#joy has thoughts

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

The story (Title TBD) in order!!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

And also, here's in-costume selfies I took at rehearsal today, cause I'm proud of how my fit came out

Since you're still here, you can help me out!! The FUCK do we name this monstrosity???

[anxietyautismcreature]

OK so I just remembered that there are soulmate aus where geese chase you towards your soulmate and my brain immediately went to "how would this work in obey me?" So, my working theory is that the geese in the human realm would constantly launch themselves at Mc from above, while the ones in the devildom (their versions, at least) have created a system of tunnels to pop up from underneath the brothers. Levi is now even more terrified to leave his room, mainly because they've begun to pop up in the HOL. Goose chaos, anyone?

[cryptocism]

"just as I did, in 1983."

you'd never know my favourite parts of the show are the fucked up insane bits when my first instinct is to draw the cheesiest thing imaginable

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

chapter 3 ganggggggg

I gasped myself awake, blinking from confusion. I wasn’t sure how long I was out for, but it must’ve been a while, for the world outside the window was dark, and the room I had found myself in was dimly lit. I sat up, groggy, on the red couch I was laid on, and looked around myself. A fire was roaring to the left of me, the mantelpiece above the fireplace littered with old photographs and images. The dark wooden floorboards below my feet were warm, and covered with a fuzzy carpet. When I looked ahead of me, I saw a kitchen-like thing, an annex so to speak, and in said annex, pouring water from a kettle into a mug, was that peculiarly tall man I saw earlier on. 

He turned to me, feeling my gaze on his back and said, “you talk in your sleep.”

“My apologies,” I mumbled. “I do not know why I passed out, I apologise.”

“Who’s Emily?” He finished pouring water into the mug and walked over to where I sat, passing me the mug. “Here, have some tea. It’s good, I promise.” I furrowed my brow and sniffed it before taking a sip. Just a regular mug of Yorkshire – nothing too special, or spiced up. I relaxed.

“I do not know who Emily is,” I admitted. “But I imagine she was in my dream. It was a wonderful dream, but… I cannot recall much of it. Something about Snow and Red, most probably.” I smiled at the warm man, who sat in the armchair next to the couch. “I apologise, I must’ve forgotten my manners in it all. My name is Azuro, Michelle Azuro – I was told I might enjoy your company, and as I just moved in, I am in desperate need of such.” The man nodded.

“You must be the lady from London, yes?” I nodded, and he smiled. “My name is William, William Archivist, I moved here a few good years back. Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Azuro.”

“You’re not from around?”

“Far from,” he chuckled. “No, I hail from New York. Came to England to study to be a librarian, of all things, and ended up here when I was done. A peculiar twist of fate, naturally. I do not believe anyone would expect me to find a home for myself in East Brunswick.”

I laughed. “Funny. I think my friends down south would say the same.” I leaned forwards, all reserve forgone. I thought for a minute that Mister Archivist was looking at me curiously, but it disappeared as soon as I noticed it, and I brushed it off. Heat of the moment, I suppose. “So, Mister Archivist – what made you stay here? For so long as you did, that you’ve become such an urban legend?” He grinned at me, a flash of mania in his eyes, for the shortest of moments, the kind that made you think of a wild beast moments before it lunges to capture its prey. 

“The same thing that will make you stay in East Brunswick, Miss Azuro.”

“And what is that, Mister Archivist?”

“Please, call me William.”

“Call me Michelle. Why will I stay, William?” 

He looked at me quietly, almost sadly, as though contemplating his next words. “Because East Brunswick is cursed, Michelle. And so are you.”

“I am?”

“That’s why you’re here, dear,” his face seemed sympathetic, like he knew what I was going through. (he knows nothing, no-one knows nothing, I know nothing–) “That is why any of us come to East Brunswick. The curse calls us here.”

That one sentence should’ve pushed me away. I know that now – that was the moment I could’ve backed out from it all, said to Hell with East Brunswick, with Emily, with Ophelia Roux, to Hell with William Archivist, and innocent little Jake Collins, and took a cab back to Newcastle, or to York, or better yet, back to London, where my only concern was the Lady in Red and her next capitalism-worshipping victim. But instead of all of this, I said something else, signing the contract that would signify my doom. 

“What do you mean?” I set down my tea and looked at William closer. “What kind of curse?” His nose twitched, and I could hear him think. Suddenly, he sent a toothy grin my way, and I noticed his right incisor was chipped.

“Perhaps it would be best,” he said, standing up. “If I showed you.” He started walking further into the room, past the kitchen, beckoning me to follow. And I, curious of what he would show me, followed – like the fool I have found myself to truly be.

William led me further in, past the kitchen and into a dimly lit corridor, and up wooden, carpeted stairs, into what I assumed to be an office room. “Sorry about the mess,” he muttered as we entered, him flicking the switch on the wall to his right, illuminating the space. I shook my head, and took a look around the room. Opposite the entrance was a large window, one that seemed to overlook the town square (at which moment I realised that William and I shared a view of the city from our respective homes, albeit from slightly different perspectives), and against the window was a large, mahogany desk, which I noticed was facing towards the window, instead of the convention I had become used to, where the desk by the window tended to face the door. The room had dark green walls, and despite being well lit, still had a dark sort of gloom to it, as though it held onto knowledge that not many other rooms did. There were many cabinets against the walls, and a sort of alcohol-storing glass cabinet, close to the desk, and many paintings on the walls – but what truly caught my attention was what I found on the wall opposite all those cabinets, the wall to the right. There was nothing against it, nothing except for a singular, humongous cork-board, that seemed to take up most of the wall. And upon it were such peculiar things – the missing persons posters from the town center, photos of what I assumed to be the inhabitants of East Brunswick, but also maps, and scribbled notes, not all of them in English (or even in a language I recognised), and strange things, very strange things, like photos of shadows – and it was all connected to each other on the cork-board, wound together with a thick, red string. 

“Would you mind standing against the empty wall?” William asked, awakening me from my ponderings. I turned to him, surprised to see a camera in his hand, one of the instant-print kind, before I realised what he was asking of me. Of course – I was a part of it now. I needed to go on the board. I nodded, standing still against the dark-green wall, smiling faintly at William, my eyes fixed on the camera’s lens. He smiled back, and took the photograph, shaking it off as soon as it was printed and pinning it to the board, next to his own.

“Now, onto the curse,” he placed the camera on the desk, picked up a pair of thin-rimmed glasses from it and placed them upon his nose. He ran his hand through his hair and began his story.

“I moved to East Brunswick four years ago. I know it was four years ago, because I keep track of each day in a journal.” At this, he gestured to a leather-bound notebook, which was laid on the desk. “But if I were not to do so, I believe I would’ve long forgotten New York City. I believe I would’ve forgotten Oxford, and any life before here – for the moment I came to East Brunswick, I found I no longer knew why I came here in the first place.” He looked at me knowingly. “I’m sure you can relate.” I nodded quietly, and he continued. “East Brunswick is… strange. To say the very least. When I realised what was happening to me – and believe me, it took me a while – I started this board,” he gestured to the wall, “to try to make sense of it all. I have always been fascinated by stories, so at first it was a sort of morbid curiosity I suppose. But now,” his eyes light up. “Now, I cannot stop. I must know. I must.” He turned to me in a rapid fashion. “All these missing persons, do you know what they have in common?” I shook my head. “They’re not from East Brunswick. In fact, no-one actually is.”

“What are you saying?”

“East Brunswick is not real.” He looked at me, a manic grin creeping on his face. “It isn’t recorded anywhere, besides here. No-one outside of East Brunswick knows where it is, no-one outside of East Brunswick knows it even exists. And everyone who lives here was brought here in the exact same way – the original generation at least – in a shady, Newcastle-registered cab, and dropped off in the town center.”

“... Everyone?”

“Well,” he looked back at the cork-board. “Except for those who were born here, of course. Young Mister Collins, and Mister Jones’s youngest son, and Miss Downing, and little Elizabeth from the church – but everyone else was brought here from Newcastle. Everyone else, at some point, was someone else.”

“But… why? Why do they all come here? Why did I?”

“I don’t entirely know,” he admitted. “But I do know why we stay.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we’re cursed.” His manic smile turned sad. “I think that might be why we come here as well. Because we’re cursed with shadows.” He turned back to me. “Do you have any ghosts in your past, Michelle? Any shadows that follow you through life, things you cannot shake, no matter how hard you try to?” I went to negate his statement, but hesitated, thinking harder about it for a moment. I did have ghosts, didn’t I? The Lady in Red, for one, who seemed to haunt me like a veritable poltergeist.

And Emily.

I nodded. “Yes, I do believe I do.” 

He smiled triumphantly. “I believe with you on my side, we shall figure out East Brunswick much quicker than I initially believed.” I looked at the cork-board in silence with him for a moment, before bursting out with laughter. He turned to me, surprised. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said in between laughs. “Just… I haven’t told you anything about me, have I?” 

He tilted his head. “That you haven’t.” His eyes warmed, and he smiled at me with a new softness. “Care to rectify that?”

I shook my head. “Some other time,” I promised. “For now, I believe it is time for me to return home. It’s nearing midnight, and I really should return to my lodging.”

He nodded. “Where are you staying?”

“Not far, in the McLaggen couple’s inn.”

“Might I walk you?”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. I enjoy my solitude on nights like these.” He nodded, with an almost knowing air to him. “Thank you for the story and the tea. Perhaps you should come call on me sometime? I shall tell you my story then?” He grinned, chipped tooth showing.

“I think I would enjoy that, Michelle. I think I would enjoy that greatly.” I nodded, turning to leave.

“Very well then. Until next time, Mister Archivist.”

“Until then, Miss Azuro.”

The night air was crisp, but not cold. I realised that I had not, in fact, bought any groceries – but for some reason was not hungry. I shrugged it off, and walked slowly towards my lodging, pondering the curse, and what William had told me. A curse of shadows – a lot of people in London could say they were cursed by those. Ghosts of our past, half-remembered promises whispered in the dark behind cinemas, and shadows of those we had loved and lost. I wondered who Emily was, and why I didn’t know her, and why she haunted my dreams. I wondered of the Lady in Red, my Ophelia Roux – and realised with a pang – she would be next. I hurried my step towards home. Yes, Ophelia Roux would be coming to East Brunswick, I knew it in my bones, just as much as I knew that I was alive, or that I was indeed cursed.

My Lady in Red was going to come to East Brunswick.

[devilrose]

My piece for @castlevaniaszn - It had to be Harmony of Dissonance for me.

While the short and cold days are still not quite over, take a moment to enjoy a tea break with Juste, Maxim, and Lydie. And as long as the tea is still warm, let's not think too much about what transpired in Dracula's castle...

[thebrainrotsreal]

Was pondering how Mark’s rigid ass mask/lens is prob a Budget Thing (since squishy, bendy lens are pretty much a mandate for all hero animated series, like JL, BTAS, TNBA, Spider-Man, etc), and then I was slapped with a vision of Mark in a more JL/BTAS-ish style and I had to see it through. I am a genius btw.

[laddertek]

etho said actually you _don't_ understand the intricacies of how tango is my boyfriend and bdubs is my ex

(and how tango and bdubs kiss too)

Scar: We went on that little adventure, you know! Etho: Yeah, yeah, we had our adventure, that's true, that's true. Scar: You disparaged your teammates. That's it, all right, no more spoilers. Etho: (laughs) Our team has -- our team has some weird dynamics this -- this season. Cleo: (overlapping) Really, Etho? Is there trouble in paradise? (pause) Who's third-wheeling with you, again? I can't remember. Etho: (laughs) Uhh. The -- Cleo: Genuinely can't remember. I know it's you and Bdubs. And...Tango? Tango. Tango. Etho: (loudly) Why -- Why is Tango the third wheel? Why -- why isn't Bdubs the third wheel? Cleo: Because it's you and Bdubs. I'm sorry. I understand how that relationship goes. Etho: (dissatisfied) Hmm.

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

Y'all I'm low-key convinced that Slytherin muggleborns call themselves mudbloods. Like those bastards wear that slur like a medal of valour - but the moment a pureblooded slytherin tries to call any muggleborn from a different house it, they are ALL UP on that bitches ass

[anxietyautismcreature]

The horror movie- actually scratch that it doesn't even have to be a movie- I wanna see a neurotypical person swap bodies with an autistic person, except they kind of inherit the autism from the body. I wanna know how they would feel about all of our problems, and how they could implement the kind of horror of, despite being a human, same as everyone else, living in a world never meant for you.

[curapicas]

Idk I just think it's a crazy thing that on the foreground the magic broom of flying is side by side with Percy's cane, which is way more down-to-earth but no less a reminder of a miracle

[afterthelambs]

⚠️Spoilers for Look Back but I was initially confused about what Fujino and Kyomoto's relationship had to do with pursuing a career as a mangaka. After thinking about it, I interpret it as a narrative device to represent what will come when choosing to pursue art (of any form, whether it's comics, painting, animation, music, etc.).

Think about it, what's Kyomoto's role in the story? She is what got Fujino to take art seriously in middle school, and what motivated her to continue after she initially gave up. However, she's also the only thing in the story that makes Fujino wish she quit art. First, halfway through 6th grade and then later after her death. She serves as Fujino's motivator and de-motivator.

I think the scene of Fujino wishing that she never told Kyomoto to come out (that pursuing art only led to suffering) represents artists' regrets. We literally look back and see an alternate universe where Fujino never pursued art and it has a happier ending. Anyone that pursues artistic dreams will end up regretting it at some point. It's not easy, any artist will tell you that. The story is saying yes, you probably will end up healthier and more stable by giving up your dreams. Because art is suffering.

But then Fujino enters Kyomoto's room after reading the comic from the alternate reality and all of a sudden we get a montage of the happy memories and accomplishments they had pursuing their dreams together. And we realize that, everything we saw of them in the alternate 'happier' reality pales in comparison to this:

The happiest both of them look in that alternate world is when they finally meet and promise to work together someday. They loved art. They loved each other. Giving up on your dreams means missing out on all of that, and nothing in the world can replace it. Because yes art is suffering, but art is also joy and love.

And so the end of the story where Fujino goes back to work isn't her moving on. She tapes the comic strip in front of her to remind her of Kyomoto, to remind her of why she got into comics in the first place. Basically, Kyomoto IS art to Fujino. A life with her means experiencing both suffering and joy, while the life without her means having none of that.

I might be wrong about this, like maybe Fujimoto just wanted to tell a mangaka story with doomed yuri (valid) HOWEVER i like my interpretation so im sticking with it.

[forzathunder]

"I have many fears, most of them about Lucrezia." — Cesare Borgia (The Borgias, 2011-2013) + hints of insecurity

that she adores someone that much / if she will reject his dark nature and act of love and violence as Ursula did / if he truly is not part of her desires / that she easily forgets him

[cerubean]

johnny zest but he goes by john landgraab and hasn't dropped out of college and been disowned yet and is also arranged to be married to dina caliente

[floofle-universe]

Joyxiety or something

[dontbelasagne]

desperately need to do a presentation on why the Twelfth Doctors journey perfectly represents the transfem experience

their previous eleventh incarnation being suave and hypersexual (i know moffat is mostly to blame but!) is reminiscent of attempts to fit into heteronormative ideals of masculinity. whilst it is not completely insincere, there are obvious signs this does not fit you as a person, it is acted out of desperate need to being seen. as Vastra put it, eleven wore that face, and subsequently that form of masculinity, to be accepted. on becoming twelve, realising even an "idealised" masculinity does not inherently serve them, they retreated into themselves as a person for self-reflection and trying to understand why they feel so detached from who they are.

the "am i a good man" arc mirrors being closeted and having to present as something not inherently tied to your sense of self, but still wanting to be the best of your perceived gender as any failure could leave you spiralling into self-doubt about simply being like any other "man". you ignore your gender dysphoria/questioning by trying to claim a moralistic view of gendered expression. made even more clear by Twelve rejecting Clara's heroic view of them, establishing that even though they have made efforts to be a "good man", that is just a placeholder for their loss of identity.

Missy appearing as she does, who as a character serves as a parallel to The Doctor on what they could become, and her eventual arc in trying to become good is symbolic of the fear around transition regret that internalised transphobia can create when you are closeted. Missy never gives importance to their fem existence other than nonchalant jokes, rather showing a more free and expressive personality devoid of any frustration. this immediately dismisses the transphobic assumption that trans people are only focused on their gender. also, Missy representing trans femininity is inherently tied to chaos and upsetting the status quo, she is the embodiment of what society considers accepting your womanhood as someone previously labelled masculine. what many others, and The Doctor themselves, saw as a need for attention and senseless disruption is Missy not needing to serve a false version of who they are, that they can now focus on becoming whoever they want to be now without losing energy to performing a gender that society has imposed on you. Missy could never have made the decision to stand with The Doctor if she had not given importance to her own queerness.

it wasn't coincidence with meeting Bill, she was the perfect foil for The Doctor to finally let go of their anxious attachment to masculinity. i would even argue for the majority of s10, The Doctor is largely ambiguous in their gender identity and does not fit into any construction of masculinity or femininity. whilst they still present as something socially labelled as masculine, they do not internalise that gender expression. they are uncaring about and not needing the validity that comes with heteronormativity, and thus is free to finally accept the decision they have to make. as Bill says, it is so hard to let go of The Doctor, and that rings true for twelve themselves. but they begin to realise The Doctor can be anyone. yes, they are tired, it would be so easy to simply rest and not give value to who you can become. but choosing to let go of everything you once were to survive is better than oblivion. it is better to let go, to choose another lifetime where the only person that dies is your falsity, to finally get it right and choose kindness. for yourself and for those who you love. they regenerate, not just into another person, but into someone who (if only tv scripts...) can now move forward.

[ruporas]

cheers to the future of humanity (and the future of us)

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun. The illustration takes place during the ship/home arc, specifically chapter 21. At the center, Vash is grabbing Wolfwood by the collar and pulls him into a kiss in the middle of a celebration. The pair is colored in vibrant warm hues while their surroundings are colored in cooler colors like green and teals. Luida, Brad, Meryl, and Milly are shown amongst the crowd, occupied in the celebrations as Vash and Wolfwood share a moment by themselves at the center. END ID]