#nothing has influenced my tastes in the last decade more

[hegodamask]

“And they want to sugar coat it, treat you like a kid. That’s fine for them. They’ve been kids. Some of us don’t get to have childhoods.”

UTOPIA Season 1 (2013)

[beetheyapper]

MUSIC I THINK THE POETS WOULD ENJOY

this is not time period accurate but i do not care. i at least tried to keep it pre-2000s. also i’m 100% projecting my music taste onto them. deal with it? spotify playlists, each of which has around 30 songs, are linked below each description ! i spent forever on this 😭

Charlie Dalton

i’m not sure that i could pinpoint very many artists he’d particularly like, but this is a classic rock boy right here. he’d be into ac/dc, motley crue, led zeppelin, etc. perhaps a bit of duran duran (this is where i’m projecting the most.) songs about s3x and women, and songs that make him feel like the rebel he is. (this playlist has been gale hansen approved on twitter btw)

Neil Perry

oh i just know this kid would be into some funk and pop, especially 80s and perhaps even new wave (i’m again projecting). now THIS is a duran duran fan (specifically their early stuff), which is unsurprising since the lead singer has a drama degree. he’d also probably like fleetwood mac, and would be well-versed in the band’s drama. duran duran, wham!, fleetwood mac, abba, maybe even some hall & oates. songs with complex lyrics and also songs that make him wanna dance. lots of upbeat stuff because though he has things that bother him, he’d rather do anything but dwell on them.

Todd Anderson

honestly, considering they’re roommates, i feel like neil would’ve had a bit of an impact on todd’s music taste, so there’s some band influence there—but regardless, i think todd would be into more mellow and emotional songs. jeff buckley comes to mind, along with the eagles, the beatles and maybe a splash of the smiths also pls pretend now and then didn’t come out last year. he would also be letting it linger i fear

Knox Overstreet

knox would be similar to Charlie, as they probably bond over shared music taste just as much as everything else. very heavy on the classic rock, but a lean more towards songs about needing someone and love songs as he pines for Chris. Tom Petty, Robert Palmer, The Cars, and a bunch of songs introduced to him by Charlie. He sticks more to genre/theme than to a specific artist methinks

Richard Cameron

contrary to what some may think, i think Cameron would absolutely groove to some rock n roll. HOWEVER. he is a 60s-70s rock n roll elitist. he thinks Billy Idol’s cover of Mony Mony is a disgrace. he wholeheartedly believes the Beatles are the best band to have ever graced the planet. The Beatles, The Beach Boys. The Rolling Stones, etc. Maybe even some Simon & Garfunkel. Him and Charlie argue a lot about which decades were the best years of rock music

Gerard Pitts

free my boy. he just wants to dance he ain’t do nothing wrong. his music taste has definitely been influenced by some of the other poets, in the sense that if he hears a song with a funky beat that makes him want to dance, it’s added to his mixtape IMMEDIATELY. for this reason, i’m thinking lots of funk and groove. play that funky music white boy! Bee Gees, ABBA, Talking Heads, Pet Shop Boys, etc. as long as he can dance to it he could care less who it’s by

Steven Meeks

another old rock, but more on the calm side with some hints of folk and fun. Donovan, The Beatles (paul is his fav for sure), The Beach Boys, and he definitely loves every white person anthem, including Sweet Caroline. he likes to groove with Pitts but also like soothing music to study to !!! i had to consult my friend on this one i fear i was drawing a blank

AND THAT is my opinion on each of the poets’ music taste. did i squeeze Duran Duran into almost all of them? perhaps. they’re my fav band let me live… feel free to listen to the playlists (please listen to them. pls i don’t want to have made them in vain.) and maybe even become spotify moots with me :D

[areyouwell]

Hello!!! ive just finished my second phobophobia reread! I genuinely think it’s my favourite piece of literature ever!!

Did you ever associate a specific song with the story, firefly and your ocs? when i was reading i thought that their relationship is so like real people do by hozier coded!! also sweet nothing by taylor swift (since firefly is literally said in a lyric)!!

sorry for the ramble!! Associating a story with music means that i loved it very very much!! I am so excited for your new story!! i loved the first chapter 💜🥰

heyoooo! AH thank you SO MUCH!! favourite EVER?! im in TEARS

oh absolutely, and i'm going to take this opportunity to completely YAP about music and songs. yes Hozier is always a huge influence in my work, and if ever i have a fic playlist, he will nine times out of ten be on it multiple times. Phobophobia has it's own playlist linked in the masterlist, and i've added links to the song titles here so y'all can give them a listen <3

gonna add a read more link cuz hoooooo boy do i like to ramble too!

i think Firefly's song would be I'll Be Good by James Young. The entire song is about trying to become a better version of yourself, and learning to forgive the things you'd done in the past.

"My past has tasted bitter, for years now So I wield an iron fist Grace is just weakness, Or so I've been told I've been cold I've been merciless But the blood on my hands, scares me to death Maybe I'm waking up today."

just that whole song is so Firefly coded, "for all of the perfect things that i doubt" just screams the moment where she starts to doubt that the things around her are real, that she starts to doubt Logan and question why the hell he's still with her. GOD i could write an essay on this song and how it's so perfect for her, but i'll keep it brief.

Logan has many themes for the many different versions of himself, but there's one song i think encompasses them all, and that's I'm Not A Saint by Billy Raffoul.

"I'm not a saint but I could be if I try Lord knows I've got habits to break I'm really good at being good at goodbyes, I'm gonna give you fair warning that I... I'm not a saint but I could be if i try. Lord knows I don't learn from mistakes, And I'm not here unless I'm here by your side I'm not a saint but I could be if I try"

just TRY and tell me that's not Logan coded, i will DIE ON THIS HILL. he doesn't think he's a hero. he doesn't think he's a saint. but for someone else, he could be, if he tried.

i think the relationship anthem for Firefly and Logan would have to be Till Forever Falls Apart, by Ashe and FINNEAS. they're each other's ride or die, and since neither of them can die, they truly do have each other until forever falls apart.

"If the tide takes California I'm so glad I got to know ya, And if the sky falls from Heaven above Oh, i know, I had the best time falling into love We've been living on a fault line And for a while, you were all mine I've spent a lifetime, giving you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever, til forever falls apart."

just reiterates that only a truly apocalyptic event could separate them, and even then they'd find each other somehow. they will be by each other's side watching the last solar flare consume the universe with sunglasses on, knowing they truly made the most of their time with each other.

NOW ONTO UT SUPRA SIC INFRA

okay so there's not much substance here without my spoiling anything but i am currently working on that playlist. BUT, currently Alecto's theme Twisted Tongue by one of my favourite artists of all time, Matt Maeson. I'll let the lyrics speak for themselves...

"Half of the decade, just trying to cope More that I endure, sparser the hope So, pry up the tiles, and gut out the floors Find the foundations not safe anymore And after the Lord speaks, baby, take where the crowd don't run And I'll find my shadow waiting, filthy with a twisted tongue And I'll hide everything in my head And forget everyone that I've met And I'll never be open again, Oh, how good it must feel to not love anything."

I'm just gonna leave you guys with that one, let you mull it over and speculate <3 im not going to spoil anything by adding any like, specific relationship song for Logan and Alecto yet because i wanna keep it as much of a secret as i can, but there's some heartbreaking stuff here i'll tell you that for free ;)

GOODNESS, sorry for the yap, but i'm exactly the same. when i love something so intensely like i do my writing, i also associate a lot of music with it. BUT, in answer to your question...

yes i absolutely do pair fics, ocs and relationships with music and specific songs :3

[thefanficmonster]

Deep Breaths

Valkyrae x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Panic Attack, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, Swearing

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst to Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having received a call from the correctional facility where their alcoholic/drug addict mother is being kept, Y/N gets some intense nightmarish flashbacks to a time that still haunts them despite a decade having passed. Luckily their girlfriend Rae is there to comfort therm.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your lovely request, I hope I captured what you wanted to read! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete and post the fic, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Love, Vy ❤

“Hey Y/N, I-“ One step in the living room and that’s all it took for Rae to pick up on the melancholic mood in the room. 

Her partner hasn’t even noticed she’s entered. Instead, they are sitting hunched over on the couch, elbows on knees, hand seeking their hands’ support to stay upright and their eyes hiding a thousand yard stare that’s got Rae worried sick.

“Babe, what’s wrong?“ She asks softly, inching closer to the couch to take a seat next to Y/N, “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?“

Through the fog surrounding their brain, they somehow manage to catch onto Rae’s words, forcing themself to give her at least a nod in response as to not scare her with their unresponsiveness. They can’t bring themselves to speak, it’s too hard on them to even think of what to say let alone spit it out, especially when their chest feels like it’s caught fire and their mind is still going haywire, heartbeat thumping in their ears as the adrenaline rush refuses to cease.

“Hey, look at me...“ Instead of sitting down, Rae ducks down in front of Y/N, taking their hands in hers, almost wincing at how cold they were. “Tell me what’s bothering you, baby.“

The girl is trying her best not to freak out or lose her cool, despite her already quickened heartbeat she can hear in her ears. She has every right to be reacting the way she is. Her permanently happy, bubbly, optimistic and cheerful partner who always seems to be as energized as though they’d just had a gallon of coffee is now a pale ghost sitting statue-still, staring off into the void with eyes that look empty yet terrified simultaneously.

Y/N’s mouth falls open as though they want to say something but the words die out somewhere along the way, refusing to leave their mouth and give them the relief of sharing their pain with the only person they trust limitlessly.  “I-...“ They finally manage to find their voice though their gaze is still avoiding hers, “I got a call from the correctional facility where....” They trail off, a bitter taste forming in their mouth, making their stomach turn and bite the inside of their cheek as they feel the urge to throw up start to become unbearable. “She wants to s-see me...”

They don’t need to say anything else, Rae’s already connected the dots and her complexion has gone just as pale as theirs. She knows how sensitive and triggering this topic is for Y/N, how many bad memories are tied to this one person in their life. To make matters worse, they’re the one person who was supposed to take care of them yet she couldn’t even take care of herself - Y/N’s mother.

Rae distinctly remembers the night Y/N told her the truth about their family life - or the lack thereof - almost a year since the two had started dating. Rae never questioned their secretiveness and respected their privacy enough not to ask about it, patiently waiting for them to tell her on their own time and own terms. It was no secret even from the very start that Y/N had a very hard time connecting to people and trusting them. It took them maybe two or so months to be able to call their now-girlfriend a friend instead of an acquaintance. Rae didn’t question that too, didn’t push to pursue a friendship with them since, from her point of view, they were already her friend, so she patiently waited for them to come around and start trusting her enough to accept her within their tightknit circle of trusted people called ‘friends’. 

Things progressed from purely platonic to sweetly romantic a little more quickly which pleasantly surprised Rae. The two were quick to grow to be inseparable though that didn’t mean Y/N gave up all their secrets. The darkest one, which happens to be this one regarding their mother, is the one they hid the longest and the last one they had to share with their girlfriend.  The night they did tell it was a very emotional one: plenty of tears were shed by both Y/N and Rae but luckily they had each other’s embrace to seek comfort in and protect themselves from the ghosts and demons of a past Y/N spent so much time running away from.

An abusive parent is not a bit of baggage you can just get rid of. It’s something that weighs so heavy on you and is such a big part of who you are that you can feel it as a part of you. It haunts you no matter how much you try to run or hide. It’s not something you can shake off or forget. You might have physical and visible scars from the time spent with said parent or the trauma can be entirely psychological - regardless, it lives within you. Follows you around, raises questions you’re not sure you want answered, degrades you - making it seem like what happened was your fault in one way or another - it destroys you slowly very time something triggers a memory of that time, be it a simple conversation that has nothing to do with the subject or be it the glimpse you accidentally catch in the mirror of a scar on your body - a scar you remember being inflicted on you like it was yesterday.

That’s how Y/N’s been living. Feeling responsible, feeling unloved, feeling chained to their past. They’ve done all in their power to appear unbothered and let it be visible, not even when around Rae since they don’t want to worry her.

But seeing as their past has caught up to them now and they inevitably have to face it, they’re forced to let it show, they couldn’t hold it in even if they tried. Although they don’t wanna play the unbothered, unfazed part any longer. They have been strong on their own for far too long and it’s taken a toll on them. If they keep up with the act, they’ll be completely and utterly crushed.

Not that they’re feeling any better at the moment.

“Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me. Keep your eyes on me, ok? Take deep breaths. Deep breaths, baby. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. It’s ok. You’re ok.“ Their short-circuiting brain has been spasming under the influence of the adrenaline, anxiety and panic brought on by the memories of every time they felt small and helpless while at the merciless hand of their alcoholic, drug addict abusive mother, begging to be spared the pain of being hit with whatever object the deranged woman could get her hands on - yet somehow, Rae’s voice still reaches them through all that messy dark fog. “Come on, Y/N, stay with me ok? Please don’t do this, I’m right here, there’s no need to be afraid,”

“I...“ they can barely hear their own voice over the racing of their heart, “I don’t...I don’t wanna go....“ is all they manage to say, a tear falling from their eye.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to go. We won’t go. Your mental health is the most important thing here, Y/N. We’re not going and that’s final.“ Rae replies vigorously, tightening her hold on Y/N’s hands.

Despite the state they’re in, Y/N can’t help but take notice of the use of the word ‘we’, Rae’s reminder that they are not alone, that she’s there for them and will not let them go into this alone. That brings a small smile to their face, calming their heart and panic ever so slightly, “N-no, I have to. It...it’ll help me.” They sigh before attempting to express themself again, “It’ll give me...closure, I guess.”

Seeing that Y/N’s doing a bit better, Rae’s hand move to cup their face instead, pushing the stray strands of hair away for their features to be full exposed to her, especially their eyes, “Are you sure you want that? Can you handle it? It’s not supposed to be your obligation, Y/N. I mean, the woman’s a monster and she hasn’t even thought to contact you in half a decade, and now she suddenly wants to get back in contact? She has the audacity to disturb you after all this time? You don’t have to agree to this, Y/N.”

Y/N shakes their head, “No, no, I want to. I want to agree to this. I want to live a normal life, Rae. I want to leave her and all she did to me behind. And I can’t do that if I keep running away. What happens when I stop to catch my breath? It still catches up to me like I made no progress whatsoever. That’s not a way to live, not the way I wanna live, at least.”

Rae nods slowly, fully understanding what Y/N is referring to. She maybe hasn’t said anything about it ever, but she’s always seen that little bit of darkness behind the happiness and excitement Y/N always displayed. Rae’s heart ached every time she caught glimpse of those little signs Y/N was putting on a performance while actually hurting on the inside. 

And if a meeting with their mother was what would help them finally fully embrace a happy life, then who was she to stop them.

“Ok.“ The girl sighs, “Ok, we’ll go see her, but only if you’re 100% sure you’ll be able to handle it.“

They shake their head again, sighing with unease, “I can never be 100% sure, my emotions have a tendency of being unpredictable so I’ll just have to pray I don’t have a breakdown or a panic attack.”

Rae swipes her thumb over their cheekbone wiping the tear that just escaped their eye, “If you do, don’t worry, I’ll be right there. You know the drill: squeeze my hand, take deep breaths and most importantly, don’t forget I’m there for you. Ok?”

Y/N nods their head, the small smile reappearing on their face. They squeeze Rae’s hand and take a long inhale. “Hand squeeze, deep breaths, noted.” They say when their eyes meet hers, “Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you so much for putting up with me and all my shit and thank you so much for never giving up on me no matter how much work I am or how hard dealing with me and my demons becomes.”

Rae’s heart stings at Y/N’s words, tears brimming her eyes when she raises a bit on her knees to press her lips against Y/N’s forehead. “Don’t thank me, angel. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and I never want to get gratitude for it. Love doesn’t ask for gratitude, and neither do I.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh to cover up an emotional sob that escapes their lungs. “I love you, Rae.” They say with a trembling voice.

“I love you too, Y/N.“

This time, the Y/N’s lips met the lips of their girlfriend, reminding themself that their safe haven isn’t a place, it’s a person - their girlfriend who means the world to them.

[illumiru]

hi cami!! based on literally everything because you have good taste I was wondering if u had any fic recs?? I am in like a good fic desert and if u have any good reads would love to read them! thank u!!

Thanks!! I have to be honest that I don't read a lot of dc fics lately bc a lot of what's posted on AO3 doesn't appeal to me tbh. But I do have some favorites that live rent-free in my head. I hope you enjoy!

baby, it's a sign of the times by danishsweethearts

Dick Grayson has a pretty bad day, but hey, he's coping.

let your love grow tall by danishsweethearts

In a move endearingly predictable and highly amusing, Dick Grayson buys a bunch of plants and proceeds to pack bond with all of them.

cold was the night and hard was the ground by danishsweethearts

Laundromats are save points.

i've been longing for silence by danishsweethearts

The Titans are Dick's family. Damian is also Dick's family. Cue the collision.

un haeng il chi by danishsweethearts

un haeng il chi (언행일치) | yán xíng yī zhì (言行一致) idiom 1. word and actions coincide; to live up to one's word 2. to match words with deeds 3. practice what you preach

The Cassandra Wayne guide to truth-telling, manifestation and prosperity.

big d stands for big (demon)or by danishsweethearts

The one where Titans Tower is haunted, and Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder, original Robin, one and only Nightwing, esteemed leader, part-time exorcist, un-haunts it.

young volcanoes by dottie_wan_kenobi

You should join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s ten years old and hopeful. No, Bruce says. You should join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s fourteen and realistic. No, Bruce says. I’m going to join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s seventeen and furious. No, Bruce says. No, you are not.

Dick is nineteen now. And he’s not joining the Justice League—he’s joining the Titans.

the last of the real ones by dottie_wan_kenobi

Gar is like a blessing. He doesn’t seem to notice the shiny parts of Vic, not until it really counts—when there’s wires sticking out, something shoved through Vic like it was nothing, when he’s in danger. And even then, he treats them like any other part of the body, like a wound is a wound and it doesn’t matter that it’s not flesh, but technology.

When he asks, Gar tells him about Cliff Steele, and shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m just used to robot guys, I guess,” he says, flippant like he’s not the first person Vic has met who didn’t recoil at the sight of him.

Vic manages a laugh, his eye—his real eye, his human eye—stinging.

if you just call me by BeatriceEagle

“Dick.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Dick, look at me.”

Slowly, as if he were pushing against a terrible force, he lifted his head.

“I have known you since I was thirteen years old, and I have known you in a dozen other lifetimes, so I need you to believe me when I say that there is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.”

Dick held her gaze. He looked like he was searching for something in her eyes, so Donna held still and hoped he found it.

“Did you really know me in other lives?” he asked.

_____

Dick and Donna, after the action, through the years.

once upon a time... by Mayarene Rose (DickRoy)

The announcement is the talk of the kingdom. Men on horses, coming from the capital itself, shout it to every corner of the land to make sure everyone hears.

There will be a three-day festival held in honor of the crown prince’s name day!

So of course, no one can shut up about it and everyone’s making plans to make their way to the capital, one way or another.

Gotham, after all, isn’t known for its decadence. Celebrations from the capital are few and far in between. But, it’s also well known that the king absolutely dotes on his children. The has the makings of being the biggest feast anyone has seen in their lifetime.

“Huh,” Roy says. He’s in a farming village when he hears, about five days ride from the capital if he had a horse, which he does not.

Or the one where Roy is a knight errant, Dick is the crown prince, and there is a three-day celebration.

Dr. Wilson, Will I Ever Play the Violin Again? by HoodEx (DickJoey)

1 Missed Call 1:12 PM TUES 9 MAY Frank Hardy

A fond smile spreads over his face. He remembers Dick writing that as his own contact name in Joey's communicator the first time he and Joey exchanged numbers. Joey knows it's an action influenced by paranoia rather than something meant as an inside joke between friends, but he likes to think of it as a mixture of both.

"Who are you mooning over?"

Lissa crosses her arms over her chest and cuts across the room to get closer to him. Joey tries not to instinctually jerk his communicator closer to his chest as she peers down at it with a curious glint in her eye.

"Frank Hardy," Joey spells out with his fingers. "He's a friend of mine."

Her brow furrows. "Frank? Have I met him?"

Joey shakes his head.

"What do you think he was calling for?"

Hopefully not to tell me that the world is on its way to ending, Joey thinks, worrying at his lip.

"Not sure," Joey signs. His thumb hovers over the call-back button. "I guess I'm about to find out."

Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife

Dick Grayson, stressed pseudo-parent to a preteen assassin, tries to solve the case of Damian’s Mysterious Wednesday.

He never expected it to help him fix his relationship with Tim, too.

(... Though only after everything fell apart first.)

Eventual fix-it for Dick & Tim’s Red Robin fight, but other rocky relationships - Dick & Jason, Tim & Damian, Damian & Bruce, Dick & Bruce - wow, this family is dysfunctional - might improve too. Eventually. They just have to, y’know, work through All of Their Issues first. XD

Two of Six by silverwhittlingknife

There’s nothing special about this kid, no reason to remember him. But Dick remembers. Because of the photo.

Dick and Tim’s pre-nu52 relationship, from the beginning all the way to the end.

or: how Dick acquired a stalker, attempted to make him go away, and failed so badly that he acquired a brother instead.

(So far: missing scenes from childhood, Lonely Place of Dying, Knightfall, and Knightsend. Current arc: Prodigal.)

In the Palm of Your Hand by lapsedpacifist

Dick was forced into becoming a host for an entity of unknown strength, unknown motive, and unknown reach. The only thing he did know? It needed him alive.

Neurodegenerative series by lapsedpacifist

The general premise: Bruce has completely forgotten about Dick, and Dick only. Now tension is high between them and the rest of the family as they attempt to resolve the memory problem -- while drawing battlelines and realising that Dick had always been much more than a brother to them all.

the primacy of personal conscience by birdsofthesoul

"WHAT MAKES IAGO EVIL? some people ask. I never ask."

— Joan Didion, Play It as It Lays

Or: Dick, his family, and the moral morass of a wishing well.

This is all I could think of at the moment! I'll add more once I read the ones I encountered while I made this list. Enjoy!!

[deni-means-flor]

To expand on this really beautiful post I just made:

I don't want to push my "Electra Heart is alive" agenda too eagerly but is anyone else getting very much Valley of the Dolls vibes from this entire trailer but more exactly, this specific scene?

And before you come for me, trust me: I KNOW, I KNOW, THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT OF THAT INTRODUCTORY SCENE

But starting off the trailer with a scene like thar feels very much like a FULL CIRCLE MOMENT for mainstream pop culture because the Electra Heart archetypes, which in the middle of the last decade may (or may not) have influenced countless filmmakers & artists like Gerwig (can anyone confirm or deny if she was a Tumblr girlie plz?) were in fact, a satire of the "values" and aesthetic that was present in mainstream culture, which were fuelled (among other things) by the mystic created around Barbie, culturally.

I.e: The whole idea of the perfect woman, the housewife, the sexy bombshell (beauty queen), ever young (teen idol) but nothing more than an object to be admired (wordplay between idol/idle).

In turn, now that we're a few years into the second decade of the century, the popularity of those archetypes and several other accompanying fashion styles in websites like this/social media became an aesthetic current of their own.

It hit the retail stores, became a trend of consumerism, were adopted by the mainstream through their representation in mass media, and now we can definitely see how they influence our modern taste. This influence is particularly present in the ~core aesthetic movements, like fairycore, princesscore, old money aesthetic, ballerinacore and, more importantly to our main subject: Barbiecore.

The marketability of those aestheticized tastes make our current social and historical context a prime moment for releasing a movie like Barbie.

Though we don't know the plot yet (but we have some buzz going around on social media about potential plot points), we can very much SEE how the design choices (such as the costuming, the editing, and the cinematography), where there's a clear presence of a sort of homage to the Valley of the Dolls novel and the Stepford Wives novel, the original influences which fed the satire media that I mention in the first place (case in point: the Electra Heart album).

Of course, my theory could easily fall apart as soon as we get the reviews from the first screenings of the movie, but I definitely think that at least, visually, we can see how the aestheticization of these critiques has potentially influenced our current view of the Barbie mythology.

Let me know what you think and thank you for reading me! Feel free to drop any questions on my DMs or on the original Twitter thread that I made, which I expanded upon on this post.

Barbie x Electra Heart

In the valley of the dolls, we sleep

Got a hole inside of me

Living with identities

That do not belong to me

[essays-for-breakfast]

One Candle Still Flickers

Melizabethweek Day 2: Heaven and Hell

Please note that this piece contains mentions of blood and violence. If this makes you uncomfortable, turn away now.

Scorching heat. Blistering cold. Air that burns the lungs and tears at the sensitive tissue in the throat until even screams of agonizing pain become an impossible feat. And oh, does he scream.

Compared to even the foulest depths of Meliodas’ wretched hellscape of a home, the Demon Realm, Purgatory offers a charming hospitality no one can withstand for long. He tries, of course. Tells himself that he overcame worse pain, that the frostbites on his arms and the iron taste of blood in his mouth don’t compare to all 106 times he watched Elizabeth die, and that the shredded skin on his fingertips is an illusion summoned by his father.

After all, only Meliodas’ emotions roam the desolate canyons.

The weakest part of himself trapped in the cruelest part of the world.

Somewhere in the smoke-heavy clouds, obscured by the constant ash rain from volcanic activity, the Demon King laughs. Meliodas spits out a lump of blood and sends the towering frame of his father a humorless grin. At least one of them is having fun.

The next step costs him more energy than he has to give, and Meliodas falls to his knees. More ash under his fingernails, another lungful of distillated fume eager to kill him. The searing pain while his illusory organs devolve to embers for the thousandths time almost entices a begrudging respect for his father out of him. He has defied the scorching heat and the blistering cold since the end of the Holy War, and he still has the liveliness to laugh at Meliodas’ failed attempts to escape.

For how long have they played this game now? How many years, decades, and eons have passed since the curse pulled Meliodas into Purgatory?

He doesn’t know. The creator of this ugly fusion between a glacier and a volcano hasn’t bothered to install a clock.

Ash flakes tumble from above and leave black scars on the back of Meliodas’ hand. The forefinger twitches in a desperate struggle to hold onto life, hope, anything that will help him stand again.

“Elizabeth…” he whispers.

“Will you die with the witch’s name on your lips too?” The Demon King’s voice thunders in Meliodas’ head, and a fiery eruption from the nearest volcano punctuates his words.

Meliodas pushes himself on his forearms. “You made sure I can’t die, remember? You’re getting rusty, old man.”

“Your insolent tongue is just as worthless as the entirety of your emotions. They only hinder you from becoming my successor.”

“I’ll gladly take my insolent tongue over a world where I become like you.”

The Demon King points a finger the size of a grown man at Meliodas. “There is no stopping it now. As we speak, my loyal subjects are gathering the Ten Commandments, and your body will soon fuse with their magic. Then neither the Seven Deadly Sins nor your dear goddess will be able to stand against the reborn Demon King.”

“Then I guess I just have to find the exit before that happens.”

The Demon King’s laugh rings for a long time between the twisted rock formations. Meliodas climbs to his knees, but his shell of a body refuses to support the weight of his worries. More ash under his fingernails, another lungful of distillated fume eager to kill him. Another century gone by without a glint of success, without a glimmer of hope.

Purgatory may never kill him. But to survive in this world is to endure endless suffering where despair gnaws at him with every step until he loses himself in shapeless shadows, destined to wander the lava riversides and blizzard-coated mountain peaks for the rest of time.

Meliodas takes another step.

For her. Elizabeth.

He has to return to Britannia before the Demon King can reach his horrid claw around her. Before the curse claims her life anew.

Her face, in the variant as princess of Liones and all the incarnations before her, keeps Meliodas upright and pushes him to scale another cliffside, even as his field of vision shrinks and the shadows at the edge take over.

Golden Warmth. A liberating breeze. Puffy fine-weather clouds as far as the eye can see, an entire ocean of them. And in between these white waves float islands with alabaster towers and grass so eternally green it can only exist in a place far beyond all destructive influences. An endless summer sun caresses his neck.

Meliodas digs his fingers into the ground where he fell, although he hardly feels the sharp pebbles anymore.

Why do the memories of the Celestial Realm return to him now? Elizabeth, the very first incarnation he fell in love with, took him to her home once. They played a dangerous game of hide and seek with the countless Goddess warriors there. If even one of them had seen through Meliodas pathetic disguise, at least one of the parties involved would have lost their head. Despite the threat of discovery, Elizabeth dragged him to all her favorite places with a cheer she rarely allowed herself to show. A vast field of golden wheat hems. The top of an abandoned tower, half destroyed and seized by ivy tendrils.

Amidst the bloodshed of the Holy War and despite the feud that divides their clans, Elizabeth offered Meliodas a hand. With nothing but a smile and her belief in the good in others, she pulled him out of hell. Shoulder to shoulder with her, he saw heaven for the first time.

“Elizabeth,” Meliodas says. He hardly recognizes his voice. “I let you down again. If it’s always ending like this, why’d you take my hand that day? Why didn’t you give up on me?”

The warmth of her presence is so very far away. Where she used to stroke his arms, only freezing numbness remains. Where she used to kiss him, his lips only taste the burning aridity of Purgatory.

But even if she is so very far away, an incarnation of Elizabeth is still out there, alive. Maybe she is standing amidst the chaos of magical and hellfire explosions and leads the war against the cruel fangs of darkness as she always did. Maybe she is gazing into a star-sprinkled sky and waits for his return. Maybe she still believes he will fulfill his promise and free her of her curse.

A blood-red vail has overtaken Meliodas’ vision. When he struggles out of the dust to his feet, he has lost his humanoid shape. A shadow stands in his place, a perversion of the dragon creature with which he shares the name of his sin. Wrath.

Somewhere hidden in the smoke screens, the Demon King triumphs. At last, his son’s emotions have given into hopelessness.

But in a place deep in the insides of the shadow dragon, Meliodas keeps a flame alight. Elizabeth’s face kindles the spark, her gentle hands shield the candle against the hurricanes and hailstorms, and her voice, filled with tireless encouragement, nurtures the beacon.

She fought for him during the Holy War. They fought for each other against the overwhelming might of gods. Even if she is so very far away, Meliodas will fight for her.

As the shadow to her light.

Scorching heat. Blistering cold. Claws that dig into the most treacherous slopes carry him forward, step by step. He tears through Purgatory’s pitiful inhabitants and shreds any creature that hinders his search for the exit. For a moment, he may lose himself and taste this senseless wrath the Demon King wants him to dissolve into. But the flame inside endures.

Years, decades, and eons go by, glaciers melt and magma chambers freeze, while Meliodas fights. For her. Elizabeth.

The dragon creature which serves as Meliodas’ shell roars and bares its teeth. His current opponent is of the nasty type. He doesn’t yield. Neither does Meliodas.

They slam each other into the rock formations, break each other’s bones, and throw themselves at the other as though this brawl is all they’ve ever known and all that ever mattered.

Meliodas should hate his opponent. After all he, aside from the Demon King, stands as the only one with the power to deter his escape. And yet… this gritty, pesky bastard he crushes and is getting crushed by has the air of familiarity to him. Meliodas knows his fighting style. Furthermore, he knows all too well the flame that convinces his opponent to strike blow after blow until they collapse into a heap of limps and shadows.

They both feel the exhaustion in each haggard breath. And yet they both won’t die.

Meliodas’ opponent mumbles something. His words have never quite reached through the shadows clogging Meliodas’ senses, but they gain a new clarity now that the frenzy of battle flees him.

“…holding out for you in the land of the living,” a familiar voice says. “And I… want to see the woman who means the world to me.”

Yeah. I do too.

[dornish-queen]

Pedro Pascal - La Vanguardia

With Javier Peña's mustache as his hallmark, the 'Narcos' and 'Game of Thrones' actor is filming in Budapest with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

Pascal, cultured, seductive and reflective, repeats as Loewe's ambassador for its Solo Mercurio perfume and is a model for 'Magazine Lifestyle'

SYLVIA MARTI   12/13/2020 06:00

 Casual striped jacket, tousled hair, exquisite punctuality, and a room in Budapest. There is something about this man, generous in smiles and answers, great talkative, attractive without clichés. Pedro Pascal, 45 years old and face success. He shot The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León, who apparently encouraged the show a lot; We see him without seeing him in the Star Wars universe as a galactic bounty hunter in The Mandalorian and he is Maxwell Lord, the eighties villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , perhaps the only blockbuster that, if nothing goes wrong, will make us happy Christmas.

Session in Budapest The Chilean actor shoots 'The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent' in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

(full article and photos under the cut)

Chilean by birth, his family left the country fleeing the Pinochet dictatorship when he was a baby. Brief passage through Denmark and new life in San Antonio (Texas). Normal when speaking in your mother tongue some words in English slip through. Think before answering a question without losing spontaneity or being afraid of silence. An art. 

There is still Javier Peña's mustache, which catapulted him to fame from Narcos , and you can recognize that little point of joyous irony of Prince Oberyn Martell, who almost ended the Mountain in Game of Thrones . Two roles that have opened doors that he has managed to keep safe from slamming doors and have allowed him to skip the toll of stereotyped roles. Today Pascal, well trained in theater and loved by the cameras, can do whatever he wants. Even dedicating a Saturday to star in a fashion shoot and speak exclusively for Lifetsyle Magazine .

"Nobody knows me but everyone thinks they know me," he said when he debuted as the face of Solo Loewe perfume. Introduce yourself with four words.”

I do not define myself only by them, but I am contradictory, faithful, loyal, sensitive and, at times, a bit geek.

What would surprise me about you if you knew him better?

That although I live life and enjoy family, friends and social connections a lot, I have a lonely point. I like having my space and the option of staying a day at home in a relaxed and cocoon plan .

“Even though I live life and really enjoy family, friends and social connections, I have a lonely point.”

With Covid-19, many of us are already a little tired of staying at home ...

Yes, now that I don't have much choice to go out, I'm afraid of not being able to go back to the theater, to a party, to a dinner with many people ... I really regret those times that, instead of going out, I stayed at home.

Which character has left the most impression on you?

I miss Peña, from Narcos . It was my first leading role, the first time I had time to develop the character, create his energy, his style ... They gave me a lot of freedom to shape it, even if it was based on a real person. I was able to work on it, make it my own, create the tone, invent and deepen.

Do you easily get rid of them when filming is over?

When I was younger I was very clear that they had to be left at work, that the character had to be separated from the person. I thought that with age it would get easier and easier but, surprisingly, the opposite happens to me: it gets harder and harder. Energy cannot always be organized the way we would like and I have to admit that I take some of my characters home with me.

Have you incorporated any of their phrases into your life?

Maxwell Lord has a very attractive in Wonder Woman 1984 : "Everything is fine, but it could be better."

Very eighties. Like the one Gordon Gekko said on Wall Street (1987): "If you want a friend, buy yourself a dog." Have we advanced or are we already for the fourth pet?

We have come a long way. I am very inspired by young people, their strength to face in an original way that win, win and win system that reached a monstrous level in the eighties. Today's young people go deeper into the need to respect a planet in which we all live together and the obligation to take care of it.

“Young people inspire me, they deepen the need to respect a planet and the obligation to care for it.”

I see you optimistic ...

I am a realistic and hard-working optimist. My first impression is that the glass is half empty, I have to find arguments to see it half full.

Is it true that you drew the comic strips to interact with them as a method to immerse yourself in your character in 'Wonder Woman 1984'?

I made a book with images from the eighties and sixties, comic book drawings, papers, erasers, colored pencils, markers and vignettes to better understand what it was to be a man of that decade, how his attitude was forged ... It was a way to focus to live up to what Patty (Jenkins, the director) asked for, which was a lot, and not lose sight of it. I'm a horrible cartoonist, but I had to do something practical to study, understand, and develop the character.

What does a script or a role have to have to get their attention?

Sense of humor. Even if it is a drama, a hero, a villain ... Humor immediately hooks me.

A good shield to go through life ...

The best. It is the most important thing to survive.

Do you remember the last time you laughed out loud?

Paco León immediately came to mind. When he's on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot. The entire production loves it. It has made filming more fun.

“When Paco León is on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot”

 What fascinates you most about the Star Wars universe?

Nostalgia, the huge audience it has, the ability to reach so many people. It reflects our childlike imagination without limits. Create more and more worlds with all kinds of people and species. He is capable of casting the universe

What is your definition of success?

Have a healthy relationship with yourself. Nothing matters if you don't love yourself.

What would you have done if you had not succeeded as an actor? Did you have a plan B?

No. Perhaps the only thing that could have been useful to others is acting as a literature teacher, as a counselor or advisor for people who need help ... I am a bit of a therapist with my friends. And it must work, because they come back. I have a lot of common sense.

What is elegance to you? Has your relationship with Loewe influenced the way you dress?

In that of elegance I am a student, I am learning. I wear what is comfortable but I also have very finite taste and, when motivated, I really like to express myself with style. And when it comes to style, Loewe is on top of everything.

Something material that would save from a fire.

A book. I always have one on hand. Now I am rereading The Magic Mountain , by Thomas Mann. Literature is one of my passions. It is an extension of life. The problem would be to choose only one, there are so many! My identity is made by inspirations from authors, actors, dancers, the art world, the sea ... There is no self without the influence of all the things that inspire me.

“The sea is what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.”

The sea…

It's what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.

If he gets lost, I know where to look for him.

On a boat in the middle of the sea, on an island, on the beach in Chile ... Everything related to water. One of the first smells I remember, although I don't know if it's too attractive, is the chlorine in the pool.

What is your fastest way to disconnect?

Losing your mobile phone. I fell down the stairs in Dubrovnik and at first it was like, "Oh noooo." But then I thought, "Well, a week without him." I had a certain feeling of liberation. Not having to be aware of e-mails, messages ... I find it very strong that people communicate even through a direct message from Instagram. I refuse.

Now that you quote them, how are you getting along with the networks? (He has 1.5 million followers on Intagram)

I am quite active, I use it when I have a good time, but also to express myself and to give my opinion.

“I will say goodbye to the year with a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me well but the collective suffering and fear this year….”

What is your favorite word?

Oxymoron. I like its meaning and its sound

Who would you like to shut up, as you did in the first Loewe Solo ad?

Personally, I would love to shut up that heavy, bad voice, the imp that we all have in our heads. That it's nice to have him and that, and I know he will never go away, but it would be nice if he shut up sometimes. Collectively I think we would all like to shut up one person.

Trump?

I suppose.

What have you learned from this rare year?

That you cannot live without human contact. For me the deep and simple connections with my friends and family is the only thing that matters.

How will you fire him?

With a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me very well but the collective suffering and fear this year….

*article translated with google chrome. Source of article*

[eurosong]

Undo my ESC '21 (semi-final two)

Good afternoon folks, and welcome to the second part of Undo my ESC – my annual quest to make the year’s Eurovision better (at least, for me xD) by making a feasible change in each country – it could be something as small as altering a lyric or a staging detail, or as big as a different artist entirely winning the NF. Semi-final one was here so let's jump straight into SF2!

🇸🇲 San Marino: We're thrown into the deep end here with a fan fav that doesn't do at all for me. I'm one of maybe 5 people on the planet who prefers Freaky by far, I guess? I'm happy for Senhit to be getting so much love and for the diminutive serene republic to finally have a shot at a good result - but I'm not so keen on the way it's been done. There's a bit of cognitive dissonance for me because my favourite thing about Adrenalina is Flo Rida's rap, but I don't like the idea of bringing in famed American artists like "ringers" to elevate a song above one with "only" local talent. I would be so tempted to give the rap part to local artist IROL instead to spit some hot bars in Italian.

🇪🇪 Estonia: I had hope this year, I really did, for my era of absolutely adoring Estonia at ESC to be revived after 4 painful years. There were so many good songs at this year's Eesti Laul, like those of Ivo Linna, Egert, Gram of fun, Heleza - but ultimately, my huge favourite was, as expected, Jüri Pootsmann. Anyone who followed this blog back in 2016 knows how much I adore Jüri and was desperate to see him get a redemption arc at ESC itself. Magus melanhoolia was one of the best songs of the season for me and one of the best stagings. As much as I prefer '20 artists to get their shot in '21, problematic Uku with his toxic ex vibes song will have to step aside and let the Jüri renaissance happen here.

🇨🇿 Czechia: I really dig Benny Cristo - he has personality, presence and his own enjoyable style. At first I was kinda disappointed with Omaga because I was expecting something more in the vein of Kemama, with more pronounced Afrobeat influences. But it has grown on me a lot too. My change? Add more Czech than just one blink-and-you-miss-it line, mate! (Article continues below)

🇬🇷 Greece: I see this being talked up as potential televote top 3 and I just don't get it. Maybe it's the way the chorus rhymes dance with itself three times (and uses the term rockin' romance unironically); maybe it's the way that there are better 80s-inspired songs both in ESC and many fallen tributes in the NF season... it just leaves me cold. I actually preferred Supergirl and my change would be for Stefania to bring something with some actual Greek flair.

🇦🇹 Austria: I’ll echo what I said last year about Österreich – how did they go from Conchita to a guy who wished he wouldn’t have gay kids like this? I find both of this guy's songs insipid in different ways and I would invite Pænda back instead to avenge her getting robbed with the beautiful Limits. Or give a second shot at glory to the incredible Cesár!

🇵🇱 Poland: Unpopular opinion, but I absolutely love The Ride, and I feel bad for Alicja, but I much prefer it to Empires. What started as an ironic fondness for Rafał's cringy uncle vibes ended up being genuine appreciation - it's one of the few 80s-inspired songs that sound like they actually could have come out of that decade rather than like modern pastiches. And Raf actually does have an awkward charisma. My change - insert some Polish! Poland does so well with natural sounding bilingual efforts in JESC, they should bring it to the main contest too!

🇲🇩 Moldova: I was lowkey prepared to be disappointed by Moldova - I actually enjoyed Prison a lot and the news that they were going in a completely different direction didn't sit so well with me. And yet, I also love Sugar. Natalia's power! My changes: get rid of that weird scene with literally egg on her face - too on the nose for me. And incorporate a bit of the stellar Russian translation, Tuz bubi, because I'm always going to be advocating for more linguistic diversity xD

🇮🇸 Iceland: Daði Freyr can literally do no wrong with me. Whilst it doesn't have the same intense extra-fandom hype that Think about things did, I think I like Ten years even more. Nothing to change here.

🇷🇸 Serbia: It's no secret that Hurricane were far from my favourites at Beovizija 20, and that I find this a downgrade for Sanja compared to her powerful '16 song. And yet... Hasta la vista grew on me a lot, and so has Loco loco. It's something that is definitely scratching an itch at this year's ESC and the burst of anarchic energy it'll provide will be amazing. I am seriously tempted to change to the acoustic version, though, which has all the attitude of the original but is more beautiful for me and lets the girls' voices shine more.

🇬🇪 Georgia: Georgia keeps serving acquired tastes, and as a patron saint of marginal genres and I love them for that. This year, they've gone for something that even many fans of Tornike find hard to swallow - gone is the roaring rock of last year, replaced with a much more contemplative, soft effort that reminds me a little of Lou Reed. I enjoy both songs, but I can't deny preferring 2020. At the same time, I admire the chutzpah required to send something so different. I just wish there could be a moment to properly showcase T's powerhouse vocals.

🇦🇱 Albania: It was an odd Festival i këngës this year, outdoors in the freezing cold and without the orchestra that makes the songs soar so much more for me. Karma is a perfectly respectable winner, albeit one that lacks the immediacy and rawness of Shaj, Ktheju tokës and Mall. In my ideal alternate reälity, Arilena Ara would have been invited back. She'd bring a song as beautiful as Shaj - and not do a revamp into English that removes its edge this time.

🇵🇹 Portugal: 2015-2020 was a full on Portugal stan era for me. I want to believe that this year is an aberration and that in 2022, our lusitanian neighbours will produce the goods once again. Because ending a colossal streak of not sending songs that don't include Portuguese for this? I am baffled. I wanted the anthemic Joana do mar, produced beautifully by Luísa Sobral, or the timeless Contramão, which sounds like it escaped a Nouvelle Vague soundtrack. Saudade, Por um triz or a number of others would have been grand too.

🇧🇬 Bulgaria: I wasn't expecting much from Bulgaria - I really didn't and don't like TGS and the majority of songs in Victoria's NF-but-not-really aren't my cup of tea. I was happy she got her second chance, but resigned to not liking the song much that would get picked. And then, my fav, which was last in many community ratings, ended up being her pick. I adore GUIGO and believe it has the possibility to do very, very well at Rotterdam and be one of the 'moments' of the evening.

🇫🇮 Finland: CRIMINAL how YLE treated Aksel - it felt like he wasn't the defending champion, and that Erika Vikman had won the previous year. They also - I believe, deliberately - split his vote by making his just one of a number of ballads, so of course what stood out most were the two decidedly non-ballady songs. Finland only two years ago had a single-artist UMK. They could and should have brought it back for Aksel. I'd hope Hurt would win it, because that song is stunning.

🇱🇻 Latvia: I was, and am, delighted that Latvia stuck with Samanta Tina. The lady lives and breathes ESC, even wrote a university thesis about it, and if she tried so many times, finally won and then DIDN'T get to go to ESC, I would have gone to LTV headquarters personally to remonstrate. I really like both her songs. The moon is rising is poised, powerful and like nothing else this year. The only thing I'd change is adding some Latvian because it's a gorgeous language and we've been waiting for ages to hear it again.

🇨🇭 Switzerland: Gjon's song is once again not really my cup of tea, or tears - but I enjoy it better than last year's and I'm glad he's back. Highkey wish it did include Albanian or Romansch like confused commenters last year thought it did.

🇩🇰 Denmark: There is literally no excuse for Denmark's treatment of Ben & Tan. I'm not even a big fan of their music at all, out to not even allow them to compete in DMGP to defend their win with Iron heart? Even though there are songs that competed in DMGP that I prefer a lot, most notably Står lige her, I would probably have let them have a proper second chance.

And the automatic qualifiers voting in this semi -

🇫🇷 France: For me, France had an absolutely enthralling, sincere, perfectly Gallic entry that hit me so hard in the feels. And whilst I respect Voilà, no, that wasn't it. It was Pourvu qu'on m'aime, easily one of the best songs I heard all year inside NFs or out. I find Voilà a little too mannered and affected, whilst PQM is a shot straight from Juliette's heart into mine. In my dream, it'd have won CVQD and be receiving the same love that Voilà is right now.

🇪🇸 Spain: Whilst it is getting next to no love in the fandom and seems quite forgotten, I find Voy a quedarme one of the best songs sent from this country in several years - and I say that having preferred Memoria. I am proud of Blas and love that he had a hand in writing this song. My change? He said recently that the staging in Rotterdam won't be inspired by the poignant music video despite wanting it to be - I would incorporate elements from it in the live.

🇬🇧 United Kingdom: Frankly, I think almost all the Big 5+1 brought it this year, with the notable exception of Germany. Embers is the banger that I never thought was coming from James Newman, and it's been one of the biggest earworms of the season. I wouldn't change anything about it - I'd just ensure that the staging replicated the energy of the video as much as possible!

[yukipri]

On the Baratie, Part 4 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Fourth part of the Baratie story!

This concludes the part on the Baratie, but there’ll be a 5th and final Epilogue part after this!

Warnings for: minor Sanji x Luffy, Thatch x Luffy, hint of bg Ace x Luffy

Continues off of past parts!

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 1

👒🐟On the Baratie, Prologue

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 2

👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 3

~~

In the calm after the battle, after Luffy's been bandaged up by Deuce, Sanji tells Luffy about his dream, about All Blue, and she listens with eyes that sparkle brighter than even the gleaming jewels in her tail.

"You'll find it," she says. "Come with us."

She's amazing, Sanji thinks. Luffy is far more amazing than he could have ever imagined when he first saw her. Because she isn't just the most beautiful woman he's ever met, nor is she just the embodiment of every sailor's most fervent fantasies come to life. She's strength, she's determination, she's conviction.

She's going to become the Pirate King.

And Sanji thinks maybe, maybe he could follow someone like that.

"Not bad," a voice says from behind them, and Sanji spins, because he hadn't sensed the man joining what he thought had been a private conversation with Luffy.

Sanji flushes, because he knows Ace doesn't have a good impression of him. Sanji grits his teeth and braces himself for the mocking to come, because it always does when he says he wants to find the sea that's more myth than destination for most. Even if Luffy didn't, that doesn't mean her co-captain won't.

Except he doesn't, and Ace slowly smiles, and he looks...strangely gentle. "You'll do," he says, before turning around and disappearing back inside.

He hadn't even bothered to warn Sanji about his proximity to Luffy.

~~

The next person Sanji talks to is Thatch, who's helping clean up the kitchen after the fight outside had shaken everything out of place. Sanji finds the man with a mop, complementing some blushing cooks on the care they've put into maintaining their work stations.

"Hey, you...Thatch, was it?"

Sanji still doesn't know how to act around the man. He doesn't feel intimidating, not like Ace does, and it's hard to believe that this seemingly ordinary stranger created the insane food Sanji had tasted before Krieg had come.

"Oh, Zeff's kid, what's up?" Thatch passes the mop off to another cook, and leans against a counter, looking perfectly at home despite this being the Baratie's kitchen.

Sanji doesn't bother correcting him. It feels nice, being called Zeff's kid, he thinks. Much nicer than being called that man's child. He likes it.

"Your cooking...it was incredible," Sanji manages. Awkward, he thinks, awkward, and utterly insufficient in describing it.

"Aww, glad you liked it," Thatch says with a bashful little grin, as though he hadn't effortlessly created the best food Sanji's ever had in his life. And maybe to him, it really was nothing. Sanji feels more respect than bitterness.

"You like Luffy," are the next words out of Sanji's mouth, and he winces because he hadn't meant to say that, but it's a love letter, had crossed his mind again.

Thatch's eyebrows go up. "Well, yeah? How could anyone not love Seastar? Or do you mean..." Thatch laughs then, but it's not at all mocking, just incredulous. "Wait, is that what you got out of my cooking?"

"Am I wrong?" Sanji shouldn't feel so defensive, but he does. This man loves the girl who's stolen Sanji's heart, and at the moment, Sanji knows he's not even competition. The least Thatch can do is admit it.

"Mmm...I suppose you aren't," Thatch concedes, "but if that's all you got from it, you can dig a lil deeper."

Sanji frowns. He doesn't think he read wrong, and he had sensed love love Love. But he also doesn't think Thatch would lie.

"Could I learn how?" Sanji doesn't just mean tasting, and he knows Thatch knows, and also hears the unsaid from you.

Thatch smiles.

~~

Zeff and the other Baratie cooks had apparently been preparing a scene for Sanji, in which they insult his cooking to make him feel like he needs to leave if he continues to refuse to join the pirates.

Luckily there's no need for it.

"You may already have a cook, but there's no demerit to having multiple, especially out at sea," Sanji begins, and Luffy's eyes light up, but for once Sanji's trying to focus more on her co-captain. "I'd like to join your crew."

"Yes!!!...right, Ace?" Luffy peers eagerly into the face of the man whose shoulders she's currently back to hanging from.

"Hmm, I dunno..." Ace pretends to think, and Luffy viciously chomps his ear. "OW, just kidding. Welcome to the ASL Pirates."

~~

Sanji's packing, trying to only gather the essentials but occasionally pausing to soak in the nostalgia of the room that had been his home for so long, when his hands still.

He's spotted a bundle of old, worn magazines wedged between much thicker books. They were among the first of their kind that Sanji had ever gotten his hands on. Sanji read cookbooks Before, but seeing cooking magazines, with stories about the people and culture behind the cooking, had been new to him when he first encountered them after joining Zeff.

It was a piece of the world from Outside (outside the confines of a hostile, military mobile fortress), and Sanji had been fascinated. He certainly hadn't cared that the magazines were published decades before Sanji had obtained them, second hand at a used bookstore they'd passed by on a little island before the Baratie had been completed. And Zeff indulged him, collecting more, claiming that it was to build up his future restaurant's cookbook library, though they were all hoarded in Sanji's room.

None of the other magazines captured Sanji's interest like those first ones though. Because in them was a column tracking the story of a boy, who at the time the magazines had been published, had been around Sanji's age. A boy prodigy who had won multiple international cooking competitions, even had his own restaurant and soup kitchen, but who left it all behind to travel the world to further polish his craft.

To Sanji, who had only ever encountered adults interested in cooking, the column on the boy was more fascinating and inspiring than any fictional story could ever hope to be. And even though he had no objection to helping Zeff with his dream of completing and running the Baratie, at night, Sanji would escape into the articles, imagining himself traveling alongside the boy to different countries, exploring and studying different environments and ingredients and the culinary cultures that had evolved in them.

While the columns were written by some professional journalist, there was always a clip included of the boy's personal notes. Scrawled and messy, they showed the child behind them, and Sanji always imagined them as something like personal letters addressed to himself.

Sanji's brush with death and starvation is forever engrained in his mind, but he has little experience exploring other less developed islands, certainly none by himself. He knows little about the hardships of travel, nor the joy of adventure. Reading the columns, he experiences them through the boy, learning through his words without ever leaving his own bedroom.

Don't waste anything edible, ever, or you'll regret it once you're stuck on a tiny boat, the boy wrote. In another article, you might think it tastes bad, but know who its friends are and it'll usually work out. In yet another, sometimes you don't have the right money, or any money at all, but you still gotta eat.

The boy's words influenced many of Sanji's beliefs, that he otherwise likely wouldn't have held so firmly, having never personally experienced their applications himself.

But magazines, especially out of print ones, are hard to obtain out at sea, even more so when they don't even originate from East Blue. Despite years of hunting, Sanji never managed to collect all of the boy's stories, and eventually, he realized that they were no longer being published. He never found out if the column was cut, or if it had a conclusion in an issue he was missing, or if something happened to the boy.

It's been years since Sanji's last flipped through them, but on a whim, he takes one, feeling oddly sentimental and wanting to say goodbye to this important part of his childhood memories at the Baratie.

And as he opens the weathered pages to the article, and looks at the photo of the familiar smiling boy, he sees something that he'd apparently forgotten, and it makes the cigarette fall from his lips.

The boy's name.

Thatch.

~~

~~

Again, one more Epilogue part after this, though they’ll have moved on from the Baratie! Next part contains my personal headcanons for Thatch’s past <3

As always, thank you so much for reading! If you had any thoughts while reading, I’d love so much to hear them! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: 👒🐟On the Baratie, Part 5 Epilogue

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[rainydawgradioblog]

RDR Essentials - Hip-Hop/R&B (4/21)

RDR Essentials is a weekly newsletter of alternating genres that outlines key releases of the past month, upcoming events around Seattle and happenings in the specified music genre.

Made in collaboration between Rainy Dawg DJs and the Music Director.

Releases:

Armand Hammer & The Alchemist - Haram

New York rap duo Armand Hammer have become known for their dreary, dense, and thought-provoking poetry, often paired with gloomy instrumentation and symbolic storytelling. Haram, the duo’s newest full-length album, marks billy woods and Elucid’s first collaboration with one producer for an entire record. The Alchemist lends his ear to the pair on this album, providing an eerie, haunting and emotive soundscape that still sounds like nothing the legendary producer has made in the past, pushing his own boundaries and proving that he is capable of evolution even after a career spanning two decades. Tracks like “Indian Summer” are laced with a menacing energy, while “Falling out the Sky” sounds almost summer-esque, like the sun peeking through an otherwise dark place, beginning with an abstract verse from Earl Sweatshirt, centered around mentions of the sky, space, and supernovas. This track starts a three-song run of the record’s only rap features, as well: “Wishing Bad��� contains a furious verse from Curly Castro, transitioning with a more than menacing audio sample that forebodes in an echoing fashion: “There’s a lot of blood early on here”. This next track,“Chicharrones”, is one of the most fear-inducing beats the Alchemist has concocted thus far, and acts as an anger-fueled climax of the record. Quelle Chris delivers a seething verse, focusing on police brutality, not from a perspective of fear or sadness, but rather unrestrained rage, rife with references to George Orwell’s seminal Animal Farm but grounded in a clear disdain for the police. “If you off the pig/ Is you offin' pigs or offerin' figs?/ Oh, you big and bad?/ Blowin' hay and sticks, huffin' bricks” Quelle Chris chides in the chorus: “off the pig” likely refers to not eating pork as a convertee to Islam, in reference to the album’s title, “haram”, meaning “forbidden”, and the record’s stomach-churning cover art. The chorus seems to call out those who claim solidarity and yet “offer figs”, a phrase with roots in the biblical tale of Adam and Eve, who, in shame for their behavior, cover their genitals with fig leaves.

These guest features reinforce the record’s themes of drug abuse, class theory, racism, and the cultural ramifications of the “forbidden” in all its forms. Those who use the forbidden to cope, those who are able to get away with doing the forbidden, and everything in between seems to manifest within the record’s walls. As with every Armand Hammer release, however, it is the energy and poetry of these two MCs, seemingly almost psychically connected, that makes their staggeringly dense words so potent. At every turn, the two seem interlaced. Elucid brings invigoration to his verses, combined with sung choruses that sound as raw as can be, like on the solo track “Roaches Don’t Fly”, with soaring guitar riffs carrying an explosive verse (“My new name, colonizer’s can’t pronounce”) swelling to an enormous sung mantra: “You don’t gotta be here if you don’t wanna.” Elucid’s unique style of delivery often sees him, as many have noted, emphasizing unexpected syllables in his words, leaving his performances consistently engaging. Billy woods’ signature vignette-style storytelling and dry, dark humor are intact once again as well. The first verse of “Indian Summer” sees woods start a track as menacingly as one can (“I swore vengeance in the seventh grade/ Not on one man, the whole human race”), leading to a chilling tale of a man’s past in drug sales using a job cutting grass as cover, with detail to spare, painting a clear scene of “the stink of gas in the evening” and “the intoxication of counting cash in secret.” Highlight “Squeegee”, too, sees woods providing an unbelievable lesson in telling a full story in a short amount of time, chronicling a man’s attempt to turn his life around: eating healthy, working out before dawn, and barely smoking weed. Ultimately it’s all for naught, as paranoia takes over. He wonders if someone will follow him home, he wonders what his neighbors are doing, and it seems that old habits creep their way back in: ‘The taste in his mouth just like before.” It’s a chilling vignette, and undoubtedly one of woods’ best verses to date.

The album ends on an emotive high note; if “Chicharrones'' was the angry climax, “Stonefruit” is the album’s explosive and heart-wrenching finale. Elucid’s sorrowful chorus makes clear a turn inward, after an album focused so heavily on societal ills. “I don’t want to lose control” he repeats: “I’ve got so much left to undo.” Finally, billy woods delivers the album's most painful and emotive verse. Woods seemingly chronicles a rocky relationship perhaps interrupted by a sudden passing, a relationship filled with strife (“Said ‘OK’ to save face, but she never forgave”) that is yet anchored by an irrefutable love. The beautiful instrumental turns into a droning, and the euphoric emotional climax is once again drowned out by the ills it is surrounded by. This album is dense, difficult, and often a hard listen. But if one chooses to give it the attention it asks, it is more than rewarding enough, and once again proves billy woods, Elucid, and The Alchemist as three of the best artists we’ve ever seen.

- Casey Chamberlain

Kenny Mason - Angelic Hoodrat Supercut

Atlanta artist Kenny Mason is beginning to make a name for himself. After his impressive Angelic Hoodrat last year and a standout feature on Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats’ UNLOCKED 1.5 remix album, the 26 year old is back with a sequel project, Supercut, and continues to impress with his astounding mix of rock and rap. The project is a tightrope act that balances the genres, bringing trap beats, triplet flows, and bedroom guitar passages in equal measure. Rap cuts like the excellent “A+” featuring Denzel Curry see Kenny bringing technical flows and quick wit to the table, alongside standout “Much Money” which sees Freddie Gibbs making an appearance, bringing his signature swagger and Instagram-story quotables.

However, the most impressive aspects of the record are where things begin to change up, seeing Kenny swing more into rock and indie territory. “Play Ball” feels like a teenage anthem, accompanied by driving guitar riffs and bouncy drums and vocal mixing more reminiscent of a live performance at a house show than a recording booth. Opener “43”, too, immediately sets the tone, with a powerful sung chorus and heavy guitar rhythm and booming drums. Perhaps the biggest highlight, however, is the two-part “Pup”, which sees a low-key first half blend into a spacey and introspective second half. Not only is the production here at perhaps its most interesting of the record, combining gritty guitar and a pulsing trap beat, but Kenny’s songwriting stands out as well, with a strong emotive performance and personal lyrics highlighting insecurities. If there’s any critique to be had of this record, it would be that it most certainly feels like a part two of the first Angelic Hoodrat (in fact, the record’s title even makes it sound more like a deluxe than a separate album). Yet, Kenny’s style is most certainly exciting, reminiscent in equal measure of contemporaries across the musical spectrum, from Jean Dawson to JID. If refining his sound means putting out music as impressive as this, then Kenny Mason is on the right track, and is one to watch.

- Casey Chamberlain

Benny the Butcher & Harry Fraud - The Plugs I Met 2

Benny The Butcher has rocketed to heights previously unknown in the last year, with his full length project with Hit-Boy, Burden of Proof, being his biggest project yet, and seeing him steer into different sonic territory, moving away from the grimy Daringer and Alchemist production he had become known for on projects like Tana Talk 3. 2019’s The Plugs I Met was the epitome of that sound, and it’s perhaps inevitable that Benny would move past it at some point. Plugs I Met 2, however, feels like a marriage of those two sounds, sounding like a true sequel to the first project while still pushing into new territory and incorporating bigger features. There’s nothing as grimy here as the first album’s “Sunday School” or “Dirty Harry”, but tracks like “When Tony Met Sosa” and “Plug Talk” carry that same energy.

Highlights include “Overall” featuring Chinx, where the production feels like a brilliant mix of the street sounds and the lavish flashiness of Benny’s wordplay, alongside heavy drum kicks and incredibly dense production. Harry Fraud produced every track on the project, and this consistency shines. Each track sounds different from the last, but they fit neatly together. Even the tracks that tone down the energy feel just as lyrically impressive, such as “Live By It.” The features are mostly standout as well, with guest verse from 2 Chainz, Rick Hyde, and more. Overall, this is a solid project and logical sequel to the first Plugs I Met. Those who miss Benny’s grimy, TT3-era sound may be disappointed not to hear it return on every track here, but for those who remain impressed by Benny’s newfound flexibility, Plugs I Met 2 will no doubt remain a worthwhile addition to the Griselda catalog.

- Casey Chamberlain

Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats - UNLOCKED 1.5

Not content with waiting for the already-announced sequel to release, Kenny Beats and Denzel Curry return with a batch of remixes of tracks from last year’s excellent UNLOCKED with UNLOCKED 1.5. Featuring guest production and verses, this collection feels less like a full project on its own and more of a playful invitation to collaborators to make something brand new out of an already energetic album. The original UNLOCKED made clear its influence from MF DOOM, Madlib, and a host of others, seeing Kenny Beats branch out into new, cartoony territory and seeing Denzel Curry flex his lyrical prowess on a non-stop barrage of high-octane tracks. 1.5, in comparison, takes many of those rambunctious verses and places them over entirely new production. Standout “So.Incredible.pkg”, with production by the great Robert Glasper brings a jazzy and laid back energy, where Denzel still feels right at home, followed by an excellent and sly verse from Smino. “Cosmic.m4a [The Alchemist Version]” brings in the legendary producer for a brand new beat with beating drums and piano passages, alongside a vengeful, if not far too short, verse from Joey Bada$$. “Pyro” sees bouncy new production from Sango, with a witty and childlike feature from Kenny Mason. The highlight, however, has to be “DIET_” which, as the standout of the original project, with Denzel’s ferocious and guttural delivery inspired by the late DMX now enhanced by an effortless verse from Benny the Butcher, marking an unlikely but incredibly fulfilling appearance. The original UNLOCKED was a lighthearted project that showcased the talent of Denzel and Kenny Beats. 1.5, while not necessarily a fulfilling EP taken on its own, is something of a victory lap for the duo and their friends, a fun counterpart to the original project and a flexing of creative muscles.

- Casey Chamberlain

AG Club - Fuck Your Expectations PT. 1

When AG Club titled this album “Fuck Your Expectations”, they meant it. Fans, like me, who became hooked on AG Club after their debut melodic rap masterpiece Halfway Off the Porch, have been patiently awaiting a completed “Fuck Your Expectations” since its anticipated debut date in the summer of 2020. After months of waiting, with a few eclectic singles sprinkled in, AG Club decided to fuck our expectations once again by only giving fans part one, released April 2nd, with part two expected (I’m hesitant to use this word) on April 30th. Although it’s not the drop fans were expecting, it’s more than enough to tide us over. AG Club, now only composed of Jody Fontaine and Baby Boy on vocals, brings a fresh and exciting energy on this album that is more comparable to their early singles, like “Holy Shit” or “Ay, G”, than it is to their last full release. Tracks like “NOHO”, composed solely of bass and percussion, and “Columbia”, which features a blaring horn like they just brought the cavalry out, are the album’s “bangers”. AG Club hasn’t settled - they still have chips on their shoulders - and these songs prove that. To round the album out and further their pattern of genre-warping, tracks like “HOT PINK” and “A Bitch Curious” mix R&B, indie pop and rap to produce a completely new sound for the group. And just when you thought your expectations were certifiably fucked, the “A Bitch Curious” instrumental suddenly morphs into an EDM beat around three minutes in. Although it’s filled with an absurd amount of interludes for a nine track album, this project will still leave you saying: “Thank you AG Club, may I have another?”

- Charlie Darnall

BROCKHAMPTON - ROADRUNNER: NEW LIGHT, NEW MACHINE

The visuals for BROCKHAMPTON’s latest record say a lot about it. The video for “BUZZCUT”, the album’s opener, is a glorious clusterfuck of outdated animation and strobing color. On Spotify, every song is accompanied by a video of each vocalist’s face slowly morphing into the next. The self-proclaimed boy band’s visuals, although abrasive at first, are full of depth; every scene in a video or clip has spot on color pallets, an energy that accurately mirrors the song and an attention grabbing theme. And ROADRUNNER is equally as dense. Sonically, the album can range from the aggressive, east coast rap inspired “BANKROLL” to the all acapella, gospel inspired “DEAR LORD”. Between these polar opposites, lie eleven eclectic, constantly morphing tracks. “WINDOWS” is an eerie, acoustic laced song about all the boys being “outside your window” (oh no!) Following it, however, is the accessible and breezy R&B/pop track “I’LL TAKE YOU ON” featuring the legendary Charlie Wilson. “DON’T SHOOT UP THE PARTY” contrasts a beat that could send an Ibiza nightclub into a frenzy with passionate lyrics about racial injustice and the media and government’s inability to condemn white mass shooters. In the spirit of a “new light”, BROCKHAMPTON decided to include features on this album - a first time for the boy band. In both popularity and sound, these features are equally as eclectic. Features range from industry titans, like A$AP Rocky, to smaller, indie pop artists like Baird. Amongst the album’s themes of religion, hedonism and new beginnings, you will find density, both instrumentally and lyrically. 

- Charlie Darnall

Young Stoner Life - Slime Language 2

The second installment of Young Thug’s Slime Language series is undeniably essential. Young Thug and Gunna together are arguably two of the biggest figures in rap right now. Do you have a cousin or sibling in middle or high school? What about a friend in a fraternity? I’ll bet you $100 they’ve both heard a Young Thug or Gunna song in the past week. Both these Atlanta artists have transcended your average rap fan; their songs might be on your dad’s favorite radio station. And I think they’ve realized that. Out of the many things this album succeeds in, its greatest accomplishment is playing into the popularity its creators have achieved. Features include Drake, Lil Baby, Lil Uzi Vert, Travi$ Scott, Skepta, Kid Cudi and even the controversial YNW Melly. The beats are accessible and lend themselves to millions of streams. Tracks such as “I Like” and “Trance” model the more melodic side of Travi$ Scott’s sound with a low tempo and spacey synths. “That Go!” sounds like Playboi Carti had a beat to spare after finishing Whole Lotta Red. In terms of lyrics, there isn’t much to say. Gunna and Young Thug are still two of the biggest rappers alive, they’re still quite wealthy and they’ve made sure to mention that, although their lines seem to prioritize memorability. Every song is either hard enough to make a JV basketball team go nuts, melodic enough for late night drive or bouncy enough to make your mom go “oh, this is fun!” The album plays on many established themes and styles, but I asked myself two questions after I first listened and these are the answers I came to: Is it trying to be popular? Yes. Is that necessarily a bad thing? No.

- Charlie Darnall

Upcoming Releases:

MIKE- Disco! (6/21)

New York rapper MIKE has released a steady stream of incredible, personal, and beautiful records over the past few years, and it seems he is gearing up to release another project, titled Disco! this June. The rapper’s raw delivery and soulful production has brought him to the forefront of the burgeoning abstract hip-hop scene, and projects like 2019’s Tears of Joy and the seminal May God Bless Your Hustle have garnered not only critical acclaim but a fanbase of passionate fans. The lead single for the project, “Evil Eye” provides a gorgeous sample and instrumentation and a short but sweet verse, and is a perfect taste of what is sure to be another personal and important record from one of the best rappers currently working. Disco! arrives June 21st on MIKE’s label 10k.

- Casey Chamberlain

Paris Texas - “BOY ANONYMOUS” (5/14)

Compton-based duo Paris Texas have announced their debut EP, BOY ANONYMOUS. The group has made a splash with the project’s lead singles after dropping the explosive “HEAVY METAL” earlier this year. The group mixes rock and rap, and brings a ferocious energy to their music while staying introspective. The group’s name comes from the 1984 movie of the same title, often cited as Kurt Cobain’s favorite film. The duo has released two other tracks prior to the project’s release, “FORCE OF HABIT” and “SITUATIONS.” The eight-track EP is out May 14th.

- Casey Chamberlain

[jack-is-lost]

If you made your own, perfect, self indulgent film, or series, what would it be about, look like and what details would be essential?

Hmm, hard to say, really. I feel I’ve pondered over something similar in the past, which resorted to more fanfiction ideas, but I never delved too deep. Besides, what I might reply with now could evolve into an entirely different indulgent weeks, months, or a year from now. I’ll do my best to answer, though! Fair warning topics of death, and all that comes with it, are mentioned.

First, due to my unhealthy obsession, it would be supernatural-themed. Most likely a world where they are coexisting with humans, the average beings, but not exactly out publicly. I enjoy that world-building structure that, for the most part, humanity goes about their life unbeknownst that these ‘stories’ they’ve grown up with hold actual physical truth to them — not just metaphorical.

Another weakness of mine is taking a normal person and having them fall down this rabbit hole into the unknown. Preferably due to a life-altering situation. The reason the supernatural world reveals itself to the protagonist needs to be dire, blood pumping, and basically thrilling. I don’t mind the whole ‘I fell in love with so-and-so and now I’m apart of their world’, but I would avoid it being the pivotal point in my film/series. 

Instead, it is a friend and the life-altering situation would be a near-death moment. These would be essential, the turning points and anchor. Perhaps, the protagonist was out hanging with a friend they’ve known all their life, through school (currently in high-school), and that night things uncontrollably go downhill. Many thoughts come to mind of how it would go down; car accident, being held at gunpoint while at a convenience store, a freak accident at a theme park. Something out of their hands that causes the friend to act or else death would occur. It is heated, no thought just action, and suddenly there are so many questions needing to be answered. So the protagonist starts to fall down that metaphorical hole into wonderland, but — like in so many already established films/shows — having a mortal being apart of their world is dangerous. Dangerous for them and the beings hidden within plain sight. Yes, what their friend did was heroic but also frowned upon by their own kind. Discussion of what to do with the protagonist is heavy on everyone’s mind. Change them? Wipe their memory? Kill them? Within days of having their eyes open to so much, enough time to have the confusion and fear evolve into wonderment, it is decided to repress their memories. Like a fish caught on a hook, the protagonist is tossed back to sea to blindly follow the current. What I’ve mentioned would be the first portion of a film or the first few episodes of the series. It builds up, allowing the audience to know there is more — to gain a taste of wanting to only be denied alongside the main character. To also dig emotionally deeper, said friend has to distance themself in fear of triggering memories. Something could cause those repressed life-changing moments to unravel, so they back off. Calls start to go unanswered, text messages are few and in-between, and physically hanging out just stops altogether. This makes the protagonist at first resentful, upset not knowing what they did wrong — if they did anything wrong. They simply shrug it off at one point, deciding that — like so many friendships often due, theirs is simply fading. So life goes on and a time skip occurs. It is the beginning of the build-up that leads to the middle of the film/series. The protagonist is older, perhaps in their late twenties to early thirties, and they’ve followed this path to become a Crime Scene/Homicide Investigator. Known as a specialist in their field and very dedicated to their work. As the movie/series builds up to that middle act, their world once again starts to ripple like a reflection on water. Especially as they are called to an unusual scene. It is gruesome, animalistic, limbs were strewn across the dark street. And, as they kneel down to pull back the tarp to have a good look at the victim, another investigator crouches beside them. Something is off by how this person’s gaze takes in the scene, how their voice mutters visual statements, and this familiar pull inside their own head. Our protagonist has this inkling feeling they’ve met before. It isn’t until their eyes meet that it dawns on them. Despite it being more than a decade with no contact, it is their friend right beside them. They are older, face harder. Somehow, without any influence on each other, they’ve walked the same career path. And, without purposefully meaning to, found themselves teaming up as districts overlap. Except for one crucial key; their friend has specialized in supernatural criminology. The scene before them is a hot mess that pulls two parties together to solve the case. Creatures and humans equally killing and being murdered. This is where a love interest would slowly build-up — the faintest of possibilities, as they focus on solving what could be the biggest serial killer case ever. Foggy memories do start to surface, but they are old and blurry childhood moments. They could easily be deluded by watching too many horror movies, and that is how the protagonist reasons it. Yet, the further they work this job together, the more the main character has to know. The more they need to seek answers and start to avidly search between the cracks. A huge “I knew it!” moment would occur when they come face to face with the serial killer. Who is, indeed, a supernatural creature. However, being older and more trained, the protagonist doesn’t falter in the midst of a fight sequence. They might exclaim it, joke with their temporary partner on the case, but their finger is still hovering over the trigger — their gaze on the killer. Thus, this is the ‘climax’ of the story — the reveal and blood-pumping action. And, as the main character humanly try to go up against a real-life brutal monster, our protagonist is severely injured. Except now the friend/partner wasn’t there to deflect the final blow. The battle is still going as the protagonist lays upon the ground, bleeding out and fighting to breathe. That is where we see a flashback to the first incident, back to the beginning of the show/film. Their vision is a clouded memory as they blindly look up to the weathered ceiling. The pain is fading to the point they let out one of those dry chuckles while thinking fate is cruel. That they are apart of something like Final Destination to where they probably should have died back then, and now fate is rearing its ugly mug at them again. Their friend rushes to their side, the battle over, and the main character missing the ending. It isn’t though they could care much about that for their world is fading, their life leaking out of them with every slow pulse. The friend asks them then, disregarding rules and regulations, and ask if they don’t want to die. They need permission, consent, but the response is slurred and broken. Did they want whatever their friend was truly asking of them? To be a monster? They can feel the friend’s grasp within theirs, stronger than their own returning squeeze. The darkness is starting to crawl, starting to swallow their vision, and they stare up at the being who they were beginning to love all over again — more than a friend in this second chance gifted to them, and they smile. They don’t nod or shake their head. They don’t whisper an answer, but instead, allow the grim reaper to do its job. For if they were meant for the world hidden by plain sight, they would have been born for it. The ending of this show is remorseful, no doubt. We have this heroic symbol as the funeral plays out. The friend, the blossoming love interest, being the last one to lay a flower upon the grave. Now we see it from their perspective, the loss and grief. Loss of having to stop being friends, the enjoyment of meeting up again and playing a major role in their life, to the grief of losing them so soon. It would end on this sad note because it is how life works, and I’d want to solidify the hard realities within the wonderment. Yet, if a second season or a sequel were to happen, it would be through their gaze. How they deal with it and move forward, and how they find companionship again many, many years down the line. Especially when another supernatural creature has this light in their eyes when they smile a certain familiar way. They are new on the job and being saddled up with them to get field experience, nothing unusual. However, the way they laugh — how they freely speak their mind, reminds them of someone else and a part of them wonders deep down that maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as heartless as it seemed. It really feels like their friend is right there beside them as they fall back into the fray of solving homicide cases.

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Good Omens AU Part Four

It’s back. Original is here

Wilbur didn't expect to care about Tommy, but he accepted it pretty quickly.

---------

There wasn't much to bring with him the day he moved to town. After all, it wasn't like he'd actually need to renovate the house. 

He stood on the curb in front of the remnants of the house that burned down a decade ago, suitcase in hand. A bit of a fixer-upper, but I can work with this. 

After checking to make sure there weren't any nosy neighbors watching, he reached out to the debris. 

The charred wood and scattered bricks twitched for a few seconds, before assuming the appearance of a lovely home. 

A doorbell, a porch, windows in a shade of cobalt blue, and above all else the distinct feeling that Wilbur's house (and by extension, Wilbur) had been around on the block for ages.

Even if the neighbors didn't know who he was or what he did, they would have to struggle to think of him as a stranger. 

And they had their own petty human lives, which didn't contain the time or energy to waste worrying about a charming new addition to the neighborhood.

Wilbur strolled into his perfectly average house, plans whirring in his head.

Showtime.

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

There were quite a few houses on the block, but Wilbur was only focusing on a group of three.

House #1: Tommy's home, three houses away. A simple house that contained the most important person in the world and his intimidating dad.

House #2: That Weird Guy's house, two houses away. Wilbur had no idea who That Weird Guy was, but he was apparently close friends with Tommy's dad, and even more intimidating. Wilbur wasn't sure why the kid was surrounded by people that made him worry for his life despite being immortal.

House #3: Schlatt's house, sadly next door. He didn't need additional proof that god hated him, but apparently they'd wanted to make it even clearer.

A week or so after he'd gotten settled into his new home, Wilbur decided to go outside to get a better look at the streetlamps and the night sky while trying to find his plan. 

He was feeling surprisingly positive about the whole thing. Soon, he'd be changing the fate of the world.

If this didn't get him remembered after it all, nothing else would.

A hacking cough came from the porch next door, reminding him that he wasn't the only supernatural being on the block. Wilbur took a breath, trying to be civil. 

Don't get distracted from the most important mission of your life because you want to murder a goat. Just walk on by. Just keep walking, and don't acknowledge his existence. You don't know him. 

However, his unwanted neighbor had no qualms about acknowledging Wilbur's existence, and he'd only taken a couple of steps onto the street before Schlatt called out to him. 

"Well, would you look at that: You’re finally out of the house! This is more of a miracle than anything I’ve done.". 

Wilbur turned around, counting down the seconds until he could not be where he was, having this conversation.

"Schlatt, we're supposed to be undercover."

"Oh, my bad. Guess these random humans will never get to know our big secrets.". Schlatt raised his voice slightly, yelling to the deserted cul-de-sac.

"Would be a shame if someone found out that guy over there is a demon! Yeah, the jerk with the beanie's from Hell, and I'm an angel, and we're only pretending to be human because (get this) one of the little tykes on your block is actually the antichrist!". 

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it possible to get headaches when his mind was only semi-corporeal?

"Could you kindly shut the fuck up?"

"Nope.". I mean, that's kind of on me for phrasing it as a question.

Schlatt took a break from the Annoying Wilbur Show (airs all times that he has the poor idea to go outside) to dig into more of his tomato sauce and meat wraps. 

He raised the snack like it was a holy relic. Wilbur supposed that if Schlatt really wanted to, he could make it into one.

"These are Hot Pockets. I was actually planning on taking a few over to you-know-who's family as a housewarming gift, build up good favor, you know?". Suddenly, the plan clicked in Wilbur's head. He tried to keep his face neutral and concerned, with no hint of a smirk.

"Hot Pockets? I mean, are you sure?"

"What's wrong with Hot Pockets? And choose your next words carefully.". Wilbur leaned against a streetlamp, sighing in assumed pity.

"There's nothing wrong with Hot Pockets per se. They're fine, I guess.". Schlatt sputtered, offended beyond belief.

"Fine? Fine? You see before you the one thing that has made me reconsider starting the apocalypse, and you're like "eh. fine". Fuck you and your family and whatever you call taste buds. Fine? I'd tell you to go to hell, but that doesn't work, so go to New Jersey you son of a-". 

This continued on for a while.

Wilbur nodded along to the tirade, maintaining a poker face. All the while, he telekinetically inched the tray of wrapped (?) Hot Pockets towards him. 

The tray crept ever closer, past Schlatt's lawn chair, past Schlatt's nightmarish garden gnomes, past the freshly dug earth that definitely had a body buried under it, until it was finally within reach.

Without listening to another word, Wilbur grabbed the Hot Pockets and ran for the hills, easily outrunning the outraged angel. 

Sorry, Schlatt, but you're going to have to try harder to win this game.

He sprinted to House #1 and rang the doorbell, trying to look non-suspicious. After about a minute, he got an answer from the selected father (Phil, his name was Phil). 

Wilbur smiled brightly and walked into the house.

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

The initial meeting went great, putting the whole "getting threatened with a knife" thing aside. 

Phil seemed to appreciate the Hot Pockets and company, and Wilbur could confidently guess that he'd managed to secure a place in helping him out in the future. 

Besides being good for the plan in general, he'd liked spending time around Phil and Tommy. Wilbur didn't get to talk to people a lot, and when he did it was normally trying to scam them out of their soul. 

So, this was a welcome break. 

And his heart definitely hadn't been warmed when Tommy had fallen asleep to the sound of his guitar. Nope. Absolutely none of that.

Phil evidently didn't see child raising as his first priority, and Wilbur found more chances to volunteer to watch his kid than he expected. 

At times, he felt like he was just as much of a parent to Tommy as Phil, if not more. 

Which wasn't to say that he felt any bitterness about that. Quite the contrary. Watching after Tommy was one of the best parts of his day. 

Despite being a baby, the kid already had so much personality, and his little face would light up whenever Wilbur went home to House #1.

When Wilbur held the baby in his arms, he really did feel like a guardian. 

The phrase "guardian angel" had stung, but he did want to shield Tommy from harm or becoming anything like him when he grew up.

Still, it's not like his heart was at all warmed when he held Tommy in his arms-Oh, screw it. His heart was warmed. He happened to care about the adorable baby that he spent a lot of time with. Go figure. 

Caring wasn't interfering with his job as a protector, informant for Hell, and general influencer of evil. So, there was no purpose in denying it.

Besides the unexpected emotional attachment, nothing really changed about the general routine.

His days consisted of maintaining the glamours around his house, reading his books, writing (it turns out that an approaching Armageddon worked wonders for deadline motivation), staring at the ceiling and wondering why God had forsaken him, looking after Tommy, talking with Phil (and on occasion, That Weird Guy), giving the Lords of Hell their required project updates, and, occasionally, almost getting murdered.

One key example of the "almost getting murdered" thing happened when Tommy was around two years old.

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

He'd just gotten back from another meeting with the Lords (yes, Tommy is still alive. no, he isn't evil yet, seeing as he's two years old. no, that wasn't sarcasm. no, I'd actually prefer for you to not kill me for my insolence. Same old stuff.). 

It was a cold yet sunny winter afternoon when Wilbur stepped out of the office building and back into the mortal world. As he made his way towards the bus station, his phone rang.

The call was from Phil, and he moved away from the middle of the sidewalk to take it, leaning against the brick wall of a building next to an alleyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Will, a job came up tonight without much notice. Would you be able to watch Tommy around 7-ish?"

"Sure, I can do that."

"Great, you're a lifesaver. One last thing: If Techno decides to question you about your motives and backstory, don't take it personally, he's just in one of those suspicious phases lately. Okay?". 

Wilbur would have loved to agree, nonchalantly laugh it off, and quickly go over his backstory in his head again. 

Unfortunately for him, there was a weapon aimed at him from the alleyway.

It would be a funny sight to the passerby to see a normal-seeming person cower in the face of a spray bottle. 

Of course, the average passerby wasn't a demon. 

9 times out of 10, when a spray bottle was pointed at a demon, the spray bottle was full of holy water and the demon was in for a bad time.

Wilbur stood there, frozen. The alleyway was shady, and he couldn't quite make out who was aiming the bottle at him. 

Phil's voice echoed out of his phone.

"Will? Are you still there?". Wilbur tried to keep his voice steady, and he quickly responded.

"I'm here. I got it. I'll be ho-I'll be back soon. There is no need to call me back. Goodbye."

"What's that supposed to mean?". He tapped the screen, ending the call. Please, don't have me die right now. It would be annoying, not to mention narratively unsatisfying.

He looked into the alleyway, addressing whoever had seen fit to threaten him today.

"Hi there. I'm guessing that spray bottle isn't full of Sprite.". 

A man in a blue onesie (Sonic the Hedgehog cosplay?) emerged from the shadows.

"Yep. I mean, it technically was Sprite until it went through the blessing process, but it's a lot holier now.". Wilbur blinked a few times in confusion.

"Connor?"

"Hey."

"What's with the outfit? Why are you threatening me in an alley? What's with the outfit?"

"Don't mock the outfit, I have it on good faith that this is the height of human fashion."

"Let me guess. Schlatt told you that.". 

The onesie-clad angel stood there, realizing that taking the advice of that particular coworker probably wasn't the smartest decision he'd ever made. Eventually, he shrugged it off.

"Well, I feel resplendent, so this is a win in my book.". Wilbur tapped the bricks on the wall, almost playing a rhythm.

"Listen, Connor, if you were just going to kill me with that thing you would have already pulled the trigger. Why are you here?". Connor looked a little sheepish about the whole thing.

"The higher-ups thought that I should make you an offer you can't refuse. Basically, some intern had the bright idea that we should have Hell's guardian either agree to spy for us or die."

"You're suggesting that I become a double agent?"

"Yeah. Or die, whichever is your preference."

"I think your higher-ups underestimate my importance here. Killing me won't slow our side down by much. They'll just send another guy, and you'll have to spend more time in unpleasant alleyways."

"And someday they'll send a guy who takes our offer. Trust me, we've been planning this ever since we realized Schlatt was going to be useless down there.". Wilbur thought about it. 

Killing god obviously matters more than prolonging my life. And I'm a good actor, but I don't have enough time in my life to be a triple agent.

"Come on, Connor. I thought you were one of the decent ones.". Connor half-heartedly kicked at a puddle. 

His face was reluctant, but he still aimed the spray bottle with precision.

"Please tell me you're going to accept the offer?"

"You've known me for years. What do you think?"

"From what Schlatt has told me, you're too stubborn for your own good.". Wilbur laughed at that.

"Yeah. So the real question is: Can you murder me, Connor?". Connor shuffled, and the spray bottle wavered. Wilbur continued talking.

"I'm actually interested to see what you do next. You've got my full attention.". The two of them stood there, completely still. Finally, Connor pointed the spray bottle away from Wilbur and aimed for the sky.

"You've kind of made this whole thing weird, man. So, I'll give you a 15-second head start.".

Wilbur didn't waste time thanking him, and he sprinted away. 

He fled through shadows and smoke, barely remembering to keep some trace of a physical body. He scrambled his way towards the bus station, reaching the glass doors. 

However, that was where his luck ran out.

"Sorry, Wilbur. That's the power of the Sonic onesie: I'm really fast.". 

I'm going to need to invest in a Sonic onesie. Except I can't, because I'm about to be shot. Fuck, those are terrible last thoughts. 

Out of desperation, he grabbed the lid of the spray bottle and twisted it off, before punching Connor in the gut. The angel doubled over, and the holy water spilled out of the bottle. 

Wilbur scrambled away from the spill, trying to keep from making contact.

He ran through the doors and into the bus station. 

Some of the holy water had gotten on his coat, and he awkwardly shrugged it off in a corner, which was a shame. He'd really liked the aesthetic of having a trench coat. Sure, he could glamour another one in a few seconds, but it wouldn't feel the same. 

Connor walked towards him, and Wilbur glared.

"You made me lose my trench coat!"

"Again, sorry about all of this, it was just business.". Connor held out his arm in an almost peaceful gesture. 

And Wilbur, tired and overconfident, made the first stupid decision for the day. He took the peace offering and took Connor's hand.

The white-hot pain nearly knocked him to the ground. 

There had been less than a drop of holy water on his hand, but it was more than enough to stop Wilbur from breathing for a few minutes. 

In and of itself, that was fine. He didn't need to breathe to stay alive. All that he had to do was stay away from holy things, what had he done. 

In the background, Connor was frantically apologizing and claiming that he "didn't mean to do that". Wilbur wondered distantly why he'd still be lying to him.

And here I was thinking that there were one or two decent angels. How laughable. 

No one's decent 14 years from Armageddon. Not humans, not angels, and not me.

Wilbur shoved Connor away and walked up to the ticket counter. 

His hands were shaking and his words all over the place, but somehow he managed to convey that he wanted to take a bus back to town and pay for it. 

If I can get back to my house, I should be okay. Or, at the very least, not dead.

The bus ride was tricky. For one, part of the route was along Fundy's cursed highway (one of the demon’s more useless inventions), so things were significantly slowed down. 

Also, everything felt far away and cold, and it was a bit difficult to keep focus on which stop was his.

It took far too much time to reach town, and even more to make his way back to his street.

On auto-pilot, he ended up at House #1 first, panicking slightly when neither Tommy nor Phil was inside.

Trying to keep calm, he checked House #2, and thankfully That Weird Guy (he knew his name was Technoblade, but that was a ridiculous name, and he'd been thinking of him as That Weird Guy for so long that it was hard to stop) was keeping watch over Tommy. Relief washed over him.

I don't know what I'd do if he got hurt. 

That Weird Guy seemed fine with taking care of Tommy for a little longer, which Wilbur was secretly grateful for. 

He also seemed convinced that Wilbur was going to pass out, which was hilarious, seeing as Wilbur didn't need to sleep or breathe unless he wanted to. 

After a brief moment of rest in a bush, he made his way to his house.

He tried to unlock the door, but his hands were trembling too much to use the key, and he was seeing two locks instead of one, and he slowly slid to the ground.

Is this actually how it's happening? 

I know I'm not long for this world, but I always expected a better exit. Something with fanfare and sacrifice and meaning. 

Our so-called "immortality" is a conditional one. The instant we dare to touch something holy, it all goes, and there's no soul or afterlife for us castaways.

I wish I was human.

Wilbur struggled to look up at the sky. 

It was still daytime, and the stars weren't out yet. That was a shame, he'd worked hard on those. He shivered.

I know we're doomed to fail come Doomsday. I know that there's no way out of Your ineffable plan. But I'm trying to make directorial choices with your script, trying to make a good story. This is a terrible ending.

It was quiet. That was probably for the best.

Do I deserve it?

Of course I do.

But I didn't always, and you're not blameless either.

I hope that Tommy's too young to remember me.

The world was cold, but peacefully quiet, and the pain was mostly beyond his reach. This wasn't bad, all things considered. Wilbur's eyes closed.

A few minutes later, he was rudely awakened by Phil shaking him.

"Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not, but can you stand?". He opened one eye.

"I'm fine.". Phil laughed at that. Part of Wilbur considered laughing along, while what was left of his common sense informed him that Phil sounded like he was laughing out of shock.

"Fine? Will, there were a few seconds where I thought you were dead!"

"Well, as you can see, I'm not. If you could just unlock the door, that would be great.". The door unlocked behind him. 

He struggled to rise to his feet, and Phil caught his arm, supporting him.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Minor business conflict."

"There is a hole in your hand.”

"That happens at my job sometimes. I'm in the mafia."

"Have you considered other career options?"

"The insurance benefits are too good.". Phil set Wilbur down on a couch and left the room. As was to be expected.

Wilbur reached under the couch cushions to grab a hidden cigarette lighter. 

He had no intention of smoking while bleeding out, obviously. 

The cigarette lighter had been modified slightly, another one of Fundy's inventions. 

The fire of the lighter was no regular thing, but rather hellfire. Hopefully, that would be enough of a cure.

The warmth of the hellfire slowly and painfully chipped away at the ice and purity, and he took a few seconds to internally mock god. 

Maybe a bit of a hubris-related thing to do, but Wilbur was glad to live another day, and that meant spite.

For whatever reason, Phil stuck around to make sure he was okay. 

Wilbur hadn't quite expected that. 

He wasn't in the best state, but Phil seemed to believe that it was better for him to be talking than unconscious. 

So, in a half-delirious state, he rambled about mercy, and free will, and falling.

And when he whispered that he missed flying, he could have sworn that Phil agreed.

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

Anyway, aside from dramatic moments like those, life was okay.

Wilbur was there for every milestone in Tommy's life, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He was there for his first few words when Tommy was a baby (the first word was "kaboom", but the second was "Wilby").

He was there for his first steps, and once Tommy learned to walk there was no stopping him from running everywhere.

He was there for preschool graduations and first days of kindergarten and beyond.

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

Of course, Wilbur's job was to teach the kid to want to kill god, and he tried to do that too. 

From the moment Tommy learned how to read, Wilbur kept trying to get him to read Paradise Lost. Sadly, he was six and Milton wasn't to his taste at the moment. 

Wilbur wasn't sure how well he did on that front, but he tried. 

Either way, he wasn't sure if he raised a suitably evil kid, but he raised a good one. 

Not good as in morally, obviously. Tommy was still a rascal at times, but he was the rascal that Wilbur cared about.

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

Wilbur was the one to teach him how to ride a bike. 

Tommy was so determined to learn how to do it, and he kept getting up even when his knees were scratched up from crashing. 

When putting on band-aids, sometimes Wilbur would slightly heal him. Not so much that he wouldn't know to be careful, but just enough to ease the pain a bit.

Wilbur also taught him other valuable life skills like lock picking, lying, good taste in music, and how to pick pockets. The stuff every kid needed to know!

His reports to the Lords of Hell became less clinical, and more chatting about Tommy finally figured out how to ride a bike, and he's getting good grades in language arts, and he likes musicals too, and he's such a wonderful kid.

They'd mostly stare in confusion, and awkwardly ask him how that was helping Satan.

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

And he knew that every birthday meant that the two of them were one year closer to Doomsday. 

And he knew that he wasn't going to survive Doomsday.

Wilbur had a feeling since the moment he first fell that he'd have to redeem himself or go out in a blaze of glory. And, frankly, he felt too bitter towards his creator to aim for a redemption arc.

So, when Tommy turned eight, he knew that he had eight years left to live. 

And when he was ten, he knew he had six, and so on. 

That didn't stop Wilbur from baking a cake for him and singing.

He cared about Tommy quickly, and he later grew to care for Phil, and maybe even he would be vaguely upset if That Weird Guy died. 

Wilbur couldn't call this place a home, and he couldn't say they were his family, but it was the closest he'd ever gotten to that sort of thing. 

And sometimes, he could fool himself into thinking it could stay like this.

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

Once, he'd made the mistake of trying to taunt Schlatt about it.

They'd been talking, and Schlatt made one too many jabs about how he spent his days babysitting. 

He'd mocked the patch that Tommy had clumsily sewed into his new trenchcoat, and Wilbur got a bit annoyed.

"At least I've been doing my job and spending time with the antichrist! You've been completely useless down here, just sitting around in that lawn chair and drinking. I mean, it makes everything easier for me, but the fact still remains that I've been getting stuff done while you've been treating this like a paid vacation.".

Schlatt looked him dead in the eyes, setting down his glass.

"You think that you were smart, getting close to their family? Turning up the charm, making friends, stealing my goddamn Hot Pockets (which I'm still mad about)?". He laughed in his face.

"Wilbur, you're a fucking moron. You say that I haven't spent enough time around the family? You've spent way too much, and it's given you a bleeding heart."

"I don't have a-"

"Tommy's going to die in six years, you know. Kid's cute, but he's not going to survive the end of the world. He's a child, and God is God, and he's going to get smote like burnt chicken. It's just the facts.". Wilbur recoiled from him, hissing his next words through his teeth.

"Shut up."

"Did you even think about anything besides your own stupid martyrdom? Or were you too busy playing house and getting attachments? Face it, Wilbur: It's lunchboxes today, graves tomorrow.". 

For once, Wilbur had nothing to say. No clever response, nothing. Just pure panic. 

He touched the patch on his trench coat covering his heart, looking to the sky.

Please. I know you're a bastard. I know you hate me, and I hate you, and that can't change. But if you gave me some sign, some promise that you wouldn't hurt Tommy, I'd do anything. 

As always, there was no response.

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

Wilbur cared about Tommy, and he knew, and even if it was a weakness he couldn't stop. 

All of Tommy's family cared about him, wanting him protected and alive.

But Schlatt?

Schlatt didn't give a damn about Tommy, and he never would.

There was no care weighing him down. And that meant that he had infinitely more options than everyone else.

[abbynx]

Sibling things (Kakyoin X Sibling reader)

Spoilers for part three! Please skip if you haven't watched/finished it yet!

Just an angsty fic to satisfy my needs for my lovely cherry boi~

Yesterday... It felt like yesterday when you and I played together within the enclosed walls of our residence. Despite being too young to remember such things, the memory was vivid in my memories. That dumb cherry licking, mother chasing bastard was a tolerable asshat who tend to tease me a lot. He'd mess my hair style whenever he gets the chance, call me an embarrassing nickname, just sibling things nothing much. With all the teasing, all the fight picking, all the kicks, the punch, scratching, biting, possibly knife pointing... We cared about each other, for we were told that it would be us against the world when we grew up. If we grew up... I can't get to grow up with him like we planned.

______________________________________

"Happy seventeenth birthday! Oh my sweet darling child!" Your mother embraced you, pressing a firm kiss on your cheek leaving the residue of her red lipstick after you blew the small flame that burned the red candle moulded to mimic a cherry.

You softly smiled at her statement, when your eyes flickered up and caught a glimpse on the mirror. For some goddamn reason, you didn't see yourself in it. In your place, you saw Noriaki, embracing your mother with that smile of his while he was wearing his form fitting uniform of his he always wear for some god forsaken reason. You saw yourself in the mirror as well, holding the cherry flavoured you bought with your allowance.

_____________________________________ Seventeen. It was his seventeenth and last birthday. I can vividly remember planning his birthday, saving funds, baking him the cherry flavoured cake since it was his favourite, saving my allowance to buy him the video game he had his eye on...

A bright future was ahead of him, welcoming him. Bright young man with grace, regality, intelligence, had myriads of talents. He was an intellectual, a painter, a gamer! He knew a thing about other cultures, literature, norms, morals. A boy with the heart of gold, brains rich with knowledge and wisdom... The bright young man wasn't bright at all, as darkness snuffed his light and he was gone. ______________________________________

"We are so proud of you sweetheart." Missus Kakyoin wholeheartedly smiled, she took your cheeks within her grasp, softly running her thumb on your cheek. Her eyes became glossy with tears pooling in her eyes that couldn't escape. "We love you Y/N. Please remember that no matter what."

"Your brother would be so happy and proud of you." The patriarch of the Kakyoin family puts a hand on the matriarch's shoulder, smiling alongside her as tears has already escaped his eyes.

"Thank you mom, dad." You gathered them into a warm embrace in an attempt to hide your watering eyes, not wanting them to see you cry. You glanced up, catching the family's framed photograph from two years ago. Noriaki sat beside you, whilst your parents stood behind you. That stupid jerk and his stupid smile, he was seventeen and had decades and decades more to live when he died, he could've been nineteen already.

Upset, you gripped your parents tightly within your grasp, tears making their way out of your eyes whilst your chest tightened with your denied sobs.

_____________________________________ Loneliness... All he wanted was a friend, someone who can understand him, who will be there for him as much as he is there for them... And that he found, I was proud of him for making friends... But he was only friends with them for fifty days. ______________________________________

"Oh! Happy belated birthday Y/N!" Your classmate leaned on your desk with a bright smile. "Gosh, you're seventeen now! Only four more years and we're legal to drink! I would TOTES love to hang out with you."

"Thank you, Ibara. I would also love that!" You responded, putting a humble hand on your chest with a close eyes smile.

"Wow! That necklace is pretty! Emerald really suits you a lot!" She compliments, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It accentuates your features and it's really pretty despite not being that bedazzled. Simplicity really is beauty."

You blinked at her in shock. "You really think so?" Your hand unconsciously lands on the circular shaped emerald pendant.

"Yeah! It's so very pretty! Its the first time I saw you wearing a necklace, so it must be new. Is it a birthday gift?" She gasps, covering her lips with her opened palms before smirking mischievously. "Is it from your boyfriend~?"

"Oh, more like my brother's boyfriend!" You rolled your eyes, playfully punching the girl's shoulder.

Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki's friend visited you yesterday. The big guy was a statue towering over your small stature but that didn't let you be afraid of him. Despite being practically strangers with each other, only seeing one another during random bumps in school, a friend of your brother's is a friend of yours. And besides, you found yourself being fond of his family after his grandfather and Jotaro came to your residence that day to share the tragic news. It was a complicated situation, very messy... But in the end, the tragedy was all the same, the death, the circumstance... Despair inducing.

Jotaro Kujo shared so many tales about your brother, how smart he was, how helpful, how brave... How dead he was.

___________________________________ "I honestly didn't know he'd be capable of that..."

"Same here. In all my years of knowing him, I never knew he'd pull that stunt... But undeniably, sounds like him," I smiled, looking over the normally silent behemoth. "And you're right about the cherry stuff. He regularly does that whenever he'd eat cherries."

"It's unnerving, to be frank." The hat wearing boy turned away, tipping his hat downward.

"It is! I remember when we'd buy milkshakes after school! He would often take my cherry and do that thing he always do....."

The storytelling went on, endless stories of Noriaki's childhood with me went on and on. I could never get tired of taking about him, his memory lives on with me, in my heart and in my soul. It hurts to admit he's gone in this certain young age of seventeen, but he still lives inside me... That came out wrong, but you get my point.

After our not-so brief talk about Nori, it was time for him to leave, when he turns back to me. In his hand, was a black velvet box wrapped with an emerald bow. He said it was my gift for my birthday and wouldn't you know it, the behemoth is a huge softie. He is like an older brother to me, but of course, I would never replace Nori.

Let me tell you this, it wasn't easy being friends with Jotaro. I'm a junior year while he's a senior. And for some god forsaken reason, they thought we were dating... Uh, I like him as a friend/brother. Nothing more, really.

The box... Inside it, was the necklace. The golden chain and the circular emerald pendant, a certain colour I often associated with my older brother as he named his stand's attack just that. Emerald splash... No one could deflect it, as he claims alright. That's what I thought at least, he never aimed the attack on me.

I gave Jotaro a hug before he parted ways with me. The green certainly reminded me of the stand and it's user... I honestly miss them. _____________________________________

"Say Y/N, I say we go get some boba tea after this class! My treat of course!" Your friend beams, posing with a peace sign at you. "It's the least I can do since I wasn't able to attend your birthday yesterday! And it really makes me feel guilty!"

"Oh Ibara you don't have to," you giggled. "But if you insist!"

As of cue, the bell rang to signal class was over. Ibara has always been a close friend of yours since you've transferred in this school. The girl with an obsession for boba milk teas and middle aged actors who were thrice her age. The comforting soul that stuck with you while you mourned for your brother's death and never left your side. After packing you bag, you glanced at the orange haired girl who was already waiting for you in the doorway with an encouraging smile. Giving your friend a smirk, looping your elbows through hers.

"Off we go, Ibara. A certain cherry boba milk tea is calling my name~" you giggled.

"Oh you always get that flavour. You're obsessed with cherries, aren't you? How come you don't try other flavours?" Ibara asks, casting a questioning glance at your direction. "And your pin is even cherry! And your earrings! Seriously! You and your cherry obsession!"

"I don't know why, but I think they taste good and they're oddly aesthetically pleasing." you lied. "I just like how cherries taste and how they look, that's all."

______________________________________

Heavenly... Every moment spent with you is the reason why I lived.

You may not realize it, big brother, but you were a great influence for me. I was hard on myself for not knowing how certain mathematics work, I knew not much about literature, culture, history, sociology and you taught me all about it. Stands, what the fuck were stands? I developed one and I was afraid and you helped me cope with it and now we're friends.

I knew nothing about friendship, but my relationship with you alone made me feel relevant, valid despite being bullied back in elementary. Your influence lurked within me every single time.

Thoughts like "What would big brother Nori do if...." Frequently crossed my mind whenever an inconvenience occured. You are, in a way, my role model. I love how you handle things, the way you think, negotiate, move after thinking... Such a quick witted guy you were. That's how much I look up at you despite I acted mean to you. You never knew how you influenced me to be a person I am today...

I miss you, truly. I wish you weren't dead.

But I have to ask... Why? Why do you always want to make me feel better about myself when you can't even do the same thing for yourself?

You did everything to make me smile, make me feel comfortable, make me feel loved, appreciated, you helped me feel valid while you suffered with your own pain. You bear your pain alone while I had the nerve to unload my personal baggage as if I was the most miserable person there is...

Hell, I don't even know how much you've suffered until you died. I'm such a useless younger sibling who can't even return the same gestures you've made for me... _____________________________________

"Ewww, what is that?" Fifteen year old Y/N Kakyoin pointed at the canvas in which the red haired male painted on.

"Why, it's my very own magnum opus, dearest youngest sibling," Noriaki jokingly stated with a mock posh accent. "It was time that I replace De Vinci, don't you think?" He moves away for you to get a perfect view of his painting.

It was a painting of your Stand that stood behind a street light. The rough painting was difficult to recognise, but the colour scheme was a dead give away for your Stand. You presumed it was still unfinished, considering there was a clear outline of another character that stood in front of your Stand.

"Why would you chose to draw trash like me?" You pointed at yourself, seating yourself on a stool whilst you watched him dip his paintbrush on a pile of mixed paint before making soft, precise stroke on the canvas.

"No don't say that, you're not trash. You're the whole dumpster." He retorts with a smirk. You couldn't see him as he had his back turned away from you, but you highly suspected he was smirking.

"Wow, that's toooootally original," you dragged the vowels, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. "Says the one with a trashy looking hair."

Noriaki chuckles, shaking his head, the dangling cherry earrings he has shook alongside him. "Okay, I take it back. You're not the whole dumpster, nor trash. You're just my cute little sibling." He has this smile that can light the whole damn town with fire, and girls would swoon and fall and dance around that fire like witches in a ritual to summon a demon... Ugh, it sounded too specific, but that's how you'd describe his smile. Irresistible, not easy to contained and it easily affected you as well because in no time, you were smiling just like him.

"Okay, what the fuck did you eat for you to say those things to me? Who are you and what have you done to my Noriaki?" You laughed, poking him by his tiny waist and immediately elicited a flinch and a laugh from him.

"Oh nothing, just feeling particularly thankful for the existence of my younger sibling who is totally relevant and beautiful in every way. They think that they're bad looking and is often feeling down, as they doubt themselves every time makes me feel like a bad brother." He puts the brush down alongside the others and turns to face you. Noriaki firmly places his hands atop your shoulders and shook you repeatedly. "You haven't been completely honest with yourself and your family. I know something's happening to you in your class. Tell me what's wrong."

His firm grip prevented you from escaping, prompting you to pout. Of course he'd know you were being bullied. He always knows something is up. You're starting to think he uses those good looks of his to pull gossips from gossiping school girls who knew of your circumstances. Nevertheless, you sighed, you spilled your problems as he listens intently.

"I just... I don't feel like expressing myself if people can't accept me. They're right though. I'm just an irrelevant trash and— ow!" You were able to barely flinch when his grip tightens around your shoulders.

"You. Are. Valid and beautiful! Don't forget that okay? You're a flame that doesn't deserve to be snuffed out." He reassures. "I know how you feel, but know that there will be people out there who will love you for who you are. You're not irrelevant, you're not trash. You're the best, unique and the only you they will ever meet and they will miss out for not meeting you. I will not stop saying these things if you do not know, scratch that, believe you are one of the most wonderful person everyone will meet."

"Tsk, stop being cheesy you dumb dork." You playfully punched him by his pectoral, trying to deny your glossy eyes to escape, prompting you to coil your arms around his waist to prevent him from seeing it. "Big dumb dork."

"See? There's my little sibling!" He strokes your hair with a soft smile. "So cute and small, growing too fast!"

"You're not mom, you don't have the right to say that." You glanced at him with a smirk, poking a finger on his waist earning a slight flinch from him, as he is ticklish there.

"Well I am your older brother and I am always in charged on watching you," he flicks you by the forehead in retaliation, prompting you to lightly smack his cheek with a toothy grin. "Have you finished packing yet?

"Yep. I honestly can't wait for the trip in Egypt. I think this going to be the best vacation slash celebration of successfully moving to another house." After speaking, you let out a high pitched shriek when he ruffled your hair with his palms with a mischievous chuckle. As you were about to attempt to free yourself from his grip, he tightly held you to his body and resumed ruffling with your hair as you squirmed and moved. Once he had his fun, he released you with a playful chuckle, watching you rearrange your hair. "Ohhh, curse you!"

"Shut up, now go to bed. We still have a flight to catch tomorrow. If you need me I'll be in my room. Good night!" He waves, abandoning you in the living room as you tend to your hair.

"Whatever you cherry sucking idiot." You incoherently mumbled to yourself, straightening your hair into its former glory.

____________________________________

I love you Noriaki... I hope you believe that. Mom and dad are proud of you, they love and miss you so much. Your friends miss you and they are grateful for what you've done for them.

I hope you're doing well up there with the angels and the cherry gods or whatever.

Know that your little sibling is alive and well and living the best years of their life because of you. By this, I will fulfill everything you have never done.

I miss you big brother and you will always live in my heart. _____________________________________

[boneswriteswords]

The Lost Boys - Reincarnated Mate

 A/N:This was a selfish thing. Its unbeta’d because we die like men here. I hate my writing like always and I struggled but I tried my best.

I head canon that no two vampire mate-bonds are the same and that they exist even if they aren’t vampires. They just can’t be sensed outside of the vampirism. I gave each boy a different way that they sense the mate-bond and their mate based loosely off soulmate AUS that I am obsessed with.

Enjoy.

~~~~

David:

It was early in the night when he felt it. The pull - the tight and incessant pull from inside him - was active for the first time in ages, jerking him from his phantom state of being.

David fled the cave, following the pull, allowing it wash over him. The moon winked at him as he made his way to the boardwalk. If he had a heart, it would be thumping. He could feel his boys following him, their concern palpable, but he paid them no mind, determined to wrap his arms around you again.

He remembers the last time he saw you, before Max decided you weren’t welcome in the family. He had fed from you, his teeth sinking in your neck as he thrust inside of you, your blood the strongest aphrodisiac. You had arched so prettily, squeezing around his cock like a vice as he drank you down. He had licked at your wound, sliding his arms under your back to pull you that much closer as he dragged his lips up to meet yours. 

David hadn’t been able to stop himself, murmuring words of love into your mouth. The mortifying ordeal of being known had long passed. He threatened forever. You were his. He was yours. Mates, meant to be, tied in this life and the next, and he would turn you. Twisted wedding vows that dripped like honey. 

You had kissed along his face and promised that you loved him, wanted him always. 

David shivered as he remembered how you drank from him. How he sliced his arms and chest to give you his blood and how you didn’t waste a drop. You had smiled like the sun was coming out from behind your eyes, his blood on your lips and dripping down your neck and he remembers how he had never seen something so beautiful. His mate. His.

He had planned to take you hunting the following night to complete your transformation. He bundled you up in the room where he and his brothers slept and then fell into the sun-sleep with a smile. 

You were gone when he woke up. He felt hollow, the mate-bond fizzling under his skin. He knew you were dead. Paul had found your body and Dwayne had held him down when Max came by to scold him for falling in love with his food. He remembers starving, unable to hunt through his grief. Marko spent months bringing food back to their dwelling, dripping the blood over his mouth so he could be sustained. Time passed. He had gotten stronger. He had overcome. He missed you every single night, a soul deep tiredness that he couldn’t shake settling on the slope of his shoulders. He had waited for a sign that it wasn’t over. That you would be back. Max had once said that reincarnation happened sometimes, especially with the supernatural so he had never lost the hope that you and he would be together again. 

And seeing you on the boardwalk, looking more stunning than he remembers, he feels like he’s come home. 

Almost as if you can feel the pull too, you turned to him as he approached and smiled at him. 

He couldn’t help but smile back. 

~~~~

Marko:

Marko would forever be grateful to David. He had brought him into the life, had found him frozen in the alley between nameless streets clutching a bottle of medicine he had swiped, and had given him a chance to survive. He gave him a taste of a life that was beyond starvation and fighting for territory. 

David had offered the same for you, once he felt you along the lines of Marko’s thoughts. The power residing inside you and Marko was strong and he knew that Max would be annoyed. Max didn’t like when David made friends.

Especially if those friends were a bonded pair that would not be influenced by him. 

But you had been too weak to drink. In the pitiful, run-down shack you and Marko called home, David watched as his new brother pleaded with you.

“See baby doll? We were always meant to be. We need to go back and show them that they were wrong about us. You can’t leave me now. Please don’t leave me now.” Marko had begged as he held you to him, the cold of your skin matching his in the most frightening of ways. “You’re my mate. Please.” 

Smiling sadly, you had whispered that you loved him and succumbed to the cold and illness that ravaged your malnourished body. Even the strongest of vampire blood wouldn’t have been able to save you. 

David arranged for you to have a proper burial and Marko spent the next few decades rampaging to dull the pain. Time doesn’t heal wounds, it just lessens the impact of them. He could never properly thank David for the surprising amount of respect he paid to you but he did his best. 

When David walked into the cave, telling him that he spotted you on the boardwalk, Marko knew that he’d be thanking him for a long time. 

He could hear his brothers hollering as he transformed, unable to stop himself. He needed to find you before you disappeared. People came and went through Santa Carla daily, he couldn’t let you slip away now. Not when he finally had a chance to give you everything you deserved. 

And oh. You were still so lovely. Even more so now, eyes devoid of the hardships you endured to be with him and a layer of fat hiding your bones. Emotion bubbled to the surface as you turned to look at him, as if you could feel him close by. There was a look of confusion, then apprehension, then joy and Marko knew you remembered him. His newly revived thrum jumped under his skin. 

Oh yeah, he’d be thanking David for eternity. 

~~~~

Paul:

Paul relives the day you drowned on the nights where he can’t be bothered to drink the memories away. The day was bright - sunny, the kind of days he loved. You had been radiant. You always were but on that particular day, you were even more so. 

He remembers that he took you to the beach to celebrate your anniversary. You had stuck with him for 3 years, something people had joked as being a miracle, proof that God existed, and you loved the beach. He was indifferent but you had agreed to let him pick dinner if you spent the day at the beach.

Compromise.

You had been in the cutest little swim outfit, the space between your shoulder blades riddled with suggestion as he smoothed sunscreen across your skin. He could admit that he spent a little too long rubbing it into your skin. Its not like he could stop himself. Paul desired you above everything else, an addiction, and he would be damned before he’d restrained himself. 

He doesn’t remember how it happened - between the drugs and alcohol he consumed nightly and his own unwillingness to remember - but he knows you were pulled under a riptide. You disappeared for long minutes. There had been screaming and people diving in to pull you out. He hadn’t been able to find you in the waves. 

But another girl had and she pulled you to shore with the help of her group of friends. A flurry of motion, a rush as CPR was performed, as an ambulance was called, as medics pronounced you dead. 

You had been concussed when you went under. A brain bleed. You died in the water.

When he was turned - a decision made to escape the cotton candy skies you loved, Max told him that he should feel something - a pull, a thrum, some sort of guidance - and it would lead him to his mate. Paul told him that he didn’t have one anymore

His was dead. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was you but everything inside of him felt it. 

He was prepared to spend an eternity with the throbbing in his chest.

At least, he was until he heard your voice. It was an echo inside his head, compelling and soft, and he followed it, pushing through throngs of people. He could feel his brothers watching him, smirking with all-knowing grins and eyes glinting with mischief but he paid them no mind. All his emotions got together to overreact at the possibility of you and he was determined to see where it had come from.

The sound faded and he tried to focus, tried to concentrate to bring it back to him. The vibrations trickled to a stop, replaced with the harsh, cacophonous sounds of large gatherings of people. It felt like a hand clasping his throat and squeezing. He growled in irritation, ignoring the taste of his own broken heart and deciding that he’d take his frustrations out on the next group of victims he and his brothers herded to the beach. 

So he turned around to head back.

And ran right into you. 

It took everything inside of him to not fall into your arms and weep but, from the tears gathering in your eyes, you wouldn’t have minded it too much. 

~~~~

Dwayne:

A whiff of your perfume was enough to stop him in his tracks, his body tensing as he scanned the boardwalk. It was faint but he’d know it anywhere. Without a word, he nodded to David and walked away from his brothers. The wind was almost nonexistent but it was enough for him to follow the scent. 

It was a unique smell, one that you had crafted yourself. He watched you make in your kitchen enough times to know it by heart. You had told him that the formulas for other perfumes were too synthetic for you to handle. They blistered your skin or gave you migraines. It was cheaper to make your own instead of spending countless dollars buying store-brand perfumes that you weren’t sure were going to work for you. 

You also like to be ecological. Use all of it or use nothing at all.

Down the line, you ended up making him his own scent too and he still has an untouched bottle of it hidden in one of the cave’s alcoves. The bottle he has open is used sparingly, only on the nights where the edges of his memories of you shift like clouds of smoke. 

He knows he can make more - it was incredibly simple to make - but these were the last bottles you had made for him and he knew he’d never be able to replicate the importance of it. It had been those bottles that made him realize he loved you. 

He never had a chance to tell you how important it was to him. You had died before he could. Dwayne had wanted to kill the animal that gored you but he knew you wouldn’t have wanted that. You had gone out of your way to free the creature from the traps poachers had set up and you would not have wanted the animal punished for attacking. 

“They don’t know any better,” he could hear you say, “If they get caught, they are likely hurt. They won’t know if you are a friend or a foe. They’re going to lash out. I keep tranqs on me but sometimes that isn’t enough to subdue them.”

The regret settled like acid in his stomach. Your mother had given him a scarf you made because she knew he’d want something to remember you buy. It had your scent on it and he can admit that he spent endless nights breathing it in.

The smell had long since faded but he had sewed the scarf into the lining of his jacket to keep it close to him.

He didn’t think he’d ever smell it again.

The more he walked, the more potent the smell got. It wafted around him, embracing him tightly, and the anticipation of what that could mean thrummed inside his chest. 

And just like that, he turned his head and he found you, sitting on a bench. Waiting. He pauses, taking you in, alive and beautiful and whole. 

Something causes you to jolt and you turn to look at him. You meet his eyes. 

A pause.

A smile spreads across your face as you launch yourself at him. He meets you halfway. 

~~~~

End

~~~~

[alistonjdrake]

Adapting Historical Fashion for the Fantasy Eye

I’m back. Why? Because we’ve seen a resurgence of people talking about corsets and whether they were the death traps some would like you to believe (they weren’t and we’re not here to discuss that but I beg you to do some research), people not knowing that there is a vibrant and active historical fashion community who either engage in history bounding (dressing up in period accurate clothing) or add elements of it to their daily lives, and just as always people not knowing the difference between stays and corsets. 

But, June, you say. You’re a fantasy writer. What does historically accurate clothing have to do with anything? Historical accuracy is for losers. And to that I say, you are correct. But if you’re using something that has a heavy historical context (like clothing, technology, etc) you might as well know a thing or two about the subject before looking a fool. If only because readers like me notice the small things and cry OR because the aesthetics are cool but knowing where they come from and how they can be changed to fit your world is even cooler. 

Fashion defines a society. Fashion defines a culture. What garments are important? What garments are the same among the upper and lower class? Do their roles as garments change depending on class? (ex: stays were often wore “out” for working class women while upper class women would see them strictly as undergarments) How do fashion trends define the eras? It’s not hard to notice that throughout history nearly every decade as a definite silhouette. It’s not hard to tell the difference from a regency era gown from an early Victorian gown to a late Victorian one. They all look vastly different. 

I’m not asking anyone to know the ins and out of historical clothing but it doesn’t hurt to read up on it or look at some existing examples. To know the anatomy and construction of what would make a complete outfit (or to read about what people might wear for a given situation if no artwork or garment exists). It all feeds into how your characters hold themselves, how they might be able to move. It’s not so much that people were just “Shaped Differently” back then. Their clothes were constructed with a certain poise or look in mind. And y’know. I just want to stop seeing modern underwear in fantasy underneath historical clothing while we all pretend the undergarments don’t contribute greatly to the finished overall look. 

But again, you’re right. We’re not writing historical fiction here. We don’t need to have every mention of clothing in our fantasy novels be completely in line with the point in time we might be basing our setting off of. This is about adaptation. 

Adapting Historical Fashion for Non-Historical Purposes. 

I’ve said it a bunch by now I’m sure. My books take place in a world based off the late 18th century. Why? I dig it. As such, when I first started putting together the aesthetics of the world that period was also my go to. I know I already did a whole thing on culture and society but really this is more or less just about how fashion can amplify those two things. I mentioned setting and what fabrics might be commonly used or found. And what might make sense to use (lighter, breathy fabrics for hot climates vs thicker fabrics and furs for cold ones) vs ones considered high class and enviable or with trends that might be coming from other countries that have stronger influence. 

When I take real life fashion and shove it into my world (give or take a few changes) I usually ask myself a few things first. 

1. Who controls the fashion trends?

The younger generation, the monarchs, a group of travelers who just look super stellar? Who is the rest of the community following when it comes to the newest look and what elements of it are they trying to steal/adapt? What element is the thing that really catches on? 

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge fan of waistcoats and breeches and stockings, tailed coats with flaps (although anyone who reads my book will also know I axed powdered wigs. Because I could.) But to just copy wouldn’t say much about the opulent and flamboyant Escana. To increase the idea of the vanity and the peacock attitude of the younger, partying courtiers I have young men who usually dye their stockings to match their waistcoats (because colored socks > white or black socks) and forgo the coat to show off sleeve details as well as lose some of that “seriousness”. It says a lot about them while still remaining in a circle that gives readers a clue as to where my inspiration came from. 

2. Who disagrees with the fashion trends?

And how does their disagreement influence the perception of certain garments or the people who wear them? Just read one thing about how evil corsets are and how crinolines are literally cages for women and how many of us go around thinking Victorian ladies fainted every time they opened a window and understand these perceptions can be long-lasting and completely change an outsider’s opinion on how people lived. Granted for world-building or story purposes hopefully these will be happening currently instead of being a huge misunderstanding of history.

Over and over again I say things like cultures not being monoliths but neither are generations and there’s nothing that makes a world feel more lived in and full than people who don’t all wear a uniform based vaguely on what the author thinks a medieval gown looked like. It’s just also sometimes nice to get tidbits like a character wearing a scandalous or pricey color just to look good even if they can’t afford it. Is it usually super vital to the plot and story? No. If used sparingly can it be fun background information to how the society your character lives in works or views things? Sure. 

3. Colors and fabrics and spares, oh my

Okay. That’s not a question. But it’s an umbrella for me to put my thoughts under. Because I live in the 21st century I don’t often think about things like dyes or luxury fabrics but this would be front of mind for most of my characters. Not everyone can afford to wear certain colors, or certain colors come with a context that means they shouldn’t be worn for certain situations or for certain people and the same could be said for fabric. We live with these fashion rules now (although I’m not so strict in my memory of them because my current life doesn’t depend on it, but I do write about princes and courts so it’s more important for a courtier to not wear a happy color to a funeral than for me. Or things like no white after labor day).

Hand-me-downs. I grew up wearing them. They were common in history and should be more common in fantasy. If a family was not wealthy they could only afford so much fabric or to follow fashion trends for their eldest. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a family to still be wearing clothes considered “outdated” and it’s not like we all just throw our clothes out when they get old. While a trend might have moved onto a new silhouette or something, someone with less means might still be wearing decades-old clothing that have held up well (these clothes were built to last. Fast fashion could never) or could have chosen not to jump on the trend at all. In my book, the opulent courtiers and royals of Graza Palace dress completely different than some traditionalists who wear garments more native to Escan before it was an empire that are completely different from the suits and 18th century gowns I’ve borrowed. They’re timeless and probably see a lot more turnover from one family member to the next than a gown that could be out of style in a year. 

4. And lastly, making sure I’m not turning it into a costume

This becomes important when taking garments that have a cultural context in the real world and using something similar to it or basing another garment off of it. I would start with this for the purposes of using culture clues to ease someone into what actual culture the fantasy one is taking inspiration from to give them a taste of what certain things might look like without going into full detail but it’s key to then know what makes these garments...these garments so you’re not bastardizing them. Why do people wear them? (especially if a form is still worn in modern times) What are they usually made out of? What are the occasions they are worn for? A respectful nod to something will just add to your world building, a costume rendition with 0 understanding of how certain garments will work will just make it seem like all your characters are in cosplay. 

So in conclusion: No, I’m not advocating you be historically accurate for your already not historically accurate but it pays to look into why your basing clothing off a certain period and what goes into making that piece of clothing...that piece of clothing. Why it looks that way, how someone wearing it would look/hold themselves, and what it means in the context of your setting as well as things you might change and take extra liberties with for the purpose of storytelling. Clothing can add character and it could be just as useful a tool in world building (in my biased opinion) as language given that fashion can have such a huge impact on people but it can also fall flat.