#my style/voice just probably isn't for everyone

[allisonreader]

This is where I currently am with my rewrite of Tales Of A Frozen Sailor. Just right at the beginning essentially. No one knows who Jesse Hudson actually is, but soon some new information is soon to come to light.

[fangdokja]

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

❤︎ Synopsis. A twisted game of cat and mouse unfolds where a girl is hunted by a predator who revels in her fear; until another unexpected force enters her life, threatening to shatter his control—and everything he’s built around her. In his world, escape isn’t just impossible; it’s forbidden.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 7,396

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying

♡ A/N. This is part of a request, but I have to divide the work into probably 3 parts or more. The request part isn't fully fulfilled yet (hence the lack of proof of request). And, just like my other works, this serves as an intro chapter before the more explicit yandere-centric content. You know me. Gotta build up the tension or set the atmosphere first. The formatting and plot development style here is similar to the Scaramouche "Lover or Captor?" story. Fragmented and non-linear a bit compared to most of my writing. Kinda spoilers, but that tells you a bit on why the story is like this.

He watches you, always. You feel his eyes long before you catch his face in the crowd, their weight pressing against your back, your shoulders, your neck, until the hairs there stand on end and your stomach knots itself into a mess of nausea and dread. It isn’t paranoia. It isn’t your mind playing cruel tricks. No, he is always watching.

He makes no effort to hide it. Why would he? You’re not his equal; you’re his prey. A mouse scrabbling through the shadows, hoping the hunter won’t see you scurrying between cracks, hoping the cat will grow bored. But he doesn’t grow bored. Not with you.

He is the center of the universe here, on this sprawling, ivy-covered campus. Everyone knows him, fears him, reveres him. Professors bow beneath his arrogant charm, students stumble over their words to impress him, even the ones who whisper about his temper lower their voices to a terrified hush when his name is spoken aloud. He walks these hallways like a king surveying his kingdom, a smug glint in his dark eyes that speaks of entitlement, of invincibility.

And yet, it is you he sees. You he hunts.

It doesn’t matter how small you make yourself. He’s always there: a towering figure, a shadow in your periphery, a cruel smirk that promises nothing good. There’s no corner of this campus you can run to, no hiding place where you can escape the sound of his boots—those heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing in the cavernous library, the quiet art studio, the desolate courtyard at dusk.

You don’t understand it. Why you? You are nothing here, a speck in a sea of better, brighter, bolder people. You’re not popular or pretty or smart enough to draw his attention. You’re not rich, like the trust fund kids he drinks with at off-campus parties. You’re not bold, like the girls who hang off his arm in the hallways, laughing too loud at jokes he doesn’t even bother to finish. You’re not even lucky enough to blend in. No. You’re just there. A loser. A target. A trembling little thing caught beneath his thumb.

He knows it, too. He sees it in the way you duck your head when his voice rises behind you, the way you stutter when he corners you in the cafeteria, in class, in the lonely stairwell where no one can hear the venom in his whispers. He thrives on it, on the way you flinch from him, on the tears that well in your eyes when his fingers curl too tightly around your wrist. His laughter, soft and derisive, sends shivers skittering across your skin.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” he sneers, looming over you, his shadow swallowing the flickering glow of the stairwell light. “The kind of girl no one would notice if you disappeared. No friends, no boyfriend, nothing. Makes it so easy to…” He pauses, tilting his head as if considering his words carefully, then leans in close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. “…take what I want.”

You can’t speak. Your throat tightens around the lump of panic lodged there. He chuckles when you don’t respond, his hand sliding from your wrist to your jaw, forcing your gaze upward. His grip is firm, his thumb brushing the soft curve of your cheek, deceptively gentle.

“I mean, who would care?” he murmurs, his voice low, silky, dangerous. “Who would notice if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow? If you just… disappeared one night? No one’s looking for you, sweetheart. No one cares.”

He grins as he says it, sharp teeth bared like a predator savoring the fear in his prey’s eyes. His other hand reaches out, plucking a loose thread from the sleeve of your sweater. He twirls it between his fingers, his expression unreadable, almost distracted.

“But I care,” he continues, his tone softening into something almost tender. “I notice. Every time you try to avoid me, every time you run and hide like a scared little kitten, I notice. And it drives me crazy.” His grip tightens on your jaw, his thumb pressing harder until the edges of your vision blur with tears. “Don’t you get it yet? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And you’ll never get away from me.”

The tears spill over, hot and silent, but he only smiles, wiping them away with the pad of his thumb as though he’s doing you some kind of kindness.

“Good girl,” he whispers, almost sweetly. “Now, let’s try this again. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His command is impossible to disobey. You can’t run. You can’t fight. All you can do is look into those dark, unyielding eyes and wonder if this—this suffocating torment, this inescapable hell—is all your life will ever be.

────────────

The day you stepped onto campus, wide-eyed and clutching your second-hand books, was the moment everything began to unravel. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. College was supposed to be your chance at reinvention—an escape from the relentless mediocrity of your hometown and the suffocating monotony of high school. But reinvention had never been an option, had it? Not when he decided you were his.

You first noticed him during orientation week. He wasn’t like the others. While the other upperclassmen handed out flyers for clubs and fraternities, wearing easy smiles and calling you “fresh meat” in jest, he lingered on the edges of the crowd like a wolf circling its prey. His eyes found you in the chaos, and in that moment, you felt something ancient stir—a primal, bone-deep warning to run.

But you didn’t run.

You stayed, rooted in place as his gaze burned through you. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. It wasn’t warmth or welcome. It was possession.

———

By the second week of classes, he’d learned your schedule. You weren’t sure how—he wasn’t even in the same program as you, yet there he was, leaning against the wall outside your early morning lecture.

“Freshman,” he’d said, blocking your path. His voice was a low rumble, and you hated how it made your stomach twist. “You’re in my seat.”

You’d stammered something incoherent, clutching your notebook like a shield.

“In there,” he clarified, gesturing lazily toward the lecture hall. “Third row, second seat from the left. That’s mine. Don’t sit there again.”

It wasn’t a request.

———

He began to haunt your life.

You’d hear the low thud of his boots echoing behind you in the halls. His shadow seemed to stretch impossibly long, a dark stain trailing your every step. You’d catch him in the library, standing at the end of the aisle you’d chosen, his head tilted as if he were appraising you. The first time you’d thought it was a coincidence. The fifth time, you knew better.

He’d make himself known in subtle, insidious ways. Your hot choco cup would vanish from the table while you weren’t looking, only to reappear minutes later, the lid slightly ajar and the contents ice-cold. Your dorm door, once a sanctuary, became a battleground. Books you swore you’d left locked away would be sprawled open on your desk, pages dog-eared in ways you never would have done.

“You’re paranoid,” your roommate had laughed when you tried to explain. “Maybe you’re just tired.”

But you weren’t tired. Not yet.

———

It escalated.

The first time he left bruises, it was almost clinical. A firm grip around your wrist as he pulled you into the shadows between two buildings, his body trapping yours.

“Don’t ignore me,” he’d said, his breath hot against your ear. His tone was calm, but his grip tightened until you whimpered. He released you with a satisfied hum, the imprint of his fingers blooming purple on your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the mark before disappearing into the night.

You stared at the bruise for hours after, your stomach churning. You told yourself you’d go to campus security, that you’d report him, but you never did. You knew better. He was a senior, a campus legend. People liked him. Feared him.

Who would believe you?

———

The rumors started soon after.

“You hooked up with him?” a girl in your class whispered, her voice dripping with mockery. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”

When you’d asked her what she meant, she just smirked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

And you did.

Someone—he—had slipped a note into your bag. It was a scrawled love confession in your handwriting, complete with embarrassing details that only you could have written. It was passed around, dissected, and laughed at until you couldn’t walk into a room without hearing snickers.

You confronted him in the quad, your voice trembling with fury.

“Why?” you demanded, your hands shaking as you held up the note.

He looked amused, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’ve got nice penmanship,” he said, plucking the paper from your hands and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “I might keep this.”

———

You tried to avoid him after that. You changed your route to class, skipped meals in the dining hall, stopped going to parties. It didn’t matter. He always found you.

“I didn’t think you were a quitter,” he said one night, cornering you outside the library. His broad frame blocked the lamplight, casting his face in shadow.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just leave me alone.”

His laugh was low and dangerous, curling around you like smoke.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer until you could smell the faint hint of cigarettes and leather. “You think you get to decide when this ends?”

His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was deceptively gentle, but it left a shiver in its wake.

“This is just the beginning,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat.

────────────

You’d never expected anyone to step in for you.

Your existence had been shaped by silence, by the quiet endurance of pain, by the dull weight of dread you carried every moment he was near. You’d never cried—not once—because crying would have meant accepting it, acknowledging how small and helpless you truly were. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not him, not anyone.

And then she came into your life.

Domo was everything you weren’t: confident, poised, a force of nature with a voice that carried across crowded lecture halls. She walked like she owned the ground beneath her feet, her gaze sharp enough to cut. A 4th-year academic powerhouse, she had no patience for weakness, no tolerance for injustice, and no problem putting someone in their place.

But she didn’t pity you. That was what surprised you most.

———

The first time Domo spoke to you, it wasn’t out of kindness or curiosity. It was boredom.

You were hunched over in the corner of the library, surrounded by loose papers and coffee-stained textbooks, scribbling notes with a pen that looked one click away from breaking. She wasn’t even there for you; she was looking for an empty spot, carrying her usual mountain of books. But her eyes fell on you, this pitiful figure with dark circles under your eyes and a haunted look that even the dim library lights couldn’t hide.

“You’re in my spot,” she said flatly, arms crossed over her chest.

You blinked up at her like you’d forgotten other people existed. For a moment, you thought she might be talking to someone else, but there was no one behind you.

“I didn’t know this was reserved,” you muttered, pushing your things into a haphazard pile to make room.

“It’s not.” She set her books down anyway, sliding into the seat across from you without asking. “But you look like you’ve been sitting there for a decade. Don’t you have a dorm or something?”

Your instinct was to shrink into yourself, to avoid answering, but something about her presence was overwhelming, like trying to look away from the sun.

“I… don’t really like my dorm,” you admitted.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, sharp and appraising, before she snorted softly. “Figures.”

And just like that, you became her pet project.

———

At first, it was transactional.

Domo wasn’t someone who did things without purpose, and you were no exception. She dragged you into her whirlwind of a life—helping her with club activities, carrying books, sitting with her during committee meetings where you barely understood a word being said. She was bossy, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically demanding, but she never once treated you like you were less than her.

“Well?” she said one day, shoving a stack of papers in your direction. “You’ve been sitting there doing nothing. Read these and tell me if they’re garbage.”

You stared at the printouts, confused. “Why me?”

“Because you look like someone who’s seen too much shit to care about sugarcoating anything,” she replied, already moving on to the next task on her endless list.

She wasn’t wrong. You skimmed the articles, found half a dozen mistakes, and when you told her as much, she didn’t get offended. Instead, she grinned.

“See? Knew you’d be useful for something.”

———

Somewhere along the way, it changed.

She started asking questions, prying into the corners of your mind no one else had ever cared to explore.

“So, what’s with the obsession with serial killers?” she asked one day, raising an eyebrow as you absentmindedly rattled off facts about a particularly gruesome case.

You blinked, unsure how to answer. Most people avoided you when you started talking about these things.

“I guess they’re… interesting,” you mumbled. “People don’t usually see it coming. The violence, I mean. It’s always hidden under something ordinary.”

She stared at you for a moment, then snorted.

“You’re a freak,” she said, shaking her head. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

———

Then, she started noticing things about you no one else bothered to see.

You had a habit of tugging at your sleeves when you were anxious, your fingers worrying the fabric until it stretched. You mumbled when you spoke, as though every word was an apology for taking up space. You avoided eye contact like it might burn you.

“You’re like a sad little kitten,” she said one afternoon, handing you a cup of tea she’d picked up from the café on campus.

You blinked at her, unsure whether to be offended or grateful. “I’m not a kitten.”

“Oh, you are. Wet, bedraggled, and hissing at anyone who comes too close.” She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “But you’re my kitten now, so get used to it.”

It should have been patronizing, but coming from her, it wasn’t.

———

She became your tether.

Domo didn’t care what people whispered about you—or about her for taking you under her wing. She treated you like a stray cat she’d decided to adopt, alternating between bossy commands and begrudging affection.

“Drink this,” she ordered one evening, shoving a steaming cup of tea into your hands after a late-night meeting. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

When you hesitated, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not poisoned, you idiot. Just drink it.”

You obeyed, and for the first time in months, you felt something close to warmth.

———

Despite her bluntness, Domo had a softness to her—buried beneath her no-nonsense exterior and razor-sharp wit. She noticed when you skipped meals and made sure you ate. She dragged you to the clinic when you came down with a fever, muttering complaints the entire way but never letting you go.

She didn’t ask questions she knew you wouldn’t answer. When you deflected, she let it go. When you got that faraway look, the one that came with memories you never spoke about, she distracted you with stories about her own life—petty grievances, triumphs, and jokes that didn’t always land but made you smile anyway.

———

And, Domo had a way of seeing through the cracks you thought you’d hidden.

“You never cry,” she said one day, out of the blue.

The two of you were sitting in her dorm, surrounded by empty takeout containers and half-finished assignments.

“What?”

“You don’t cry. Not even when he’s… you know.” She waved her hand vaguely, as though referring to the mess that was your life didn’t deserve the full weight of words. “Most people would have broken down by now. But you just… keep going.”

You shrugged, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Crying doesn’t change anything.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it makes you human.”

The way she said it made you feel like she thought you were something more—or less—than human, and the thought left a strange, hollow ache in your chest.

———

But he noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

It didn’t matter that you tried to keep your distance, to avoid drawing his attention whenever Domo was around. He always found a way to watch, to see, to know.

And he hated her.

The first time he confronted you about her, it was subtle—a passing remark that sent a chill down your spine.

“Seems like you’ve made a new friend,” he said, his voice low and quiet, his eyes fixed on yours. “She’s… bold. Thinks she can handle anything, doesn’t she?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t dare.

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“Do you think she’ll still want to play hero when she realizes what you’re really like?”

———

The tension escalated quickly.

He began showing up more often, lurking at the edges of your conversations with her, his presence an unspoken threat. He watched her with a quiet, simmering rage, his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Domo noticed, of course. She always noticed.

“What’s his problem?” she muttered one day after he’d passed by, his shoulder deliberately bumping yours hard enough to make you stumble.

“Just ignore him,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “He’s… like that with everyone.”

She frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“No, he’s not. He’s like that with you.”

She started keeping you closer after that, her protective instincts kicking in. She walked you to class, sat beside you in the cafeteria, and even started inviting you to her study sessions.

“It’s not charity,” she insisted when you tried to protest. “You’re my friend now. That means I take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

———

But to him, it was an unforgivable betrayal.

You belonged to him.

He’d spent years cultivating your isolation, feeding on your fear, relishing the way you wilted under his control. And now she was undoing all of it.

She had to go.

He didn’t care how.

He’d make sure you knew—when it happened, when she fell—it would be your fault.

────────────

He’s smiling at her, but inside, his mind is a roiling storm.

On the surface, he’s the picture of charm—leaning casually against the lecture hall doorway, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He’s perfected this mask over years of navigating people, manipulating them, bending them to his will. No one suspects anything; they never do. To the world, he’s just another confident senior, a campus favorite with sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.

But beneath that polished exterior, he’s unraveling.

His eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something Domo says, the sound soft and fleeting, like a bird taking flight. It’s rare for you to laugh, and he knows it better than anyone. He’s spent countless nights pushing you to the edge, watching you crumble under the weight of his words and actions, waiting for that breaking point that never came. You didn’t laugh with him. You didn’t smile. And yet here you are—grinning like a fool for someone else.

His stomach twists, a sickening cocktail of rage and possessiveness.

You're mine.

He tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack, knuckles going white. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough to ground him. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything. Why would they? He’s untouchable here, a golden boy with an untarnished reputation. He plays the part so well, no one would believe for a second that he’s capable of the thoughts running through his mind.

———

When he thinks about Domo, all he sees is an obstacle.

It’s not her kindness that bothers him; he doesn’t believe in kindness, not really. People like her are all the same—calculating, self-serving. She took you under her wing because it made her feel good about herself, because it fit her image of being the campus saint. He can see through her act just as clearly as he sees through yours.

But what really sets his teeth on edge is the way you look at her.

You don’t flinch when she touches your shoulder or leans in close to whisper something in your ear. You don’t avert your gaze when she meets your eyes, don’t shrink into yourself the way you do with him. With her, you’re soft. Open. Like she’s peeled back a layer of you that he’s been trying to reach for years.

The thought of her taking what’s his is unbearable.

———

Later, in the privacy of his dorm, he lets the mask slip.

His movements are sharp and deliberate as he paces the room, the walls seeming to close in around him. He can still see the way your eyes lit up when Domo called you her “little project,” the way you leaned into her presence like she was your savior.

A low growl escapes his throat.

“Pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, though the word is more for himself than for you. How had he let it get this far? He’s always been in control, always known exactly how to keep you where he wants you—on the edge of fear and desperation, dangling by a thread that only he can cut.

And yet, somehow, she’s slipped into your world, polluting it with her self-righteousness and moral superiority.

You were supposed to need him. Only him.

———

He sits down at his desk, pulling out the notebook where he keeps everything he knows about you. It’s a habit he developed long before he ever laid a hand on you—meticulous, methodical, obsessive.

Flipping through the pages, he lands on a note he jotted down months ago:

“She doesn’t cry, even when she’s at her limit. Interesting.”

He traces the words with his finger, his lips curling into a bitter smile. It’s true; you’ve never cried for him. You’ve begged, pleaded, even screamed, but never once have you broken down completely. It’s one of the things that drew him to you in the first place—your defiance, your refusal to give him the satisfaction.

But now he wonders if that strength wasn’t meant for him at all.

———

The next time he sees you, he doesn’t let the anger show.

Instead, he watches from a distance, his eyes narrowing as Domo loops an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the library. You look so small next to her, so fragile. It’s almost laughable, the way she acts like she’s protecting you, when she has no idea what you’re really up against.

He tilts his head, considering his options. It would be easy to destroy her—to spread a rumor, plant some incriminating evidence, make her life a living hell. But that would be too quick, too obvious. No, he wants her to suffer slowly, to watch her crumble under the weight of her own self-righteousness.

And when she finally falls, when she’s out of the picture for good, he’ll be there to pick up your broken pieces.

———

For now, he plays the long game.

“Hey,” he calls out as he approaches the two of you, his voice warm and inviting.

You stiffen immediately, your body tensing like a rabbit caught in a trap. But Domo, cold as ever, gives him a curt nod.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone as sharp as her glare.

He flashes her a disarming smile, the kind that makes people forget he’s capable of anything darker. “Just checking in on my favorite underclassman.” His eyes flicker to you, lingering just a moment too long. “You’ve been keeping out of trouble, right?”

Your lips press into a thin line, but you don’t respond.

Domo steps between you, her posture protective. “She’s fine. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m just being friendly.”

But as he walks away, his mind is already racing, plotting his next move. Because no matter what it takes, he’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.

────────────

He watches. Always watches.

You wouldn’t know it by the easy smirk he wears in public, the charm dripping from his voice as he commands attention from everyone around him. People gravitate toward him, and why wouldn’t they? He’s magnetic—handsome in a way that feels unfair, his broad shoulders and powerful build exuding a presence that’s impossible to ignore. His laugh is rich, his confidence effortless, and his words just sharp enough to cut without leaving scars.

But under all that charm, beneath the surface of his calculated persona, there’s something festering.

Rage.

It coils tight in his chest, a burning knot of jealousy that twists every time he sees you with her. Domo. That pretentious, snobby fucking bitch who thought she could waltz into his territory and take what was his.

She treats you like a project, like some pathetic stray she’s decided to fix, and it makes his blood boil. He sees the way her hand lingers on your shoulder, the way she talks to you with that infuriating mix of condescension and care. The way you laugh at her jokes—soft and hesitant, but real.

You never laugh like that with him.

No one else sees the cracks in his facade. His grin doesn’t falter when you walk past him without looking, your head bowed, Domo by your side. He doesn’t flinch when she shoots him a glare, daring him to make a move.

But inside? Inside, he’s seething.

———

It starts small.

He overhears Domo assigning you to cover an event for her precious journalism committee. The task doesn’t seem like much—just snapping photos and taking notes—but it’s enough to keep you out of his sight for hours. Hours where she’ll have you all to herself, feeding you that garbage about standing up for yourself and being strong.

The next day, the event is mysteriously canceled. Something about a sudden power outage in the building.

He watches from a distance as Domo storms around campus, her frustration palpable. You trail after her like a shadow, apologizing for something that isn’t your fault.

Good. You should feel small. Helpless.

———

The next time, he’s more direct.

“Why do you hang out with her?” he asks, cornering you in a deserted hallway late at night. His voice is calm, almost curious, but the way he leans into your space makes your pulse race.

“She’s… nice to me,” you mumble, clutching your bag like it’s a shield.

He tilts his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nice, huh? Is that what you call it when someone uses you to boost their own image?”

You blink, confused. “She’s not—”

“Oh, she is,” he interrupts, stepping closer. His shadow swallows you whole, his height and bulk overwhelming in the dim light. “That bitch doesn’t care about you. Not really. She just likes feeling superior. Likes having a little pet she can parade around.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper, but your voice lacks conviction.

He smirks, leaning down until his breath brushes against your ear. “Isn’t it?”

———

But his words aren’t enough.

He needs her gone.

It starts with small inconveniences. Her car won’t start one morning. Someone “accidentally” spills coffee on her laptop during a club meeting. An anonymous email gets sent to her professor, accusing her of plagiarism.

Each time, she brushes it off, too stubborn to back down. But he can see the cracks forming.

She’s not invincible.

———

The final straw comes when he sees you smiling at her.

Not the polite, hesitant smile you give to strangers. Not the strained, nervous smile you’ve given him in the past.

This smile is soft. Genuine. Warm in a way that makes his chest ache with something he can’t name.

He doesn’t realize he’s gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white.

———

That night, he finds himself in her dorm building.

It’s easy enough to slip past the front desk. No one questions him; he’s too well-liked, too respected.

Her door is unlocked. Careless. Arrogant.

Inside, the room smells faintly of coffee and freshly printed documents. Her desk is cluttered with papers, her laptop glowing faintly in sleep mode. There’s a photo of you on her wall—a candid shot she must have taken during one of your outings.

It’s too much.

He moves to the desk, his fingers ghosting over the papers. An idea forms, dark and insidious.

No one will ever touch what belongs to him.

────────────

The fluorescent hallway lights buzzed faintly as Domo strode toward her dorm room, her heels clicking against the polished floor with a rhythm that mirrored the irritation simmering under her skin. It had been a long day—between the sabotage at the journalism event and the strange tension lingering in your eyes, she’d barely had time to breathe.

She muttered under her breath as she fished her keys from her bag, her hand brushing against the familiar edges of her planner. “If one more thing goes wrong—”

The moment the door swung open, her breath caught.

Her room was a battlefield.

The soft lavender scent she always carried was drowned in the metallic tang of chaos. Her desk, once a haven of meticulously arranged papers and books, was overturned. Pages lay scattered across the floor, some torn to ribbons, others crumpled and smeared with ink. Her chair was on its side, one wheel snapped clean off.

Her laptop—her lifeline, her pride and joy—lay on the floor, its screen fractured like a spiderweb, blue light flickering weakly through the cracks.

But it was the bed that stopped her cold.

The neatly made covers were now rumpled, shoved to one side to make room for a single piece of paper. The note sat stark against the mess, its edges too pristine, its presence deliberate.

She didn’t want to move closer. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to leave, to call campus security, to do something. But her legs carried her forward, step by step, until she stood at the edge of the bed.

The words were scrawled in a hand too neat to belong to a careless vandal.

Stay away from her.

Her throat tightened.

———

The adrenaline hit her all at once, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. Her mind raced, the logical mind in her trying to piece together the puzzle even as her gut churned with unease.

She dialed. First the RA—no answer. Then campus security.

“Room 417,” she said, her voice steady despite the growing dread. “Someone broke into my dorm. I need someone here now.”

The words felt hollow, too calm, as if the situation hadn’t quite settled into reality. But as she hung up, the silence in the room pressed against her like a living thing.

Her eyes darted around the space, searching for something—anything—that could make sense of this. A motive. A clue.

And then her gaze fell on the photo.

It had been pinned neatly to her bulletin board just that morning. A candid shot of you, looking shy but peaceful as you stared out across the campus quad.

Now, it lay face-down on the floor, the edges bent as if someone had handled it roughly.

She picked it up, her fingers brushing against the glossy surface. When she flipped it over, her stomach turned.

A jagged line slashed through your face, cutting clean through the image.

———

Her first instinct wasn’t fear. It was anger.

Whoever did this wanted her to be afraid. Wanted her to step aside, to leave you to whatever twisted game they were playing. And she didn’t back down from a challenge—especially not from cowards who hid in the dark.

She started pacing, her hands clenched into fists.

“That arrogant bastard,” she hissed, the image of him flashing in her mind. His smug smirk, the way he always loomed just a little too close to you. She’d seen it before, men like him who thought the world owed them everything.

She grabbed her planner, flipping through the pages as if the neatly written schedule could offer her some form of control.

“No way he’s getting away with this.”

———

By the time campus security arrived, she had already taken photos of the mess and the note.

“This isn’t random,” she told the officer, her tone sharp and commanding despite the tremor in her hands. “Someone was trying to send me a message.”

The officer nodded, scribbling notes on a pad. “Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge?”

Her jaw tightened. She could name at least one. But without proof, she’d be playing into his hands.

“Just focus on finding out who did this,” she snapped, brushing past him to retrieve her laptop. The fractured screen mocked her, but she held it close, refusing to let the damage sink in.

She didn’t have time to wallow. Not when you were caught in the middle of this.

———

Later that night, as she sat in the campus library—her temporary refuge while the investigation began—her thoughts kept circling back to you.

You’d been quiet lately, quieter than usual. And she hated the way her mind connected the dots.

What if he’s already gotten to her?

Her grip tightened on the pen in her hand, the plastic groaning under the pressure.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

You were hers to protect. Whether you realized it or not.

────────────

The morning sunlight spilled pale and indifferent through the campus windows, a thin blade of light carving through the cracks in the blinds. The café library buzzed faintly, conversations merging into a singular, dull hum. Domo sat at her usual spot, a cup of black coffee clutched in one hand, her other fingers lazily scrolling through her phone. The world felt distant, her senses dulled by the weight of the night before.

She hadn’t slept.

Her room was back in order—a surgical restoration of control over the chaos—but the faint, acidic taste of fear still clung to her like a second skin. The note. The photo. The implication. It swirled in her mind, toxic and consuming. She hated how much it had shaken her. Hated that he’d gotten to her, if only for a moment.

But you? You had no idea.

She watched you shuffle into the café library, your movements hesitant, almost deer-like, as though the world might devour you whole if you stepped too loudly. You scanned the room nervously until your eyes landed on her, softening slightly. You made your way over, the edges of a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the cafeteria noise.

Domo glanced up from her phone, her expression perfectly composed. “Morning. You’re late.”

You fumbled awkwardly with the bag in your hands, your nervous energy radiating like static electricity. For a moment, you didn’t sit down, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as though gathering your courage.

“Uh… I-I have something for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair, the faintest smirk curling her lips. “Something for me? Should I be worried?”

You flushed, shaking your head rapidly. “No! I… I just… I remembered you mentioned your birthday… once. A while ago. I don’t know if it’s today or…” You trailed off, your face burning as you shoved the bag toward her.

She blinked, surprised.

“It’s nothing much,” you mumbled quickly, your words tumbling over each other. “I-I didn’t know if you’d even like it, but, um… I thought it might make you smile, and… I mean, you’re like a sister to me. And I just…”

You froze mid-ramble as Domo opened the bag.

Her fingers stilled when they touched the soft, handmade edges of the scrapbook.

———

The cover was simple, your handwriting slightly crooked but endearing. As she flipped through the pages, her chest tightened.

It was filled with moments. Little fragments of the last two months pieced together with care. Pictures of the two of you, some she didn’t even realize you’d saved—her laughing with a coffee in hand, you hiding awkwardly behind a textbook. There were memes printed out and glued alongside hastily scrawled captions, inside jokes and shared silliness. There was a snapshot of the rainy afternoon when you’d both gotten caught in a sudden storm, drenched and laughing despite yourselves.

And on the last page, written in your uneven handwriting, were the words.

“Thank you for being my friend.”

———

Domo didn’t cry.

She hadn’t cried in years, and she wouldn’t start now. But something in her chest softened, and she closed the scrapbook with deliberate care, her fingers brushing over the cover as though it might break.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Do you know how inappropriate it is to give a gift like this without expecting something in return?”

Your face fell, your shoulders hunching. “I-I didn’t mean—”

Her hand reached across the table, pressing lightly against yours, stopping your words.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she said quietly, her eyes locking onto yours. “It’s thoughtful. Too thoughtful. And coming from you…”

She smirked faintly, masking the warmth in her chest with her usual bravado. “It’s borderline suspicious.”

You blinked at her, your lips parting in confusion before you realized she was teasing. A small, shy smile tugged at your lips, and Domo felt something twist inside her—something protective, fierce, and wholly unshakable.

———

For a moment, she forgot the note. The photo. The rage boiling under her skin.

For a moment, it was just you, looking at her like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

She would burn the whole campus down before she let anyone take that look away from you.

────────────

The café library was a tomb of whispers and muffled footsteps, every sound swallowed by the weight of the silence. He lingered in the shadowed alcove on the second floor, the perfect vantage point to see everything without being seen. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. No, that was a lie. He always knew.

You were a creature of habit—pathetic, predictable, easy to track. You spent your evenings in the same corner of the library, tucked away with your fraying notebooks and a nervous energy that made you chew your pen caps into mangled ruins. It wasn’t endearing. It wasn’t. But it kept him coming back, night after night, his excuse for being here as thin as the veneer of civility he wore.

And tonight, she was here too.

Domo.

Her voice carried low and soft, a balm to the otherwise oppressive silence. He could hear her laugh—short, confident, like she wasn’t trying too hard. Like it came easily to her. And worse, he could see the way it made you smile.

His hands curled into fists.

You were seated across from her at a table, your usual timid posture replaced with something lighter. Relaxed. Almost happy. You gestured clumsily with your hands as you spoke, and she leaned in, amused but attentive, her sharp gaze softening in a way he despised. She made you feel seen.

She had no right.

You pulled something from your bag—small, wrapped in mismatched paper, the kind of sloppy job that screamed you had tried. The thought of it made his stomach twist with something that felt too much like jealousy to admit.

The exchange was muted from where he stood, but he didn’t need to hear the words. He could read the scene from the way you shoved the gift across the table, your nervous energy practically vibrating through the air. The slight flush in your cheeks. The tentative smile that slipped past your usual reserve.

And the worst part—

The way she smiled back.

———

It was like a razor dragged down his spine.

That bitch. That motherfucking bitch.

She had everything. She had the prestige, the power, the reputation. She didn’t need more. She didn’t get to take you too. You weren’t hers to mold or shape or save. You weren’t hers to build up when he had spent so much time tearing you down.

You were his.

Even if you didn’t realize it.

Even if it made you hate him.

———

His vision blurred at the edges as rage twisted inside him, slow and corrosive, eating away at the last fraying threads of his self-control. His pulse pounded in his ears, each beat hammering out the same thought:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He could picture it too clearly—the way her fingers had lingered on that pathetic little scrapbook. He could imagine her voice, all saccharine sweetness, telling you how thoughtful you were. Feeding your delusions. Making you believe you were worth something.

The room spun as he leaned forward, his fingers biting into the cold edge of the railing. Below, Domo reached across the table, her hand brushing yours lightly, a gesture so casual it made his teeth ache.

She was stealing you.

Stealing you right out from under him, and you were too stupid, too blind to see it.

———

Something snapped.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was quiet, insidious, like the faint crack of ice beneath your feet before you plunge into the freezing depths.

He stepped back from the railing, his breathing slow and deliberate. His fingers uncurled, and he flexed them once, twice, as if shaking off a chill.

He’d been patient for too long.

This was her fault. She had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

And now she would see what happened when you tried to take something that belonged to him.

———

As he slipped out of the library, the soft murmur of your laughter followed him like a ghost.

By the time he reached the cold night air, his mind was already made up.

Domo wouldn’t smile like that again.

Not after he was done with you.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie

[astrologysaysno]

You know what would be really fun to do, an AU where for some reason the PIDW world is randomly breaking into song and everyone is conscious of that fact but no one knows how it started or how to stop it.

Like, it's just been a thing in this world. Everyone is just in this state of living through a self-aware version of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist.

I think what would make it even funnier is that when Shang Qinghua arrived at CQMS, the music suddenly switched up on everyone in the sect.

For like, centuries, the music people sang were of traditional tales and epics likening their plight to them, they would take poems and proses and accompany them to a backing that would usually materialize for the occasion.

Now suddenly there's like this great expansion of musical styles and genres and it has people in a buzz, wondering if this this was a natural evolution of the strange music mandate overarching the world or was this the fault of some great manipulator pulling the shots and deciding to add new material because they got bored listening to people sing the same epic tale for the millionth time.

(The true origin of this is that Airplane in his last life had a personal playlist made that he listens to whenever he wanted to write PIDW and now it has come back to haunt him cause HE RECOGNIZES THESE SONGS)

One of these instances first occurred with Shen Qingqiu (Jiu) and Luo Qingge, with Shang Qinghua as an unfortunate witness as it began a while after that awful mission that expanded the rift of misunderstanding.

Instead of some traditional oration of a story about rivalry, something new began to emerge.

It only takes the first few lines before SQH almost has his eyes pop out in shock when he realizes what was happening

... IS THIS WICKED?!?!

Shang Qinghua watches as the two perform a duet, the younger disciples of Bai Zhan acting as an ensemble as everything played out. LQG and SJ sang as they ran into the mess hall, everyone in perfect harmony raising eyebrows to every witness who hadn't been dragged into the number as an ensemble voice.

The moment the song ended, the two are immediately called by the Peak Lords of the Previous generation, dragging along Qinghua as they are interrogated about this new change in the musical paradigm.

The new mixes in with the old. Though the usual forms of song still occur, every once in a while, the new music appears to change the pace, attracting people with its unusual and exotic melodies.

Qinghua isn't immune to this phenomena.

Throughout his days when he became head disciple and then Peak Lord, he had never broken into song once, something that very much confused his fellows peers, who have at some point in their life belted a number or two. Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge had already over a dozen of solos each.

Shang Qinghua chalked it up to the fact that the universe probably decided he wasn't worth wasting a beat on and lived in second-hand embarrassment watching his fellow peak Lords air out their feelings in song.

But the day finally came when a song spewed forth from his lips...

...running away from Mobei-Jun

After the ceremony and the fight with Linguang-Jun, Mobei thought to leave a trap to his uncle, setting something on the steps to slow his uncle down.

Unfortunately for Airplane, he gets stuck on the trap as he runs away, Mobei-jun on his heels as the last of his strength is used to chase Qinghua.

The moment Qinghua turned around, time froze. Mobei-jun finds himself immobilised as Qinghua began to sing, his body frozen in time as his advisor belted and fluttered his voice, singing about choices.

The song ends, Mobei-Jun finally giving out as Qinghua runs away. Mobei-jun doesn't forget the song, and he understands what he must do.

[I have had "What is this Feeling" from Wicked and "On the Steps of the Palace" from Into The Woods on loop in my phone going platinum in my bedroom.

I made this entire thing from my delusions so uh, bon appetit I guess?]

[fluffytriceratops]

I am DESPERATE for some 2k3 Donatello dating headcanons, literally give me anything PLEASE I AM OBSESSED

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 [𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑]

notes: i gotchu bestie. <3 lemme know if you guys want these for the other 2k3 turts as well! :D also sorry for taking literal ages to get this request done for you! thank you sm for requesting i hope you have a wonderful day/night! <3

warnings: brief nsfw mentions, mature language, 

tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1 [if i've forgotten anyone i'm so sorry please comment or dm me and let me know and i'll add you right away so i don't forget in the future!]

(if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!)

i love you all sm! i'm sending all the virtual hugs and well wishes to you!! <33

---

- as usual, 2003 donnie has an obsession with coffee. so if you get this mans some coffee expect an INSTANT marriage proposal. [honestly what ver of donnie doesn't have a coffee addiction?] 

- likes to do your hair. it's calming to him and helps him think. hes watched a lot of youtube videos and stuff for it, so he knows what he's doing too. he likes to try new styles n stuff on you. everyone knows when he's particularily stressed or can't seem to figure something out because you seem to have a new hairsyle everyday until he's fixed whatever it is that's bugging him, 

- will also handmake beads and stuff to put in your hair. <3 

- makes jewelry for you, esp out of silverware and other things. it always turns out so beautifully. 

- late night drives. donnie has insomnia and his brain works a lot during the night/evening. so expect to hang out a lot with him during this time. driving at night at new york is super pretty and peaceful too. esp when it's just the two of you. [so long as you don't mind the hectic city hehe-]

- cuddling with him while he works. includes sleeping on him/in his lab when he works really late into the night. he'll later carry you to bed. 

- painting on his shell/body for funzies. and if he does the same to you don't expect it to look too great because 2k3 donnie can't draw for shit. 

- donnie will gift you homemade cards with stick figures on the cover cuz again he cant draw but he knows you'll adore it no matter what just because he made it. plus you think its funny as hell and he adores your laugh. 

- hes actually really good at photography. and he has loads of pictures of you. you two go out and take pictures together sometimes. it's always a lot of fun. and they always turn out great. 

- late night talking sessions are a normal for you. 

- donatello tries his best to get you to sleep at a decent time, but sometimes you'll refuse if he isn't coming to bed with you just to get him to go to sleep earlier. he'll probably lay with you for a while, unable to actually sleep. maybe he'll read or listen to music to help pass the time. sometimes he will also sneak back out of bed once you've fallen asleep, and when you catch him you give him a good talking to. 

- he really needs to take better care of himself. he's always putting those he cares for above himself. so you're always there to make sure he's okay and that he's doing what he needs to do to be happy and healthy. 

- you guys hardly ever fight. donnie isn't one to argue with you. he's a very gentle and kind soul. he rarely raises his voice. (but when he does you find it hot as FUCK- lets be honest--) 

- fix it felix. always fixes things for you, even if you dont ask it of him. if he's at your place and notices something needs to be fixed he'll just do it for you. even if you insist he doesn't have to, he will anyway because he loves you. it brings him joy. and honestly, you should just let him because it probably stresses him out a little thinking about how your door isn't closing properly or your car sounds funny or your light keeps flickering- 

- you like to prank him on occassion, this includes the whole "i filled my tank with the special gas-" or "i let them put premium air in my tires and they gave me a really good deal". it freaks and stresses him out, at least in the moment hehe. its very funny but keep in mind he'll get you back. 

- him reading to you sfghfdgkjhdfg (id die please-) esp if you have trouble sleeping or something. 

- coffee dates are a must. even if you dont drink coffee. 

- donnie napping curled up on your chest/on top of you. you tracing the grooves of his shell. you've learned he finds this very comforting and it helps him fall asleep. 

- hes a definite switch- lmao.

- very gentle and understanding. he's like your personal diary or therapist and you're the same for him. 

[erenstitanweave]

❥HOW WE LOVE

pairing: various x reader (jinx and ekko)

rating: giving/receiving love language headcanons

a/n: wanted to experiment with more of my arcane favs so i figured headcanons would do the trick!! (spoiler warning) this might include spoilers for both season one and two, just to be safe. reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, hope you enjoy!

JINX

receiving:

oddly enough, i see jinx adoring physical touch and words of affirmation the most

i noticed while watching that jinx accepts physical touch from people she deeply cares for, which makes it seem like she'd crave physical attention from her significant other in particular

if you're not someone for touch, or someone overly physically affectionate, she doesn't necessarily mind either

something that calms her more than anything in my opinion is the sound of her significant other's heartbeat, the sound grounding her especially when her thoughts begin to consume her.

her first thoughts after a bad day in general are you holding her, slowly calming her down enough even after her hardest days

words of affirmation are probably her favorite love language, your words carrying more weight than anyone else's in her mind

the first time you were ever around her in her moments when she isolated herself, having only the company of her thoughts and the voices alongside them, she thought that was it.

she couldn't imagine losing another person dear to her, and it exacerbated the situation, but it slowly came to a halt once you began genuinely talking to her.

that day was the day she realized she loved you, and losing you to the bad things she'd done wasn't an option

she'd always want to be better just for you, and as long as you were there to give her your heartbeat or even saying "i love you, jinx.", she would never think otherwise

giving:

giving is a bit of a challenge, jinx is spontaneous as an individual, so to say she'd choose just one or two love languages might be too broad for her

what i think she'd do is quite simple, she'd do everything she knew her significant other would like.

not that this statement isn't true for practically everyone, but jinx would specifically make it a point not to do anything that would greatly upset you

of course, given her wildly spontaneous behavior, you greatly appreciated this sentiment

if she hated anything in the world, she hated you being upset with her

she'd definitely do acts of service without even realizing it, (she definitely knows what she's doing, she just pretends she doesn't so she can relish in the loving look on your face) i.e: making you really any object from scratch, even if you tell her not everything can resemble a spray painted bomb.

braiding your hair into different styles (long or short, she really doesn't care. it's actually shocking how she does it) painting your nails in her colors, etc.

jinx strikes me as a girl who LOVES pda, if you even remotely display any sort of attraction to her in public, she'll actually lose her mind (in a good way)

the one action you did that she really adored was dye two streaks of your hair blue and pink, but her blue and pink. she actually confessed her feelings to you all over again that day, at least, that's what it sounded like as she kissed all over your face

EKKO

receiving:

personally, i think ekko’s main love languages are acts of service and physical touch.

i just know he LOVES getting held and holding his significant other, the idea of how much intimacy he gets from physical touch makes his heart swell, especially after a long day of being the leader of the Firelights

i could see him being into PDA but only around specific people that you both trust greatly, otherwise, his eyes do enough to satisfy him until you're alone

now, onto acts of service. he’s so used to doing things for others, the poor thing barely thinks about doing things for himself.

being in a leader role for as long as he has, he often neglects his own needs and when it's brought up, brushes it off quickly

he silently adores it when you do things for him, especially if it's unexpected and/or deeply needed

he often lets you manage his hair days, usually falling asleep as soon as you start

overall, ekko’s just someone who loves being loved, especially by the person who holds his heart so close to their own

giving:

onto giving, i see ekko being very into physical touch and a mixture of gift giving and acts of service

even if you aren't major about physical touch or love it, he always knows the right time to initiate, especially later on in the relationship

i could see him offering lots of teasing touches, even before the relationship even solidified, once he got close to you, it was over.

never could you go longer than ten minutes around him without him touching you in some way, whether that be jokingly flicking your forehead, gently pinching your arm, letting his body brush against yours when he walked by..if you can think of it, he's done it

the mixture of gift giving and acts of service come from his deeply rooted leadership nature and his desire to care for you constantly

his gifts are often made from scratch by him with anything he finds, often being spare scraps that he doesn't have any other use for

his creations are beautiful nonetheless, rivaling even the highest quality jewelry made in Piltover

his acts of service are quite literally everything, anything he can do for you and take even the slightest or heaviest burden off your shoulders, he'd do it a thousand times over (literally).

[copperbadge]

i was thinking of you the other day and your discussions of your ability or lack thereof to visualize things in your mind, because someone asked me who all had been at a gathering, and i answered them by calling up the room in my memory and looking around it to see who was there. and it occurred to me after the fact that i suppose probably not everyone can do that? but i could even tell you at least approximately what everyone was wearing (color, cut, maybe not precise pattern, but the general style, sure). and while i can’t swear to you that it’s 100% accurate because i don’t have a picture to compare it to, i think it’s pretty close.

but now i’m curious - what would your thought process be if you were asked the same question? if you can’t just look around the room in your mind, is the memory interaction-based? or like… voices you remember hearing? or something else?

Well, bear in mind that I haven't got a great memory to begin with -- possibly the ADHD at work, but also there's a condition that's frequently comorbid with aphantasia called Severely Deficient Autobiographical Memory -- people with SDAM have trouble recalling huge chunks of their lives and when they do have recall they often remember it as if they'd been told it, they have no emotional sense attached. For example, I remember a trip I took where I had to do some hard shit and it was really scary, but I don't remember the feeling of being scared, I just remember that I was. I have no idea how long the trip was, no memory of the hotel room, very little memory of doing the scary thing. I know I did it, but there's not a lot of attachment there.

This is not ALWAYS the case -- for example I have extremely fond memories of certain other trips -- but I don't really seem to be able to switch it on or off. Like when I was in Europe, I stayed in an AirBNB in London, but by the time I got to Rome like, five days later, I couldn't remember what it was like. I ended up spending a little time one evening kind of calling up memories of where I stayed in London and in Paris to try and hard-code them into my memory, and that worked, but I also needed the help of photos and tumblr posts I'd made to achieve it. ("What did it even look like? Well -- wait, I cooked some pizzas in the microwave while I was there. The microwave was on the counter, opposite the bed, and -- oh, okay, I remember now.")

So like, I would have no goddamn idea of the majority of people at any given gathering where I attended, but is that SDAM, ADHD, a function of my anxiety in social situations, or the aphantasia? Difficult to say.

I hosted a get-together on Sunday and because I was host and there weren't that many people in attendance I could name them off, but I couldn't tell you what they wore. The last party I attended, a week or two previously, was at a friend's house and it was mostly folks I was at least passingly familiar with, but I am bad with names and so couldn't NAME a lot of the people there -- but for example I could say "Well, the hosts were there, and I spoke with X, Y, and Z, so they were definitely there, but I also spoke with like four other people whose names I didn't get. I dunno what any of them were wearing even though it was a costume party." But yeah to even come up with that I would have to think about when I arrived, walk myself through whatever I remember of the event in linear order, and just note down who I spoke with. If I didn't speak with them, or if I didn't know them well, they didn't exist for me.

So I guess the answer is that my memory isn't visual and also just kinda...isn't there a lot of the time. It's not like amnesia, or the profound brain damage you read about where the person only remembers the last ten minutes or doesn't remember anything past a certain date in their life, but I just haven't got much memory for things. It's why I use a lot of lists and spreadsheets and make yearly photobooks.

My photo archive on my computer goes back to about 1998, and it's sorted by year, but the top level folder all the years are stored in is simply titled "Where I've Been" 'cause I probably wouldn't remember, otherwise.

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 4

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, hinting masturbation

Part 1

"This is my favorite outfit so far." Tatum clapped as you spun around. The outfit in question was a checkered skirt matched with a sleeveless mock turtleneck top. Thankfully the stockings you bought yesterday had yet to fail. You kicked up your white go go boot striking a pose for a laugh. "This whole style choice of yours is dick repellent." Randy said, opening up his granola bar. You snatched it from him taking a bite. "You'll have to give me some tips then because I'm pretty sure you get more dick than all of us combined. And that's including Stu so that says something." Stu pointed at you surprised at the sudden dig. "How'd you know?" He said making the group laugh harder. Randy grabbed his granola bar back not caring you had just eaten part of it. You laid down on the concrete resting your head on Randy's lap.

"Since when did you two get so close?" Stu asked knowing about how hostile yesterday was. "Since I found out she's a lesbian." Randy joked. Billy looked at you seemingly to give the idea some thought. "She can do whatever she wants to it's a free country, as long as she invites me to watch." Stu said and Tatum shook her head. "Me and Randall here made up in 2nd period. He's not so bad when he's not babbling on about shitty horror movies."

Randy stands up knocking your head forward. "Okay which is better Texas Chainsaw Massacre the 1974 original or Aliens the 1979 original?" Billy scrunched up his nose like that was even a question. "Texas Chainsaw Massacre no contest." Billy spoke and Stu echoed his answer. Even Tatum put her two cents in. "Leather face is in Texas Chainsaw Massacre right?" Stu nodded. "Oh then that movie." Everyone looked at Sydney to give the last answer. "Don't look at me I haven't seen either of them." Billy laid back down mimicking your position.

"Aliens is by far a better choice because-" Stu started throwing grapes at him not missing a single shot. "Booooo!" You laughed at Stu happy to know the crowd agreed with you. "Told ya." You chimed as Randy sat back down. "What are you two doing tonight?" Sydney asked Stu and Billy. "Probably chill at my place, watch some movies. Why you wanna come?" She shook her head. "I was just curious." Sydney said picking at her nails. "Welp I'm going to split. If I don't see ya have a good weekend." You waved them off as you went back into the school. Walking the halls you headed towards the nearest bathroom.

You propped your purse up on the sink pulling a compact out. Funny enough the bags under your eyes seemed softer than they've been in months. "You sure are in a good mood today." Billy said as Stu locked the door. You jumped at his voice clutching imaginary pearls. "Did we scare you?" Stu asked leaning on Billy. "What gave it away Sherlock?" You closed the compact sliding it back in your purse. "You two shouldn't be in here." Stu bent down to check under the stalls. "Relax we're the only ones here." He said standing back up. "Still, being a girl in a bathroom with two guys that have girlfriends isn't really a good look for me."

"It's not like we're going to have our way with you." Billy watched your body tense up at Stu's words. "Unless you'd want that of course." You were uncomfortable. You'd like to say you trusted them but you'd only known them for 3 days. "Lay off man." Billy shrugged his friend arm off his shoulder before talking again. "We just came in here to ask about tonight. I'm running by the video store after school, what movie do you want to watch?" You calmed down just a little seeing Stu smile at you. It was genuine not one with two meanings behind it.

"Any movie? Or are you wanting horror movies?" Stu hopped up sitting on the sink. "We're watching Christine first." Billy looked at him then back to you. "Whatever you want to watch." It was a risk. He wouldn't sit though some boring ass chick flick. Not even for you. He's seen one too many with Sydney. "Have you seen Ferris Bueller's day off?" Both the boys shook thier head. "Are you being serious? It's one of the best movies ever." You said shocked. They highly doubted that but they let you have your moment.

You and the boys made plans for tonight. Billy would stop by the video store to pick up Christine, Ferris Bueller's day off, and he refused to tell you what he picked out. Saying "it's a surprise." You volunteered to cook dinner. They argued saying they could live off popcorn but you wouldn't allow it. Anyone staying at your house would be having a home cooked meal. Stu was simply bringing himself and a deck of cards.

The bell rang and you quickly shoved your school supplies in your locker leaving them for the Monday to come. "Are you ready to have your mind blown?" Stu's hands blew away from his head as he stuck his tongue out faking an explosion. "I doubt your little movie is that good. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Stu tried to hold hands with you which you quickly shut down. "If you're worried about Tatum and Syd they're both already gone. Dewy picked them up." You were worried about them. You were also worried about that giddy feeling crawling back up your chest. "I'm not worried I'm appalled. I'm not some cheap whore you know?" You walked backwards for a second to catch his reaction.

"I'm well aware of that Ms. Crocker." The two of you cracked jokes and had playful banter as you made it to your car. "Do I get to pick music this time?" With the puppy like expression on his face he already knew your answer. "Sure but you're not going to like the options." You both slid into the car, Stu going straight for the glove box. "Elvis, Beatles, Boston, the Bee Gees? Really?" You looked at him with a smile. "Don't shit on the Bee Gees." You said holding back a laugh. The car pulled out of the parking lot heading straight to your place. "I care about you but we've got to do something about this." He held up a Carpenters tape with a look of shame on his face. "Most of these aren't even mine okay?" He simply hummed with doubt.

"Whatever you say Betty." He grabbed one tape pushing it into the tape deck. "This, I can get behind." He said confident in his selection. "What'd you pick-" Stu's finger rested on your lips. "Shh let it play." You swatted his hand away with a smile. Space Oddity began playing to your surprise. "I learn something new about you everyday." You said as he began singing the words as horribly as he could. He might be a little on the annoying side but he sure could make you laugh. At some point you chimed in. You both sang the songs together laughing at each other back and forth. Stu wasn't so bad.

"Put the tape back where you got it." He said "yes ma'am" as he slid it back into the glove compartment. You clicked the garage door open and slowly pulled your car in. The car became quiet once you pulled out the key. You closed the garage door, you and Stu hopping out at the same time. "Make sure to take your shoes off before you go in." You slipped off your boots carrying them inside. "Just bring your shoes up to my room." Stu didn't want to fuck this up but you made it too easy for him to make jokes. "You're taking me to your bedroom?" He said as cheesey as humanly possible. Before you could come up with a snarky response he pushed you out of the way.

"Holy shit this place is ugly!" Your face dropped as you closed the garage door. "I love it!" He exclaimed walking to the kitchen. "Is that a compliment?" You asked genuinely confused. Stu paused for a moment sniffing the air. "What is that smell?" You chuckled at his concern. "It's the pot roast." Confusion painted his face. "You started cooking this morning?" You smiled sheepishly. "Well yeah I knew you two were coming over." He might've just fell in love with you. "Come on let's put our shoes up and get dinner done before Billy gets here."

Stu looked all around not being able to look at one thing for too long. "Woah this is your room?" He admired the posters on your wall first. "The one and only." You grabbed his shoes sitting them up on the rack next to yours. "You like these movies?" He asked like you had them up there just to start conversations. "Of course I like them. That's kinda why I bought the posters."

Stu had to revaluate everything he thought about you. "You know your place reminds me of Dazed and Confused." You lit up at the name. "Oh my God I love that movie!" Stu took a second to really look at you. He thought you were hot from the second he saw you. That feeling hasn't changed any but there's definitely more to it. "I saw it in theaters like 4 times. You know you don't have such bad taste after all." You fake gasped. "I have amazing taste you just wait."

"Speaking of taste I've got to get started on dinner." He followed you to the kitchen with a question. "Isn't it already done?" He must not cook a lot. "The roast is yes but I've got to make mashed potatoes to go with it. Oh and do you want Macaroni and cheese or green beans?" He was definitely in love with you. "Why are you doing all this?" He asked his voice kind of sad. Stu really hadn't been a priority or even cared for, for a very long time. "Because you and Billy are my guests and I'll be damned if you leave here without having a good meal. Now Mac and cheese or green beans?"

Billy pulled into the driveway slowly as to not attract attention. It would be his ass if Sydney and Tatum saw his car over at your house. Before he could knock he stopped to listen to the sound of your laughter paired with Stu's. It was a pleasant sound but he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. His knuckles made contact with the wood alerting you and Stu both. "I'll get it. Keep stirring the mashed potatoes so they don't stick." Billy knocked once more. He wasn't very patient. "I'm coming!" You opened the door waving Billy inside. "Where's your coat it's freezing out there?" It was then he realized he left his jacket in the car. There was no way that unbuttoned flannel and white t-shirt was providing him any warmth.

"Hey buddy!" Stu waved from the kitchen. "I need you to open the garage so I can pull my car in." You made a stirring motion to Stu noticing he stopped. "Yeah give me one sec." You said to Billy as you opened the door to the garage. Clicking the button on the wall the door slowly lifted up. "Thanks babe." He said as he walked to his car. "Babe?" You whispered as your chest grew tight. "Betty help it's bubbling!" Stu shouted your nickname. You shook your head walking back into the house. "The heats too high." Slowly you turned the knob and the bubbling stopped. "Have you tried some yet?"

"No." He said but the small dot of mashed potatoes on his nose said other wise. Your thumb swiped off the food from his face and he knew he'd been caught. You wiped your hands on your apron. "Was it good?" He dipped his finger in the pot pointing it towards you. "Try it." He tried to smear it on your face but you wouldn't let him. "No!" You shouted with a laugh running around the kitchen. Stu chased you around the table laughing as much as you were. "What is going on? I can hear you all outside." Billy asked as he shut the door to the garage. "You really wanna know?" Stu asked.

It was too late. Now Stu chased Billy leaving you to laugh at both of them. "Get near me and I'll bite your fucking finger off Macher I mean it." You were belly laughing at this point. "Okay guys calm down the foods done. Billy, the plates are up there can you set the table?" Without a response he grabbed the plates. "Stu can you get the silverware? It's in that drawer." You pointed to the wood cabinet. "On it." Stu grabbed one of everything sitting them on the placemats next to the plates Billy sat down. You were busy moving the mac and cheese into a pyrex dish. "Someone sit this on the table." Billy and Stu both jumped to help nearly knocking the hot food out of your hands.

You awkwardly laughed at the silence. "Don't worry I've got another one." You handed Billy the glassware, quickly filling another one up with mashed potatoes to give to Stu. "I've got iced tea, lemonade, soda and water." You opened the fridge showing them what you had. "I'll have Dr. Pepper." Stu said and you handed him the glass bottle. "Billy for you?" Both the boys looked flushed. "What's that at the bottom shelf?" Stu pointed. You bent down seeing a bottle of Coke.

Unbeknownst to you every time you bent over the tops of your thigh high stockings were on display. Billy's eyes followed the black line from your ankles all the way to the little black bow at the top. Stu looked over at Billy trying to read his mind. "It's Coke. Did you want this instead?" You asked. "I'll take that." Billy grabbed it from your hand. "Let me get you two the bottle opener." You pulled out the drawer grabbing the opener and tossing it to Billy. "Where's your bathroom?" Stu asked politely. "Down the hall and to the left." With speed he left the Dr. Pepper on the table and practically sprinted to the bathroom.

"What's his problem?" You asked Billy. He only shrugged. Although he knew exactly what his problem was. It was the same problem he was starting to have. Billy sat down at the dinner table popping the lid off of his bottle. "Thank you." His was quiet but not silent. "You're welcome. It's the best I can do. Do you want your roast on top of your mashed potatoes or separate?" He thought about it for a second. "Separate is fine." You nodded grabbing his plate from the table. You put a good amount of roast and vegetables on his plate before sitting it back down in front of him. "Smells good."

"Let's just hope it tastes good." You laughed. "But thank you. Stu helped quite a lot actually." That was surprising. Living with Stu, he got take out 5 days a week and the other days they barley ate at all. Neither Billy or Stu cooked. Not for lack of trying on Billy's end. You placed a spoon in the mashed potatoes and in the Mac and cheese before fixing you a glass of water. You sat it down on the table picking up Stu's plate. Once he had a good amount you put his plate back where you got it.

"Is he coming?" The question almost made Billy laugh. With the Coke bottle up to his lips he said "Probably." The joke went clear over your head. In the meantime you hung your apron up and sat the salt and pepper down on the table. "There you are. I thought you fell in." You smiled and he returned it. Billy's eyes found Stu's having a silent shameful conversation. The last thing you did before sitting down was fix your own plate. While you put food on your plate Stu went ahead and grabbed his fork. Before he could eat Billy kicked him under the table. "Ow!"

"The bowl's hot." Billy made an excuse for his friends outburst. You went back to what you were doing as the two had a conversation. "Wait for her." Billy mouthed. Stu's lips formed an 'o' as he understood what he meant. You finally sat down with them finishing putting food on your plate. They both waited patiently for you to take the first bite. "Do you think I poisoned it?" You asked wondering about their odd behavior. "No but you cooked it so you should get to eat first." There it was again that giddy feeling. "Oh..." You said with a smile.

You had never seen two people eat so much. It made you think they'd never had food in their lives. Both bowls were completely empty and the poor crockpot looked like it'd seen hell before. "That was the best damn food I've ever had." Stu exclaimed. "Thank you, Y/n." He said grabbing your hand on the table. "You're welcome. If there's one thing I can do it's cook." Billy's head laid on his crossed arms on top of the table. "Is he dead?" You whispered to Stu. Your hand rubbed Billy's back slowly hoping he wasn't sick. "You alright?"

"I can't move." He mumbled against the table cloth. You bit your lip trying not to laugh. Billy sat up his head falling back over the kitchen chair. A moan left his lips from how much he ate. Stu saw the way you straightened up in your chair. Your eyes raked over Billy's exposed neck. His adams apple on prominent display. "Damn." Billy sat up looking at you. "What's wrong?

"Huh?" You asked furrowing your brows. "You said 'Damn' like something was wrong." Stu really couldn't help but laugh. "What's funny shit face?" He asked his giggly friend. "Oh nothing. Leave the dishes I'll clean them up." Billy rolled his eyes. In all his years being friends with him he had never once seen Stu clean a dish. "You don't have to do that I'll do them later after you guys go home."

Home? That thought never crossed either of their minds. They didn't want to go "home." "Listen I love hanging out with you both but I seriously can't have two grown men in my house staying the night that I barley know. What if you robbed the place?" That was your concern. Billy smiled at the innocent worry. "Then you'd get what we stole back monday at school. Don't you have a guest room we could stay in?" You did but it was used as a junk room now. There's no way you could clean it out tonight. They could stay in your dad's room but considering that's were the guns are you'd rather not. "Do you even have something to change into if you were to spend the night?"

Stu jumped from the table going to grab his bag. "I brought mine and Billy's clothes." You put your head in your hands as you groaned. "Fine but you're both sleeping on my bedroom floor." If that's what the rules were then so be it but they knew how easily they could bend them.

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21 @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n

Part 5

A/N: I haven't proofread this yet so I apologize from any misspellings. I'll be going through it again tonight. Hope everyone's enjoying it so far!

[fairyhaos]

seventeen as types of tea

requested by anon ! my tea knowledge is like. a little bit extensive. but only a little, so some of these r based off of what google says these teas taste like ++ the vibes they give me ^^

masterlist

seungcheol

ginger tea. the warmth and the spiciness and the slight sweetness of the tea definitely give me strong seungcheol vibes. the fact that it's good for you and also super delicious? hmm yeah idk but it's giving scoups

jeonghan

honey tea. a gentle, sweet tea that melts on your tongue. it reminds me of being taken care of by my mother, bc she always gave me honey tea when i was sick. for me, its a comforting tea, and the lovely sweetness gives me jeonghan vibes. 

joshua

bergamot tea. most people know it as earl grey tea, and it sounds like it'll be a musky, tasteless old-people kind of tea, but its floral, citrusy taste is very vibrant and lovely. bergamot is also a nice stress reliever, and is also a vv nice cake flavour and idk. the vibes feel very joshua

junhui

jasmine tea. dude, everyone loves jasmine tea, and if you don't, then you're lying to yourself. and that's exactly like how i firmly believe that junhui is nothing except absolutely and utterly loveable. it makes me think of dim sum bc the cleansing taste of it always balances the oily food sooo well

hoshi

tea with lots of cream and sugar. it's almost horrifically sweet, but hoshi drinks it with a straight face and you can't help but wonder if, maybe, it's because the tea is so sugary that it's numbed his taste buds off forever. also he's totally the type to give himself a cream moustache. 

wonwoo

hibiscus tea. the slight cranberry-ish tartness of the taste feels very much like wonwoo for some reason? it makes me think of the shininess of glasses frames, the rough texture of books, and the gentle deepness of his voice. 

woozi

coffee disguised as tea. idk how to explain this bro but jihoon is Not Really a tea-drinking person in my eyes (not enough caffeine in it) but people keep telling him that having 7 coffees a day isn't good for his health so he's started drinking “tea” instead. except it's not actually tea and it's just.  coffee. hidden in his flask. 

minghao

matcha. matcha is lowkey just an aesthetic tea ngl but also?? it's a tea that's basically known for its health benefits bc it's just sooo so healthy and i feel like minghao, as a tea nerd, would love that. also matcha flavoured stuff is vv yum and makes me think of him for some reason

mingyu

masala chai. ive never actually had masala tea before, but i think the combination of richness and warmth and spices of it just suits him very very well. just the vibes of it make me think of mmingyu's undeniable presence and his warm, beautiful, colourful nature

dokyeom

peach tea. fruit teas are definitely more dokyeom’s style bc they're kinda attached to the idea of youth and smiles, cuz children r more likely to have fruit teas. also peach tea is just sooo so sweet and fragrant. especially iced peach tea!! to me, i think that it literally tastes like syrupy sunshine. 

seungkwan

rose tea. it's just such a delicate, floral, aromatic tea with veryyyy good health benefits, and not only does it give me seungkwan vibes, i also think that he'd really like to drink it. also the floating rose buds in tea are so very aesthetic. 

vernon

tea biscuits. i couldn't think of a tea for him help anyone who has anything negative to say about tea biscuits is gonna have to Fight me bc they're actually sooo nice and i can and will finish half a pack of tea biscuits in one sitting if you let me. vernon probably could do that too. 

chan

milk tea. idk man but for me, i think that the unambiguous milky taste of milk teas just make me think of the all-encompassing and reassuring warmth of chan. he's like the pleasant milkiness of the milk tea that stays on your tongue

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @kikohao

[junnieverse]

— JAY AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ! 💭

➙ boyfriend jay thoughts

pairing: park jongseong x gn!reader

genre: fluff

request: " Hii <3 Can I request Jay as your boyfriend? "

warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread, mentions of food, this was kinda long, I'm sorry I just kept going

a/n: even if he isn't your bias, I'm sure we can all agree we want jay as our boyfriend. hope you liked your request anon ^_^

everyone's dream man

the boyfriend you introduce to your parents and they would love him too

jay is THE most husband material man to ever husband material

and seriously he would be the perfect boyfriend in every sense

I see jay as the sort of boyfriend to take care of his s/o with their day to day life stuff such as cooking or helping them clean (very domestic) but also financially

he would love spoiling his partner (and as he should)

be it with small things to things you couldn't even dream of seeing or getting

to jay, you deserve it all, he would even buy you the moon and stars (his words, not mine)

flowers, flowers and oh wait, more flowers

seriously, he always gets you flowers (unless you're either allergic or just don't like the smell of them like me)

very romantic, probably one of the most romantic in enha

very class and sophisticated sort of romantic

giving very much fancy candlelit dinner with the view of the Eiffel tower in Paris

but sometimes instead of splurging to take you out, he prefers a home cooked meal that you could either make together or he makes for you

just like the rest of the group, jay has a way of making you laugh even without trying

your laughter is his favourite sound (no I'm not crying, you are)

shopping together is a big yes!

I imagine as his s/o you would both have similar tastes in style consisting of things that are classy but can also be chic and cute

sometimes he even shops for you if he knows what you like or what you've been wanting

"Remember that blazer you really liked from the last fashion week from Prada, I got it for you so I hope you like it."

doesn't take no for an answer and even if you do try refusing a gift he gives you, he gives you this certain look and then you end up accepting the gift

also carries your shopping bags after shopping so all you have to do is walk beside him looking as beautiful as ever

nap dates are a thing with you and jay

you would both simply cuddle in bed and just sleep together for hours like that and it is definitely his second favourite thing after kissing you

and when he does go on tour and can't cuddle with you, he makes sure to call you every night no matter how exhausted he is because it helps him sleep better after hearing your voice

I'm talking private guitar shows

be it he's just playing random acoustics on his guitar or he's actually working on something new, he will have you listen to it

"Jay you know I'm not good at this stuff, you always sound amazing anyway." you tell him feeling embarrassed at your lack of musical inclination

"Even so, you know you're someone who's opinion matters the most to me angel." he would tell you before kissing your forehead reassuringly

has an incredible memory so he remembers so many small details about you and you find it so heartwarming

you will be clinging to jay because we all know how good he smells and he doesn't mind either

usually isn't the physical affection sort of guy but he secretly loves it whenever you hug or cuddle

the healing era boyfriend for all my heartbroken readers

jay is the perfect boyfriend to help you get back into the dating game as you heal and learn to love and trust yourself and others

oh I cannot forget about the singing

he is definitely going to be singing to you

ask him and he will be your human aux, sings whatever songs you would like

he all in all just loves feeling needed by and taking care of you

your happiness is his happiness in the end

[kittyit]

I like finding copies of old feminist books that probably had 100 copies, 1 print, then never again. Even when I don't like the book at all. I was recently given a handwritten editors copy of a lesbian philospher's unpublished book; the woman who was her caregiver until death said she couldn't keep it anymore and she wanted it to go somewhere else. I don't really like it. Max and I might fuck around and publish it for her posthumously anyway. We have all the copies of Lesbian Ethics that are left bc Sarah Hoagland & her wife were going to just trash them bc they were tired of moving with them. Max's book probably has 1/100 of the response we were expecting. And I've made my peace with it, I was shocked, I was angry, but then I just made peace. Lesbians voices are suppressed, people don't really read as much anymore, feminist theory is out of style. Who gives a fuck? I care about the one woman who's hungry for this, I want there to be something there for her when she's on the hunt. Everyone else's lack of interest simply isn't my concern - as June Jordan recommended, I am indifferent to indifference :)

[lieswetell]

IFHY (Jordan Li x Alt!Reader) PT 1

Tags~ roommate au, enemies to lovers, alt reader, tattooed reader, slow burn, supe!reader, afab!fem!reader

Warnings~ angry sex, jordan might be a lil mean, porn w plot bc im freaky like that, drugs, alcohol, gay shit

Monday, August 7th

“It’s only one semester. This will be over before you know it,” Mia said.

You want to hear her out and try to be optimistic about the situation, but it’s complicated. Having your own dorm was rare in Godolkin. Students who did usually paid an ungodly amount for the extra privacy or were gifted one because of their current sponsors. For you, in your previous two years, it had been a mixture of both.

“This is bullshit.” You complain and have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at your phone.

Mia hadn’t done anything wrong. She was doing everything she could to get you what you wanted. However, it wasn’t playing out in your favor this time. You were still in your dorm, trying to cling on to that last bit of single dorm life you could, even though you were moments away from the move.

“Look. I love you, but there isn't anything else I can do. Some of these kids will probably be out in a few months.” Mia tried to help you look on the bright side of the situation.

You have yet to respond to what your assistant was telling you. Instead, you just kept looking around the now-empty dorm with a mournful gaze.

“Shetty says it’s a large roo-” Mia added.

“My room was plenty big enough,” You complained again. This time, the words came out in a sort of whine that would remind anyone else of a toddler.

 You got up from the floor and wiped your hands on your pants. After taking a deep breath, you closed the last bin in your room.

“One semester.”  You sighed.

“One semester,” Mia said, her voice a lot more positive than yours.

“When are you recording that video for-”

“Alright, look at the time the moving team is here. Can’t be late.” You cut her off and blew her a kiss before hanging up on her.

The moving team wasn’t anywhere near your room, and you knew that. If you focused, you could hear everyone in the building. There wasn’t a trace of dickheads with whistles anywhere near you.

The Godolkin University moving team usually consisted of sophomore students with too much strength to know where to put it. Many were from various clubs or programs that forced them to help incoming students. 

You started to stack your bins and luggage outside of your room on your own. Typically, the moving team would assist the students. Still, it was effortless for you to carry the items, and you thought if you looked around your dorm for any longer, you might burst into tears. That wasn’t very productive or good for your image if anyone were to see it. So you popped in your earbuds and started to lift the bins. When finished you put the label on your crate 465.

 With the headphones in your ears, you didn’t notice just how much more lively it was. Most of your floormates were in other single dorms with other upper-level students. So you would only really run into a few people if any, daily. With the influx of incoming students moving in, you would easily have trouble avoiding anyone. According to your assistant Mia, every dorm room was filled(yayyyy godolkin for not allowing students to live off campus).

After skipping an array of songs, Spotify somehow thought would suit your style, someone poked you on the shoulder.

“You’re 17#, right? Big fan, honest.”The boy said. Something you noticed everyone said after they wanted to snap a quick picture with someone. You couldn’t complain, though you had no proof this person was lying to you.

“Nice to meet you.” You said and copied the same amount of excitement. The perfect amount to seem genuine but still cool enough to feel above them in that weird way you can only get from social media. You extended your hand, and he shook it eagerly.

You didn't feel that way, of course. That’s just the game and how you needed to perform. All to get where you needed to be. Being a hero was a machine full of moving parts, and Mia has been training you since you were fourteen.

“Can I get a picture?” He asked, and you nodded before he could get the sentence out.

Always…

“Always always…” you answered happily. You quickly adjusted your hair and gave the boy a side hug.

The selfie came out nice. Cute and wholesome. You made sure he tagged you on the picture and used a few of your hashtags. You gazed around, wondering who was assisting him with the move. He just looked around at your bins before looking back up at you.

“Is there anything fragile in there?” He asked awkwardly. It seems he hadn't shaken off the nerves from meeting you. It was so silly to you. You weren’t Homelander or Queen Maeve.

“Yeah, the fragile stuff is in that box right there. Marked fragile in bold red tape…”

The boy then looked back at you with a look you couldn’t place. Before you could even realize what was about to happen, his arms stretched out to unnatural lengths as if he were made of rubber. He lifted all of your bins simultaneously. He wrapped and stacked them into the carts and secured them as if his arms were bungee cords. It was astonishing. You had never seen that power before, and although it was slightly disgusting, it was cool.

Just as you went to pat him on the back, a box on top crashed to the floor. You heard the glass shatter and knew instantly it was the fragile box he so kindly placed on top of everything to avoid it getting crushed. Just my luck. That was definitely the bong in there that you’ve had for a few years. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I've been stretched out all day. Things are starting to fall out.” he apologized genuinely.

“Lemme guess you are usually super tight?”

Your roommate was finished moving all of her things to the other side of the room. It definitely started as a struggle, but after a bit of time, Jordan started to get the hang of it. Early in the process, he was just bitching to himself about having to do this in the first place. He didn't really have anyone to complain about it to. His friends were rooming with each other, and he was the only one stuck rooming with a new person.

 His parents didn't understand his frustrations, and instead, they were just happy he would be rooming with a girl. Jordan tried explaining his irritation to Brink, but that was also a no-go. All Brink did was reframe the situation by saying it could somehow make Jordan a better hero.

“Are there seriously no fucking quads in this place?” Jordan complained to no one.

He sat on his loveseat on his couch and scrolled on his phone. He debated not being in the room when his new roommate arrived. Jordan heard that people had done that, but he was too nervous to do it himself. What if you stole something? What if you wanted to put your stuff on his side? Maybe you were a weird freshman? Or worse, a fan of him?

He sat back on the couch. His feet were planted firmly in front of him, and he scrolled on his phone. It was a position he often found himself in. In this form, his feet were actually able to reach the floor when he sat all the way back on the couch comfortably. In the other one, her feet dangled and gave off a less intimidating look than the one he was currently in.

There was a soft knock on the door. Jordan rolled his eyes and stayed in his position. Why would he open the door? If they were supposed to be moving in, they surely would have a key, right? He looked at his door open. Jordan wasn’t really sure what to expect to be standing in the doorway. 

When the ugly beast finally reared its head, Jordan finally exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until you waved at him.

“Hi” You said

It’s all you can offer him at the moment. The little helper you had assisting you barged in soon after you greeted Jordan. Jordan didn't even say anything to you. He just looked at you from his spot on the loveseat then his eyes trailed over to the freshman who couldn’t maintain eye contact with you.

“Looks like! Holy shit Jordan”

“Yeah.” He just nodded, confirming that he was indeed Jordan Li

The freshman stood awkwardly with your things and stared at Jordan. The interaction was just already a lot weirder than it needed to be. So you stood at the door and tried to think of a way to intervene in the impromptu staring contest.

“Thanks. You can just leave it right here. I can do the rest.” You thanked him with a big smile

With another resounding crash, he let go of the bins, and you winced. Jordan even was taken aback by the sound and rolled his eyes

“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked 

He sounded genuine even though he treated your belongings like they were indestructible. You buffered for a moment and realized what he said

“Ma’am? How old do you think- never mind, just leave thanks.” You shooed him away and exhaled softly

“Bye”

He watched you. You unpacked your things, and he stayed put and just watched you. He was cycling through so many things in his head. Being so last minute, this situation didn't give him any time to prepare. The only thing he did was clean and move his shit to one side of the room. He was grateful that he could at least recognize you from the ranking. The unknown was scary like that. Jordan knows you have been slowly climbing your way to the top. Your reputation was squeaky clean. Your brand was sweet, innocent, and confident. 

Your brand didn't mean he trusted you, though. Anyone with more than two fucking brain cells at this school knew that your ‘brand’ or ‘online presence’ meant absolutely nothing. Just because you waltz in here with your big smile and wave doesn't mean he will let his guard down. Roommate or not, you still had the potential to be a big fucking dick.

“Yeah, just don’t touch any of my shit, and we should be fine.” Jordan said without looking up from his phone.

He sat comfortably slumped on the sofa. The uninterested appearance he’s in pissed you off. Oh, so he’s just like this? You could do this, though. You wouldn’t let him see that you were frustrated. People like him lived off of that shit, and you wouldn’t give him what he wanted. You just nodded and gave him another smile, one real enough to be convincing.

“I understand. You do have some nice things. Probably wouldn’t want anyone getting into it either.” You said in that cheerful voice that you had been trained to perfect. 

That time, Jordan did look at you. He was now thoroughly annoyed and over the roommate situation. In his eyes, he tried. In the twenty minutes you had been in the room, Jordan considered everything he had done ‘trying’. This situation wouldn’t work, though. He just wasn’t built to share rooms with a random person.

-

-

-

Wednesday, September 27th

“Jesus Christ, do you ever fucking fucking knock?!” Jordan shouted

You did knock. You dented the door to your room because you were banging on the door for about ten minutes. You even shot Jordan a few texts saying when you would return to the dorm. Of course, she hadn’t responded to any of them; she never did.

So you said fuck it and broke the lock on your door and walked into the room. Jordan was riding some junior in her bed. The sight wasn’t new to you, so you were unfazed. Seemingly to you, Jordan never really cared about you seeing her naked. It was more of the fact you were interrupting her that was the problem. In the two months you have been rooming with Jordan, you have walked in on her having sex four times.

The first time, it came as a shocker. You squealed and covered your eyes, immediately leaving the room and shooting her a few apology texts. When you left, Jordan just continued on like it was nothing. Like you were just a temporary pause. This time wasn’t like that. You walked in and closed the door behind you.

So you waved at the man who was underneath Jordan on the bed. He looked at you with a confused look, then turned to look back at Jordan, who was bewildered.

“You're not usually my type, but I think I could be down for both of you,” The man said, then looked back up at Jordan curiously.

You just walked toward your desk, sat down, and started up your laptop.

She climbed off him and huffed, “Get out”.

Then the man shuffled awkwardly around the room and tried to pick up his clothes. He slipped the condom off and didn't know what to do with it, so he tried to hand it to Jordan. She pointed towards the door, so he just nodded and held it as he left the room. His clothes were still crumpled in his other hand, covering his dick. You shook your head slightly, knowing that type of thing was far too normalized in this school.

“Do you purposely do that?” Jordan asked you sharply. It was more of an accusation. He barely spoke to you, and when he did, it was always intending to fight.

“Do what?” You asked and logged into the Godolkin portal.

“Wait until I’m using the room to appear out of thin air” She complained and stepped closer to you.

Whenever Jordan spoke to you, it was like they were a nagging little voice that you had to physically restrain yourself from losing your cool with. You didn’t want to risk an argument with Jordan, no matter how much of a bitch she was. It just wasn’t worth it. It would be optimistic to think that Jordan wouldn’t somehow get you lousy press from the situation. It was also optimistic of you to think that one day, Jordan would just stop trying to fight the fact that they would have to live with someone.

Every day you felt like you were seconds from Jordan finally saying fuck it and starting beef with you publicly just to fuck up your rank. Being ranked seventeen wasn’t the best you could be, but to most people, being in the top one hundred was quite an accomplishment. Job security was a hard thing for supes to find, and you weren’t going to fuck up your brand just because Jordan was having a bad day.

“Oh, please. I texted you, Jordan. Multiple times,” It came out with a little more emotion than you intended. Patience wasn’t your strength today.

“You didn’t,” She said flatly.

You huffed and pulled your phone out of your bag. When you pulled up the text chain to show her. You looked away awkwardly when she turned around to grab her phone. For some reason seeing her ass suddenly felt invasive, although she was so chill about it. Once again, she was more pissed about the fact she didn't cum.

“That’s not even my number.” She showed you her Apple ID and rolled your eyes.

“Who’s fault is that?” You asked her this time; your tone couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but annoyed.

Jordan realized what she did and grabbed your phone out of your hand. You scoffed at the action and tried to snatch it back, but she was faster than you. Probably in both forms, unfortunately. Jordan just updated the contact info and handed you back your phone(which you snatched out of her hands immediately).

“You could’ve knocked,” Jordan said, and you did a sharp inhale.

You looked up at her, then back down at your phone at the updated info. It was hard not for you to be pissed about the fact he lied to you. So many arguments could’ve been avoided, but of course, she couldn’t even give you her number.

“I did. For about ten minutes. Maybeyouweretoobusycreamingondicktohearaboutit” 

The words came out as a rushed whisper. The struggle of trying to hold your anger was starting to become not only a mental challenge but a physical one.

“What did you say?”Jordan asked. This time, he almost seemed kind of excited, which didn't help you calm your nerves in the slightest.

“The locks broken, by the way. You locked me out, so I had to break it open. I’ll schedule a maintenance worker to check it out around five,” You told him. The facade was back up. You were no longer spewing attitude at him.

The maintenance request was sent, and Jordan was left confused at the sudden change in demeanor. He was excited for a second that it seemed you finally had a moment of real fucking emotion with him. Jordan would much rather be alone in his dorm, but your unwavering positivity threw him off more than he intended.

Jordan could recall a few times he would complain and rant about you to his friends during smoke seshes. It had only been two months, but he felt like he wasn’t even rooming with a natural person. Something about you was too perfect, too clean, just all around, too bland. He was excited to talk to a person for that quick moment there. It's not the brand you posted for everyone to see. 

He went back to the other side of the room in defeat. He sat on top of his bed. Jordan never stopped looking at you. You slipped up, and maybe that gave him hope(he would never admit it).

“I need the room at five,” Jordan said.

You furrowed your brows and looked over at the calendar on the wall. Each day that passed, scribbled out with a blue Sharpie. You shook your head and looked over at him.

“You have class. It’s Wednesday,” You said matter of factly.

Jordan rolled his eyes and mumbled

.“No, I don’t.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. He could be so petty sometimes for no reason, and this was one of those moments.

“Did you just disagree with me just because?” You asked him.

Jordan couldn’t think of a comeback or words to say. You talked to him in that weirdly positive tone despite clearly being irritated with him again. Maybe his dick twitched a little, but he ignored that.

“Jordan, put some clothes on, okay?” 

“Fuck you”

“Your dick is out”

“Have a great day”

Maintenance fixed the door problem by 5:13 pm. It was a simple fix. A new doorknob was installed, but a couple of dents from your early frustration remained a reminder. Afterward, you were alone in your dorm, struggling to wait forty minutes to join a lecture.

  It was a struggle not to nod off in front of your computer. Online classes always felt like a good idea when you signed up for them, but you soon realized they were a trap. It is a carefully crafted trap for you to waste your time on the course because you couldn't keep your eyes open long enough to listen to your professor drone on about the importance of… You fell asleep.

You needed the relief anyway. It was a struggle to keep holding up the illusions you were. The influx of incoming students fucked you over. Having a roommate who hated you meant you were always using your powers. You couldn’t trust him not to try and ruin your brand. The only times you would have a break from having to cast an illusion was when Jordan was out doing whatever the fuck he did besides training and sulking.

Illusions fell around you—your side of the room that was once pale blue and pink warped into black and purple. Your hair, which once seemed to be tied tightly in a bun, fell around your shoulders. The pink sweater you wore was replaced with a black hoodie you had for years. The illusions you had concealing your tattoos shattered. The ink from your arm sleeve peaked out from the wrist of your hoodie.

-

-

-

“Who are you texting?”Andre asked 

It was late. Jordan sat on the couch in his friends' dorm and tried not to be bitter that there were only three bedrooms. He typed in his phone, angry you weren’t responding. Why does he have to deal with this? He’s pretty sure when he leaves that, all three of them just crash in the living room in a pile like cavepeople anyways. Andre’s room was always too fucking clean for anyone to actually stay in there.

He leaned over on the couch to try and take a peak at Jrdan’s phone. Jordan leaned away, mildly irritated with his friend. Andre just shrugged and made a face at Cate. Cate rolled her eyes, already knowing where this conversation was going to go. It was the only thing Jordan talked about the past couple of weeks.

“My hell of a roommate,” Jordan complained and rolled his eyes.

You hadn’t responded to the last ten texts he sent. He was trying to be better to you. He might've felt a bit guilty about giving you the wrong number for that long. So now he was trying to do what you would have done for him. He planned on bringing the same guy from earlier back over, but you wouldn’t respond to him.

“Oh, she cant be that bad?” Cate said, trying to be positive about the situation.

“Cute, you guys are texting,” Andre whispered.

Jordan heard him, however, and switched. Before Andre had a chance to react, Jordan slapped him in the back of the head. The touch was light but quick. Andre chuckled softly and then raised both of his hands.

“Well, I’m trying to tell her I'm on my way back to the dorm. Might need it in a few,” Jordan explained and put his phone away.

“Why do you look so stressed?” Luke asked.

To be honest, he was the only one not caught up on the whole Jordan hating her roommate thing. He thought she would get over it in a week, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. Jordan still hated you basically for existing at this point. Luke tried to lock in on the situation, but he was still pretty high from the session that just ended.

“She isn’t fucking responding,” Jordan whined.

“It’s fine. It’s only been like ten minutes,” Luke stated.

Luke’s eyes looked around the room for whatever the fuck he was missing. Cate just laughed beside him.

“Since the last text I sent. I texted her five hours ago,” Jordan added, her arms crossed in front of her.

“It’s probably nothing,” Luke assured her, although he didn't understand why the situation was that. 

Serious. Cate understood it, though. Even if, at the time, Jordan didn’t understand, she could have seen it already. Cate had a weird way of just knowing.

“Yeah, what are you so worried about?”Andre asked, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

Jordan looked away and flipped him off. Cate and Andre shared another look, and Jordan wanted to flip the couch over. She didn’t though

“Fuck off, Dre.”

“Who is she again? Freshman?” Cate asked

“No, junior.” Jordan answered.

“Who is it?”Luke asked, hoping that maybe that would explain Jordan’s frustration.

When Jordan answered, none of them had much of a reaction, which wasn’t very satisfying for Jordan. Andre didn’t even know who you were talking about(he didn't pay attention to the rankings much). Cate just nodded, taking in the info. It was always funny to her how the most liked people could be some of the worst. Luke didn't run with Jordan’s opinion of her roommate. He knew how dramatic Jordan could sometimes be, and he was pretty sure she would've hated any roommate she was assigned to just because they were an inconvenience to Jordan.

Jordan didn't like the feeling of being interrogated, so the hangout was cut shorter than normal. Once she answered one question, it was like he opened Pandora’s box of bullshit, and everyone wouldn’t get the spotlight off of her. So, she gave up on reaching out to the guy from earlier and instead was banging on the door of her dorm room like a mad woman.

“Dude, open the fucking door!”Jordan shouted.

He didn't want to break the door again, but the longer he stood outside, the more appealing of an idea it became. Inside the dorm, you were still fast asleep at your desk. The exhaustion from overusing your powers took a severe toll on your body. You had been out cold the entire time. All illusions previously placed on you and your things were deactivated.

“C’mon, this is really petty. Just open up.” Jordan said again, but you couldn’t hear him.

A hard alarm sounded in your ear. You shook your head awkwardly, then scrambled to check your laptop.

Take your pill

You nodded and stood up to take your birth control. You made it three steps before you fell because of the loud bang at your door. Shit. Jordan’s voice yelled something behind the door that you couldn’t quite make out at the moment. All you knew was that you needed to hurry and get all the illusions back up. You waved your hands a bit, trying to tap into Jordan’s psyche once you were confident enough that the illusions were back up, and you dry-swallowed your birth control and made your way to the door.

Act normal

“Hey, sorry I got caught up in studying?” You answered the door with a smile.

“Fine, whatever. I texted you, though.” Jordan looked at you, partially confused

It didn't make sense to him. You went hours without answering him, and your excuse was that you got caught up studying. What the fuck? You didn’t even look tired? Jordan hated you. You closed the door behind him and sat on your bed.

[technicolorfamiliar]

The Passing of the Third Floor Back Dir. Berthold Viertel 1935

I think The Stranger could fix me.

I will never understand why more people don't reference this movie when talking about Connie's career. It's in his top five must-watch's for me, for sure.

The Passing of the Third Floor Back is not by any means a great or groundbreaking film. Some moments are shot well, some of the lighting is interesting, but over all there are relatively few bells and whistles, not that the film needs any. It's based on an older silent film based on a play, and that comes across in the film's focus being primarily on the story and character relationships. Some of the breakneck pacing doesn't really suit the dialogue or the story, but that was the style of filmmaking at the time. And that's why casting Connie as The Stranger was a brilliant move; his thoughtful and considered line delivery as well as his calm, grounded physicality disrupts the 1930s Britishness that defines the rest of the film. Casting another British actor as The Stranger may have worked depending on the actor, but Connie's otherness -- not only in his voice but also his height, demeanor, and fashion -- works in the character's favor… and the story's too.

The story of The Passing of the Third Floor Back is timeless because it's so true to life. People act out all the time without even realizing. They are cruel and unkind to others and themselves. It's contagious, if one or two people in a closed environment like a boarding house, workspace, team or club are overly negative and meanspirited, soon more and more people in that environment will start behaving similarly. At least that's been true in my experience. One person with a bad attitude or a tendency to gossip or be lazy or cliquish can slowly create a general atmosphere of bad behavior (especially so if that person is in a position of leadership).

The Stranger says of the other people in the boarding house, "It's not easy for them to see themselves. The illusions are so strong." Before he arrived, none of them were really seeing one another. They were reacting to their assumptions of one another, or to the worst versions of each other brought out by stress, living in close quarters, personal and interpersonal problems, etc. It took an outside perspective and the presence of someone seemingly different for them to begin to actually, finally see one another and themselves.

The single, 30-something Miss Kite's self-loathing presents as cruelty barely concealed by humor. But after a brief, sincere and openminded conversation with The Stranger, she dives into the wake of a huge steam boat to save Stasia (who really was asking to fall, I don't care how excited she was). When someone Miss Kite supposedly didn't care one iota about is suddenly in danger, she steps up without a second thought. She didn't do it for the recognition or attention, she put herself in harms way because it was the right thing to do, and afterward is treated like a hero. She's given a new source of self worth -- she realizes she can be brave. But it's not a one and done fix, she still reaches for her makeup when she sees her reflection after being in the water. But because she revealed her courage in the face of a crisis, people begin to see her differently, and hopefully so too she would gradually begin to see herself in a new light.

I really appreciate that The Stranger's influence isn't perfect. Everyone easily reverts back to their old ways, supposedly because of Mr. Wright acting against The Stranger, but they probably would have slipped into their old patterns regardless. The best The Stranger can hope for is to plant seeds of goodness in each of them. And just like people in real life, some people just aren't as receptive to change. After all, it's always harder to eliminate bad habits than it is to implement good ones.

I'm not sure what's going on with Mr. Wright. Does he know who or what The Stranger really is? Or is he just a dick? The movie probably would have worked without an openly antagonistic character. Wright could have just been creepy and gross in a normal creepy and gross way. I'm not sure we needed the scenes with him and The Stranger to play out the way they did. The more I think about it I feel like those scenes kind of cheapen the story. Most audiences are smart enough that you don't have to turn your script into an outright morality play for them to get the point. Those two scenes are probably the only thing I would have changed about the script. The Stranger and Wright needed to have a confrontation, but Wright insinuating that he knows The Stranger's motives and rules makes it seem like Wright is more than he appears to be and ehhh idk. The movie just doesn’t need it. In my opinion, anyway. It's like the writers were trying to say a bad guy can't just be a regular dude who does bad things. It would speak more to our reality, in 1935 as much as 2025, if Wright was just a regular person without any special knowledge or abilities who enjoys hurting and exploiting others. And it's interesting that he's a self-made man, someone who built himself up from nothing -- if this movie really wanted to say something it could have been about the nature of power and money being potentially corrosive to a person's soul. So as a formerly destitute person, Wright could have been a challenge for the audience as someone we want to empathize with deep down, because he raised himself up by his bootstraps and that makes him more relateable. But any empathy we may have had for Wright as a complicated character is destroyed when he outs himself as having some kind of special knowledge about The Stranger for some reason. I haven't read the book or the play, so I don't know if this dynamic originated in the source material or if it was an addition on the part of the screenwriters but it's unnecessary and treats the audience like they're too stupid to handle a morally complicated character.

I'm not going to do a character analysis of everyone in the film (today… maybe in the future lol), but it's worth talking about Stasia. I like that she's far from perfect, that her victimhood makes her act out even more than she probably would have otherwise. I like that she's not this naïve, innocent little kid. She's seen and been through some shit. And her armor is to be as mean-spirited and selfish as everyone else. She can give as good as she gets and, although she's clearly one of the more sensitive characters in the film, she's not a doormat. I mean, everyone calls her a useless little slut to her face all the time, no wonder she's as volatile as she is. She clearly has a conscience when most of the adults around her seem to lack any empathy at all until The Stranger arrives. Everyone in the house treats Stasia like she's an imbecile but she's likely the smartest out of all of them. She's the only one interested in nurturing something, the delicate white flower she keeps in a small pot. It's not clear how old Stasia is either. (Rene Ray was 23 - 24 when the film was made.) She's young enough that the landlady can threaten to send her back to whatever horrible orphanage or group home she was living in previously. But though she's a child, we get the impression from her interactions with Wright that she's lived a hard life, having to resort to thievery and very likely sex work to get by. But for as hard as her life has been when we meet her, she still maintains a childlike sense of wonder that finally gets to flourish when The Stranger comes into her life, and I just CAN'T TAKE IT. Stasia's the only one out of all those broken people who could have summoned The Stranger because, even if she's not perfect, even if she's damaged goods, she's the only one who is able to ask for "one decent person in the world." And we hope, we pray that the few days The Stranger spends with her will help her be that one decent person that someone else might need one day. UGH.

See, I love stories like this. For as mangled and beaten down as my own heart is, I love a story where someone good and full of love appears under mysterious circumstances to a bunch of messed up people. Usually these kinds of stories are centered around Christmas -- The Bishop's Wife: Carry Grant's Dudley helps David Niven and Loretta Young's marriage; Miracle on 34th Street: Edmund Gwenn's Santa Claus helps Natalie Wood and Maureen O'Hara believe in magic. While The Passing of the Third Floor Back isn't a Christmas movie and The Stranger isn't specifically called out as a supernatural being like Dudley the angel or Santa Claus, there are echoes of this story in those later films. There's almost as much suspension of disbelief in this film, and there may not be as much literal magic but the message and structure are basically the same. I mean, this movie is not subtle -- the boarding house is across the street from a church which we really only see when The Stranger arrives and departs. They don't really talk at all about God or Jesus like in The Bishop's Wife, but The Stranger embodies traditional virtues like hope, charity, and justice as well as values like patience, empathy, and honesty. It could very easily have been a Christmas movie if it had been made 5 - 10 years later. I guess the main difference is with those other movies, at the end you're left feeling like everything's going to be ok, everyone lives happily ever after. Here it's not such a sure thing. We hope Stasia and everyone else has healed permanently, but it seems incredibly tenuous. We hope The Stranger's work had lasting results, but there's no way to know for sure. Their new found hope in one another and themselves needs to be taken care of and nurtured regularly like Stasia's little flower UGHHHH, the s y m b o l i s m .

Obvs I have a lot I want to say about Connie's performance specifically, but here's a quote from him about the role from Feb 1, 1942 in the New York Herald Tribune:

"Evil can be strong and powerful, but it can never take the place of good. I felt this deeply at another time when playing the Christ-like character of the Stranger… My one aim was to play him as a man who wanted to give the world a lift, just as now the world so sadly needs a lift. The Stranger was the most difficult role I ever undertook. There was ever the danger of going too far. If for an instant it were made insincere, the part would fall to pieces.

"Another delicate question was that of appearance. I don't want to be blasphemous, but I played him as a well-dressed man… My one precaution in this respect was to keep the Stranger from any possibility of seeming theatrical. It struck me that those boarding-house people to whom he came might readily think of him as a traveler, even a traveling salesman, and so I had him wear a gray suit and carry a suitcase. His hair was well groomed, though white. But his face was not old. I tried to make him ageless.

"No mysterious light came or went with him. But when he was shown in his dingy room he took a flower from his coat and put it into a glass of water, then opened the blind and let in a gleam of sunlight. It was the simplicity of beauty you can make out of nothing. Of course, there was far more than that, something not quite of this world. The Stranger, like the Wandering Jew played by me earlier, was fantastic in a spiritual way."

I'm so glad we have quotes like this so we can kind of understand the way Connie thought about his work on this film, even several years later. The interview the quote is from must have been around the time he was doing Nazi Agent, which is another interesting point of comparison. The good brother in that film, Otto, is just an ordinary man but he's put in an extraordinary situation. The Stranger on the other hand is an extraordinary creature put in a very ordinary situation. Otto's goodness is human and relatable, or at least should be in the face of war and crimes against humanity. The Stranger is, like Connie said, Christ-like and therefore considered exceptional in his goodness. The love The Stranger has for humanity radiates out of him not through any special lighting effect but just by his calm openness.

(There are some interesting choices the filmmakers made with lighting. Throughout the film, The Stranger emerges from or is partly concealed shadows. I'm not sure if this was like The Spy in Black and a nod to Connie's past work in German Expressionist silent films or just a successful way to keep the character mysterious. Either way, I thought it was a good choice.)

For having top billing, Connie doesn’t have a lot of dialogue in the film, at least comparatively. And what lines are spoken are done so with such exceeding gentleness and softness. Some lines are almost whispered. He does raise his voice in a plea to Wright, but that's the only time. Even when he lets the boarders have it for attacking Stasia at the end of the film, he's intense without shouting at everyone. A lesser actor could NEVER.

Most of the time The Stranger is observing everyone else. I love watching him watch everyone, especially Stasia. When he arrives at the boarding house, he has very little to say at their dinner party but is busy watching how the boarders interact with one another. He's not merely gathering data, he's reacting to them internally. The Stranger clearly has feelings, but Connie's so incredibly masterful at subtlety, that I wonder if this wasn’t one of the bigger challenges of the film for him. Regardless of however hard he's working, he makes it look effortless. I love watching him watch Stasia have fun and experience joy when they all go out on the steam boat. You can see in the way he looks at her that he's so happy for her, that she gets to actually be a kid for a few hours.

Connie was really concerned about dropping the ball with this film. He, at least in interviews at the time*, was worried that stepping back from more obvious acting choices, in order to inhabit the character in the most authentic and appropriate way possible, wouldn't translate through a camera. It seems he thought he was taking a big risk with the way he chose to play The Stranger, and I agree.

The Stranger, as a performance, is THE perfect example of being vs showing one's art. And so we get one of the most interesting, soulful, deeply compassionate, empathetic, and gentle performances from a male actor during this era, especially in British filmmaking where actors were often either total caricatures or way too buttoned up to emote at all.

I mean, Connie's fans know he could broadcast sexual vibes through time and space, but here in this film he's affectionate without any expectation of reciprocity or sexual overtones. He's broadcasting real intimacy, in his confidential tone of speaking, in his hand on another character's shoulder or arm, in a quiet secretive look. This is a person who makes whoever he's with feel exceptional, like they're the only two people in the world in that moment. He's completely present. It's. So. Fucking. Good. Connie talked about wanting to give the world a lift, but he's also lifting up his scene partners! He brings out the best in whoever he's on screen with with this performance, the same way The Stranger lifts people up! Yes, I am yelling!

And what about The Stranger himself? It's never explicitly stated that he is anything other than a wanderer, a traveler looking for lodging. We don't get any exposition scenes of him before he arrives at the boarding house. The audience knows as little about him as the characters in the film do. He is completely mysterious, and yet everyone pretty much trusts him implicitly, with the exception of Wright of course. We know exactly three things about The Stranger: one -- he is Good and hopes to inspire good in others; two -- he came to the boarding house specifically because Stasia wanted (instead of needed, interesting…) someone like him in her life; three -- he cannot directly interfere with people's lives in order to accomplish a desired outcome. And that's all we need to know! I can't help thinking if this movie was made today, most filmmakers would add some unnecessary backstory for The Stranger. Let protagonists be mysterious, people! Audiences don't need to know everything! Let us draw our own conclusions! Personally I like the possibility that The Stranger is the physical embodiment of an abstract concept/s, but that's just me. My point is that it's GOOD to have characters that spark conversation and multiple interpretations, I LOVE IT DO MORE PLEASE.

This matters even more when people walk away from a film being truly touched by a character or performance. People went to see this movie when it came out and were flattened by Connie's take on The Stranger, an existing character. Unfortunately I can't find the articles or quotes where this was originally mentioned (there really needs to be some kind of text-only repository of Connie articles/interviews), but apparently some people were so affected by this film that they wrote beautiful, heart-wrenching letters to Connie. Some people were so deeply touched and claimed this film helped save them in some small way, saying it was exactly what they needed at that moment in their lives. That, in short, Connie was unbelievably successful in what he hoped to accomplish with his performance, that he was able to reach through the camera and offer something genuinely beautiful and hopeful to those who needed it. UGH.

Maybe my takes on The Passing of the Third Floor Back are not new or even particularly nuanced. People have been saying the same things about this film ever since its 1935 release. But it remains one of my favorite Conrad Veidt films, I mean, top shelf stuff. He's doing the most interesting internal work an actor can do, certainly for the 1930s. He stands head and shoulders, literally and figuratively, above his fellow cast members and indeed most of his peers at that time. The kind of inward, reflective, subtle work he is doing in this film wouldn't become commonplace for years.

There's so much more about this movie to unpack. I haven't even talked about the gramophone man and class discrimination. Or the queer coding of Miss Kite and Larkcom. Or Wright's death -- was it really just a heart attack or did The Stranger "interfere" by opening the window for the gramophone man to get in?? Or about how Connie was making this AND King of the Damned AT THE SAME TIME. The two films could not be more different. Blows my mind.

Anyway, tl;dr Connie understood the assignment and gave us something truly beautiful and special.

*"My Most Difficult Role", Conrad Veidt interviewed by Max Breen, June 29, 1935

[noodle-is-unstable]

Bound and Beat

All of my writing is completely Gender Neutral Reader. There is no reference to gendered body parts (Imaging a Ken Doll if you will). Due to this I use more vague language, and nothing is as specific or specified. Please be advised this writing style isn't for everyone and it is okay to skip.

Ft ~ Suguru Geto x GN!Reader Kink ~ Bondage and Impact Play Synopsis ~ Staying in and being tied up and hit is all you need for a good Friday night Content Warning ~ 18+, Smut, face fucking, bondage, flog, spanking, light face hitting, rough sex, raw sex, reader gets cummed in. Idk Adult Content.

2.0K Words, I don't proof read

“Some friends asked if we wanted to come out drinking tonight.” You commented, looking down at your phone.

“Oh?  Did you want to go?” Geto raised an eyebrow at you.  You were both home bodies so this happened often.  Your friends would ask you both to hang out but neither of you wanted to be the one to say no incase the other wanted to go.  You also rarely had an excuse and constantly telling them no wasn’t an option, they were still your friends after all.

“I’m okay with going if you want to go.” Both of you knew you didn’t want  to go out.  It was Friday night though, it would probably do you both good to go out.

“I’m good with either.  If you want to go, I’ll come but I’m fine staying home too.” But then again you were already in lounge wear and didn’t really want to get ready to go out.

“Totally up to you, I’m down for anything.” Then again you’ve told your friends you’re busy the last two weekends.

“I mean, you’re closer to them than me.  You should choose.” But you’re adults and also can’t go out drinking every weekend.  You have responsibilities.  Plus the hangovers are foul.

“You knew them first, it’s up to you.” You could always go for one drink, but that’s so much work to get ready and go out for an hour.

“Why not tell them you’re tied up and can’t make it.” Geto whispered in your ear.  But then again you could invite them over for a drink so it's more casual.  Wait, what?  Your thoughts snapped to what Geto said, or more how he said it.  His face was beside yours, lips ghosting your ear.  

“What?” Your voice was almost a whisper, still trying to understand what he said.  That’s not normally how these discussions went.  You’d both go back and forth until you’d reluctantly convince yourself to go..  

“Why not tell them you’re tied up and can’t go?” Geto smirked, hands moving to hold your hips and pull you into him.

“I don’t want to lie to them.” Brows furrowing you bit the inside of your cheek.  The group chat was still going off, waiting for an answer.  The Geto grabbed your chin, pinching your cheeks so your mouth opened and you’d look at him.

“Who said you’d be lying?” He asked with a tilted head.  That’s when his actions and words clicked together.  Your eyes went wide, heart beat increasing.  You were searching his eyes for any hint he was joking but found none.

“So, can I inform them you’ll be preoccupied tonight?” Geto’s lips were curled in an alluring smirk.  Always so smooth and sultry.  All you could do was give a small nod, your cheeks still squeezed in his hand.  He grabbed your phone from you and typed out a quick message before tossing it on the counter.  Before you could say anything he had scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the room.  Not the bedroom, the special spare room where all your extra special and fun sex objects were kept.  

“On the X-cross, handing, or just restrained tonight, Angel?” Geto hummed as he opened the door.  So many options.  You thought for a moment.

“You got us out of going out tonight, so dealer's choice.” You smiled back at him.

“I should save you from social situations more often.” Geto laughed, tenderly kissing your forehead.  “Well, instead of hanging out with friends, I think it would be fitting to have you hanging in a different way.” He hummed, gently placing your feet back on the ground.  You looked up at the hooks and clips on the ceiling that Geto had installed.  

“Clothes off.” He commanded before going to the closet to dig around.  “How rough do you want the ropes to be?” He asked absentmindedly while he grabbed  other things.

“Rough.” You purred with a smile.  There was something about hanging with ropes that gently tore into you that was euphoric.

“Such a masochist.” Geto teased which just made you roll your eyes.

“I was normal and had plain old vanilla sex before I met you.  You’re the real freak here.” You shot back.  This just made him laugh as he pulled out the items.

“Yeah?  And how was it?  How many times did they make you cum or scream their name?” Geto gave you a cocky smirk and raised brow.  Your cheeks went flush as you pouted.  He was right, but did he have to be so loud about it?

“Whatever.” You mumbled.

“That’s what I thought.” Geto chuckled, preparing the rope.  “Now what's the safe word?” He asked as he began to wrap the rope around you.

“Red.” You sighed, letting him lift and move your arms as needed.  He did this every time.  You always had to go through the safety precautions and tell him you consented.  It wasn’t that you were upset he did this, in fact it always made you feel safe.  The issue was you would let him do absolutely anything to you and would thank him after.  Never once had you used the precautions but still, he made sure you knew them and they were in place.

“Mhm, and the action?” Geto asked, now binding your arms behind your back.

“Three snaps or three taps.” You confirm, though with the way your arms were, that wasn’t going to be an option.

“And sound?” Geto moved to your legs, tying one so your ankle was flush to your thigh.

“Three deep grunts in a row.” You squeaked as Geto tightened the rope.

“Great.” Geto smiled, giving your ass a gentle tap.  “Up we go.” He smirked, throwing you over his shoulder like you were weightless.  He began to work the ropes through the hooks and pulleys before hoisting you up.  You were posed with your arms back like angel wings, one leg tied to itself and the other dangling.

“You look ethereal, my Angel.” Geto let out a soft sigh, heart filled eyes as he took in the view.  

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You strain to say, the rope on your ribs restricting their movement.  Then you saw a flash, a polaroid printing out.  

“I always do.” Geto smirked, shaking the picture before adding it to the bulletin board on the wall.  It had hundreds of pictures.  Some of you together, some of just him, but mostly you in precarious positions.  Welts on your ass, tied up, bound and gagged, whatever that session happened to be of.

“Now shall we?” Geto hummed, grabbing a flog.  Your cheeks went flush.  You always seemed to go quiet and shy once you realized the position you were truly in.  Completely helpless, at the mercy of Geto and putting all your trust in him.  A stinging impact hit your left butt cheek, making you suck air in through your teeth.  

“Count them.” Geto instructed.

“One.” You groaned out.  A hand came down on the other side of your ass.

“Two.” You whimpered, the stinging sensation sending waves of pleasure straight through you.  The flog whipped your exposed side.

“Three.” You moaned, eyes already beginning to roll back.

“So filthy of you to get off on getting hit, Angel.” Geto teased, lifting your chin to look at him.  “Open.” He squeezed your cheeks.  Your jaw went slack on his command, a long strand of his spit falling into your mouth.  You happily savored the sweet saliva.

“So filthy.” Geto cooed, gently slapping your cheek twice.  The way you looked up at him, slightly slack jawed, tongue half out and hearts in your eyes had his cock painfully hard.  The way he had barely touched you, but here you were, already dumb and drooling for him.

“Think you deserve a teat?” Geto’s voice was coated in lust, deep and thick with need.  You nodded, swallowing hard.  Your eyes went wide as you watched Geto strip down, hard cock slapping his stomach and leaving a connection of precum.  He walked up to you, grabbing his dick he slapped your cheek with it, leaving a smeared trail of precum.  

“Do you want it?” Geto asked, slapping your cheek again.

“Yes.” You were practically panting, unable to move to claim it for yourself.

“Beg for it Angel.” He smiled down at you.  His tip continued to tap into your cheek as you attempted to nuzzle into it more.

“Pretty please Suguru, please.  I want you so badly, want to taste you, please.” You whined, eyes fixated on his drooling cock.

“Anything for you.  Open up.” Your jaw fell open on his command.  Geto took no time to put his cock between your lips and pull the ropes so he was down your throat.  Your eyes filled with tears at the rough entry.  You gagged on his length, lashes already tearstained.  Even so you didn’t use the  safe sound and Geto took this as encouragement to continue.  With his grip on the ropes he began to swing you, pulling you almost off his dick before roughly swinging it back so your nose hit his happy tail.  Drool and spit bubbles from your lips as Geto roughly face fucked you.  The roped scraped and dug into you with every swing, sure to leave their mark on you.  Every time he pulled you forward, a hash slap was added to your ass.  A gagged cry would try to escape your stuffed throat but only more drool would fall.

“So good.  Fuck, you feel so good Angel.” Geto grunted.  It was only when his abs began to contract he fully pulled out.  You gasped, coughing at the sudden freedom.  

“That should be enough spit, yeah?” Geto panted, having just edged himself so he didn’t cum down your throat.  He collected the messy amount of drool on your chin with his fingers before he moved behind you.  Fingers deposited the spit onto your entrance as a form of lube.

“Such a stunning view.” Geto purred, stretching your hole with both hands to get a better view of it.  “It just calls to me, begs to be filled by my cock.” He tapped his tip to it.  Geto gave you no warning as he grabbed the rope once again to swing you into him, forcing you to take him fully in one swift motion.  Your eyes rolled back  as a cried scream left your lips.  He managed to direct his tip into your sweet spot.  Tears poured from your eyes at the stretching sensation and the pleasure you felt.  It was almost too much.  With just one thrust he already had you on the verge of cuming.  Geto wasn’t insane though, he held you in pace for a while, letting you adjust to around him.  It was only when he could feel you clenching around him, trying to pull him in impossibly deeper, that he began to swing you again.  The ropes began to dig in again, pleasure and pain mixing into one as you cried over the sensation.  Geto swung you roughly back into him each time, his tip bruising your sweet spot.  A loud, moaning scream left your lips when Geto harshly slapped your ass at the exact moment he bottomed out into you.

“A-AH Suguru!” You were a mess.  Words that were meant to be begging just came out broken and all too much.  Each swing, each slap, each thrust, each burning fiber from the rope, it was all becoming too much.

“Gunna cum for me?  Let me hear my Angel sing my name.  Come on, I wanna hear you.” Geto grunted.  He was close too but he’d be damned if he came before you did.

“Please, Suguru, god, please!” Broken screams escaped you as your orgasm washed over you.  Eyes rolling back as your entire body shook, going stiff.  

“Fuck!” Geto grunted, cumming  deep into your core, holding the rope so he was as deep in you as possible.  The second your orgasm faded your body went limp, simply too exhausted to hold itself up.  You were drooling, eyes half lidded.  You could barely focus on the fact Geto was lowering you from your place, loosening the ropes.

“You’re too perfect Angel.  My ethereal blessing.” Geto sighed, kissing along the deep rope burns that covered your body.  “Come on, let me take care of you.” He cooed, picking you up as if you were delicate and might break.  As if you hadn’t just been manhandled to oblivion.

About the Kink: Bondage and Impact Play are apart of the BDSM umbrella. Bondage is the practice of consensually tying, binding or restricting someone. Generally this is done for erotic, aesthetic, or somatosensory stimulation. A partner may be physically restrained in a variety of ways, including the use of rope, cuffs, bondage tape, or self-adhering bandage. Impact play is the is a sexual practice in which one person is struck (usually repeatedly) by another person for the gratification of either or both parties which may or may not be sexual in nature. How to Practice the Kink Safely:

With any kink it's important to have a safe word, action and sound. The action is in case it's not possible to be verbal. The sound is incase it's not possible to make words or move. Pick something easy to remember and wouldn't come up naturally. Eg. Red, 3 fast taps, 3 repeating grunts

It's important to remember that consent can be taken away at any point in time. While participating in these things safe words, actions and sounds should all be implemented. The one doing the restraining should check in with the restrained and ensure they are okay and comfortable. Remember it's only a kink if both parties are willing, eager participants. When using restraints there should be thinks like a knife, scissors, or other cutting tools nearby incase there is need to undo the binds quickly. With both Bondage and Impact Play aftercare is a must. Emotional aftercare is also highly recommended. Aftercare expectations should be discussed before beginning

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

I don't get why people hate on different fire emblem games. I've had a lovely time with every game I've played, even fates, which people for some reason insist sucks? It's so good. Here's my favorite things about each game I've played just cause. I am very sick so no one can criticize me btw.

Binding: obviously goes for all gba games but the battle animations are so!!!!! Lovely and charming. Roy's just a silly guy, Lilina :], the cast is excellent, everyone from the most insignificant playable characters to the nastiest of villains like Narcian and Jahn is just so fun and nicely written.

Blazing: I LOVE THE ELIBEAN LORDS SO MUCH THEY HAVE MY ENTIRE HEART AND SOUL. I think fe7 has my favorite cast. Everyone is awesome like in fe6 but cranked up a notch. And I quite like how this game isn't about war!!! Lyn's just trying to save her grandpa and Eliwood is searching for his dad. There's some hints of civil war here and there but ultimately less war than usual which is quite fun and interesting.

Sacred stones: I adore how the game is like. almost horror. In my ideal fe8 remake they would lean into the horror aspect a more and maybe have a higher age rating. I really love how it starts out like any other fe game then you start to see monsters and then there's the necromancy and characters like Riev who worship this vile demonic thing. And the art director for this game was Wada Sachiko! She was such an excellent choice for the art director because her style leans into the darker feel than fe6 and 7. Also I'm a Christian so I do really enjoy L'Arachel's character where she's obviously inspired by Christianity but not in an offensive way. She's a nice god(s) (?) honoring teenage girl full of whimsy and optimism!!! Also I love Eirika. Did a cosplay of her once and gotta say, I felt drop dead gorgeous in it lol.

Path of radiance: I have yet to finish this one but oh MAN do I love the artstyle and combat and character design. Not a single bad character, they're all nicely written. Except Devdan but he's not real if we ignore him. I love how believable Ike and Mist are as siblings and I got say I actually find the bad voice acting to be charming, especially in that opening cutscene where Mist says something like "you're finally awake! 'bout time!" like she's so silly and cute I would die for her. I also really love how Ike is not royalty, he's just some guy!!! With autism!!! Like for a while my view of Ike was kinda skewed by looking at super smash bros content of him so then playing the game and discovering he's such a kind, reasonable and autistic dude was a very pleasant surprise. Seriously though this dude NEEDS to get assessed. Anyway I quite like the laguz too. Reyson, Tibarn and Caineghis are my favorites and I'm excited to see more of Kurthnaga because he's got such a pleasant design. Also just. Caineghis is probably one of my top favorite character designs ever, like top 20. It goes so unbelievably hard.

Awakening: THE TRAGEDY. THE TRAGEDY OF EMMERYN'S DEATH. UWAAAGHHHHH. I love LOVE how Emmeryn is written, how you can't save her despite Lucina being able to time travel, how you're given the options "save Emmeryn? Yes or no?" and it doesn't matter if you pick yes cause she dies anyway. The cast is not quite on the same tier as fe7 or 8 and there's certainly some characters I do not like but my favorites really are just so wonderful and lovely. I'd kill and die for Henry, Maribelle, Libra, Gregor and like 5 other people. The child unit mechanic is also very fun! It's such a clever idea for a time travel game and it gives you so much control over how your units end up. The self sacrifice ending also makes me feel sick. /pos "there's better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know. Here, give me your hand" and then Robin reaches out to Chrom and the symbol of Grima is gone and when he pulls them in closer, he says "it's finally over." just. Ahdhdjsjsjsj!!!!!!!

Fates: now, I've only played birthright but it was a very nice experience. I went in expecting nothing and had my socks blown off. Combat is fun, characters are so silly billy and it's got such a nicely done representation of a broken families. It's nice. The characters and supports are nice, even if I do feel like we could've had a few less support chains. And idc if I doesn't make sense story wise, bringing back child units was fun!! Again with the unit customization but also it's so fun to give your favorite character a teenage/preteen kid that they have to deal with. Azama and Mitama's supports are peak silly. I think people would enjoy birthright more if they took it a little less seriously. It's full of whimsy and people ignore that in favor of comparing it to more serious games which I think is kinda unfair.

Shadows of Valentia: oh MAN. I LOVE THE TWO ARMIES MECHANIC!!!! And bangin' cast! Absolutely adore almost every single one of those gay bitches!!! The artstyle is so gorgeous and I hated the combat at first but grew a soft spot for it, it's so strange and I like it!!! Also the game is less hefty so my computer had an easier time running it than POR, awakening and fates which is quite nice too. I love Berkut's character (I won't defend him, he's a son of a bitch) and MAN Ian Sinclair really went HAM on that voice acting!!! Also Zeke and Tatiana feel handcrafted for me specifically. Angsty married couple? Where one has amnesia?? And the other is worried he'll leave her if he remembers another woman he was dating??? And they're voiced by Patrick Seitz and Cristina Vee, two of my favorite voice actors ever??????? SIGN ME UP!!!! I'm excited to eventually play the Marth games and see what else is up with Zeke :] also adore Celica, Silque, Jesse and Boey! Very nice, solid characters.

Three houses: different routes! DIFFERENT ROUTES!!!! You get to see all sides of a war and it's so fun piecing together the history of Fodlan and nature of Rhea's character as you play each route. And again, excellent voice acting!! And it was fun being in the 3h fandom when it first came out and seeing all the silly things the VAs did together. I've got like 400 hours on this game and it holds a special place in my heart cause it was the very first game I finished without help from siblings and it was my first fe game. Also banging soundtrack, fun and unique combat (LOVE battalions) and amazing characters.

Enage: now I'm only 8 chapters in, I think? Haven't been able to play it recently. But it's so fun! Before getting it, I hated the bright artstyle and character designs but they've grown on me and I have been enlightened so I now know that f!Alear is a cutie patootie and I love her. I love the mechanic of adopting animals. Like I am quite happy recent fe games have, in some aspects, become more a little more lighthearted and silly. I love variation in game series' and when the devs aren't way too formulaic!!! That being said I also love the archetypes!!! I just really love fire emblem :]

I'm excited to finish engage and POR and play more of the games :]

Sorry about the long ass ask, I'm full of love and I want people to know it because I wish other people could learn to be a little more positive and focus on the aspects of fe games that they like instead of being hardcore haters. Okay now everyone say thank you Senri Kita (fe9 art director) and Wada Sachiko

.

[urmultideadfandomperson]

Slashfic Headcanons

Fandom(s): Slashfic Dorian

Character(s): Ghost, Leather, Jay, Mike

Pairing(s): Slashers X MC

Writing Style: Headcanons

Genre(s): Fluff, Cracks

Warning(s): None

Note: This is my first set of Slashfic headcanons, wow. I just started the game three days ago and now I'm at Episode 24. Really great game, I recommend it :3c Anyway, may you enjoy the read!

Ghost

Ghost is an expert at breakdancing. He loves showing off his moves to MC.

He loves teasing and messing with the other Slashers. (Isn't this canon already?)

Ghost acts like a fox when he is around MC—cunning and playful. He also laughs similarly to how a fox giggles!

He has a big talent of rapping and beatboxing.

Ghost is ticklish on his waists. He dislikes admitting that, though. (Make sure you tickle him somewhere else where the other Slashers won't see.)

He's secretly a simp for MC.

Leather

The Arcana Muriel's long lost brother.

Leather is the "responsible adult" among the Slashers. He subtly treats Jay likes a younger brother.

He has vitiligo, hence he is constantly being made fun of by Jammy and Hitch.

Leather likes to clean his chainsaw every now and then, treating it like fine china.

He occasionally likes to whistle a bunch of tunes that are from his childhood.

(This man also definitely has that deep voice and Southern accent... 😩💖)

Jay

Jay has a tooth gap!!

He still isn't very good with making decisions on his own, but everyday, he's trying :3c

Jay's favorite animals are albino mammals.

He has a hidden talent of dancing, but he prefers to keep it secret to everyone... except MC!

Jay has ADHD that was left untreated because of his messed up past. He is learning how to control it with Leather's guidance.

He lowkey likes rock music! He, uh, may or may not have been influenced by a certain Slasher...

Mike

Mike probably knows how to play a piano and/or violin.

He wields a kitchen knife because it was easy to use. He also does not see a reason to show off his weapons.

Mike has a very good singing voice. He is also a great partner in duets (mainly with MC, of course).

He has a very weak presence. It's so weak that he ends up startling the other Slashers multiple times.

Mike takes great care of his luscious hair before and after a murder. He only allows a few people to touch his locks.

This may be unexpected, but he snorts when he laughs! It's very cute. Just don't tell anybody about it, okay?

[bluecatwriter]

There's a long history of Dracula adaptations clearly made by people who have never read the book.

I think in this fine tradition you specifically should adapt the Beetle without reading it

You are SO right, anon. I am going to direct the movie version of The Beetle upon which all other adaptations will be based! It will full of iconic quotes that are not in the book and I will butcher all the themes and characters!

Initial thoughts:

-Robert Holt will be played by some no-name actor who is putting his entire heart, soul and mind into the performance. The Brick Guy is also played by this guy. The first part of the movie is filmed in a very straightforward period-drama style, with the exception of a Carpet Scene, which is filmed in soft focus like a "flashback to dead wife" scene.

-Robert will also of course be referred to as "Bobert" and wear jorts. Alas, he does not get a GAP sweatshirt or a slushie in this version because there are no Ordinary Solicitors to save him.

-The Beetle will be portrayed as just a beetle of varying sizes, and they will be CGI. Specifically the really low-budget bad CGI of the early 2000s. This is very important for my artistic vision.

-Paul Lessingham will also be CGI.

-The cat will be a real cat, and will be voiced by the guy who voiced Garfield from the 1990s Garfield and Friends cartoon.

-I am open to casting suggestions for Sydney Atherton, although again, I suspect that it would be best to forgo celebrities and cast a guy who has played the comic-relief guy in Oklahoma at community theater one too many times. I will change nothing about Sydney Atherton's atrocities, and will in fact probably add a few more, but all the other characters will say how manly and wonderful he is while he's like beating someone to death with a cricket bat in the background. The movie critics will read a lot into this directing choice.

-I will make Marjorie and Dora both girlbosses™ by giving each of them a sword and a multi-level marketing business. They will contribute nothing to the plot and I will be offended if people think they are bland characters.

-I don't really know the other characters, so they will be played by a gender-inclusive rotating cast, and everyone will keep mixing up their names. The goal is for it to be impossible to keep track of who's doing what at all times.

-The cat still dies but goes to Cat Heaven and there's a whole musical dream sequence (inspired by 1930s cartoons and musical numbers from Gene Kelly movies) about the cat having a really great time in Cat Heaven.

-During some mundane scene with this rotating cast of characters and CGI Paul Lessingham, Bobert will dramatically die of starvation in the background. Nobody notices.

-The train crash will be on-screen instead of off, and there will be a very long monologue from the train themself as they dramatically fall off a broken bridge (this will be a practical effect with a full-sized train). This monologue will be delivered by the same guy who plays the cat, and if the actor isn't crying real tears by the end, we will redo the take until we get it. There will be a lot of montaging and soft focus. We will give the train a tragic backstory, but the train is also kind of accepting of their fate, you know? The book of Ecclesiastes will probably be mentioned somewhere in here.

-I will be diverging from canon by having Sydney Atherton die in the train crash. Not from the train, though, he chokes on a shrimp cocktail moments before the train hits the ground.

-Credits roll

-Epilogue scene: Sydney Atherton ends up in Cat Heaven and all the cats jump on him like the hyenas at the end of Lion King and there's just a giant wriggling ball of cats. Bobert is there too, drinking a slushie in the background. Hard cut to black.