#not sure how many people at this point will be getting into this show and need to watch out for spoilers but just in case lol

[foldingfittedsheets]

It started with cantrips, which is why it took people a while to notice. The first few events were people on the news talking about how they’d been needing a light and then suddenly they’d waved a hand and said words and there was light. No one really believed them but as more reports were verified suddenly more people came forward with even less believable stories of what everyone really didn’t want to call magic. Even though it was pretty obviously magic. Spectral floating hands grabbing things that were out of reach, whispered messages that reached their friend seated too far away to hear them.

An EMT who whispered a word and suddenly saved a dying man.

Then the darker stories started filtering in. 

Words spoken in anger causing explosions. Poison spewing forth from a hand gesture. One person gave a retort so witty that someone was hospitalized. 

Everyone was scared, but the nerds started to figure it out fastest. It sure wasn’t the scientists who were doing the equivalent of crying on the floor in the fetal position in their respective labs while reports poured in globally of these occurrences. A growing movement online started spreading lists. They had all the blessings people might have gotten and regardless of how many people scoffed no one could really deny that every instance of magic correlated to a website listing the cantrips in Dungeons and Dragons. People pooled their collective resources to help quantify what was happening and facts started to emerge.

Everybody got one. You had to be at least thirteen to use the magic. That pretty much summed up the only other common denominators. Otherwise it seemed completely random, the magic didn’t line up with any existing character traits. You just unlocked one piece of magic each. People with aggressive cantrips were almost loaded up into camps for suddenly being so dangerous- however many hit points real humans had it was apparently not a big number. A lot more deaths occurred than anyone could feasibly track and the global population panicked.

The legislation for the camps got struck down. There were riots and confusion and for a while everything was pretty chaotic. Firebolts and Eldritch Blasts went off from sheer exuberance as much as anything else. Amidst the rioting were people just living their lives, not using their cantrips. It took a while for things to settle down, but humans can get used to most anything if given enough time.

Almost everybody scanned the list to figure out which they got, but someone with Chill Touch just enjoyed frostier beverages than most. Most people didn’t really do anything other than play around. A youtuber who had gotten Shape Water suddenly surged in popularity as she pivoted her channel to creating beautiful patterns with colored water. Other online personalities quickly followed and those with combat focused magic set up backyard target practice to show off. Some fires resulted as well as numerous noise complaints and a law was passed limiting where people could practice magic. It was virtually unenforceable but the people in charge were trying to keep a grip on the situation.

Noticeably the largest subset of the population that used their magic were those who had gotten Spare the Dying. Every government turned out the call that such individuals would receive a generous stipend for taking to the hospitals and stabilizing the sick and injured. Death rates dropped substantially, but it was still only a cantrip. Cancer marched on, but many got to live after miraculous recoveries.

Months passed and things started to become a little more normal. There were still debates about what had caused it and how to regulate magic but day to day life settled down. Speculations over what the long term ramifications would be continued as well as why those cantrips. Wizards of the Coast refused to comment for the first six months, closing its doors to the rioting and keeping them closed. At the end of six months they abruptly published a new line of cantrip cards with all kinds of utility and no combat usage whatsoever. The internet exploded and the government wasn’t pleased, but nothing happened. No one got any new magic. People wondered if those under thirteen would manifest the new stuff, but no one did. They just blew out their thirteenth birthday candles and got handed a cantrip like everyone else. 

A year later a mechanic in rural Canada was peering into the engine of a busted car. He realized he needed some lubricant and instead of reaching for his can he waved a hand and splattered the car with Grease that had burst from his hand. He was a calm sort of fellow so he called up the local news and said there was more magic. They asked first what cantrip he had- folks who received Prestidigitation had made a number of false alarms on receiving additional magic. The mechanic told them his cantrip was Infestation which he’d never had cause to use after figuring it out. 

The press descended and demanded a demonstration. Most people had read up on the basic rules of magic at that point, so everyone understood when the mechanic said they’d have to wait until the next day. A media storm went up the next day with headlines blaring that first level magic had been unlocked after the passing of the lunar new year. 

A wide contingent had been waiting for this opportunity. The spell list went out again amidst less panic but more chaos. There was a rash of identity thefts no could trace and eventually people realized Disguise Self posed a significant challenge to daily life. Celebrities had trouble convincing people they were who they said as random citizens took their faces on numerous joyrides. A scandal broke when it turned out an A list actor had hired someone else to play them while they went on vacation but the details were kept very hush hush.

Hospitals called out desperately for anyone with healing magic and most of those blessed with Cure Wounds and Healing Word answered. People with Goodberry formed community food kitchens and for the first time it seemed like hunger could actually be eliminated. Veterinary offices and zoos made special positions for those who could cast Animal Friendship and Speak with Animals.

A celebrity chef hit the jackpot with Purify Food and Drink and made a whole spinoff series where she went dumpster diving and made five star meals out of rotting leftovers. Several people changed careers entirely to lend their services to study ancient texts with Comprehend Languages. Even one hour a day led to huge leaps in discovery and understanding of ancient civilizations. 

A small murmur of worry followed the new influx of skills and power. What would happen when more magic was unlocked? The amount of people now running around with dangerous combat spells was even greater than before. Would people have to worry about necromancy? New crimes were being invented faster than laws could keep up as magic was put to novel and interesting uses. 

A year passed and everyone waited with bated breath for the lunar new year, but nothing happened. 

But I’m pretty sure I figured it out. We got handed cantrips. And we waited a year for first level spells. I’m pretty sure it’s one more year, and then things will really start to get interesting.

Inspired by this poll. If you enjoyed my writing consider leaving a tip on my Ko-fi!

[khorneschosen]

I knew that you're opening argument was far too generous. I don't think you realized what you are offering me because you don't actually know a lot about leftism and I know a great deal out of 10 years of patient study and direct experience. Like leftists don't give you a free hand of how to criticize it because they know that there's a lot of areas that you can be very critical of and they will not have a response to.

Like you see very many arguments about how efficient collectivism is anymore because we very single-handedly proved that leftism of any variety is not more efficient than the free market.

Like collectivism is a very big part of leftism. It's not individual choice in fact you'll find that that is a rarity amongst leftist and that's why my theory is right now the left is pretending to be for personal choices but they actually plan to get rid of those changes after the revolution. They don't even believe that the self or the individual is a unit of society conceptually. The class is the unit of society according to leftism. So if you as a worker and individual are getting shafted under leftism that's okay because your class is technically in a far better position collectively.

It's why when they discuss workers they don't mean individual workers they mean workers as a class.

I'm being very sincere about my point of discussion metaphysics and epistemology. Metaphysics means the philosophy of what is epistemology is how do we know. Most of the time I argue it's to try and bring it to this point because this is usually where the fundamental disagreement comes from.

If you don't understand what epistemology is then you really can't debate philosophy with me because you don't understand what your own epistemology is which is dialectic materialism.

Did you know that that system is why they're sure that they're right that system I described is something did they need to be true in order for every other theory to count that came after to be right.

Also wrong implies that there is an error of knowledge invalid implies there was a failure of logic.

I really want you to understand this but everyone in politics everyone in philosophy every philosophy out there wants people to be happy successful and prosperous in their own way. The point is whether they're capable of producing that.

Like I want you to understand that argument you're giving is very much what feudalist gave back in the day as a justification for their own belief system and social structure. Because if we were to judge political or philosophical systems by their intentions then everything would be valid but we don't judge them by intention we judge them by results because that is the actual thing that should be measured.

It's like trying to say Well I intended to show this with my hypothesis but my experiment doesn't show it. You wouldn't accept it as valid You understand? Because the intention is not the experiment it is not the scientific process it's not the philosophical process and it's not the moral process. It's just an intention.

Yet you remember what I was saying about leftist try to avoid arguments they know aren't very good none of them talk about metaphysics anymore or the very least they typically only do it when you've been in with them for a very long time most leftists have never heard of how dialectic materialism works It's what they call reading theory.

Which just means studying their own philosophy. Which I have done.

Oh no dude it is not a Soviet thing It's a full-on thing with leftism it didn't start with the Soviet Union it started with Karl Marx and Engels. It's why you see it with every branch of leftism and it's philosophical community.

Again leftist don't like talking about it very much because they don't want people understanding. This is the fundamental of their entire philosophy It's foundational They need it to be true in order for every other theory to be true and it's really bad.

And partially one of the reasons why they don't discuss it as much anymore is because most of leftism now has been defined by now and Mal's whole thing was revolutionary change through one method being sloganering which is to dumb down the information to basically one line. You notice this right A lot of leftist points are just slogans.

It's really not my guy if anything it's very simple in my opinion.

Also reject private property means private ownership of the means of production please understand your own philosophy.

Looking more like a checklist these days. I want off this ride. 😭

[esote-rika]

to talk is to bare | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: hurt/comfort, fluff Summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately Content: insecure reader, written with early s2 Spencer in mind (glasses!Spencer rawr), reader wears makeup, implied bad relationships in the past, Spencer is just a sweetheart Word count: 2.4k A/N: entry for #lovers1kevent (congrats @mggslover muah) - the lyric prompt for this is “And I knew how you took your coffee and your favorite songs by heart, I read all of your (self help) books so you'd think that I was smart” from enough for you by Olivia Rodrigo. This was supposed to just be pure angst but apparently, I can't write this man as anything other than the perfect boyfriend.

“Well, actually, Dostoevsky intended the book to be a critique on certain schools of thoughts and ideologies, namely...”

You stare at your boyfriend, nodding along as he explains the intricacies and historical context of Notes from the Underground to you. His smile is kind and excited when he stops, looking at you expectantly.

“Right.” the smile on your face isn't forced, per se, but neither does it reach your eyes. How many times has it happened this month? It isn’t that you’re keeping count of all the times he’s corrected you—truthfully, you can’t, because you’ve lost count. And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? The fact that you can’t even keep track of his corrections anymore, because he does it all the time. 

You remind yourself he's not doing this to deliberately make you feel stupid, your memory immediately calling forth all the times you've seen him correct other people — his teammates, the cashier at your favorite bookstore, a random person in the park. It's never pointed, nor is the act laced with anything but genuine, loving desire to share his knowledge. He's not like the men you've had to deal with in the past, the ones who jump at every opportunity to show off that they know more than you, that they're correct and you're wrong.

But this is Spencer. Sweet, wholly inexperienced, awkward. Half the time, he doesn't know how he comes across, and you've been dating him long enough to understand that. 

No, his corrections aren’t the crux of the issue. In fact, it isn’t even him. It’s you, and all the treacherous thoughts running through your mind. This damn book you’d read because you saw a dog eared copy in his satchel one day, pushing through pages upon pages of dense material just to catch up and relate with him, only to still come up short and have yourself be corrected.

The sting is still there, lingering and acrid in the back of your tongue. You cannot pinpoint it yet, this But it's Spencer Reid, so you grit your teeth and remind yourself not to take it personally. The words slip out easily. You could almost believe they aren’t lies. “Thank you for letting me know.”

The beam on his face is a reminder that not everyone is as patient, that he's come to expect looks that range from baffled to downright annoyed. Nobody else allows him free reign to talk like this, long winded rambles that get nipped at the bud with a sharp Reid. He smiles, beams at you, and this time the smile on your lips finally reaches your eyes.

“So what did I get wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong,” he’s pulling you in as he answers, lips finding the underside of your jaw and the bitterness dissipates, sweetens into something that makes your toes curl, “Just a little inaccurate.”

Your body melts into him easily. “You don't have to sugarcoat with me.”

“I'm not, it's literature. You can interpret it however you want, I just thought knowing the rest of the context would help you with your opinion.” he's kissing down your neck, breaths ghosting over your skin as he continues to talk, and you sink into his arms, forgetting why you were even feeling annoyed in the first place.

You’re not sure if you like the color you’ve put to make your cheeks flush. It's always been a point of contention in the past, your exes saying you don't put enough effort in, so this time with Spencer, you try. Even though you're not the best at it, even though you feel a little foolish because it seems a little too bright despite all of your hurried attempts to blend it a little more. But it’s too late to change now. You don’t want to go through the whole deal of reapplying your makeup because that would mean running late, so you ignore it and head to the cafe quickly. 

Spencer isn't there yet. You order your drinks, his black and into which you dump an exorbitant amount of sugar. Memorization is his thing, but you've come to learn a thing or two about him in the time you two are dating.

He's a few minutes late, and when he arrives, Spencer’s eyes lock on you. Or, more specifically, your cheeks.

“That bad?” you tease, standing from your seat and leaning over for a kiss. 

“You don’t have the coloring for that shade of red.”

Your brow knits as you pull away. Attempting to hide the flood of insecurity that swept through your chest, you let out a chuckle. Soft, shaky, and accompanied with a confused, “What?”

“It makes your cheeks look a little inflamed.”

“Oh.” 

Regret fills your chest, settling in your lungs until it’s difficult to breathe. You should have trusted your instincts and scrubbed the makeup off. Shouldn’t have tried something new on the one day the two of you can go out. He’s probably embarrassed by you. How silly, being a full grown woman wearing makeup bordering on clownish. 

He must have caught the hurt in your voice, the way your body deflates because he’s quick to remedy. “Hey, what’s that look for?”

It should embarrass you, the speed at which he picks up on your emotions. But he’s a profiler after all, he’s specifically trained for this, but sometimes you wish he doesn’t use it against you. Gentle hands cup your face. Cold hands, perpetually so until you’ve started keeping them between yours. They tilt your head up. 

“Talk to me.” 

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is ever stupid.”

You smile, “No, I think we both know that’s a lie.”

He relents. He knows you’re right; there are moments where you don’t make sense. “Not stupid, just…” his eyes roam your face while he searches for the word to use as compromise, as though he’ll find it tucked somewhere in your pretty features, “Lapses in discernment.”

You roll your eyes at his fancy vernacular, the attempt to soothe his mistake. “I think I prefer the layman’s term.” 

Spencer laughs sheepishly, then presses his lips to your forehead, “I’m never using that to describe you.” he murmurs against your skin, and then, “I'm sorry.”

Antarctica could melt from the warmth in your chest.  “You don't even know what you're apologizing for.”

“I upset you. That's reason enough.”

You sigh, pulling him to join you on the plush booth seat you'd managed to secure for your date. “Well, there's nothing to forgive.”

He accepts the coffee you hand him, corners of his mouth curved in a gentle smile. He sips, and you stew in silence, knowing that you shouldn't be leaving him guessing like this. He'd want to know, you can tell by the way he's studying you, the way he wants to examine and turn over your thoughts and reactions like he does with everything else in his life. But he waits, lets you open up if you so wish.

God, he's perfect.

“I was just having second thoughts about my makeup,” you murmur finally, “And you kind of confirmed it. I told you it's stupid.”

“Not stupid at all. I'm sorry,” you wonder if he takes his coffee sweet to match his personality, this asshole, “It was an insensitive comment. And for what it's worth, you look beautiful regardless.”

“Inflamed cheeks and all?” 

He laughs, pulling you to his side, lips firmly planted on your cheek “Inflamed cheeks and all.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn the blush after all; you're sure he's making you flush scarlet just by being such a sweetheart.

“Oh Spencer knows her.” the teasing tone in Derek Morgan’s voice normally makes you smile, but something about his tone makes you pause. You stare at the TV, where a new show is running, eyes zeroed in on the blonde actress.

“Spencer knows her?”

“Knew,” your boyfriend supplies, “Very briefly.”

Derek Morgan gives him a knowing smirk that has your stomach churning all the way to the end of the night, when you’re getting ready for bed.

You're in his apartment, in an old pair of his plaid pajamas and a t-shirt that fits you surprisingly well. It always makes you smile, his slight frame, the way you could easily steal his clothes and they wouldn't dwarf you too much. But tonight, Derek's words ring over and over again, bringing forth the image of her—Lila Archer, dazzling, perfectly curvy, an actress on a popular TV series… and apparently, a friend of his. You aren't really sure where this jealousy is coming from. He’s a trustworthy man, and you know he loves you. Still, the image of the beautiful actress persists, even as you climb into bed with him.

He's reading as he usually is, the low lamplight casting shadows over the sharp planes of his face. Without even looking, he shifts the book to his other hand, freeing up an arm to draw you to his body. It's easy, quiet, his heartbeat fluttering beneath your ear as you rest your head on his chest. The exact opposite of your own heartbeat right now.

“What's on your mind?” 

“Nothing.” It should be a sin, the way you keep denying your feelings. But it's just so silly, and you're a grown woman. Jealousy and insecurity shouldn't be consuming you like this, and yet…

“Please don't lie to me,” his fingers are in your hair, tangling deep into the strands and seeking for your scalp. They’re soothing and rhythmic upon contact, lulling your body into a sense of relaxation even though your heart still hammers at your chest.

“Why do you say that?”

“You usually remind me to use the overhead lights when I read.” fingers putting pressure on your scalp, traveling to your temple. He has you in the palm of his hands, “You didn't do that tonight. And your heartbeat's going at an abnormally high rate, even though I'm quite certain you didn't do anything strenuous before coming to bed. What's going on?” 

Damn him and his attention to detail, and the way he’'s learned your little quirks and oddities. He puts down his book and you turn your face to hide into his chest.

You chew on your bottom lip, reminding youself that this is Spencer, he wouldn't judge. “How’d you know her?” your voice is muffled against his shirt, “Lila.”

“We had a case in Los Angeles.” he pauses, as if considering if he should say more. Right. Confidentiality. You nod, accepting his answer.

“Must have been a high profile one then,” you muse, “Or were you just hanging around Hollywood studios with Derek?” It’s an unfair statement, but you can’t help it.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.” You look back up at him and oh there’s guilt swimming in pools of honey eyes. “I mean, we kissed once, but I swear, nothing beyond that.”

You exhale. A kiss. He's kissed a TV starlet. 

This shouldn’t even be an issue. This is before you were even in the picture after all. It’s not fair to uphold him to some weird standard. You certainly had relationships before him. But none of them had been as stunning as Lila Archer. And if he could have Lila Archer, then what is he doing with you? 

“Hey,” his other hand comes to stroke your cheek, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles, “Talk to me.”

It's a difficult thing, being mature and communicating when you just want to stew, but god he's so good, you can't punish him for this, for anything. “I thought you said I was your first girlfriend?” you say instead, teasing him.

“You are, but you know, I’ve kissed before, and been on dates—”

“With Lila?”

“No, with JJ.”

Oh.

“JJ?”

JJ? His lovely, warm spring day beauty coworker JJ? He went on a date with her? And kissed Lila Archer. It’s almost ridiculous, thinking about the type of women he's had dalliances with—lithe, blonde, perfect, before he settled with you. 

“Yeah, I took her to a Redskins game,” he says, his hold on your face still light. There's room to move if you want to, space to pull away should you need it and god he's just so perfect.

“You have a type, huh?” it comes out unbidden, sharp but dulled by a bitter laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“With women,” you reply, trying to temper the snappy tone of your voice. It's not fair to lash out at him like this, you know that, yet you can't help it. It's habit at this point, a form of defense that your exes have all been too happy to participate, “I'm the outlier.”

And apparently, he's an outlier too because his voice grows even softer, eyes searching your face with an anxiety that fills you with guilt. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you sigh, arm draping over his waist and hugging him tight. 

He returns the favor, tangling your legs together until you're a mess of limbs under his sheets. “Then what's wrong?”

“Sometimes I just feel like—like I'm not good enough to be dating you.” there it is, whispered into his chest, striking straight to his heart. “And now, knowing that you could have had all of these — these women who could pass for models—”

“Angel,” the way he says the nickname makes you hide even further into his chest. He closes his arms around you, holding you so tightly it's difficult to breathe, but that's okay. Let him fuse your bodies together, let his breaths be yours too, “That's not true, you know that's not true.”

“Isn't it? You're so — you. Intelligent, well decorated in academia, an an elite FBI unit…”

He laughs, “I’m also an endlessly annoying know it all, I failed my gun license exam more than once, I don't have abs—”

“You don't need abs,” you counter, fingers clutching on his shirt.

“Wouldn't you rather be with a guy with a six pack?”

“I'd rather be with you.”

He gently moves away from you, hands finding your face to make you look at him. “And I'd rather be with you.”

You pout, “You can't use my words against me, ‘s not fair.” 

He laughs again, leaning to capture your lips in the gentlest of kisses, “I want you, I chose you, and I adore you,” he's murmuring between each kiss, hands cradling your face, “And if you have these thoughts again, tell me, so I can keep reminding you just how much I love you.” 

➺ My masterlist | Event masterlist

➺ thank you so much for reading <3

[ckret2]

Chapter 85 of human Bill Cipher getting a ✨💅 makeover 💇‍♀️✨ so he can seduce a government agent into not arresting him and/or the Mystery Shack gang: a flashback to Scalene & Euclid on Bill's birthday, Pacifica receiving the world's most inept lesson about fatphobia, and the continued adventures of the Pines family attempting to get a flash drive out of a goat's guts.

####

Scalene braced one shaking hand with the other as she reapplied her lipstick—a red so bright it was nearly orange, all the better to make her look a little less sickly than she felt.

She tried to pretend she didn't notice Euclid glaring daggers at her.

She'd come out of her swoon as she was being helped outside by several shapes, including Euclid supporting her with one arm and carrying Bill in the other. Once they were outdoors, someone had shoved the trophy and knives Bill had won into Euclid's hands, and then they'd been left outside as everyone else's attention turned to dealing with the mysterious fire that had spontaneously ignited inside; and for the past few minutes, Scalene had been putting herself back together while Euclid tried to soothe Bill.

Finally, once she deemed herself sufficiently presentable, she held out her arms to Euclid and their still-whimpering child. "All right, I can take him."

Euclid didn't move.

"Come on! You're not gonna hold a grudge against me for fainting, are you?"

Euclid said, "What did I tell you?"

"I brought my cane," Scalene said indignantly.

"Well, where was it?"

There was a long silence.

"Lene..."

"Oh, don't give me that look, it was just behind the curtain! I wasn't about to bring it on stage, I had to make sure Billy looked good!"

"What does your cane have to do with how good he looks?!"

"And the mayor didn't hand over the trophy fast enough," she said, ignoring Euclid's question. "If he had, I could have leaned on that. But no, he just kept yammering on..."

Euclid's copper blue eye had the most piercing glare in town. The fact that he also had the worst eyesight in town did nothing to dispel its power. Scalene much preferred when it was aimed at other people.

But then Bill wiggled his tiny hands toward Scalene with a displeased coo; and with a warning, "Careful," Euclid finally handed him over. "So. He didn't do too bad for his first outing. We've got a winner on our hands?"

Scalene was off the hook. She relaxed. "I think we do. The judges were very impressed he showed up to his first contest on his birthday." 

"You'll only be able to do that once," Euclid pointed out.

"Sure, but for the rest of his life he can tell judges he went to his first pageant on the day he was born—can't you?" She directed the question to Bill. "Yes you can! That shows real ambition!" She poked one of his sides just beneath his eye. "And they were impressed by his good looks and how calm he is."

That was well deserved. Bill had entered the world with eye wide open—rather than face scrunched up and eye retracted to cry like most infants—and looking around for his parents, as though he were already used to the light and recognized his surroundings.

"Glad the judges didn't find it creepy, at least," Euclid said.

Scalene waved him off. "What did those nurses know? They should've been grateful to get a kid that isn't wailing in their faces! They couldn't appreciate how adorable he is—but look at him. From the front you'd think he's an oval." It was true: his corners were soft and rounded, and his angles were so flexible that his top angle squashed down toward his feet, making it look more like a right angle than acute. On top of that, his bright, shining pupil was so wide it took up half his face. "One of the judges said he looks downright cherubic. That's going on your resumé, young triangle."

Bill blinked sweetly up at his mother. He would never in his life need to write a resumé, for all the worst reasons.

"And—" Euclid lowered his voice, "—none of them realized how many birth defects he has?"

She swatted his arm. "Shh! No. Everything we've got is too obscure. As far as the pageant circuit is concerned, they're birth assets. My corners were still round when I started competing, and the judges thought I was adorable, too. As long as he goes on stage without braces on, they'll think he looks unique instead of deformed—just like I did."

"If he keeps going on stage without braces, he'll need a cane before he's middle-aged, just like you do."

"Not until his best pageant years are behind him," Scalene said icily. "Besides, we'll do better by him than my mother did for me. We already know what he has—"

"—we think we do, you left before the doctors could examine him—"

"—and I've already got appointments lined up for him with the best orthopedic doctor in the county and your and Euler's optometrist. We'll make sure his face stays pretty, his angles sharpen up, and his organs don't collapse in on themselves. He's just lucky he's got a mother that knows how to make that big eye of his look cute instead of bulgy." She pointed at the trophy, "As long as his good looks keep winning prizes, he'll be able to pay off his own medical bills and bring home a few bonuses."

For the first time, Euclid turned his attention to the trophy and the Knifeco gift box, and he laughed sharply. "Knifeco's still got the myor convinced that the next sample set he gives away for free will get everybody excited to order a full set from him, huh?"

Scalene scoffed. "I don't know why anybody would bother to order one. If they wait long enough and show up to a few city events, eventually they'll win a full set. How much of his own money has he spent on knife sample sets by now?"

"Last I heard? 30, 40k? We probably won't find out how much he's embezzled from city funds 'til next election."

"Otto's an idiot," Scalene said. "After all these years, you'd think he'd figure out the only way to make money at that company is to recruit more salesmen and get a cut of the profits from the kits they sell."

"You'd think." Euclid shrugged impassively. "But as long as I'm still getting 5% from each of his sales to himself, I'm not about to tell him that." He rubbed a thumb on one of Scalene's corners, rubbing off a bit of waxy red side liner to expose the duller pink underneath. "We probably wouldn't be able to afford your makeup habit without him."

Scalene swatted Euclid's hand away. "Well, we can throw away your old chipped set." She patted the dark wood box. "From now on, we're using the set Billy won for us—isn't that right, Billy?" She bounced Bill lightly by her side. He was staring at the box, transfixed. "I think he likes it! That's right, these are your birthday knives, sweetheart."

When his parents looked at the box, they only saw the dark wood; but Bill saw through the wood—over the wood—to the silvery needlelike knives within. They gleamed with starlight shining down from a higher dimension. And then Bill looked up at the stars, glittering far above. He wiggled in Scalene's arm, but couldn't figure out how to move his limbs in the direction he saw above.

Euclid looked at the wiggling child, and tensed up. "Lene. Look at his eye."

She did, and sucked in a sharp breath. "What happened to him?"

"If this is because you dropped him..."

Bill's pupil had disappeared, leaving his eye looking empty and bloodshot silver. But at the change in the tone of his parents' voices, he blinked and focused on them curiously, his pupil back where it belonged like it had never disappeared.

They stared speechlessly at him.

"Did you and Euler's eyes ever do that?" Scalene asked. "Before those surgeries you got as kids?"

"Not—not that I remember. But I could ask Mom and Dad," he said, already knowing the answer would be no.

She stared at Bill's eye a moment longer; but when he didn't do anything but stare back innocently, she sighed. "Well, that's something else we can ask your optometrist. Maybe he'll have a fix for it."

####

While Pacifica was in the bathroom cleaning up after their makeup experimentation, Goldie stood from his folding chair to lean on the desk next to Mabel, staring with a look of intense concentration into the air over the chair about where his head had been.

"What's up?" Pacifica asked, leaning out of the bathroom.

Distractedly, Goldie said, "Nothing, just watching you do my face."

Pacifica frowned. "What? I'm over here?"

Mabel leaned between them, laughing nervously. "What he means is, he does this thing where he, uhh, imagines that he can see what happened around him in the past, so he's... pretending he's watching you put makeup on his face a few minutes ago." At Pacifica's skeptical look, Mabel hastily added, "It's not like a psychic thing or anything! It's just a... um..."

Goldie mumbled, "Mindfulness visualization exercise."

"Yeah! It helps him memorize stuff! Right?"

"You bet. All the best venture capitalists are doing it."

Pacifica said, "Oh, I think a CEO my dad invited over was talking about that. Is it like a meditation thing? You think about what you want to get it?"

"Say it until you believe it, believe it until it's true!" Mabel said.

Goldie elbowed her. "Look who's been paying attention." She beamed at him.

Pacifica packed the makeup, brushes, and spare hair ties and pins he'd need in a bag, and handed it over. "Okay, that should take care of your face. When you shower tonight, remember to wash all the makeup off, you do not want this messing with your pores; remember to moisturize or your skin will crack apart like a mummy's"—one of her mother's favorite threats—"get Mabel to help pin your curls tomorrow, and just do what I showed you for the rest. Now we just have to worry about clothing." She sized up his hair color, his skin color—couldn't quite bring herself to look at his eye color, though. "I think you're a spring. You can probably pull off some autumn colors too. But usually springs are supposed to tan easier than they burn..."

"I do!" He gestured at himself, sunburns and all, and said proudly, "This took hard work!"

That answered a question she'd been asking herself all day, and brought up half a dozen more. "Not going to ask. So, you want to go for bright, clear, warm colors. And you'll look better in gold accessories."

"I know," he said smugly.

Colors were the easy part. She wished she'd had time to call up her personal tailor to bring by some dresses that could be adjusted. Goldie had such a weird body shape—narrow shoulders, sticklike arms, slender calves, and then a wide waist and even wider hips. There couldn't be much clothing that fit him, masculine or feminine. "Do you have any cute clothes in colors that flatter you? Feminine clothes?"

"What's feminine? Dresses?" Goldie turned to Mabel. "Everything else is hit-or-miss, but dresses and skirts are still universally feminine around here, right?" Pacifica was dying to know what Goldie's life had been like.

"Yeah," Mabel said, "I think we managed to get that yellow summer dress at the mall."

Pacifica winced. "Is a summer dress all you've got?" Not the worse choice, depending on the cut, but it probably wouldn't do his figure any favors.

"It's either that or Jesús's grandma's skirts," Goldie said, shrugging. "Did we manage to snag that sparkly dress with all the pink peacock feathers?"

"That's more of a third date dress. You don't want him to think you're out of his league," Mabel said. "It's too bad we didn't get that galaxy print skirt."

"You know what I could really use? Halter top trapeze dress. Maybe stick a petticoat under the skirt for extra volume. They've gotta make trapeze dresses with petticoats somewhere."

"I could probably make one," said Mabel (who wasn't even sure what a trapeze dress was but was over the moon to see him voluntarily express an interest in human clothing).

Pacifica's face twisted in a grimace. Pityingly, she said, "Oh, you really don't know your body type at all."

He gave her an unimpressed look. "Don't I?"

The thing was, a trapeze dress in and of itself wasn't a bad idea: it was tight around the bust, flared out like a tent underneath, and stopped before the knees; so it could highlight his slim shoulders and arms, let him show off his thin calves, and do at least a bit to conceal those thunder thighs and flabby waistline. But... "A halter top would make your shoulders look way too narrow; and a petticoat would completely undermine the flattering effects of a trapeze dress, and—where would you even position the petticoat? Trapeze dresses doesn't have a waistline."

"About where the skirt starts," Goldie said, drawing a line in the air around bust height.

He couldn't be serious. "Absolutely not. You'd look like a walking triangle."

A smile of near maniacal glee stretched across Goldie's face. Before he could say anything, Mabel grabbed his arm and said, "I think you should just go with what Pacifica says! Pacifica, what do you think?"

"Just—stick with the dress you already have." Between a triangle trapeze dress, the threat of pink feathers, and galaxy print, suddenly Pacifica was grateful for the yellow summer dress. "It's great. Summer dresses are flirty. Do you have shoes that match it?"

Goldie pointed at his fish slippers. "It's these, black oxfords, or foam clogs."

"No," Pacifica said. "Sandals, flats, or open toe heels. And throw away the fish slippers."

"Never."

Mabel said, "You could reuse the sandals you borrowed from Dipper for your Summerween costume?"

"Please don't tell me what they look like," Pacifica said. "Okay, dress, shoes—accessories... just, get something nice but understated. And classy. Do I need to explain what 'classy' looks like?"

"Relax, I used to have a collection of gold that put Albion Art to shame," Goldie said. "I know how to do 'classy.'"

"I'm going to pretend I trust you," Pacifica said. "Okay, underwear—got to wear a bra unless the dress has built-in support; and if you hurry, it's probably not too late to go wherever poor people shop and grab some shapewear for your..." she gestured vaguely toward Goldie's abdomen, "problem area..."

"No," Goldie said flatly. "I'm drawing the line at shapewear. I look fine."

Ooh, not good. His attitude toward everything else about his looks ranged from "apathy" to "disgust," why was flaunting his not-flauntworthy curves the point where he chose to push back? She should've been more direct with him.  "Hon, I love the confidence, but..." Pacifica grimaced apologetically. "You're fat. Like, really fat. And you're not gonna win this guy if he thinks you've let yourself go."

Mabel shot from slouching to sitting straight up. "Pacifica!"

"What, it's true! He probably thinks having skinny arms hides it, but back me up here—it is not subtle."

"Don't say that, he's beautiful!!"

Pacifica had been braced for Goldie to be outraged, embarrassed, ashamed, go into denial, something—just about anything except snort with laughter. He waved them off when they looked at him. Pacifica wondered whether he'd misunderstood the conversation. "Listen to you two! You're letting the subtext do so much of the heavy lifting that you don't even realize half the things you're saying." His gaze on them was cold and faintly amused; and for a moment Pacifica felt like a bug whose behavior was being studied by some immense alien being, and who had been judged inferior.

"Anyway, I'm not trying to hide anything—and I'd make it less subtle if I could. I love my shape!" He pantomimed his shape with his hands—although, where most people would sort of draw an hourglass shape if they wanted to their body's curves, the shape he drew in the air looked more like a triangle. Which, admittedly, was more true to his actual appearance. "And you're changing it over my dead bo—" He winced, muttering, "Maybe not the best way to put that."

Now Pacifica wondered if she'd misunderstood him. "What."

"Look, kid..." Goldie stood straighter, put a hand on Pacifica's shoulder, and adopted the most patronizing tone she'd ever heard. "I know your parents taught you the only things contributing to your personal worth are how rich you are and how attractive other people find you, so let's agree that's all that really matters, right?"

"Um," said Pacifica, who was pretty sure she was about to receive some twee lesson about 'inner beauty' but had never heard one that started with the lecturer agreeing that wealth and looks were the most important things.

"And I know Missy Priscy's got you convinced that your beauty and your weight are engaged in a battle to the death over the right to terraform your flesh. So this might blow your mind—but you've been lied to! The sight of a human female over size 4 doesn't cause the contents of a human male's gonads to curdle! Fat chicks have been successfully getting hitched and passing the genetic baton to their offspring for all of human history—and reproduction is the only objective benchmark evolution has to measure who's hot and who's not, so you can rate that higher than the opinion of a tarnished trophy who thinks enough botox will make her immortal. Hear what I'm saying, Alpaca. Absorb it. Incorporate it into your worldview."

She bristled at the description of her mother, but swallowed back the urge to lash out. He was bitter and taking it out on her. He was feeding her a load of sour grapes. This was just the kind of thing fat people told themselves to feel less bad about being fat. "Riiight."

Goldie's patronizing smirk curled down at one corner in irritation. "Ah, who'm I kidding! You're not gonna believe me! Your mom, your modeling job, the pageant world, the beauty industry—they've burrowed way too deep in your head, and there's no digging them back out without a lobotomy." He scoffed. "You're one snide jab at the wrong time away from an eating disorder."

"Hey! How dare you!" Pacifica thought that was way meaner than anything she'd said.

Mabel snapped, "B—Goldie! Be nice! What's gotten into you two!"

"Yeesh, touched a nerve! Excuse me!" He raised his hands apologetically, but he was grinning impishly. "Anyway—" he raised his voice as the girls attempted to scold him again, "Anyway! More to the point—our target looked me up and down in a bikini and asked if he could help slather sunscreen around my waist, so I think he thinks my body looks great in the shape it's already in. And getting the guy is the only important thing—right?"

If Goldie was telling the truth, Pacifica couldn't think of any other reason some guy would volunteer to rub sunscreen on him—even if she found it hard to believe. And if he was making it up, then whatever, he could sabotage himself if he wanted, she didn't care. She rolled her eyes, grit her teeth, and muttered, "Fine."

"Not fine! Both of you hold on!" Mabel stood, decided she wasn't tall enough, and climbed on the folding chair.  "You two were just really mean to each other! That's terrible—especially after you were getting along so great! Apologize to each other!" She crossed her arms, glaring them down.

Pacifica stared at her in disbelief, brows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

But Goldie didn't look like this was odd to him at all. He just rolled his eyes—"All right, all right,"—and looked at Pacifica. "C'mon. You can't be that mad. You've heard worse."

She scowled at him, but she supposed she had. From her mom, her old pageant coach, her manager that got her modeling jobs—she was just more used to warnings about getting fat than she was to warnings about fearing getting fat. "So have you."

"Worse than you can imagine," Goldie said. "We're good?"

"We're good," Pacifica said.

Goldie looked at Mabel. "We're good!"

Mabel looked between the two of them suspiciously. "That was an apology?"

"Got the job done, didn't it?"

Mabel didn't look pleased, but she sat down on the folding chair and crossed her arms.

Pacifica said, "Okay, you're off the hook for shapewear—but if he thinks you look like a slob, it's on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Noted!"

"But you've got to wear a bra. What are the straps like on the summer dress, do you have a bra that'll fit under it okay?"

Goldie groaned. "We can reuse my bikini and pad the cups or something. We don't have time to go to the mall and figure out what size I am."

In horror, Pacifica quietly asked, "Do... do you not even own a bra."

"Why would I?" Goldie asked, like he couldn't imagine a single practical reason. Hard to tell his size through an oversized t-shirt; he was definitely small, but it wasn't like he was flat. "I've never really cared about local fashion outside of batiks, brocades, tie dyes, and sarcastic t-shirts, but now that it's affecting me personally? I cannot wait for that particular fad to die."

Since when were batiks local. And who calls bras a fad. That's like calling shoes a fad. "What is your life like," Pacifica asked.

Goldie grinned. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

####

"That's it. That's all I can do for you," Pacifica said. "Good luck on... whatever it is you're doing. Because I'm pretty sure you're not actually into this guy?"

Mabel said, "Wooing a federal agent to avoid getting the whole family arrested!"

Pacifica nodded. "Oh, cool. Let me know how that goes."

Mabel stopped to hug Giorgio on the way out.

As they left Pacifica's barn, Bill turned to face Mabel. "Welp!" He pantomimed like he was playing a violin, "Ready to bow on some poor sucker's heartstrings until we yank out his aorta?"

"Ha ha. Yeah. Sure." Mabel tried to smile and it came out as a grimace. "Sounds great."

"Hey, don't give me that look!" He shoved Mabel's shoulder. "You've heard me say gorier things than that!" He flashed her a grin she could only describe as bloodthirsty, and bounced off toward the road back to town, so cheerful he was very nearly floating.

And she watched him go, biting her lip.

Something had been bothering her since his argument with Pacifica:

She couldn't figure out why he wasn't better.

####

Bill nudged Mabel. "Hey. Am I in trouble?"

"What?"

"You've been giving me the silent treatment since we left." That had been about fifteen minutes earlier. "Is it because of the eating disorder thing? Do I have to apologize to you for that? It's not like I was insulting her! If anything, I did her a favor by warning her—"

She gave him a sour look—that had been very rude, even if not Bill's typical existential horror cosmic nightmare level rudeness—but said, "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking about stuff."

"Are you gonna share it, or do I have to wait until I can crawl inside your head again to find out?"

Mabel was silent a moment. "Do you actually like tie-dye?"

"That's what's bothering you?" He pulled his eyepatch back on—Pacifica had told him putting it back on would probably mess up his makeup, but that didn't really matter until tomorrow. "Of course I do, who doesn't! It's chaos on a shirt." He shrugged. "I've never had any—but, y'know, it's nice to look at, anyway."

"Wait, never? We should do tie-dye together! I can get us some white shirts and we can dye them outside," Mabel said. "Maybe I can invite Grenda and Candy!"

"Sounds like a party! Let me know when, you know what my schedule looks like."

"Great!" She beamed at him.

But as they walked, her smile slowly faded as she drifted back into her own thoughts.

His ideas about flirting were very hit or miss, but Mabel thought they were probably hits more often with aliens that thought dead salmon smelled sexy. He'd had a girlfriend, at any rate.

And he'd gotten chummy with Abuelita (even after she tried to poison him), he'd charmed Gideon's mom in like ten seconds, Wendy thought he was cool and so did half her gang, Candy and Grenda said he was fun, Mabel was pretty sure Stan kinda liked him even if he wouldn't admit it... He'd even managed to develop a rapport with Pacifica—Pacifica!—which had taken Mabel like two-thirds of the summer!—and he'd done it even though they'd insulted each other!

He was charming, he was fun, he clearly got romance...

So how come he didn't have true love and best friends that weren't evil?

The question itched at her brain.

Mabel firmly believed that the only thing that made people bad was not getting enough love. Family love, friend love, romance love, adorable cuddly pet love, whatever. Put love in, get love out; put nothing in, get a swirling vortex of loneliness and hatred where the love should have been stored. Like Prickly Bee in Color Critters! Who during season one had been one of the color-hating bad guys, but in season two had inexplicably joined the good guys due to network executive meddling, and it wasn't until season three that they did a flashback episode showing that the critters had won her over by showing her the kindness and caring that her old boss Serpent Grey never had!

And at the beginning of summer, after Mabel helped Bill get his hair back, he'd said it had been a long time since anyone had been nice to him; and he'd been nice to her since then, so that seemed to support her theory. All it took was a little love!

She just couldn't figure out why he didn't already have enough.

He had all those monster friends he'd tried to conquer the world with last year, but maybe they were those "people who claim to be friends but are actually allies who hate each other" that you see amongst cartoon villains. (Like Serpent Grey's minions.) Was it because they were aliens? Were aliens not good at friendship? Had he been deprived until now?

She remembered how heavy even the smallest glimpse at his pain had been—listening to him grieve over his own death. It was clear that, whatever he'd had before, what he needed now was better love, more friends—enough to share that psychological weight without collapsing—but how much would be enough to untwist his crooked morality?

Mabel was running out of time. Summer was almost halfway over. She only had seven more weeks to reintegrate Bill into society—to help him make amends for everything he'd done last summer—or else... or else she'd failed. She'd failed him. 

And she knew she was making progress with Bill, but she didn't know if it was enough. She wished he'd go faster. She wished summer would go slower. She wished she had more time.

She remembered what had happened the last time she'd wished for a little more summer.

So she'd just have to figure out how to save him in the time they had left. She couldn't just pick up a broken teacup, glue half the pieces together, then abandon it half-repaired to leak tea all over the floor. She was a problem solver, it was what she did. She had to solve this problem—or else everything she'd done this past year would be for nothing.

As they walked, she reached out to grab Bill's hand. He gave her a curious look, but he didn't pull it back.

"Was all that stuff true about you doing pageants as a kid?" (There must have been something in his past to explain why he didn't have enough love—maybe in his childhood.) "Or did you just make that up to make Pacifica relax?" (She guiltily remembered him accusing her of trying to "fix" him—how badly he'd been hurt by the thought.)

She felt his hand tense in her grip, but he shrugged dismissively. "They're not exactly identical to human beauty pageants—no real fashion component, for one thing—but, yeah. Did 'em as a kid. I went to my first pageant on the day I was born."

"So you lied when you told me you didn't do them yourself?"

"I did not," Bill said indignantly. "I just didn't correct you when you guessed wrong!"

At Mabel's sour look, Bill rolled his eye and said, "What, am I supposed to correct you every time you say something wrong? Because humans are wrong about just about everything—"

"Bill."

He huffed. "The specifics weren't any of your business, okay? It's—not something I talk about with humans. Or any other aliens, for that matter."

"Why not? Was it—"

"Because it's ancient history," he said sharply.

Mabel gave him a worried look. When he didn't elaborate, she said, "So, is it really as stressful as you and Pacifica made it sound?"

"Stressful!" Bill scoffed. "Name a part of life that isn't stressful. School, work, breeding a family, yadda yadda—better to learn how to handle it early, right? And it's only stressful if you're bad at it! I was good. I was very good."

"Good at what?" Mabel asked.

"Uh..." Bill had to grasp for a moment. "Being... cute. Charming the judges. Wowing 'em at the talent portion—when I wasn't starting fires. I really did play the piano! I mean—not a piano, but the closest equivalent my world had. There's nothing cuter than a kid playing an instrument he can hardly reach each end of." At Mabel's continued worried look, he said, "What! It was harmless. It was just a bunch of baby shapes bumbling around the stage looking adorable, that's all! It wasn't that bad!"

He was quiet for a moment; and then he repeated to himself, "It wasn't that bad."

####

"Don't get any closer," Stan said. "This place is about to be a toxic waste dump."

Bill and Mabel looked around Stan. In the middle of the clearing behind the Mystery Shack, a tent had been set up. Inside, a goat bleated in a plea for help.

Mabel asked, "Why?"

"Poindexter and your brother's plan to get that computer doohickey out of the goat the old-fashioned way didn't work. He wouldn't eat the concoction they mixed up. So they're getting it out of him the other old-fashioned way."

"Vivisection?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No—" Stan fell silent, squinted at Bill's face, and decided not to comment on his new look. "Vomit. You remember that witch's brew we used to chase off the flying eyeball that you—er—you knew?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Oh, yuck, that was the worst thing I ever smelled."

Stan tipped his head toward the tent. "Well, they're about to detonate what's left of it."

"'Detonate'?"

Ford's voice came from the tent: "On the count of three! One... two..."

There was a muffled boom. The walls of the tent billowed outward and an orange ball of fire illuminated Ford, Dipper, and Gomper's silhouettes. Gompers let out a loud bleat of distress.

Voice strained, Dipper said, "Ugh, that smell—I think I'm gonna be—" He had to try a couple of times to unzip the tent, then stumbled out and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt, gasping for fresh air.

Ford—wearing a gas mask—ducked out of the tent. "I told you you'd want a mask."

"Smelling it in close quarters is way—" He clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, "—way worse than I thought."

"Well?" Stan called. "Did anything come up?"

Ford peered back into the tent. "No."

Stan flung his hands up.

"Don't lose hope," Ford said. "I have a spell to induce vertigo somewhere. I don't remember all the words, but..."

Bill spent several seconds pretending he didn't notice Ford was staring directly at him before he said, "Can I help you?"

"You know the spell, don't you?"

"What, the Maximus Vertiginous? 'Course I do. Classic prank."

Ford stared at him expectantly. Bill said, "What?"

"How does it go?" Ford asked impatiently.

"Oh, you expect me to teach you?" Bill rolled his eye.

Mabel frowned up at him. "Come on, Bill, don't be a jerk."

The back of his neck started heating up as he realized the whole family was staring at him. He stood a little straighter. "Listen to you, ya little hypocrite! Aren't you the one who keeps showing me those cute cartoons telling me to be myself?" To Stanford, he said, "I don't tutor my dropouts. Go find your own notes, Stanford Pines."

Ford glowered at Bill, but then he left the tent, zipped it shut behind himself, and trudged toward the shack. His irritated muttering was muffled by the gas mask.

As soon as the door shut, Stan clapped his hands. "Okay! Ford's gone, now we're doing this my way." As he passed Dipper, he said, "C'mon, kid, chop chop. I need your help, your hands are smaller than mine."

Dipper groaned, but got back to his feet, pulled his shirt over his nose, and trudged back to the tent with Stan. "What are we doing?"

"The same thing you and Ford were—but more assertive! Sixer nixed my plan, but his obviously didn't work." Stan unzipped the tent's flap. "All right. I'll hold the goat's mouth open, you reach in."

"Ohhh no."

Bill's face lit up. "Heeey, that sounds fun! Let me try! My hands are small and I can actually see the flash drive!"

"Oh no you don't," Stan said. "We can't risk you picking up the eyeball repellant stink, you've gotta stay pretty until loverboy shows up!"

"What, so suddenly I'm too pretty to grope a goat's guts?" Bill stared at Mabel in disbelief, waiting for her to commiserate over this injustice.

Mabel—who was still a bit miffed about being called a hypocrite—said, "Let's just go in." As they walked to the porch, she said, "'Be yourself' doesn't mean be a jerk. It means 'don't hide your talents' and 'keep doing your hobbies even if other people think they're boring' and stuff."

"Yeah, well, what if one of my talents is being a jerk?"

Mabel groaned. "There's gotta be an episode that covers this."

As Stan entered the tent, he said, "Phew, that reeks! Hey, zip the tent when you come in."

Dipper hung back nervously, half in the tent and pinching his nose shut. "Grunkle Stan, I'm not sure about this idea."

"Come on, it—it can't be hard! Farmers do this. I think. Look, I'm doing the hard part, all you have to do is reach down his throat! Lemme just... get my fingers between his jaws...

Gompers bleated angrily. Stan hollered in pain.

"Oh, no!" Dipper dove for Gompers and landed in the dirt as the goat shot past. From the porch, Mabel and Bill could only watch as Gompers headed the other way.

Soos walked around the corner of the shack. "Hey, du—whoa!"

"Soos!" Dipper shouted. "Catch him!"

Soos dove to the side to get out of the way of the charging goat, watched him vanish into the forest, and said, "Aw—dude, I just did the opposite of what you asked me to do. That's totally my bad."

Ford opened the back door with a handful of papers and his gas mask pushed up on his forehead. "I heard shouting, what happened?"

"Uhhh," Soos said. "Gompers just escaped into the forest."

"What?! How?!"

Stan stumbled through the tent's flap, cradling a hand. "It was—it was totally unexpected. Just ran off for no reason. Completely unprompted," he said. "He also bit my hand. Don't ask why my hand was so close to his mouth."

Ford said, "Which way?! We have to follow him immediately! If the agents detect the drive's signal before we retrieve him—"

"Don't bother," Bill said. "As long as he's in the forest, if he doesn't want to be caught, he won't be. There's nothing you can do until he comes out."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "How are you so sure?"

"He ate some magic rocks."

"Ah. Well." He shrugged in defeat. Nothing they could do if he'd eaten magic rocks. "But what if he does want to be caught?"

Bill gestured toward the forest with a flourish. "If you think he's eager for more of the hors d'oeuvres and perfume you've been offering him today, go get 'im."

Stan cleared his throat. "Well—the good news is, when the agents get here, they won't find the thingamajig in the Mystery Shack! Eh? Ehhh?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what I was coming over to tell you guys," Soos said. "I was taking out the trash, and I saw this car parked just up the road, and it looked like the car the government dudes were in today, so, I think they're watching the shack now?"

There was a long silence as the group processed that.

"We can't be outside," Ford said. "If they see Stan they'll want to interrogate him, if they see Bill here after hours they'll know he's not a passing tourist, and if they see me they'll realize I'm not a superior officer from Washington—"

Bill slammed his fist on the back door. "Then stop rambling and let me in!"

Ford opened the door and ushered everyone inside. "Hurry!"

"But what about Gompers?" Dipper asked. "We've gotta at least try to find him before the agents do!"

"What if the agents follow you to Gompers?" Ford asked. Dipper hesitated.

Mabel said, "We can make disguises so they won't recognize us!" She took off her half of the enchanted friendship bracelets, chucked it toward the coat rack just inside the door, and ran upstairs. "Come on!"

Dipper shot one last worried look toward the forest, then followed her.

Ford shut the door and asked Stan in a low voice, "How long is Gompers usually gone when he wanders off?"

"No telling. Sometimes I don't see him for weeks at a time."

Soos said, "So if they're gonna keep looking until they find that drive, but we can't go looking because they're watching us, and Gompers doesn't come back, so we can't find the drive, and they can't find the drive... then, how do we get rid of them?"

"We don't," Stan said. "Unless they find something more interesting than the drive."

As Bill added his end of the bracelet to the coat rack, he was keenly aware of three sets of eyes on him. He could see the cold gray walls of his cell in the— of the surgical suite in Hangar 618. Oh, he was certainly a billion times more interesting than some lousy drive; and if the eagles figured that out...

"Distracting them for a few hours won't cut it, will it," Ford asked him.

Bill pushed away the phantom psychological weight of heavy ankle cuffs and cheap orange fabric. "Doesn't look like it. You'll need some other way to make them leave."

Grimly, Ford said, "It looks like your job just got a lot more important."

####

(Your "what was edited due to TBOB" roundup: as mentioned in an earlier chapter, some of the specifics of the pageant scene came from TBOB—the name of the "best baby ever" award and the mayor handing out free knives. But everything else was plotted well before TBOB—including Bill being born able to see the stars, having a condition that makes him unusually flexible (which lines up with Baby Bill's squishy look quite well), and his parents getting him medical treatment at a very young age due to, among other things, his weird eye. Most of the rest of the chapter was written pre-TBOB.

Although my god did i rewrite the conversation about Bill's weight a hundred times. This has been a high priority to work into the fic for some time! I wanted to make it clear that Bill's body shape isn't merely a cosmetic part of his character design but something with actual in-world impact, that for him it's a positive and not meant to be punitive or a joke, and that Pacifica's got issues and we're gonna be dealing with them. The hard part was doing all that while avoiding Bill sounding like an enlightened angel spreading the gospel of fat positivity to the ignorant masses, rather than what he actually is: a selfish alien who realizes humans are being stupid but whose only personally investment in this issue is convincing a 13-year-old not to make him wear spanx. 

Next week, the agents are finally back, and Bill gets to put all that flirting practice into action! I'm sure he'll do a great job.)

[glasvera]

Bittersweet

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: Recent attacks on your home town have slowed down business at the cafe you work at, but your day gets a lot more interesting when three of the Guardians of the Galaxy walk through the door.

Warnings: Rocket waving around a firearm, Star-Lord being an insufferable flirt... uh... other than that it's just cutesy shit.

A/N: Listen, I had to get around to the dreaded coffee shop trope at some point. Also, I mainly specify fem!reader because this may become a multi-part fic...? depending on how I'm feeling...? and a lot of the cutesy behaviors were written with a more feminine reader in mind.

Word Count: 2.8k

There were many things in your life that you could be thankful for: you had a job, you could afford rent (barely), and it hadn’t rained on your walk to work this morning. Though, that did mean you had to deal with the thunderous and grating sounds of construction during your commute.

Work had slowed down recently, but that wasn’t at all surprising. You were a barista at a fairly popular cafe downtown, and normally there would be a constant stream of customers in and out of the door. Unfortunately, when some idiot supervillain comes around town and decides to cause havoc and destruction up and down Main Street, fewer people feel safe enough to venture out for a cup of coffee. Really, the cafe shouldn’t be open at all. But the owner was a hardass, and rent and groceries don’t pay for themselves.

Still though, at least it was slow right now. Death and destruction sort of kills the mood to make lattes.

With your cheek smushed against your hand, you lean on the counter and drum your nails against the hard surface to the beat of the smooth jazz your boss always played, waiting impatiently for your shift to be over. Thanks to the lack of business, it was just you and one other employee right now, and you really weren’t in the mood to talk about the most recent episode of the current K-drama she’s been watching. Way too high energy for you right now.

Unfortunately, fate has decided to give you the big middle finger this afternoon when a boisterous trio walks through the door. You couldn’t even hear the chime of the door’s bell over the way two of them bickered back and forth. Snapped out of your mind’s pointless wandering, you stand up straight and take a good luck at your new clientele.

One of the ones arguing looked normal enough. Average height, messy dirty blonde hair… though he was definitely not wearing anything from this planet. It looked like some sort of strange space jumpsuit with a blue coat thrown over top of it. He’s looking down and practically shouting at a… bipedal raccoon? You blink your eyes before rubbing them, making sure you were seeing things clearly, but no. That was definitely a bipedal, talking raccoon wearing clothes and carrying a very large gun. Said gun seemed to be the root of their argument as the blonde guy gestures wildly at it.

“You can’t just bring that in here, Rocket! These are normal, human people! You’re gonna scare them!”

“Why should I give a flark? I ain’t leaving myself unarmed if any bad guys show up. You saw how torn up the streets were out there!” the raccoon replies, flinging his paws about even as he holds the gun. Your coworker has long ducked out and disappeared to the back.

You don’t know how to react. You don’t even know where to begin. Quite frankly, you were willing to ignore open carry laws if it meant you didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that. But all of the tension in your body, hell, everything else fades into the background when you see him.

A man, seemingly made of pure gold and with matching gorgeous golden locks, stands behind the other two with his hand on the back of his neck. A mantled red cloak rests on his shoulders, but otherwise it seems he’s completely shirtless, and you can see lines etched into his skin that contour his defined muscles perfectly. Well, perhaps you can ignore multiple rules today. Pupilless, milky white eyes meet yours, and he gives you an apologetic smile.

Perfection doesn’t exist, shouldn’t exist… So how is it standing before you as he approaches the counter?

“Please, forgive them,” he starts, and even his voice is perfectly soothing. “I asked my friend Pe--Star-Lord, if I could try this coffee I had heard so much about, and this was the only place open nearby.”

“O-Oh, it’s… it’s um, well… if I said it was okay, I’d be lying, but--”

His brows knit together with worry. “If we must take our leave, I understand. It seems as though your town has been through enough already. If only we had been able to minimize more of the damage.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” you respond almost frantically. The last thing you want is for this man to leave, even if the same can't be said for his companions. Once you process the rest of what he said though, you tilt your head to the side curiously and point to some of the wreckage being cleaned up outside the cafe window. “Wait… that was you guys?” you ask incredulously.

The other man halts his argument and shoves Rocket’s face down and out of the way, and the raccoon looks about ready to bite that hand off. “The Guardians of the Galaxy, at your service!” he proclaims triumphantly as Rocket exclaims muffled obscenities. “Or, at least, some of us. At least the best looking one is here!” he clarifies with his thumb pointed into his chest. Ah, the egotistical type. Wonderful.

“I’m so lucky,” you reply dryly as you roll your eyes and massage your temples. It does draw a snort from the golden man in front of you though, and that makes you smile slightly as your attention is brought back to him. His very presence is warm like sunshine and almost as blinding. So much so that you don't realize the other guy is walking up to join him at the counter until he's practically shoving his hand toward you to shake.

“Name's Star-Lord, though you can call me whatever you like, sweetheart,” he adds with a wink. You stare down blankly at his hand, unmoving, and you can practically feel the way he tenses up from the awkward silence that ensues. Being flirted with at work was nothing new for you, and you always hoped there was a special place in hell for those who decided to take their chances with the employees forced to receive their advances. “...Or, uh… yeah. Star-Lord is fine,” he backtracks as he withdraws his hand and brushes it on his pants.

“Right. Cool,” you respond nonchalantly, turning your attention down to the register's monitor. “So what can I get you?”

The golden man snickers behind his hand and Rocket grabs Star-Lord by the hem of his coat. “Sorry. We haven't gotten him fixed yet, so he has a hard time keeping it in his pants,” he jokes as he glares pointedly at the man who had handled him so roughly just moments ago. Okay, that gets a chuckle out of you.

“Hey, what-!?”

“Can it, flark-face. We're gonna wait outside while Goldie gets his fix,” the raccoon interrupts as he starts dragging him outside. “Don't take too long, ya hear?”

“The two of you can return to the ship if you do not wish to wait. I intend to take my time,” the man responds calmly, giving you a soft smile. Rocket grumbles something about not blaming them if he gets lost later, but he doesn't seem to protest as they exit the cafe with a chime of the door’s bell.

“I cannot apologize enough for my companions,” he starts, and he is a little confused when you titter at that. “You… seem to have handled them well, though. I admit I am impressed.”

He's impressed? It's such a simple little thing, just a comment in passing, but you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks.

“It's nothing, really. Once you get past the shock of a talking raccoon, at least,” you joke.

“I wouldn't recommend calling him that to his face,” he warns with a wry smile.

“Noted,” you reply with a toothy grin of your own that he quickly mirrors. Gorgeous, and good at both conversation and easing the tension? You were done for. But, you still have a job to do, and he was here for a reason.

“So… never tried coffee, then?” you ask as you turn to idly check the different bean blends you had on hand.

“No,” he responds almost sheepishly. You giggle softly.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not everyone's cup of tea.”

“But… but I thought it would be a cup of coffee,” he says, his voice sounding rather confused and a little worried. Oh. He's adorable.

“Oh! It's just… it's a phrase. Saying it's not everyone's cup of tea just means it's not to everyone's taste,” you explain as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

He looks positively befuddled, bringing a hand to his forehead and brushing back his hair. “It is so much simpler to say it that way…” he muses quietly to himself. You still pick up on it and chuckle.

“Well, regardless, don't be surprised if you don't like it,” you continue as you grind a scoop of beans from your lightest roast. “A lot of people say it smells better than it tastes.”

It was slow enough, and he seemed quite interested in your explanation sans the confusing turn of phrase. You could take your time. Hell, you were ready to give him the cup for free as payback to your boss for the stupid smooth jazz playlist you'd practically memorized from the amount of times it looped. Your customer waited patiently, taking in every detail as his eyes followed your movements.

“Do you enjoy it?” he asks, breaking the temporary silence. When you turn towards him and blink curiously, he clarifies, “Coffee, I mean.”

The slow, steady drip of freshly brewing coffee begins, and you return your attention to him. “I do, yeah. Definitely an acquired taste, but nothing a little bit of cream and sugar can't fix.” You lean your elbows on the counter and tilt your head to the side. “A lot of people drink it for the caffeine more than anything.”

He blinks those white gold eyes at you, but nods in understanding after a moment. “Yes… caffeine I am familiar with. Some of the Guardians have taken a liking to energy drinks…” His voice trails off, as does his gaze, and you quirk a brow. He looks as though he’s seen terrible things and is suffering PTSD flashbacks right before your eyes… maybe you should move on from that.

“Well,” you start, bringing him back to reality as his head snaps towards you. You grab a cup, slide on its cardboard sleeve, and begin pouring the contents of the freshly brewed pot into it. Sliding it towards him, you watch him cradle it in his hands, seemingly intrigued by its warmth. “Ready to try it? Be careful though; it’s hot.”

“That should be no trouble,” he responds before bringing the cup to his lips. Your eyes widen with concern for a moment, but he clearly speaks truth as he takes a long sip without so much as a flinch. At least, he doesn’t flinch from the temperature of it. The flavor, on the other hand…

“It is…”

He tries so desperately to force a smile. His eyes narrow a bit, and the corners of his lips tug their way towards his cheeks, but it’s tight-lipped, and his nose crinkles in displeasure. You roll your lips between your teeth and try to subdue the laughter bubbling in your throat.

“Don’t force yourself. Here,” you say, holding your hand out to take his cup back. He does so instantly, dropping the facade and immediately regarding it with visible disgust. He looks akin to a cat that is about to smack something that has displeased them. Now you can’t help the chuckle from slipping out. “It can taste better, I promise.”

“I do not believe you,” he states plainly, but pauses when your fingertips brush against each other in the passing of the cup. It’s incidental, fleeting, but he seems to stare down at where your skin touched him, studying it. He blinks twice and meets your gaze. “...Though, I suppose I should relent to the resident expert on this vile beverage.”

“Vile?” you snort as you procure a spoon, cane sugar, and a small pitcher of half and half. “I suppose I can understand though. Even I don’t drink it black--er, without any additives,” you tell him, catching yourself before you confuse him with some other English terminology he clearly didn’t understand. Based on his reaction, you scoop a few spoonfuls of sugar, stirring it and pouring the half and half until the liquid takes on a lighter, cloudier hue. Blonde, you might call it. You slide it back over to him, and he squints at it. You laugh and, nodding at the cup, urge him to try it again.

“If this is some sort of trick…” he replies warily, taking the hot beverage into his hand for the second time. You give him a cheeky smile in return and rest your head on your wrist, waiting patiently for him to take another sip. When he realizes he’s not getting anything else out of you until he does, he sighs and brings it back to his lips. His trepidation is obvious; the liquid scarcely passes through the seam of his lips at first. But then it hits his tongue and his eyes widen in shock. After taking a proper sip then, he sets the cup back on the counter, staring at it as though it were the product of some sort of witchcraft.

“It is still bitter, and yet…” his words trail off as he stares at it before his eyes flicker to yours, full of wonder. “There is a complexity to it. Sweetness to combat the bitter. Cream to compliment the acidity…”

“Hmm, never seen someone turn into a coffee sommelier over the simple addition of cream and sugar,” you tease as he picks up the cup and continues drinking it. There is something fascinating about the utter innocence of it; rare is the occasion that one can witness a stranger’s firsts like this, and he brought an almost childlike wonder to the simple act of drinking coffee. It’s terribly adorable.

He sees the smile on your face and the tenderness in your expression, and he averts his gaze suddenly. The embarrassment doesn’t help his case in the slightest, instead pulling a lilting giggle from your lips.

“I’m glad you like it, really,” you add genuinely. “I would hate for your first impression to be one of just bitter, acrid bean water.”

“My first impression?” he inquires curiously. “I suppose such things matter. Though, truly, my first impression of you was that of a calm, patient, and gentle soul.”

That hadn’t been what you meant at all. You were referring to the cafe itself, not to its humble employee. His words leave your jaw slack and your eyes wide, and you turn away bashfully before covering your face with one hand. “O-oh, that’s--I meant--”

Now it’s his turn to chortle, and it’s a lovely, deep, rumbling sound. “I am aware. Still, I find it pertinent to speak of the truths I see in front of me,” he speaks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he revels in the flush he feels radiating off of your very being. “Especially when they draw such wonderful expressions forth.”

He was teasing you. Here you were, moments ago, marveling at how naive he seemed to be. Now you truly felt the fool.

A golden hand places a few bills and coins onto the counter. “I look forward to the next time I visit this establishment. You can introduce me to even more of the seemingly vast world of coffee.”

You’re dumbfounded. Next time? And he wanted to see you? He’s moving to take his leave, giving you the softest yet somehow most knowing of smiles, and you feel yourself panic.

“Wait!” you call out suddenly.

He does. Though, there is a somewhat perplexed look about him at your sudden outburst.

“I… I didn’t catch your name. If you’re going to be a regular here, well… I like knowing my regulars’ names.”

That was a load of bullshit and you knew it, but that doesn’t mean he has to. You’d be damned if you didn’t know the name of the perfect, Midas touched man that would be haunting your dreams for weeks to come. At least he regards you with a solemn understanding, giving you a soft “ah” as though it made perfect sense to him.

“I am Adam Warlock. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Y/N,” he responds before, with an effortless flourish of his red cape, he finally exits the door with the gentle chime of its bell.

His voice… your name upon his lips sounded like heaven. Wait, how did he--!?

Oh. Right. Name tag, duh. 

Still though, you knew every shift from here on out would be painstakingly torturous as you waited for that beautiful golden man to walk back through the cafe’s door.

[bwat5-blog]

It Was Never Jinx's War

**Spoilers For Arcane**

I have written quite a bit about Jinx, and touched on this topic briefly, but I felt that it deserved more than my sarcastic blurbs. Today I wanted to talk a little bit about Jinx, and her being forced into the role of a revolutionary by her people and fans alike. So what do I actually mean?

I mean to address statements like these from fans:

Jinx should have lead Zaun in a civil war!

Jinx should have ripped Caitlyn apart!

The writers are coward for making Jinx apologize to Caitlyn!

What did they do to Revolutionary Jinx?! She was meant to lead the uprising!

I'm not going to spend time going through her whole story again. I have done so many times in various forms as have many others. And I have to assume if you are on Tumblr reading some grouchy nerd's rambling about Jinx, you already know her story. So first let's discuss one question.

Does Jinx hate Piltover/The Enforcers?

OBVIOUSLY. And she has every reason to. Growing up as a Zaunite means she grew up suffering under Piltovan oppression. And the Enforcers took her parent's lives. Take Silco and his teachings totally out of the picture and Jinx still has every reason to feel how she feels. I don't deny that at all. But feeling that way is not the same as being a violent revolutionary for her own reasons and choices. So let's discuss the moments from season 1 that created this false idea that the Jinx we know was fighting for her people's freedom with what she did.

SEASON 1

As A Kid:

It probably seems silly to most of you, it certainly did to me. But I have legitimately seen the example used that Powder was making bombs and had filled one with nails for the Enforcers to justify this idea. Listen folks, she was 11. I'm not saying she didn't want to help her family or wasn't willing. But equating that with wanting to be part of a violent revolution is foolish. In fact we see that childish (not said negatively just honestly) enthusiasm without consideration of consequence play out when she tries to help save Vander.

2. The Theft:

Okay. So this is her first real act as Jinx that I have seen attributed to her being a revolutionary for Zaun fighting the system. Most of the justification for this comes down to the simple fact that she stole from Piltover and hurt Enforcers. Jinx lights a building on fire, drawing Enforcers in using a fake child's voice, then blows it up killing six Enforcers and stealing the hex-tech gemstone. What does that mean?

Stole a source of power from Piltover that gives Silco and opportunity to study hex-tech

Killed Enforcers

Okay. I can see the revolutionary point for sure. Except for one problem. Jinx didn't do any of this for Zaun. Let's roll the tape!

Our reintroduction to Powder who has now become Jinx is the fight between Silco's people and The Firelights on Progress Day. During that incident Jinx sees a firelight that resembles Vi and loses control. This leads to conflict with Sevika.

Later, Sevika and Silco are discussing what happened. Sevika is angry:

Sevika: "She's a problem and we all know it" Silco shuts her down. It is then revealed Jinx has been listening the entire time and she talks with Silco: Jinx: "one of those firelight wackos was a girl with pink hair" Silco: "todays screwup will set us back weeks" Jinx: "I'm sorry" Silco: "I need to know I can rely on you..... Sevika will clean up todays mess" Jinx: "Sevika? That ogre couldn't clean a dust bunny with a blow torch" Silco: "Take some time" Jinx: "I don't need time" Silco: "Take it anyhow"

Jinx is quite visibly upset and leaves

We rejoin Jinx later in her hideout. She is upset, convincing herself it wasn't Vi, talking to the specter of Mylo, justifying the incident that it was just her getting confused. then she says some key dialogue here:

"Now, he thinks I'm weak...I'm not weak... and I'm gonna show him. Oh, I'm gonna show him. You'll see".

And the explosion and theft are how she does so. How she proves to her adoptive father that she isn't weak. And it works! It gives her the validation she is desperate for. When he first comes in he is the most outwardly angry with her we ever see him on screen.

Until she shows him the stone:

Silco values strength above all. We see him espouse this over and over. Jinx has certainly heard it plenty although unless I'm mistaken we don't see him preaching it directly to her until later. She is worried he sees her as lacking the most important quality to him, so she goes out and proves it and now she feels accepted and safe again. Not to mention the fact that her early childhood trauma left a very real mental scar in her regarding feelings of being weak/not ready/a Jinx. I mean come on, it isn't exactly subtle that the specter we see tormenting her more prominently than any is this fucker (calling the delusion that not the dead child. Don't yell at me lol)-

She didn't do any of this for Zaun. She did it because part of her is still a little girl that's terrified if she isn't strong enough she is going to be all alone.

3. The Bridge:

Alright moving on. The next big one that gets mentioned frequently is Jinx attacking the bridge. Again, I can see the argument to a point. Killing the leader of The Enforcers and reclaiming the stone. Definite points for the "Zaunite Revolution". Except for a few things.

She is watching the bridge when Vi says goodbye to Caitlyn & Ekko. Mostly just arguing with "Mylo" about Vi.

2. She doesn't look angry until she sees the stone. The stone that symbolizes Silco's acceptance and recognition of her strength, and therefore his love.

3. She doesn't attack when she sees the stone. she doesn't attack when Marcus shoots Ekko. She is overwhelmed by her mental illness and attacks when Vi "leaves her" again, running back toward the bridge after the gunshot.

4. The symbol of Silco's love is in jeopardy, and she feels like Vi is leaving all over again. Once more she is a little girl facing the terrifying prospect of being all alone again and it's quite simply too much. Look how big Mylo is over her.

I mean this just isn't subtle. This was not the act of a freedom fighter assassinating an enemy. This was the act of a mentally ill young woman losing control and unleashing violence in an attempt to hold on to what she is terrified to lose.

4. Abducting Caitlyn:

Not much to say here but it is worth mentioning as it frequently gets filed under the "Jinx = Oppressed, Caitlyn = Oppressor, so Jinx abduct and possibly torture Caitlyn = Okeydokey Artichokey!" crowd. This didn't have a damn thing to do with Zaun. Because of Silco and Sevika's manipulations, Jinx's history with Enforcers, and Jinx's mental illness she viewed Caitlyn as the one keeping Vi from her and she acted out jealousy, fear and rage.

5. Attack On the Council:

Ok. This is in the big one that is probably the most hotly debated. By now we all know the context here. Jinx has abducted Silco, Vi and Caitlyn to host her dinner party. Silco is now dead, and in a moment of "accepting" who she is Jinx strikes at the Council of Piltover, unknowingly during the very moment they are ratifying Zaunite independence.

Silco's words echo over the strike while the hauntingly beautiful "what could have been" plays. It is truly a moving moment and all sarcasm or nastiness aside let me say that I do understand how people are interpreting this scene the way they are.

Jinx sits in the chair seemingly accepting herself as the daughter of Silco and inheritor of his legacy

Vi blames herself for creating jinx. The camera cuts to Vi multiple times during the song.

Jinx gives the whole "I thought you could love me like you used to" speech. Onece again just piling onto Vi and implying Jinx knows who she is now.

Jinx is clearly remorseful for shooting Silco and striking at his enemies would be a logically fitting way to respond

However, it is not that simple. Jinx is not making the first strike for her people in the wake of her adopted fathers death. She is a grieving, enraged, and yes mentally ill young woman in the middle of a breakdown lashing out at a symbol of pain and loss in her world.

I recently wrote a short sarcastic little blurb about this and that was my bad. This topic deserves more. But someone responded that I was implying Jinx was not capable making plans or decisions in that moment because of her mental illness. That is not what I mean. What I mean is that Jinx's heart and mind are an open ragged wound in this moment, and she lashes out at something that has always symbolized loss and pain and anger. Smashing it down into a first strike for freedom is not only illogical based on narrative evidence, but robs the moment of what Jinx is really going through.

"What Could Have Been":

This song narratively takes us into Jinx's pov as this moment plays out. It is beautiful, and haunting. The key however, as we are hearing Jinx's perspective play out, is to remember that her mind is not well.

We have been watching her unravel more and more since the beginning of S1 A2. Think back to when she and Vi first reunite. She is clearly ashamed of what she has done with Silco. Put that up against her shooting at Vi even one episode later on the bridge.

2. She is still extremely fresh from the Shimmer procedure that even though it saved her life was horrific and painful to the point it could have killed her.

3. She abducts Caitlyn nude from her bathroom and tells Vi she be Powder again if Vi will just murder Caitlyn.

4. She kills Silco in the middle of a breakdown

5. Quite frankly. The whole "dinner party" itself. There is not a damn thing in the world about her behavior or mental state at this time that suggests she is level or even. Her sudden calm after killing Silco isn't a patricide induced clarity. It is a breaking.

She is angry, she is grieving, she is ill and she is afraid. She feels that Vi cannot love her anymore because of who she is and she killed the only other person she had. So she lashes out. And in so-doing actually obliterates her peoples chance of independence.

Intent:

Now I have seen the argument made that it doesn't matter what her reasons or intent were. Because ultimately her actions served Zaun. Did they though?

Blowing up the building and killing six enforcers caused the bridge blockade Her attack on the bridge almost killed Caitlyn, which all personal character bias aside, if she had successfully caused the death of a council woman's daughter Piltover would have gone nuclear. She also almost killed Ekko successfully who was actually a champion for Zaunites. Her attack on the council opens the door for Ambessa and kicks off the events leading to Caitlyn's strike team and the occupation. The most obvious and one that should be taken with a grain of salt given the extenuating circumstances. But Jinx was a part of Silco's operations. Piltover's neglect and oppression may have allowed bad men to rise up and take control, but Silco was their chief. He flooded the lanes with Shimmer regardless of the harm and Jinx played a part in that.

SEASON 2

Alright, moving into season 2. This is where people were angry and feeling that the show was throwing away Jinx's revolutionary arc. But as I've stated it is my belief that is never where her story was going to begin with. So let's dig into some points I feel lend themselves to this point.

Aftermath of Jinx's attack:

What is she doing in the wake of her first strike? Leading battle planning sessions? Nope. Wandering the streets while Chem-Barons rip Zaun apart. Why? Because she wasn't firing the first strike. She was breaking down. And now she is all alone. Her adopted father gone, his organization failing, her sister lost to her.

Ventilation Chamber Battle:

Alright so I see this battle mentioned as well because Jinx and Sevika let The Grey loose in Piltover in retaliation. I wasn't sure if I should discuss this or not, since some people like to pretend Jinx never did this and I don't want to confuse them. But better to be thorough.

As I'm sure you know this is the battle when Vi & Caitlyn finally confront Jinx & Sevika down in the pipeworks of Zaun. They all engage in a massive and brutal brawl to some truly outstanding music, and in the end Sevika detonates a series of charges that send the Grey up into Piltover all over the city.

I have spoken AT LENGTH about the hyperbole and nonsense the fandom has engaged in when it comes to The Grey and Caitlyn. I can assure you I'm not going to magically assign it some ultra-lethal quality just because Jinx is now doing it.

"Jinx was acting in retaliation against their oppressors for Caitlyn's strike team poisoning Zaun's air!"-- You get the idea

The issue of course is that this was not some strategic retaliation in Jinx's rebellion. This was intended to be her suicide and end Vi as well. Jinx wants to die here.

Hard to lead a rebellion when you intend to die at your sisters hands. However I will give Jinx partial credit if that makes anyone feel better. She was at least retaliating against Piltover as well.

Becoming A Symbol:

Alright. This is where we get into Zaun trying to force her into this box as well. Let's do a very quick rundown of events leading up to the occupation of Zaun under Martial Law:

1. Caitlyn leaves Vi after the battle and becomes the commander 2. Caitlyn and Ambessa's forces hunt Jinx throughout Zaun, cannot locate her. Place Zaun under Martial Law until she is caught and try to get Zaunites to turn on her 3. Zaunites make Jinx their symbol of resistance. Their flag to rally behind. Even the spy Maddie says "we made them desperate for something to believe in".

And what has Jinx been doing the entire time?

Which by the way. AS. SHE. SHOULD. She finally found some fucking peace and happiness. But she was not in any fashion out throwing Molotovs and getting arrested. She did not become the symbol of the rebellion because she earned it. She became the symbol because she's the one they had when they need something to believe in. Even when she frees all those people from prison she only does so because she is trying to rescue Isha. And by the way the show is not subtle about what this means for her:

She and Isha are living happily-

When Sevika comes in angry and slamming things and demanding Jinx consider what Silco sacrificed (aside from Jinx's second family of course) Jinx starts glitching and yells.

2. Jinx tearfully admits to Silco's chair she doesn't want to mess up what she has with Isha

3. When Isha is taken and Jinx has no choice but to rejoin the fight, the show is quite clear about the tone it sets for Jinx.

Pop Quiz class, does it seem like they are implying its a good thing?

Side Note:

Jinx has too many barbs, comments, taunts and so on to name regarding her feelings for Piltover. I didn't include them because… duh? She hates Piltover and she hates Enforcers. Again. That is not the same as being a revolutionary. Not to mention at the least in the context of her talking shit to Vi for putting on the badge, it should be noted that all you usually have to do is go a few words in either direction or consider the actual context and her clever jabs at her sister lose some of their luster.

"I busted half of Zaun out of prison while you were passed out in the bottom of a mug" INITIATING TRANSLATION FROM JINX-SPEAK TO REALITY….. "While you were in a self-destructive spiral that was probably going to kill you and caused among other things by my actions as well, I was chilling with Isha during the entire occupation until she went full feral gremlin and got arrested. I freed the others while I was there to get her also"

And that isn't hating on Jinx by the way. But people like to use all her clever little comments to really sell this whole image of her character and justify screaming about her not leading the massacre of Piltover or something at the end so it seemed worth mentioning.

Conclusion

So. When it is all said and done, why even touch on this? Because I think people so stuck on wanting her to be a revolutionary for Zaun are missing the point. Sure her feelings were there, but the actions she took were never for Zaun's freedom. That isn't her story, just like it isn't Vi's. People watched this show expecting everyone to follow traditional heroic journeys. But not every character is meant to become the leader on the throne. Sometimes, they are the long suffering victim of a system that doesn't really care about them, and although they can fight for and defend their people, their greatest victory is getting to live for themselves and their loved ones in peace.

Think about "Silco's" final speech to Jinx: Break free from these labels and restrictions. These "prisons". Walk away from the cycle because otherwise it will. not. stop. Like most of you I'm sure, I wanted to see Jinx and Vi together as sisters at the end of the show. And I have seen SO. MANY. comments saying it's bullshit that Jinx had to go off on her own so Vi could have a happy ending but these people are seriously missing the point.

Jinx not only gave Vi a chance at a happy ending, but she set off to find her own. She was never going to find peace in Piltover where no matter the circumstances, there were very real people living with the aftermath of her crimes. And she was never going to escape the shadow of Silco returning to Zaun, either being held to account for her part in his crimes or expected to lead their people. And that is to say nothing of the memories of everything she'd lost haunting every corner of Zaun.

I understand if her story wasn't what you wanted. We all had our own preferences and ideas and theories for how things were going to go. But by trying to force Jinx's narrative into a certain box and being angry at the parts that don't fit, you miss out on the story we were given.

A tortured but loving young woman who reclaims her soul, and sets off into the unknown to find her peace. Fulfilling the dream of a bright and inquisitive little girl who dreamed of better days.

*** Yall Tumblr had a seizure right at the finish line and the formatting got all messed up and I wasn't really able to fix it completely. Sorry if this looks weird***

[andreal831]

Who's Responsible for the Monster Klaus Became? (I'll give you a hint, it's Klaus)

It's a question as old as time (or at least as old as the show): Who should be blamed for Klaus' actions because surely it cannot be Klaus? Should it be Rebekah for wanting to seek her own life? Should it be Kol for planning to kill him? What about his son, Marcel, for taking his city? His parents for cursing him? I've heard all of these, but the most common one I hear is, of course, Elijah.

I'm referencing a specific discussion, but it's one I've heard many times. We should not feel any sympathy for Elijah because he is the reason Klaus became evil, and then abused everyone he ever encountered. Not only should we blame Elijah for Klaus turning evil, but we need to blame him for all of the abuse everyone suffered at Klaus' hands. Elijah is the true evil of the show, despite Klaus naming himself as such.

The argument starts as such: Klaus was a perfect person before Elijah helped Esther and Mikael suppress his wolf side which made him turn evil. We are conveniently going to skip over the SA on Tatia at the festival. He's just a product of the time, I guess. And then to top it off, while Klaus was being perfect (despite the catalyst event they claimed caused him to go evil had already occurred), Elijah vindictively made Aurora break his heart, turning him into the complete evil person he was. Although, we cannot call him evil. We have to continue to say, "no one is born evil, they are just broken." Removing all accountability from a thousand year old man.

However, there is a fatal flaw with this argument. If we are saying that betraying someone and breaking their heart shifts the responsibility from one character to another and removes any sympathy, this should first have been used to protect Elijah from any blame.

The entirety of The Originals originates with Klaus taking his kid brother to watch the wolves turn, despite knowing better. During this event, Henrik is killed. Now, I don't blame Klaus, but if we are blaming characters for all of the unforeseen consequences of their actions, we would have to blame him. Because of Henrik's death, Esther and Mikael turn their children into vampires. As we all know, Klaus kills someone, triggers his werewolf curse, and goes on a killing spree in their town, leaving Elijah to clean up the mess as he does. But that doesn't make Klaus evil, the murders were all an accident, I guess. Based on the lack of blood on Elijah's clothes, it doesn't seem like Elijah even took the time to feed himself (an assumption, but still). Leading to Elijah losing control and killing his love, Tatia. All of this happened in a short period of time. So when their abusive parents bring up the idea of binding Klaus' werewolf side, I don't blame Elijah for going along. Even still, we see that he does so reluctantly. He saw his brother's body, which had been torn apart by wolves, and then watched his brother turn into one of those wolves and kill people they grew up with. Even after all of this, he still stood by his brother's side, not from guilt, but out of love. He comforts his brother who is covered in the blood of their neighbors.

But this is really where the logic really falls apart. Sure, maybe we argue that binding the werewolf side sent him off the rails, but let's not forget the people he killed in his village before that happened. And I'm pretty sure hybrids can control their werewolf side...

Before we even get into Aurora breaking his heart, we see Klaus and Aurora killing in such savage ways (with the rest of the family, minus Finn), that Mikael has found them. We don't really know who was doing it, but we see Aurora and Klaus taking joy in it. Do you know how much chaos/savagery they must have caused for Mikael to have gotten word before modern technology?? They were on a completely different continent than when they first started running from him. So I'd argue that Klaus was already pretty evil at this point.

The other argument is that Elijah lied to Klaus and broke his heart because of Aurora, causing Klaus to spiral. But who lied and broke whose heart first? Elijah and Rebekah made a vow of "always and forever" to Klaus based on a lie and a huge deceit. That Mikael killed Esther. This to me is the moment Klaus loses touch with his humanity. He is so ashamed by what he's done, he lies to the people closest to him. At the end of the day, Esther was still their mother and Klaus killed her in cold blood. He is so traumatized by this, he puts her body in a coffin and carries her with him for centuries!! No matter what she did, he still feared his siblings would not forgive him. So he lied, causing them to run for their lives with him.

So again, who lied and broke whose heart first?

It is not until Elijah accidentally compels Aurora to tell him what she knows that Elijah finds out about the lie. And in his heartbreak he compels Aurora. His actions are spurred on by Klaus' betrayal. And now, don't get me wrong, I blame Elijah and believe Aurora has every right to be angry at Elijah for those actions. But if we are trying to use this logic I laid out above, Elijah shouldn't be held responsible because Klaus made him that way. Klaus lied and betrayed him, breaking his heart, so Elijah had no choice but to become evil and do evil things.

This is why this logic is bad. There can always be some event or person who "caused" a character to act that way. It's called their lore. But that does not erase who they are and what they do. It does not excuse it or shift the blame.

Klaus ruins countless lives after this, doing far worse than what was done to him, and we don't see those people turn evil. Rebekah is abused by him for a thousand years and doesn't come close. But according to Klaus stans, all of their pain is just a "side effect" of Klaus' actions and Klaus can't help that. It's not like he's a grown man or anything. People have trauma, but it doesn't mean they get to do whatever they want. They are still held responsible for the person that trauma turns them into.

Also this person tried to argue that Klaus' actions weren't responsible for Elijah because of intent. Klaus didn't do anything intending to hurt Elijah, whereas Elijah acted in every way to hurt Klaus and only stayed by him out of guilt. This is just a gross misrepresentation of both of their characters. Elijah regretted his actions so much that he literally erased them from his memory. And yes, I do think part of his toxic devotion comes from guilt, but even when his guilt has faded, he does not waver from his love of his brother. Klaus is the one that weaponizes the guilt anytime he thinks Elijah may choose a different path.

Honestly, I don't get how people enjoy TO with this logic. It ruins all of the complexity of stanning the villain or liking morally grey characters. If you want to love a villain, love a villain. Don't try to turn them into a defenseless teddy bear who can't be helped for his own actions.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Everyone Who Bashed Belle As Being A Stockholm Syndrome Victim Should Apologize, When Blitzo Has Shown What A True Victim Is Like

You know for decades Belle was joked as being a victim of stockholm syndrome even though there are many points against that perception. But it's funny that ironically we have a better representation in Blitzo, but those same critics say it's cute that he's basically now his abuser's cheerleader. Seriously, this is the face of a guy who has become conditioned to just be a doormat for a spoiled pos who he previously called out for treating him as lesser. Belle always stood up for herself and didn't let the Beast mistreat her. And she blatantly ranaway when she felt threatened. It's obvious she was not going to be mistreated by someone and that the Beast had to prove he was good enough for her.

And here comes Beast and Stolas, because they are essentially both spoiled brats who need to change in order to be with their love interest. The difference between Beast and Stolas is that the narrative knows the former is flawed and needs to changed while the latter is treated like as if he's a saint that has done nothing wrong. As a result, you see one who gradually changes over time while the other stays the same and is now coddled for it. With Beast and Stolas, they also make grand gestures to show their love. Beast does it because he's showing he's growing to care and even one gesture was risking himself being cursed because he understood that Belle's needs were more than his. However, Stolas does all these grand gestures not as a way to truly atone but a way to finally be with Blitzo because he wants him to fill the empty void in his life. As a result, all of these so-called nice deeds come off as hollow because they come off as a person who is doing this to look good rather than actually be good.

The worst part is that Stolas when he's rejected by Blitzo is coddled for feeling he's entitled to have his feelings returned when he hasn't earned it. Beast, however, even as he's changed make it known that he needs to do selfless stuff not only to break the curse but to truly know what it is to care for another. However, with Stolas it's always about how he feels and how he should be rewarded for doing not even the bare minimum to prove himself. To be frank about Beast, the movie in little detail gives tons of demonstration it's not just the grand gestures but the little things life that made his and Belle's relationship grow. Beast treats her as a person and not an ideal or trophy to have like Gastor (or Stolas if anyone was truthful). He gets to know her and really understands her. However, Stolas just is hooked on his fantasies to the point even the series is enabling him to hold onto them even when all it has done is strip him of everything he's held dear (including his daughter who he's neglected to chase his imp play thing).

I think the biggest thing about what makes Blitzo the true stockholm syndrome is the fact he's not himself anymore with Stolas. And people say that's character change, but he never should have changed for Stolas because Stolas is actually the one who should have done that not him. I don't care what "Apology Tour" says Stolas is not like any of his exes, because he was the one who screwed him over and treated him like shit. The major point is that Belle didn't need to change anything about herself and that she remains a static character who allows the Beast to demonstrate himself as worthy of her love. Stolas as said before does one grand gesture after another, but in the end he still remains in everyday life shitty to Blitzo but now he just tolerates him because he got bit by the red string of fate that makes him bend over for the creator's pet. And everyone knows for sure he's going to pull more shitty stuff in season 3 and get away with it. For this I will have to say that Belle needs to be apologized for being the poster girl for stockholm syndrome and give it to the rightful owner who is Blitzo.

[jeonscatalyst]

Hello there, I am new to this platform. I am so happy I found your blog. I love the way you write and tackle different topics in regard to Jikook. I also appreciate how you never put any other members down just to prove your point.

I started out as a Taekooker, and that was because I spent most of my time on tiktok, Instagram, and YouTube. I had no idea that what I was watching was heavily edited stuff, and most of the edits even Incude fake text. Stuff that neither Tae nor Jungkook even said. I was so convinced the edits were real. Then, somehow, I stumbled upon jikook videos. My stomach sank, there was something, I felt something but I couldn't explain it. It was a gut feeling. I, however, didn't want to admit Jikook was real. So I gave up on shipping all together. Then, one day, I stumbled upon a Jikook analysis on YT. Then GFC in Tokyo. That was a done deal for me. I went back to the edited videos of Taekook, researched original content, and realized it's all been lies. On that day, I gave up Taekook, and don't get me wrong. I love their friendship. I just gave up on the possibility of them being a couple. But after GCF in Tokyo, Saipan, and Are you sure (this is just to name a few). There is plenty of evidence pointing at them as the real deal. I 1000% believe Jikook is the real couple.

Hey anon,

Welcome to tumblr and I really hope you are enjoying it here so far.

Many fans were first introduced to shipping through heavily manipulated videos shared on YouTube and other platforms by Taekookers. When new fans join the fandom, they often turn to YouTube to learn more about the members, and the algorithm is very effective at pushing Taekook edits their way, making them hard to avoid. While Taekookers may lack in many areas, they excel at editing videos to push a particular narrative.

For years, Taekookers relied on those tactics to sustain their theories, even when there was little to no interaction between Taehyung and Jungkook. Ironically, they now claim to hate (or pretend to hate) company content, yet for years, company content was the only way they could see Taekook interact. They would overanalyze and sensationalize every small interaction captured in official content because they had no other material to work with. The solo era atleast for the first time helped them take a little break from making up numerous outings and sightings of Taekook lol.

Taekookers are also master storytellers. They skillfully weave angst into their narratives, as it seems to resonate deeply with their audience. Their recurring theme often portrays two helpless individuals, deeply in love but trapped in a homophobic society, suppressed by a company intent on keeping them apart. One of them, they claim, is forced into unwanted fanservice with another member, while the other suffers silently, watching in pain. Stories like these evoke strong emotions, draw people in, and create a sense of duty to “support their love.” Many Taekookers are simply misguided, and those who direct their hatred at Jimin often do so because they genuinely believe he is an obstacle or even malicious….beliefs fueled by manipulative YouTube videos and the indoctrination of their “cult leaders.”

When people describe Taekookers as cult-like, they’re not exaggerating. Many behave as though they’ve been brainwashed. Whenever an outsider or even a BTS member says or does something that could challenge the reality of Taekook, they immediately create excuses, even going as far as calling them liars. What’s most baffling is that none of them seem to step back and question these contradictions. For instance, the entire Taekooker community firmly believes that, in documentaries showing moments when Jungkook was ill or injured, the company deliberately prevented Taehyung from being by his side and instead sent Jimin to “feed shippers.” They genuinely believe this and even provide so-called “proof.” It’s remarkable how quickly they come up with new ways to reinforce their beliefs, even twisting narratives or calling Tae and Jungkook themselves liars when their version of events doesn’t align. This is how they’ve coped for years, and much of it stems from YouTube and manipulated edits.

In contrast, those who believe there may be something more between Jimin and Jungkook tend to approach things more logically. And I’m not saying this just because I’m a Jikooker. Taekook is easy to fall into. Their interactions are light, straightforward, and wholesome…there’s nothing particularly complex about them (beyond the complications added by shippers). Their behavior doesn’t align with the dramatic, secretive love story Taekookers promote. There’s no visible panic, hesitation, or anything that suggests they’re hiding something. Taekook’s dynamic is effortless, which is one of the main reasons I’ve never believed there was anything romantic between them.

Jikook, on the other hand, is far more nuanced and layered. Their interactions are filled with complexities and subtleties that require experience and logical thinking to fully grasp. When you consider their circumstances and everything they’ve likely endured over the years, their dynamic and actions make so much sense. It feels deeper and more meaningful. Personally, while I’m not 100% certain that Jikook are a couple, I’m certain their relationship..whatever it may be, hasn’t always been purely platonic.

[scrumptiousstuffs]

Well anon…vent away. You clearly have strong views on this show.

I did mentioned in my previous ask, there were many plot holes and questions that I am puzzled about. I wasn’t going to list all of them but you clearly already did with your ask above 😅…

I also said THK was never going to be the type of show that will be award wining. But that doesn’t bother me - I am personally entertained by this show, something that I haven’t feel for such a long, long time. This is the only show I watch live and stayed up late despite having work tmr (time difference means it airs after midnight for me).

Our criteria for liking a show obviously differs - you seems to prefer tight plotlines on top of amazing acting (at the very least, we can both agree FirstKhaotung as usual brought their A-game to the table). Personally, I also think JoongDunk are doing great.

I don’t particularly put stock on plotlines - as long as it make general sense, I can fill the “holes” for the inconsistencies myself (isn’t that how fanfictions are generated anyway? People expanding on missing plotlines etc etc).

As for the BDSM scene - is it weird Bison didn’t bring it up after that “bad” take in Ep 3? Maybe? But I am also not surprised. This show was never designed to be sex-focus despite what people may have feel when they watch the official trailer (or even pilot). Like it may have open up with the sexy scene of Fadel feeding Style water, KB red room plus the BDSM scene - however, the rest of the trailer really didn’t show any other NC scenes - just the boys messy, intertwined relationships with each other instead (that’s how I felt when I watched it. Of course, you may feel differently).

And let me reiterate again, this show is designed first and foremost for local/SEA audiences. International viewers are just bonuses for them. I don’t know which country you are from, but I’m originally from SEA. BDSM (or really any sex) is censored so heavily by the governing body that allows the show to even air (for eg,I can confirm even chaste kiss scene used to be cut out before they would air it in Malaysia cinema). And while Thailand/SEA may have a blooming LGQBT/queer market - their audiences are still largely conservative (esp when it is aired by GMM 25, which is marketed to be more family friendly). Only Friends was considered controversial when it aired. Plus, I’m sure Ninew/Jojo mentioned in an interview somewhere, it took them a long time for the show to get a green light from GMMTV.

So to me, as someone who lived in SEA for a long time, even having one scene of introductory BDSM is revolutionary. Yes, like you, I would love more exploration but I’ll take what I can get - and if this is Jojo slowly introducing the concept to local audiences, so be it.

I’m also reminded by @fadelbison recent take - these directors are learning and also honing their crafts. We will have wins and losses. Some will be to your taste, some will not.

Plus, as people keep pointing out about my blog entries, I am an optimist 😂 who prefers to focus on the positives and shrugs off the negatives.

If you personally think FirstKhaotung is the only reason why THK is worth watching, well - you are entitled to your opinions.

I adore FirstKhaotung - they will always be my bias. But I truly like THK beyond just FirstKhaotung. So, you bet I’ll be buying that DVD box set when it comes out.

[sugawhaaa]

SAN X READER

🍾•{miss impression}•☆🍾

[Part. 1/2]

Warnings//genre:: mentions alcohol, vomiting, toxic friendships, suggestive, college/high-school au, confession, childhood friends (but you guys stopped becoming friends so idk)

Pairing:: friend!San x fem!reader

A/N:: I got this prompt idea from an animator on YouTube and she's really popular so a few ppl may recognize it lolol. I don't remember the channel name but I know her name is Elle 😭 also this has nothing to do with the fanfic but I saw my fav high-school teacher at the gorecery store today and NOW SHES MARRIED she's a girlboss 😻🤞

Atz masterlist::🍸

Parties were never really your thing but your friends convinced you to come along to this party simply because San was there. You always had a thing for him, you were close in late elementary school and early junior high but the two of you slowly drifted apart with no hard feelings. However, as you got older, you felt yourself being more and more attracted to him. He matured very well. He works out regularly and is on the basketball team but he always stays warm and kind no matter how old he gets.

However, parties like these don't contain many people like him. You decided to wear a bit of a different outfit to the party, perhaps you looked a little too formal compared to everyone else. Your shoulders and chest were nicely covered and your skirt hung around your knees, very long compared to the other ladies. Everyone around you kept looking at you weirdly and you suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"Ugh what are we gonna do with you," your friend chuckles. "Though I suppose standing next to you we look a lot hotter!" She lightly punches your shoulder and all you can do is fake a chuckle as she takes another drink.

"Haha, right..." you force a smile before looking back at the main crowd.

"Why don't you have some drinks, you'll feel better," another friend comes up to you with a full party cup of alcohol, offering it to you. You hesitantly take the drink and take a few sips. It's disgusting but you don't want to show it around this crowd, you want to fit in just for once.

And that's how you get carried away.

After way too many drinks to count you start to mentally feel better but your body is furious. You put a hand to your stomach and go up to a friend.

"I don't feel so good...I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you groan and your friend laughs, pulling out her phone camera.

"Oh Y/N's getting sick!" She points out as she films you rushing to the washroom and attempts to follow you but San charges through.

"Is she okay?" He asks genuinely and your friend pauses.

"Probably, she hardly had anything to drink. She's a lightweight," she shrugs, her phone now filming the floor. San sighs before heading up to the bathroom where he hears the sound of puking. He takes a deep breath before knocking on the door.

"Y/N, it's me," he says and your eyes widen in surprise but you stay hunched over the toilet.

"Don't come in!" This is the last state you want him to see you in.

"I'm coming in," he quickly opens the door and closes it, making sure no one sees you. "Hey, do you need anything?" He asks sincerely as he crouches down beside you. You're not sure what to say to him but let your emotions get the better of you, tears building up in your eyes.

"Hold back my hair?" You say in a soft whine. San nods and gently tucks back your hair, his fingers brushing up against your neck. You then lean over the toilet seat, spilling out every ounce of anything in your stomach. San turns away, not really wanting to see the vomit but still wanting to be there for you.

"Shh, it's okay, let it out," he rubs your back soothingly. "Yup, just like that," he holds your hair back as you sit up again. "Better?" He tilts his head.

"Yeah, but..." you look down at your stained shirt. San lets out a little 'tsk' sound of sympathy.

"Here let's get that off so it doesn't irritate your skin," he helps you take the shirt off, making sure the puke doesn't touch your face or anything before tossing it in the bathtub and rinsing it down. You cross your arms in a way to cover your exposed skin from him but he hardly glances at your bare skin. "You want my hoodie?" He offers, already taking off his hoodie.

"Yeah, thanks," You take his sweater and swing it on over your head. You continue to sit on the bathroom floor near the toilet just in case you need it again and partially because the floor is comfortable. San rinses down the shirt thoroughly as you sit there in a daze. You felt physically uncomfortable and your head was racing through thoughts, mainly negative. You felt ashamed to be in such a position, especially with a man like him. He's so perfect, charming and friendly, being in a situation like this next to him makes you feel humiliated.

"Hey, are you okay?" San crouches down in front of you, a hand on your shoulder. You snap out of your negative thoughts and look up at him. San can see the heavy emotions behind your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," You look away from him and he sighs.

"I know you're not, something is weighing on your mind," He sits down beside you, resting his back against the wall. "We might have been close quite a while ago but I still understand you. I can tell when you're...hurting," He smiles softly and you sigh, tucking your legs up.

"I don't know, I'm just upset over everything," You shrug and San nods slowly. "I had such high expectations for tonight, how fun it would be and all that but," You frown as you look at the floor and it finally clicks in San's head.

"I get it," A moment of silence hangs between the two of you before San speaks again. "Why don't I drive you home? It sounds like you've had enough of this place," He offers you a hand as he stands up.

"Have you had anything to drink?" You ask just to be sure.

"Nope, I don't handle alcohol well," He chuckles before pulling you up. "And we'll walk right out of here, no more bullshit," He pats your head before tucking some stray hairs from your face. He then leads you downstairs and just as he's about to grab the door handle your friend approaches the two of you.

"Are you wearing his clothes?" She asks. Her voice is a toxic combination of fake amusement and jealousy.

"Um, yeah," You say awkwardly, tired of all this drama. San pulls your hand, urging you to the door and you nod. Your friend just scoffs, but you could tell she wanted to say something. Outside you get into San's car and he starts up the engine.

"So, what's your address?" He asks, pulling out his phone.

"Would it be okay if we go to your place instead?" You ask boldly and San looks surprised but not reluctant.

"Yeah, I understand," he nods. "It's not much, just a little apartment about five minutes away from here," the drive over to his place is awkwardly quiet and the tension doesn't help the twists and turns in your gut. San notices that you seem comfortable but he isn't sure how to make you feel safer. He pulls into the parking lot of the apartment building before making his way inside with you.

His apartment is on the top floor with a nice balcony that can be spotted right from entering his room. "Sorry if there's any mess, I don't often have guests," he chuckles as he takes off his shoes and gets comfortable. He takes your jacket as well and hangs it up on one of the hooks near the doorway. "Make yourself comfortable," he sits on the sofa in his living room and invites you over. You sit down beside him, giving him a comfortable amount of space. "Would you like to sleep here tonight? It's much safer for you to stay here for many reasons but don't feel pressured,"

"I'd love to if you're okay with that," you chuckle, the tiredness hitting you after sitting. Getting drunk and then being sick while going through so much loud music and drama was quite tiring. San invites you to his room so you can rest in his bed. After you lay down he picks the blanket up to cover you before squatting down beside you.

"I'll be out of the couch if you need anything," he puts a hand to your shoulder, his smile oddly fond and sincere.

"Wait, you're sleeping on the couch?" You ask and he nods.

"I'll give you the most comfortable space and plenty of space. The couch is nice anyway," he smiles before rising to his feet. You gently take his wrist, a thin silver bracelet can be felt against your hand.

"Stay here, I don't want to invade your space," you shake your head and he turns to look at you. "The bed is big and the blanket is big," your words are dragging and sloppy. He chuckles softly before crouching down to you again.

"Okay, I'll stay here," he goes to close the door over before changing, he knew you weren't looking in his direction because you were facing the other way and your eyes were half-lidded. "Is it okay if I take my shirt off? It's not like you haven't seen me shirtless before," he smiles and you let out a little groan but it was clear you were trying to say "Sure". He then crawls into bed, giving you lots of space and most of the blanket.

The room is peacefully quiet as you lay there but you roll over, making eye contact with San. He blushes softly as you blink slowly.

"San, remember when we went to that water park when we were in year 6?" You ask softly, your words still slow.

"I do," he chuckles, "there was that big slide you were scared to go on but you also wouldn't let me go on it by myself because you didn't want to be left alone," he smiles at the memory, thinking of the times of pure youth.

"Yeah," you pout, "but this reminds me of the hotel we stayed at afterward," you explain, and a realization dawns on San. "Our hair was still wet and we couldn't stop laughing all night and our parents would tell us to go to sleep," you sigh at the memory. He then takes your hand softly, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

"That was also the trip..." he thinks for a moment before speaking. "I realized I had a crush on you," he confesses, and that one statement dug three more feet of depth to the conversation.

"You...liked me?" You fight back your smile as his words sink in.

"Yeah..." San looked like he had just swallowed a stone and was debating on whether he should cough it out or swallow it deeper and let it digest. "I-I uhm," he looks down, cheeks flushed and ears pure red.

"I like you San, right now," you blurt out and suddenly your face matches San's ears, pure red. His eyes widen at your confession before chuckling softly. You began to worry that he was laughing at you for confessing but you reminded yourself that he is too kind for something like that.

"I honestly like you too, I was just too afraid to say anything. I was scared of rejection and how our relationship may change," he brings tour hand up to his face, close to his lips. "You are braver than me Y/N, though you were afraid of water slides, and insects," he chuckles before kissing your knuckles. You smile at his as he does so.

Your eyes then flutter shut, fighting drowsiness to the best of your abilities. "So what does that make us Y/N?" He asks genuinely. "I don't mind anything you propose to me. If you aren't ready for something more and you need time I understand," he nods and you hum in acknowledgment.

"Can we be boyfriend girlfriend?" You smile and he laughs.

"What a cute way of asking me to date you," he tucks back some hair from your face. "Alright, we'll be boyfriend girlfriend."

《Mr. Impression》 coming soon

[this-user-is-new]

nah, actually i can say that here. many people agreed with me.

but anyway, ekko is just a boundless well of compassion who exists solely to make vi look good, right? his entire life shaped by the violence, oppression and systemic cruelty of the enforcers is completely irrelevant when it comes to how he should feel about vi actively choosing to become one. because apparently, his trauma and lived experience just disappear when it’s about her. none of that matters when vi decides to throw on an enforcer uniform. he’s just here to be vi’s emotional support, right?

even if you want to use ekko to make vi look better with how he put everything aside for the greater good in the finale—fine (i'll go back to this tho). he can save her life. he can even work with her out of necessity. but let’s not pretend that means he agrees with her choice or respects it. his entire worldview is built around resisting piltover’s oppression, and the enforcers are literally a tool of that oppression. acting like he’d just set all of that aside for vi’s sake is incredibly stupid *cough* sorry, i meant reductive.

and don’t even get me started on the jinx argument. season 2, as plenty of people have pointed out, skips over a massive chunk of character development, and now you’re using their rushed resolution as some kind of "gotcha" moment to prove ... what, exactly? that because ekko forgave jinx off-screen, he’d do the same for vi? that logic is incredible. not in a good way. you’re actually using a literal writing flaw, one that leaves a major gap in ekko’s character arc to push your agenda. because yeah, let’s take a gaping hole in the show’s writing and use it as proof that ekko would just roll over and be totally fine with vi working for piltover. genius. but acknowledging that would require you to admit that season 2’s writing has issues, and unfortunately, i don’t think you’re there yet because that would require actual critical thinking.

i'm sure you’re fine with how ekko is abruptly removed from the storyline, how the oppressed are suddenly fighting alongside their oppressors, how the show prioritizes an alternate-universe ekko instead of developing the one we’re actually supposed to be following in his own universe, and how ekko and vi don’t exchange a single conversation—not even for him to confront her.

anyway, i recommend reading more about ekko’s actual lore. he’s so much more than what arcane shows you. hell, just listen to his LoL voice lines and then tell me if this boy "understands" vi becoming an enforcer. i’ll wait.

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (46)

***

Despite the uncertainty and the threat of violence hanging over their heads, life goes on. Everyone still works and eats and sleeps, and gets up the next morning to do it again. There are more enforcers in the morning, dark uniforms and helmets, reflective goggles and heavy masks, and few hands lifted to volunteer each day, but the coal still needs to be dug up. People get quicker at shaking off the hushed worry of the courtyard, until the background chatter and noise in level one almost feels like normal.

The mess hall remains loud at night, friends telling stories and drinking away their worries. The only time it goes quiet is when one of the engineers or enforcers step inside, but they don't stay long. They order and take their food out, and conversations continue as soon as the door closes behind them.

One of the kitchenhands takes a shine to Felicia, boldly flirting with her, and Connol spends the night pretending to ignore both of them. Benzo rolls his eyes at the whole thing but Vander feels obligated to try to help him out. "If you like her, you've got to tell her."

Connol reaches for his ale. "I'm not taking advice from someone who gets shot down as often as you."

"Eventually it worked," Silco says, hilariously dry.

Vander laughs but Connol glares at them both in turn. "Is that what you'd do? Really?"

Silco tilts his head to the side, swirling the juice in his glass. He refuses to pay for the whisky in the mess now that they have a bottle of Noxian whisky locked away in the safe at home. (When Vander points out that he almost never drinks it, Silco claims that's not the point.)

"No," Silco says, drawing the words out as he thinks. "I wouldn't. I'd find out what interests were and help her achieve it. That worked on me."

"Yeah, but not everybody's–" Connol stops when he sees the warning look on Vander's face. "I don't even know what she'd want."

It's funny to see Silco look at someone else like they're an idiot. Vander's pretty sure the same expression is on his own face. "You don't?"

"What?" Connol looks around the table, but even Benzo is eyeing him judgmentally. "What?"

"How many times has Felicia complained about wanting to dance?" Benzo asks. "Said there should be music in the mine?"

"Huh."

***

Vander's pretty sure the half-rusted jukebox doesn't come into Silco's hands by fluke. Silco shrugs it off, says it was excess cargo, that the captain just wanted the space back on his ship since it didn't work anymore, but Vander doesn't believe him. Benzo doesn't either, not from the way he snorts when Silco asks him and Vander to move it, but he offers to help Connol work on it once they get it back to the market.

It's definitely a building now. No windows to let in the low murky gloom of daytime but good solid walls to keep out the Grey. They built shelves along the back wall, using staggered boxes to create a staircase. There's one wall built upstairs, a space to lock away goods and tools and building materials, a door that can be locked from the outside and barred from the inside. It's plain, the wood and metal of construction showing through, but it's the first thing built on their land.

The only drawback is that the crevasse is so deep that it holds the Grey until mid-morning. Walking through it, even with gas masks, doesn't sound like a smart idea so Silco and Vander keep sleeping in their little shack in the mines. It doesn't work as a market, either. As Silco points out, if they tell the other miners about it, what's to stop them stealing everything left there while the five of them are working? To keep it safe, you'd need someone guarding it during shifts.

"Told you so," Benzo mutters to Vander, but not loud enough for Silco to overhear.

"You might be glad to have somewhere to run to if things get bad," Vander replies. This morning, there were only six volunteers for twelve positions. It's only a matter of time before something breaks.

***

It happens the next morning, in the most unexpected way. While the miners are shifting their weight on their feet, avoiding each other's eyes, a whole crowd of Pilties walk into the courtyard. Half of them are dressed in some sort of uniform, blue and red with a fancy little vest. The other half are big and burly, wearing good, thick workers clothes and solid boots. They ignore the huddle of miners in the courtyard and walk straight over to the engineers, and follow them into the mine.

"What was that?" Vander wonders quietly and Benzo shrugs.

Silco's still watching them. "It's not enough people to replace us in the mine." He sounds just as confused as the rest of them.

The supervisors announce everyone's working on level one today but they don't say what's going on, what the dozens of topsiders are building in the mine. They try asking Connol but he doesn't know much more than the rest of them. The Pilties are moving the steel down to level two but they're not using the greasers to fix it together.

"Any idea what they're building?"

Connol scratches his neck, just beneath his hard hat. "They got another delivery of steel. It had blades."

Silco's face scrunches up in confusion. "Knives?"

"No, like a fan. Only place I've seen that uses fans that big is the power station," Connol says and then he sees Silco's still confused expression. "They burn the coal, the steam moves the fans and turns into electricity for Piltover. But they couldn't do that in the mine. They lose control if a seam caught on fire."

"They'd need a big, clear space?" Vander asks and Connol nods. "They might already have one. We found it when we got trapped in that cave in."

"The old cavern?" Felicia asks. "With the statue of Janna?"

"If it's as big as you said," Connol allows with a see-saw of his hand. "But even if they could do it, what would they do with that power?"

The dorms and the mess hall run on small, coal-powered generators. Everywhere else in the mine uses lanterns. Riverside uses fireplaces and lanterns and candles from large sea creature fat. There wouldn't be enough demand for electricity to make topsiders invest in a whole power station for the undercity.

"Maybe they want to build factories here," Silco says. "I've heard the factories in Piltover are full of machines that do the heavy work. They'd need power for that."

***

Two weeks in and they still don't know what the company is building. The topsiders keep showing up and working on it but they don't talk to the miners, so no one really knows what's going on. They just know that everyone's stuck working on level one until they get told otherwise.

It's becoming more challenging to meet quota – slower to get access to a cart, harder to get everything marked off – so the four of them have taken to working together, digging up a pile of rock and then submitting all the carts under one name to reach quota. Working through each of their names means at least two of them hit quota, and they just start with the next person the next day.

It doesn't sit well with Silco, probably because they all know he lacks the same physical strength as Felicia, Benzo and Vander. They're good with pickaxes and better with gauntlets, pounding the bedrock until it gives. The one time Silco attempted to use gauntlets, he ended the day with a ring of nasty purple bruises around his arms and swollen, bruised knuckles.

Vander had pressed his lips to each of those abused knuckles. "Avoid the gauntlets in future? Please?"

"Yes, we proved that was not effective."

"We proved that you have no sense of self-preservation," Vander replied, fetching cold, damp rags to take down the swelling. "You must have felt that. You should have stopped."

"At some point, your friends will grow tired of carrying me. It's obvious I'm not contributing as much as the rest of you."

"You were the one who came up with the idea of pooling our efforts. Meeting quota person by person, so we're not risking none of us getting paid. No one's complaining."

Maybe Benzo's complained, but it's not about sharing the work. Benzo complains about Silco's manners, his "high handed" attitude to taking charge. It's not like he's wrong. Vander knows Silco can be sharp-tongued and bossy, taking charge of a situation as if he's the only one who knows anything, but Vander doesn't actually mind it. Silco's usually right and for all his organising, Silco will work himself twice as hard as anyone else.

What he really likes to see is Silco negotiating, getting to be clever and cunning, bargaining without a single flinch. Babette's great at it too, which makes watching the pair of them haggle over rolls of fabric highly entertaining.

Vander doesn't know the difference between silk and satin, but Babette talks about cut and quality, and Silco repeats the captain's words about thread source and dye origin. The pair of them stand over the kitchen table and haggle, volleying prices back and forth until it feels like watching some kind of sport.

It takes half an hour for them to come to an accord they're both pleased with, and then Silco pulls up a bag of cosmetics. This is the one of the reasons Vander enjoys selling to Babette: her workers have no trouble asking for what they want and they'll willingly pay for it. It's always a profitable night.

Plus, there's usually a chance Kane or one of the others will want to test a new purchase and talk Silco into letting them paint his face, lining his eyes with dark smudges of colour, darkening the thin curve of his lips, drawing attention to the sweep of his cheekbones. They make silco look delicate and gorgeous, far too precious for Vander’s clumsy hands.

(Not that Silco cares. He'll just roll his eyes when they get home and tell Vander to wait until he's undressed – he doesn't want to add any more stains to his shirt. Silco is a sight to behold on those nights: all long pale limbs and glittering dark eyes, climbing onto Vander's lap and leaving lipstick marks across his chest.)

"One more thing," Babette says as Silco starts opening his notebook, checking for orders. "I have a job for you. Maybe not one you'd be interested in, but I think you'd be good at it."

Vander takes a step forward, mind already rushing through what kind of jobs Babette offers. He wants to wrap an arm around Silco's shoulder, to protect his claim, but Silco looks over at him and gives an unimpressed shake of his head.

"What's the job?"

"We have a Piltover customer who's been getting aggressive with some of the workers." Babette ashes her long cigarette, weighing her words carefully. "I'm not one to judge, everyone enjoys what they enjoy, but something should be agreed first."

It doesn't make Vander feel better about the potential job.

"I've warned him and he did it again," Babette says, "so I think he needs a good fright. I think a mugging from a few undercity thugs, rough him up. Make him scared to come back across the river."

"You have a few topsider clients," Silco says slowly. "Won't this put them off?"

"Not if it's done on the street and out of sight. He isn't well liked." Babette puffs out a smoke ring that floats in the air. "My other clients are more discreet."

"Vander? What do you think?"

Vander shrugs. "As long as we cover up so he can't recognise us."

"Do we get to keep what we steal from him?" Silco asks and Babette nods. "Okay, we're in."

***

[randomfoggytiger]

The Truth Is Out There: Gillian Anderson, a Resilient Rising Star

Gillian Anderson-- a case study in the infamous Dana Scully quote:  "I think that you appreciate that there are extraordinary men and women and extraordinary moments when history leaps forward on the backs of these individuals, that what can be imagined can be achieved, that you must dare to dream, but that there's no substitute for perseverance and hard work and teamwork because no one gets there alone...."

The below transcriptions are taken directly from Brian Lowry's The Official Guide to the X-Files (Book 1), and will be fonted in italics. The previous part of this mini-series can be found here.

BITS FROM THE BOOK

…Crew members now recall with bemusement the tight shots on Anderson’s face, or scenes where the actress would peek around a doorway before having her stunt double quickly run past it. As time went on, matters became more difficult, with Anderson catching breathers and even napping when she could between scenes. 

Anderson acknowledges that period was difficult for her psychologically but feels she owed the show whatever she could do since such “huge exceptions” were being made on her behalf. The experience really pulled people together, since many of those who worked on the show had families, making it “the crew’s pregnancy,” Anderson says. 

IN HER OWN WORDS

Gillian Anderson has gone her own way, and in most instances without a road map. 

Anderson’s experience with "The X-Files" hasn’t just changed her professional career (although landing the part was, as it turned out, clearly the break of a lifetime) but her entire life, in ways that even she could hardly have foreseen at the time. 

It is also a truly inspiring success story, told by someone only now beginning to absorb the flow of events that took her from the brink of going back to waiting tables to television stardom. 

“At the time it always seems like forever,” Anderson says. “It’s only in retrospect and reading about other people’s paths that I realize how lucky I was.” 

Somewhat wild as a teenager, Anderson nonetheless harbored scientific aspirations before the acting bug bit her in high school. “Somehow, I have no idea how the transition was made from wanting to be an archeologist or a marine biologist to wanting to be an actress, but it just kind of happened,” she says. 

Anderson returned to Chicago to study acting at DePaul University’s Goodman Theater School and was noticed by some New York-based William Morris agents at an actors’ showcase. They offered to represent her in pursuing acting as a career if she moved to New York…. 

Working as a waitress to support herself, Anderson received the first in a series of fortuitous breaks…. 

Because the play in New York would have conflicted with other projects, Anderson opted to make a two-for-one swap and take the other two parts, doing the movie and then "The Philanthropist". As it turned out, the latter ultimately led her to Los Angeles after she became involved with another actor on the show, following him to the West Coast and eventually moving in with him. “I’m not sure if I hadn’t made those choices that I would be doing The X-Files right now,” she muses. 

“First of all, I swore I’d never move to Los Angeles,” she admits, “and once I did, I swore I’d never do television. It was only after being out of work for almost a year that I began going in [to audition] on some stuff that I would pray that I wouldn’t get because I didn’t want to be involved in it.” 

Despite what she now calls her “very snobby view of doing television versus film,” Anderson read the pilot script for "The X-Files" and found herself immediately drawn to both the character of Dana Scully and her relationship with fellow FBI agent Fox Mulder. 

"The X-Files", in fact, was the only pilot for which Anderson auditioned in 1993, at that point possessing little knowledge regarding what the whole process entailed. She even had to ask her manager what a pilot was and had no idea that each network commissions about four times as many pilots as they end up ordering as series. “I naively assumed that we were going to be picked up,” she says, with the hope that landing the part and doing 13 episodes of a TV show (the number networks order for starters) would put her in a different echelon of casting. She anticipated at most committing a year to the project. 

Anderson was just 24 years old at the time…. The actress’s representatives fudged a bit, saying she was 27. 

Contemplating whether waiting tables would again be a necessity, Anderson learned that she’d landed the part the day her final unemployment check came. 

“I didn’t foresee at all that it was going to become as popular as it has,” she says, never thinking eve after production began that the show would go longer than two or three seasons. “I often thought, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’ The first year was the hardest in terms of getting into the kind of grueling hours and sleep deprivation and having to perform constantly, day in and day out. 

“Now, my body and my psyche are used to it, but I still can’t fathom that we might go into year five or year six. I can’t even think about that, because I start to panic,” Anderson says with a laugh, having negotiated a contract (as has David Duchovny) through at least a fifth season. 

During production she began dating Clyde Klotz, an art director on the show. The two married while on vacation in Hawaii after seeing each other for roughly for months. When Anderson soon learned that she was pregnant she knew what she wanted to do, but concedes to “not completely thinking ahead about the consequences of that decision.” 

Concerned (and having heard rumors) that there might be pressure to recast the role, Anderson confided the news to Duchovny first, then to executive producer Chris Carter. The decision was almost immediately made to shoot around her pregnancy, though it was months before she was allowed to tell the crew or press about her condition. 

Limiting Anderson’s participation in the show presented no small task. Unlike an ensemble drama where a character can slip into the background and leave costars to carry the load, The X-Files is a two-character piece that requires its stars to sometimes work 14 and 16-hour days, with only half of Saturday and Sunday to themselves. 

Still, Anderson earned the admiration of nearly everyone involved at all levels by continuing to work a grueling production schedule into her final month, up until about a week before she finally (and belatedly) gave birth. The logistics of filming, she notes, were probably more of a hardship on the directors and assistant directors who had to figure out what camera angles to use to obscure her physical changes, but Anderson admits the later months became a bit of an ordeal. 

“My feet were swelling and I was exhausted, sleeping between scenes,” she recalls, fondly remembering how crew members tried to help out by bringing apple boxes for her to sit on. “It became almost like the crew’s pregnancy, because everyone was pulling together to make it work.” 

Anderson’s daughter, Piper, was delivered in September 1994 by cesarean section, which wasn’t anticipated and required the actress to spend the next six days in the hospital. Four days after that, she was back on The X-Files set….. 

Though the episode was designed to limit the physical strain on her, says Anderson, “It was probably one of the hardest times, because as a new mother your whole brain is focused on this child whether you want it to be or not.” Instead, she found herself hooked into a bed, able to extract herself from a web of tubes only with great difficulty and thus unable to be with the baby between shots, sometimes lying there several hours at a time. 

“It was excruciating psychologically,” she says. “At the same time, I knew it was something that I needed to do for them. They had made huge exceptions for me in allowing me to go through with this.” 

…The actress admits that one of the more challenging aspects of her role involves the tongue-twisting medical and scientific dialogue she often has to recite. “It is hard to connect,” she says. “To a certain degree, there’s only so much of it that you can comprehend and understand from day to day… and then you just have to let go and trust that as an actor you can make it seem real….” 

Because of the need to keep production moving, she adds, “there’s not time to be hung up on getting the lines right.” In addition, Duchovny possesses what amounts to a photographic memory, so Anderson says she feels self-imposed pressure to keep pace with him. 

…In the first season, at least, Anderson also exercised regularly and “loved to do my own tumbles” and stunt work, a practice that came to a crashing halt due to her pregnancy. In fact, Anderson remembers shooting a scene for the episode titled “Young at Heart” when serial killer John Barnett shoots Scully, who’s wearing a bullet-proof vest. The actress filmed take after take where she propelled herself backward onto her back, at one point just missing the edge of a marble column behind her. On top of that, she says, “I didn’t realize till later that I was pregnant at the time.” 

…Although she says she appears “very different when not playing Scully,” Anderson (who admits to being 5’3” and at times looking “like I’m up to his belly-button” walking beside 6’1” Duchovny) now casts a long shadow. She acknowledges there are now few places she can go without being recognized; she savored the anonymity she enjoyed in parts of Europe during a trip there. 

…While that notoriety hasn’t become intrusive, she admits to being more protective and on edge in public. “I tend to be a very private person and want to let people in when I want them in, and not when they want to be let in,” she concedes. 

…She’s also flattered that those smitten by her TV persona tend to be “computer guys,” as she puts it, who write thoughtful fan mail with less panting than might be associated with other, more flamboyant television stars. “There’s an intelligence to the attraction,” she observes, pointing out with some pride that in England she’s been called “the thinking man’s crumpet.” 

“I actually enjoy that I don’t get letters from guys saying, ‘Oh you’re so beautiful, I want to marry you, I can’t wait till you take your clothes off,’” she continues, laughing as she affects a voice that sounds like a patron of a late-night phone service. “I think I might throw up if I got something like that.” 

Although she appreciates the show’s two-character aspect and Scully and Mulder’s deftly realized rapport, Anderson also wouldn’t mind a day coming when The X-Files might add some more hired help, opening up the concept and allowing the central duo more spare time. With so little rest each week and roughly 10 months of production, she says, “the year becomes a blur.” 

…Even Anderson admits there was a point where she had to stop, catch her breath, and absorb all the major, life-changing events that have happened to her in such a relatively short span of time. “What caught up with me,” she says, reflecting on that moment, “is basically the facts of my life.” 

TRIVIA

“Deep Throat”: "This episode is also the first one on which assistant art director Clyde Klotz worked. Mr. Klotz went on to marry Gillian Anderson on New Year’s Day, 1994.” 

“Shapes”: One potentially humorous scene that failed to make the cut has a cow blocking the agents’ car, with Scully waving her arms and yelling, “Baseball glove! Leather purse!” trying to shoo the beast out of the road.

“Little Green Men”: The passenger manifest that Scully scrutinizes while trying to trace Mulder’s movements contains the names of many on-line X-Philes, as well as X-Files novel author Charles Grant.

“Duane Barry”: Shot during Anderson’s pregnancy, the episode includes an inside joke in the supermarket scene with Scully buying pickles and ice cream. 

“Irresistible”: The football game that Mulder and Scully are missing is Washington v. Minnesota, two teams that each had a “Carter” in their ranks; in one scene a television announcer mentions a catch by Cris Carter. 

“Dod Kalm”: …Unfortunately, filming on the ship was freezing cold and so cramped that it was difficult to set up certain shots, while people frequently banged their heads against the ceiling. In addition, the actors had to endure three to four hours of makeup for their aging sequences on certain days before the cameras could roll. “Everyone was exhausted as it was,” muses Gordon, who wrote the episode with former partner Alex Gansa, so for the actors having to come in early for makeup on top of it was “about the worst thing I could have done to them.” As a result, there’s an outtake where Gillian Anderson-- in heavy makeup, flawlessly delivering her monologue about Scully’s certainty that they have nothing to fear from hereafter-- concludes the sequence by saying she’s sure of one thing: “Howard Gordon is a dead man.”

CONCLUSION

And there we go! GA is pretty private; and hasn't, as of 1995, decisively stepped out of her protective comfort zone one way or another.

I'm curious to see how that will evolve.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[opinions-about-tiaras]

I'm going to get up on my hobbyhorse again!

Agents of SHIELD has a crucial difference from all of Disney's streaming shows. It was aired on network TV, in prime time. It was absolutely forced to adhere to fixed running times interrupted at pre-set intervals by commercials breaks. It was forced to adhere to quaint things like "a traditional three-act structure."

Now, good structure cannot save bad writing, of course. But it can make workmanlike, entirely functional writing (which is basically what AoS had for most of its run; it was never incredible, but also rarely dire) seem more solid than it is, because it turns out the basics of storytelling structure in the broadcast medium were worked out many, many decades ago and they have merit to them.

Disney's streaming shows didn't have this. Because streaming, they could be "whatever." Length and act structure and whatnot were completely arbitrary. Need an extra two minutes? Sure, you can have that! Are you short by thirty seconds? No you're not!

This sounds incredibly freeing, right? Only it turns out a lot of writers just straight-up didn't know how to write a show without that basic foundation, that skeleton, of structure holding them up. In addition to their other sins, the Disney streaming shows almost universally feel flabby. Unsure of themselves and how to get form point A to point B. They often noodle around aimlessly, because you can tell that the episode got where it was going to go around the fifteen minute mark, but they can't just END it there, fifteen minutes is too short, but also they're not prepared to move to a whole other episodes worth of plot beats, so they just... spin their wheels. And then you get to the end of their eight-episode season and its "oh, shit gotta cram a ton of stuff in."

(This is, I believe, an outgrowth of the writers trying to write like they're writing movies, rather than TV. But that's another thing.)

Now, this kind of flabby structure could have been rescued if the writing had been absolutely astounding. There are plenty of movies and TV shows that are meandering, ill-structured MESSES (I'm looking in the direction of the recently-deceased and much-mourned David Lynch here) but they manage to be beloved, even successful, anyhow because the writing is SHARP. But the writing isn't sharp. It's mediocre. And while good structure can't save bad writing, bad structure can absolutely doom mediocre writing.

It feels reductive to say "they just needed better writing" but, well, they kinda do. Streaming is so high-stakes. Eight episodes, once every two years, for a lot of series? Man, you need to fucking park it deep every single time. Agents of SHIELD had another advantage; it was airing twenty episodes a year. Some of them could be dogshit! Some of them WERE dogshit! But if you had two really bad ones in a row, it wasn't "well that's a quarter of the season wasted."

You can absolutely use your streaming shows as a synergy platform. I think that could work very well. People were super open to the idea! Everybody pretends to be so over everything but I'm so old I remember how excited we all were in 2020, "oh boy, my favorite stuff is coming to TV! Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson are going to hang out, not just for a few minutes in a two-hour movie, but for MANY hours! On TV!"

But man, the writing has to be there. The structure has to be there. If they aren't, all you have left is a soulless synergy monster laid bare to the world, and people kinda don't like that. It makes them not eager to see Bucky and Sam again.

When Marvel started doing TV shows they were adamant they weren't necessary to understand the movies. One of the first things they said was that even though the show resurrected a well-liked side character, him being alive would never, ever be referenced outside the show. & they stuck to that. Anyway that and some Netflix shows later & they're straight up killing off movie characters permanently in random miniseries

Agents of SHIELD is better received than 90% of the Marvel shows despite Marvel ditching the idea of it as a platform for synergy early on & letting it just exist as a network adventure show for seven years, largely independent of the shared universe. It doesn't even mention the purple man's finger snap. Wait did I say "despite"? I mean "because" they did that. Very much because and not despite

[skunkes]

the restrained sniffer