#she's so much less of a snob as she is in other shows

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Yandere in the apocalypse

Strawberries

M!Yandere X GN!reader Warning: stalking, mentions of killing. Summary: Continuation of the nightly visit story. The world has ended but that doesn't stop your yandere to prove (to nobody other than himself) that he can give you anything. He goes out of his way to get you something you want but things don't go as planned. Author's note: It was really nice to see the first part (and my first post) being so well received. Really thank you!!

Never will he be far behind. Always in the shadows watching over you. He truly is your guardian angel, undefeated protector, perfect boyfriend…

Though in a perfect world he would be close to you, show you how good he is to you.  But because of the friends of yours most of the time Aaron has to go unnoticed. But the times he does get close, he cherishes. 

The weather is nice and Aaron has spent the last 4 hours in a tree. Your group has made the decision to leave the city and head out into the wild. A decision he doesn't exactly agree with, for many reasons. Though your group has decided upon two night watchers now he dont believe for a second they could do a better job than him. 

Half of the group has split up from camp and gone out to look for food. You sit together with a girl with dark braids and a blond girl, who looks to be in need of a shower soon. The boy is there too, blissfully unaware of his surroundings and listening in on the conversation. 

“I LOVED to eat Moules frits, I could eat a whole bucket of those things.” The blond girl says. 

"Oh, you snob!” The braided girl exclaims. “Can you say something normal like a burger?” 

“But what is so weird about Moules frits? It's just Oysters and Fries! The blond pouts. 

“Wrong! It's Clams not Oysters, you idiot.” 

"You seem to know an awful lot about Moles frits, huh? Y/N, who do you think the real posh one is?” The blond looks over at you who throughout this whole conversation has just been smiling at the bickering. 

“Donno, seems like a tie, or what do you think Max?” You turn over to the boy who nods eagerly. You and Max exchange a look as the blond one rolls her eyes over dramatically, but the action prones a laugh out of the three of you. 

“What foods do you miss, Y/N?” Max asks when the laughing has died down. You think for a moment. 

“Well, not the canned potatoes that's for sure, or any other canned foods for that matter. I miss fresh ones, oh I know, I miss Strawberries!” You say. “And actually at this point I would be happy to have any shape, dried or fresh doesn't matter.” 

“Me too.” A voice from the bushes makes everyone jump.

Even Aaron is about to fall out of the tree. But when the other half of the group returns he swears over himself over the lack of awareness. But the conversation had made him think. If his love wants strawberries then she shall have strawberries. 

When night comes he sneaks down from his hideout. A week ago they passed a small community, odd people and overly religious. They had only really gotten a picture of them though three men who were out looking for a friend of theirs. The men had invited them back to their community but luckily your group had declined the offer. Good thing your group had caught their off vibes too and decided not to risk it. But when the both of your groups had parted ways and one of the men decided to turn back to you,  Aaron felt nothing good would come with a second encounter. So the man was killed and buried before sunrise. By then the group was up and away. 

But the men at the time had mentioned a garden filled with vegetables and fruits. Perhaps a tactic to lure you into their claws. But right now it's his best bet in finding Strawberries. 

Traveling alone ment moving at a much quicker pace. Perhaps he will be back to you in less than a week!

When he arrives he realizes the men weren't lying. If something they were playing it down by a lot.  Aaron could see “the garden” from a mile away by the size of it. The only problem he is facing now is getting in. It is surrounded by a huge fence, barbed wires, then on top of that they have built six hunting towers to guard from any intruders. 

He decides to wait until night time and while doing so he can feel his eyes grow heavier.

He wakes up (all stiff from sleeping in a tree) to the luck of a lifetime. Rockets are firing from the other side of the garden, somebody else is planning to break in too. He brings his handy pocket knife and while the guard's attention is elsewhere he takes the opportunity to run straight for one of the hunting towers. 

He just needs a little bit of luck to not be spotted now. Despite having two hunting towers at each side of him that could easily spot him he hopes their attention stays on the forest for intruders. 

The darkness hides him long enough to cut through the fence. His pocket knife pliers are weak, it takes time to cut through the fence. But not impossible. 

As he works up a hole big enough for him to fit through he can hear the guards discussing, the weak attack was quickly disarmed. But Aaron can sense them being on edge for anything else to happen. 

When he is through it's in and out. Their attention is not on the plantation but he still tries to hide amongst the greenery. It doesn't take long before he finds the red little berries. There are rows upon rows of them. They won't miss a few. When he is done collecting and placing the container back in his backpack, he turns to make his way out again. 

Just as he feels confident he is going to make it without getting spotted he gets just that. Spotted. He crawls through his hole as bullets start raining around him. His only option is to run and find shelter amongst the trees. He sprints as fast as he can, the trees approaching quickly. Just a few more steps. 

Then he feels one of the bullets hitting its target, a sharp pain shoots through his thigh. He lets out a cry of pain but with the adrenaline pumping his veins he doesn't stop. 

He pushes further and further through the forest even though he is not as fast as he would have liked, the people deciding to go after him seems to have given up the chase. Their voices grow more and more distant by the second. 

The following days are hard. He has to stop multiple times to not strain his wound too much. Worry starts to grow more and more each day. As he is slowing down you are walking further and further away. The fear something would have happened to you  while he was away grows stronger by the day. 

When the pain in his leg is unbearable as he is fighting to keep up a good pace he wishes he never left you. What if something has happened to you while he was gone? Why didn't he consider this before he left? How stupid he feels. 

He lets out a sigh of relief when he reaches a small lake and in the distance he can see your figure walking out in the water with your pants rolled up. So peaceful. Finally he can allow himself to rest and to heal. 

Mission accomplished too. He feels pride grow in his chest as he watches you. He can give you something nobody else can. He can't wait for your reaction. A smile only he could give you.

The next morning you wake up and the first thing you see is a small package with a note attached to it. 

“Whatcha got there?” Ginny asks as she frantically tries to brush through her blond curls with her fingers. 

“I don't know. Was here when I woke up.” You turn over the note and read what it says out loud. 

‘Got these for you. 

Until we meet, A.’

“A? There is no one here who starts with A.” Ginny says loudly. A ruckus begins amongst the ones that are awake. Their discussion is loud enough to wake up the rest.  

“What do I do with these?” You ask. 

“Leave them, it's not worth the risk.” Felice says and pulls her braids out from the shirt she just put on. “Come, you go with me from now on.” 

Aaron limps over to the spot you sat at as he is fighting tears. The anger and disappointment bubbling up in his chest. He wishes he could kill them, hurt them as they have hurt him. 

But all he does is pick up the berries. 

He knows revenge will come in due time.

[ckret2]

Guess who shows up in this chapter! With a ✨summer job✨!

Unlearning the "act like a rich snob" instinct is an ongoing process.

Here's "Bill is the Mystery Shack's extremely sulky prisoner" chapter 10, featuring: a haunted living doll, a trip to Greasy's, Bill acting like a playground bully, and the twins figuring out how they feel about another summer of triangle bullshit. Other chapters here. 9/29/2024 edit: now updated for TBOB compatibility!

####

Late in the morning, Mabel came home from a sleepover at Candy's. She went upstairs to drop her backpack in her room.

Unusually, Bill's nest by the attic window seat outside the kids' room was abandoned. In his place were half a dozen empty cans of hard cider and a sandwich with the crust peeled off and three bites taken out of it.

She grabbed a change of clothes and her toiletries and went to the main bathroom to shower.

The bathroom looked like a salon got in a fight with Bill's hair and won. The wet floor was coated in shorn golden locks like fallen soldiers. The air reeked of hair treatment chemicals and sick. There was a towel smeared with blood.

Maybe she'd brush her teeth downstairs and shower later.

Mabel gingerly plucked her toothbrush and toothpaste from her toiletries bag, gingerly stowed the bag in a bathroom cabinet, and retreated.

She descended the stairs warily.

Soos's blanket of the anti-Bill zodiac no longer hung on the living room wall. 

Mabel moved on to the downstairs half-bath. She pulled aside the doorway curtain.

There, sitting in the dark, curled into a ball in the small space between the sink and the toilet, was a human shape. Draped over it was Soos's zodiac blanket. The head of the thing under the blanket lifted and blindly turned toward the sound of Mabel drawing the curtain. The zodiac was positioned just right so that the image of Bill Cipher covered the hidden face like a mask. The false Bill stared into Mabel's eyes.

Mabel quietly backed out of the bathroom. She let the curtain fall shut.

She stood in the hallway, hand to her chin, contemplating the omens she'd witnessed.

She said, "Something happened last night."

####

Less than a week into summer vacation, Dipper and Mabel had seen every single movie currently playing. (They'd even seen the R movies, after getting advice from Jeff on how to convincingly pull off the "two kids in a trench coat" gambit. Thompson made direct eye contact with Dipper in the theater lobby. He said nothing.)

They'd hung out with all their friends, had at least one meal over at each of their houses, and caught up on a school year's worth of gossip. Mabel had sleepovers nearly every night, alternating between Grenda's and Candy's houses. Even Dipper had voluntarily subjected himself to an evening of aggressive girliness in order to tag along for one of the sleepovers. (They'd probably only gotten permission because Grenda's mother assumed "Mabel's twin" must be a sister.)

They found a fairy ring in the forest that connected to a crop circle in Wiltshire, England. They discovered a crane game at the mall that was full of haunted dolls. They took Waddles for a walk and had to save him from a cult of feral flower children that wanted to sacrifice him to their love shack.

In other words, they did everything they could think of to avoid home.

When they were in the Mystery Shack, they were either in their bedroom or using the bathroom. They avoided the kitchen and living room as much as they could, they talked more quietly in their room in case of an eavesdrooper, and they fell silent when they heard the floor creaking outside their room. They tiptoed whenever they had to pass Bill's nest by the window seat to reach the stairs. They grew accustomed to strange thuds and quickly cut-off arguments, although they never became comfortable with them. They got used to waking up afraid.

The plague of hair was new; but it was, they had to agree, exactly the kind of thing they expected at this point.

"You could collect some of the hair," suggested the haunted porcelain doll they'd gotten from the crane game. "You could make a poppet. It would let you control him. I could teach you how. All you need is that hair, five black candles, a doll—"

"Nope," Dipper said. He was getting dressed in their bedroom alcove with the curtain drawn. "You're always trying to make more haunted dolls, Bartholomew, and the answer's always no!"

"It won't be haunted!" Bartholomew insisted. "Honest! I promise! Not initially. Until you use it to kill Bill."

"Listen, young man." Mabel scooped the porcelain doll up from the cardboard cradle she'd made for him. "We've told you, we can't kill Bill until we know it won't cause the apocalypse! Do you want the world to end?"

Bartholomew let out the longest, heaviest sigh that had ever come out of a doll with an unmoving face. "No. I don't."

"That's right. So reign in that bloodthirst, Barty!"

"Ugh. Fine."

"Good!" She set Bartholomew back down.

Dipper asked, "Could we use a poppet to control him in non-fatal ways, though?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Torture it, restrain it, freeze it, burn it, cast spells on it, soak it in lemon juice, throw it in the dryer—hey, that one's really funny—"

Dipper pulled aside the curtain and looked at Mabel. "Maybe a poppet wouldn't be a bad idea. In case Bill tries anything."

They collected the biggest, healthiest lock of hair off the bathroom floor, stuck it in a sandwich bag they found at the bottom of Dipper's backpack, stuffed it in his backpack, and left the house to look for brunch.

####

Dipper and Mabel had been putting off visiting Greasy's Diner as long as possible, hoping that at least Grunkle Stan could come along for their first visit of the summer, if not the whole Pines family; but after coping with another morning of Bill-related nonsense, and hearing from Soos that Stan and Ford had also been up half the night dealing with said nonsense and would probably sleep in, they decided they really needed to visit somewhere as comforting and familiar as possible.

And so, off they went to Greasy's. Lazy Susan warmly greeted them, asked when Stan would come by, showed them to a booth, and then left them with a couple of menus and their glum thoughts.

"Dipper?" Mabel spun the laminated menu on the table top. "You remember how at the start of last summer, we just thought Grunkle Stan was some weird smelly old guy and we wanted to do anything except hang out with him?"

"Ugh, don't remind me. If this was last year, I'd be sweeping up dead hair instead of getting breakfast right now." He laughed weakly; but he knew that wasn't what Mabel was getting at. "This summer's even worse, isn't it."

She stopped spinning her menu to look across the table at Dipper. "We still haven't spent any time with Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, but this time I feel all guilty about it."

"I'm pretty sure they feel guilty about it, too."

"It's not their fault, though."

It wasn't Dipper and Mabel's fault, either, but pointing that out wouldn't help. Dipper also felt like they'd callously abandoned their grunkles in Bill-infested territory while they ran off to have fun. The fact Stan and Ford they kept telling the kids that they wanted them to have fun didn't lessen the feeling that they were traitors. "Grunkle Stan did say we could take a fishing trip once everyone's figured out the best... guard schedule."

"I know, but there's still..." Mabel waved a hand in vague circles. "All this. I almost feel like..."

She didn't want to say out loud that she wanted to go home; saying it would start tilting their course in that direction. If she said it, and if she found out that Dipper agreed, then it might come true. And nothing would be worse than that.

Dipper didn't want to say it, either. "This won't be all summer," he said. "Grunkle Ford already has a weapon that can get rid of B—Goldie's body and whatever's inside of it, no matter if he's human or alien. He won't even leave a ghost. It's just out of fuel right now. He only needs to find enough to take one shot, and then the rest of our summer goes back to normal. Right?"

Mabel took a moment too long to reply. "Right," she said. "It's that quantum jumbo-laser thing you told me about, right?"

"Yeah, the Quantum Destabilizer."

"How long will it take to get the fuel?" Mabel asked. "Is there anything we can do? I hate just having to... steer around everything while the grown-ups try to deal with it without us."

"Yeah. So do I." 

Before Dipper had to admit that he didn't know what it would take to refuel the Quantum Destabilizer, someone approached the table. "Hey, I'll be your waitress this morning. Do you guys have any questions about the menu, or..." The waitress trailed off in horror as she registered her guests' faces. "Oh no."

Dipper and Mabel gaped. "Pacifica?!"

She hid her face behind her notebook. "Don't say anything. Do not say anything."

"You work here?" Mabel asked, followed immediately by Dipper, "You work?"

Pacifica's cheeks flushed. "Don't make a big deal out of it okay! I'm not, like, working-working! I'm just—making some pocket money, that's all!"

"That's working-working," Mabel said.

"Pacifica—" Dipper had to choke back a laugh at the absurd sight. She was wearing normal people clothes. She was wearing an apron. "What."

"Okay, look!" She slapped her notebook on the table. "It's not like I'm poor or anything? But after we built a smaller manor, my parents slashed my allowance—my wardrobe budget only covers a new summer/spring wardrobe instead of summer and spring wardrobes—and like... it's hard, okay? So I'm just—doing a few odd gigs or whatever. To keep up with my hobbies! That's it."

Dryly, Dipper said, "Wow. Earning money if you want to buy things."

"It must be so hard." Mabel was doing a slightly less successful job of maintaining a poker face.

"Oh, whatever! You two just don't appreciate the value of hard work." Over Dipper and Mabel's giggles, Pacifica stuck her nose in the air and went on, "I'm investing in my future. I'm picking up part-time jobs while you two are spending your summer goofing off! It's like you're saying you don't want to have money."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Mabel said, "Soos said he'll pay us $20 an hour to help in the gift shop."

"He what?!" Pacifica's jaw dropped. "Shut up! There is no way that cheesy tourist trap can afford those kinds of wages! Is it even legal for Soos to hire you! Aren't you, like, thirteen!"

Dipper said, "Aren't you thirteen?"

Pacifica huffed. "Never mind, I don't even care about your dumb job! This isn't even my main income stream. I've got this great modeling gig coming up with a huge paycheck, so—forget you you guys!" She flipped her hair and stomped off.

And immediately stomped back. "I forgot to take your orders."

"Pancakes." "Also pancakes."

"Fine." She re-flipped her hair and stomped off.

Mabel leaned across the table to whisper to Dipper, "Wow, the return of Rudy McSnootypants! Did she switch from acting snobby over being rich to acting snobby over being working class?"

"She's probably just embarrassed," Dipper said. "She's actually been pretty cool the last few months. When we play Bloodcraft together, she's... I mean, okay, during PVP matches she's the meanest person ever, and she's the worst to healers—but she's nice enough outside of that."

"Oh, yeah." Mabel grinned. "Guess she never mentioned her new job while you guys were playing?"

"Nope."

"You're probably right! She was nice when I talked to her about making her blanket. She even shipped new materials to me when she wanted alpaca yarn instead of acrylic." Mabel's voracious yarn habit did not have the budget for alpaca yarn.

Dipper laughed, "Wow, I can't believe Pacifica had to get a job just to afford your blanket."

"What can I say, I'm a master artisan!"

Pacifica returned, set down two plates of pancakes and two sodas, and said, "This is a bribe. Free drinks all summer if you don't tell anybody else about this. All the other cool kids would ditch me and my family would kill me if they knew. They cannot find out."

Mabel considered the offer. "Free drinks and dessert."

Pacifica bounced a heel as she considered the offer. "Only out of the half-off day-old pie case."

"That sounds fair."

"Okay. Deal. Um, thanks." Pacifica turned to go, then paused. "Hey, Dipper. Your uncles don't use the Internet, right? Does that mean you won't be available for Bloodcraft this summer?"

"Soos finally got the shack online. He says the Internet goes out when the weather's eldritch, but I can borrow his computer for our guild raids. He understands how important it is."

Pacifica's eyes lit up. "Cool. Then I'll see you on raid night."

"Yeah! See you then."

Pacifica left to tend to another table, and Dipper said, "Yeah, she was just embarrassed. She's fine. ... Why are you smiling."

"Guild raids? Am I gonna have to warn Kelsey about Pacifica—?"

"Mabel!" Dipper's face flushed. "Come on, we're not—! Worry about your own love life. We've almost been here a week, haven't you found a new crush yet?"

"I've decided love will find me when it finds me. For now, I'm focusing on my matchmaking services."

"Well! Make a match somewhere else."

"You're sooo red right now. Bop." Mabel leaned across the table to poke Dipper's nose, then dug into her pancakes. "You know... even with everything going on—I'm glad we're here. Think! If we'd gone home as soon as we found out we'd be stuck with him all summer, we'd never have learned Pacifica is a waitress. Or met Barty-Mew! Mew-mew. Meow."

"So that makes it worth it, huh?"

"Yes! Making new friends! Being around our old friends! Being part of their lives again. I don't want to miss out on that because I'm afraid. Do you?"

Dipper half smiled. "No. I don't. If we were home, I'd be missing Gravity Falls and still worrying. At least here, we can keep an eye on him."

"Yeah!" Mabel beamed. "We got off to a little bit of a rocky start, but this summer's gonna be great! And there's nothing he can do to stop it! Right?" She offered her fist.

"Right." Dipper fistbumped her.

####

Stan and Ford were worrying over coffee mugs in the kitchen when the door opened, but both their faces lit up when they saw Dipper and Mabel in the entryway. Stan said, "Hey, kids! Whaddaya doing back here?"

"Soos said you'd just gone out," Ford said. "We weren't expecting you back until this evening."

Mabel bounded into the kitchen. "We decided to hang out here today!" She hugged Stan and Ford in turn.

Stan looked between them in surprise. "Really? To do what?"

Mabel said, "Art project!" at the same time Dipper said, "Sorcery."

"I'm gonna sew a doll with Barty," Mabel said. "We'll figure out what to do with the rest of the day after that."

Dipper said, "Grunkle Ford, do you know anything about poppets?"

"Huh." He stroked his chin. "I'm familiar with the concept, but I've never encountered a working one myself. I probably can't tell you much you don't know yourself."

"That's okay." Dipper puffed his chest out. "After we've made one, maybe I can show you my research on them?"

Ford smiled. "Maybe you can. We still haven't compared our past year's research notes, have we? I just haven't been able to find time, with..." His smile faltered.

Firmly, Dipper said, "We'll make time."

"But later!" Mabel insisted, hanging off the kitchen doorframe by one hand, "C'mon, Dipper! Arts and witchcrafts!" She bounded up the attic stairs two at a time. Dipper followed after her.

Stan turned to Ford. "Who's Barty?" Ford shrugged.

Mabel froze at the top of the stairs. The zodiac blanket-bedecked specter was back upstairs in his usual spot, curled up in the window seat, apparently trying to read a book through the gaps in the yarn.

But she quickly gathered her courage again. "Hey! Stinky!"

Bill turned to face her. "Yello?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not afraid of you! There's nothing you can do to make me afraid of you ever again!"

The yarn triangle face stared at Mabel in unimpressed indifference. "Ouch. You're breaking my heart, Shooting Star."

"And I'll break your face if you ever try to torture my family again!"

"Hey, whoa, that's a loaded word! I never tortured anyone in your family," Bill said. "Except Stanford. And he knows what he did."

"What are you talking about! You stuck me in a bubble!"

"That wasn't torture. You had a great time."

Coming up the stairs behind Mabel, Dipper did a startled double-take—this was his first time seeing the blanket ghost—but he said, "You threw me down the stairs and stabbed my arm."

"That was self-torture, and I had a great time."

"I don't care what you call it with your fancy words!" Mabel said. "The point is, everything I wrote last fall goes double!"

"Yeah!" Dipper said.

Unperturbed, Bill said, "'Wrote'?"

"W—yeah. The ones we stuck in your book. The one you were using to try to contact us from the dead," Dipper said. "Don't act like you didn't see our letters telling you never to bother us again."

"You mean the letters you taped to my pages blank side down, with all your messages facing outward from the book?"

Dipper and Mabel processed that. "Aw, man," Dipper said. "And after I wrote that cool boast."

"Oh did you." Bill cupped a hand around where his ear was hidden. "Well? Let's hear it."

Dipper's brows furrowed. "Uh... It was something about—"

"Go on!"

"Um—"

"I'm waaaitiiing!"

"I can't remember it."

"Aww, what a shame."

"Well, I remember mine!" Mabel said. "I said if you ever bother my family again, I'm dipping you in guacamole and biting your in half! Which—made a lot more sense when you looked like a chip!" She turned away from Bill, did her best approximation of Pacifica's dismissive hair flip, and flounced off to the bedroom. "And stay away from Grunkle Ford!" She slammed the door.

"Pfff." Bill turned toward Dipper as he passed by and asked wryly, "What'd I do to warrant all this? Have I not been minding my own business and avoiding you humans intimidatingly enough?"

"No. No quippy banter. We're not doing that. Banter is for friendly chess club rivals, not attempted murderers."

"Oh, you joined the chess club?"

"Shut up." Dipper put his hand on the doorknob, stopped, and about-faced to squint at Bill's book. "Is that—? How did you get my journal!"

"I summoned a living shadow and commanded it to bring me your worst and deepest secrets— Just kidding. You left it in the bathroom, genius."

Dipper must have taken it out of his backpack when he was looking for a baggie for the hair sample. "Give it back!"

Bill held out the book—and jerked it back when Dipper reached for it. "Too slow!" He held it over his head. 

"Hey! Bill!" Dipper jumped for the book. "I know martial arts!"

Bill got up on his knees to keep the book out of Dipper's range. "And I like pain! Fighting me will annoy you more than it'll hurt me!"

"Come on, man!" Dipper stuck his fingers in the blanket like a cat climbing a curtain as he tried to reach the book. He took a deep breath. "GRUNKLE FO—"

"Don't!" Bill shoved Dipper back.

Dipper fell to the ground, taking the blanket with him. He groaned—then froze, staring at the burns, the bandages, the raw red-rimmed eyes.

Until Bill shoved Dipper's journal in his face. "Sheesh, relax." He glared down at Dipper, eyes squinting unevenly, a hard smile forced onto his face—then snatched back the blanket. He turned it in his hands until he'd found his face again and pulled it back on. "You can't take a joke."

Dipper gave him a dark look, but retreated after Mabel.

Ford climbed the stairs just high enough to shoot Bill a suspicious look.

Bill returned the stare, head cocked in a pantomime of wide-eyed innocence. "What?" He flung his hands in the air. "What! I'm just sitting here!"

Ford narrowed his eyes, but went back downstairs. 

Bill's gaze drifted again to the kids' door. "'Not afraid of me,' huh? Pfft." He turned to watch the world through the window. "Yeah. That could be useful."

####

"What do you think?" Mabel asked, plopping the Bill-shaped doll in front of Bartholomew for inspection. It was shaped like a fabric gingerbread man. It had X's for eyes and was sticking its tongue out. "I made his dress out of a sock!" 

"I guess it'll do," Bartholomew said. "The clothes could be nicer."

"Nice clothes are for nice people. He can deal with the sock dress." She considered her handiwork again, then said, "I guess a few more flowers on the dress wouldn't hurt." She rummaged in her craft supply basket for her yellow puffy fabric paint, and asked, "How's that pentagram coming, bro?"

"Just about finished." Dipper set the last candle on the fifth corner of the chalk star he'd drawn between their beds, checked to make sure all the lines were connected, then pulled out a matchbook and lit the candles. "Okay, now what?"

Bartholomew said, "Now, we wait until the next full moon to start the binding ritual."

"When's that?"

"In about two weeks."

Dipper looked at the pentagram, looked at Bartholomew, and said, "So why am I setting this up right now?"

"That's what I've been wondering."

Dipper grumbled and started blowing out candles.

Mabel pulled out a couple balls of yellow yarn and asked, "Hey Dipper, can you get the hair baggie? I need to see which shade of yellow matches Bill's hair better."

"Sure." He rummaged around in his backpack. "Although if you want the poppet to be accurate, you should just leave it bald." He looked at Bartholomew. "Does accuracy affect how well a poppet works?"

"It can be pretty loose," Bartholomew said. "Give it the hair. Blondes are hot."

"You're a creep." Mabel threw a yarn ball at Bartholomew's face. "What do you mean, 'leave it bald'?"

Dipper said, "I saw under the blanket. Bill looks like he burned his hair off."

"Whaaat!"

"Yeah, he's totally bald except for a bit on the back of his head. Not a surprise, considering how the bathroom looks, but—yeah." He snorted. "Maybe he tried to copy Grunkle Ford's shaving technique."

Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out. "So... he's just hiding because he's embarrassed?"

"I guess," Dipper said. "Huh. Kinda makes it seem less creepy when you put it that way. Even Bill Cipher can have bad hair days."

"Guess so."

So Bill was basically in Sweater Town: hiding under a protective layer of yarn because he felt bad. It must be really horrible if he'd been hiding all day. Mabel considered that, staring at the bald doll she'd made.

Then she grabbed her ball of yarn and started giving the doll hair.

####

(If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!)

[sgiandubh]

A tale of two brands

Sophie Mancini's Departures paper on S in NY started a flurry of comments even before the whole content was made available on blogs. That people - mostly in Mordor - jumped in to add their two booing cents on the matter, based on two or three Instagram Story screencaps only, is a testimony to Tumblr's community deep interest in S's slightest PR/sales move and the easiness with which people like *urv managed to push their own agenda, in the process, to her unsuspecting, bicep-loving crowd.

Many of these comments asked just one question, more or less kindly and more or less openly: who are you, Sam Roland Heughan? Some of them, more along my alley, took a different angle: who are you talking to, Sam Roland Heughan?

Let me count the US crowds: the Wall Street yuppie crowd? the old money, WASP Knickerbocker / Colony Club crowd? Tribeca's sophisticated, culture-ish snob crowd? the UN international crowd? the laid-back (-ish) brownstone Brooklyn crowd? the DC politico types? the Boston Brahmin crowd? the Silicon Valley Bitcoin crowd? the Florida Latino crowd? the Bible Belt crowd? the Deep South charmingly old-fashioned crowd? the yee-haw, witty and ambitious Texans? the gourmet, nature-loving Seattle crowd? I am sure I am missing some (it's been a while I haven't traveled to the States and I have to say I miss all 50 of them, plus and perhaps above all my beloved DC :), but you get the idea. And the problem, or rather its first layer.

The second question this very poorly written article prompted is: what are you talking about, Sam Roland Heughan? I mean, what destination are you trying to promote? Scotland, through your Scottish gin, which I truly believe is exceptional? The Big Apple, like a counterpart to Sting, you know - a Scotsman in New York? That's not very clear, since that superficial girl just whirled you to a couple Chinatown speakeasies, rat pitter-patter included (bye-bye, Knickerbocker crowd right there) and that's pretty much it. New Zealand, that you mention at length, Maori tattoo story re-hashed, just because the book comes out next Tuesday? Ha-wa-wee, perhaps in a belated attempt to mitigate Tunagate? California, even, because it takes you back to humble beginnings? Granted, the Frisco one, not LA: that would be a horrible faux-pas, in a NY centered paper, much like me whimsically and idiotically mentioning Istanbul (instead of Constantinople), in a conversation with my Greek friends.

My head spins. And then let's add to that a ladle of recycled talking points, yours and C's altogether, like this gem:

Aspirational. Mmmhm. She said that. You said that. Multiple times, in multiple contexts that probably didn't even call for it. This is *** PR right there. I am not JAMMF. I am not Claire. But we aspire to that. Stop thinking we are these characters. No sane fan ever did: the insistence is unnecessary and has a real backfire potential. Stop thinking, period. But let it be my shipper sin, then, not to believe an iota of it and stubbornly think you people are, by now, way past the aspirational stage.

So, I took a long walk down memory lane today, while driving, trying to understand what the hell your personal brand is. Once upon a time, things were clear: you and C were a single brand. S&C - the fresh-faced, candid, witty and funny and oh, so in love new kids on the block. The spark was real and it was strong (it still is, only dampened and muted by PR-prompted shenanigans) and OL's audience was under its spell. People loved you, both of you, and some of us still do. You showed us as much as you could and for a while, it seemed to be convenient for just about everybody. That created expectations, but at the same time, you could have sold us land concessions on the Moon and we would have bought them, no questions asked.

And then, things happened. We know what: IFH, EFH, Remarkable Week-end. The spell was broken for many, who left in droves. Fans turned into bashing other fans. The S&C brand was progressively compromised and along with it, your Barbour Ambassadorship (for different reasons). Let's stop a bit at this point, in fond remembrance: that was the perfect pitch, for the perfect kind of corporate brand, for the perfect niche, for the perfect guy. A guy who had a credible, authentic story to tell, with a really strong potential to attract people outside of OL's crowd. Image and message perfectly aligned. Best case scenario.

So, with ***'s and your own PR benediction, what once was your solid gold starting point was ridiculed, trampled, shot to shambles, in a (failed) attempt to be sent to complete oblivion. You then had to think of something and try to branch out of both the blessing and curse of it.

MPC suddenly became more important than just any other charity project, of which there were a few (Cahonas Scotland comes to mind, the blood cancer one, as well). Cue in Sam the Athlete, Sam the Healthy Living Evangelist. The project was turned into a lucrative business, with a strong charity side. People bought subscriptions, people changed their eating and lifestyle habits, people lost weight - but really, I shouldn't write 'people', but 'women'. This was a women-oriented endeavor. A problem, again, on the long term.

Ha-wa-wee 1 happened, to more scandal and shrieks (that, I believe, was the reason you lost the Barbour project, another gold opportunity squandered because ten Internet bitches knew better). Then we were told another avatar was born: Sam the Entrepreneur. With a genuine, carefully curated, labor of love first alcohol product that clearly used the discarded S&C brand: The Sassenach and believe what you want, but just buy it. Mommies obliged. Antis obliged. Shippers obliged. All wallets are created equal, as I (often) use to say. And then COVID-19 came, putting a very real, very dangerous logistic strain on it.

Yet, you still had to somehow mitigate delays and losses. The Sassenach went exotic, with that limited edition tequila that probably won't be remembered by many outside OL's fandom, and that is a pity and a shame. The reason it won't be remembered is that you almost did not promote it, spare one or two Tick-Tock and Instagram clips. Does that justify the investment, the trips to Mexico, the very expensive retainers and commissions your tequila friends took for their trouble? I very much doubt it. That was, until being proved completely wrong, a flop. It brought absolutely nothing in terms of personal branding, spare perhaps a new faction in this paranoid cesspool of a fandom: the Gay Crowd, fueled by the image of a Lonely Bandana Cowboy, instead of the intended Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur. Yes, people are stupid, like that. Your PR and Sales team, too - and this comes from a place of deep understanding and appreciation.

We are now talking gin and boy, am I glad we do! This is perhaps an opportunity. Finally, a more democratically price-tagged, carefully tailored (again) drawing card product. But who is selling it to me? The California Boat Party Host? In that case, I won't buy it, but never mind me: maybe the fun-loving California Millennials would (we know the Smuggling Mommies would do it, anyways). The Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur you tried to show us again in Mancini's abysmal Departures paper and who is invited to important events, in recognition of his efforts?

You can't have the two of them, Sam, whatever those incompetents told you. You're either a 43-years old midlife crisis-stricken and shirtless clown or an Old World Industrious Thespian, with a stature and a status to match. A real Entrepreneur, not a cartoon scuba diver/beach boy Influencer. Eye Candy vs. Brain Power: after all, you are a '3x NYT best selling author', aren't you? Your pick, not mine. Stop the Sri Mataji-style Hugging and Booze tours: it's nonsense and that geriatric crowd is nowhere near what you need to make your dream come true. Do some real soul searching and stop listening to clueless 28-year old journalists, who tell you tacky rings are fun: they aren't. They make you look like an ageing Atlantic City Sinatra wannabe:

Sam Roland Heughan: currently at crossroads, trying to not choose between two opposite personal brands. Tricky position and an even trickier context, with the strike still lingering on and the pressing need to find an after OL strategy.

I promised you a tale of two brands and I think you wonder, by now, what happened to C, the other half of the primary SC brand?

The answer is, I honestly believe, not much. She has no personal brand, so to speak. Until now, she is just an Enthusiastic Dilettante. Book Club - started, unfinished and with that, farewell to any fan engagement. Cinema production rights - bought and then silence. Botanical Gin - first batch released (?) with no promo, no interviews (mentioning it in a podcast does not count), no reviews. Then teasing, then crickets again: a bit late, now, for the end of year celebrations. And I have to say I miss her or the part of her I never witnessed in real time (is such a thing possible?). I miss that starry-eyed, funny and witty girl. That girl was somehow completely swallowed by an Acrid Matron, who thought it was intelligent to yell at an Internet nobody, on Christmas Day, 'I am not married to Sam!' (ok, you aren't, but you're still lying). And I honestly don't know which one is best (or worst, for that matter): try to build something and make mistakes and try again until you hopefully find your way, or say nothing, do nothing and of course, never be controversial.

Now I am really interested to see how is she going to promote her gin. But you know what, I am not holding my breath, for some reason.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Dolce

Chapter Twenty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Word Count: 1787

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, minor backstory, they're idiots your honor, unbeta'd

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Apart from being sick, I second and third and quintuple guessed myself on this chapter and then thoroughly ignored the difficult parts and just let them have a conversation on their own. That's it, it's just a phone call. xoxo Stu

Forgive me @lastactiontricia <3

Series Masterlist

You stood in your kitchen staring at the food in the fridge. It wasn’t much, but you had options.You just hated them all at that moment. You closed the door and slogged over to the pantry. It was the Friday night after Dean’s birthday and you wanted nothing to do with your phone or work or anything social media related. 

So you had turned off your ringer and left it to charge. 

You grabbed a bag of microwave popcorn out of the box and ripped off the plastic wrap. It was a poor excuse for dinner, but it at least would tide you over while you decided what you actually wanted to eat. Then you poured yourself a glass of wine, a sweet white because you were not a snob about it. No matter how many trips to Napa people took you on, you really weren’t going to spend an arm and a leg on a bottle that you only half-heartedly appreciated.

Once it was ready, you took the puffed up bag of popcorn with you to the living room because what was the point of making another dish? And decidedly resorted to turning on the tv.

The thing about streaming shows is that even though your attention wavered, the consistency of the characters on the screen made you feel less alone. You got through six episodes before you realized you never made anything for dinner. And at that point, it was too late to start. You stomped around trying to remember where you left your phone only to find a missed call from Dean and a dozen random texts from other people.

You double checked you didn’t have any voicemails and scrolled down to order delivery. Once dinner was finally sorted, you poured yourself the last of the bottle of wine and called Dean back.

The phone rang in your ear as you sat in the corner of your couch, criss-cross applesauce while turning on the next episode on mute. He answered on the fourth ring.

“Trouble, hey!”

“You rang?” You took a sip. Wherever he was was loud, but you could hear him moving through the buzz of passing conversation and cutlery.

“Yeah, you got a minute?”

“The night is my oyster, what’s up?” You leaned forward and set your glass on the coffee table, stretching back and settling in for whatever fire you were going to have to put out next.

The sounds surrounding Dean ended abruptly and he exhaled. “Not much, just grabbing drinks with some people from the label with Bela. You know, schmoozing the uppity ups.”

“Oh— good luck with that.” You shifted onto one hip and hugged your knee. “Tell her she has to pick where we’re getting brunch because the place I wanted is closed for remodeling—- and that she’s paying.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I’ll fucking cover it, okay? Anything else you need me to tell her? Cuz I could go back in there and just hand her the phone if you want—”

“Nope— no, sorry. It’s fine. You okay?” Something in his voice was setting off a proximity alarm in your head, not full blown panic mode, but enough to let you know something had appeared on the horizon. 

“Yeah, ‘m good. It’s just not my kind of thing—- Bela’s great at these things— I just stand there wishing I could be anywhere else.”

“I’m surprised you even showed up— especially with rehearsals starting Monday.” You grabbed your wine again, waiting Dean out.

“Gotta play nice— you said so,�� Dean teased, you could hear the soft hum of his smugness before he shifted gears. “Listen— that whole thing with Cas and the birthday bus— and the whole day actually—”

“Are you really gonna start bitching about that now? Dean, it is so not the time— don’t you have someone’s ass to kiss?”

“What?! I’m not— would you let me finish?! Jesus. I was trying to thank you!--- Don’t know why, now, but yeah.”

You bit your lips and perked up, straightening your back and wagging your head a little back and forth. “Oh? By all means— continue.”

“Yeah, okay, smart ass.”

You cackled and let him stew a bit.

“It was seriously the best, okay? Like, top five of all time.” Dean switched ears and you tried not to squee with the idea of making him so happy he’d been thinking about it for days. That he had to call you to tell you— even as an excuse to escape a less than stellar social situation. Everything seemed to sparkle on your skin, but that could have been the Reisling. “And about dragging Cas out— that was an unexpected gift. So, yeah, thank you— for all your trouble.”

You groaned.

“Oh come on! That one wasn’t that bad.” Dean pretended to be affronted and you pretended to be annoyed.

“Sure.”

He sniggered. “It was good to see him. It’d been too damn long.”

“Seriously. We had lunch and just getting to hang out with him made everything better.”

“Yeah.” Dean was thinking and you let him.

The television was frozen on the prompt screen, judging you for still watching, but you ignored it. You finished your wine and looked at the last drops through the curved glass, distracted by the reflection of your empty living room.

“You think he’s doing alright? I mean— he’s got a freakin’ kid. That’s got to have been a total mindfuck— you know?”

Naturally, Dean was worried about how Cas was, not about harboring grudges or blaming him for the rift between them. At least not out loud.

“I cannot imagine— and luckily we don’t have to worry about anyone trying to pull that again.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Fuckin’ Lisa, I almost forgot about that. That was like the first big thing you had to bury when you started.”

You sat up and climbed onto your knees, like getting taller would help make your point. “Oh, I know! God that was such an uphill battle, even when she pretended to play nice. I still get the heebie jeebies when I pass her yoga studio on the way to Charlie’s.”

Dean chuckled. “Man— the things we do for fame. We are paying you, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Okay, good, probably should be more though, especially with all the Bela stuff.”

“Dean— I make well over the industry standard percentage with you guys. Plus, you barely even charge me rent. I’m doing fine.”

“Whatever—- still, want you to know your hard work is appreciated.”

You settled back down and picked at the seam of your leggings. “That is the weirdest way you could have said thank you, I hope you know.”

“Fuck off— Thank you, okay? THANK YOU. Should I spell it out? Maybe say it in Spanish?”

“Claro.”

“Como se dice ‘bite me’, huh?”

“Muérdeme.”

“Uhhh—- yeah, not gonna try that one while I’m standing in an alley alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should probably go back inside. People are waiting on you.”

“They barely even looked up when I stepped away— Bela’d message me if it was a problem.”

“Deeeeeean.”

“Trouuubbbllllle,” the way his voice rumbled with your nickname made it hard to remember you were even wearing clothes.

You climbed off the couch and decided to put your glass in the dishwasher for something to do. He wasn’t going back into the restaurant, but he wasn’t exactly keeping you from anything either.

“Why’d you call if you were out anyway?”

“Heh— I called you to talk me into going through with it.”

Oops. “Well good job on getting there on your own.”

“I was already halfway to Bela’s anyway. Paps perked up real fast when we rolled up. Gonna have to switch out Baby for a rental one of these days. Don't like the way they hone in on her.”

You rolled your eyes. “Probably a good idea, especially if you need privacy.”

“Not really the point of this little arrangement is it?”

“Okay, but still, be safe.”

“With my car? Always.”

You smiled to yourself when there was a knock at your door.

“Somebody there?” You hadn’t realized he could hear it over the line.

“Just dinner.” You beelined through the living room, suddenly starving. You pinched your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you unlocked the front door. 

“So, what? Just another night in for you? Lemme guess, messy bun and no bra, maybe some leggings?”

You made sure everything was in the bag where the driver left it and dragged it back to the kitchen for a plate. “Is this you asking me what I’m wearing?”

“Maybe.”

You stopped short, and had to lift the bag up onto the counter a second time to keep it from becoming one with the floor. “Ha, ha.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’m gonna do anything here. Just making conversation.”

You ground your teeth, anger spiking from this sudden turn into teasing. “Yeah, well, when it’s the closest thing to a come on I’ve had in months— it feels a little bit more than that.”

You feel the penny drop.

“Dry spell, huh? I was wondering about that.”

“Oh shut it. You’ve got a fairytale fake girlfriend and I’ve got a band to keep relevant, neither of us is really out there mingling.”

Dean cleared his throat. “You can take time off—- if you need, you know that right? Hell, find somebody’s discarded boyfriend backstage and burn off some steam or something. ‘S one of the perks of a tour.---- But take care of yourself first, alright?”

You look up at the ceiling at the rows of spotlights Dean installed, once upon a time, that framed the island and sighed. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you— like— ever again.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll have a sleepover and braid Sam’s hair.”

You sputtered and then went back to dishing up your food.

“Muérdeme, Dean. Then we’d have to listen to all the kinky shit him and Madison are into, no thank you.”

“Touche.”

You heard Dean’s phone buzz with a notification. The metaphorical clock struck twelve.

“That’s Bela, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Okay, well, it’s been fun.”

You inhaled and sent him off, “go get ‘em, champ.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks again for the birthday shenanigans. I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be at rehearsal, but I’ve got calls and stuff scheduled throughout the day.”

“Sounds good. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

Something lingered between you in the silence and before you could say something you’d regret, you finally ended the call. It almost felt like he was waiting you out, making sure not to be the one that hung up first.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

[tagthescullion]

I like how you write Maria di Angelo. I don't like it when people portray her as some modern-day at-odds-with-society feminist. Sure, she might've been liberal (probably unlikely though) but liberal *for her time*, which people always seem to forget. Maria could've been the most liberal-minded openminded person in the world and she would still be considered conservative by today's standards. This was the 40s after all, but too many people don't really seem to know what it was actually like then.

thanks anon, I do love talking about maria :D

TLDR: I assume she was liberal in a few aspects of her life, but considering the time and social context she lived. also, at least while she lived in italy, being openly nice to the people being persecuted meant dying, and she wouldn't have wanted to get nico and bianca into trouble

not only does maria belong to a different time but people have a very black-and-white view of liberalism

1- liberalism in the US isn't liberal by any standard outside of the US, US liberalism is as conservative as liberalism can get, so whenever the US half of the fandom speaks about it, pinch of salt and whatnot

2- having an open mind in some aspects of your life doesn't mean having them in every aspect of your life. I can be super okay with gay people and then get scared about the homeless; I can be supportive of socialism but think some people of colour aren't welcome in certain social circles; I can call my mother a snob and yet be the most christian conservative in the world.. hell, I can be racist to some PoC and supportive of others!

in maria's case, I think she was liberal enough when it came to:

women, I mean, she managed having two illegitimate children (regardless of how covered by her family that might or not have been)

she clearly didn't agree with italy's fascist regime (otherwise she wouldn't have moved to the US), so she would've been against the extermination of the ethnic/religious groups mussolini targeted

and in general, about her we know:

she was a good mother, she cared about nico and bianca, and was patient enough to have got to know hades' good side

she was also an aristocrat or rich enough to belong to the elite

that's virtually all we know. not more, not less

being against genocide isn't always a direct link to being okay with those groups, and so we can't know for sure if she was okay with gay people. since she's a good mum and loves nico, we can guess she'd have extended some support, but support at the time wasn't the same as now, it always came with a "but don't show it" side-message

being rich, it's likely she'd have been accidentally rude to middle/lower class people.. (nico should also be, but that's for another day) not openly targeting them, but comments here and there that make for awkward pauses

she would've been okay with PoC she knew, but not necessarily have a good idea of ethnicities as a collective group

as for openly showing that "liberal" side of her, we're talking proper fascism, gente, say you don't mind gay people, or black people, romani, jews, be too loud about how a woman should have a choice as to whether to be a housewife or have a paying job and not getting married.. you got shot or made to disappear

admittedly this is a headcanon of mine, but the way I see maria, she would've prioritised her kids over everything and everyone else. she'd have been kind and tried to help out as much as possible, unless nico and bianca were put in direct danger

[weebsinstash]

I'd be judging the hell out of Mom!Reader for naming her twins GABRIEL and GABRIELLA!!!! (Not judging her that much for instigating Miguel to get me or something, I mean. Stockholm syndrome is a bitch. and also. I get it, the power of big d and all that stuff) GIRL. That's the SAME NAME!!!!!

Smh there's so many beautiful names in spanish but MomReader and Miguel 2 are lacking in the creativity department.

Miguel over here watching Mom!You being so radiant and joyful while showing off her chunky babies and he's sending sly glances to you, lowkey being a snob as he thinks "OUR babies would have much better names" and before he knows it he's building up this little fantasy in his head by accident. He keeps hearing these little stories or details from the other you and the other him and in his head he keeps thinking of what he would've done, how he thinks it would've gone for you and him, and you two are not even in a relationship. In fact depending on how drawn out this gets, you haven't even been in the Spider Society for several weeks and are at home with no intention of ever coming back, heartbroken, alone

I even thought of "what if an afab Reader got so desperate to escape canon and have freedom again that she gets pregnant by a stranger and literally carries a full pregnancy so she can abandon the baby, because the kid will eventually become a Spider and maybe they'll take over the canon and then you'll be able to do whatever you want" because you're just. You're so upset that canon is controlling your life and basically like ENSLAVING you that you're desperate

Lmao Peter B sneaks back to see you even though he isn't supposed to and finds you, he's ecstatic, "oh my god you're SUPER pregnant!" and he knows he isn't supposed to see you but he zips it and goes back home and, months later he visits you again with gifts, "so where's the baby?" "I dunno, where IS the baby? :)"

Would the baby technically be an anomaly since you weren't supposed to have it, not like this? What if they had to get rid of it to re-stabilize the timeline or whatever? Now you're being EXTRA shunned because, "wow you went through all that just for yourself huh 🙄 you'd rather abandon a baby than get married..." like people just beyond appalled with you, meanwhile you feel extra victimized because, wow that was all for nothing, you're trying to rethink strategies since "the contigency" didn't work out.

Or less dark but imagine dumping that kid and then some time later you're invited back to the Spider Society and it's like "oh hey Miguel what's the deal with this random baby you're taking care of" and you don't even recognize it, don't even know, you didn't even look at it hard enough to ever really know what it looked like, and, well, WE know whose baby it is lmao. You thinking you escaped from it and it's off living its own life and is going to someday free you and they, maybe not even realizing your intentions and just thinking you were scared, are raising it to give it back to you. I'd go absolutely wild lmao. Their shock when you break it to them "I literally nicknamed it Connie as in contingency, I never even knew what sex it was, I never even fed it, oh my god get it out of here, you're ruining everything"

Miguel MAKING YOU raise it even if its like tbh a fucked up little accident, or, if it's the whole "anomaly baby's gotta go" situation, after the, uh, disposal, he realizes he's pushed you way too far and you're too stressed and scared to think and behave rationally anymore and THIS is where he basically assigns himself as your caretaker and eventually takes you for himself which is kiiiiiiiiinda for the best because you're losing it a little. Like idk I imagine with LYLA maybe he has her programmed to tell him his own canon or he can look at it himself but like, what if he avoided spoilers because he wanted his behavior with you to be authentic or whatever. Like Miguel 2 might let him know "yeah dude turns out we hook up with them in a lot of different universes, it's almost like a separate canon like Peter Parker having Mary Jane" and Miguel takes some sneak peeks at other realities and then he shuts himself off from it so he can move forward of his own accord, but he now knows a sort of guideline and maybe some things to avoid doing (he can see the reality where the YouTwo disaster is going down and he's like "I would NEVER make MY You feel replaced *acts like having Mom!You and Miguel2 around doesn't count, the denial is stored in his ass, that's why it's so big*")

He's got a little notebook or data log where he takes down notes and details on things you like, things he notices about you, things you do often, habits, favorite foods, favorite color, how often are you doing your laundry (he knows you keep re-wearing that bra, girl), are you making your bed, how well are you functioning. Jesus, he literally has technology that can recreate extremely hyperdetailed recreation simulations; if he isn't outright putting camera bots in your room, he can "recreate" however you've been spending your day. He can learn all your routines and rituals and habits, decide what things may be problems, what things you might need more of in your life, he's, studying you really, with a romantic and almost scientific obsession

Not to be all 50 shades of gray in here but would Miguel eventually come onto you, all pent up and control finally bursting, "if we were made for each other, you must like taking it as hard as I like to give it" and whether you want it or not he takes you, and your bodies feel like they fit together perfectly, he stretches you out and fills you up JUST right, you can't help but have your eyes roll into the back of your head with how good it is, and of course he used any good reactions out of you as an excuse/"sign" he's doing the right thing and to keep going, that you're consenting, that he's finally winning you over

Who know; the two of you might start having those babies faster than you both initially thought 😳

[ronancebyler]

Platonic Jonbin headcanons?

oh my god being asked to talk about platonic jonbin??? them and platonic edancy are my favorite underrated platonic dynamics so I will use any opportunity to not shut up about them.

heads up! there will be possible rojancy (without romantic jonbin obviously) and possible stonathan and also possible platonic soulmatism stobin because those are things I cannot get out of my skin.

also! these are all in random order and don't have to exist in the same universe as each other or canon. really this is mostly just me cherry picking what parts of canon I like then saying fuck it and going by vibes!

jonathan and robin are both nonbinary but robin is a she/he sort of nonbinary and jonathan is a they/them sort of nonbinary (this will be the pronouns I'll be using throughout this) (if you see me use different pronoun hcs in different posts shut your mouth)

they have matching music tastes. no, not the same music taste, MATCHING music tastes. like it feels like the songs would get along or would be in playlists of two best friend characters. they're also both incredibly passionate about music so they love saying that each other are the "only music tastes I respect even though I don't listen to all of them" like they're such snobs together (robin is joking, jonathan is not)

they do dress like they came from the same cartoon. it's less that they look similar and more like they have a general vibe to them that when put together feels eerily like the same artist drew them

jonathan finds eddie hot and robin is so personally offended by that because eddie is the person he loves making fun of because it's her personal bully victim (affectionate)

"FIRST STEVIE AND NOW EDDIE????" "I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED"

robin and jonathan have opposite tastes in crushes. the singular place it aligns is with nancy wheeler

robin has a thing for people who kind of intimidate her and are incredibly driven/passionate people with a soft side

jonathan has a thing for soft people who love animals and are really kind but with a scary side

"how is she literally perfect????" "i don't even know"

there is something so funny to me about jonathan having a heavy preference for men in their sexuality

"that guy is hot" "he literally looks like he's been dipped in a dumpster what the fuck is wrong with you"

the pattern you're seeing in these headcanons is that they're not similar as much as they are complimentary

robin does jonathans hair. they didn't ask for it, he just showed up to their house with hair products and went "sit down. no you don't have a choice."

this isn't necessarily because she's good at doing hair and more because jonathan's hair texture is just so nice but eventually he gets really good at it

steals each other clothes but will not use it in the same way. jonathan's overwear???? no, that's robin's lasso. robin's shirt???? no, that's jonathan's journal decoration

stonathan with platonic jonbin is so fucking funny and i don't know why more people don't consider this

"MY BEST FRIEND IS FUCKING MY PLATONIC SOULMATE????? oh my god i let them meet is this nepotism" "robin what the fuck" "nonono let her speak"

also platonic soulmates stobin being so welcoming of jonathan my beloved <33

"you stole my best friend and my ex???" "are you actually mad" "no that's funny as fuck you should come for girls nights"

which while we're on that tangent yes jonathan is invited for girls nights yes they are the most girl there no they are not a girl you just don't understand their gender is a candy wrapper at the bottom of a garbage can okay

"I'm infiltrating the secret meetings of all genders." "yes, jonathan, sit down, let me do your nails while robin talks about girls"

jonathan is literally the best person to come to for any crush because while steve will get excited with robin and support his delulu urges jonathan will be dead serious when they say "no she likes you back you dumbass"

when they get flustered from nancy flirting with them they react the exact same, which is they freeze and slowly turn redder

the difference is jonathan goes silent while robin starts talking more to attempt to distract nancy (it doesn't work)

when they panic at the same time their brains temporarily connect so they can yell "oh god fuck oh my god what do we say fuck she's so pretty I'm too gay for this" in each others brains

robin loves her label as being a lesbian very much and he's very connected to it while jonathan could not care less to label their sexuality

"mmm I'm such a lesbian womennnnnn" "have fun with that but also fold your fucking clothes"

they both get each other out of awkward social situations when their token 'knows how to talk to people' buddy isn't there

they also tend to stick to each other when steve is out being sociable in public spaces

as much as i love the idea of steve being robin's beard, i like jonathan as his beard more

people are more intimidated by jonathan for whatever reason so they're less likely to bug them about their relationship

if you're going down the rojancy route, they're dating the same girl so they hang out a lot together anyways so it's a good cover

and if you're going down the stonathan route steve is literally always with robin they can find time to sneak in kisses

"arent you jealous your gf is always with that Harrington kid??" "I'm not even slightly worried i trust her"

robin gets really attached to will and basically becomes will's third sibling

she's also really attached to el so she's ready to bat for the byers family any day of the week

jonathan is the older sister, robin is the older brother, i dont make the rules

(i mean i literally do in this scenario but like the worms in my brain insist)

robin jumps on top of jonathan instead of "hugging"

"hugging is weak we will be commencing a five-step attack plan" "robin."

i now realize how long ive been talking I'll stfu

[momo-de-avis]

Historical context needed for what I am about to explain: portuguese Green Wine has a "backyard" type of history. It was started by small producers and it is very much a rural wine, made by people who stand on the opposite end of the enologist spectrum. It's called Green for several reasons but one of them being that they did make wine with green grapes initially considering the region of Minho, where it comes from, gets less sun than the rest of the country and harvest happened at the same time as everywhere else so the grapes hadn't ripened. The fizziness however comes from something else. Typically producers stored this wine in barrels to let it ferment, but because it's colder there than the rest of the country, fermentation took longer than usual. In the spring, people would knock on their doors to buy this wine. Like I said, these were very much back-door buyers, that's where green wine comes from. Because most producers were far from rich, they weren't about to turn a prospect buyer away just because fermentation wasn't done. So they filled up bottles and sealed them. What happens when you seal a fermenting wine is that it releases gas, thus creating a very soft fizziness.

With that out of the way,

The other day, during a tour, a client asked me for a green wine with no fizziness, and I immediately suggested Alvarinho. But that's the easy answer and there is another one I was trying to remember. It happened that we were at a wine bar in that moment (one of our partners) so I thought, I'll ask S, the owner.

I like S and her husband, I really do. I like the staff there. But I worked at a gallery and I can sniff out snobs like k9s in airports and the snobbery was off the charts that day. Still, I head downstair and say "hey S, do you have a green wine without fizziness?"

With the most disgusted look on her face, she says "Green wine doesn't have fizziness".

This is where the historical context I just provided you with comes in. Because my family on my father's side comes from that region, and while they aren't producers, they have always consumed that exact type of green wine. What changed over time was us joining the EU which resulted in a professionalisation of wine producers, and the reinforcement of demarcated regions led to Green Wine having rules established. Meaning, fizziness is not mandatory and when added is a synthetic process, and the grapes aren't green anymore.

It's true that most producers who make bottled green wine are giving up on the fizziness entirely, but to say "green wine doesn't have fizziness" is factually incorrect, and S knew it, she was just being a fucking snob.

So she says that and I'm just standing there in silence like. What do you want me to say to that? And she asks me what do I want. I say, the client asked me for a green wine without fizziness. She says, none of our green wines have fizziness. I'm like, do I look like I work here? I don't even know where your green wines are oh my god just show me one.

There's a bit of back and forth with "what do you want" and me insisting "I don't want shit, it's the client" and she's clearly boasting about how much she knows about not just green wine, but good quality green wine, and she's clearly trying to make me look like a fucking idiot in front of her friends, and it's at this point she picks up a bottle and one of friends (and this man had a moustache and a pair of spectacles that you could just tell he was the Major Snob) says "that one has a hint of green apples".

I genuinely don't know if he was fucking with me or not, but I take the bottle upstairs and the moment I show it to my client I remember it's Soalheiro what wanted to show him, so I just tell him fuck these snobs, go to Garrafeira Nacional instead and get a bottle of Soalheiro.

Next day, I have another tour. At the green wine stop, I tell the history of the wine, everything I just explained to you.

Then, I realise I am still salty as fuck over the day before. And so I go on a rant about snobs. I tell them: while it is true that green wine has evolved and wine experts are in favor of green wine without fizziness, the truth is this is a back-door producers type of wine. It's very rural and in the past 30 years its production was boosted thanks to EU money and professional wine producers. But the people still like the fizziness. I said there's bottled green wine, but there's also on tap, or draft, and when it's draft, it's always carbonated. I told my clients: try going to a marisqueira and asking for a non-carbonated green wine to eat sea food and see what happens. Because the concept alone is an insult. People love green wine, with and without fizziness, but with fizziness is dear and special to people. So, if you ever hear anyone say that real green wine isn't carbonated, please know that those people are, in my humble opinion and as a person whose family has an emotional connection to the wine, snobs.

Funny thing is, that day, we finished the tour again at the same place as the day before, but the owners (The and her husband) weren't there.

As I was signing my papers to leave, a client walks past me, thanks me for the tour, then turns back, pats me on the shoulder, and dead ass says "thank you for not being a snob".

I have never felt more like I have won in life

[hana-no-seiiki]

GROUND ZERO [IMPORT]

↳ ❝ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 / 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐊 !❞

pairings: yandere! bf! katsuki + yandere! harem! bnha + ocs x rich inventor! gn! reader

warnings: soft! katsuki. snob reader.

        

        ↳ DATING BAKUGOU KATSUKI WAS AN EXPERIENCE AND A HALF.

        To [Y/N], most of it was getting relentlessly scolded and nagged upon by the explosive persona. Bickering was the usual. Both enjoyed honesty after all, or maybe it was just a sadomasochistic dynamic that only they would understand. 

        Sometimes — although he may argue that it was backwards — they would have sweet quiet moments. 

        Underneath the orange sky, they would lay down after some heated training matches and just enjoy each other’s presence. 

        Not a word was spoken, nor was it needed to be said. 

        ”Oi, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Katsuki glared at the camera within [Y/N]’s hands. He wasn’t familiar with electronics really, all he needed was his phone and computer at times. However, he had the feeling that whatever his significant other was using should definitely cost a fortune. 

       ”Taking a damn photo so it’ll last longer” [Y/N] beamed as they imitated one of Katsuki’s words early on in the relationship.

        Their propinquity started around late middle school, and boy did Katsuki soften the following years.

        ”What’re ya staring at?!” Katsuki snarled at his masked partner. He couldn’t see the upper half of their face, but considering that their head had been turned towards him for several minutes? He had to fill in the silence.

        ”A boy named Bakugou Katsuki?” [Y/N] tilted their head in confusion. In contrast to their tone in the present day, their words came out as robotic and excessively formal.

        The heir also had their own personality differences between the years of dating. The previous [Y/N] was ruthless, and reveled in the pain — of whatever form — in others.

        They still did now, but having Katsuki to tease 24/7 made it less apparent.

        The said boy blushed at the straightforward confession, ”Take a damn photo. It’ll last longer.”

        After the couple took their fair share of rest, they set off to Katsuki’s home. Orange sky now darker shade of blue as the sun made its leave as well. ”Tch. We’re going to be late for dinner, [L/N]. Hurry your ass up.”

        ”Coming. . . coming. . .” [Y/N] groaned. Katsuki did a number on their equipment. Most have been charred or just completely obliterated, including their portal and wormhole making gadgetry. This meant that they had to lug around all the weapons — yes, I mean actual weapons — that they’ve been launching at their boyfriend. And, [Y/N] being the spoiled brat that they were, definitely did not like having to exert physical effort. But, oh well, it was just another normal day at the park for these two. They should have been more prepared.

        Why throw weapons instead of using practical things like lazers and the such? Well you see, [Y/N] might just be a huge fan of certain characters in F*te and H*nk*i Imp*ct. They couldn’t help it.

        And if you’re wondering how they’re able to practice with Katsuki using his quirk in public, it’s money. In addition to the fact that [Y/N]’s family probably ‘owned’ the majority of Japan if not just having a major influence in it. “Is Mitsuki making beef stew tonight?”

        ”We’re making beef stew.” Katsuki reached for the claymore above [Y/N]’s pile, thinking of how disastrous it’d be if it somehow falls off and stabs them or a person in their vicinity.

        ”B-b—“

        ”No buts. Maybe if you learned how to properly use a knife you wouldn’t cut yourself so fucking much. I managed to convince the old hag to let us be, too. She will not be coming to your rescue.” He grimaced at the memory of his mother bending towards your requests. She loved you and it shows.

        ”If—“

        ”No ifs either. You won’t burn down the building. Think the old hag hasn’t explosion and fire proofed the whole place?”

        ”How about—“

        ”A kiss won’t change your fate.” Katsuki scowled at their attempt in bribery. Like he’d be the type to give in just because of a simple kiss? What did they think he was? A simp? He needed to teach them how to stop being a spoiled brat. What if their family’s money went down the drain? They needed to learn how to be independent. “Just shut it—“

        He is quickly silenced by a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. “F-Fine!”

        ”You and your stupid pouting, stupid cute fucking face — and those stupid pretty lips. . .”

        ”Love you, Ba-ku-go-u-san!” [Y/N] created a heart shape with their arms, basking in their tiny victory for the day.

        “Tch.” Katsuki gritted his teeth, ”Love you, too. [L/N].”

        ”T-they’re so different when they’re together. . .” A goon — [Y/N] referred to Katsuki’s other companions as that due to the power difference in their dynamic — finally spoke up after numerous hours of being ignored.

        ”Right????” Another goon replied to the comment, equally baffled by the lovey-doveyness of it all.

        [Y/N]’s demeanor immediately switched at moment they noticed the cronies’ presence. Speech devoid of all emotion or interest,  ”Eh, you two were still here?” 

        Katsuki wasn’t an exception to the change either, his face morphing into the usual grouchy one he seemed to wear every damn moment, “WHY ARE YOU EXTRAS STILL FOLLOWING US HUH?! BUNCHA STALKERS!”

        The two boy’s accompanying the couple froze up in fear, “Totally different!”

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[hollowingearth]

I think tiktok posts about how much Hachi actually wouldn't like *insert current main pop girl the poster dislikes the most (usually Taylor Swift)* annoy me so much not because of the indirect dig at the artist, but rather that the concept that Hachi of all people would like the indie/genre artists they put in contrast is such a wild read of her character.

Like, yes, Trapnest is Hachi's favorite band and they make (pop)rock music, but more importantly, Trapnest is THE biggest band in Japan during her time period. She had to buy tickets for their show in her hometown because the Tokyo tickets were sold through a fucking lotery because the demand was so high.

For the Nana universe, liking Trapnest is very much like a random girl on Tumblr in 2014 saying their favorite band is Arctic Monkeys or the 1975, assuming that means they are music snobs who are above mainstream artists would be ridiculous. Specially because the narrative goes out of it's way to display how much Hachi is really less passionate about art than her peers if only because she's loves people so much and so thoughourly.

If the other characters use art, and more specifically music, as a vehicle for their true feelings because they are unable to express them properly, Hachi is singularly unburdened by this insincerity of heart. She's an open book, art is a hobby, and not one she's even particularly commited too (if anything, Hachi enjoys fashion and decoration the most because they are ways to express her sense of self, which is the main thing she struggles with in the story, contrasting Nana).

She only goes to art school because her best friend decided to attend it, moving to Tokyo is an impulse, she gets there and has absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her life. Her favorite member in Trapnest is Takumi only because she thinks he's the prettiest even tho the other members arguably are more talented.

[dramavixen]

watch this! – there will be ample time

Happy 2024, everyone! 'Tis the season to set goals. One of my New Year's resolutions is to be less of a drama snob and enjoy entertainment for entertainment's sake. The good news for my pretentious tastes is that most New Year's resolutions are doomed to fail.

Regardless of your television preferences, I believe that the media you consume should improve your quality of life. For me, that usually means sitting down and reflecting on how life sucks and letting that realization break my heart. That way, it can be sewn back together upon the next realization that sometimes life doesn't suck. It's a little masochistic of me.

what is there will be ample time?

An urban life drama centered around four friends in their 20s and 30s who, due to shifts in their personal and professional lives, return to their roots in the bustling city of Chengdu.

Focuses on the varying struggles of women in modern society while soothing your soul with the warmth of friendship and family.

I'm convinced that half of the lines are ad-libbed. Some of the stuff that comes out of the actors' mouths is way too natural.

why watch?

for and about the masses

The deeper I'm clamped into this world's trap of being a working-class human being, the more I'm drawn to television that depicts the average person's life. I can only watch so many shows about heirs to billionaires and gods on Earth before I start dissociating.

As you can guess, There Will Be Ample Time is a female-centric drama, but I wouldn't exactly consider it to be a "feminist" one in the traditional sense. Industry standard for feminist dramas tend to lean toward the "woman kicks male trash to the curb to live her glorious single life" trope. Those can be fun, but you can never escape the anger that comes along with seeing all those women being wronged by countless men like they're being passed along on some patriarchal assembly line. We're getting older. It's time to start looking after our blood pressures.

So here we are. Complemented by a relatively laidback Chengdu setting, our four leading ladies' lives aren't free from love life problems, but they have other things to do too:

Zhang Pei, an insurance agent with a smart eye for what work is worth doing. She's maintained a healthy relationship with her overbearing parents by keeping a distance of 1500 kilometers between them and herself for the past 15 years, but an unexpected incident makes her realize that there's no time to visit home like the present.

Gou Dandan, a beauty influencer who strives to make her life perfect both on- and off-camera. Reality hits when she discovers her husband is having an affair.

Dong Jiaxi, a recent graduate whose dream lies in writing and theater. She's just about to jump-start her career with great promise when her mother is diagnosed with cancer.

Wu Yun, a civil servant who moves to Chengdu for work. Though she visited her cousin Dandan in the city as a child, she's the only one in the group who didn't grow up in the region and needs to get accustomed to a new environment.

With the way that everyone speaks and interacts, it feels like you're taking a gander at someone's everyday life. Each character is someone you could meet on the street, a friend of yours, or just you yourself. The overarching normalcy makes you laugh that much harder at their humor and cry that many more tears when they break down.

--

move over, beijing and shanghai. it's chengdu hours

The Chinese title of the show, 故乡，别来无恙, translates to "my old home, hope you've been well." Chengdu's urban landscape has proliferated in recent years, but it remains in the main characters' hearts as a place of cozy memories—it's about the giant pandas, flavorful cuisine, and hordes of people drinking tea in a park and playing mahjong during a work day while some dude marches around asking if you would like to have your ears cleaned.

People in Chengdu have their struggles, but locals seem to take everything in stride. Most of your troubles can be alleviated by walking home where your parents have dinner ready or hanging out with your friends at the neighborhood barbecue joint. Take a break, have some tea. As hard as life can be, you should always take time to live.

(Disclaimer here that I'm definitely not biased for the place just because it's also where my roots are buried. I can testify that whenever this conditioned capitalist slave goes back to visit family, she starts having an anxious reaction to the free time and relaxation she's exposed to.)

The Chengdu dialect the actors use is...it's alright. I'm one to talk, considering I can't even get half a sentence out without stumbling on my American accent. Hey, at least they tried. If I harp on them, then I also have to harp on all the other actors out there who've spent years in the circle and still can't deliver a line with proper pronunciation or emotion.

--

relive your generational trauma in 4k imax surround sound

I don't know the writers' ages, but this work exudes the energy of Millennials finally aging into producing media that addresses generations' worth of mommy issues. You love to see it.

Do you see yourself in this picture? You're in high school. Call it hormones, call it rebelliousness, but you argue with your mom so frequently that it's become as routine and arduous as dragging yourself out of bed in the morning. Most often, one of these disputes ends with you shutting yourself in your room. Half an hour later, your mom bursts in without knocking to give you fruit on a plate. Ten years later, you feel like your frustrations were all so trivial in comparison to what your parents sacrificed for you. But does that make your feelings any less real?

There's something about Chinese families that makes us really good at hurting each other in the name of love and then never apologizing for it. Especially when compared to other family-centric shows, this one does an excellent job at portraying that exact issue. Each character deals with different forms of it, but they all struggle with being honest and respectful toward their family and face breaking points before they learn their lessons.

I saw myself in each of the children and my parents in their mothers and fathers. When you see a TV show reflect your family dynamics so accurately, it's hard not to cry when you see the aftermath of an argument on both sides. At the same time, you can't help but cackle when you witness some of the ridiculous things they fight over. In the end, why take things so far with your own family?

--

trying real hard over here to not spoil too much, but these. two. why am i like this? romance dramas give me romance and i'm disgusted because love is dumb. non-romance dramas give me romance and i'm on the floor searching for more crumbs. it's because i'm a snob, isn't it?

--

It's kind of difficult to summarize what this show does to your emotions. Somehow it manages to be an easy watch while squeezing a fist around your heart for all its worth. Most of all, it just makes you miss home, wherever that may be.

[tragicfrabricofdreaming]

Dark Hearts .2

Summary: Cori Douglas has lived a somewhat quiet life in mystic falls. Despite a few slip ups, she has managed to fly under the radar with her best friends. That is, until her junior year when two new mysterious men roll into town and shake everyone up, including her best friend Elena. What will Cori find out about these mysterious men and about herself? Mostly follows the storyline of tvd show but may take some creative liberties.

“She swore vengeance on all men with dark hearts.”

― Lisa Papademetriou, Siren's Storm

Series Masterlist

“Thanks for being my date,” Bonnie says to Cori as they wait in line to get into Lockwood’s mansion for the founder's party. Elena and Stefan were going together and Caroline was bringing Damon as her date (gross) so Cori and Bonnie decided to show up together so that they could have fun on their own, probably making fun of people from the corner, their favorite activity. 

“Are you kidding me?” Cori loops her arm through Bonnie’s, “I should be thanking you, this is much better than having to come with my dad.”  Almost the whole town was out at the Lockwood’s house, dressed in their Sunday best and ready to one-up each other with their family heirlooms. While the Douglas’ were a part of the founding families and Cori’s dad Hayden was a part of the town council, Cori could honestly care less about all the hullabaloo that surrounded the town’s history. To be honest it was just riddled in racism and they shouldn’t be celebrating it anyway. 

“Free champagne, prime people-watching real estate, what more could two nosy girls ask for?” Bonnie nudges her playfully and the girls laugh. Once inside the house, Cori loses track of Bonnie after she slips away to sneak a drink. Pouting to herself, she decides to stroll over to all of the artifacts that the families had put on display, stopping in front of the one labeled for her family. She had seen all of the items before but she hadn’t expected to see one in particular because she thought her sister was off at college wearing it around her neck. 

Cori’s fingers touch the glass case softly, tracing the outline of the necklace through the barrier. Her dad had given the necklace to Grace on her eighteenth birthday but Cori had always admired it since she was a little girl. It was beautiful–a gold pendant on a gold chain with a silhouette of a mermaid embossed on it. Another shorter chain dangled from the pendant with a small, iridescent pearl at the end. It had belonged to one of her ancestors, she could never remember which one, but Cori was utterly obsessed with it. Her dad must have asked Grace to send it back home so he could put it on display with some of the other items. 

There was a journal from one of her female ancestors she couldn’t remember the name of, a small scrap from the sail of the ship they had traveled over on, and a medium-length, golden trident with stones of sea glass decorating the handle. Cori rolls her eyes slightly as she brings her champagne glass to her lips, the thing had always looked like it was bought at a Halloween store but apparently, it was very old and valuable. Whatever. 

“Ah, the Douglas’,” Cori choked on her champagne mid-sip as Damon appeared beside her, “Your family looked to be very…little mermaid-esque.” He frowns at the items. 

Cori recovers from her small spit take and wipes the remnants of champagne from her chin, “I need to get you a bell. Like a cat. So I can hear you coming.” She was still very weary of Damon Salvatore but Caroline had gone off on Cori a bit, telling her she just needed to give him a chance and get to know him just like she had with Stefan. So, Cori agreed to be civil and not threaten him with sharp objects but she was still keeping an eye on him. 

“Good to see you too, Cordelia,” he smirks, taking a sip of his bourbon, “I must confess, your family history has always intrigued me the most out of all of these other snobs.” he gestures to the other displays around them. Cori sighs, turning to face him. He cleaned up nicely but no amount of hair gel and dress shirts would take away the smug air around him.

“There’s not that much to them.” She admits, “They came here from a very small island off the coast of Ireland,” she explains, “They were very superstitious about sea creatures and stuff so the journey was difficult for them, but they made it and there isn’t much else after that.” Cori shrugs, taking another sip of her champagne and her eyes move to the necklace in the display again. 

Damon examines the side of her face, seeing the longing in her eyes as she looks at the piece of jewelry, “I won’t tell anyone if you want to snatch it.” Her eyes snap to his and she looks guilty like he just caught her with her hand in the cookie jar before dinner. “It would go great with your outfit.” He gestures to her light blue dress. 

Cori chuckles nervously and blushes while she shakes her head, “No, it’s not mine.” she says. 

“It belongs to your family, though.” 

“Well, yes,” she nods, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger anxiously, “but it’s technically my sister’s now, my dad gave it to her before she left for college. I think she’s just letting them borrow it for the display.” A small smile graced her lips and maybe it was the champagne bubbles going straight to her head, or the number of people crammed into the room making her feel lightheaded, but regardless of why she does it she just keeps talking to Damon, “When I was little, I used to sneak into my dad’s office after everyone was asleep,” her voice lowers to a whisper as if she was still a little girl trying not to get caught out of bed. Damon finds himself leaning in, “and I’d take the key he hid under his keyboard–” 

“Terrible hiding place.” 

“I know, right?” Cori laughs, “But, I’d take that key and unlock the top drawer of his desk and take the necklace out and just hold it in my hand–I couldn’t figure out the clasp on my own–but it was like I was so restless–like I couldn’t sleep until I just looked at it and held it in my hands for a while. To remember what it looked like, what it felt like.” The palm of her hand rests against the glass case, right above the necklace, “It was…grounding, almost.” 

Damon could picture it in his mind, or maybe he had snuck into her mind without realizing it. A young Cordelia, standing at her dad’s desk holding the necklace in her tiny palm, admiring the jewelry. He can see Cordelia the age she is now, watching her sister open a present on her birthday, and can see the sadness in Cori’s eyes as she realizes the necklace now belongs to her older sister and is forever out of her reach. “And I sound insane,” Cordelia says, finishing off her glass of champagne, “it’s just an old piece of jewelry.”

“It means something to you, though,” Damon speaks up. Cori looks at him, her eyebrows scrunched together at his tone, “and maybe it isn’t entirely about the necklace.” He shrugs, “Maybe it has more to do with your sister, how you feel about her.” 

“I love my sister.” 

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” he recovers quickly, “I just mean…” Damon’s eyes scan the room, landing on Stefan and Elena on the dance floor. Cori follows his gaze and her frown deepens, “Maybe it’s more about how she makes you feel. Like she’ll always be first, get everything you want even if you wanted it first.” They stare at each other for a second. Cori knows he hit the nail on the head, and Damon knows it too, but neither of them will move to speak that it was true. 

“There you are, sweetie,” Their stare is broken by Cori’s father appearing at her side, placing his hand on her arm and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “I was beginning to think you skipped out on the evening.” 

“Of course not, Dad,” Cori blushes, gritting her teeth slightly. She quickly places the empty champagne glass on a nearby table and clears her throat. Her father and Damon are eyeing each other carefully, “Uh, dad, this is Damon Salvatore, Caroline’s boyfriend.” She gestures to Damon and then to her father, “Damon, this is my dad, Hayden Douglas.” 

“Ah, Damon,” Hayden and the older Salvatore shake hands firmly, “Cordelia has told me all about you.” His daughter’s eyes widen immediately and Damon smirks, glancing at her. 

“All terrible things, I hope.” 

Hayden laughs, “Well, she has always had an… imaginative vocabulary.” 

“Alright!” Cori chuckles, clapping her hands together, “You guys get acquainted with each other, I’m gonna go find Bonnie.” 

After walking around what felt like the entire party, Cori finally finds Bonnie standing just outside of the dining room, “My date!” She gasps in relief as she stands beside Bonnie, “I just had my first conversation with Damon without threatening him, so I think I’ve had enough abnormal experiences for the week.” 

Bonnie chuckles lightly, opening her mouth to respond when something distracts them both, “Look around,” Carol Lockwood is in a heated conversation with one of the event workers, “What’s missing?” The worker looks around the room, looking confused and scared, “The flames, the candles. Why aren’t they lit?” There were an alarming amount of candles in the dining room that were unlit but there didn’t seem to be a reason to yell about it, “There’s matches in the kitchen.” 

The worker scurries off to the kitchen, looking traumatized and Mrs. Lockwood leaves the room in a huff, “Bitch.” Bonnie mutters. Cori scoffs in agreement. Instead of turning and leaving the room, Bonnie stays for a moment, staring intently at a closeby candle. Cori watches her with a confused look but doesn’t say anything because it doesn’t exactly last long. When nothing happens after a moment, Bonnie sighs and grabs Cori’s elbow, “Come on,” she turns to leave the room but Cori stops her, gasping in shock. 

“Bonnie, look,” her friend turns back around and sees what Cori is so amazed by. As if by magic, every single candle in the room is lit, seemingly like they had been for hours. Cori laughs in amazement, looking at Bonnie, “You did that!” she exclaims, “Bonnie, you’re a witch I–” 

“Shh, you can’t tell anyone.” Bonnie urges her friend, grabbing her hands as they face each other. 

“But, I believe you now! I’m so sorry I doubted you before but this is insane, Bon, I mean–” 

“I know, but I need to talk to my grams first, I don’t really know what this all means, and I…I wanna know more before I go telling people, even Elena.” Bonnie is pleading with Cori, squeezing her hands gently. 

Cori looks at the candles Bonnie just lit with her mind and then back to her magical friend, nodding slowly, “Okay, your secret is safe with me.” She promises, “I won’t tell.” 

“Thank you,” Bonnie smiles. They look at each other for a minute, the moment remaining serious until Bonnie’s face breaks out into a full grin, “I’m magic!” She squeals. 

“You’re magic!” Cori squeals back and they start jumping up and down with their hands clasped, giggling with each other like they had over such smaller events in the past. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hayden was thankful that his daughter had left him alone with Damon all on her own so he didn’t have to corner him at another time. “Cordelia and I were just admiring your family’s collection–” 

“You need to stay away from her.” Hayden cuts Damon off in a low voice. They stare each other down, looking incredibly out of place among the mingling crowd but no one seems to take the time to notice. 

“Oh,” Damon smirks in amusement, “Papa Bear roars.” He doesn’t seem phased by Hayden’s threatening glare. “Don’t worry, pal,” he claps him on the shoulder, “your precious little girl isn’t my type.” 

Hayden shrugs off his grasp, his jaw clenching, “I don’t care. Regardless of what you tell everyone else, you obviously have some weird interest in speaking to her and that needs to stop.” The music stops briefly before the next song plays so Hayden steps closer to Damon, his voice lowering but not losing any of its sting, “You roll into town, and before your car’s engine is cold you’re meddling in the lives of your little brother’s friends. It’s weird and I know your intentions can’t be good so you need to leave my daughter out of it.” 

“Is this supposed to scare me?” Damon motions between the two of them. He could rip this guy's throat out in two seconds and not feel an ounce of guilt about it. Maybe later he would, there were too many witnesses right now. 

“She’s been through a lot, she isn’t exactly stable right now.” Hayden’s gaze shifts to the other side of the room where Cori had just re-entered. Damon follows his gaze and watches as Cori whispers something to Bonnie excitedly. Her cheeks were flushed, probably with the champagne she had been drinking, and she was gesturing with her hands wildly as she talked to her friend, “Cordelia is…fragile. She’s barely getting back on track after an incident at the end of last school year and one wrong move from you–” Damon draws his gaze away from the girl and back to her father, “she might not come back so easily.”

Damon scoffs, “What do you think I’m going to do to her?” 

“I don’t care. I know guys like you–” 

“No one is like me.” 

“Whatever agenda you have going on, I don’t care. But Cordelia cannot be a part of it.” Hayden growls. 

Damon considers this a threat and he isn’t exactly taking this human man as someone who could cause him harm, but he did think he could be of use to him, “I’ll tell you what, Hayden,” Damon starts, “I’ll leave your daughter alone if you can get me into the next town council meeting.” 

Hayden considers him for a moment. Yes, the patriarch of the Douglas family was a part of the Town Council but he didn’t see why this twenty-something who just rolled into town would have any interest. “Okay,” he decides, “I’ll talk to the council and get you in.”

Damon smirks, “Deal?” He holds his hand out for Hayden to shake and, after a moment of hesitation, Hayden grips his hand and seals the deal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cori sighs at her reflection in the mirror. This was the worst group costume you have ever come up with, Caroline, she thinks to herself as she adjusts the straps of her large, circular costume piece. Caroline has insisted on her, Bonnie, and Elena dressing up as witches and Cori could be the cauldron. Why they couldn’t just all be witches or be the Cheetah Girls or something, Cori had no idea. Bonnie was also not a huge fan of the idea considering it felt a little too on the nose of her recent experiences but since Damon had supposedly left town and subsequently ended Caroline’s short-lived relationship with him, they were obligated as her friends to make her happy. 

Although, contact with Elena had been scarce as of late so there were questions about whether she would even be at the party at the school tonight. Either way, Cori was stuck with this fabric, a makeshift cauldron that hung around her midsection as her costume. She had gone with a black dress to wear underneath it and her hat had green plastic balls glued to the top of it to appear as bubbles. Sometimes she wondered if Caroline just liked making a fool of her. 

As she struggles to slip into her black boots around the obstacle of her costume, her dad steps into her room and lets out a laugh, causing Cori to glare at him, “Toil and trouble,” Hayden says, the laugh still evident behind his voice. 

“Very funny,” she mumbles, finally managing to get her shoes on, “I’m sure that won’t be the last time I hear that tonight.” 

“The things Caroline can talk you into,” he shakes his head, leaning against her doorframe while he watches her collect her things and slide them into the pockets that are inside the cauldron costume. “You heading out?” 

“Yeah, Bonnie is picking me up.” She tells her dad, looking in the mirror while she adjusts her hat. 

There’s a beat of silence as Hayden considers his daughter. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Damon Salvatore at the party the other night, and how he had been going on and on about how fragile Cordelia was. While he knew it was true, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being a little too overprotective of her as he watched her get ready to go out with her friends. Right now, in this moment, she was just a normal 18-year-old girl, and that’s how he wanted her to be. He just hoped she could remain this way forever, “Be careful out there tonight.” He says softly. 

Cori looks at him over her shoulder and flashes him a grin, “Of course, I always am.” And he knew that was true. She was responsible and cautious and never missed curfew…she was nothing like her older sister who was responsible for the graying hair on Hayden’s head. She was good and he needed to reward her for that. 

There’s a car horn honked outside, snapping Hayden out of his observations of his daughter. “That’s Bonnie,” she says, taking one last look in the mirror before turning toward her dad, “how do I look?” She asks. 

Hayden smiles at her, “Cutest Cauldron I’ve ever seen.” 

Cori rolls her eyes but grins at her dad as she makes her way out of the room, “Thank you,” she presses a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you later, save me some candy!” She calls over her shoulder as she heads downstairs. 

“Be home by midnight, if you’re going to be late, call me!” He calls after, listening as she opens the front door. 

“You got it!” The front door closes behind her and the house falls silent around Hayden. There was a lot he needed to tell his youngest daughter, and he would have to do it soon. He just wanted her to remain a normal teenage girl for a little while longer. 

////

Three Lockwood special ciders later, Cori is wandering through the high school hallways looking for her friends. She had departed from them to go to the bathroom but couldn’t seem to remember where she had left them. She reaches into her cauldron and pulls out her phone, looking down at it as she walks. Just as she’s sending a text to Bonnie asking where she is, she collides with someone right in front of her and gasps. “I’m so sorry–” she stops short, looking up at the pillar of a human she had just crashed into to find Damon Salvatore. Filled with shock and confusion, the only question that she can manage to ask is, “I thought you left town?” 

Damon scoffs, looking down at her, “Hello to you, too,” he says sarcastically, causing her to roll her eyes, “My brother loves to spread rumors about me.” He adjusts his leather jacket, looking her up and down, “What the hell are you supposed to be?” He asks. 

Cori blushes and looks down at herself, slumping in defeat, “I’m a…cauldron.” She says slowly, looking back up at him, “It makes more sense when I’m with Bonnie and Caroline, they’re witches and I’m…their cauldron. Elena was supposed to be a witch too but I think she came as something else.” She’s rambling now so to cut herself off she takes another drink from her cup. 

“How’d you draw the short straw?” Damon asks her. 

Cori shakes her head as she swallows her drink, “Caroline drew it for me.” Damon lets out a small ‘Ahh’ as if he totally understands now, “But I don’t mind,” she says quickly, “people tend to laugh at me behind my back anyway so I might as well give them a reason to do it to my face.” Something about running into Damon made her just spill everything. Or maybe that was just the cider talking. 

“How do you know people are laughing at you?” She leans against a row of lockers against a nearby wall and Damon stands in front of her, tilting his head as he observes her. 

“Caroline told you about my little incident last year?” He nods, remembering that dinner at Elena’s when Caroline mentioned the time she choked at the state finals for the swim team. “The whole school knows about it, and they know that it happened when I was younger, too, that’s why I got held back a year and am an 18-year-old junior.” She takes another drink from her cup, “They all think I’m crazy.” She stares at the floor in front of her, thinking back to how it felt in middle school. The first time she had one of her episodes in the pool and had spent the next two months in a psychiatric hospital in practically a catatonic state before she was able to return to school. Because of this, she was forced to stay back a grade. That was when she met Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie. She hadn’t been in their grade until that point and while everyone else at school whispered about her reputation, those three didn’t care. They accepted her as she was. 

“Maybe you are.” Is Damon’s response. Not the typical response she got when she opened up to people about this but it made her laugh. 

“Probably.” She says simply. And she meant it. There was no guarantee that at any moment she wouldn’t snap and start hallucinating in front of her eyes. There was nothing that triggered it, she could be in the pool the majority of the time and feel completely normal and there were years between the two big incidents that had occurred so there was really no pattern to it.  

Damon quickly changes the subject, “I think this is the longest conversation we’ve had without you threatening me.” He remarks. 

Cori snorts, quickly covering her mouth with her hand at the awful sound, “Well, Tyler’s cider is very strong and I’ve had three of these,” she holds up her cup, “You caught me at a good time. Plus, you’re leaving Caroline alone.” 

He smirks, taking half a step closer to her, “Don’t get too excited, I might just get attached to another one of Elena’s friends.” There’s a look in his eyes that sends a wave of warmth through Cori’s body. She blames it on the cider. 

Rolling her eyes, she pushes off of the wall, “I’m too drunk to threaten you in a witty way right now, call back later.”  She turns away from him and starts down the hallway to continue her search for her friends. 

“See you around, Cordelia.”  She doesn’t turn back around at the farewell, simply waves at him over her shoulder.

[a-world-in-grey]

Well, since you said it's okay :)

Nox verse crossover! Specifically, Sola and Nox being summoned to Dissidia sometime before the entire Marilith incident.

Sola was not happy to be dragged into some weird fighting tournament, so she is more than happy to derail the entire thing to talk to her New Brother. Now if only he would stay still! Please stop running away, Brother, she has Questions!

Sola also has Questions for her Papa, once she gets back to Insomnia. Starting with how many ooops babies did you have, Papa? She wants to know if there are More Siblings out there.

(Yes, Regis, how many kids do you have running around? says Clarus while Glaring at his King. They saw the entire thing through Crystal-vision.)

Absolutely okay to keep sending in asks! Can't promise I'll get to them right away given it's finals season atm, but the asks are fun!

Putting this under a cut because I got clocked in the head with a bat by the damn plot bunnies while writing this and it got stupidly long.

Not gonna lie, this is great - Sola would lose her entire mind because brother? New brother?

New brother who has definitely not been taking care of himself properly, sit down so Sola can feed you, Pyre damn it all.

Meanwhile Nox is more than a little surprised to come face to face with a girl who looks so much like mom but with Ardyn's hair and magic and Cor's scowl. His new sister - who claims him as a brother despite giving his surname as Izunia, only blinking once at the name of Niflheim's Chancellor before she promptly calls him her little brother - fights a lot like Cor as well, which is how Nox learns that Sola's been apprenticed to Cor since she was ten, after she foiled an assassination attempt on their younger brother, Noctis.

(Nox has to swallow around a lump in his throat at how easily Sola accepts him as family, calling Noctis their little brother instead of just hers.)

Actually though, Sola has a blast while she's in Dissidia. How could she not? She got a new brother - who is definitely a Little Brother, she doesn't care that he can kick her ass with both hands behind his back, his personal care habits are atrocious and she will do her duty as Older Sister and remind him to eat Pyre damn it - got to cut loose and fight a bunch of people and creatures, and didn't have to deal with the snobs on Papa's Council.

Best vacation ever.

Sola comes back from Dissidia grinning ear to ear - she convinced Nox to exchange numbers, and even if he's bad at remembering to text or call her, Sola will remember if it means badgering her newest brother into taking care of himself better - and cheerfully asks Papa if she's got any other siblings hanging about. Regis chokes on his spit, Clarus looks like he'd also like to know the answer to that question, while Cor looks like he can't decide if his birthday's come early or he wants to preemptively break out the alcohol.

So yeah, this is great. Maybe even better than original Sola and Nox and Noctis get pulled into Dissidia while Sola is pregnant, because teenaged Sola is having so much fun.

But.

Consider.

Little!Nox 'verse.

Specifically the version where @secret-engima dropped Nox and Noctis on Materia's side and Ardyn on Spiritus' side, with Sola joining Ardyn in this case. Post-Marilith because otherwise Nox would be like, three and Noctis eight and even I'm not that mean.

So instead Noctis is ten (Materia did try to call for champions that weren't literal children and had at least some combat experience. Normally Noctis wouldn't count, but he's since got the same soul as Nox, things got kinda mixed up. Not that that excuse will save Materia from Sola and Ardyn's wrath). Nox is five, and Sola is seventeen and newly outed as a Kingsglaive to the media, and newly realized by the Galahdians as being a half-feral Sky-born instead of just a short-tempered magical teenager.

Sola arrives at the tower before Ardyn and learns from one of the less-asshole villains who may have done this whole dog-and-chocobo show before that she’s to fight her counterpart. Which makes her immediately suspicious because she doesn’t have a mortal enemy like these people. Well, most of these people. Apparently one of them is fighting his sister-in-law and former comrade while another is fighting his own son, and if Sola goes off that pattern that means her counterpart is-

Oh Pyre no.

At which point Ardyn arrives in all of his furious-terrified-where-the-fuck-is-my-nephew Scourge-magic-faced glory. Which neatly derails Sola’s impending Rage as she stares at the man that looks (and feels, and Sola never realized how lonely she was until she met another with her magic) more like her than her own father and brother and it feels like she’s been sucker punched. Because that’s the missing Chancellor of Niflheim putting the fear of him into the other champions through the sheer strength of his magic that Sola’s doesn’t have a snowball’s chance on Ifrit’s Pyre of matching.

And yet-

“Uncle?” Ardyn’s not sure how he hears it past the sheer terror and rage pounding in his ears, past the red and gold shards of magic swirling about him in a physical manifestation of come-near-me-and-die, but somehow the soft word gets his attention from where he’s seething at Spiritus. Or maybe it’s just the barest brush of hesitant-surprise-hope that has him turning to the young woman looking at him with wide blue eyes framed by achingly familiar red hair.

He remembers hearing about the Regis of this alternate world (and hadn’t that been a shock on top of everything else) having a daughter older than Noctis. He’d simply been too busy caring for Nox to look more into it. Now he wishes he had.

Noctis may look almost exactly like Somnus, but clearly his older sister takes after Ardyn.

“Niece.” He greets. He cannot muster up the effort for even his most insincere smile right now, not when he doesn’t know where Nox is.

Sola steps fearlessly into the magic swirling around him like a storm, shards of red and gold shattering harmlessly against her skin-

Is she, is she hugging him?

She is. Even though she’s old enough to know who he is, her arms are circling his torso in an encompassing hold that is nonetheless so gentle that he could break out of it with a single step.

Ardyn… doesn’t. It… feels nice. His niece is warm, her magic (so like his, he never thought anyone would ever inherit his magic) contained such that only hints of it brush up against his, and yet Ardyn can feel clearly how his niece has no fear or disdain of him.

Ardyn isn’t sure what to make of that. He awkwardly pats her shoulder.

“Who did they take?” His niece asks. “Your counterpart.”

Ardyn’s hand involuntarily tightens on Sola’s shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. Ardyn wavers on whether to tell her, because he’s been trying to keep Nox secret and he can’t do that if anyone from the royal family knows.

But this is Sola, whose reputation for being so fiercely protective of her younger brother managed to reach even the furthest reaches of the Lucian outlands. And Sola’s magic is radiating her honest desire to help him, simply because he’s family.

Ardyn prays he’s making the right choice. “My nephew.”

From where she’s clutching him like Nox does with his stuffed chocobo, Sola stills, before looking up at him with shocked blue eyes. Underneath the worry and fear for the others taken with them, hope and affection blooms. “I have another brother?”

“Nox.” Ardyn hesitates, then adds. “He’s five.”

It’s like flipping a switch. Sola’s delight is buried under a wave of protective fury that doesn’t touch him, and she bares her teeth in a snarl. “They summoned. My five year old brother?”

Ardyn hasn’t seen this kind of fury since the mother coeurl chased off a voretooth pack that had gotten too close to Nox and her other cubs. He’s darkly eager to see how much violence his niece will dish out. If he deigns to leave her anything to kill, that is. “Most likely.”

Sola whirls on Spiritus, seething. “Where are my brothers?”

.

Meanwhile, Noctis is Absolutely Not Panicking.

He’s ten now, and if Sola was able to protect him from assassins without panicking at ten then Noctis can protect his baby brother without panicking, especially because he’s got so many people looking out for him. He’s a big kid now after all.

(Noctis doesn't know that Sola very much did panic when she saved him from that assassin seven years back. That the whole incident was one blur of Kill The Threat By Any Means Possible of panicked Sky-born instincts.)

Noctis is trying so very hard to be brave for Nox, but then they’re attacked and Noctis sees the attack coming for them and he knows he can’t get his sword up in time and he wants his sister-

And then there’s magic ripping through the air, familiar-but-not even as Sola appears out of nowhere to scoop the both of them up in her arms and raise the strongest barrier she can around them, her magic quivering in relief and protective fury, reassuring them that she’s got them, they’re safe and Uncle is just outside taking care of everything, they’re safe.

Noctis bursts into tears. Nox follows in short order. Sola holds them both, rumbling low in her throat like how she used to soothe Noctis after a nightmare, and keeping her shield as opaque as she can because like Pyre she’s letting either of the kids see the absolute carnage happening on the other side. Bad enough they can hear it. Sola would rather be tearing someone apart, but someone needs to protect her brothers and Uncle is so much stronger than her. So she sits on her cranky Sword instincts and goes about comforting her brothers.

When Ardyn finally knocks on her shield, the screaming has finally stopped, and both her brothers have cried themselves to sleep. Sola’s still making that rumbling sound in her chest, a self-soothing technique she hasn't used in longer than she can remember.

In a mirror of last time, Ardyn fearlessly steps past Sola’s bristling magic and hugs her, long arms wrapping around her and the boys with ease. He doesn’t say anything - he’s never gotten the hang of comforting words, even after two years of caring for Nox - but cautiously wrapping his magic around Sola and the boys has all three of them relaxing in his arms. At which point Sola dissolves into tears, silently sobbing into Ardyn’s shoulder in an effort not to wake Nox or Noctis, but Astrals, she was so scared and they nearly didn’t make it in time and Sola doesn’t want to have to contemplate living without her brothers. And Ardyn doesn’t know how to comfort, but he can just sit there and hold his niblings while his niece cries.

.

Sola and Ardyn only met hours before, but looking at how they act with each other no one is able to tell. Because those two get along like a house on fire.

(What is this overkill you speak of? We only know keeping nephews/little brothers safe. With extreme prejudice.)

Sola is monstrously protective of her newest brother and uncle. Nox’s Sick Day has Sola and the rest of the mages capable of healing and Ice Elemancy tending to Nox around the clock, struggling to keep his temperature down, Sola once more making her rumbling approximation of a purr to try and comfort both her family and herself. Which prompts Y’shtola to actually purr whenever it’s her turn to watch over Nox because the rumbling/purring helps Nox sleep through it all.

The reveal of Ardyn’s scars sends Sola into a towering fury that she makes sure to keep away from Uncle and her brothers, and Mors is lucky he’s already dead because Sola would gut him and leave him to bleed out on the floor.

(Ardyn is surprised by Sola’s fury and grief on his behalf. He’s not surprised by the love she has for Nox, but for him? It’s been millennia since he’s received that kind of immediate and unconditional care from anyone, much less family.)

So when Sola later sits by him that night after Nox and Noctis are fast asleep, burrowing under his arm for a half-hug Ardyn can easily escape from, Ardyn doesn’t expect the soft, “You’re safe? Wherever you are?”

Ardyn looks down at his niece’s red hair in surprise, wondering what’s prompted this inquiry. But it’s easy enough to answer. “Yes.” As safe as one can be living in the outlands, which is safe enough with Axis and his family helping and Ardyn being the most powerful being on the planet short of an Astral.

Fingers tighten their grip on his coat. “…will you call?”

“Call?”

“After we go home.” Sola clarifies. “I want to know you’re both okay.”

Ardyn stills. Because she can’t mean what he thinks she means. “You won’t try to take Nox?” Not that Ardyn would let anyone take his nephew.

“You don’t trust Papa.” Sola says. Which, yes, but Ardyn didn’t expect Sola to pick up on that when he’s been keeping a lid on the vitriol he feels for most of his family, for Nox and Noctis’ sakes. “Nox is my baby brother, but he’s your nephew too, and he loves you.” A quiet sniffle. “I’ll miss you.”

“I will call.” Ardyn promises, resting a hand on Sola’s hair. “Both of us will.” He’s gotten a lot better at managing time, he can absolutely make a reminder on his phone to call his favorite niece once a week. If not, Titus can remind him.

[kitkatopinions]

What does Weiss think about her scar?

I really wish I had a canon answer for this question, but I truly don't think her scar is ever mentioned by her or anyone else throughout the whole show.

Which isn't to say that this is a big deal, sort of thing, but it's more of a nitpick where I am interested in every little detail and the fact that a lot of little things like 'how characters feel about this or that small thing' are often left out is something I personally wish wasn't the case. XD

In my own headcanons, I think I tend to imagine that Weiss was taught to view scars as a part of growing as a hunter, that students still in school and training were likely to get scars. So I think that Weiss probably could be more practical about it and learned to fight through pain as part of her training because of the inevitability that hunters will get hurt. But I also think that Weiss in the early seasons was hard enough on herself and others and had that 'I'm not perfect... Not yet' moment, and that sort of characterization I think would've also had Weiss in the early seasons thinking that although getting hurt in combat is an inevitability for training students, TRUE and SKILLED Hunters would just be good enough to avoid them. So I think that in the early seasons, Weiss would kind of see her scar as proof of her hard training, but also the result of a childish miscalculation in combat that she'd be eager to prove she could avoid in the future. But I think that Weiss would learn better in the Fall of Beacon, with prodigy students like Pyrrha dying but more importantly with Professor Ozpin dying, with Blake and Yang injured and Ruby passed out, I think that Weiss would've started to be a lot less... I don't know if 'victim-blamey' is the right word, but I think she'd soften towards herself and others on her stances about hunters getting hurt.

Speaking on Weiss's thoughts on her appearance specifically, we don't see Weiss as very concerned with her physical beauty and appearance much more than what you would assume just from her designs, so I don't think she'd be too insecure about a scar. And I think that it would more fit in Weiss's character to show off what her father would perceive as 'imperfection' rather than be that embarrassed about how it makes other rich snobs perceive her.

[sama-not-sam]

SAMA ALI ( AIYSHA HART ) is a THIRTY-TWO year-old UN POLITICAL AFFAIRS OFFICER in GENEVA, SWITZERLAND. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only THIRTEEN years old. They are known as THE AMBITIOUS because they are STRATEGIC but also COMPETITIVE. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Sama Ali Nickname(s): n/a, call her Sam at your own risk Date of Birth: born 1972, exact date of birth unknown; birthday celebrated October 30 Age: 32 Occupation: Political Affairs Officer for the United Nations Current Residence: Sama has a small apartment in Geneva. She’s traded space for convenience, opting for a 290 square foot flat within easy walking distance of work. Her job does require her to travel frequently and occasionally for extended periods of time, but Geneva is her home base.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black; worn straight and more or less shoulder length, depending on how long it’s been since she got it cut Eyes: dark brown Height: 5’9” Notable Features: high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, sharp jaw

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: strategic, assertive, determined, pragmatic, resilient Weaknesses: competitive, single-minded, reticent, show-off, insensitive (especially when it comes to other people’s feelings) Quirks: ⬧ Sama has a bad habit of checking her watch when she’s bored or frustrated, and she’s never without it, or her Blackberry. ⬧ She walks very quickly, for no reason other than to get to where she’s going that much faster. ⬧ She will also speak for others, especially people she knows well, if she feels like they’re not answering quickly enough, or if they pause and seem to be searching for words. ⬧ Her default stance when standing is her feet in third position and her hands resting on one hip, muscle memory left over from her years of ballet. ⬧ Sama hates going barefoot, and usually will wear a pair of ballet slippers instead of shoes when indoors. Vices: ⬧ Card games; not for gambling, she generally dislikes games of chance, but more for the thrill of winning. ⬧ Dance movies; they take her back, whether they feature ballet or not, and Dirty Dancing is actually the romantic ideal. ⬧ Suppressing emotions; Sama would probably cease to function if she was ever forced to actually look at all the feelings she ignores. ⬧ Whipped cream; not necessarily a vice, but it is Sama’s favorite treat.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Poetry, feminism, global politics, ballet, the wives of famous/powerful men(think Eleanor Roosevelt, Vera Nabokov, Catherine of Aragon), The West Wing (an American political drama that she still keeps up with). Hobbies: Sama doesn’t have much time for hobbies these days, she prefers to keep herself busy with work. One hobby, which is almost a habit, that she keeps up is journaling. As a child, she journaled religiously, making sure to keep a detailed account of her life so she could update her parents when they came back for her. While she’s long since let go of that childish dream, she still journals frequently. As a result, Sama is a pen snob. Special Skills/Talents: ⬧ Sama is a polyglot; fluent in English, Arabic, French, Persian, and (Swiss) German, as well as having some conversational Italian; she is also currently learning Mandarin. ⬧ She taught herself calligraphy in high school, one of many attempts to connect with her heritage, and still practices enough to keep her skills sharp. ⬧ She has an admirable talent for landing on her feet, for making the best of a bad situation or snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Some may call Sama lucky, but to do so would discount all the work she puts into getting what she wants.

BECOMING A WARD

Sama is one of Richard’s most famous ward, not that anyone outside of herself, Richard, and Mrs. Tristan ever knew that. In October of 1973, there was quite a stir over a baby found in Grand Central Station, initially assumed to be lost until it became clear she’d been abandoned on purpose. With no identifying information other than a name pinned to the back of her jacket, the authorities were unable to find her parents and Sama was ultimately shuffled into foster care. Think pieces and op eds will still occasionally surface about the Grand Central Girl, which Sama has a morbid fascination with.  What is common knowledge in Woodrow House is this; in 1986, an essay about the foster system was submitted to Kingsbury College’s annual writing contest, and it caught Richard’s attention to the extent that he just had to meet its author. He loved telling the story of his shock and delight on discovering that the essay had been written by a 13 year old girl, despite the fact that Sama insisted she never forgave him for the discovery that disqualified her from the contest. Over the course of a summer the two kept in touch, and letters turned into phone calls and eventually became face to face meetings. It didn’t take long for Richard to decide to take Sama on as his ward, but convincing Sama to accept his offer was another matter.   By the time she met Richard Woodrow, Sama had long since learned that things that seem too good to be true usually are. Like the foster mother who told Sama she was never going to adopt but that she’d keep her until she graduated from high school, only to adopt a different child 14 months later, dumping Sama in the process. The temptations of Woodrow House were almost too much for a girl to resist, Sama had never had her own room nor access to private tutors in whatever subject her heart desired, but this was exactly what made her skeptical. Ultimately she decided it was too great an opportunity to pass by and, with the condition of continued access to her social worker, Sama agreed.

LIFE AS A WARD

To say that Sama was prickly when she first arrived at Woodrow House would be an understatement. From the first day she was all sharp edges. She cursed too much, a habit that she eventually eliminated under Mrs. Tristan’s example, and she seemed to have a perpetual glare, an expression that only softened some rather than completely. It was her seventh foster home, so by the time she got there, she knew how to carve out a space for herself, and how to defend it. She decided at an early age that she was never going to be anyone’s whipping girl, and she came on a little strong initially. Even when she realized that Woodrow House was not a typical foster home, she was still assertive, and sometimes too assertive, about her right to be there and her authority over her own space. While she mellowed with time, she was never a warm and fuzzy person, and she never wanted to be a sister-figure. By the time Sama arrived at Woodrow House, she was already the ambitious one, already driven, already striving, already putting herself out there in order to prove… something. Even at thirteen she was the one with big, big plans to become a household name, although she never told anyone why. She was always busy, always doing something, never making time to really build meaningful relationships. Which is not to say she was anti-social, but she was selective. She would crash someone’s private tutoring, or try out another ward’s latest extra-curricular. She learned who had similar goals or preferences to her and who didn’t. She loved learning new things and honing her skills, and she appreciated people who could help her to those ends.  The roles Sama played in Woodrow House were simple. She firmly established herself as one of the older wards, usually holding herself above the younger ones. She was a favorite, of both  Richard and Mrs. Tristan. She wasn’t afraid to use that to get what she wanted when the occasion called for it, but she also maintained that the reason she was a favorite was because she never asked for too much. She remained generally a loner, seeming to occasionally grace certain wards with her presence more than seek out anyone’s company.

AESTHETIC

Sama’s style icon is CJ Cregg, from the American political drama The West Wing. She’s a big fan of power suits and loose blouses, and prioritizes high quality, classic styles over seasonal trends. She eschews many of the moment Y2K styles in favor of the designs from her twenties, maintaining a sleek and minimalist wardrobe. A businesswoman to her core, her version of dressing down is a sweater set and slacks. She favors neutrals and darker colors, and generally avoids prints. She likes headbands and still wears scrunchies when she’s having a rare casual moment. She has a modest collection of subtle stud earrings that she rotates in her single lobe piercings, and are the only jewelry she regularly wears.

EDUCATION

As soon as it was permitted, Sama chose to attend a prestigious, and private, all girls’ school that she knew about from having a former foster home nearby. It appealed to her because it was prestigious, because it was an all girls’ school—the pre-teen misandry stayed strong in her—and because none of the other wards already at Woodrow House attended it. Once there she made rather more enemies than friends, but at least she made them on her own and as herself, not part of a set. She was quickly identified as a teacher’s pet and know-it-all, because the purpose of school for Sama was to learn and climb to the top of her class. However, any classmates who tried to bully her quickly learned that she was more than capable of standing up for herself. When she graduated, her valedictorian speech brought many of the parents in the crowd to tears, but most of their daughters rolled their eyes.  For college, Sama set her sights on Columbia University from a young age, and not even Richard’s fondness for his own alma mater could dissuade her. Just like high school, she wanted to attend college on her own terms, and not as one of Richard Woodrow’s charity cases. At Columbia, she double majored in Human Rights and Women’s Studies, ultimately graduating Summa Cum Laude and at the top of her class. More importantly, she learned how to network with her peers instead of alienating them, and still has connections, some might even say friends, from undergrad to this day.  Sama welcomed Richard’s offer to pay for her undergraduate work, but when she was ready for grad school, she insisted on taking care of it herself, even though she didn’t have to. She covered her law school with a combination of grants, scholarships, some student loans, and the savings she built up with her allowance from Richard as a ward. Her last step in formal education was a degree in International and Comparative Law from Georgetown. She was accepted to other schools that were arguably more prestigious, like NYU and Yale, but decided that a school in the nation’s capital would align best with her long term goals.

EXTRACURRICULARS

Ballet, tennis, debate, school newspaper, volunteering. Sama dabbled in all sorts of extra-curriculars during her years at Woodrow House, but only a few were truly hers. Ballet was an interest that started before Richard came into Sama’s life, but her multiplicity of foster homes before Woodrow House made it difficult for her to truly commit to it, so Richard arranged for her to take private lessons in order to catch up with other dancers her age. The precision and structure of ballet appealed to Sama, as well as the fact that it was a challenge. Tennis was something she did because Alison did it, which is to say that she liked having an opponent who was as competitive as she was, and that she liked being around Alison. Debate and school newspaper were both things that looked good on her college resume, but she enjoyed them, as well, especially when she was made editor of the newspaper her senior year. Volunteering was something that Sama did ostensibly for the same reason she did debate and school newspaper, but the truth was she wanted to give back. She felt like she needed to use her privilege as a Woodrow ward not just to better herself, but others as well. 

THEIR LIFE NOW

After graduating from Georgetown, Sama didn’t pursue a legal career; that had never been the goal. Instead, she got a job at the United Nations headquarters in New York City, where she began steadily working her way up through the ranks of the political affairs department. She quickly established a name for herself as a driven employee and a creative problem solver, but also someone who cared deeply about the work the organization was doing. She jumped at any chance to travel for work that was presented to her and never balked at the long hours her job required.  Through it all, she never went back to Woodrow House, despite it being relatively close. There was always some sort of excuse, and it always boiled down to she was just too busy. She refused to admit that there could be anything else keeping her away. She didn’t go out of her way to keep in touch with her fellow wards, but if any of them were willing to put in most of the work, she wouldn’t ice them out, with one obvious exception. It was always uncomfortable for Sama to know that Alison was out there, in the same city as her, knowing that they might just run into each other one day, but she didn’t want to be run out of town, not again.  Following 9/11, it became clear that her skin color would be a detriment to Sama’s plans, and in 2002, she transferred to Geneva, wanting some distance from the rising Islamophobia in the US. She likes to think she’s settled into Geneva admirably, even though it was a rough transition initially, and she prefers it to New York in some ways. She remains married to her work, pursuing her goals with the same single-minded fervor that prevented her from getting more attached to her fellow wards as a teenager. Work-life balance is not a concept that Sama has any interest in and, after one situationship with a coworker that ended very messily, the only thing Sama keeps separate from work is her romantic life. Not that there’s much romance in her life, Sama doesn’t really date so much as she has habitual hookups, always strictly feelings-free until someone, usually the other person, drops the ball. Whenever feelings start to get involved, Sama’s mandate is to leave before she gets left. You’d have to have her at gunpoint to get her to admit that she’s lonely, or that all of her achievements are starting to feel empty, but she’s been fighting for the approval of the parents who didn’t want her for so long, she doesn’t know how to do anything else.

TIMELINE

1972: Sama is born, probably sometime in the spring.

1973: Sama is found abandoned in Grand Central Station in New York City on October 30th. She is placed in her first foster home in early November.

1974: Sama is officially made a ward of the state when the case to find her parents is closed.

1986: Sama anonymously submits an essay about the foster system to the Kingsbury College writing contest, of which Richard is a faculty judge, in the spring. Sama and Richard meet and get to know each other over the summer. She moves into Woodrow House as Richard’s ward in late August.

1987: Sama begins her freshman year at a private girls’ school in the fall.

1991: Sama graduates from high school in the spring. She begins her first year at Columbia University in the fall, never returning to Woodrow House.

1995: Sama graduates from Columbia in the spring. She begins her first year at Georgetown Law in the fall.

1998: Sama graduates from Georgetown Law in the spring. She begins working at the UN headquarters in New York City over the summer.

2002: Sama takes a job at the Geneva branch of the UN.

2005: Sama receives the news of Richard’s passing and returns to Woodrow House.

[cleoselene]

All The Concerts!

my mom wrote down every concert she's ever been to and it's a LOT, like in the triple digits

and it got me thinking if I could name every concert I've ever been to? I am fearful I might forget some tho my MS memory sucks but here goes:

New Kids on the Block

Boyz II Men/MC Hammer

Tori Amos (x7)

Switchblade Symphony

KMFDM with Nivek Ogre

VNV Nation (x2)

Air Supply (x2)

Terri Clark (lol I hated country when my family dragged me to this one, I was in my peak Snob Goth era)

Garth Brooks (happened much later when I had learned to embrace country)

Peter Cetera

Sarah McLachlan

The Editors

Radiohead (i hated this hahah, it was so fucking boring like their music. My friend bought the tickets and I had hoped seeing them live would make it click. It did not. I was bored and cold because it was raining in Seattle)

Coldplay (was so much better than Radiohead, seethe snobby indie rock fans)

Regina Spektor

The Decemberists (literally the worst concert I've ever seen. Again I did not buy the tickets but my friend who liked going to indie rock shows always bought two tickets in hopes of getting a date and I was her backup if she didn't. To be clear even though this and Radiohead sucked, I did have a great time with my friend both times)

Cake

George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic

Puscifer

Barry Manilow

ummm now I'm drawing a blank but I KNOW I've been to more shows and the stupid brain damage is making me forget. I've always been to see a fuck ton of tribute bands at this supper club, and tbh they were almost all really good. The Pink Floyd one especially. Also lol in middle school once this club I was in had a band come perform and they were like... a hair metal Christian band that took mainstream rock songs like "Living on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi and changed the lyrics to like... "LIVING 'CAUSE I PRAAYYYY" and it was fucking hilarious. It's driving me crazy tho because I know there are more actual real concerts I am forgetting -_-

so i guess if you count all the artists I saw multiple times, it comes to... *maths* 28 concerts? Which tbh does not feel like nearly enough.

on the bucket list:

Vienna Teng

Brandi Carlile

Portishead (lol this will never happen but a girl can dream)

Beyoncé

Taylor Swift

TOOL

A Perfect Circle

The Amazing Devil (which is somehow even less likely than Portishead)

SO I'LL MAKE THIS A MEME. Tell me which concerts you've been to, and tell me which concerts you feel like you MUST see before you die. @deathinthesun @an-ivy-covered-summer @swiftzeldas @sylvieons and whoever else wants to do it~

I did get Taylor tickets last year HOWEVER they were... beyond atrocious, the seats. Like, upper upper deck, BEHIND the stage with like no visibility, not even of the screens, because again: BEHIND. I had like three people trying to get tickets that day and 2/3 of us failed but my friend succeeded and she was like "do you want me to buy these? they're upper deck" and I was like yeah yeah that's okay! We can look at the screens! And then I saw the "OBSTRUCTED VISIBILITY" thing and looked at the layout and I was like...kind of devastated, honestly? It's really hard for me to do an outing like that physically, it was outdoors in April (which translates to HOT in Florida) and I just didn't see myself able to endure 5 or 6 hours at minimum in the heat without like, passing out and dying. Not to mention I'm still really scared of being in a large space with that many people because my disease-modifying drug destroys most of my immune system. I ended up selling them, and... buying my vinyl collection lol. Taylor got a lot of that money again because I bought a lot of her records. I'm kind of bummed that maybe I missed my chance forever, but again, I don't think I could have physically swung it. Plus, of the three nights she did Tampa, the show I was supposed to go to had meh surprise songs while the other 2 nights had AMAZING ones, so I know I would have been salty about that too. ONE DAY THO.