#so I just know this scene will be so chilling ..

[mythalism]

the timing of someone apparently shitting on me for being a veilguard hater on some remote corner of tumblr is so funny because i was actually just in the shower like an hour before listening to the atonement ending suite and thinking about the things that i love about veilguard after almost 2 months of marinating on it, so apologies for destroying my reputation as a certified HATER!!!!!!! but i actually wanted to share these earlier so im still going to. i think its interesting especially because ive seen a lot of people that hate these same things about the game, but my opinion has stayed the same. its also interesting because OVERALL the more i think about veilguard the more i dislike it, but for these certain aspects, the more i think about them the more i love them.

THAT FUCKING SONG!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!! even two months later i get choked up listening to it. and guys....... i dont listen to lost elf anymore. like i just dont even think of it. thats not to say trevor morris isnt the greatest of all time, and the atonement ending song relies heavily on lost elf. i know. but my favorite parts of the atonement song are not even lost elf!!! overall i missed trevor deeply, i did not like the veilguard soundtrack. i even turned the music volume to 0 at some points because it felt like nails on a chalkboard to me (ghilannain fight music made me want to d*e). HOWEVER. this is supposed to be positive. and if you ask me to choose lost elf vs atonement theme... im choosing atonement theme. every time. the way it adds to lost elf is wonderful. it gives me chills. it is so haunting. i will never tire of it. I LOVE THIS FUCKING SOOOOOONG. i also love the dread wolf song. so honorable mention to that one.

i love the solavellan ending. i know people hate it but nothing i have seen has convinced me to abandon my love for it. it is the best ending we could have possibly gotten in a game where the veil stayed up. and yes obviously i think the veil should have come down. but my IDEAL ending would have been veil down, rook takes over the mantle of dread wolf, solas and lavellan give up their mortal bodies and become spirits together and ascend to the fade. and honestly thats pretty much what happens, just without the veil. i love the mythological fairy tale vibe. i love the bittersweetness. i love that it is both tragic and hopeful. i love that it is vague enough to leave the future open. i love that the devs refuse to confirm where exactly in the fade they are. i love the sigyn loki eros psyche parallels. i love the maker and andraste parallels. could it have been built up to better? absolutely. but thats an issue with the build up, not the ending. i thought solas was going to die and we were going to watch the light go out of his eyes as lavellan held him and sobbed. it is so much more hopeful than i expected. i love that we get to redeem him through the power of love. i love that lavellan forgives him. i love that they survive. I LOVE IT!!!! and i love it the more i think about it. ive tried to hate it because i understand the perspective of people who didnt like it, but i literally cannot make myself dislike it.

i love the solavellan ending scene itself. i love how inky creeps in through the door. dont ask how she got up there its fine. i love how she sneaks up on him. i love that she comes up those stairs and it parallels the prologue scene with varric. i love that she has a zinger ready for him. "even if those you have wronged asked you to stop?" oh its so fucking good. i love his pathetic defeated "vhenan". i love that he rejects her again. i love that he apologizes but stays true to his goals. i love that it takes something beyond lavellan and the modern world to finally crack him. i love the way he looks at mythal like a kicked puppy. i love the way he cannot meet her eyes. i love the way he crumples and sobs and we see a completely different side of him that I NEVER FUCKING EXPECTED TO SEE IN A MILLION YEARS???? i love mythal's coldness and frankness as she releases him. i love that she doesn't apologize. i love how fucked up and messy it is. i love how it speaks to their entire relationship being fucked up and messy. i love that it has given me so much to chew on about what the fuck was going on with them. i love the way lavellan kneels so she can see his face. i love that she speaks in elvhen (even if the translation leaves something to be desired). i love that its all in the hallelujah cadence. i love that he assumes she wont come with him. i love that she has to chase after him one more time. i love his fucking tear mesh. i love his face when he looks at her. i love that their scene is wedding coded. i dont love the kiss but im trying to be positive and its tiny in the grand scheme. i love her hand on his shoulder as they step into the fade. i have a few complaints about the scene but none of them are enough to cheapen my enjoyment of it.

i fucking love fragment mythal. obviously. but seriously. i love the scene where you get her approval its one of my favorites in the entire game. i love that its hard to get her approval. i love that she fucking kills you if you piss her off. i love her lines. "after he killed the swamp witch. AND WEPT." BITCH!!!! and "you are a thousand years from knowing the correct words" or whatever. I LOVE HER. i love how fucking nasty she is. i love how she has clearly been stewing in resentment for thousands of years. i love that she is rude and proud and haughty. i love that she'd be looking down her nose at you if she wasn't like 5 ft tall. i love the way she falls backwards off the ledge with her arms out and closes her eyes to transform into a fucking dragon. i love her condescension. i love the decapitated wolf statues in the background. i love the note from felassan that reveals solas made her an entire island for herself. i love that she reveals that he put her there. i love that he could not bring himself to visit her even once. ohhhhh my god it makes me dizzy. talking to her was a moment where the game felt like dragon age to me.

i love my lavellan in this game. did i want WAY more of her? yeah. and i expected more. but every moment we got i loved. the first scene with her is mostly whatever its appropriately formal for her meeting a stranger. but the way she stutters when talking about solas? when asking rook to give him a chance by using the wolf statue to learn more about him? the way she looks down and to the side as she says it? banger. masterpiece. the act 3 conversation makes me have to lay down. i can barely even talk about it without foaming at the mouth. i love her characterization. i love that she orders rook to tell her something like she has gotten used to the power of her title as inquisitor. i love her subtle desperation to have her hope for him validated cloaked under her inquisitor mask. i love how it begins to crack as the conversation goes on and she gets lost in the memories of him. i love her sincerity. i love the way she speaks bluntly and unapologetically of her love. i love her facial expressions and her furrowed brow. i love how confident and self assured she is. "or maybe im the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that i do not have to face my folly; that i loved someone who made such terrible mistakes. that i might love him still" IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE GAME. perhaps. PERHAPS. in all of dragon age. yes im serious. its that insane to me. it feels like shakespeare wrote it. im only half kidding. i was rolling on the floor of my bedroom when i heard it. it still gives me chills. i love that her lines are in the hallelujah cadence. i love the way she talks about their relationship. i love how she is angry and indignant about his lies to her but that does not infringe upon her love. i love when she says "how could i have fallen in love with a god and not known? why didnt he tell me?' i love how sure she is that she knows the true solas. i love every word out of her mouth. i love all of it. that is my favorite scene in the game. i love when she shows up with dorian in the end. i love "is there any chance, any chance at all that he'd listen to reason?" i love her face when she says it. i love "speaking from the heart, inquisitor?" i love when dorian asks if shes heading out afterwards and she says "something like that" BE SOOOO FRRRR. SHE WAS FUCKING SCHEMING. there was not a moment that she was on screen that i did not love.

overall, i am happy with solas in this game. this one is last because its the weakest because i do criticisms but overall, i think it was fine LOL. my biggest worry was that they were going to completely woobify him and make him above reproach and erase the negative sides of him in favor of making him MORE sympathetic to new players. the fact that we got the opposite is crazy, but i vastly prefer it. id rather have him be too villainous than robbed of his complexity to be more palatable. that would have fully ruined the game for me. so the fact that we got to see him being an absolute prick little shit who betrayed us TWICE was wonderful. i loved being betrayed. i love the scene where he puts rook in the regret prison. i LOVE how he appears behind rooks shoulder in flashes and the player can see him but rook cant. i love how he circles rook like prey. i love how he does that cunty little thing with his hand over the dagger. i love that he taunts rook. i love that he doesnt actually take the dagger from them and instead waits for it to fall into his hand. its so immortal trickster god. i love that fucking scene. i love the "by my hand" line and how he looks you in the face as he manipulates his words so expertly. i love his banters with the companions. i looooooooved listening to him beef with elgar'nan. it felt so HIM. i was like YES!!!! THIS IS THE DREAD WOLF I WANTED TO MEET!!!! i was screaming during that quest. anyway. i wanted more of him. yeah. i dont really care that much that the companions and general story is weirdly unsympathetic to him. because it obviously didnt work!!! LMFAOOO 72% people still decided to redeem him so whatever! hes still pookie. im just so glad they didnt make him boring and lame. all my issues along this vein revolve more around the veil than solas, so i consider it a separate issue. i loved seeing mean nasty cunty trickster god.

ok in retrospect this list isnt that long KJHREGKJERG. however all of these things are very important to me so the fact that i love them is essential. like i truly got what i needed out of this game. i criticize it a lot but i would have done that even if the game was a 9/10 for me. i do it to literally everything i love. except fmab because its above reproach. but literally everything else. i was writing essays criticizing the percy jackson books on tumblr when i was 15. i have been criticizing dragon age online for 5+ years. veilguard aint special in catching my heat. critical analysis is in my soul. anyway i wanted banger solavellan ending that i could chew on for years and i got it. thats all i needed! ok now going to go listen to atonement ending suite again and transcend into the astral plane

[piastrisun]

warming up to love.

pairings: franco colapinto + fem reader.

summary: beneath the falling snow, the warmth of a shared moment transforms a casual connection into something unforgettable.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 3.6k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: i love writing long stuff about franco cause we know he’s a very talkative guy and would pull a before sunrise any day. this kinda made me wanna fall in love.

“oh, the weather outside is frightful / but the fire is so delightful / and since we've no place to go / let it snow.”

the christmas party hums with a mellow energy as the night winds down. it’s a familiar scene—mutual friends scattered across the house, the remnants of shared laughter echoing softly. you hadn’t planned to come this year; after all, these gatherings had long been a minefield of awkward encounters and unspoken wounds. your ex, the one who shattered your heart last christmas, always seemed to be at these parties, and the thought of facing him again was enough to make you steer clear.

but tonight is different. encouraged by a friend who insisted it would be ‘good for you,’ you found yourself here, hovering on the edges, nursing a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace. franco is here, too—franco, who has always been little more than a polite nod or a quick ‘hi.’ the two of you aren’t close, not even friends, really. yet as the evening stretches on, you find his presence more noticeable than usual, his laughter drawing glances from across the room.

most of the guests have either slipped away to spare rooms or are scattered in half-asleep clusters, the laughter and music now a faint echo in the house. you sit near the fireplace, nursing a mug of mulled wine, its spicy warmth a small comfort against the chill outside. the flickering flames cast golden light over the room, and you sink into the soft cushions of the couch, grateful for the moment of solitude.

until franco joins you.

you hear him before you see him, the faint sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor. all evening, he’s been the centre of attention—his jokes landing perfectly, his energy magnetic, his laughter infectious. but now, as he lowers himself onto the couch beside you, he’s different. his movements are slower, deliberate, as though he’s shedding the playful bravado for something more genuine. he leans back, draping one arm casually over the backrest, close enough for you to feel his presence without it pressing on you.

“you’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, his voice quieter than you expect, his accent rolling over the words with a natural charm. “thinking deep holiday thoughts?”

you glance at him, arching a brow, already on guard. “oh, you know, debating whether santa’s elves have a decent union.”

a grin spreads across his face, quick and easy. “they don’t,” he replies, leaning slightly toward you, his dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. “you can see it in their eyes—overworked, underpaid, stuck making toys for kids who’ll forget about them in five minutes.”

the corners of your mouth lift before you can stop yourself, the response catching you off guard. “exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than you intended. “and don’t even get me started on rudolph. classic case of workplace exploitation.”

his laugh is rich, low, and unrestrained, and for a moment, it drowns out the crackle of the fire. “you’re good,” he says, his grin lingering. “sharp. i like that.”

you shrug, trying to deflect the sudden focus on you. “it’s just common sense. someone has to advocate for the underappreciated holiday workforce.”

his grin widens, but there’s a shift in his expression—something more curious, more intent. “so, do you always deflect with humour,” he asks, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just my lucky night?”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation. “and do you always psychoanalyse women at christmas parties?” you shoot back, the edge in your tone softened by the playful smile tugging at your lips.

“only the ones who seem like they have really good stories to tell,” he replies smoothly, his voice dipping lower.

you roll your eyes, though you feel the laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “you’re persistent, i’ll give you that.”

“i’m argentinian,” he says with a light shrug, as though that explains everything. “it’s genetic.”

the absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, this time unrestrained and genuine. you shift in your seat, tucking your legs beneath you as you hold your mug close, needing the warmth against your palms. he adjusts as well, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. his gaze is steady, direct, and disarmingly sincere.

“you’re good at this, you know,” he says, his tone softer now, almost conversational.

“at what?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“deflecting,” he says simply, his eyes searching yours. “you tell a joke, flash a smile, and everyone forgets to ask the real questions.”

you shift uncomfortably, your grip tightening around the mug. “maybe i just don’t like questions,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended.

“or maybe you don’t like answers,” he counters, his voice steady but without judgment.

the weight of his words settles over you, and you find yourself looking away, your gaze fixed on the fire. the orange glow feels safer than the intensity in his eyes.

“you’ve been hurt before,” he says, breaking the silence.

“haven’t we all?” you reply quickly, your tone sharper now, a reflex to protect yourself.

“sure,” he agrees, his voice calm, unbothered by your resistance. “but not everyone builds walls like you do.”

your shoulders tense, and you draw back slightly, the heat of the fire no longer comforting. “you don’t know me well enough to say that,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but firm.

“not yet,” he says, the gentleness in his tone catching you off guard. “but i’d like to.”

the vulnerability in his voice chips away at your defences, and for a moment, you exhale, leaning back into the couch. you’re silent, but the tension in your posture eases.

“it’s not that simple,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “people think you can just… open up and everything will be fine. but when you’ve given your heart to someone who didn’t want it, it’s hard to trust anyone with it again.”

his dark eyes don’t waver, his gaze steady but soft, and he nods slowly. “i get that,” he says. “but maybe the trick isn’t trusting someone else first. maybe it’s trusting yourself—that you’ll survive it if things don’t go the way you hope.”

✩

the flickering firelight dances across his face, softening his features, and his expression is open, patient, unhurried.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be,” he says after a long pause, his voice dropping lower.

“what did you think i’d be like?” you ask, curious despite yourself.

“i don’t know,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smile. “polished, untouchable, the kind of person who always has the upper hand.”

“and now?” you press, leaning in slightly, the space between you shrinking.

“still intimidating,” he admits, his smile widening just enough to make your heart skip. “but in a good way.”

for the first time, you let the moment linger, the tension between you shifting into something unspoken but undeniable.

the fire casts a warm glow over the room, its crackling filling the quiet pauses between words. you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light but genuine. a comfortable silence stretches between you and franco, and in that quiet, you feel it—a subtle but undeniable pull. it’s unspoken, yet it lingers, drawing you closer to him in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable.

“you’re not what i expected, either,” you say, your tone casual, though the words carry weight.

franco leans forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “oh? what did you expect?”

your lips curl into a teasing smile. “someone who tries too hard to be funny. but you’re just… effortlessly annoying.”

his laughter bursts out, rich and warm, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “effortlessly annoying? that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

you shake your head, your smile widening despite yourself. you can feel your guard slipping, piece by piece, the edges softening with every laugh, every shared glance.

✩

as the night drifts on, the conversation flows like an easy current, touching on favourite movies, childhood christmas memories, and absurd holiday traditions. you trade stories that are ridiculous and endearing, the kind that make your sides ache from laughter. each word exchanged deepens the connection between you, weaving a thread of familiarity where there was none before.

he leans back, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “you know, this has to be the best christmas conversation i’ve ever had. no offence to santa and the elves.”

you raise your brow, feigning seriousness. “i’ll take it as a compliment. i don’t usually do this, you know.”

he tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression. “what? talk to effortlessly annoying guys?”

“no,” you reply with a soft laugh. “sit here, opening up to someone i just met. it’s… different.”

the teasing fades from his face as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intent. “different good or different bad?”

you meet his gaze, your heart beating a little faster at the intensity in his eyes. “good,” you say softly. “definitely good.”

the fire crackles softly in the background, the rhythmic pops and hisses filling the spaces between breaths. your laughter, which had moments ago echoed brightly, now fades into something quieter, something deeper. the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s laced with a gentle understanding that neither of you has to name. you feel it—a warmth spreading through you, unfamiliar yet comforting, like an old song you’ve almost forgotten but still know by heart. it’s a feeling you haven’t let yourself embrace in years.

franco shifts slightly beside you, leaning forward as if to close the distance without intruding. his voice cuts through the quiet, warm and deliberate. “for the record,” he says, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile, “you’re pretty good at this too.”

you glance at him, your brow lifting in subtle curiosity. “at what?”

his eyes linger on yours, the firelight flickering in their depths. he doesn’t hesitate, his tone softer now, almost confessional. “making me want to stay up all night talking to you.”

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a moment, your heart stumbles, a traitorous skip in its rhythm. you’re certain he notices, but for once, you don’t try to hide it.

your grip loosens slightly on your glass of wine, and you exhale, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. the vulnerability in his words disarms you, but it’s the sincerity in his gaze that keeps you still, like he’s waiting, patiently, to see if you’ll let him stay.

✩

you stand near the balcony door, the hum of the christmas party a soft murmur inside. outside, the chill air brushes your skin, the twinkling lights from the decorations contrasting with the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. your glass of wine rests in your hand, swirling gently, the dark liquid catching the firelight. you find yourself momentarily lost in the way the flames dance, tracing their movement, letting the quiet settle over you.

franco is standing beside you, so close now that his knee almost brushes against yours, but neither of you says anything. it's the first time tonight that the two of you have actually been alone, outside the usual nods and polite greetings you’ve exchanged over the years.

after a beat, he breaks the silence, his voice low but steady, like he’s testing the air between you.

“you know,” he begins, glancing toward you but keeping his gaze just slightly above yours, “i used to think love was supposed to be this big, dramatic thing. like fireworks and grand gestures.”

you raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk as you shift your weight, the wine glass still twirling in your hand. “let me guess—movies and cheesy romance novels ruined you?”

franco laughs, the sound soft but amused, and you can hear the humour in his voice when he responds. “hey, i’m a romantic. sue me.”

you chuckle, the ease of his words making you relax, but there’s something in his tone that lingers. the idea of love as a grand, sweeping event feels familiar, even if it's been a long time since you've believed in it. the pause between the two of you stretches a little longer, the silence pulling at the edges of your thoughts, and you finally turn to him, looking at him fully for the first time tonight.

“and now?” you ask quietly, your voice catching the reflection of the fire in his eyes. “what do you think it’s supposed to be?”

he looks at you, really looks at you this time, and there's something about the way he shifts, the way he leans slightly forward, that makes his words hit you harder than you expect. his eyes are steady, but his voice is softer now, more introspective.

“i think it’s quieter,” he says, his tone almost reverent, like he's sharing a truth he's only just realised. “more like… finding someone who makes you feel like you’re home, no matter where you are.”

the words settle heavily in the space between you. you blink, your breath momentarily stuck in your chest. there's something in his expression, something real and raw, and it pulls you in. you turn your body slightly towards him, the firelight flickering off his face, and you can feel the weight of his honesty pressing into your own guarded heart.

“that’s nice," you say, almost whispering, but a knot tightens in your throat. you shift your gaze, struggling to maintain the usual lightness, but it’s hard now. "but what if you’ve been hurt? what if 'home' feels more like a risk than a refuge?”

franco doesn’t hesitate. his elbows drop to his knees, the movement slow and deliberate. he leans in just slightly, his shoulders squared toward you, and the teasing edge that usually follows him is gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

“then maybe you stop looking for a perfect home,” he responds, voice steady, each word measured. “maybe you find someone who’s willing to build it with you, one piece at a time. even if it’s messy.”

the simplicity of his answer leaves you breathless for a second. you swallow, feeling something shift within you, like a door cracking open just a little wider. his words hang in the air, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the weight of them settle into your chest. it’s a thought you’ve buried for a long time, and you feel a flicker of warmth in the cold air around you.

“you make it sound so simple,” you say, a soft laugh escaping you, though your voice is quieter now, more fragile.

his lips twitch into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes right away. he glances at you, his gaze lingering before he answers. “it’s not. but i think the right person makes it worth the mess.”

you exhale, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though his words have left something unspoken between you. the weight of the conversation feels too heavy to hold onto for much longer, so you try to shift the mood. you take a deep breath and let the faintest hint of a smile curve your lips.

“okay, mr. romantic,” you tease, your voice a little lighter now. “what’s your other grand passion? what keeps you up at night?”

franco grins, the teasing spark returning to his eyes. “besides annoy people by fireplaces?”

you laugh, shaking your head at him, but there’s something different in the way you look at him now, something softer in your gaze. you catch the slight change in his expression, the way his eyes soften, even if only for a fraction of a second, as he watches you.

“i like cooking, actually,” he says, a genuine warmth to his voice. he leans back slightly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he talks. “there’s something about making a meal for someone—putting care into every detail, knowing it’s going to bring them joy.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement creeping back into your features, but there’s a spark of curiosity now, too. “cooking, huh? sounds like an elaborate way to flirt.”

franco’s grin widens, and you notice the way his eyes twinkle with mischief. “absolutely. works every time.”

you lean back, finally allowing a full smile to spread across your face. it feels natural, comfortable, the awkward tension of the night slipping away with the shared laughter, but something lingers—a connection that wasn’t there before. the warmth of the fire and the quiet rhythm of your conversation are the only things that matter now.

you lean back, your body sinking slightly into the chair, the chill of the balcony air brushing against your skin. the soft hum of the christmas party drifts in from the room behind you, but here, the cold night air feels refreshing, clearing the noise in your head. your smile lingers, and you can’t help but feel a change in the air. the distance between you and franco now feels different—closer, more intimate.

“i like that,” you say, your voice calm but thoughtful. “the way you think about it, i mean. cooking for someone. it’s... intimate.”

franco shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his gaze focused on you. “what about you?” he asks, his voice soft, genuinely curious. “what’s the thing that makes your heart beat a little faster?”

you hesitate for a moment, the chill in the air suddenly making you feel a little warmer under his gaze. his openness makes you feel safe enough to share, and without thinking, the words tumble out of you.

“i write,” you say, your voice quiet, almost wistful. “or i used to, before life got in the way. it’s like... the only time i’ve ever felt completely free.”

his expression softens, his gaze gentle as he watches you, and for a brief moment, the world around you seems to fade. he looks like he understands the weight of your words. "why’d you stop?” he asks, his voice low, quiet with concern.

you shrug, avoiding his gaze, not wanting to face the vulnerability in your own eyes. “fear, maybe,” you reply, the words hanging heavily between you. “that i wasn’t good enough. that it wasn’t practical.”

“fear’s a bad reason to stop doing something you love,”he responds, his tone firm but gentle, almost as though he’s speaking to himself as much as to you.

the silence lingers in the space between you, and the cool night air feels heavier, somehow more present. you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, your breath catching slightly as you meet his gaze. the snow falls gently, glowing faintly in the moonlight. the world feels suspended, quiet, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this stillness, and nothing else matters. there’s a sincerity in his eyes that pulls you in deeper, something you can’t quite explain.

“you should writing again,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost like a quiet plea. “you’re too passionate to keep it all locked inside.”

you swallow, the idea of writing again making something stir in your chest. but you don’t let it show, instead trying to keep the mood light. “and you should stop psychoanalysing strangers at christmas parties,” you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he grins, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s a shift. his gaze softens, and the playful atmosphere between you both changes. “maybe i’ll make it my new year’s resolution,” he says with a teasing tone, but there’s something deeper in his voice now. “right after ‘kiss beautiful smart women by fireplaces.’”

you laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seems to break the tension between you. but when your eyes meet again, the air is different. the laughter fades, replaced by a quiet understanding that neither of you can ignore. there’s a pull, something magnetic. his smile fades into something deeper, and you feel it too—a tension you haven’t felt in years.

“can i?” his voice is soft, his eyes searching yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through you that makes your heart race.

you nod, your throat tight, unable to say anything. but your silence speaks volumes, and it’s enough. he gives you every opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. you stay, rooted to the spot, as his lips hover just inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest as he inches closer.

the kiss comes softly at first, tentative, almost as though he’s testing the waters, unsure of the fragility of the moment. but then, something shifts. the warmth between you builds, and the kiss deepens, both of you leaning into it, the connection effortless. it’s like you’ve both been waiting for this, and now that it’s here, it feels as though nothing else matters—just the two of you, wrapped in the glow of the lights and the quiet of the night. you both lean into it, your bodies moving as if they’ve known how to do this all along. it feels natural, easy, like the conversation you’ve had all night.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth. franco’s smile is softer now, more intimate, and it makes your heart flutter.

“you’re a hard one to read, you know that?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes are still searching yours.

you shake your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “and you’re impossible to ignore.”

the soft crackle of the fire still echoes from the living room, and the snow falls gently on your coat, glowing faintly in the moonlight. but here, on the balcony, it’s just the two of you. for the first time in a year, you feel something stir within you—a piece of yourself that you thought was lost. and in that moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found it again

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[grumpchump]

Adding the full yap because a few people asked for it !

(no fast pass spoilers, I'm not caught up yet anyway!)

I feel like this theme applies to almost every character in the main cast.

First of all, we all know that one of Chase's biggest aspirations is to be a famous singer, even though nobody in his life really thinks he can do it. He seems perfectly aware of this. He knows that everyone thinks his dream is impossible, and maybe part of him thinks the same thing, but he just doesn't care. He's still extremely determined to realize his goals despite what everyone thinks of him.

Buddy especially doesn't think very highly of him (at first!)- throughout a good portion of the season, he constantly assumes Chase is going to give up the stories as soon as they get hard. But as Chase says in Sick Day, it's not his style to give up. He is so much more than what a lot of people expect him to turn out to be and he's so cool and I love him so bad

This applies to Buddy pretty obviously too. He's meant to be a cold and ruthless villain, and he certainly does try to be that. He's tough and more than a little mean at times, but we can see pretty consistently that he isn't as heartless as he might want people (Chase) to think. Even from the beginning when he's determined to antagonize Chase and get his key, he drops hints and helps him to finish the stories.

I always thought the scene in the Cinderfella arc where he tells Chase that he can eat the storybook food was really interesting. Like, he has no incentive to do that. He has no reason not to sit by and watch Chase suffer wanting to eat the desserts. But instead he does this small act that is, whether intentionally or not, actually kinda nice of him. It's just another small moment that shows that the villain persona people expect of him isn't really all that he is.

(This is a smaller thing, but I think with his exterior and how he acts in the books, we kind of expect him to be cunning and hard-working. I believe Punko said in a Q&A that in his free time he's actually an extremely lazy person, contrary to how we usually see him. I'm just mentioning that because I think it's funny and I love him a lot.)

Deacon is an extremely complex character with so many layers that I honestly am still grappling with, this guy's really cool.

A lot of his struggles are with the expectations placed on him. We know his whole life and career have been planned out for him by his parents. There's constantly a lot of pressure on him to work hard at this path that has been chosen for him, but in reality, he doesn't want any of it. My man just wants to read his shitty fantasy novels and chill with horses, give him a break !!

He's also constantly trying to defy his role as the helper key (specifically in Sick Day and The Book of Deacon). I think it's really interesting how he struggles to accept his role. Chase and Buddy don't actively try not to be the hero and the villain, they just naturally are more morally grey with it. Deacon, on the other hand, is almost a little desperate to go beyond being a helper and fall into another alignment, acting carelessly and causing trouble because of it. And the thing is, it makes perfect sense why he'd do it.

Books are very much a source of escapism for him. Actually getting to LIVE OUT the books is extremely exciting. Inside the books, he has a chance to escape his parents' expectations- being the helper, though, he just feels like he has a new set of expectations placed on him. Once he actually gets to be the hero in The Book of Deacon, he learns that this role is just as tough- again, he's trading one set of expectations for another. There's really no winning for this man lol. but im getting a little off topic here.

What Deacon needs is to reject the expectations his parents have placed on him and do what will make him truly happy. We can see how Buddy and Chase sort of naturally deviate from their expectations just through being themselves, but Deacon is still struggling in this process. Deacon is struggling to be himself in the way Buddy and Chase do.

There is still that level of acceptance he needs to have for his current situation though, specially in his helper role. He's still struggling to grasp all that being a helper means and how it's still just as important a role to take on as the hero or villain. He needs to find a way to balance his responsibilities and his happiness.

In Prunella's case, it's a bit harder to say- as of Friends and Family, we haven't gotten to spend as much time with her as the boys, so we're still learning more about her. I think the irony of this little girl getting to play the role of the big strong hero is sort of a subversion of expectations in itself lol.

We've also seen her upbringing. We've seen her mom. We've seen her house. It's a big awesome fairytale mess, and she doesn't really fit into it at all- being more into wilderness survival, she's not really what most people would assume her to be when they see her home life. Nothing wrong with that of course, just worth mentioning. We also learn in Friends and Family that she's very advanced for her age- she's extremely smart and probably a lot more understanding and level-headed about all the key business than I think a lot of other kids would be. I'd say she deviates from what a lot of people would expect of a child her age.

I'd love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts about her character !! I like her a lot and I'm excited to get to know more of her in the story :)

I wanna touch on the Keys last, specifically Silver. This part will be more speculation, so take it with a grain of salt.

In line with the theory about Silver possibly betraying Chase, this theme would apply perfectly. The way we've gotten to know Silver, she's extremely sweet and caring. She acts very selflessly for her family and friends and is eager to lend Chase a helping hand in saving his mom.

What we need to remember is that her first priority is to take care of her family. Helping Chase with his thing is definitely a means to reunite everyone (since he'll need all 12 keys to make his wish anyway), but it may not feel like she's doing enough. Helping her family and taking care of the Keys is her ultimate goal. If she's the heroine of her story, it makes perfect sense that she would take whatever actions necessary to do this.

The problem is, Cinderella Boy follows CHASE as the protagonist. We're rooting for Chase to evade Ex Libris, collect the keys, and save his mom. From this perspective, Silver betraying Chase, going behind his back, etc. would technically be an antagonistic action.

Am I saying that makes her a villainess? No, I really don't think so. But we've come to know Silver as a kind, supporting force for Chase. All I'm saying is, if she really were going behind Chase's back in some way (referring specifically to the letter she writes to Violet at the end of Friends and Family), it would absolutely subvert ours and Chase's expectations of her. It would line up with the theme of defying these expectations.

This theme is another of the many reasons why the Beach Boys arc is so important.

Circling back to Chase and Buddy, the core relationship at the center of the story- up until this point, Chase and Buddy have not cooperated with each other. Just a few episodes ago was the Toffee Break arc, where Buddy was an absolute menace and Chase straight got him thrown off a boat, lol.

But then Chase sees Buddy struggling to light a fire, and he does something unexpected. Even though he and Buddy have spent pretty much every moment together as rivals, he offers Buddy a tip on how to start the fire. He completely subverts what we've come to expect of their relationship. And then Buddy does something even more unexpected by returning the gesture and sharing his fish.

They're meant to be the hero and the villain- complete antagonists to one another. But in this moment they both choose to defy their expected roles and share a small, nice moment.

Later, Chase offers to help Buddy get out of the dangerous situation he's living in, and Buddy assumes he's lying. He doesn't expect Chase to be genuine about it. But like he says in Beach Boys (VI), Chase gets mad at him for doing the same thing, and he realizes he's been wrong about Chase maybe the whole time. Chase is not at all like Buddy expected him to be.

I think the point Chase makes in this episode about their roles as the hero and the villain is extremely important to the story as a whole. Buddy is meant to be the villain, so he's supposed to be a horrible person. Chase is meant to be the hero, so he's supposed to be patient and forgiving. But Chase says it himself- he doesn't care about that. He isn't the perfect protagonist we might expect him to be. He's an extremely kind and good person, yes, but he also has no trouble standing his ground and acting the way HE wants to, despite what everyone thinks of him. And Buddy, while harsh and standoffish, has plenty of moments that showcase how he's actually quite a caring person when he starts to let down his guard around someone.

Hell, even the entire concept of Cinderella Boy as a whole is kind of a subversion of expectations in itself!!!! A boy finds a magical artifact that lets him enter and play out any story he uses it on, but, ironically, he always has to be the princess?? it's amazing i love it

Cinderella Boy shows us consistently that nobody is stuck playing the role everyone expects them to. Nobody is bound to the perceptions that other people have of them, and everyone is free to defy these expectations and be the person they want to be. Chase says it best in Beach Boys (IV): "Nobody should have to accept being the villain if they're trying their best not to be."

To rap up my yap session, Cinderella Boy is a narrative about defying expectations and other people's perceptions of you and being a person of your choosing and everyone should go reread it one billion more times !!!!!!

shout-out to Cinderella Boy and its ongoing theme of defying the expectations everyone has for you and being more than your roots and upbringing, gotta be one of my favorite genders fr

[eunoia-writes]

The other side of the door • ArthurTV

Summary - After a fight and a misunderstanding, Arthur’s heartfelt gesture forces Y/N to confront her feelings, leading to a pivotal moment in their relationship.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I told him I didn’t feel the same," Y/N said, her voice low and careful. She and Arthur were standing in the middle of Isaac’s birthday party, trying to avoid making a scene.

"Not a big deal?" Arthur’s voice rose, barely contained. "A guy confesses his love for you—my girlfriend—and it’s not a big deal?"

His words only made Y/N more frustrated. She clenched her jaw, trying to stay calm. She didn’t want this argument, especially not here. "Arthur, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you," she said softly, but it didn’t stop him.

Arthur continued, his voice louder now. "It’s a big deal, Y/N. How could you not think this was important enough to tell me?"

Y/N’s patience snapped. "What is it, Arthur? You think I’m keeping my options open?" she shot back, her voice sharp. And he said nothing.

"Fuck you!" she spat, storming out of the house. Arthur called after her, his tone suddenly desperate, pleading for her to stay. But she didn’t turn back. By the time he realized he had gone too far, she was already gone.

That night, Y/N ignored the endless stream of texts and calls from Arthur. Apologies filled her screen, his words tumbling over themselves. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. The texts kept coming until they suddenly stopped.

The silence might have worried her if she wasn’t still so furious. The next morning, she woke up to a single message.

Not from Arthur. From Nicole, his ex.

A photo. Arthur and Nicole in bed together.

Y/N stared at the image, her chest tightening. Hurt. Rage. Betrayal. She didn’t know which emotion to lean into, but she knew one thing: she needed answers.

Her roommate drove her to Arthur’s place under the impression Y/N was just collecting her things. She had no idea Y/N was about to unleash hell.

"Arthur!" Y/N stormed into his flat, her voice echoing through the space. Isaac appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

"Chill with the yelling. Prince Charming’s on the couch, regretting every drop of tequila," he said nonchalantly. Y/N didn’t respond. She headed straight for the living room.

Arthur sat slumped on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up, bleary-eyed, as Y/N marched in. "Y/N, I’m sorry about last night—"

"I don’t care about that!" she cut him off, shoving her phone in his face. "What the fuck is this?"

Arthur’s face turned pale, his mouth opening slightly before he finally managed to speak. "That’s not what it looks like," he said, standing up.

Y/N took a step back, shaking her head. "So, one argument, and you run back to her?" Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to stay composed. Tears welled in her eyes. "Was this what you wanted all along?"

"No, Y/N. Please, listen to me," Arthur pleaded, stepping closer. "Nothing happened. I drank too much, passed out in the spare room. I didn’t even know she was there until I woke up."

"I don’t believe you," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She turned on her heel, tears streaming down her face. "Isaac, will you drive me home?"

Isaac hesitated, glancing at Arthur, whose silent plea was clear. Still, Isaac nodded. "I’ll take her."

Arthur stepped forward. "No, I’ll drive her."

Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue. She climbed into the passenger seat, staring out the window in silence as Arthur tried, and failed, to explain himself. When they pulled up to her house, the weight of everything hit her all at once. She burst into tears.

"Y/N," Arthur said softly, reaching out to her.

"Just leave," she choked out. Her voice was firm, even through her sobs.

Arthur got out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door. Instead of walking away, Y/N fell into his arms, crying harder than she had in years. Arthur held her tightly, lifting her off the ground and carrying her up the stairs to her door.

For a moment, they stood there in silence. Then Y/N finally whispered, "Leave."

Arthur’s heart broke, but he nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. He wiped his own tears and walked away, giving her the space she needed.

Hours later, Y/N was lying in bed, her pillow soaked with tears, when a soft tapping sound broke through her haze. She ignored it at first, but when it continued, she dragged herself to the window.

There he was. Arthur. Standing in the pouring rain, holding her favorite flowers in one hand and a pebble in the other.

"What are you doing?" she called out, her voice thick with emotion.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. "I’m in love with you, Y/N!" he shouted over the rain. "And nothing—nothing—is going to change that. I didn’t do anything with Nicole. I swear. I’d never hurt you like that."

Y/N’s resolve wavered. She shook her head, tears threatening to spill again. "There’s nothing you can say to make this right, Arthur," she said, but they both knew she didn’t mean it.

Arthur���s voice softened. "If you really mean that, come down here and tell me to leave. Say it to my face, and I’ll go. I promise."

Her heart pounded as she stepped back from the window. She slipped on her shoes and walked outside, the rain soaking through her clothes in seconds. Arthur stood there, drenched, his eyes locked on her.

"Tell me to go," he said, his voice trembling. "And I will."

Y/N stared at him, her lips trembling. "Arthur..." she began, but the words she meant to say wouldn’t come out. Instead, she surged forward, capturing his lips in a desperate, rain-soaked kiss.

Arthur wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close as he could. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I love you, too," he murmured, holding her tighter, knowing she was his again.

[phantomrose96]

twice now ive started and not finished silt verses. (no particular reason i didnt finish, ive really enjoyed it both times and keep thinking that i gotta get back to it.)

a moment that really hit me, and i think i'll always remember, is in hayward's first episode. the series starts with carpenter, so we know that worshipping the trawlerman is illegal and a bit about what that worship is like, but not much about how worshipping other gods works. even with the deer/hound people (who i forget if they happened before or after hayward's intro), that's another illegal and hidden religion. it leaves space to assume that the deadliness and the human sacrifice is WHY these gods are forbidden.

and then hayward's ep happens. and he says, offhand, like it's something completely unremarkable (paraphrased), 'people following those kinds of gods wouldn't get in trouble over it if they could just be reasonable about these things. there's a right and wrong way to do this, like how every new building starts construction by drowning two criminals in the cement foundation.' hearing that, and hearing how casual he was about it, i felt my entire understanding of the setting shift drastically.

legality wasn't about whether a group of worshippers do or don't kill. it was about what worshippers kill the acceptable targets, in the right way. and suddenly i find myself much more distrustful of a society that's motivated to create acceptable targets than i ever was of how carpenter and faulkner do things.

its a really chilling and well done bit of writing.

someday ill get past five episodes. im sure i'll really enjoy it.

Yes!!! YES!!!!

I've mentioned once or twice in my ramblings here that that was also my biggest "Oh" moment for TSV.

I started out episode 1 vaguely thinking of Carpenter and Faulkner as if you'd made a podcast following TMA Avatars as main characters. We know right off the bat the Trawlerman's people are human-sacrificing cultists. Obviously Nana Glass wasn't a good person. She killed people! And she got killed in a police stand-off because she was a mass murderer. And we know Carpenter and Faulkner are following in her same line of work so, really, we're following antagonists aren't we?

And then my "Oh" came later with (not necessarily that Hayward scene specifically) but when I went "Oh. The Trawlerman's people are being persecuted by the authorities not because they're human-sacrificing cultists. But because they're the losing human-sacrificing cultists."

Because actually, the legal authorities, the politicians, the corporations, are all very much part of human-sacrificing religions. That part is allowed. These "backwards hick" gods are illegal and horrible, because their kind of human sacrifice is uncivilized. Unlike the civilized people's human sacrifice, which is allowed because the corporations and the institutions have okayed it :).

They do so much with it over the series.

Also I see you're only on episode 5 so actually I'm putting this part beneath a readmore since I checked and this is about episode 7

The episode with Paige recounting what happened to Vaughan is what drove it in for me, I think. It plays out line-for-line like a corporation going through lay-offs "These are tough times :(. We understand this is difficult for everyone leaving us today :(." but they are... just... allowed to kill these employees they're letting go in a ritual sacrifice. To a legal god. And Paige thinks surely they won't--surely good people won't do that--but they do, very much, kill Vaughan.

Money is tight and times are hard and ritualistic human sacrifice is, in fact, incredibly allowed... As long as you're one of the legal powers, doing it the correct way.

[ashwritesmonsters]

If it's alright can I have an orange story of a guardian angel realizing he is falling in love with a fem reader that he has been charged to protect? I want to be sweeter than sugar cookies :>

Hey there, thanks for the request! The writing I've been doing behind the scenes has been super serious and not sweet at all, so I appreciate the break from that you've given me! I love the idea of angels, especially the "BE NOT AFRAID" looking ones, so I hope you like it!

M!Guardian Angel x F!Reader

The silver lines traced across your skin like delicate spiderweb frost on the windows. You ran your fingers over the newest one—a thin curve that wrapped around your forearm, added last month when Sariel had stopped you from stepping in front of a taxi while lost in thought. The scar caught the lamplight, shimmering with an inner pearlescence.

Your apartment felt too quiet, too empty. The radiator clicked and hummed in the corner, fighting against the winter chill that seeped through the old windows. You pulled your oversized sweater tighter around yourself, curling deeper into a well-worn armchair.

"Sariel?" Your voice barely carried above the whisper of falling snow outside. "I know you're here. You're always here."

The air shifted, grew heavier, warmer. Light bloomed in your peripheral vision—the familiar white-hot glow of his halo casting sharp shadows across the walls. You didn't turn to look right away. After years of his presence, you'd learned to let your eyes adjust gradually to his radiance.

"You have a question." His voice resonated through your bones more than your ears, like a bell tolling inside your head—in a good way.

"I do." You traced another scar, this one along your collarbone—from the night he'd first revealed himself, when he'd stopped an intruder from breaking in. "Why am I marked like this? I've never seen anyone else with scars like these."

The light dimmed slightly. You turned to face him then. His human torso was tense, muscles rigid beneath skin that looked surprisingly normal—blemished, soft. Below that, midnight black crystals like obsidian glass enveloped his form closely, his slender legs gliding against each other restlessly with a sound like wind through glass chimes. His halo flickered like a candle in the wind.

"Others don't have these marks?" He asked, though it wasn't really a question—it was stalling. The way he wouldn't meet your eyes told you he already knew the answer. 

"No. I've never run into anyone with them, and you've mentioned plenty of other people have guardian angels, too. A lot of other people."

Sariel drifted closer to your chair, his crystalline feet pointed at the floor, grazing it imperceptibly. His fingers—long, elegant things that tapered to points like icicles—flexed and curled.

"I..." He paused, the flame of his halo dimming. "Perhaps I should have explained sooner."

You leaned forward, heart quickening. "Explained what?"

"Most guardians..." He gestured vaguely with one hand, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the walls. "We typically maintain distance. Observe. Intervene only in the most dire circumstances."

"And you don't?"

"I am..." His massive form seemed to shrink somehow, like a child caught sneaking cookies. "I am perhaps more... involved than I should be."

You glanced down at the dozens of silvery marks decorating your skin. "More involved?"

"The marks appear when we touch the mortal realm directly. Most guardians reach through the veil only rarely, only when absolutely necessary. I..." He turned away, his crystalline lower half grinding against itself. "I find myself reaching for you far more often than I should."

You forced a laugh, trying to break the heavy silence that had settled over the room. "What, are you just not very good at this guardian thing? Need the extra practice?" Your fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. "Or maybe your magic isn't as strong as the others?"

The crystalline chiming of his lower half stopped. His whole form went still, like a statue carved from light and shadow. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"My abilities are..." His voice cracked, a sound like breaking glass. "They are more than sufficient."

Your attempt at humor shriveled in your throat. Sariel's mouth—the only part of his face visible below the obsidian crystal that covered his eyes—twisted into something that made your chest ache. His lips pressed together, corners pulling down in a grimace that looked foreign on his usually serene features.

"The Firmament has rules," he said, each word falling like lead weights into the space between you. "Guidelines for maintaining appropriate distance from our charges."

You pulled your knees up to your chest, making yourself smaller in the chair. "Distance?"

"Physical. Emotional." His hands clenched, the pointed tips of his fingers scraping against his palms. "We are meant to protect, not to..." He trailed off, turning away.

"Not to what?"

The light from his halo pulsed, casting wild shadows across the walls. "Not to feel."

Your heart skipped, then raced to catch up. "Feel?"

"Each intervention leaves a mark," he said, gesturing to your silver-traced skin. "But the marks are meant to be rare. Precious few. Evidence of dire necessity." His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. "Not... not evidence of excuses to touch. To be close. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers."

The radiator clicked off, leaving the room in perfect silence. You could hear your own pulse thundering in your ears.

"Sariel..."

"I should have requested reassignment months ago." His shoulders hunched, his crystalline shrug grinding against itself. "When I first realized I was finding reasons—making reasons—to reach through the veil. When I started lingering here, watching you read, listening to you hum while you cook." His voice cracked again. "When I began to want things no guardian should want."

You uncurled from the chair, taking a step toward him. He drifted backward, maintaining the distance between you.

"The Firmament has strict policies regarding guardians who develop..." He stopped, his grimace deepening. "Who allow themselves to form attachments. To develop feelings for their charges."

"Feelings?" The word came out barely above a breath.

"I have failed in my duties," he said. "Failed to maintain proper distance. Failed to..." His head bowed, halo dimming to barely a flicker. "Failed to keep from falling in love with you."

Your mouth went dry. The words hung in the air between you, heavy as lead, precious as gold. You sank back into your chair, mind spinning.

"How..." You cleared your throat, tried again. "How common is this? Talking to your guardian, I mean."

Sariel's crystalline form shifted, scraping against itself. "Most humans never know we exist beyond abstract concept. They attribute our interventions to luck, instinct, divine providence." His mouth tightened. "They certainly don't have conversations with us in their living rooms."

You glanced around your apartment—at the stack of novels on the coffee table, the half-empty mug of tea gone cold, the cat bed in the corner that had never held a cat because your apartment management didn't allow pets. Everything looked smaller somehow, more hollow.

"And the other guardians? Do they ever...?"

"No." His voice cut through the air like a knife. "We are meant to be distant protectors. Silent watchers." His halo flickered. "Not... whatever I have become."

The radiator kicked back on with a clang that made you jump. Outside, snow continued to fall in absolute silence. No cars passed by—everyone else was tucked away in their homes, probably sharing dinner with family or cuddling with lovers on the couch.

"I've never..." The words stuck in your throat. You swallowed hard. "No one has ever..."

Sariel drifted closer despite himself, his light casting warm shadows across your face. "I know."

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Of course he knew. He'd been there through every awkward first date that went nowhere, every crush that fizzled out, every lonely night scrolling dating apps until your eyes hurt. Sariel had been there, observing.

"That's kind of pathetic, isn't it?" You forced a laugh. "The first person to fall in love with me isn't even a person."

"You are not pathetic." The temperature in the room spiked, his halo flaring bright enough to make you squint. "You are brilliant and kind and..." He caught himself, dimming again. "And I should not be saying these things."

You stood up, legs shaky. "Why not? You've already broken all the other rules, apparently."

"Because." His voice dropped lower, resonating in your chest. "Because every word makes it harder to maintain what little distance remains between us."

The silver scars across your skin seemed to pulse with their own light. You counted them—twenty-three visible ones, plus however many were hidden under your clothes. Twenty-three times he'd reached across the veil just to touch you.

You stared at your scarred arms, mind racing to process everything Sariel had just confessed. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Love. He'd said love. The word felt too big, too new; like someone had just tasked you with unraveling a riddle. You had no idea where to start.

"These marks," you said instead, running your fingers over a particularly prominent scar that wrapped around your wrist. "Do they show up every time you touch me?"

Sariel's crystalline lower half shifted, the obsidian fragments catching the light from his dimmed halo. "Not necessarily. Only when I reach through the veil to intervene. To save you from harm." His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I may have rationalized undue necessity during those interventions."

"So you could..." Your throat went dry. "You could touch me right now? Without marking me?"

The temperature in the room fluctuated wildly—hot then cold then hot again. Sariel's halo pulsed with each shift.

"I could," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stood up from your chair, legs trembling. The distance between you felt like miles and millimeters all at once. His hand hung at his side, those long crystalline fingers catching the light from his halo, throwing rainbow refractions across the walls.

Your own hand rose, hovering in the space between you. "Can I...?"

He didn't move, didn't speak, but his halo blazed brighter. You stepped closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his form. Your fingers brushed against his.

Cold—but not unpleasantly so. Like touching a glass of ice water on a hot day. His "skin" felt smooth, harder than yours but yielding slightly—more than earthly crystal would. You slid your palm against his, marveling at how his fingers dwarfed yours, how the pointed tips curved protectively around your hand.

"Oh," you breathed.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was different from the brief contacts when he'd saved you—those moments had been pure adrenaline, over before you could process them. This was... this was something else entirely.

His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, each movement sending shivers up your arm. You'd held hands before, of course—awkward first dates, consoling friends, helping seniors cross the street. But this...

"I've never..." The words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, tried again. "I've never felt like this before."

Sariel's grip tightened fractionally. "Neither have I. In all my centuries of existence."

Your fingers traced the crystalline ridges of his palm, feeling every nuance of impossible geometry beneath your touch. It felt good. It felt right—but a nagging thought wormed its way to the surface.

"Could you get in trouble for this?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "With the... what did you call it? The Firmament?"

Sariel's thumb stilled its circles on your skin. His halo flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. "I... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"The rules are clear." His free hand gestured vaguely upward. "We are not to form attachments. Not to reveal ourselves except in the direst circumstances. Not to..." He squeezed your hand gently. "Not to indulge in physical contact beyond what is strictly necessary for protection."

"But the consequences?"

"I've never witnessed them firsthand." His crystalline legs shifted again, anxiously. "Other guardians who found themselves growing too close to their charges... they always requested reassignment before it came to that."

You tried to pull your hand away, but his fingers curled around yours, keeping you close. "Maybe you should—"

"No." The word resonated through your bones, his halo flaring bright enough to make you squint. "I am selfish, indulgent. The others had the strength to walk away when they felt the first stirrings of attachment. But I..." His thumb resumed its gentle circles. "I savored every moment. Every excuse to reach through the veil. Every chance to feel your warmth beneath my fingers."

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. "But if there are rules—"

"Rules enforced by whom? I've never seen it. Never heard of actual punishment." His free hand rose to hover near your face, not quite touching. "Perhaps I am rationalizing. Making excuses. But I cannot..." His voice cracked, a sound like breaking glass. "I cannot imagine walking away now. Not when you're finally here, finally aware, finally..."

Your other hand rose to meet his, pressing his palm against your cheek. The cool crystal of his skin made you shiver. "I don't mind."

"You should." But he didn't pull away. If anything, he drew closer, his tall form curving around yours like a shield. "You should be horrified that your guardian has become so compromised. That I've allowed myself to feel these things, to want..." He trailed off, his mouth twisting.

"To want what?"

His halo pulsed, sending waves of warmth washing over you. "Anything you're willing to give."

You tugged gently at his hand, pulling him toward the armchair. "Come here. I want to try something."

His crystalline form chimed as he drifted along with you. "What are you planning?"

"Have you ever sat down before?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His halo flickered. "I... no. We don't typically need to rest."

"Then it's time you learned." You positioned yourself in front of the chair. "Here, like this."

He stared at the worn fabric, head tilted. "I'm not certain my form is suited for—"

"Just try?" You squeezed his hand. "For me?"

His crystalline legs shifted, scraping against each other. With careful movements, he lowered himself into the chair. The obsidian-like fragments of his lower half arranged themselves awkwardly, more like a pile of black glass than proper legs.

"This feels... strange," he said.

"Scoot back a bit." You guided him deeper into the chair. "There. Comfortable?"

"I'm not sure that word applies to my existence, but..." His halo pulsed softly. "It's not unpleasant."

You bit your lip, gathering courage. "Room for one more?"

Before he could answer, you settled yourself carefully into his lap. His hands flew to your shoulders, steadying you with that impossible gentleness you'd come to associate with him. The crystal of his form felt cool through your clothes, but not uncomfortably so.

"Is this... acceptable?" His voice wavered slightly.

You leaned back against his chest, feeling the strange mix of soft human skin and hard crystal. "More than acceptable. How does it feel for you?"

His fingers flexed against your shoulders. The tension that had been radiating from him since his confession began to ebb away, like ice melting in spring sunshine. "Warm," he said finally. "You're so warm."

"Good warm?"

"Yes." His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer. "I've watched humans embrace countless times. Observed the comfort it seems to bring. But I never understood until..." His halo brightened. "Until now."

You shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. His crystalline form adjusted with you, somehow both solid and yielding at once. "What else do you think about it? Being able to sit, to hold someone?"

"It's..." He paused, considering. "Grounding. I've spent centuries floating, observing. This feels more... present. Real." His chin came to rest on top of your head. "I like feeling the weight of you. Knowing you're truly here, not just someone I'm watching from afar."

The radiator clicked off again, but you barely noticed. Sariel's natural warmth enveloped you like a blanket. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, leaving trails of pleasant tingles in their wake.

"I like it too," you said, letting your eyes drift closed. "Having you here. Being able to touch you, to see you." You laughed softly. "Though I still can't see your eyes."

"Perhaps someday." His arms tightened fractionally around you. "For now, this is... more than I ever dared hope for."

You hummed in agreement, feeling more relaxed than you had in years. His presence behind you felt right somehow, like he'd always belonged there. Like all those years of watching over you had been leading to this moment, this simple act of sitting together.

A sudden crash from the kitchen made you both jump. Your empty mug had fallen off the coffee table, rolling across the floor.

"Sorry," Sariel said, his halo dimming. "That was my fault. I sometimes forget to maintain corporeal boundaries when I'm distracted."

You twisted in his lap to look at him. "You knocked over my mug with your... what, your aura?"

"Perhaps." His crystalline form shifted awkwardly. "Though in my defense, you are quite distracting."

"My guardian angel is clumsy," you said, trying not to laugh. "All those times I tripped over nothing or dropped things—was that actually you being flustered?"

His halo flickered rapidly, like a failing lightbulb. For the first time, you felt embarrassed warmth forming underneath his glassy exterior. "I choose not to speak on such things."

[ruinedbytouch]

And 82 years later....we still don't know everything.

(Looking at you, Gebhardt)

In an interview about the movie Conspiracy, Kenneth Branagh played Heydrich. According to an article in the Washington Post -

Branagh. "He was a very fine musician and a terrific fencer, a sort of sophisticated, suave, urbane Nazi creature, tall and blond. He combined the kinds of things that were Hitler's model."

Yes, nazi creature made me giggle, but I digress.

"He seemed to have most things in his armory as far as arts of persuasion was concerned, but when charm didn't work, he was ruthless," said Branagh. "His force of personality, to some extent, rode roughshod over the others. Accounts from participants said that it was rougher and more brutal than the written protocol might suggest."

"His bravado, his arrogance of manner led him to drive in an open-topped car in Czechoslovakia -- his aides asked him not to -- and he did not vary his routes to work," said Branagh. "This was part of his contempt, that no one would have the stomach to kill him. There are conspiracy theorists who say there may have been foul play involved in what may have been wounds he might have recovered from.

"There was concern that he could have been the successor to Hitler. He was a man whose ambitions might not be easily assuaged. He did so much of the Nazi dirty work -- he was a prime organizer behind Krystallnacht. He seemed to be a man without friends, had dirt on everyone, and was in a position to blackmail everyone. One of his techniques was to create bogus sexual scandals. He was efficient at collecting information . . . if there was anything unsavory."

"We shot the exterior sequences there," said Branagh. "I'm glad we didn't do the interior scenes there. It was chilling enough to be around the real place. It does create a very strong atmosphere of place. Just to stand in the room where it happened gave one shivers. At all times you had to shake yourself to remember that what we were doing was not a fiction."

got banned, so I decided to post here.

[sad-girl-hours23]

Actually made some progress (one whole scene lol) on my untitled sickfic today (trying to have it completed by Christmas).

Please clap.

Sharing so I can stay accountable

It's rough/largely unedited (she says, as if she's ever edited anything in her life).

Buck wakes drenched in sweat and wracked with chills, the sheets he’d kicked off during the night tangled at the end of the bed. His head feels stuffed with cotton and the sunlight filtered through his sheer curtains is especially bright this morning. Buck squeezes his eyes shut and groans.

Tommy stirs next to him, but doesn’t wake. Buck takes the opportunity to gaze at him, to commit as much of him to memory as possible. He’s wrapped in the comforter, face relaxed, lips slightly parted, and he’s making quiet, snuffling noises. 

Buck’s grateful that he usually wakes up before Tommy, so that he can drink in the sight of him. It’s become his new morning ritual. This time around, he’s trying to catch all that he missed before, all that he took for granted. 

Tommy opens his eyes and catches Buck staring. A soft smile overtakes his face. Tommy closes the distance between them, cradling Buck’s face and kissing him. He frowns then and places the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead before he can stop him. “You’re really warm.”

Buck forces a laugh.“You know me, I’m like a furnace when I sleep.” Then he rolls out of bed so fast he catches a case of vertigo. 

 “Maybe you should stay home today.” He reaches for Buck, trying to get him back into bed. “I’ll tell my captain I can’t come in.”

“What? No. Tommy, I’m fine. I’m going to work. You’re going to work. And tomorrow, we’re going to Joshua Tree for our camping trip. Just as planned.”

Buck can’t look at him. He knows the face Tommy is making and if he catches his eye he’ll cave and he’ll crawl back into bed with him and fall back asleep for hours. Not because he’s sick, he’s just a little tired still. Besides, Tommy in bed is always an irresistible sight.

“Baby, we can postpone the trip. The stars aren’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t postpone a six-month anniversary, Tommy. Which isn’t necessary anyway, because I’m fine.” Buck grabs his overnight bag, slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m gonna take a shower downstairs.”

Tommy frowns again, but then he nods. 

After a shower and fresh clothes, Buck feels considerably more human. It isn’t until he’s in his jeep that he realizes he never made his protein smoothie. He looks at his phone. He technically has enough time, but he doesn’t want to put in the effort. He’s really not all that hungry anyway, he’ll just grab a protein bar at the station. His phone chimes.

Tommy: Are you sure you’re okay?

Buck groans. Before he can reply, another text comes in.

Tommy: You didn’t kiss me goodbye 🙁

Buck sends him a quick apology and a promise to make it up to him. 

[sweetchcolate]

Miscellaneous thoughts about Sonic Movie 3 Maria:

I wonder if introducing her on roller skates was meant to parallel Shadow as well as a way to date the era she lived in, since the GUN accident must have happened in the 70s? If it was intentional, smart move!

the second she drew the smiley face over Shadow's frowny one said soooo much about her personality. She's fun! She's playful! She's a bit reckless too, to show such little wariness in front of a creature that's unlike anything seen on earth and currently floating in a test tube.

I'm glad we got to see more of her: her mischievous side, her teasing side, her thoughtful side, her gentle side... Just more Maria in general.

whoever thought of the idea of Shadow pulling Maria along while she's on skates needs a raise. Cutest scene ever + it was so nice to see Shadow be so free and chill!

the entire 'the light shines even when the star is long gone' moment? Fuck, it's so great. The sheer foreshadowing... the symbolism... the hold and importance of that one line on Shadow. And the callback to Dark Beginnings? End me.

it felt like a smart move on the producers' part in not only changing how she died (from being shot directly to being caught up in a blast) as well as how they cut out the exact moment of her death, leaving only the before and after and letting your mind fill in the gaps. I also appreciated the small change in the commander being friendly with her and actively being against the soldiers shooting her. Though I'm sure all the 'let's watch the child get shot again!!' crowd must be disappointed lol

in a way, I like that the producers took another way to show why Shadow changed his mind about his revenge. In SA2, Maria's last words got twisted when Gerard reworked his memories, making Shadow lose sight of her true wish until Amy triggered his memories by using the same wording Maria did. In the movie, Maria comforts Shadow's insecurity regarding his origins and his difference by telling him his heart is what makes him, to trust in himself to make the right choice. And later on, Shadow realizes that even if Maria is gone, her love for him remains. Her trust in him remains. And he knows the right choice isn't to let the Eclipse canon destroy humankind, but rather the opposite. I like that this gave Shadow a bit more agency in his decision to save the Earth, or that at least that his rationale came from his heart. Plus, it also serves as yet another parallel to Sonic (with Tom telling him to be true to his heart)

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Wait, does Shadow still have the Emeralds on him or did they return to the master emerald

I dont know if i just missed a scene or if i forgot already

no yeah they didnt show us what happened to the ME. i assume it's fine considering knuckles didn't literally murder sonic so maybe they found it on the moon or someshit

also considering sonic yeeted the chaos emeralds into the air in the last movie but they were just chilling in the ME in this movie maybe it just follows knuckles around have we considered that

[verdantwyrm]

Going to platform myself off this because Hi. I talked about this. Thank you for providing a clip.

Audio in mouthwashing, the sounds, soundtrack, the SFX, everything, are all so incredibly well thought-out and it's a major influence on how scenes are supposed to be interpreted. This is the only time in the game that this audio cue is even played. And it's even a full audio clip found on the official soundtrack called "I Told Him" where you can listen to this more and uninterrupted.

Curly is panicking, why? because Anya Told Jimmy. He's panicking because he's terrified of what Jimmy is going to do now that she has Told Him. It could be anything, it could mean anything, and his only course of action is to Get To Him before he does anything at all. When you click on other interactive things in this sequence, you're only met with the chilling dialogue of

"I have to get to the Cockpit."

For a lot of reasons, but one that stood out the most to me was that's where the rope is, and that's where the gun is (Jimmy doesn't know it's not there.) He is terrified of Jimmy hurting himself, lashing out in some physical way that ends up hurting himself or doing something incredibly reckless that might end up hurting someone else (Which is why Curly insisted that he be there when Anya was Telling Jimmy). And when we do get to the Cockpit he is in fact, standing right outside and right, it's a potential thing that maybe Jimmy was looking for something to hurt Anya with, and because there was nothing his priorities changed to just taking everyone out, because it's easier, its quicker, and he isn't thinking about later, he's thinking about now and reacting accordingly.

Remember that when the ship is crashing, guess who's on the ground shaking? Jimmy.

And guess who's in shock that Jimmy went through with such a thing? Curly.

He knew it was bad, but this was worse, something so much worse than he could have ever anticipated. He thought he did what his role was, the mediator, to calm Jimmy down and to rationalise with him, to remind him and help him through whatever was troubling him. Whether you interpret this as him lying through his teeth, or him being genuine, the goal here is the same regardless, to Calm Him Down. Which Curly thought he did, hence, the small sigh of relief.

He had no idea what was going to happen, but his panic, his heart racing, and his urgency were all very well the right thing to have, but nothing could have prepared him for what was going to happen.

Something interesting to note, that others have pointed out before. As curly rushes to jimmy, the sound track sounds like a racing heartbeat. Curly is panicking here, maybe even on the verge of an anxiety attack or panic attack

[fanficlolsblog]

UNHEALTHY OBSSESION

back to my main masterlist

pairing: yandere!jenna ortega x reader

summary: after a brief encounter with jenna ortega at a meet-and-greet, y/n is surprised to receive a follow request and a message from her. what starts as a seemingly innocent exchange soon spirals into a possessive obsession, with jenna constantly messaging, showing up unannounced, and isolating y/n from friends. as y/n tries to distance themselves, jenna’s behavior grows darker, her obsession tightening like a trap, until y/n realizes that escaping her hold might be impossible.

warnings: obsessive behaviour, stalking, emotional manipulation, psychological distress.

w/c: 1k+

you never thought much of celebrities. sure, you admired them from a distance, but you always told yourself they were just people, just names you’d heard. so when your friend dragged you to jenna ortega’s meet-and-greet, you felt out of place. she was beautiful, magnetic, but she was just a name on your friend’s lips, a face you knew from magazines.

that changed when you stepped up to meet her, the last in line. your friend had already gone ahead, gushing over the quick selfies she’d taken with jenna. you tried to keep your cool, gave her a polite smile, kept your distance. but when jenna looked at you, it was as if the whole room went silent. her gaze lingered, a little longer than it should, and you saw her eyebrows lift, just slightly.

“you seem… different,” she said, her voice soft, almost a murmur meant just for you.

you laughed nervously, shrugged it off. she held your gaze, eyes searching yours like she was trying to memorize your face. the brief exchange left you feeling strange—giddy but unsettled. it was probably nothing. you left, pushing the moment out of your mind as you rejoined your friend.

but that night, as you lay in bed, your phone buzzed. you glanced at it, frowning. a follow request on instagram—from jenna ortega.

your heart skipped. it had to be a joke, right? or maybe her team managing her account? but you hit accept, curiosity outweighing logic. almost immediately, a message popped up.

jenna: hi, y/n. i hope it’s okay i reached out. i… couldn’t stop thinking about you.

you blinked, staring at the message. it felt surreal, like a scene out of a movie. you hesitated, then typed a casual reply, something light, just to see if she was serious.

you: i didn’t expect you’d remember me.

jenna: i remember a lot about you.

from there, the messages kept coming. every day, multiple times a day, jenna reached out, asking about your life, your interests. she was kind, thoughtful, curious. her questions were endless—what was your favorite color? your favorite food? did you like to read? what was your dream vacation? the messages were warm, personal, and slowly, you felt yourself getting drawn in, almost hypnotized by her attention.

but things began to shift. her messages came faster, more insistent, like she needed to know where you were, who you were with. if you took too long to respond, she’d send another message.

jenna: you’re not ignoring me, are you?

you tried to laugh it off, tell yourself she was just lonely, maybe a little over-enthusiastic. but one evening, while you were out with friends, your phone buzzed.

jenna: i thought we agreed you’d tell me when you went out.

you frowned, fingers hovering over the screen. you hadn’t agreed to anything like that. but before you could type a response, another message popped up.

jenna: you don’t understand how much i care about you. you have no idea what it’s like, thinking about you all the time.

you typed a careful reply, trying to brush it off as a misunderstanding. but it was hard to ignore the chill creeping down your spine. things were moving too fast. she was everywhere—your notifications filled with her likes, your friends disappearing one by one, as if she’d somehow driven them away without a word.

then, one night, she showed up.

you were at your favorite coffee shop, the one you’d casually mentioned to her in passing, and she walked in like she belonged there. she didn’t look surprised to see you; if anything, she seemed pleased. she took the seat across from you, leaning forward, her fingers brushing against yours as she murmured, “i just wanted to see you.”

you tried to smile, tried to pretend it didn’t unnerve you, but her stare was intense, unblinking. she looked at you like you were the only person in the world, her fingers tapping idly on the table as she asked you about your day. every detail, every minute, like she needed to know it all.

from that day on, she’d show up without warning, always knowing where you’d be. and when you tried to confront her, her expression would shift—soft, almost hurt, like you’d wounded her.

“why are you acting like this, y/n?” she’d ask, voice trembling just slightly. “i’m just trying to keep you safe. you don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

you’d try to explain, tell her it was too much, but she’d look at you with those deep, unflinching eyes, and somehow, you’d find yourself apologizing, as if you were the one overreacting.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things at first—a book you’d mentioned, a necklace in your favorite color. but one night, you came home to find a box on your doorstep. inside was a single rose, delicate and freshly cut, and a handwritten note.

you have no idea what i’d do to keep you close, y/n. don’t push me away.

you tried to distance yourself, but jenna’s grip was tight, suffocating. she flooded your phone with messages, each one more desperate than the last, her words dripping with both devotion and a hint of menace. you stopped posting on social media, hoping it’d make her lose interest, but instead, she started showing up more often, as if your silence made her crave you more.

one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. you told her, face-to-face, that you needed space. she laughed, a soft, unsettling sound, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table between you.

“space?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “y/n, you’re all i think about. i go to sleep thinking of you, wake up dreaming of you. don’t you see? no one will ever care about you like i do.”

you swallowed, trying to hold her gaze without flinching. “jenna, this isn’t… normal.”

she tilted her head, her smile fading. “maybe normal doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice chillingly calm. “maybe it’s just you and me, and maybe that’s all that’s ever mattered.”

you stood up to leave, feeling her eyes follow you, the weight of her stare burning into your back. as you walked away, you heard her say, quietly but clear enough to make your blood run cold:

“you’ll come back to me, y/n. you always do.”

and as you stepped outside, feeling the night air prickle against your skin, you knew she wasn’t finished with you. this wouldn’t be the end.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Hi, it's Quill! For the fic writer asks, can you please answer 40, 56 and 65? 😘❤️

HELLO MY FRIEND THANK YOU 💛💛💛

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Ooooooh, now THAT'S a toughie. And and all art of my fic would be recived with literal tears of joy, but let's narrow it down lmao. Discounting my horny ass just wanting aaaallll the art of my smutty side account fic (and tbh more horny art of the Cat King in general), I think it would be lovely to see art of Lonely Bones, considering how much time and feeling has gone into it and considering I think you could have a lot of fun with moody compositions. Somewhere Beyond the Sea is only on it's first chapter but especially from chapter two onwards it's gonna have so many fun and whimsical things/characters to draw! I'd also be an absolute GLUTTON for more of mine and L and H's 1920s poly boys as seen in Keep Me Warm, Love Me Long, Be My Sunlight, but that's a bit more niche!

If I had to pick one singular scene, I think I'd melt like butter if someone drew Charles in subspace getting therapeutically, nonsexually dommed by Edwin with silly cat's cradle games in ’Cause You Cut Through All the Noise. I'm so fond of that fic you have no idea.

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Character voices!! I need to rewatch DBDA again soon to refresh my memory lest I drift into made-up voices but generally speaking I think my dialogue characterisation is pretty fun and believable!

65. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I am looking forward to each and every aspect of the 1920s AU I'm working on with @dear-monday and @tw0-ravens, but especially the Thomas dialogue/arc/letters. I'm also huuuugely looking forward to writing my Edge Chronicles AU, but mostly for the world, vibes and character backstories especially pertaining to Edwin -- I'm currently struggling a bit with finding the actual plot, though! I'm also SO excited for the rest of Somewhere Beyond the Sea, there's going to be so much fun and whimsy and fantasy and sweetness, I'm really excited for the bits I've added as well as the bits I'm adapting from the source material!

Get to know your fic writer!

(And because you asked me to talk about WIPs, here we go, a very short, rough snippet of the Edge Chronicles AU from my notes app -- flashback to Charles and Edwin's first meeting!)

It was freezing cold in the prowlgrin roost. Maybe not up in the nests and the roosting poles, where the big old beasts dozed by the light of the burning braziers, the lucky sods. But down in the straw and the muck the winter chill was biting, creeping through every crack in the ancient slats. Charles was huddling down pathetically, dragging the ratty old prowlgrin tarp tighter round his shoulders, when he heard a creak. Louder than the wind through the slats, slower. The door. He froze, holding his breath. The air had... changed. It was crackling with something, making Charles' hair stand on end. And then, footsteps.  Charles shrank back, tried to make himself small. But the shape that stepped into the roost wasn't any boy that he knew — anyone who might be looking to finish what they'd started. It was... strange. It was like looking at those old barkscroll woodcuts from way back; those odd, early academic knights with the leather armour, all tooled and riveted. Like something out of a fairytale. It looked at him, right at him, and pulled off its leather helmet and underneath was just… a boy. Not like any boy he'd seen, though. Pale, worryingly so, and gaunt, eyes the most piercing blue he'd ever seen; unearthly, iridescent. Like open, uncharted sky. "I was looking for the library," said the boy, softly, hoarsely, like he hadn't used his voice in a good long while. "It used to be here, did it not?" Charles frowned, for a moment too confused to be scared. Of all the things to be looking for! "Not anymore, mate. Moved it 'cuz of the rot, didn't they? That was what, thirty years back or summit." "Thirty years..." he hummed like a rumbling storm. "Right. If you might point me in the right direction — I have some very important reading to do.” Charles was starting to think the dunk in the lake had frozen his brain. "It's three in the morning,” he said, baffled. The boy knelt before him, and raised his hand. Charles watched, horrorstruck, as his long, slender fingers lost their shape and stretched, vaporous, into elongated strands of crystalline cirrus. "It is rather pressing," said the boy, deadpan.

And some of my tests of the art style so far 😊 this AU's gonna take me a WHILE with the illustrations as well as the writing lmao

[chloesimaginationthings]

Can you imagine the puppet scene in FNAF 2…

[akuji05]

Here are my thoughts on this.

I found that particular scene interesting because of how Geto shut Gojo out. We can compare how he interacted with Gojo to how he interacted with Ieri.

With her he was completely chill, he had no issue telling her about how he'd massacre all non-sorcerers, I feel like he'd have no problem telling anyone else that (if they weren't actively trying to arrest him). He willingly answers her questions.

But when Gojo confronts him? It's "you already heard about it". Geto loves talking about his vision. Why not with Gojo?

I would argue Gojo isn't that good of a person, well yes, that scene about him is understandable, but he also did mention how he's frustrated of protecting the weak. And in Shibuya, he opens his domain while knowing it'd endanger everyone. Plus, Gojo's reasoning for not approving of Geto's goal is not because it's bad. In that scene, Gojo reasoned that "it's impossible". Not "it's wrong", "it's bad" or "it's evil", no, "it's impossible."

And even in that scene, Gojo asked Geto if he should massacre everyone, had Geto said yes, Gojo would've wiped out everything. He trusted Geto to the point he'd allow himself to become a mass murderer because of his judgement.

If Geto had persuaded Gojo, then they could've succeeded.

But Geto made zero effort to even recruit Gojo, with his power Geto's vision for a sorcerer-only world would easily succeed. He just pushed Gojo away.

I think that's because Gojo would be doing most of the killing, so all crimes would mainly target him. And we know Geto really loved Gojo, his vision is something he'd willingly sacrifice his life for, but not Gojo's.

You know what is FOUL?!

The fact that Geto told Gojo, "Well, you know, you could do it!" Excuse me??? No the fuck he couldn't!!! Gojo could never do that. Would never do that. Sure, there was that one time that Gojo asked him "Should we kill everyone here?" BUT (important to fucking note) Gojo said "with the way I'm feeling RIGHT NOW I wouldn't even feel it" bc Gojo had literally just brought himself (practically) back from the dead. He was the least human he had ever felt with all the trauma caused by Toji, BUT THAT WAS AN EXCEPTION, THAT IS NOT GOJO ON THE REGULAR.

To tell your bestie, who YOU KNOW is inherently GOOD, a guy who kept his infinity on 24/7 even when it was frying his brain just to protect Riko, who didn't sleep, who made sure her last moments were filled with happiness before she merged with tengen, THAT is who you're saying could wipe out the world?? Then, he has the nerve to ask him if he's the strongest because he's Satoru Gojo or is he Satoru Gojo because he is the strongest? When Geto is the only one who Satoru has ever let himself just be Satoru with. Satoru pushes against Geto's ideals but ultimately acts with the same conviction, fights by his side, made pacts with him to save Rikos life against the power of tengen who is the balance of everything BECAUSE THAT IS HOW MUCH SATORU VAULES PEOPLE'S LIVES,

and Geto has the audacity to look at Gojo and say to his face: "You could do it. You're telling me I can't do something that is possible for you."

Like, Geto, baby, it's not possible for Satoru Gojo. ABSOLUTELY NOT. But, it is possible to do it with his abilities and for the first time, that's how Geto was addressing him. As someone with the Six Eyes and Limitless technique.

That's tragic! That's heartbreaking. And I think Gojo realized that that is how Geto was looking at him too when he had never looked at him like that before.

Geto really said, "You think your Hollow Purple is devastating? Let me break your heart, Gojo."

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in