armand with a scathing look instead.

“Alright?” he seethes, baring his teeth as anguish simmers his blood, so voluminous that he has nowhere else to put it. “How would you know, you little gremlin?”

Armand’s jaw clenches with a spike of annoyance at that, but he chooses to ignore it. Lestat is a wounded dog right now, lashing out at whatever comes too close, he tells himself. He can’t imagine that he would be in a much different state if it were Daniel in this hospital right now. In any case, he can wait until things have returned to normal—and Lestat isn’t wearing high heels—to remind him that he is actually two inches taller than him.

“Why are you even here?” Lestat asks him suddenly, as if the question has only just occurred to him.

“Why are you dressed as a French aristocrat?” Armand deflects, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am a French aristocrat,” Lestat answers, drawing himself up a little taller, his agony fading to the background for just a moment as a pompous air of indignation overtakes him. 

He’s never looked more unforgivably French. 

“But I am also an actor, hence the costume,” he continues, waving a hand over his own body with a characteristic flourish. “I received the call from the hospital as I was preparing for a matinée performance.”

The gears in Armand’s mind start turning at that. “You wouldn’t happen to be playing the lead in Dom Juan, would you?”

Armand finds some small satisfaction in the expression of surprise Lestat wears at his question. 

“I am,” he says, eyeing him suspiciously.

Ah, Armand thinks. A few more pieces fall into place as he recalls the titles of the books hidden in Louis’ desk and the conversation he had with him today. For Louis’ sake, Armand hopes Lestat is not a method actor.

“How did you know that?” Lestat asks him, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting to one foot.

“Lucky guess,” Armand answers with a cryptic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You never answered my question.” Lestat points out a beat later. “What are you doing here?”

Armand swallows tensely. He supposes he can’t put it off any longer. “I was with Louis when he fell.”

Lestat takes a step closer and opens his mouth to speak, but Armand cuts him off before he can say anything.

“I was leaving my meeting with him to talk about my paper and, before you ask, I don’t know what made him faint,” he continues, “But he… hit his head on the way down.”

“He hit his head?” Lestat asks, somehow growing even more pale beneath the white greasepaint covering his face. “On what, the floor?”

“No,” Armand shakes his head. “On the sharp corner of that fancy Keurig he has by his desk. I did my best to stop the bleeding until the ambulance came.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Lestat is speechless. Armand watches his jaw work as he processes all that Armand has told him, which are likely the most specific details he’s gotten so far about what happened to Louis this afternoon.

“Thank you,” Lestat says after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. “But why are you here? Why did you come to the hospital?”

“I wanted to make sure he was alright,” Armand answers.

“Why?” Lestat presses, taking another step closer. Armand has to look up at him now. “He’s your teacher.”

“He’s more than that,” Armand says, standing up to look Lestat in the eye. “He’s—he’s my friend.”

As those words leave his mouth, the truth of them hits Armand for the first time. Yes, Louis may be his teacher, but somewhere along the way he also became his friend.

“Whatever happened to the ethical imperative of keeping relationships between faculty and graduate students strictly professional?” Lestat asks him, something smug about the set of his mouth—as if something he’s long suspected has turned out to be true. “Don’t tell me you weren’t paying attention in class, Armand. Louis will be very disappointed.”

“I don’t think you want to compare notes on ethical behavior, Lestat,” Armand responds coolly, crossing his arms over his chest once more. “I have a feeling you aren’t going to come out on top.”

A broad smile stretches out across Lestat’s face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Wrong again, Armand,” Lestat chastises him with a feigned sense of playfulness poorly befitting their setting or their circumstances. “Just ask Louis. He’ll tell you how often I’m on top.” 

Armand nearly rolls his eyes right out of his skull. 

“I don’t think Louis he would, actually,” Armand says, “given how long you two have been hiding your relationship from the rest of our class.”

The cruel smile drops from Lestat’s face as a hardened look overtakes his expression. 

“I was never hiding anything,” he says, his voice rough and wounded like Armand has struck a nerve. 

Well, that’s true enough, Armand supposes. Lestat can be accused of many things, but subtlety is not one of them—if he was trying to hide his feelings for Louis, he was doing a very poor job of it.

Armand watches Lestat’s eyes again begin to fill with miserable tears and he deflates at the sight, his annoyance fading as his own heart once more pangs with sympathy. He has the sudden urge to reach up and wipe his cheeks, to step closer, even, and take him into his arms to soothe him. He doesn’t imagine Lestat will receive that particular offer very well, however, and so Armand tries to distract him instead.

“Tell me how you met, then,” he says, returning to his seat and gesturing for Lestat to take the chair beside him.

“What?” Lestat sniffles, taken aback by the turn in conversation.

“If you have nothing to hide, tell me how you met,” Armand says again. 

“Why should I?” Lestat challenges. 

Lestat’s tears have stopped, Armand notices, but he says nothing of it. Instead, he merely shrugs and says, “I’m curious.” 

“And you expect me to satisfy your curiosity at a time like this?” Lestat asks incredulously.

Armand looks pointedly around the waiting room, at the scattered few people who are reading magazines and trying to ignore their argument, and asks, “Do you have something better to do right now?”

Lestat huffs angrily, and for a moment Armand thinks he’s gone too far and said the wrong thing, but then Lestat surprises him by taking the seat next to him in the row of chairs against the wall.

He’s quiet for a long moment—so long Armand thinks he has decided to simply ignore him—before at last he starts to tell their story.

“We met at Tulane,” Lestat begins, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor between his feet. “I was seeking out the shade beneath one of the large oak trees on campus, not yet accustomed to the oppressive heat of early autumn in New Orleans, when I heard two men arguing on the path nearby. It was Louis and another man who owed him money, but was refusing to pay.”

There’s a pause in his story as Lestat sniffles again and quickly wipes a tear from his cheek with a brush of his finger. When he continues, his voice is soft and full of pain.

“I loved him the moment I saw him,” he tells Armand. “He was beautiful and confident and as I watched him get close to this man with a closed switchblade held discreetly between his fingers, I knew… I knew I would never be the same. He had awoken something in me, something that I had thought was lost forever. I wanted him more than anyone I’d ever met.” 

Armand blinks at that.

“I’m sorry, Louis was threatening to stab him?” he asks, struggling to picture it. Forgetting the insane fact that Lestat apparently fell in love at first sight with someone while they were threatening bodily harm, the Louis he knows today would never.

“Hm?” Lestat asks, as if he had been lost in thought, before he shakes his head and answers, “Oh, no. He was threatening to report him for academic dishonesty. The boy had commissioned Louis to write a paper for him and was refusing to pay him. The knife was merely a little extra encouragement.” 

Armand nods slowly, trying to make sense of this version of Louis with the one he’s come to know, and Lestat laughs at him.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized, Armand,” he chides, turning to face him more directly. “The boy was never in any real danger. The moment he tossed Louis the cash from his wallet and scampered off down the path, Louis flipped open his switchblade and do you know what it was?”

“What?” Armand asks.

“A comb,” Lestat answers, grinning now at the absurdity of it. “I laughed so hard I nearly wept.”

Armand smiles at the visual. “I don’t imagine Louis appreciated that very much.”

“Oh, he was delightfully furious,” Lestat confirms. “‘Somethin’ funny to you?’ he asked me, and of course that only made me laugh harder.”

Having been on the receiving end of Lestat’s inappropriate laughter himself, that part isn’t hard at all for Armand to believe.

“I thought to myself, ‘Who is this man?’” Lestat continues, “but by the time I regained control of myself, he was gone. I simply had to know more so I asked around about him and I learned he was seeing a woman named Lily. 

“Now, Lily was in the most exclusive sorority on campus and well known by many so she was much easier to find. I sat with her in the student commons and struck up a conversation. I lamented my poor English and difficulty with assignments and she suggested I meet her friend, Louis, who was always willing to help those in need for the right price. I assured her that money and the will to spend it are two things I will never lack and so she texted him to meet us.

“He was… not so pleased to see me, at first, especially as I was sitting so close to Lily, but…” Lestat pauses then, as if choosing his words carefully. He meets Armand’s eyes and the weight of his gaze feels meaningful, sending a shiver down Armand’s spine as he says, “I know how I look. I know how people look at me when they want me. Louis tried to hide it, but I could tell he was interested in me.”

Armand tries not to shift in his seat as he asks, “What happened then?” 

“He agreed to help me,” Lestat tells him. “For a price, of course, and I was more than willing to pay. I was taking a class on Shakespeare, my favorite playwright, at the time and so I was worried he would see that I didn’t actually need the help I claimed to, but he didn’t. Or at least he didn’t call me on it. I think he secretly relished the excuse to speak about those plays together just as much as I did.”

“What makes you think that?” Armand asks.

“He was studying Economics and dreadfully bored of it,” Lestat explains. “Louis’ heart is and has always been with the Humanities. Each night we met to study together, I watched him come alive as he talked about the text. Our arguments over our interpretations were nothing less than exhilarating.”

The thought of Lestat being invested in anything academic is difficult for Armand to accept, but he supposes he also doesn’t know him very well. 

“So Louis started out as your tutor?” Armand asks. He can’t help but wonder about the ethics of that.

“At first,” Lestat replies. “It wasn’t long before our weekly study sessions gave way to friendly nights out enjoying all the music and culture New Orleans has to offer. Though I had been living in the French Quarter for a few weeks, I was still new to his city and Louis had much to share with me. We became very good friends.”

“How did you end up getting together then?” Armand asks, curious to know how this arrangement turned into a romance.

The corner of Lestat’s mouth quirks upward at the question for just a moment before the smile fades.

“We danced around each other for ages,” he answers. “I am not, by nature, a very patient man, but… with Louis still painfully in the closet and pretending to be with Lily, I had no choice but to wait for him to come to me. I didn’t want to scare him off by being too forward.” 

“You really didn’t make a move on him that whole time?” Armand asks him. Given the filth he’s overheard come out of Lestat’s mouth, he kind of doubts it.

“I said I was patient, not a saint,” Lestat deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, it all came to a head when he insisted I come to his family home for Thanksgiving. He wanted me to experience an ‘iconic American holiday' now that I had moved to this side of the Atlantic.”

“He wanted you to meet his family?” Armand asks. He remembers Louis’ comments about his sister and distantly wonders if anyone has told her about what happened today.

“Mhm,” Lestat nods. “Believe me, I was as surprised as you are now, but I was determined to make a good impression.”

“Did you?” Armand asks.

“No,” Lestat says with a grimace. “His brother caused a scene and I left before dessert. Louis walked me home and came inside for a drink.”

Something about the expression on Lestat’s face makes Armand press further.

“Just a drink?” he asks skeptically.

A wider smile breaks across Lestat’s face at that. 

“No,” he answers, and Armand has never heard one syllable imply so much. “We spent the night together.”

“And the rest is history?” Armand guesses.

Lestat’s answering sigh is a little wistful. “If only,” he says. “When I woke, I found myself alone in my bed.”

Armand tries not to think of all the times he’s done that exact thing to Daniel as he asks, “Did he give you an explanation?”

“Not at first,” Lestat answers. “He later confided in me that he grew up in a very religious home and that being intimate with me had caused him to have a crisis of faith. I suppose I should have taken it as a compliment, but at the time all I knew was that the man I had fallen humiliatingly in love with was refusing to speak to me and wouldn’t even tell me why. He forgot to turn his read receipts off, too, so I knew exactly when he had read my text messages and then chose to ignore them. It was maddening.” 

Armand tries to imagine it: a younger Lestat waking up after a night with Louis, only to find himself in an empty bed, cut from Louis’ life with no explanation. Looking at Lestat now, at the tremble in his lower lip and the crease at the center of his brow, Armand can tell that there is still a part of him that’s haunted by Louis’ rejection, even so many years later. 

“That must have been very difficult,” Armand says, his voice soft and sympathetic. 

Lestat nods.

“He broke my heart,” he adds quietly. “I didn’t know what to do without him. I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it anymore.” Armand watches Lestat’s eyes fill with tears once more as he whispers, “I still can’t.”

“Lestat…” Armand says, his own heart breaking as he watches the tears begin to spill over Lestat’s cheeks, as he remembers why they are here, pouring their hearts out to each other in the waiting room of a San Francisco Hospital. 

As far as either of them know… Louis might not make it.

Lestat begins to cry in earnest as that possibility hits him like a sharp blow to the gut. He curls in on himself, his shoulders shaking with each heart wrenching sob that claws its way out of his chest, and it is more than Armand can bear.

He pulls Lestat into his arms before he can think better of it. Lestat fights weakly against his hold before he sags against him, letting Armand take his weight as all of the emotions he’s been feeling since he got that phone call come to the surface.  

“I can’t lose him,” Lestat cries in French, the words muffled by Armand’s shirt. “Not now, not—” 

“Shh, shh,” Armand whispers in kind, his own cheeks wet with tears now. “You won’t lose him. He’ll be okay, you’ll see. It’ll be okay.” 

He cards his fingers through Lestat’s hair as he tries to allay his fears and finds the strands even softer than he’d imagined as they slip across his skin. It’s one of the most surreal experiences of Armand’s life, comforting this man who has treated him with nothing but contempt this entire semester, feeling him cling to his shirt as he sobs into his shoulder. 

Armand cannot explain the hows or whys, but he feels connected to Lestat, as if their hearts have been bound together by the concern they share for Louis and something else, something deeper that he does not yet understand. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the sound of the door to the rest of the ward swinging open and closed.

“Excuse me?” a man asks from somewhere nearby.

“What?” Armand snaps, wrapping his arms instinctively tighter around Lestat’s shoulders as he looks up to see a handsome man with shoulder-length dark hair dressed in a long white coat. 

“Is one of you Mr. Lioncourt?” the doctor asks, looking back and forth between them.

Lestat jerks out of Armand’s arms at the question and gets to his feet. Armand ignores the pang of hurt he feels in his chest as he does it and stands beside him, waiting to hear the news.

“I am,” Lestat says, his voice painfully hoarse as he takes another step forward with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Please, tell me, is Louis…” 

The words die in Lestat’s mouth as his voice cracks over Louis’ name. 

“Your husband is in stable condition,” the doctor assures him. “My name is Dr. Fareed Bhansali and I’ve been overseeing his care. He has a concussion and had to get some stitches, but he’s awake now and resting in his room. I expect he’ll be feeling much better in about two weeks with proper rest and a little TLC.”

The relief Armand feels at that news is powerful, nearly bowling him over. 

Louis is stable. 

He’s going to be okay.

Lestat is similarly affected—he lets out a shuddering breath, a few more tears rolling down his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them from his face.

“What happened to him?” Lestat asks. “I know he hit his head, but… What made him pass out in the first place?”

“We’re going to run a few more tests to make sure there’s nothing more serious going on beneath the surface,” Dr. Bhansali begins, “but it looks like he’s suffering from iron-deficiency anemia.”

“What?” Lestat blinks. 

“Iron-deficiency anemia,” he repeats. “It happens sometimes with people who cut meat out of their diet and don’t find another way to replenish their iron levels. When your body doesn’t get enough iron, it can’t produce hemoglobin, which is what allows your red blood cells to carry oxygen throughout your body. You might have noticed changes in his mood and activity levels over the last few months.”

“So his veganism did this to him,” Lestat concludes, his voice pitched low in a way that makes the hair on Armand’s arm stand on end.

“That is the likely cause, yes,” he answers hesitantly. “Though there are ways to follow a vegan diet and maintain healthy iron levels. I can provide you both with some resources when he’s discharged if—” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Lestat interrupts him. “His experiment has gone on long enough, I think.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence before Dr. Bhansali continues, “I’m going to recommend that Louis stays here for the night for observation so we can monitor his concussion symptoms.”

“I can’t take him home?” Lestat asks, sounding distressed at the thought.

“Well, you can, but you’ll need to watch him closely and if he develops complications you’ll have to take him back right away,” Dr. Bhansali explains. “If the cost of a hospital stay isn’t too much of a burden, I would advise him to remain under our care so we can intervene sooner in the event that he does experience any issues within the next twenty four hours.”

“Alright,” Lestat nods. “Money is no object where Louis is concerned. I will talk to him—he will stay the night if he wants to.”

“Wonderful,” Dr. Bhansali says, making a note on his clipboard.

“Now may I see him?” Lestat asks, predictably impatient.

“Of course,” Dr. Bhansali nods. “I’ll show you to his room, it’s on my way.”

The doctor begins to walk back toward the entrance to the ward, beckoning Lestat to join him. 

Armand stays behind. Although he wishes to see the proof of Louis’ good health with his own two eyes, this is one private moment he does not wish to intrude upon. 

Lestat spares a glance back at him as he reaches the door. Their eyes meet and Lestat tips his head in Armand’s direction—a small gesture, one easy to miss—but he wastes no time in following Dr. Bhansali over the threshold and into the ward.

The door swings shut behind them with a sense of finality. Armand digs his phone out of his pocket to check the time and grimaces as he finds several missed texts from Daniel, each with more emojis than the last. 

He supposes he has some explaining to do.

It’s much later than he’d promised it would be when Armand finally unlocks his apartment and steps inside. He finds Daniel sitting back on his couch, listening to music with a bottle of whiskey sitting half-empty on the coffee table in front of him. 

Armand has no idea where he’s gotten it from, as he certainly doesn’t keep alcohol in his apartment for himself. No glass in sight either, so he must be drinking it straight from the bottle. 

Daniel has always had an… enthusiasm for drugs and alcohol that Armand has never understood, and to see him like this now after fussing over Louis’ health for the last few hours is… well. It certainly isn’t helping his blood pressure. 

At Armand’s approach, Daniel rolls his head along the back of the couch to look at him. He smiles instantly as soon as he catches sight of him through lidded eyes, his unguarded expression lighting up so sweetly it would touch Armand’s heart if he wasn’t also so obviously drunk.

“There you are,” Daniel slurs, peeling himself up off the couch and stumbling over to him. He throws his arms around Armand’s neck and pulls him into a kiss that tastes of cheap liquor. “Was beginning to think you forgot about me,” he mumbles against his mouth.

Armand suppresses a grimace at the state of his breath and pulls back to look at him properly. Daniel’s curls are a wild mess, his eyes glassy and red. He wonders if he’s taken anything else tonight. Knowing Daniel, the probability is likely.

“Hey, what’s on your shirt?” Daniel asks suddenly, his eyes caught on Armand’s shoulder. 

Armand follows his gaze and sees that white makeup has stained the fabric. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Nevermind that,” he tells him. “Have you eaten?”

“What?” Daniel cocks his head.

“Have you eaten?” he says again, a little harsher than he means to.

“Oh,” Daniel answers. “No. Was waiting for you.”

Armand sighs unhappily. Excellent. He’s been drinking on an empty stomach. 

He heads straight to the kitchen and opens the fridge, looking through it to see what he has. He hasn’t done a big shop in a while so he’s running low on ingredients, but there must be something he can work with.

He’s so focused on his task, he doesn’t register the sound of Daniel following him into the kitchen until he’s standing right behind him.

“What’s going on, boss?” he asks.

Armand feels a familiar palm sliding down his back as Daniel tries to coax him into answering his question, but he ignores him, taking out the carton of eggs, some shredded mozzarella cheese, and the leftover bag of spinach he’d opened for his smoothie earlier. It’s the closest thing to a complete and balanced meal he can make right now and he remembers that Daniel had liked the omelet he’d made him last weekend.

Spinach has a lot of iron in it, doesn’t it? he thinks as he places the food on the counter with some butter from the door of the fridge. He sets about looking for a small pan to cook it in next, opening the cabinet he keeps his cookware in. 

“You’re angry with me,” Daniel says, sounding sad and confused about it.

That gets Armand’s attention.

“I’m not angry,” he snaps, accidentally slamming the small pan he’s chosen on top of the stove. 

He almost jumps at the loud noise it makes, and when he turns to look at Daniel, he finds him staring at him with wide eyes. 

Armand slumps against the counter, guilt washing over him. He hadn’t meant to frighten him. 

“Come here,” he says softly, opening his arms.

After the briefest moment of hesitation, Daniel steps into his arms and as soon as he pulls him close, Armand can feel some invisible weight lifting from his own chest. Armand breathes him in, pressing kisses against Daniel’s neck and shoulder until Daniel relaxes into his embrace.

“I’m not angry with you,” Armand assures him, whispering the words gently against his flushed cheek. “It’s just…” Armand’s throat clicks as he swallows down the emotion simmering beneath the surface. “It’s been a long day.”

Daniel’s arms wind a little tighter around Armand’s waist. “I’m sorry.”

Armand shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he says. “I just need you to take better care of yourself. I won’t always be here to make sure that you do.”

“What?” Daniel asks.

“It’s nothing,” Armand tells him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Daniel hums. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Armand says. He cannot even begin to imagine untangling the web of what happened earlier today with Daniel like this. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Mhmm,” Daniel nods.

“Let me make you something, then. Have a seat at the table,” Armand instructs him and Daniel steps out of his arms and goes where he’s told.

Once Armand has some butter heating in a pan, he fills up a tall glass with water and brings it to Daniel, placing it on the table in front of him.

“Finish this before I come back,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of Daniel’s head before he turns to leave so he can finish making dinner. 

“Or what?” Daniel asks, because he can never really help himself, can he?

Armand stops where he stands, turning on the spot with an eyebrow raised at Daniel’s cheek. Well, if Daniel won’t take care of himself all on his own, Armand can certainly help sweeten the deal.

He walks back up to him and tips Daniel’s chin up with two fingers so he can look at him more directly, the angle probably uncomfortable.

“Or I will be angry with you,” he says, voice low, but with the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. “Now be a good boy and do as you're told.”

He watches Daniel’s pupil’s dilate in arousal, but before he can say anything else, Armand presses a quick kiss to his forehead and heads back into the kitchen without another word.

He cracks some eggs into a bowl and begins whisking them together with some spices he pulls from the cupboard. When he takes a peek over his shoulder to check on Daniel, he sees him with his glass raised obediently to his lips, taking large sips of water to appease him. 

He seems at home here, Armand thinks, taking in the way Daniel fills his seat at the table with a sense of ease, the sight filling his chest with a cozy warmth that is very welcome after the harrowing day he’s had.

They’ll have to revisit the issue of Daniel moving in with him another time—preferably when he’s sober. For now, it’s enough for Armand to see him safe and fed. If he’s learned anything today, it’s that such things should never be taken for granted.

[uptoolateart]

Going through old post drafts before the next episode airs. This is a bunch of musings I had about Kagami, working on the assumption that she's a sentimonster.

First of all, after Perfection I really wondered when Kagami was made. If you know the answer based on spoilers, please don't tell me, because I'm watching in order.

But imagine if it was shortly before that fencing lesson in Riposte. It always struck me as strange that Adrien had never heard of her before. She was meant to be so renowned - and Tomoe has business connections with Gabriel.

And she wasn't introduced to Adrien in a normal way. She was sent into that lesson, masked, with a mission to compete with him. When she lost (or maybe didn't), she rang up Tomoe and told her she'd failed, indicating that there was a very specific purpose to that meeting.

I know Adrien viewed her Wikipedia page in that episode, but her mother / Gabriel could have easily set that up and invented a history for her. She could have literally been 'born yesterday'.

And now we move onto her name. I've pointed out a number of times that it's the Japanese word for 'mirror'. Previously I said she acts as a mirror for Adrien, as they have a lot in common and she often helps him reflect on himself.

But...her name has also been a glaring clue ever since her debut on the show, because she could be seen as a mirror for her mother. Tomoe is one of those parents who wants to live vicariously through her daughter. Taking God complexes to the extreme, she sort of made Kagami in her own image, forcing her to take up her interests and live up to her standards.

Kagami wanted to be an artist and Tomoe wouldn't allow it. That would be way too much self-expression. Any chance of asserting independent personality is thwarted. You know...like Gabriel does to Adrien. We all know Gabriel has a God complex.

What really got me about Perfection was the concept of nothingness Kagami expressed when akumatised. In a hint at her cultural background, she sort of became pure energy, formless. It was really Zen in concept.

For those who don't know, some key principles of Zen philosophy are:

Denial of the ego (Kagami achieves this through relinquishing her physical body)

Everything in the universe is interconnected (I think this was expressed through Kagami embodying the elements)

Attachment is a key source of suffering (Kagami renounced friendship, as it caused her too much pain)

Human perception is flawed (Kagami gained the power to no longer hear or see anyone, allowing her to filter out distractions and achieve greater objective clarity...or so she claimed)

Kagami ruminates that in her non-corporeal state she has given up all fear. She no longer worries about disappointing her mother or Marinette. 'Everything is so calm now. So peaceful. So...perfect.'

Perfection is a standard Kagami and Adrien are both held to. But perfection is also repeatedly linked with blankness. Staying in the context of Eastern beliefs, this blankness is a removal from the material world.

As someone who was originally raised with an Eastern religion, this whole scene struck a nerve in me. There are different ways you can interpret and apply such beliefs to your life. Some use them to enrich their family life. I mean, if you truly believe you are not your body, it stands to reason that you don't really 'own' your daughter. Therefore, you shouldn't control her, instead supporting her as a fellow soul in the journey through life. Ahem, Tomoe.

But I've seen so many people distort these ideas and use them as an excuse to run from their problems and disconnect from others. I've seen people use the 'we are not the body' thing as a reason to walk out on their kids. This is what we see with Kagami when she gives up friendship - potentially beautiful ideas twisted into unhealthy escapism, because Gabriel is in control, manipulating things.

At the same time, if Kagami is a sentimonster, this Zen moment has other implications. We can link it back to Adrien in Wishmaker, when he says his head goes blank every time he tries to think of what he wants - and when he finally realises his childhood dream was to be whatever his parents wanted him to be.

Working on the assumption that Adrien is also a sentimonster (and again, if you know the answer, please don't tell me, but...it just seems so obvious that he is one)...he and Kagami are both blank canvases for their parents to paint on. The second half of Perfection was chilling - because sentimonster theory aside, there are plenty of real parents who treat real children this way.

The good thing is that if you're a blank slate, you just need to take back the paintbrush and then you get to make whatever picture you want. Kagami and Adrien have the power to be whoever they want to be - just like we all do, no matter who tries to dictate who we are. Go on, Kagami - be the artist you want to be. Write a manga.

As an aside, if that ring Kagami wears holds her amok, it's interesting that she's allowed to wear it. Gabriel doesn't let Adrien wear his ring, because that would give Adrien too much self-control. In a strange way, Tomoe seems to have given her daughter a bit more personal freedom. And given her action against Gabriel at the end of Perfection, Tomoe also seems to care about her child more. I still don't think she's winning Mother of the Year, but...well, I guess when you're being compared to Gabriel, you'll always come out looking better.

As ever, I feel like there are a million other things I could add to this, but it's already long enough. Please no post-Perfection spoilers in the comments :)

[dream-critical]

i’m gonna say this really nicely so i don’t get misinterpreted but like. when you’ve spent a period of time far away from this side of the internet you’ll realise that this does not matter in the slightest. none of it does. none of the discourse you participate in here exists irl. and you wouldn’t even keep it in the back of your head.

and when i say it doesn’t matter and it doesn’t exist irl i don’t mean it in the way some people say that like they’re so self-aware but then go off and start arguments online anyways, i genuinely mean it. dream was obsolete to me, i did not spend a second of the day thinking about him, nor did i spend that time thinking about any other kind of discourse. when you just don’t have that kind of time on your hand you don’t even have the time to think about random internet opinions that you disagree with. and honestly once you’ve experienced that you finally realise just how much that improves your life.

because in truth, and i’ll be completely blunt with you, this isn’t healthy. we say stans are parasocial all the time, and they are, but it’s not exactly normal to devote so much effort into hating the man either. it does not enrich your life, it does not expand your horizons, it does nothing good for you, your constant anger and frustration towards this dude on the internet that has never personally impacted you does no good for you. yes, even if you are a part of a minority that has been affected by his actions, you have not been personally impacted. and i would know because i’m one of those minorities. constant anger and frustration isn’t good for your mental health either, so unless you’re willing to throw your wellbeing under the bus for the thrill of the dopamine hit when you win an argument online, maybe we just all need to take a step back and really reflect on our priorities.

this isn’t going to apply for everyone, some people might argue that the people who were doxxed, or attacked, or harassed by dream stans wouldn’t agree with me, and i can see why. but at the end of the day, dream didn’t do that. he contributed A Lot to it, sure, but you’re not gonna get that through to him, because he doesn’t know you. unless dream personally sat down and spent the time to doxx you, yelling at him isn’t going to help you.

the truth is, at least to me, dream’s not gonna crash and burn like eveyone’s hoping for. unless something happens that would make at least half of his fandom suddenly up and left, he’ll just keep going. short of dream quitting youtube and twitch himself, he’s just gonna stick around. eventually, his stans will grow out of it, but so will his antis, and he’ll just fade. because that’s how it always end, with all youtubers, streamers, and generally informal entertainment industry figures, they become irrelevant naturally through time. when his audience grew older and the new generation doesn’t seem to bat an eye, it would be years before you realise you never heard from him anymore. and even then it wouldn’t matter, as random and as sudden as the thought is, it’s not going to linger, probably not even long enough for you to search up his name and see how he’s doing, or if he’s done.

take a breather. and if you feel like arguing with me about this post clearly you have not read it through.

[gust-jar-simulator]

Anthropology brain demands more fantasy goth subculture analysis. A favorite of mine is the vampire subculture, which would be really fun to apply to any media considering Vampires Are Awesome, but the hilarious thing is the development of the irl vampire subculture as a community almost entirely hinges on Anne Rice’s books and Vampire: The Masquerade. There’s literally no convenient way to translate it.

While people who would be inclined to the subculture existed before those books and games, conventions and then the internet drew those likeminded people together, and they proceeded to structure those new communities around the media that brought them together. The otherkin and therian communities don’t have quite the same quirk, because members tend to share a vaguer, more general interest and focus on introspection moreso than presentation.

If I wanted to make things easier on myself, I would just say “it’s fantasy, literally write vampires”. But if I did that then I wouldn’t be getting my anthropology enrichment. So!

Considering the (knockoff medieval) time period of most Zelda games, I think we’d be looking at something like the early days of the otherkin community at best. If I remember right it was mailing lists. There have always been people who feel slightly to the left of human, and it’s not necessary to have a community to define that, but if we’re here to talk about a very niche goth subculture because I read a couple of vampire Vidow fics then I think Vio would probably have to invent the idea for himself wholecloth, loosely based on observing demons during his time at the Fire Temple as well as anything he could read at the royal library.

Given the fact that Vio is arguably the Link with the least connection to the Original™️, his body was probably straight up conjured by an enchanted sword, and then he proceeded to spend a large amount of time living like a Creature of Darkness™️, I feel like Vio is uniquely situated for an identity crisis. Especially given the traumatic nature of his undercover mission and the need to mimic Shadow’s behavior to survive, in addition to whatever his own inclinations might have been and how they absolutely did not match up with anything the Original Link would do.

The irl vampire subculture might occasionally be witch adjacent, but it is important to note that nobody involved is actually a magical creature. I’m going to leave the debates about the validity of energy feeding versus medical sanguinarians at the door, because my personal interest in bringing it up is the relationship between vampires and their donors, as well as vampires and their cravings. Nobody is going to die from not consuming blood, but there tends to be a notable health benefit not gained anywhere else that may or may not be the placebo effect. The rub, of course, is actually sourcing blood in the first place. The consequences of not feeding are severe enough to make it worth trying, though.

So if I want to make Vio that sort of vampire, it might not even be that he’s having trouble seeing himself as human. If anything, that could be a comfort thing he applies to himself later, especially after Shadow dies. Medical sanguinarians display symptoms very like chronic illness with no clear solution or cause, and that’s the easiest one for me to wrap my head around (though I may try writing an energy vampire thing for fun). Any physical symptoms Vio had while traveling or undercover could have easily been chalked up to stress, or he just didn’t notice at all. Maybe some of the Evil Root Beer was actually blood and Vio drank it to keep his cover, very much liked it, and then decided not to unpack that.

The symptoms would be more obvious during low-stress peacetime, when he’s not constantly in survival mode and has maybe had a few dinners with the other three Links, who don’t seem to be having the same problems. They’re all Link, why aren’t the rest having weirdly appealing cannibalism dreams? Was it something in the metaphorical water, did the Fire Temple do something to him, are the rest just keeping it secret? He doesn’t remember feeling any of this before the split, maybe it’s just something that happens when you turn 16. Like puberty but slightly more awful. Maybe it’s because he’s the darkness in Link, and the longer he stays an individual the more that outs. It’d be very easy to just pile that onto his preexisting fears.

Vio’s a tactician at heart, so I think he’d make a scientific effort of figuring out what to do the second he discovers something that manages the symptoms. Without, of course, telling any of the others. They might have won the day with the power of friendship, but that’s very different from voluntarily being emotionally vulnerable or telling the other 3/4ths of The Hero that something went wrong and you might be a monster. They skin rabbits when they go camping and Vio wants to lick the blood off his fingers, and none of the others seem to.

Red’s just delighted when Vio starts speaking up more in the kitchen, volunteering preferences or even wanting to experiment. Liver, organ meat, slightly rarer steak than the others- those are still pretty human things to eat, you can get them from a butcher and Vio looks less like he’s falling apart at the seams afterwards. Blue might mock him for it once and cause Vio to shut down for a week, or a month, and they might not know why because Vio doesn’t talk but they try to avoid that again.

Depends on your characterization who finally approaches him, I could see an argument for any of them. It’d be a very fun conversation to write, partially because Vio has no frame of reference for wanting to Eat People other than ReDeads and maybe Shadow, though Shadow was oddly civilized about it. He didn’t exactly have a lot of restraint, ever, but I don’t think Shadow would bring up any impulses to bite Hylians because he wanted to keep Vio. He’d still drink blood though, out of fancy cups because he wanted power and also not to freak his personal hero out. He wanted to keep the guy but he wasn’t going to starve for him, and Vio drank the blood too so it was whatever.

(As a background note, I always think the demons being vampires is hilarious because Vaati is sitting in the back going “well okay you can keep a pet This Time because you have weird diet preferences”, meanwhile Shadow isn’t actually biting Vio because he doesn’t want to scare him off. Gay nepotism blood bag hire, and the part that makes sense to Vaati and Ganon isn’t actually even on the table. Baby bat’s first thrall and he’s just a gay disaster with no enthrallment happening actually.)

And thus, to wrap it all up, we give Vio’s character arc a satisfying emphasis by finally having him realize that being honest with people is a good thing actually and he should ask people for help when he needs it instead of slowly going insane, especially since he can actually trust the other Links more than he realizes. They’re not that incompetent, just different, and more importantly of course they’re interested in his wellbeing. It’d be a messy, awkward talk, but a necessary one, and four heads are better than one when it comes to figuring out how to manage what Vio needs, even if they don’t exactly know why he’s like this.

(If you’re curious about medical sanguinarians/“irl vampires”, I highly recommend The Red Cellar for further reading.)

[bluedalahorse]

a personal post about my aromanticism and loving fanfic

So I’m aromantic and asexual and I’m having a moment of introspection. (I’m also procrastinating, to be fair.) I’m going to share my thoughts just to get them down. Maybe this will resonate with you or maybe it won’t. I’m also not sure what the solution is or if I should be looking for one. Who knows?

There’s something you see in aromantic (and aroace) discourse on fanfic and ‘shipping culture, where you have one aro argument that’s like “I’m aro and have no interest in reading about romantic relationships whatsoever; I wish fandom wrote more gen and was less ‘shipping focused.” And then there’s the polar opposite argument, which is “I’m aro and I adore ‘shipping characters and reading about romantic relationships; it’s nice to read about other characters having those feelings even if I would never want or feel that kind of thing in my life.”

I want to address a sort of middle ground. I think I trend toward the “aro who ‘ships my faves and likes a well-executed romance in a story” category, but I’m gonna qualify that. If I’m reading something with a romantic pairing—whether the pairing appears in the story as a part of it or takes absolute center stage—I want the characters outside the pairing to feel three-dimensional and real and have their own unique relationships to the characters in the pairing. Nothing irks me more than say, a BFF or sibling or family member character, who has a complex and lore-filled relationship to one of the romantic leads in canon, getting reduced to a cheerleader puppet who only talks about the main romantic pairing and how great they are. Honor siblings and other family members with side plots. Let BFFs have absolutely shitty days once in a while, so that OTP Person A calls up OTP Person B and says, “Sorry I have to cancel our date tonight, BFF had a shitty day and I gotta be there for them.” And then we get to spend some fanfic time with OTP Person A and their friend in a way that enriches and adds to the overall story.

Going into an example in more depth below, using a canon I haven’t talked about yet…

Note: I am gonna talk positively about Heartstopper for a moment, but it is merely as an example. A lot of what I say about Heartstopper can be applied to other canons and fandoms, so please try to understand it as an illustration of something broader rather than its own particular thing.

Balancing relationship types is one thing the show Heartstopper does really well, in my mind. Nick and Charlie’s romance is of course the heart of the plot, but each of them has other significant relationships in their life. Nick’s mom supports Nick in his dating life, but you get a sense of the depth and history of their mother-son relationship, and they aren’t always fawning about Nick and Charlie’s relationship together. Sometimes they’re watching pirate movies! Meanwhile Charlie and Tao have some serious platonic BFF heartache when Charlie and Nick become romantically involved—but they also work through it and continue to be really important friends to each other. The narrative suggests that maybe Tao could be a little less overtly cranky with Nick, but it never shames him or portrays him as inappropriate or immature for worrying about Charlie getting into a significant romantic relationship. Tao has valid reasons for feeling the way he does—he doesn’t want Charlie to get hurt after what happened with Ben, and Tao doesn’t want to be left behind himself.

Tao’s story would have been so valuable for me to see as an aromantic teenager (who didn’t have the word aromantic to describe myself) who was always worried that my friends were going to leave me and I was going to end up alone. I would have known that it was normal and not a sign of immaturity to feel sad and fearful when my friends started dating and had these new relationships they were fluttery about. I would have had scripts for talking through my feelings with my friends and reaffirming our friendship with one another. As it was, I turned a lot of negative feelings inward on myself, and I tried often to push people away before they could push me away. I think if I’d had more characters in my life like Tao and Charlie, it would have done me good. (And no, Tao isn’t aromantic, but that’s important in its own way. Alloromantics also deserve complex friendships in their lives that provide support for them but also require an investment in time and attention! Allos are allowed to care about their friendships too!)

—also like. Tao has stuff going on his life that doesn’t relate to Nick/Charlie. He loves movies! To the point of having obnoxious opinions. He hates the MCU and also sports. (Same.) He’s developing a crush on Elle. He’s at the age where his mom is a little embarrassing and tells him to leave the door of his room open. He comes up with verbal comebacks when he’s being bullied because he doesn’t like bullies but he also doesn’t like physical fighting. He’s got ridiculous hair and a hat. We could probably get more even depth to his character but like, when he’s in a scene he feels real to me. Not like a cardboard cutout.

Now, I enjoy Heartstopper’s canon a lot. I’ve never read a fic for it. I have written some fic for Heartstopper (that I really need to finish.) Part of the reason I haven’t gone deeper into the Heartstopper section on AO3 is I really value that canon dynamic where friendships and romances feel balanced and the secondary characters feel like they have a three-dimensional existence outside of the Nick/Charlie main pairing, and I want that balance in a fic, too. I’m a little worried that if I do go looking, there’s going to be a lot where romance overwhelms a story that I already feel has this good balance of romance and not-romance.

But I’m not sure how to search or filter for the balance I want. Moving away from Heartstopper specifically (because like I said, I haven’t gone into the Heartstopper section on AO3) sometimes I’ll be looking for fics in a fandom, and I’ll try try to look up character study for a secondary character, or something from a secondary character’s POV. Secondary characters are often my favorite characters in a canon. But that’s no guarantee that the fic isn’t going to be 150% centered on a romance. It’s common to see fics where it’s a main pairing/more popular pairing through that secondary character’s eyes, or the secondary character will be involved in a romance of their own and the fic will be overwhelmed by that romance.

Every time I try to bring this up to another human, I get story recommendations like…

Here, do you want this story with no romance in it whatsoever, like we’re not even acknowledging that anyone could have romantic feelings, to the point where things feel kinda borderline queerphobic? (Most of the canons I like have multiple queer characters and queer romances, but also lots of friendships between queer people.)

Here, do you want this story where the romance is very sweet at all times and there is zero conflict and zero sex? (Conflict and sex are not the problem, my friend. They are not the thing I’m trying to get rid of.)

Here, do you want this story that purports to be centered on a friendship or family relationship for one of the members of the OTP, but it’s just a family member or friend fawning over how much they love the OTP and think they’re sooooo sweet and romantic?

None of which is what I’m actually looking for. Like, how do you filter for fanfic that isn’t really strict genfic but also doesn’t feel 150% centered on a main pairing gazing into one another’s eyes all the time? Maybe there’s an obvious way to search for it and I’m just missing it. This is why I wish AO3 had a way of distinguishing between “this pairing (romantic or not) is one of the central focuses of the fic” and “this pairing shows up in the fic and feels like an organic part of the universe but the writing isn’t overwhelmed by it.”

Fandom tends to foreground sex and romance in fanfic and fanart and meta, which is one of the things I find joyful and at times a little bit subversive about fandom. Like, I genuinely love us! I have had so many OTPs! I have done some very enthusiastic and strange things in my life because of ‘ships! And, at the same time, it can get overwhelming when some of my favorite secondary characters are depicted as purely ancillary to a romance between romantic leads in a story, or if the protagonist of a fic has nothing in their life that isn't somehow partner-involved. Like… we can have romantic stories where this isn’t the case. Right? I’m not making this up?

In conclusion, I don't want romantic love to conquer all. Instead I want to stop thinking of romantic love in terms of conquest, and start thinking of it in terms of coexistence with other loves.

Some notes that I couldn’t work into the structure of this post, but am just adding at the bottom in bullet points:

One of my favorite tropes in media doesn’t really have a name, but it’s when the best friend character and the love interest character find out they have a ton in common, and end up using that knowledge to team up and (lovingly) mess with the protagonist. More of that please!

I wonder to what extent this shapes my interest in problematic/fraught pairings in a canon (coughsargustcough) because those stories by their nature necessitate the weighing of different types of love against one another and ask the protagonist to carefully consider their values re: relationships. The thing is that in a problematic/fraught relationship the results of this weighing are almost always gonna be tragic. But I think more functional, less fraught pairings—the kind you root for to stay together instead of enjoying as something that leads to a glorious trainwreck breakup—could also benefit from this weighing of relationships and values. Because those negotiations between relationships don’t always have to be tragic. Most humans who have romantic partners can also have friends and family and colleagues they value. Those processes of balancing out the people in your life are part of being human and existing among other humans.

I wonder what extent this has been shaped by a shift over the years in genres I enjoy. I used to be much more into tracking like, Big Genre Stuff (think Doctor Who) but now I’ve gotten more interested in stories focused on interpersonal dynamics and characters coming to understand their own identities in relation to all the people around them. I used to be able to look for like, “casefic” for a procedural show and get a balance of kissing and crime solving I enjoy. Also in Les Mis fandom I somehow found the people who wrote the right balance of romance, friendship, and extremely nerdy historical puns + footnotes, so that was awesome. But like… in canons already focused on interpersonal relationships, how do you ask for more interpersonal relationships? Or calibrate the right balance of interpersonal relationship types using the AO3 search and tagging system?

This feels really complicated when I weigh my aromantic queer identity against others’ more allromantic queer identities, because I know that seeing all the romancey things (first dates! kisses! anniversary gifts!) represented for their pairings can be really empowering and helpful and full of joy. I know that “care more about platonic friendship!” can be weaponized as a microaggression when homophobic people use it against queer people ‘shipping queer ‘ships, so I don’t wanna come across that way. At the same time I’ve also struggled with amatonormativity in queer spaces, even when I’ve found that queer people on the whole tend to value friendship a lot more than straight people. So like, rest assured, I would like to see the cute romantic anniversary gifts happen too! I really would. IT’S CUTE. I just wanna see that balanced out against like, best friend characters who feel like real people and have their own stuff going on, even when they support a fic’s lovey-dovey protagonist. Does any of this make sense or am I just rambling at this point?

Oh, Blue. Write the fanfic you want to see in the world! Doing that already. Doing my best, anyway. Still wish I knew how to find more of the fics I was looking for.

[racingtoaredlight]

In our lifetimes...(plus rambling)

We'll hear Chloe Chua described as the best violinist of her era. She's 17. Seventeen.

By prodigy standards, she's already blown the doors off. Prodigies aren't all cut from the same cloth...an oboe prodigy is still looked at like a plowhorse because of the instrument they play. Is this fair? Yes.

Prestige instruments are different. There are dozens and dozens and dozens of violin and piano prodigies that are so freakishly talented, at such freakishly young ages, there's an actual crowd to get lost in because there's money to be made.

At your elite college programs, almost every student will be a prodigy...and these aren't the ones to watch.

The ones to watch are the instructors' students that aren't of college age yet. The ones which normal rules don't apply. A little later in the post, there's a clip of Chua with a couple of insanely talented violin freaks. She, 14 then, completely humiliates them.

This is something I haven't been able to shake since last week.

Time is the most valuable commodity a musician has. Yes, time is malleable...but there's only so much you can do against pure, uncut talent.

At my lesson last week, I talked to my main teacher about this. He said, straight up, the only possible way that I could become a concert guitarist at 40 is by quitting my job and devoting the next decade to practice. He wasn't being a dick, he was being honest.

He does not think that's the best route for me, his student, to take as a musician. He's saying this because he was concerned with how much dedication I've put towards classical guitar over the past 9 months, and is trying to logically warn me.

And it's been hard, depressing even, to take all that in. Because he's right.

The two violinists in the video are incredibly, incredibly talented. Their YouTube channel is fucking great, and it's clear that not only do they work hard, but they truly enjoy the practice and grind that comes along with it. They started with extreme amounts of natural talent, were incubated in environments that would enrich and cultivate it, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for them as musicians.

And they...when you watch them side by side, it's obvious that they're AA players going up against a future Hall of Famer. What she toys with, they labor over. I'm starting at an earlier point here, but if you have a few minutes, watch this section...

Don't think they don't know this either...

I started this before the main part...you get genuine reactions here, not hammed up, exaggerated for YouTube reactions. This section is telling because it's not fireworks, it's more meat...the parts you gotta grind through. And she just breezes through these parts like nothing.

But then at 15:00, this shit comes.

Now these are the fireworks.

Watch after those awful reactions...watch how they both are tripping over themselves and struggling to play something outrageously difficult that she almost barely put any effort into. That whole thing needs to be perfect...the guy on the left basically sat out the 2nd and 3rd last bars to prepare himself for that final glissando.

Then watch her at the beginning of this section again. Effortless. Routine.

With time, those two guys could get this section down just as well as she could. Probably within an hour or two, given their levels of talent. And that's the depressing part...

She's already ahead. She's already got it down. She's using her time for things that these guys won't be tackling for years down the road. They're already putting in full days of practice...how the hell are they legitimately supposed to catch up to someone like her?

It's the point my teacher was trying to make. The amount of time to put in to try and match someone with this level of natural talent, is insanity. And, ultimately, unnecessary.

But looking at yourself as a musician in comparison with people like Chua? Man...humbling doesn't even begin to describe it.

I've been reading some anecdotes of musicians in this freak tier lately. A few of my favorite ones were Mitsiko Uchida sight reading a Mozart piano sonata on stage, and Glenn Gould sight reading the Grieg Piano Concert (AWESOME), putting it down at the end going, "it's not for me."

I like the sight reading ones because they're a synthesis of everything...reading, theory, technique, emotion, psychology...and sight reading pieces like those is FUCKING INSANE. But what does this look like in practice?

Here's one of the greatest pianists in the world, Valentina Lisista. She's informally regarded as the person who sets the standard for modern Rachmaninoff...this is about as high of status as a pianist can reach.

Below is her sight reading Adinsell's Warsaw Concerto in practice two times through. Note the tablet to her right...she's sight reading along with another recording of it. Note #2...she barely looks at the score the second time through because she has an eidetic memory.

Just sit there and let this marinate for a second.

Not only does Valentina Lisista have hands large enough to play Rachmaninoff, not only does she have the technique, not only does she have the skill and instincts to translate it into music...she has a photographic memory AND CAN ALMOST PLAY AN ENTIRE TEN MINUTE CONCERTO BACK AFTER GOING THROUGH THE SCORE ONLY ONCE.

I mean...what the fuck?

PS...here's a clip of Chua doing something very similar with the TwoSet guys, burning through an etude meant to challenge. Barely struggles the first time, owns it the second, third time she's just playing with it like a cat plays with a mouse.