#personal reasons we Shan’t get into

[emjee]

by the way do people want to see me being insane about Steve Rogers on main

because I’m doing a lot of it off main but I CAN subject you all to it

[astonmartinii]

hi!! i dont know if you're still taking requests but if you are, can you please do a max verstappen smau with fem reader, where reader is a huge max fan and they like end up together in the end. i love all of your work and i've probably reread most of your work!! your doing great and i hope you have a good day 🫶

worlds biggest fan | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

y/n is the president of the official max verstappen fan club, but nothing can come of that, right?

(this'll probably just be part one so let me know if you want a part two)

maxverstappenarchive

liked by maxverstappen1, victoriaverstappen and 31,239 others

maxverstappenarchive: max took the win at monza this weekend after a late safety car. the dutchman once again showed he’s a mentality king ignoring all the boos from the tifosi. they hate what they can’t have.

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user1: max verstappen the man you are

maxverstappen1: 🧡

maxverstappenarchive: super max 🏆

yourusername: jealousy is a disease get well soon xoxo

user2: i love how she comments like we don’t know she runs this account

user3: SHES THE ADMIN???

user4: i personally love when maxverstappenarchive gets sassy with it like the caption didn’t have to serve so hard

yourusername: someone has to defend him and it’s got to the point i no longer need to argue with people over the internet i need a GUN

liked by maxverstappen1

user5: we can see you by the way max

yourusername

liked by victoriaverstappen, maxverstappen1 and 3,429 others

yourusername: the library knows my face way more than it should :(

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user6: she’s almost too cool to be the literal president of the max verstappen fan club

user7: no i need her to be this cool cause it makes us 10% cooler by association

user8: she single-handedly covers us from the embarrassment from the middle aged drunk men in the orange army

user9: she’s so chill about the fact that victoria and max are just constantly in her likes

yourbff1: i can assure you she is not chill about it

yourbff2: like at all

yourbff1: wow i wonder who takes these lovely pictures of you at the library and conveniently only takes them when you’re not having a meltdown

yourusername: i love yewwwww xxx

yourbff1: you can repay me when you become a wag

yourusername: PLS don’t say that i shan’t abuse my position as president

yourbff1: shame

maxverstappen1 liked this comment

f1

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 552,895 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, georgerussell63

f1: it all got a little much in the baku sprint race as george russell made contact with max verstappen on the opening lap giving the red bull damage for the entire race. the two came to blows in parc ferme with verstappen sending a number of expletives russell’s way. what do you think?

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user15: is mad max back?

user16: he never left he’s always been a big whiny baby, lewis would never

user17: no need to call russell a dickhead, crashtappen can’t handle someone actually racing him for once - just like his dad

maxverstappenarchive: max has never been a “whiny baby”, he may have been a little hot-headed and someone who always spoke his mind but he could never be categorised as a whiny baby. if you have such a problem with drivers calling other drivers dickheads then you should take it up with hamilton who did the exact same a few seasons ago. you simply have a problem with max’s success which is a you problem and there is no reasonable reason for you to bring jos verstappen into this argument, it immediately invalidates your argument.

user18: period oh my

user19: she spilt so hard here

user20: ignoring whatever domestic just happened in this comment section to say that i don’t care who is in the right - i just live for the drama

f1wagsandtea

liked by pierregasly, user22 and 21,341 others

f1wagsandtea: meet y/n y/ln, the president of the max verstappen fan club. she’s a student at UCL studying english literature and french and unapologetically defends max at all times. however people have been taking notice of how she’s never actually been to a race and how max has been subtlety liking comments about their relationship potential. what do you think about y/n and max?

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user23: kinda creepy that she literally runs his fan club but also it’s kinda cute idk i’m having a crisis over this

user24: i need this not to happen cause i’ll become so delusional and think i can pull charles

yourusername: some people are broke i’m working to go to a race but unfortunately i need food and a place to live first

user25: speaking for the broke queens i love you

maxverstappen1: it’s a bit too late to sort tickets for this weekend, but i can do dinner next week?

yourusername: time and address and im there

user26: bro the dms are there for a reason

maxverstappen1: noted

user27: why did you say that i wanted to witness max verstappens rizz :(

yourbff1: i usually hate these accounts cause y’all too nosey for your own good, but you got my bestie a date with her dream man so you get a pass just this once

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff1 and 6,199 others

yourusername: slow weekend

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user30: she's playing it too cool i'd be a literal puddle on the floor rn

yourbff1: rest assured that she's been screaming about it for at least the last three days

maxverstappen1: 🧡

yourusername: amazing race maxy 🦁

user31: she's so cool but also CAT

user32: my spidey senses are picking up cat play dates with jimmy, sassy and ... the orange one yourusername: his name is moose user32: not what i was expecting but seems fitting user33: was half-expecting his name to be max maxverstappen1: me too yourusername: guys i'm not that bad yourbff2: her old goldfish was named max yourusername: STOP EMBARRASSING ME

maxverstappenarchive

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 47,831 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

maxverstappenarchive: max won the belgian grand prix to take his win tally to 35 career wins! congratulations max 🧡

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user34: so like when is he legit going to be in the goat conversation?

user35: genuinely this dominance is so so impressive

maxverstappen1: see you in a couple days 🧡

user36: leave the flirting to the personal accounts verstappen yourusername: i'm so excited you wouldn't believe

redbullracing: in max we trust

maxverstappenarchive: generational talent

user37: i know they won't but can someone livestream this date cause i wanna watch maxverstappenarchive lose her literal mind

yourusername: no mind will be lost i am a grown woman yourbff1: sureeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

yourusername added to their story

[caption: hot summer nights, mid july]

maxverstappen1 added to their story

[caption: no one tell brad]

note: i nearly got to the photo limit so i'm gonna leave this here but i have a lot of ideas for this scenario so let me know if yall want a second part !! also hope this actually fulfilled the original request ??

[physalian]

Take A Risk and Don’t Write a Chosen One

This trope stands the test of time for some very good reasons: Audience wish-fulfillment as they live vicariously through the hero, automatic plot-induced agency for your protagonist, and automatic legitimate reasons for your protagonist to join the whirlwind adventure of the day.

I like chosen ones. We all have our favorite famous chosen ones and I’m not here to say the concept of a chosen one is bad at all.

However.

Those “automatic” windfalls that come pre-packaged with the trope can lead to the author taking shortcuts, or not thinking they have to put in more effort to write a compelling character, because they’re the “chosen one,” what more do you need?

Not writing your protagonist as commanded by the powers that be to participate in the plot forces you to get creative with why they’re here, what they want, and how they entrench themselves in the story. And most importantly, if the gods haven’t chosen them to act, they must now choose themselves to act.

—

I have never read Harry Potter and after its author-who-shan’t-be-named flushed her reputation down the toilet, I never will. I’ve seen the movies, they’re ok. I have no nostalgia-driven love for this franchise, and most of that comes from watching Harry be an incredibly boring protagonist.

Book readers correct me, but Harry is the poster child of “only exists so the audience can live vicariously” with generic heroic traits and nonexistent or at least unimportant side quirks and distinguishing hobbies, interests, or personality tics. He’s “brave” and “courageous” and “determined”... as most child protagonists of children’s books should be. He has zero flaws that come back to bite him in the ass. He acts the way he’s supposed to, not the way he should want to, as an independent being.

He’s the least interesting character in this entire cast, and I can’t stand Movie Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Draco would have made much more compelling protagonists and so much of this relies on the “Harry is important because the plot demands it” crutch.

Why is he the chosen one? Because his birthday happened at the right time of year? What is the story trying to say about the dichotomy between him and Voldemort? What about his personality, his wizard-societal stances on the many faux pas in this series, or the choices he makes, that makes him the chosen one? Why should I care?

You know who’s a great chosen one? Percy Jackson. Why? Because he understands the screwed up world he lives in on page 1. Being a demigod isn’t everything he ever dreamed and despite what Disney + wants you to believe, he’s got a crap bio dad who’s as disappointing in book one as Percy expects him to be.

He’s not even the chosen one by the end of the original series, and what a fantastic twist that was.

An infamously self-chosen protagonist has her own iconic hero quote: "I volunteer as tribute". Katniss is a nobody. She's not the evil president's daughter, she's not the child of a famously martyred revolutionary, she's just a girl who refuses to bow down to the reaping, refuses to let her sister get slaughtered, and volunteers for a death match that historically sees anyone living to survive another year cowering in relief. Yeah, she has some convenient skills in her archery and survival knowledge, but those matter because her district is starving, she learned through necessity.

Every second of her story, Katniss is fighting for her right to exist, and she only becomes a "chosen one" dragged around by the powers that be when she becomes marketable to the grand scheming of the actual revolutionaries, when, before, she didn't care about politics, she just wanted to save her sister. She matters because she chose compassion in a world where survival demands only serving yourself.

—

It’s so, so easy to start planning your book and make your cool fantasy world and figure out how your protagonist fits into it. So easy to say “well they’re the long-lost princess and the only heir to the throne” or “this magic amulet from her great great aunt is the key to saving the world” or “she’s the villain’s secret love child and the only one who can stop him because blood magic” or “this vague prophecy picked this little desert slave boy to bring balance to the Force”.

None of these stories are at fault for writing chosen ones.

But push yourself to let go of that crutch and come up with other reasons for why your hero is the hero. Usually this character has been isekai'd into magical-fantasy-land or magical-hidden-fantasy-urban-underbelly and you can still write that character.

Refusing to make them the chosen one demands one thing first and foremost: How is this outsider going to fight for their place to exist here? What do they bring to the table with their hobbies or interests or unique skillset that happens to be mighty applicable and useful in this new world? What is it about their personality that draws these strangers in? What do they want from this new world, and what are they willing to do to get it?

This choice demands you give your hero agency (though whether you give into those demands is up to you).

More importantly: I think it gives your audience agency, as they still live vicariously through their hero. Sure, lots of kids have lost their parents and live in horrid conditions like a cupboard under the stairs, but none of us will ever be “chosen” by omniscient wizard prophets. Harry would have immediately been a more compelling protagonist to me if he’d stumbled upon magical shenaniganry and fought for his place as some forgotten nobody mudblood.

Harry would have shown us his courage, instead of the story insisting he has it, we promise, just don’t think too hard about it.

Stop giving me characters who accept their destiny because God said so. Give me characters who fight tooth and nail for a destiny they discover on their own and I’ll root for them to succeed even more than someone compelled by force. Not everyone can be a chosen one, but everyone *can* choose themselves and decide to act.

—

With that said, I have an announcement! I have a new book in the works bereft of a prophecy-ordained hero. It’s time I put all my sagely writing wisdom to the test in a shiny published paperback myself. If you’ve learned anything from my blog in your writing journey, please subscribe for updates on the upcoming novel!

[butchhamlet]

some reasons you should watch abigail thorn’s “the prince”

i mean, reasons beyond “it’s about trans women in a shakespeare multiverse and abigail thorn plays hotspur.” because--do you need more? but i have more to say, so i’m going to say it.

1. the exploration of the conflation of death and transition. i think trans people are in the habit of pushing back against the idea that transition is any sort of metaphorical death, because so many cis people say shit about feeling like they’ve lost a son/daughter/brother/sister/niece/nephew/gendered acquaintance/etc. but in truth, taking the plunge in deciding to transition, or deciding even to be honest with yourself about your transness, can look and feel a lot like a death, even if it’s a death that’s necessary for a rebirth (something thorn & other trans writers have touched on before). i can’t cite specific parts because spoilers but just trust me that this does a lot with that that made me want to put my head in my hands and scream

2. the interaction with manhood in the history plays. the henriad is incredibly concerned with what it means to be a man the right way--richard ii’s effeminacy assayed against bolingbroke’s stubborn strength; hotspur’s yearning for glory and love of war tied to his destructive masculinity and abhorrence of the feminine; hal’s gendernonconformity through use of language more often than weapons; henry v’s presentation of the english as a virile “band of brothers” identified in contrast to the foppish french dandies. the way this play examines gender--womanhood, manhood, masculinity, femininity, structural misogyny--is fucking delicious in that context, particularly in that the play turns hotspur’s obsession with masculine glory into something of a defense mechanism, as hotspur strives to be the person northumberland and worcester and kate percy expect. (ALSO THE COSTUMING. AND THE SWORD. AND THE DOUBLE-CASTING. AND THE SYMBOLISMS. FABULOUS.)

3. interaction with 1H4 in general. the way thorn cut up this play and rearranged it. i couldn’t go two minutes without turning to my friend and hissing, “this is a line from the real play! except in context it doesn’t go here!” and then gasping over how shifting the context, length, or speaker of speeches brought new aspects of both works to light. ALSO? SO MANY SPEECHES/SCENES IN SHAKESPEAREAN VERSE THAT WERE NOT IN THE ORIGINAL PLAY AT ALL. WHICH MEANS THIS WOMAN WAS JUST WRITING RAW IAMBIC PENTAMETER. LIKE, CONVINCING ELIZABETHAN-ERA IAMBIC PENTAMETER. WHAT. (also also! you don’t have to be a shakespeare nerd to enjoy this play, but if you like iambic pentameter jokes, boy howdy have i got good news for you!)

4. that said, it’s accessible to non-shakespeare-superfans, too! if you don’t know much about the histories, or if you struggle to comprehend shakespeare, don’t fear! the play is doing more than just riffing on shakespeare. it’s at least 50% modern speech, and the switches from one dialect to another tend to come at the most destabilizing and thus hilarious (or gutting) moments. there’s one particular modern-language-paraphrase of a specific 1H4 speech that i haven’t stopped thinking about since i saw it, because it’s the perfect balance of comedic and agonizing.

5. trans people. not just transgender shakespeare characters, but also modern-day trans women! i love that we get both original trans characters and shakespearean characters hit with the transgenderification beam, and i love how many trans people there are; it allows for a more thorough exploration of identity, and also so many good fucking jokes.

6. prince hal is gay for real. not sure i need to say much else about this

7. who doesn’t want to listen to abigail thorn recite shakespeare? not even just 1H4! but i shan’t say more, because oh, baby, that one’s gotta hit organically.

you can read more about it here if you’re not yet convinced, but come on. if you like shakespeare, or if you like art about gender and transness and narratives and confinement and freedom, or, hell, if you like seeing women with swords, i literally don’t know what to tell you i don’t know why you’re still reading this go watch the prince come on now

[nyalectro]

This is so random sorry but I gotta say SOMETHING.

This account is so surreal to me because you seem so similar to myself and i've never seen anyone who liked Electro (like, very passionately the way I do.) He was always my favorite villain since I was a little kid but the PS4 version of him is what kicked off my insanity to the level it is now and I've been insane since 2018, collecting stuff of him like comics and figures and trading cards.

I have a TikTok account dedicated to my special interest (..electro) and A LOT OF PEOPLE tell me it's weird and I kinda get teased so seeing another person who loves him in the comics (616) and game so much has blown my mind and I'm really happy to see it I can't lie.

Is this weird? I felt like it would be weirder if I ignored it 😭😭

if i had the money id decorate my room with his face..

NO ITS NOT WEIRD AT ALL.. the girls who get it, get it and the girls who dont, dont… they just dont get electro like we do….

funnily enough i just saw a notification from you before the inbox and i thought DAMN this person likes electro okkk let them cook

unfortunately i dont have tiktok but imagine you had a follower more there🫶🫶

ive also always loved electro as a kid (knew him through the ultimate spider-man tv series) and got the ps4 game in 2018 and thought nothing much (i did very much like him though) but after replaying it in late 2020 something clicked in me😭😭 hes just so silly and stupidly evil and gay and i guess underappreciated … lots of people love tssm and tasm which i do understand but guys… ps4… 616 comics… for some reason theyre hidden gems… I mean i guess i understand since electro is by far not as fleshed out of a character as so many others but hey… theres some good comics of him like the light the night trilogy (sm 1990 #38–40) or asm 1963 #422 which i loooove that definitely help understand his character more.. sighhh

you shan’t feel shame for liking him… every character no matter how unknown has a biggest fan and thats all of us here

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Eight

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, injury detail, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 5.8K

Note: It’s a long chapter! The last one got a lot of love that I wasn’t expecting, so thank you! If anyone has any suggestions or things they’d like to see happen, give me a message!

December 1939

Dear Tom,

You’ll notice there’s no photograph enclosed. There are numerous reasons. 1. The last person a group of lonely sailors want to look at is serious old me, 2. We can barely afford our groceries, let alone a trip to the picture parlour, 3. I have some self-respect and shan’t be “oiling myself up”. Besides, I’m sure you all got plenty of entertainment on shore leave, though what makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.

How was shore leave? Did you have much time to relax? And answer properly this time! I hope for Norman and Terry’s sake, you were gentle with them! And you’re right, Norman sounds like a bit of stuff for Dot. Now Cora has Roger, maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?

It’s a dreadful thing to say, but sometimes I envy you. Out there, seeing the world. At night, when I’m thinking of you and Albie, I dream that I have the cold wind and salt spray on my face. Tell me what it’s like. Has this been the making of you?

We found out yesterday that Albie will be back for Christmas. Dadda and Dot are beside themselves. Cora and I, of course, can’t wait to have him home but the three weeks between now and Christmas seem like such a long time for so much to happen. I shan’t be happy until he steps through the door.

I must admit, Dot has been insufferable recently. She was eighteen on Sunday and has taken her official arrival into adulthood rather too seriously. She has an opinion on everything, though sadly I think it’s what she has heard some of the older women spouting at the factory. She’s becoming such a snob – no one can do any right in her eyes. Nothing is “proper” or “civil”. We had hoped the war would give her a dose of reality but it seems to have done quite the opposite. Dadda’s drinking is getting worse again, though he isn’t as angry as he used to be. Sometimes I wish he’d shout at us, at least it would show someone is living in there. Now, he’s like a ghost, wafting between the house, the dockyard and occasionally the pub with your dad.

Speaking of, your dad said he’d written to you recently. I don’t know if he mentioned it, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him. You know I’ve always likes the quiet, and your dad might just be the quietest man in Longsight. It all started when Walter Watson tried having a go at him for giving out the Peace Paper. Well, your dad didn’t back down and Walter Watson went on his way. You should give your dad more credit. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but you’re more alike than you think (stubborn). Anyway, since then we’ve been handing out the Peace Paper together outside the factory, and he gives me a lift home on the bike. He loves you so much, Tom. Sometimes, I catch him through the window doing nothing but sitting by the wireless. I miss mam and Albie, but at least I have Cora, Dot and dadda. He’s haunted by all this love he has nowhere to place.

They’ve moved me onto making the Lancasters at the factory. I don’t know if you’ll have seen them, they’re mostly flying over Europe. Enormous things, they are. The foreman had us line up on one of the wings to see how many it would fit. Almost thirty of us! I’m enjoying the work, but I can’t help but feel so detached from the war. I never see the work we do in action, and I think of you and Albie, even Lois, out there and feel like such a fraud. They’re advertising nurses training at Manchester Royal and I thought I might apply. What do you think? Maybe it’s spending all this time with your dad – I so admire Cora and Dot and Roberta, but I want to be patching people up, not making the things that hurt them in the first place.

Speaking of the girls, Hattie and Jude are back this weekend so we’re going dancing with Roberta, C and D. Can you believe it, Hattie has a fella! A young farmer she met in the Land Army. Glen, he’s called. I don’t think she’s bringing him with her, her mam would have an apoplexy. We’ll have to make do with the few men we’ve got and each other. Speaking of which, since when did you get so defensive of Queenie Warren? Last I remembered you were avoiding dances and saying she’d go for “anything with a pulse”. You know I’d never say anything to her face, but you and I were always in the same mind about her. Cora always saw far too much good in her, Dot far too much bad. You and I saw the real Queenie. Charmingly nonsensical.

I miss having someone to confide in. I sometimes thought you and Albie were the only people that understood me. I wonder how you and I got to talking and why we never do anything in the day. Just sit in our kitchen at night and chatter. Are we friends? Or just two people whose lives correspond? I hope we’re friends, Tom. I know you aren’t one for sentimentality, and I’m silent as the grave but, as I said in my last, letters seem to be my medium. Every thought I’ve ever had comes pouring out with ease. Believe it or not, I can’t wait until you come into the kitchen at witching hour and sit with me while I sew or play piano. It’ll mean the world has gone back to normal. Please take care, for me, and God bless.

Your friend,

Bess.

Tom finished reading the letter that had come with the latest resupply from the auxiliary vessel. From the netting that hung above his bunk, he grabbed pen and paper.

“Can’t keep your sweetheart waiting.” A low voice teased from the opposite bed. Tom balled up a piece of paper and threw it at Vic, who smirked and shut his eyes. They were on shift in less than an hour, enough time for him to get some rest and Tom to reply to the letter. He lay it next to a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

Dear Bess,

I was glad to get your letter but sorry to see no photograph inside. I’ve told the lads all about the dark haired Vaughn girl and they’d love to get a look at you. You know you’re gorgeous -

Fuck. Did he really just write that? Well, no going back now.

You know you’re gorgeous - I saw those men clambering to dance with you before I left. And you had Walter Watson and Frank Smith fighting over who got to dance with you first. Lucky girl.

Tom looked back to the letter Bess had written him. “What makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.” He blanched with embarrassment.

Shore leave was fine, though Port Stanley isn’t much. Picked up a lovely bird while I was there. A real one. Bright yellow, she is. Called her Vera. Norman and I are taking bets on when she’s going to lay an egg. And I know you’re already thinking that I’ve swindled the lads out of pocket by buying a male, but she really does lay eggs. First one came just as we left Port Stanley. I think Norman and Terry enjoyed shore leave more, though Terry nearly lost his stomach next morning. Tell Dot I’ve got a fella for her, and that I’m keeping him safe.

He looked at her letter again. “Maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?” Soft snores came from Vic’s bunk, and Tom observed him from the corner of his eye. He was handsome, Tom supposed. Tall, bonny face. Hatred bloomed momentarily in his stomach.

Vic is handsome, I’d say. But you’d make a boring couple, you’re both too serious.

Funny that you envy us, Bess. I envy you. What I’d give to be tucked up in bed, smelling a fresh pot of coffee and bacon from downstairs. Cook keeps us well fed, but it looks like slop. On my down shifts, I’ve taken to standing on the stern and watching the horizon. Sometimes it feels like if I just stood on my toes, I’d see you all on the other side. Stood there, cold wind and water washing over my face, is the smallest I’ve ever felt. Was always scared of that before. I wanted to feel big but out there, my insignificance is calming. Does that make sense? Certainly makes me less scared of dying. I’m just one bloke. How about, when this is all over, I take you on a cruise? That way you can see what it’s like for yourself. Bet you’d love to make yourself dresses and suits for sailing. Like Bette Davis or Marlene Dietrich.

I’m sorry Dot is giving you grief, and tell her I’m sorry for forgetting her birthday. She’ll grow out of it soon. She’d better or she’ll have you and Cora to answer to. And crikey, Bess, the list of people I’m going to have to sort out for you is getting longer by the day. I know you said you wished your dad would shout at you, just so he seems human, but you and I both know what he gets like. He’s not himself when he’s drinking and if he lays a finger on you I’ll be back from the navy quicker than you can say Hitler’s Only Got One Ball. Think you should release him back into my Dad’s care, that way someone can keep an eye on his drinking and it doesn’t have to be you.

Dad did indeed tell me that you’ve been spending time together. I don’t think much of your taste in men. Will I be calling you “mum” soon? From what he told me, it sounds more like you were the one to send Walter Watson packing. Thank you, for spending time with him. When I’m home, I can’t bear to spend more than an hour with him but when I’m away, I worry. Lois always knew how to handle him, handle both of us.

I know you won’t believe it, but I’m glad Hattie has a fella. It means the rest of us won’t have to put up with her appalling dancing. Seems like everyone is getting paired up. Hattie and her farmer. Queenie and Frank Smith, if that’s still happening. Cora and Roger. Your Dot and my Norman. We’ll be the only ones left. Though, by the time I get back, you might be in training and I’ll be on my tod. I can imagine you as a nurse. Just seeing you would make the fellas’ day but heaven forbid they try anything. Not if you treat them like you did Walter Watson. I think it would suit you. And it’d be good for you to get away from Longsight. I know it’d only be a few miles, but you could have your own life there. You loved it at the tailors, and this might give you some of that life back.

I’d miss you though. I do miss you.

Tom paused his writing and stretched is hand.

I hate that you question our friendship. You’re the only person that treats me right. Dad and Lois think I’m a lost cause. Maybe I am. But I never feel that way with you. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I imagine I’m sat in your dad’s armchair listening to you play the piano. It became such a routine that I think I find it hard to sleep now without it.

The auxiliary boat is leaving soon so I best give them this letter. I’m sending with it all my care for you and your sisters. Give Dot a birthday kiss from me and tell her that when I’m back I’ll take her for a dance.

Don’t worry about me,

Tom.

He jumped from his bunk, straightened his uniform, donned his cap and grabbed Vera’s cage. On deck, Campbell was bidding farewell to the auxiliary ship’s captain.

“One for the post!” Tom called.

“Cutting it fine, Bennett,” Campbell said, but allowed Tom to hand over his letter and ignored the birdcage. “Shift in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Once the letter was sailing towards Bess, Tom made his aways along the various decks rattling the coin purse in his pocket. “Time and date she lays an egg,” he called to his fellow sailors, holding up the little birdcage. Somewhere, along the way, kind and gentle Norman joined him. Below deck, Terry was tapping away at the wireless operations table.

“Y’alright Terry? Name the day, name the time Vera lays an egg. Nearest time wins, threepence a bet.” Tom said, leaning against the doorframe as Norman handed over the betting book. Terry removed his headphones and scribbled down his prediction, turning it to the little yellow bird.

“Today, eleven-hundred hours.”

“Hey,” Tom interjected. “No coaching. Good lad, Terry.” The boys moved to the mess hall, and Tom made a beeline for Vic, now awake and ready to start his shift. Tom rattled the money purse at him while Norman took more bets.

“Time and day she lays an egg,”

“Sure it’s a girl?” Vic scoffed.

“She laid an egg at Port Stanley,” Tom quipped back.

“Bet she looked surprised,”

“I wouldn’t know what a surprised bird looks like,”

“Find that hard to believe!” Vic said good-naturedly. Tom turned to look at the room, a roguish smile on his face. His eyes landed on the man leant against the deck frame.

“Ginger?” Tom shook the coins. The man turned, barely looking at Tom until he came near level to his face. Mistrust was written across his pale features.

“Why would I want to line your dirty Manc pockets?” Men sat up in their hammocks and stooped in the doorway. The whole room stilled to watch the men square up.

“Dunno,” Tom smirked. “Maybe you’re saving up for a whore in Argentina.” A few people sniggered.

“Alright Tom, simmer down,” Vic spoke over his shoulder. “He gets over excited, Henry.”

The ginger man took no notice, but averted his attention to Norman, who laughed next to Tom.

“You laughing at me lad?”

Norman stopped immediately, eyes shifting from Henry to Tom.

“No, Henry.”

“No, sir.” Henry asserted.

Tom could feel his piss curdling. Fucking prick.

“Don’t have to call you “sir” now, does he? Same rank.” He leant to Norman. “Don’t call him sir, Norman.” There was a long pause while Tom surveyed the room and everyone waited for Norman to speak. Henry got there first.

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.” Norman said softly to the ground. Tom nodded. Of course. Before Henry moved away, he looked Tom in the eye, smug that he had won the altercation.

“’SIR’” Tom said cruelly in Norman’s face. The quieter man went pale.

“Come on, Tom,” Vic warned. “Play nice.”  

Every atom in Tom’s body was starting to thrum. Two months he’d been at war without so much as a sniff of a fight, and here Henry was kindly offering up his services. Tom straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. He felt like a prize fighter, ready for the first punch. Vic watched his friend’s nostrils flare and knew what was coming. Tom turned lazily on the spot and watched Henry walking away. Cocky git can’t get away with it that easily.

“You’re lucky you get called Henry.” Men around them hissed with expectation, and he heard Vic issue another warning. Henry immediately prowled back towards him.

“So what is it you’d like to call me?” His tone was calm but his posture was anything but, fists balled and face looking up at Tom’s jutting jaw. Norman edged closer to Vic.

“Spoilt for choice really.” The circle of men was closing in, anticipation wending through the air. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be a word a mother would use. Although,” Tom sniffed and looked the smaller man up and down. Here came the first blow. “Your mother might.”

For a moment, it looked as though nothing would happen. For a moment.

Henry slammed Tom into the store cupboard and Vic jumped in front of him.

“You want some!? You FUCKING WANT-”

CRACK

Henry’s fist made contact with Tom’s jaw before he had time to finish his sentence. No sooner had Tom hit the ground was he trying to get up again, grappling with the many hands attempting to restrain him. Henry walked away, shoulders hunched in frustration.

“OI! Take your hands off me!” Tom shouted, straining to be unleashed.

“Stay down!” Vic shouted. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Tom checked his nose for blood and smirked at Vic. Calm and measured Vic. Not anymore. “Hey! What is wrong with you? Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? Why can’t you just do your job like the rest of us?”

“I’m standing up for Norman ‘cos he can’t stand up for himself.” Tom shouted. Norman shuffled his feet, not having moved from where he stood.

“You don’t give a sherbet about Norman. Think you’ve made his life easier by making an enemy of our Henry?” Tom sniffed at this, trying to ignore Vic’s astute rebuttal. “’Standing up for Norman’. No, you used him to get at Henry because that’s what you do-”

Tom had no chance to respond. The lights of the mess hall cut out and red flashed all around. The emergency alarm wailed, men scrambled to their stations. This was it. Exercises and drills had led to this moment. Vic stood and held is hand out.

“Come on, mate. Take my hand.”

“Nah, mate.” Tom stayed on the ground. “Better get on with my job like you say.”

With one last annoyed glance, Vic ran out of the mess hall. Tom launched into action. He sprinted down the narrow corridors of the Exeter as other sailors hurried past. The cry of the siren faded as blood roared in his ears. Skidding to a halt at the end of the corridor, Tom jumped the stairs of the gunroom and began removing his boiler suit. Campbell, dressed in his cap and overcoat appeared at the hatch.

“What’s the story, sir?” Tom called up, tying his sleeves around his waist and watching the others get to work.

“All you need to know is that she’s sunk nine of ours and we’re not going to be the tenth. Get on with it!”

“Got it.” Tom sped into the gunroom and stared up at the turret. Henry and Vic were already preparing the missiles for loading. They placed them in their barrels and Tom lifted each into the gun, listening with intent as they were fired beyond the steel of the ship. All around them came bangs and clatters. After the firing of three missiles, Tom’s arms were throbbing but he continued the work. All at once, the ship shuddered and an almighty bang rang deep through the gunroom. The lights flickered off.

“Fucking hell,” whispered Vic. The screams of men echoed above them.

“If that took the canary out, nobody gets a refund,” Tom laughed, trying to ease the terror in his stomach, the terror reflected in Vic’s eyes as he looked at him. More screams rent the air.

“Fucking hell,” Tom looked up and saw fire curling down the turret. The world stilled. As ash began to fall against his face, Tom watched the flames fade against the darkness and was reminded, irresistibly, of Bess’ hair. The image of her sat on the front step of her house, smoking a cigarette and lit by the setting sun was just racing through his mind when the air was sucked from the gunroom and he was thrown into the steel wall. Heat swept across Tom’s body and the ship was silent.

He was back in the Vaughn’s kitchen, watching Bess sewing Robina Chase’s red suit. A cigarette hung loosely from her lips and every so often she glanced at him, as though checking he was still there. His eyes felt heavy, and Tom felt himself drifting into sleep as the fire crackled in the grate, Bess humming along to the wireless. The snap and pop of the flames became louder, and the smoke of Bess’ cigarette stung his nostrils.

He woke with a gasp. With lungs of fire, Tom crawled to his knees and spat black tar against the ground. The room was silent but for the hum of flame.

“Vic,” His voice was hoarse from the polluted air. His friend lay next to him, unmoving, and Tom tapped his foot. “Vic,” He rolled him over and bile rose to his mouth. Vic’s once bonny face was charred beyond recognition. Plasma oozed from the cracked skin and his teeth were bared in a grisly smile. Is he handsome? Tom fought the urge to vomit as his breath came in ragged rasps. From across the room, an agonised moan sounded. Tom stood and dragged is heavy body towards the noise. It was Henry.

“Got four dead here,” Tom called out. “What about you?”

“I’m not dead,” Henry groaned, and as Tom rounded the corner, he froze. Henry was slouched against the gunroom’s loading dock, his right arm missing below the shoulder, grizzled skin dripping blood onto the floor.

“Don’t you worry, you bastard.” Tom’s mind seemed to take over his body as he grabbed a cable from the wall and crouched by the man. “You ready? Right, this is gonna hurt.” He paused for Henry but he said nothing. “Right? We’re gonna get this tied off. I’m gonna count to three-”

“Just do it,” Henry murmured as Tom placed the makeshift tourniquet around what was left of his arm.

“Right,” Tom braced himself. “One-” He tightened the tourniquet and Henry screamed as Campbell raced into the room.

“We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir.” Tom growled, looking at the bits of body strewn around him.

“The medic is in worse shape than the able seamen,” Campbell wiped his dirty brow. “We’ve lost a lot of men but we don’t seem to be sinking.”

Tom hung his head and looked at Henry. “This’ll have to do for now. Let’s get you up.” He threw Henry’s remaining arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet with Campbell’s help. Henry cried out and shuffled towards the ladder. “We’ll get you up these steps and, if you slip, I’ll catch you.”

Once they had carried Henry to the sickbay, Tom made his way through the ship, checking for other casualties. He moved through the smoke-filled corridors, hand in front of him as torchlight pierced the smog. Terror was sinking into his bones. Vic’s face flashed in his mind and he blinked. At every turn he feared tripping over another body. Breathing heavily, he fumbled his way around until a faint twittering pricked at his ears. There on the floor, cage upturned, was Vera. Tears filled Tom’s eyes as he righted the cage and peered in. In the corner, freckled and inconspicuous, lay an egg.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

It was a typically crisp and overcast Wednesday in Manchester. Bess took the early shift that day and was sitting in the window of her bedroom, hair dripping as she dried it with a towel. Dot and Fergal were still working and, downstairs, she could hear Cora beginning dinner.

A flurry of movement caught her eye and she looked down the road to see Douglas Bennett pedalling furiously towards his house. He dropped his bicycle by the door and hurried inside. Best check on him later, she thought.

She moved from the window to the bed and lay her head on the pillow. From beneath the it she pulled out a small biscuit tin and lifted its lid. The letters she exchanged with Tom could no longer be contained in Bess’ books, and so she hid them under the bed with her box of buttons and ribbon. Tom’s face peered up at her from the top of the pile and she reached out for him. A violent shiver ran down her back and her blood ran cold. Bess stared back at him as ice prickled at her skin.

“Bess? I’ve been knocking,” Bess jolted and slammed the lid of the tin. Cora held the bedroom door in a white-knuckled grip, her doe eyes wide with concern. They glanced momentarily at the biscuit tin but she said nothing.

“What is it?” Bess’ voice was barely above a whisper.

Cora swallowed. “The Exeter,” her voice wobbled. “It’s been hit.”

Neither spoke. Not for a while. Not until Bess choked on the air. “Oh, my darling-” Cora made to move towards her sister but Bess was faster. She pelted from the room and down the stairs, slipped on her work boots and Albie’s overcoat before running into the yard. She wrestled her bike from the fence and cycled to the only place she could think of.

“Dadda?” Bess called out when she reached the dockyard, frantically searching for her father. A few people gave her pitying looks, and one man whistled at the sight of her in her nightdress and overcoat. “Dadda? Fergal Vaughn? Has anyone seen Fergal Vaughn?”

“Bess?” The voice came from behind her. She dismounted from the bike and watched her father emerge from a cabin, cup of tea in hand. He took in her ashen face and his cup fell to the floor. “My God,” he was striding towards her, hands outstretched. “What’s happened? What’s happened to my boy?”

“Nothing, Dadda,” Bess whispered weakly and her body slackened in front of him. Fergal caught her before she fell to the ground.

“What is it then, my girl?” He cupped her face in his large, calloused hands. “Tell me, my darling.” Concern overcame his face as he watched her.

“It’s Tom-” An ugly sob ripped her throat. “The Exeter-” And another. She had no need to say more, for Fergal had wrapped her in his arms and begun rocking her back and forth.

“Come. Let’s get you home.” The few onlookers watching the scene retreated as Fergal picked his daughter’s bike up from the ground. “Sit on the saddle, I’ll wheel you home like I used to.”  

The night had darkened by the time Fergal wheeled the bike onto their street. Lampposts were flickering into life, and his daughter’s sobs had subsided. She sat limply on the saddle, breathing deeply though still shaking. They came to rest outside the front door and Bess moved to stand. Cora opened it before Fergal could retrieve his keys, and behind her Bess saw Dot perched on the staircase.

“A pot of tea, I think.” Fergal stepped inside and removed his coat. Dot moved to the kettle. One of Bess’ booted feet was barely over the threshold when a muffled cry caused them all to freeze. What followed were a series of loud crashes and more shouting.

“STOP! STOP IT” The voice was shouting. More crashes sounded.

“Douglas,” Bess whispered and ran across the street. The front door was unlocked, and Bess entered in time to see Douglas pick up the wireless and throw it against the table, copper wire spilling from the splintered wood.

“I want him back,” Douglas’ voice broke as he shouted. “I want him back! I want my boy back!” Bess ran to him and gripped his arms. He folded into a chair and his body heaved as tears mingled with the salty tracks already coating his face. She held him tightly, cooing and soothing him as he shook.

“Douglas.” Fergal’s voice was firm. Bess watched as her father entered the kitchen and placed a hand on his friend’s back. “You’ll stay with us tonight.” It was a statement, not a question. Douglas nodded in Bess’ arms and stood to be led away. Bess turned down the paraffin lamp and followed her father back into the house. Cora was already pouring five cups of tea when Douglas slumped into the armchair. Dot ran downstairs with a blanket and draped it across his shoulders, before wrapping her arms around him. Bess joined her, as did Cora. The Vaughn girls took Douglas in their arms, and Fergal watched with pride as fear for his own son worried his nerves.  

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

The HMS Exeter juddered through the South Atlantic, aflame but afloat. Tom Bennett made his solitary way along the upper deck, glancing at the debris of ship and sailor as he did so. Coughing, he came across a row of tarpaulins. Hammocks. Each was bundled and he knew that beneath were the bodies of the crew. The breeze from the water had blown one away and Tom paused as he looked down at the man. It was Vic.

“I’m sorry.” Tom said as he knelt beside Vic’s body. “I should have shook your hand.” With bloodied hands, Tom covered his face and stilled for a while.

“Didn’t have you down for the praying type, Bennett.” Campbell approached him with a cigarette. He didn’t offer one to Tom.

“I wasn’t praying sir.” Tom stood. “I wouldn’t give God the work. He’s got enough on his plate sorting this shit out.”

Campbell nodded. “Hell of a crew. I’m proud of every one of you. You took part in a famous victory today, Bennett. You should be very proud.”

“Yes, sir.” He felt sick. “I am, sir.” Campbell left him to his thoughts, and Tom looked around. Bloodied and battered men lined the deck railings, and he could barely distinguish one from another. One sailor still had his cap on perfectly and was attending to some of the wounded.

“Oi, Terry. Your winnings mate.” Terry watched Tom approach, bemused. “You were as near eleven hundred hours. Well done, yeah?”

Terry didn��t move. After a moment, he said “I can’t take this. Half the lads who bet on it are dead.”

“Well, you can do what you like with your half. All the lads put in fair and square. It’s our money now.”

Terry eyed him. “Well, I think we should give it to the widows. Or the chaplain or something-”

“We’re in the Atlantic.” Tom wanted to scream. “Off a country I’ve never heard of, chasing a ship I can’t even fucking pronounce.”

“What has any of that got to do with the money?” Terry asked in disbelief.

“Vic’s dead,” Tom said simply. “And I never got to shake his hand. The world’s fucked mate, so look after number one.”

Terry laughed bitterly and thrust the coin purse at Tom’s chest. “Keep the fucking lot.” Hot panic flushed Tom’s cheeks and his chest began to heave. He had to get out. One way or another.  

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,” the crew chorused in solemn unison. Those who remained uninjured hadn’t slept through the night, working to put out the fire and prevent the ship from sinking. Tom stood by the gun turret, eyes bloodshot and unmoving as he listened to the men praying. He didn’t join in. Despondent and weary, when Campbell had finished the memorial service, he made his way below deck to the sickbay.

He glanced around but could see no sign of the man he was looking for. Cap in one hand and coin purse in the other, he moved through the cramped deck, between injured men and those assisting them. Someone passed him a cigarette and he took a puff. As he handed it back, his target came into view. Arm bandaged, and gazing sadly through the porthole by his bunk, was Henry. He seemed to sense someone’s eyes on him, for he inclined his head as Tom moved forward and placed the money in his lap.

“I know it won’t go far, but you need it more than me so-” Tom trailed off. Henry watched him. He’d never known Tom Bennett so quiet.

“Thank you for seeing me right after it happened,” he nodded to the covered remnants of his arm. Tom shook his head as though saving another man’s life was nothing.

“Graf Spee has sunk,” he said finally.

“What, did we hit her?”

“Nah, captain scuttled his own ship so we couldn’t take her. Shot himself. Don’t know if that counts as one for us, what with it being an own goal-”

“Shut your noise, will you?” Henry hissed, though it made Tom smile. There was a moment’s more silence.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve done this,” Tom said softly to Henry.

“Yeah, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you grief about the money.”

 “Yeah, well I ain’t doing it for the lads.” Tom was quick to correct him. “I’m doing it for Vic. Sort of soppy thing he’d do, isn’t it?”

Henry nodded, and Tom continued. “This doesn’t make us mates.”

“No,” Henry half-smiled. “Thank you for the money.” The smile Tom returned was gentle and genuine. He nodded to Henry’s arm.

“Maybe you could put it towards a hook?” Before Henry could retort, Tom meandered away and out of sight. A moment later, he returned.

“Could you lend us a few bob, Henry?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Not for me!” Tom held up a placating hand. “Just need a little to send home.” Henry handed over sixpence and Tom touched his cap. She’ll have to get a photo now, he thought.

Note: Hitler’s Only Got One Ball was a British war song. This was hard to write because there is so much dialogue in the show. Watching it back closely to get the transcript, there are a few moments where you can see Tom beginning to panic. So well acted by EM! Next chapter should be up soon. I know I said it last time, but I’m so excited about the next couple of chapters!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa

[resurrection-of-soul]

Flashback | PSYCHOBREAK 15

Writer: Akira (日日日)

Characters: Koga, Adonis

Kaoru: It’s been quite a while since you last called me “Playboy.” I never mentioned it, but I don’t actually dislike that nickname or anything. In fact, hearing you politely call me “senpai” is, like, kinda gross~

[ For the best viewing experience, please read directly on my blog! ♪ ]

Kaoru: Okay, okay, settle down~♪ You don’t wanna appear all flustered and uncool, right, you two?

Koga: …!? Hakaze-senpai!

Adonis: Is that you, senpai? I mean, are you two the real deal?

Kaoru: Yup. Sorry we’re late. We heard HELLSING was going on a national tour, but, geez! You kept getting further and further away from ES. Catching up was like, super hard. Right, Rei-kun?

Rei: Indeed. Furthermore, there were other pressing matters demanding our attention, so I was quite concerned we would not arrive in time.

Koga: Even Sakuma-senpai is… Wh-what’re you doing here? Don’t you guys have your own shit to deal with, like those silly variety shows!?

Rei: Naturally, we've already taken care of those matters. We are not prone to such oversight, after all. We anticipated this situation and prepared accordingly, making arrangements with the staff and other performers to record a considerable amount of footage in advance. Thus, there is no great hurry for us to return at the moment.

Adonis: How very like you, Sakuma-senpai. How much of this did you predict?

Rei: Kukuku. I can only foresee a small fraction of what is to come, but even that small piece can sometimes be enough to determine one’s fate. 'Tis for that reason I always ensure my preparations are in order. It is as straightforward as that. No longer do I hate the world, shutting myself away from it within my coffin. To avoid falling into mourning once more, I shall learn from thy example, Adonis, and give my utmost.

Koga: That’s right. Get to work, ya Vampire Bastard~ Don’t just spend all yer time dozin’ off without a care.

Koga: I mean, seriously, man… Ya always make me so damn worried. Because ya hardly move at all, I start worryin’ ya might have gone off n’ died!

Rei: I shan’t die. Being alive is enjoyable, you see. Furthermore, I have come to recognize that you are individuals possessed of rare and noble character who shall not rely solely upon me, but rather attempt to overcome difficulties on your own― Nay, I already knew. I have known it from the very first time UNDEAD stood on stage, and that conviction hath only grown day by day. Therefore, I can rest assured. So long as I am with you all, I am certain I shall never feel that being alive is tedious. That certainty is truly appreciated. I’ve been saved.

Kaoru: Ah geez, as usual, everything Rei-kun says is, like, totally cryptic, so let me give you a concrete explanation. And Rei-kun, in the future, instead of just making vague philosophical statements, you have to make sure to explain things clearly, okay?

Rei: Sure thing, mom.

Kaoru: You just stepped on a landmine on purpose, didn’t you?

Rei: Because I am quite certain you all shall love and accept me no matter what, I can make such jokes with confidence.

Kaoru: I’m gonna kick you. …Anyway, we’re in the middle of a live performance, so I’ll keep things short. Rei-kun and I returned to the dream world. In that dream of the past, we found the mastermind behind this incident…and defeated him. That’s why our fakes are bugging out and on the verge of shutting down, see? The person controlling them was neutralized, so they’ve lost control.

Koga: Huh? What? The hell’re ya talkin’ about, Playboy!?

Kaoru: It’s been quite a while since you last called me “Playboy.” I never mentioned it, but I don’t actually dislike that nickname or anything. In fact, hearing you politely call me “senpai” is, like, kinda gross~ And it makes me feel a bit lonely since it feels so distant. On top of all that, seeing the unruly Koga-kun acting like a good kid is totally off-putting~

Koga: Oh shit, my bad. I’ve been callin’ the fakes “Vampire Bastard~” n’ “Playboy,” so it just kinda slipped out.

Kaoru: Like I just said, it’s fine. Anyways, what’s the problem? Do you have any questions?

Koga: I ain’t got nothin’ but questions…! The hell do you mean, ya defeated the mastermind!? Who even was the mastermind!? We didn’t know jack shit about their identity up ‘til now! This ain’t some cancelled manga! Ya can’t just suddenly defeat some powerful villain off-screen!

Rei: The mastermind ‘twas not truly all that grand of a villain. You see, the culprit behind this incident was just the sort of trivial, insignificant person one can find anywhere. Seeing as he called himself a “vampire,” I shall simply refer to the mastermind as “Dracula-kun” for the time being.

Koga: Not that it really matters what they’re called, but… “Vampire”? That name came up a bunch in our past― or rather, in that dream we had, right?

Rei: Aye. We knew no groups by that name in truth. It is a name which only appears in that distorted retelling of history. I suspected that the mastermind behind this incident would also be the one at the root of that distortion. After all, I rather doubted that the culprit’s only goal was to show us amusing dreams. He must have had dreams ― desires ― of his own. There must have been something he hoped to accomplish with all this.

Adonis: You honed in on the culprit by uncovering his motives?

Rei: Indeed. ‘Tis the backbone of any mystery novel, no? Who caused the incident, why, and how? Analyze each piece of evidence, speculate as to the answers, and deduce the truth. Fortunately, the culprit in this particular incident was somewhat careless. He left behind plenty of evidence, making the deduction rather straightforward. Firstly, we identified who committed the crime, and it was none other than one of my former devotees, like those “vampires” from our dream. In other words, he was one of the delinquents who was exterminated by us in that past incident. He idolized me, worshiped me without my consent, and sought to become my successor… But was ultimately crushed by the student council and lost to history as just another one of Yumenosaki’s corrupt students.

Rei: The culprit, “Dracula-kun,” was sacrificed as one of the cornerstones of the student council's revolution. Yet, despite being handed such a harsh judgment, he showed no remorse. Without repentance, he repeated his mistakes.

Koga: ……

Rei: He refused to accept it. He could not understand why he had been subjected to such suffering. He simply felt it was unfair. Frustrated and dissatisfied, he convinced himself that the current situation, that history itself, was wrong… …And so he attempted to rewrite history, setting it upon the “correct” course. In his mind, he envisioned an ideal, righteous world where he was my closest companion, my friend, disciple, and loyal subject — someone loved by me above all else.

Kaoru: This might sound kinda flippant but isn’t that like, basically just us?

Rei: Indeed. The culprit behind this incident was a pitiful ghost who longed for immortality, but was unable to achieve it. Frankly speaking, it is quite probable that he wished to become a part of "UNDEAD."

[ ☆ ]

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[redactedgeek]

a love letter to You and I

To the unfortunate ✨🥀 (or most fortunate 😌🌻 - perhaps neutral? 👀🌱) Soul who sees this:

I wonder what sort of state You’d consider yourself in… The possibilities are thought-wringing. Yes 🙂. Thought-wringing cx

This… may be an attempt to do a life check-in. Sooo, if you’d like to do one with me, please feel free -^u^- 🌸

aight c: Status report: Overwhelmed at everything. Not doing well; multiple breakdowns in a single week alone. Saw burnout from a distance, and promised to treat self with unconditional love, and did best not to take anything out on others. Positive at beginning and “keeping head up.” Proud of self for coming this far [;before, I beat myself up every time I wasn’t able to do what I felt I “needed” to do. Now, I accept that sometimes I do get knocked down, and I allow it to happen, and I do my best to heal while my theoretically burning body lays there].

I am a fool 🤧. For laying there and not rolling around [sometimes I lay in bed, on my phone for hours and declare that “rest” :’) ]. For not yelling out for help or in pain [lashing out because I keep holding everything in; regardless of the reason, I know I haven’t done my part to communicate 😔]. For patching up the wounds and expecting it to be better immediately, moving in such a way that the wounds open up again so it takes even longer to heal than if I had cared for the wound [isolating, and then coming out of isolation from fear-based reasons instead of from actually taking care of myself, so I isolate even more because I’m so exhausted running on negative stress-adrenaline ☹️].

There are two - perhaps three or four? - options I can choose from about what can I do with the above-information:

A: Conclude I can never do anything right and allow that to define me as a person and continue spiraling in the unalchemized darkness. “I try and it doesn’t work. I can’t do anything right. 😀👍✨”

B: Conclude that while I have work to do on the way that I do some things, I acknowledge that I am doing my best with what I have and what I know. Each time I am knocked down, I have an opportunity to be still, reflect on my experiences, and learn what works and what doesn’t. “I tried, and while that didn’t work, this did. I can do more of this and see if it works more. 😌💕”

X: Conclude that I am tired, I just wanna have a good time now, and I push this to future me to handle this because [think nihilism]. “Hey, Ego, here’s something for you [quick fix: ‘you’re doing your best, everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t think about it and move on. It’s fun to be silly li’l guy anyway.] 🤭”

Y: Conclude that each and every one of these are options that are valid, fluid, and each have their own unique consequences. I don’t judge choices that people make because I understand and each of us are on our own made-perfectly-for-us journeys (which I think is wonderful and amazing because we are all embarking on our paths on this Earth together! On the same planet and stuffs! And no matter what we might believe, we’re not alone!), and I should allow myself that same, nonjudgmental freedom >×< I conclude that, since I love myself, I do my best to carry out options that I would hope a loved one carries out. I want the best for my loved ones, and so I want the best for myself. And I hope… by sharing this… this helps more precious souls too uwu 👉👈💕

Now, refer to the beginning. What sort of state are You in? What are you going to do (or not do) with it? :] genuinely curious

[Whatever your answer is, I send you so much love, I wish for you the support You specifically need at this time. And we shan’t forget - there is an abundance of blessings within and all around us! I hope hope hope you accept the blessings meant for You. 143 infinity style ❤️‍🩹♾️]

[thevampirelibrary]

Book Ramblings and Review of:

A Whole New World: A Twisted Tale by Liz Braswell

As I read this book, I asked myself multiple times the same question: Is it better to read this book having watched the animated Disney film Aladdin or go into it with new eyes and a fresh mind? Achieving the latter may be hard to begin with. Aladdin is a Disney staple made during its great Renaissance animation period. Avoiding it would be an incredible feat. Not to mention the ties it has to the timeless and treasured One Thousand and One Nights (though Disney’s Aladdin is quite a departure from the iconic tale). Returning to my initial question, the reason why I ask this is largely due to the strong nostalgia I have with the movie. In the midst of zombie apocalypses and heinous murders, all I can see are the bright and colorful cartoon characters I have grown so awfully fond of. Is it possible to see characters like these in such a wildly twisted tale?

Being the first novel in a large series of standalones, I feel A Whole New World: A Twisted Tale by Liz Braswell had high expectations to meet. From its conception, there was already a large readerbase of older Disney fans who had grown up with Aladdin and were ready to see how the story could be changed with a mature flair. On the very cover, the reader is told right away what the twist will be: “What if Aladdin had never found the lamp?”. (Perhaps a better tagline would be, “What if Jafar made his wishes first?” since Aladdin actually does find the lamp in the Cave of Wonders, but I suppose powerful words like “never” are much more catchy.) Something about having this tagline right on the cover feels almost like something I would find in a fanfiction summary. This is not inherently bad though and, technically, this book is a kind of fanfiction.

Concerning the story this twisted tale wishes to tell: Initially, you may be shocked to see just how similar the book is to the film in the first dozens of pages; sometimes right to exact words of dialogue. I can understand why some may find it garish to have the movie play out in written form, but I believe it serves to cement that this is Disney’s Aladdin. For that reason, it gave me a false sense of security for what was to come. I shan’t list too many spoilers because part of the appeal of this novel comes from the shock value it provides, but I was rather surprised by how suddenly violent some parts of the novel got, and not because it was extreme, but because I had trouble imagining these beloved cartoon characters performing or witnessing such deeds. A part of me wished I had no preconceptions about the characters, because they were extremely hard to get rid of.

Speaking of the characters, perhaps this is where I’ll be a little too critical. Afterall, everyone views characters in different ways and may deem to write them in different ways as a result. I may definitely show a bias as to how I wished characters were written. Starting with the main character I think was the best written: Aladdin. I love the movie Aladdin, but if there is one thing I didn’t like about the titular character’s personality, it would be his “fake it till you make it” mentality that he displays in front of the people that he wants the most trust out of. Since Aladdin never got to use the lamp in A Whole New World, he never became a prince, and thus never had to hide behind some elaborate façade. Instead, we get to really focus on his genuine character as a guy who has lofty dreams and helps those who are in worse situations than himself even in the face of danger. This guy has friends that go beyond everyone’s favorite monkey, Abu, and these friends play an integral role in the story. One of my favorite pieces of character complexity that Liz adds to Aladdin is his relationship with his deceased mother. This is a moment in which I think experiencing the movie Aladdin is a wonderful thing to do before diving into this book. I believe it is mentioned in the third Aladdin film just how close he was to his mother and how she showed him kindness in a cruel world, but I clearly remember seeing deleted scenes on my old Aladdin VHS in which the connection between Aladdin and his mother was meant to be even stronger. I believe that inserting these nods to the trilogy serve as a pleasant reward for Disney fans. Aladdin’s father is also mentioned briefly in the same way as he is described in the third film, but is never shown. It makes me wonder, however, how the story could evolve if he did make an appearance with all the “baggage” the third film brings. Just that notion shows how great of a character Aladdin is in this book: For a novel all about “what ifs”, I should be asking more “what ifs” based on my preconceived Disney knowledge. 

Going to a character I wish had more backstory is Jafar. Now, compared to the film Aladdin, he definitely had more complexities going on, and a rough childhood filled with a lack of love and societal disparity was hinted at. I believe, however, that there could have been more since, even though Jasmine and Aladdin seem like the main character, this feels like his book. Perhaps it would’ve been too much, but I would’ve enjoyed a throwback scene or dialogue on Jafar’s past. What specific events led him to gain such hatred and could he mirror those events with his newfound power? Did he have any dreams and aspirations that were dashed away? I, for one, imagine that he would’ve wanted to become a scholar of sorts with his fascination on ancient tomes and history. I feel like expanding on this could be done without making him too sympathetic, and instead show the reader exact moments in which his mind became twisted in irreversible ways when he was younger.

Lastly, I wish to address the character I wanted to be written differently. Charming, magical, and blue, I am talking about the Genie. It’s difficult to write a character that was meant to be and seen as pure comedy (and even a comfort character to fans) in a story where acts of villainy reign supreme, but I felt like the Genie ended up being more sassy and blunt in ways that felt like too far of a departure from his canonized self. I think he suffers most in his dialogue. There were several times I read bits of his dialogue and went “He wouldn’t say that”. For one chapter, he begins to make quips referencing a modern future which is in tune to what the Genie would do, but he says them in this chapter too quickly and this factor of his humor is not shown again. It felt awkward, as if there was a checklist of types of comedy the Genie had to cover in the novel. (Also, thinking that Jasmine and her father were a couple without knowing any context initially was rather weird and not funny at all.) While perhaps he cannot be saying happy-go-lucky and silly quips all the time, I think there could have been more of a focus on his unexplainable actions via magic. Afterall, that aspect of himself is something he values a lot, so showing him indulging in it more in moments where he wasn’t commanded to do so could have strengthened his own wants and desires.

In conclusion, would this book be better enjoyed by a Disney fan knowledgeable about Aladdin or one who is not? I believe that you need to know the story to really appreciate it at the end of the day. The reader is expected to know even a little bit about the characters and story lest it seem too underdeveloped. I’d go into A Whole New World as a perspective that plays with the characters that you all know and love in somewhat of a character study. I recommend coming out of this book with your own “what ifs” to consider and delve into your mindscape. As I stated, this is the first book in a long series of standalones. Something you should know about my memories of Jafar: My favorite scenes featuring him were in the animated series of Hercules’ crossover episode. I am just a fan of comedy, what can I say? The most important piece to get out of this information is that I absolutely love Disney’s Hercules. It is my favorite Disney film and Go The Distance: A Twisted Tale is very tempting to me. Mayhaps our paths will cross someday…

I am participating in the 13 Moons Reading Challenge! This book fulfills the prompt: Worm Moon - Read a book in a series with more than 5 books. There are currently 13 books in this series!

[ithseem]

The Three Dimensions Exchange Week: Chapter 4

I did it. I finally finished the fourth chapter. @voltagefandomproject there's no way I can finish the entire fic before the deadline, but here you go anyways.

CW: slut-shaming with no basis, everyone dying inside. proceed with caution

previous chapter || next chapter

Chapter 4:

Diavolo and Barbatos were greeted by their guests looking uncomfortable when they came to pick their guests up and escort them to the House of Lamentation. Did they already dislike being in the Devildom? Aquia assured him that how they feel has nothing to do with being here. “I shan’t say the actual reason. Just please take my word that none of us dislike being here,” he said. He didn’t dare say that he didn’t want to disclose the actual reason was because Y/N was within earshot of them. “Alright,” Diavolo replied, however only somewhat satisfied knowing that he spoke the truth.

By the time they had arrived at the House of Lamentation, Saima had already thrown herself onto her friends and gave them all a hug. Joanne did the same with her friends too. “You have NO idea how much I wanted to do that,” Saima said.

“I’m truly happy to see you again, child of man,” Malleus replied.

Ace: “For real! It has been a minute.”

Sherry and Rio were especially happy to see Joanne too. “I still can’t believe We managed to pull off getting you all here. And I was part of it!” Joanne said.

Parvana chuckled and then ushered the group into the living room where they continued to mingle with one another, now with the Demon Brothers, the Purgatory Hall gang, Diavolo and Barbatos. Y/N tried to join them, but she tripped over her own shoes. She braced herself for the impact, but she never came on contact with the unwaxed floor. She looked up to see Jack’s bemused expression. “Maybe you need a new pair of shoes?” he said.

“T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-thank y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-you f-f-for catching m-m-m-m-me,” she said as her face reddened.

Azul, Ace, and Saima exchanged wide-eyed glances that did not go unnoticed. “What’s that expression for?” Simeon asked. “All Jack did was help a person out.” He wasn’t the only one who was confused, and he certainly wasn’t the only one who had a bad feeling about this. A loud rumbling interrupted the atmosphere, stopping whatever train of thought anyone had at this interaction.

“Ah,” Rio said. “I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“I almost forgot why we invited you over in the first place,” said Lucifer. “Come into the dining room. The food’s going to get cold.”

To call the dinner a bizarre experience would put it quite lightly. Out of politeness, Simeon tried to strike up a conversation with Y/N, and it would have been normal if not for the incessant stuttering, “shyly” tucking her hair behind her ear every other sentence, and the constant slander of the popular girls at her old school. The layer of discomfort made it all the more difficult to enjoy the dinner.

“I-i-i-i-i-i-i-it’s t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-true,” she stuttered. “T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-they always m-m-m-m-m-make f-f-f-f-f-f-fun of me for n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-not b-b-b-b-b-being l-l-l-l-like t-t-t-them. I-I-I-I-I’m n-n-n-not a s-s-s-s-s-slut.”

Lance made a face as if to say "bullshit."

“Apparently, the stuttering isn’t a speech impediment,” Lance whispered to Simeon. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe I should get a bag of rice?” said Leviathan, not hiding the fact that he was about to laugh. “She’s lagging like crazy.”

“Come on, be nice,” said Parvana. “No matter HOW insufferable she can be. I wouldn’t discourage calling out her nonsense, though.”

Y/N: Uhhhh? T-t-t-t-thanks?

Barbatos came to the rescue again by changing the subject. “By the by, how are you enjoying your stay in the Devildom? I realize it’s only been a few hours, but I’d really like to know.”

Malleus: “In the short time we’ve been here, I’ve come to quite enjoy myself. Partially because I get to see an old friend again. The atmosphere here seems really nice too. We’ve run into a couple of students upon our arrival, and they seemed quite welcoming.”

Sherry: “Indeed! I’m quite looking forward to meeting some new people, myself. And getting to know all of you better seems like a capital place to start.”

Diavolo: “Excellent! If you’re this enthusiastic about the program, I’m sure this will all go swimmingly.”

Saima: “I most sincerely hope so.”

At this point, hoping is all there is left to do.

[uefb]

Final chapter of The Riot Act link

Summary: In which the Scamanders write a lot of letters; Uncle Hesiod is effectively blackmailed by every single member of Newt’s family (including Newt himself); Theseus shows every shade of who he is and who he will become; and Newt and his father have a bit of a “glow-up”, as the kids say in the year of our lord 2023. (Click for relatable Newt & Theseus meme.)

Also, 11-year-old Newt dropping truths: “I know I annoy people, Uncle Hesiod, but I think all creatures must be met with a baseline level of compassion, and I wonder if I am sometimes not afforded that because I am different.”

Gifs by @whumpypepsigal

Excerpt (opening letters):

7AM

Floo Telegram (extra charge for weight)

Helios Scamander to Rowan Scamander

Dear Rowan,

Wanted to let you know that Newt’s day at the Ministry was rather awful. It sounds like he comported himself reasonably well, while Hesiod—on the other hand—behaved beastly. I expect we’ll be dealing with the damage for a week or so. No “fairies”, per se, but he’s gone a bit more quiet than usual, so I’m giving him the day with Theseus and his projects to see if that helps.

All that being said, Newt is—strictly speaking—physically all right, so there’s absolutely no need to worry on that front. (No doxy disasters or broken limbs, thank Merlin.) However, you and I will need to have a good long talk, I’m afraid. Make some decisions about the nature of our own relationship with Hesiod and my family generally, as well as revisit more realistic plans for Newt’s future. And then also, on quite a more basic level, we must contend with the now (while somehow not reinforcing the mess Hesiod has dumped into our laps—he planted some rather upsetting ideas in Mud’s fertile little head). Nevertheless, our son went on a bit of a solitary nighttime wander after, more or less, lying to me by omission… So that’s obviously behaviour that must be addressed. I’ve just absolutely no clue how to do it.

Anyway - I’ll be bringing him home tomorrow after work. (And yes — Theseus and I have both enchanted him to within an inch of his life. If he so much as sneezes before we’re back in Derbyshire, we’ll know it.) T has requested to come along. I shall tell you all the details in person, as I’ve got my hands surprisingly full on the one with an enraged 19-year-old who still thinks I can’t tell when he’s scheming; and, on the other, with an 11-year-old, who apparently requires magnificently compelling evidence just to convince him to eat his damn breakfast.

With love,

Helios

7:20AM

Floo Telegram

Rowan Scamander to Helios Scamander

Helios — So sorry to hear it went horribly but happy to know he mostly behaved(?). Unsurprised he fled the flat if upset, though still unacceptable. (How in the world did he get past you, though?) Must admit, am quite worried without details, esp. if T is concerned enough to leave training. Floo chat, please? Or at least summarise? Regarding breakfast: If you move whatever N is working on to left of his plate and then push plate twd him, he’ll typically eat w/out realising he’s doing it. (But thank him when he finishes, so he notices he’s done the routine—we don’t want him starving at Hogwarts…!) Please give both our boys my love.

8AM

Letter

Helios Scamander to Hesiod Scamander

Dearest brother,

I’ve been made aware that Newt’s visit to the Ministry yesterday did not go the way either of you had hoped. Certainly, I heard the tale from Theseus who had had to wrangle it from Newt in fits and starts, but the boy keeps incredibly detailed notes about creatures or interactions that fascinate, inspire, or confound him; and I’d assume he’s classed yours as confounding. I’ll be sending him to the grocer at some point, during which time I plan to unashamedly steal his journal and read all about it myself. So you may rest assured the truth shan’t be twisted by the party line. (That’s a Muggle invention, Hesiod. Quite novel. Not that you would know.)

So, here is the heart of it, brother:

I did not think I needed to make this clear as I’ve already done so in the past… But I do not need your assistance in rearing my son. I have appreciated your efforts to show interest and befriend him this past year, but I’m afraid I will be putting a stop to that, as well. You will not lay hand or wand on him. You will not reprimand him. You will not disclose information—to him or anyone else—that Rowan and I have kept to ourselves for a reason. You will bring any and all concerns directly to me instead of breaking the heart of a child. Furthermore, Newt will be doing any future career preparation with myself or with Rowan; and you are not to even speak to him without one of us present.

Finally… Newt has requested he be allowed to write you an apology for his behaviour—he is a far better man than me, because I didn’t intend to make him do that—as well as “tell [you] some thoughts”. As Newt’s not typically one for telling anyone thoughts of any sort if they’re not specifically about animals, I’m hardly going to discourage him... However, because we will be using this as an opportunity to practice letter-writing and grammatics, I expect it may take a few days, as his Mum and I are both busy through Saturday.

A word of warning: Theseus has just left the flat with a look on his face that usually means trouble, so I do hope you enjoy the visit.

Your loving brother,

Helios

P.S. - Please send any mail beginning tomorrow evening to the Derbyshire address.

8:20AM

Floo Telegram

Helios Scamander to Rowan Scamander

Rowan — Thanks for suggestion. Breakfast eaten. (Who knew earthworm digestive systems were so compelling.) Regarding floo: Can’t while N’s around. But he’s more chipper now, so I’ll try to have T take him out for chips at tea.

The summary is that N repeatedly spoke out of turn + H rather severely punished him. Please don’t discuss in detail w N until home. T + I are handling it delicately and T’s off to MOM right now so there may be nothing of H left for you to worry about, anyway

[s2willbyers]

the pierrot mike wheeler el público vision

exactly one (1) person asked me to elaborate on mike wheeler/el público vision so i wrote 1k+ words on this and pierrot mike wheeler. lets get into it

tldr the pierrot figure and the play el público are a space in which writer federico garcía lorca confronts internalized homophobia, and i discuss this in relation to michael wheeler, his worldview, and the ways in which will confronts/challenges it

So. pierrot and el público posts were created separately but are very closely linked thematically. i think the best place to start is with federico garcía lorca, a spanish poet and playwright who was born in 1898 and was killed by francoist fascist forces at the start of the spanish civil war in august 1936. his assassination was covered up by the franco regime, his work censored while being paraded around as emblematic of an exoticized ancestral spain for tourists. in the decades since his assassination, research has generally shown his assassination was prompted by his celebrity, his connections to and support for the spanish republic, and his more or less open homosexuality. 

lorca’s homosexuality was something that he struggled with throughout his life (as best we know). he was raised catholic in a conservative area of spain in a conservative period of spanish history — of course he struggled with it. as a young man he struggled with some compulsory heterosexuality, and then when he moved to madrid and away from his family, able to explore this aspect of his identity, he had the misfortune of taking a liking to salvador dalí. dalí is horrible for a number of reasons which i shan’t get into here, but really for our purposes it’s enough to say that he couldn’t return lorca’s affections and likely, through his own homophobia (internalized or otherwise), touched on some sore spots for lorca. added to that was his split with his boytoy emilio aladrén (epic bad bisexual representation), and lorca fell into a pretty bad depression. he needed a fucking break, so he travelled to new york and cuba from 1929-1930. the play el público was started in cuba and finished back home in granada spring and summer of 1930.

from 1924 (when he first met dalí) to 1930, lorca’s work became increasingly modernist and ventured into surrealist territory, which brings us the el publico and the pierrot. the pierrot figure (basically a clown) is a stock character that became popular among modernist artists in the late 19th century and continued into the 20th century as an incarnation of the artist. it was different for every artist, but for lorca the pierrot figure was a doomed, sort of pathetic character doomed to fail in love and perpetually ridiculed and ostracized by society. i think it’s easy to see how this might have connected to his homosexuality — he was a performer in his own right, giving dramatic readings of his plays and poems, but you can imagine how it might have felt to give voice to really personal feelings in a room with people you know are violently homophobic, that make jokes at your expense, that would throw you aside if they ever knew. the audience isn’t really a fear so much as it is a threat, which is when you get el público, a play that’s (sort of) about a play.

its been a while since i’ve read el público, and its one of those avant garde plays that eludes summary, but basically it centers around a character called the director who is trying to put on a production of shakespeare’s romeo and juliet. in between the scenes audience members comment on the play, while the director struggles with his own understanding of love and its implications in the public sphere, interacting with the audience themselves, other people in the theater troupe, the characters, set pieces, and costumes. it’s a hard read and very experimental, but its worth taking the time to sit with it if you are interested!

anyway so where does this put us with mike wheeler? i think fundamentally what unites the pierrot and el público is this fear of the public, the cisheteronormative majority that looks down on you. and with queerness, it is often a process of self discovery, not just a given part of someone’s identity. you’re conducting this process of self-discovery in a public arena of shame and hatred, and it’s constantly influencing your personal life. i mean, if we go back to lorca and dalí, their relationship undoubtedly suffered from homophobia. its fair to say dalí found homosexuality lesser than heterosexuality, he made fun of lorca for it more than once (even after lorca’s death) and regardless of whether he himself was queer or not, he was persistently belittling to lorca in this respect. this is a private relationship that was immensely important to both of them, but ultimately it could not hold out when all dalí ever wanted was for The People (this cishet majority) to admire him. queerness as being constantly under scrutiny, the punchline literally and figuratively, queerness as an invasion of privacy and a forced performance you can never escape.

within el público, within the masks and performances doing everything you can to perform a love that is acceptable and palatable and “correct”, love is difficult and messy and gross, hearts as an organ spilling blood and guts all over the stage, there is also this undercurrent of what it means to be a man, what masculinity is when its divorced from cisheterosexuality. i LOVE that last bit from BELLS, because its so opposite of lorca’s “ode to walt whitman,” a poem that gives masc4masc grindr profile from beginning to end. this play allows physical weakness as manliness, gay love as strength. if the pierrot figure is a weak buffoony guy, he’s also a MAN, regardless of what the rest of the world says.

i think mike admires will for the same exact reason we all do, which is to say mike admires will because he’s unrelentingly honest. when mike asks him if he expects to stay in mikes basement forever, mike is expecting to hear the voice of the majority echoed back at him, that they need to “grow up” and live out a suburban nuclear family fantasy, but will refuses to buy into it. will refuses to give anyone any ground on who he is. will, just by being himself unapologetically, is constantly and persistently challenging the CisHet voice in mikes head that’s telling him to shut up and blend in, that he is a man and so he is not queer, that if he is queer then he is lesser. i think, in el publico, mike is the director, trying his best to construct a heterosexual ideal when no one, not even the characters or the audience are buying into it. i think he’s already feeling it slipping out of his fingers and any time now it’s going to click for everyone and they’ll see him for who he really is.

thats why this bit from the students is so so lovely to me…. here are people in the audience who see the show and instead of hating it they discuss it and come to find refuge in it. this is so easily a conversation between mike and will to me (mike being first student and will being fifth) because you know if mike just asked, if he stopped performing, will would love to carry him. he’d be delighted to. i can imagine mike reading the play up to this point, feeling that half sick sort of feeling you get when you feel like someone can see right through you, that he’s destined to this constant push and pull that he’ll inevitably fail, and THEN he reaches this part and he realizes that if he just fucking TALKS to will, if he allows his performance to end, will is standing right there. always. and that’s not to say it won’t be difficult, that he won’t be ridiculed, that he’ll never feel the effects of homophobia and feel lesser and frightened and ashamed, but that he’s a man, a person, regardless of that, and that being a person is enough. 

i don’t know but as someone who deals with internalized homophobia and transphobia and whose life feels governed by shame sometimes, i love lorca’s work because it gets into the ugly meat of it, the gross stuff you never really want to say out loud and gives you that cathartic release, but there’s always this reminder that you are human regardless, that you are earth to feel bad and to feel good and to feel as much as possible, that your existence justifies itself even if it is rife with pain. it feels like crying into your own shoulder as you hug yourself so tight it hurts, and i think mike needs to learn how to do that.

let’s end with one of my favorite james baldwin quotes and this drawing from lorca: “It took many years of vomiting up all the filth I’d been taught about myself, and half-believed, before I was able to walk on the earth as though I had a right to be here.”

btw i didn’t proofread or edit this. sorry :/

[sabineelectricheart]

Courtship Concerns of Unfortunate Young Men

Summary: Ominis wants to tell Rosalie something, but he feels as if it is not his place to do so. She encourages him to do so anyways.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 2300

Notes: More of an argument, less of a fic. Mr. Gaunt may know and be friends with Phineas Black, but it doesn’t mean he’s rich.

It was late at night at the Slytherin common room.

Ominis had thought he was alone until he heard that voice. He had dropped his wand for the night and was much too entertained with the record on the gramophone to pay attention to the movement of footsteps around him.

"Hey."

He picked his wand up. It was Rosalie.

"Hello. It is..." He shut down the music with a swish of his wand. "Very late."

She smiled at him. "Sebastian said you wanted to talk to me."

"I, uh, I did not tell Sebastian that, but if you want to talk…" He said, recovering from the surprise. Even if he is blind, it is rare that someone catches him off guard in this manner. "I guess that there are some points we should straighten out about..."

She sank down on the couch next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from talking.

"I got the impression that he had not said anything to you, but he implied it was important.” She pauses for a second, and then shoots, “Are you keeping something from me?"

He scoffs in response. "What? No."

The girl lets out a small laughter. "Yet that question flustered you. What is it that bothers you, Ominis?"

The conversation about taking risks and allowing himself to have the things he wants flooded through his head. The Sallows pointed out, rightly, that the Beausoleil girl was a desirable match in the Wizarding circles, even in the Muggle ones, it appears, with her talk about the Queen Charlotte’s Ball early next year.

If he does not shoot his shot soon, someone else will. All purebloods, even those with some sort of defect, are eventually arranged in marriage, which is a topic that always agitated Ominis to no end. There is no reason why things would be different for him and Rosalie.

"Ah, alright. You got me." He sighed, steeling himself. “Sebastian, Anne and I have been talking about things.”

“Dark magic things?” She asks, carefully.

His eyes widen. “No! No, none of the sort. It is a bit more personal, I suppose, and I should share with you, too.”

That is not the assurance he thought it was, the girl considered, but she nodded anyways, trying to maintain composure and calm, so she can properly listen to what is going to be said, whatever it was. If she gets nervous, too, it would be of no help and her friend might not be able to get on with it.

"Here is the thing, and you might laugh, but, uh..." He stutters and trails off.

She cocked her head. "Yes?"

"I care about you." The teen said carefully, clearing his throat.

She smiled softly. "I know. You have such a big heart, Ominis. You may claim you don't have feelings, but you care about all of us, and we all know it, believe me."

"No, not that. I mean..." He fumbled with his words, looking frustrated.

Her voice was gentle. "What?"

There was a long pause.

"I care about you differently than I care about them." He said finally. "And it is good, it felt good for a while, and then Sebastian draws attention to it and then I am confused because this is not something that I understand. But it is there. It is there and it is different, and I do not know how to articulate beyond that."

Rosalie blinked, looking a bit surprised. No, she was very surprised. Of all things that she expected him to say, that has not even entertained itself on her mind.

"I do not suppose I can help, right?” She asks, and he nods in response. “Let us try this, then. I promise that I shan't make fun of you for trying. In fact, uh, I might like hearing whatever it is you have to say."

Ominis cleared his throat again. He turned his hands face up as he aimed his gaze just off her eyes. He had been told that he is rather bad at positioning his eyeline, that it comes out as a bit creepy as he is always talking to the walls, and not to the people in front of him, and he wants to convey it as straight as possible.

"Um, well, you might have realised that I do not enjoy physical contact. I suppose us here in Slytherin do not have much of an occasion for hugs or handshakes, but even the warmth of others in close proximity is enough to make me anxious.” He smiles wryly, lost in a flash of a memory. “In fact, I bump shoulders with people in crowded spaces often, due to my disability, and I am always uncomfortable with it. I have a reputation as brash because I never bother to excuse myself.

“I do not feel it when it is you. Rather, it feels... Good, very good, actually, when you touch me. When you pat my shoulder, or take my hand. I find myself wanting those moments to last longer, when logic says I should feel unpleasant because they happened. And..." Once again, he cleared his throat, shifting his weight between his legs. "And sometimes I am, uh, stressed. About classes, about my family, or Sebastian, or-or whatever. Then you walk in the room and.... You have a calming presence, Rosalie. I get this sense that things are going to be okay, even though it makes no sense that you being in the same room as me would, would bring about something magical and erase whatever hurts me in this way."

Ominis gave a little laugh at the stupidity of the logic. If magic could solve any of his problems, he would already have rid himself of them. In fact, more often than not, magic is his problem.

"But, uh..." He paused, as if consciously trying to not clear his throat. "Then there is… Stuff.”

“Stuff?” She asks, confused about what he could have meant by it.

He scoffs, despondent. “Well, you know… Pureblood traditions. Matchmaking.”

Her posture had been relaxing as Rosalie listened to him, as if she was melting into the couch, but now her eyes flashed and she stiffened, suspicious as to why such an idea would come up in a conversation like this. He does not mean to inform her that…?

"What about it?"

"This..." He shook his head vigorously. "It is a ridiculous envy, but I fear that it could prove a genuine issue."

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I am unsure whether you know or not, but… Well, I am not a wealthy man. In fact, you may describe the financial situation of my family’s as severe poverty.”

“Ah.” She nodded tersely. “Yes. Suffice to say, yes, I had been informed of it.”

“Likewise, I have been told that yours… Is not in a similar situation.” He chokes the words out.

“That would be correct, yes.”

Her parents might not be particularly happy with her decision to come clandestinely to Hogwarts, for reasons that are not immediately clear to her just yet, but she is far from disowned. Even if she was, she had been able to rake up a reasonable income through several small business ventures up and down the valley, enough to cover her student expenses and, maybe, after graduation, independently sustain a modest house in a hamlet, if she so chooses.

“I am not my father’s eldest son, so anything there is left to inherit will most likely go to my brother, Marvolo.” He explains, with a detached voice. “I do not covet anything from the Gaunts, mind you, and the fact that there is very little just makes it easier for me to disentangle myself from it. However, I recognise that I must not be the dream of a son-in-law to any father.

“I have seen those prints that you bring Anne, of those Muggles from London and the continent. I have heard about the balls, the plays, the regattas and the horse races. I fear… I fear whomever is with me will not be able to enjoy any of those pastimes. That is, of course, not mentioning all the other troubles that are to come from a match with me. I am, in the end, much more problem than I am worth.”

Rosalie shook her head slowly back and forth.

"Ominis…" She said in disbelief. "You are such a fool."

"Those are the facts, Rosalie." He responded, sternly. "My intention was only not to appear crass."

Even if he cannot see, she felt the need to place her hand on his cheek and lightly turn his face towards her.

“You may be right about everything you said, even if I am sure you are not, but your implication certainly is not.” She caresses his cheek, and he leans into it, in spite of himself. “Alas, I understand what you mean to tell me.”

He sucked in a breath. "Oh, that was... Satisfactory? You-You understood?"

"I believe so, but as I listened to you, I want you to listen to me." The teen girl said, calmly. “Can you do this for me?”

Ominis nodded stiffly.

With his assent, Rosalie let go of his face and reached out for one of his hands, curling her fingers around his. She felt him react, his thumb rubbing her skin back, treasuring the touch as he said he did.

"I think I understand." She tipped her head, trying to get a view of his eyes as they continued to look at their hands. "Ominis?"

He turned his head at her, and she was encouraged at the way his eyes, not completely open, keep searching for her, even if he would not be able to find her gaze.

She inhaled slowly, feeling shaky. "Tell me if I understand."

Rosalie hesitated for the briefest instant, then leaned forward, her eyes falling shut in the same graceful motion as she put her lips against his.

She both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath at this new touch, then he was shifting his weight, kissing her back, catching her bottom lip between his. Perhaps finally understanding the concept, he placed his free hand on her leg, just above the bend of her knee and over the long wool fabric of her skirt, warming the skin beneath unlike anything she ever wore before.

She silently suggested they deepen the kiss and Ominis likewise silently agreed to the proposal. As if in a rush, moments and slip-ups begin to pop into her mind, of those few rare moments when he had forgotten himself and spoken to her, told her he loved having her voice in his ear, how he adored the smell of her perfume against the cold and wet air of the dungeons, how he appreciated her company and how grateful he was for her help with Anne and Sebastian.

Everything was blurring again, spinning around them, but, this time, it was safe, no-one else was there, no-one's life was at risk and there were no relics to be discovered or curses to be broken. It was just the two of them at the centre.

For Ominis, that effect is hardly something new, as he feels out of himself whenever he catches a whiff of that smell of flowers on her perfume. If his life depended on it, he could not have told anyone any of his observations or notes at the Potions class they brewed Amortentia, as the smell was absolutely overpowering. Everything was a golden abstract in his mind except for her, humming and brewing next to him in a way that was proper enough for him to remain long enough to realize that he was enjoying the closeness. Long enough for him to taste that Gaunt insanity and greed that brought upon their downfall.

He had behaved dangerously that day, but there was no such danger today. Today it really was just him and her, alone in the common room, and he felt her kiss from head to toe and found himself moving his hand from her leg to her hip, wanting to tug her closer but unable to come up with an efficient means of doing so with them both sitting on the couch.

She interpreted his movement correctly, scooting herself closer to him, sliding her hands up to his neck, and his somehow found their way around her waist, the most complete and prolonged contact he could remember. Then he pulled back, eyes still closed; the spinning had migrated to his head and he was short of breath. He inhaled slowly, deeply, and his eyes fluttered open, still only inches away, a small smile on her face.

"Uh…" He tried to articulate, feeling like words were probably appropriate to the situation but finding none that were suitable to what he was feeling.

She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. Ominis took a deep breath and relaxed, dropping his shoulders and feeling relieved of having to lead conversation.

"Was that alright?" She asked gently.

She was wondering not about the quality of her action, but the action itself, and he understood.

"Yes. Yes, of course." He said, giving a quick nod. Then, once again clearing his throat, he gave her a smile. "You understand. You just said it better than me."

“Good.” She smiled and then leaned over into his ear, whispering her address and breaking the Fidelius over her family residence. “I shall tell my father to wait for your owl, yes? Do not take too long.”

He nods, eagerly. “I will get on with it right away.”

Rosalie laughs softly, gets up from the couch and scurries away, leaving Ominis alone with his thoughts.

Two owls left the castle that night heading south.

*_*_*_*_*

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

[the-cat-chat]

November 18, 2023

Clue (1985)

Six guests are anonymously invited to a strange mansion for dinner, but after their host is killed, they must cooperate with the staff to identify the murderer as the bodies pile up.

JayBell: This is one of those movies that is always on my list but for whatever reason I never get around to watching. Until now.

I have fond memories of playing the board game, so I was interested to see how they could make a movie around a board game in a way that doesn't feel forced.

What I like most in this movie is the witty dialogue. There's a lot of back and forth between the characters and it's very well written. Despite the antics on screen and the ridiculous behavior of the characters, the dialogue doesn't feel juvenile.

The mystery also isn't as easy to predict as I thought it would be, and I only really picked up on one of the endings. I think my favorite part of the movie is the multiple endings because it's the perfect homage to the board game where every time you play there is a different murderer with a different outcome.

The only thing that bring down my rating is some of the physical comedy, which is honestly just a personal preference. It's just not my thing cause it feels so slapstick and over the top at times. But it's such a small thing that it doesn't overtake all the other things I enjoy about the movie.

Rating: 6.5/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: Needing a quick impromptu movie when the universe decided we shan’t be watching Adam Sandler voice a classroom lizard?? - the at random choice was Clue. I had heard it was funny and so good and obvi the game of clue is iconic- I felt the dire need to see what the fuss was about and how Tim Curry was going to blow this out of the water. Plus murder mystery - it’s a no brainer. Yessss I know my standards for picking are sooo strenuous and thorough.

Anyway- this movie was pretty enjoyable and funny-so mission accomplished- even if there were a few “hey why are all the men soooo creepy?” moments. (But not enough to really overshadow what was going on.) No my brain did that all on it’s own. I lost the track of my attention for like maybe a second?? And it was over for me in even really attempting to play along with what was going on until the big reveal at the end.

Butttttt speaking of the end. The big reveal (or reveals) are sooooo good and it’s so much fun. And honestly Tim Curry’s commitment to the bit (and everyone else- esp. Peacock at the end) is outstanding. He’s literally dripping sweat from running around explaining what happened or what really happened, and then finally what realllly really happened. And it was no small feat to explain it all out. All the acting was really great and it was a fun escape even if I had no idea what was happening for at least 45 minutes of it.

Rating: 5.75/10 Cats 🐈

[terrainofheartfelt]

Gossip Girl Playlists: Theatre Kid AU edition!—Dan’s

[Blair’s] [Nate’s] [Serena's]

I don’t even remember exactly how this started, but it’s @strideofpride’s fault. 

The concept began as: if they were in this world, what would be in the GG mains’ MT books? What would be their go-to song? Their 16 bar cut? And then, I got on spotify, and got wayyyy too carried away (typical me), and it sort of morphed into: what are the NJBC’s (plus Daniel’s) senior musical theatre recital programs? And now I have this: a quartet of playlists of repertoire handpicked by me for these fake people, and I am very proud of them. 

All selections based on my very particular taste, honed from a childhood in community theater, an adolescence in high school musicals, and a 4 year degree from a majority musical theatre school

And, as in the tradition of Glee and all plays within a play, the rep reflects something profoundly personal about the character, because you know I love a theme. 

Oh Danny boy, my darling. In MT land, he has…sort of the inverse of Nate’s conundrum. He is Leading Man Material, but he gets kind of shoehorned into character stuff because he’s just good at his job. But – come on, this guy? He’s a romantic, and he SHINES in the ~romance~ 

Like, we should always keep talking about he and blair playing opposite each other in all the shows in all the aus amen. 

Like, we should always keep talking about he and blair playing opposite each other in all the shows in all the aus amen. 

His type: the wide-ranging baritenor. He can go low, and there’s an understated richness to his voice that lends itself to that, but I see Dan having the vocal control to do less “singy” roles as well. I think he ends up leaning more into tenor than Nate, like in classical crossover he’d sit just that much higher, but his voice is bigger, which is how I’m justifying the Street Scene song below. Also, in listening to Badgley sing other stuff, he can do that hook into his falsetto and come back belting and it’s hella tender and hella sexy.  And, by nature of his background plus the training a degree would give him, Dan can navigate a wide range of styles, which is hwy of the playlists, this one is…the most all over the place, but I have a reason for all of it, I swear, which is: I do what I want. 

Also: musician!Dan my beloved. He would play piano and guitar and mayhaps…another instrument?

References: Aaron Tveit (lol I know. Cousin Tripp. That guy); Jeremy Jordan; Steven Pasquale; Zachary Levi; Mandy Patinkin; and another guy I know from college, he came into my voice studio for a masters in opera but when he left he could do anything from a gorgeous lyric tenor to Che in Evita and Angel in Rent (he could sing the shit out of them, but those roles shan’t appear in this playlist, because this guy is latino and Dan is not. You know what I mean)

the tracklist:

Tonight at Eight — She Loves Me

Another instance of “S is always right” seriously go read her theatre kid au. 

After months of exchanging letters with his penpal (unbeknownst to him, his workplace nemesis), Georg anxiously awaits meeting her. Tonight. At eight. 

Something’s Coming — West Side Story

Dan is Leading Man Agenda. 

Tony’s best friend Riff convinces him to come to the Dance at the Gym tonight, and Tony, to quote the prophet billy shakes “dream’d a dream” about it

I Could Be in Love with Someone Like You — The Last Five Years

JRB songs are too long when you’re sitting in studio class, but damn. they fuck. 

And for how cynical I got over this musical in college (because every bitch sings Still Hurting), it is a fantastic and clever piece. It’s the story of a couple, from falling in love to marrying to falling apart, told chronologically from Jamie’s perspective, and reverse-chronologically from Cathy’s perspective. 

It’s also semi-autobiographical. A semi-autobiographical work about a star crossed couple and their breakup GEE SOUND FAMILIAR?!

Anyways, this song was replaced after the workshop with “Shiska Goddess”—which was the correct choice, but I like the character study in this song. 

At the beginning of their relationship, Jamie is starting to fall for Cathy, and her Irish heritage may or may not have something to do with it. 

Wondering — The Bridges of Madison County

Again, I love this musical so much. I am a stan, I will accept no criticism. 

After an “almost kiss” kind of moment with the kind woman he meant in the countryside, Robert ponders the moment and the chemistry he felt. With one of the most unhinged (compliment) bridges (pun not intended) in MT. daircore

Leave — Once

It’s guitar!dan time! You think theatre kid dan wouldn’t be all about Once?

(also it’s one of my favorite musicals and OCRs so it gets a whole set. My house.)

Guy’s first big solo, written and performed coming off being dumped. 

Say It to Me Now — Once

Guy plays an audition for a banker of all people, to get a loan so he can take his demo from Dublin to NYC

Falling Slowly (duet w/ Blair) — Once

Guy’s sworn off music, but when a Girl finds sheet music in his jacket, she cajoles him into playing it with her. 

Up on the Roof — Beautiful: The Carole King Musical

I’ve got a lot of opinions on jukebox musicals, mostly that we have enough of them. If Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson can write originals then no one else has any excuse. But this one is good. Because it’s Carol. 

This is the James Taylor number of the show. So of course Dan has to sing it. 

One Song Glory — Rent

As an Opera Person, I will always harbor a soft spot for 90s rock La Boheme. And it really fits Dan’s son-of-a-90s-rocker schtick doesn’t it?

And like, I think it’s easy to get corny about it, like, we all sang seasons of love at high school graduation, but it really is a masterwork. Andrew Garfield Jonathan Larson was a genius. And, like Boheme, people get swept in the ~romance~ and have to be reminded of how fucking raw it is. 

Like I didn’t really understand this song until I saw the show in undergrad, and sung by a guy who was just — born for it. He and Aaron Tveit. They get what it means. 

Roger is a musician living with HIV and depression (and his documentarian roommate and bff Mark), and is convinced that he won’t be alive very much longer, and all he wants is to write just one song that he can be remembered for. 

Lonely House — Street Scene

Street Scene is a show that plays jump rope with the line between opera and musical theatre, and it really just depends on the singer. Dan would, have big enough classical chops to sing this, but give it a more mt bent, which I wouldn’t hate. 

As someone who leans more on the side of classical in my preferences, sometimes I think operatic tenors overdo it on this song. Honestly if companies didn’t make up the stupid ass rule that every voice type has to have a contemporary aria in their package, operatic tenors wouldn’t sing this as much as they do. But that’s a rant for another time. 

And I remember a colleague singing this to close out a recital program, and we were in this church that had one (1) door, and after he sung, during the outro, he walked right out the door. And it ROCKED. So I think it’s a good act closer. 

Sam lives in an apartment block packed with people, but doesn’t really have anyone.

She Loves Me — She Loves Me

Recital act two opener let’s goooooo

Georg finds out who his penpal is. And he has Feelings about it. 

So in Love — Kiss Me, Kate

Another enemies to lovers plot! or well, lovers to enemies to lovers again. 

This is the reprisal to the song Lilli sings at the beginning of the show, now sung by her ex husband, Fred. His italicized oh moment. 

And the music & lyrics are….sexc

Hero and Leander — Myths and Hymns

Another Adam Guettel offering! Do I have an agenda? Only to be an evil dictator of taste.

Speaking of, this song cycle/revue is such a rare gem that a decent recording of a decent singer is so hard to find, that I had to settle for the mashup Tveit did in his 54 below show. So, when you get to this track, if you want to skip the first…minute and 30 seconds, then you’ll get straight to this song. 

(the first one is from Next to Normal, and is beautifully sung of course, it’s just irrelevant in terms of this playlist

— bc while Tveit could sing Gabe in his 20s, I don’t think Dan Humphrey could.) 

It’s got that falsetto hook that I just know Dan would be good at. 

This show doesn’t have a plot, it’s a revue, so each song is like its own contained story. This one is about the myth of Hero and Leander. 

Leander would swim across the sea every night to meet with his lover Hero, until the gods sent a storm, and on one of his nightly swims, he drowns. Those greek myths amirite. 

When We Dance (trio w/ Blair & Nate) — The Last Ship

Another selection from Sting’s opus that deserves more love!

I think if you’re looking at this meta-wise, Dan’s character is more in line with the other male lead—steady, supportive, romantic, the “right” choice, but hey, they’re Acting, and musically, the main guy’s part is better. And this trio is just sooooo pretty. 

And it can be ot3-esque if you want it to be (I know I do).

After running away from his tiny shipbuilding hometown, Gideon returns fifteen years later to make his move on the girl he left behind, Meg. she’s having none of it, she has a new man (Arthur), and a kid that’s fifteen years old give or take nine months. Her new man also pleads his case. 

One Second and a Million Miles (duet w/ Blair)  — The Bridges of Madison County

Thee big duet of the show. Facing the end of their time alone together, Robert proposes that Francesca come with him when he leaves town. It’s just—promise me you’ll listen to it. There’s nothing like it. “If I Loved You” MAYBE. But nothing else like it. 

Later — A Little Night Music

My guy would absolutely have a sondheim set in his recital I just know it in my heart.

(I’ve seen guys sing this song and play the cello part live themselves, so, why not Dan?)

It’s a complicated domestic drama about a privileged family and all their internal troubles (sound familiar?)

Henrik, a lawyer’s son & lutheran seminary student, is an over-serious over-thinker, and now he’s got to fucking deal with his dad marrying a woman who’s younger than him—and yikes I just realized how close this hits god fucking help me. 

ANYWAYS this is staged with Henrik either actually playing the cello or just miming it, and I find that. very attractive.

Losing My Mind — Follies

Originally written for Dorothy Collins for a women's role, Jeremy Jordan gave a cabaret performance that still blows me away every time I listen. 

And it is BIG Daniel Humphrey Professional Yearner energy

Sally, a former star of the Ziegfield Follies, sings this ballad about Ben, the one that got away. (dairfair vibes, if you will?)

Move On (duet w/ Serena) — Sunday in the Park with George

Probably one of thee best songs in the MT zeitgeist.

It gets me every.single.time

George Seurat (french pointillist) and his lover Dot have a great grandson also named George, who is also an artist struggling to just fucking make something. 

Dot appears to him in a vision, speaks to him like he’s her George (I mean they’re both Mandy Patinkin, so), and they exchange the most poignant lyrics about art and creativity that have ever been written. Oh, Stephen <3

Being Alive — Company

You might say that this one is overdone, but when it’s done well, it always Hits.

and you KNOW Dan would do it right. 

The always single Bobby, in the midst of his paired off friends, rails at the futility of romantic relationships until he finally admits what he really wants: that. 

Don’t Stop — Fleetwood Mac

Because he has to sing an encore with Jenny. Come on, him at the piano, Jen sitting next to him, I can see it :)

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

I am reviewing my first sacrifice for consumption, ‘Woof! Woof! Bork! Nya?’ By our very own, @zane-romeave (I do believe, correct me if I tagged the wrong person lmao)

A warning from the author themselves on discord: ‘I didn’t know how to write romance so this is mostly the setup to a highschool political drama’

And the summary on the website that shan’t be named because ew stinky (/j, it’s Wattpad):

‘Kai and Ein are seniors attending Phoenix Drop High. Although neither wants to admit it, they’ve grown quite partial to each other. But, Kai’s a Meif’wa and Ein’s a werewolf. Cats and dogs should hate eachother, right?’

Kien? Kain? Is that’s the ship name? Idk I’ll shut up now

Now onto the actual review (and further summarising from myself):

It starts in Ein’s perspective, him talking about how much Phoenix Drop sucks in comparison to his old highschool (appropriately named ‘Remus Amademy’), for all the reasons that Ein would of course think something sucks. There’s a lack of paragraphs per speaker but because of the way the dialogue is written it’s easy enough to figure out who it is talking (and by that I mean they literally say it right after the dialogue. Ein begins to complain about having to be shown around by Kai because that’s what Orientation is for (in England we call it something else so sorry if that’s the wrong word). At the end of the day, Kai gives Ein his phone number, and the chapter ends Kai’s perspective, wondering what Ein is hiding.

A good start. Gotta love Kai’s phone number being 987-654-3210. There’s an introduction of two relationships (Aphmau and Kai’s with Ein), a little preview of Ein’s violent tendencies, and some mystery sprinkled in, overall setting up well for a story.

Chapter two starts with Kai looking out for Ein (stalking, but with good intention). And then him explaining some social shit, like werewolves and Meif’wa not typically being seen to hang around each other a lot, to the point where people find it strange when they do. We also meet one of Kai’s friends that I will call Chess because I think it’s funny. Then we find out he has Chemistry with Ein, and Kai wonders why no one seems fond of the guy. We know. He doesn’t.

We appreciate Kai having his own friends here in this house. Because I swear he doesn’t in canon PDH?? Idk. Appreciate the building up of the social dynamic between werewolves and Meif’wa, though, introducing an issue that may come from them being friends. Also, paragraphs for speakers begins. Negatives points for the unironic use of the word bro.

This chapter is Ein’s POV. He meets Leo (otherwise referred to as Lunar) who is kind of an ass. Kai is a sweaty little shrimp, Ein thinks that’s grim. Some dude throws up.

It was a fun chapter, albeit short. Poor Quintara, whoever he may be, and I have known Leo for all of three seconds and I am already expecting to dislike him.

Kai’s POV this time, giving us a little idea for how long he and Ein have known eachother thus far. 2 weeks. Kai is thriving in the makeup remover brand ‘school air’ and his only stress is that Leo wants him to be Saber, though thankfully the only move they’d made regarding this was sending Chess to tell him. We get some saber lore, Ein eats gummy bears in a chem lab, Kai mocks him for fearing the gummy flames as it is dropped into the molten potassium chloride. Someone and their buddy Carlos have a weird plan including pictures. Creeps.

I actually appreciated the saber lore. Idk if it’s included in canon but if it was I didn’t remember it. Thanks. And more drama, we love drama, we want drama, drama was had. Lovely. Also, Ein not obeying lad safety rules makes a lot of sense.

The final chapter, the end to it all, ‘Love, lies and fanfics’. We get Ein’s POV. He thinks he’s being stalked. Chess proves himself not to be a ‘lapdog’ like Kai suggested by saying he calls Leo ‘Lunar’ to piss him off because Leo is a racist cunt. Chess also writes fluff au fics, absolute icon. He especially likes non-violent tsunderes and megane pairings, even going on to explain the two tropes. Ein begins to think he can manipulate Chess, and then we get some more things to do with that person and Carlos. Carlos is airing them. Rude.

A cliffhanger, oh no. And it’s the end of it so far, but it’s been a fun while. We love Chess in this house, chess is an icon, Ein needs to back off. Negative points for getting me hooked on something with only five chapters, asshole /j