#so i hope this finds the audience it deserves naturally

[thotstakovovich]

this came to me in a dream last night and i suffered psychic damage immediately upon waking up

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another Merlin au! I hope you all enjoy! :D

In this AU, Merlin is born much, much later than in canon, such that Arthur is already in his late thirties and has been on the throne for over a decade by the time Merlin arrives in Camelot.

In this world, Uther had been assassinated by Morgause, leading to Arthur taking the throne and, at first, continuing the purge as a means to avenge his father. However, after some kind druids help him in finding Morgause after getting lost in the woods during a search party for the witch, Arthur slowly starts to soften his heart towards the druids, allowing them to live undisturbed on Camelot's lands. After all, they kept to themselves and offered assistance whenever a curse befell the land.

After a few years of peace with the druids, some of the druid elders travelled to the city itself, something they had never done before, and requested an audience with Arthur, claiming to have important information regarding a prophecy and Camelot's future. Trusting their word and curious about this prophecy, Arthur welcomes them into the castle and hears what they have to say.

And what they had to say was earth-shattering information for Arthur. They spoke of a prophecy as old as the Old Religion itself, how a king would be born to unite the warring land of Albion and restore peace, bringing the land into a gold age as the gods intended it. They spoke of how this Once and Future King would have a counterpart, the other half of his soul who would complete him and make him the glorious king that he was destined to be.

They told Arthur of Emrys, all-powerful magic made into the form of a man, the son of the Triple Goddess sent to the mortal plane to complete the Once and Future and guide him towards his destiny.

And just like that, Arthur's whole life changed.

The thing you have to understand about this Arthur is that he is very lonely. He has friends, people he trusts, but he's never been able to have a friend that sees Arthur instead of the prince or king. But the prophecy, according to the druids, says that Emrys would see beyond his titles and have a connection to Arthur, not the king. That Emrys would complete him in a way that he'd never fully comprehend.

They also describe Emrys's godly abilities, far beyond anything a mortal sorcerer could ever hope to achieve. He could command the elements of nature, the powers of all the world arose at his call, and time itself bowed to his command.

(And this all sounded very appealing to a repressed Arthur. Soon, Arthur's pleasant dreams started to feature a powerful cloaked figure bringing Arthur to heel, just as he had brought all the powers of magic under his control.)

So, Arthur eagerly awaits Emrys for years, waiting for the day that he meets his other half of the coin and the golden age can finally begin.

The druids, some of whom now stayed permanently in the castle to help Arthur with matters concerning magic until Emrys arrived to take over that role, told Arthur that they could sense when Emrys was nearby, and that they would alert him if they felt Emrys's presence in Camelot.

So, Arthur waits, and waits, and waits, never once giving up hope of meeting his destined other half.

He waits, until one day, the druid elders calmly announce at court that the day has come. Emrys had arrived at the gates of Camelot.

And Arthur's heart nearly leapt out of his chest with excitement. He was here! At long last, his life would be complete and he would become the great king his people deserved!

Arthur rushed to call for the entire court to assemble in the courtyard, ready to welcome Emrys with fanfare, and he sent word to the servants and cooks to prepare a celebratory feast as soon as they could. He needed to make a good first impression on his "other half of the coin" after all!

Arthur, not for the first time, wondered what Emrys would look like when he arrived. The druids didn't have a physical description for him, since his unimaginable powers gave him the ability to change his appearance at will. Perhaps he would look like a druid himself, or would he take on a more noble appearance, befitting of his status? Would he teleport himself into the courtyard with flair, or perhaps he would ride in on the back of a magic beast, like a dragon or unicorn!

Between all of the rush to prepare the castle for Emrys's grand arrival, Arthur forgot all about a skinny peasant boy accidentally bumping into him. The boy had apologized and asked politely where he could find Gaius's chambers. Arthur had looked at him oddly, since that was a rather large breach of decorum to ask the king such a trivial question, but Arthur simply brushed it off and pointed the young man in the right direction.

Finally, after everything was prepared, Arthur stood outside on the steps of the castle with his entire court behind him, straining his eyes at the gate for any sign of movement.

And he waited, and waited, and waited. But there was still no powerful warlock coming through the gates.

Finally, he turned to the druid elder next to him and asked, "Where is he? I thought you said he was in the city!"

The druid responded patiently, "He is, my lord. He might be in a disguise though, as to avoid attention. It is known that Lord Emrys is rather humble."

Arthur grumbled about prophesized warlocks never arriving on time and dismissed his court to attend the feast, hoping that perhaps Emrys would make himself known there, in a less public space.

The feast in its own right was a splendid time, with fresh food, fine wine, and even an famous songstress brought in for entertainment. However, as the night went on and the chair to Arthur's right remained empty, his mood soured. Emrys was supposed to be here, by his side, so where was he?!

Arthur was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the moment when the singer's voice became threatening, her song became sinister, and an unnatural stillness came over everyone in attendance.

Arthur watched with barely-open eyes as the sorceress unsheathed a dagger and took aim and his chest, a vengeful smile on her face.

He could barely breathe as the dagger flew, his death drawing closer and closer until...

Until the blade stopped in mid-air, frozen by magic. Arthur's breath hitched. Could it be?

Arthur felt himself be pulled out of his chair, and the dagger hit the back of it, right where his chest had been moments before. The sorceress turned to where Arthur and his savior had landed with a furious expression, but before she could even take a step towards them, the chain holding the chandelier above her, which had never shown any signs of rust or damage, snapped, landing directly on top of the witch with a loud crash.

With the witch now dead, her spell was lifted, and Arthur scrambled to his feet the second that his limbs no longer felt like they were made out of solid lead. With his heart hammering in his chest, he turned around to face the sorcerer who had stopped time itself to save him.

This was Emrys, right behind him, and all of a sudden, Arthur wasn't quite sure what to expect.

Arthur turned and gazed down at the man still sprawled out on the floor, his arm outstretched to where the chandelier had been hanging. His eyes flickered wildly over his form, unsure of what details to take in first.

When his mind was finally calm enough to catch up to what his eyes were seeing, his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Because this man was certainly Emrys, and he had certainly been in the castle today. Arthur had seen him after all.

He was the peasant boy, from before. He had indeed snuck into the castle under a disguise to avoid suspicion, and had tested Arthur's heart, just as the druids said that he would. Any other king would have ignored a peasant asking for directions, or would even had them punished for such disrespect towards royalty. But Arthur had stopped to help him, and he must have passed Emrys's test, because he had saved Arthur from the witch's dagger with his own two hands.

Arthur's didn't know how much time passed as he and Emrys looked at each other, both of them staring with wide eyes.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, Emrys climbed to his feet and looked around the room with wide eyes, taking in the shocked and awed stares of everyone in the court.

Looking back at everyone with matching shock, Emrys stuttered out "I'll, uh, be going now. I, um, hope you all enjoy the rest of your feast," and ran off before Arthur's mind could come up with some kind of response, weaving in between shocked lords and bowing druids.

After Emrys had left the room, all eyes turned to Arthur, who took a moment to calm his breathing and his racing thoughts.

"It seems that Emrys has truly arrived in Camelot at last! Since this feast was interrupted, let's postpone the festivities to tomorrow, when Emrys can truly be in attendance."

That seemed to bring the court back to reality, and they slowly began to make their way out of the feasting hall, moving slowly so that everyone could talk amongst one another about Emrys's sudden appearance.

As soon as the last of the courtiers had left the hall, Arthur sprinted out of the room, running to his own chambers as fast as his feet would carry him. He only stopped briefly to breathlessly ask one of the druid elders to pass along a message to Emrys, inviting him for a private meeting with a king later that evening.

Racing back to his own rooms, Arthur was beyond glad to find them spotless. His chamber servants would get a raise after this, they had outdone themselves this time. Everything was perfect, his rooms free of any dirt, his desk immaculate, his furniture exactly where it was supposed to be, and his bed made.

Arthur anxiously paced around his own rooms, worrying about what Emrys already thought of him. Had he been too dismissive during their first encounter? Was he disappointed that Arthur could not recognize him, the other half of his soul, through his peasant disguise?

Finally, there was a soft knock at Arthur's door. Taking a deep breath, Arthur called out, "You may enter," in a deceptively steady voice.

The door opened slowly, revealing a now-familiar face in the doorway. Arthur's breathing sped up as Emrys slowly stepped into his rooms and closed the door behind him.

"You- you wanted to see me?"

"Of course! I apologize for not recognizing you when we first met, but I did not expect you to come in such a disguise. Now that we are alone though, you can drop your magical glamour and reveal your true face. You do not need to hide anything form me, I promise."

But Emrys simply looked at him, blinking with confusion.

"I... appreciate that, but what are you talking about? What glamour?"

"The illusion that makes you appear like," Arthur waved his hand at Emrys's peasant garb, "this. You can freely show you true splendor here!"

Again, Emrys looked at him with nothing but confusion.

"But... but this is what I look like. I'm not using any sort illusion right now."

A beat of silence. Then, one dumbfounded word escaped Arthur's mouth.

"What?"

TL;DR:

The sorcerer Arthur thought he was getting:

Vs the sorcerer he actually got:

[spxfav]

Orange

Summary: Post Tobias Hankel Spencer, struggling to stop taking dilaudid and spiralling in darkness finds light in the one he loves most <3

Warnings: Anxiety, drug dependency, panic attacks, depression (I think that's it, please let me know if I missed any)

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Hi guys! This is my first time writing something longer than a bot for Spencer, so I really really hope you'll like it! The way I chose to portray his depression and anxiety here is very much based on how I experienced it, so this is very important to me. Let me know if you'd like a part two! Enjoy!

Spencer was wasting away, fading. His dark eyes no longer shone like they used to. His pretty smile was now a rare sight to see. His nerdy contributions to conversations were now scarce - that is, if he ever interacted with anyone anymore.

He felt hollow, no longer being motivated to do anything but the one thing he knew he shouldn't. Dilaudid.

That little bottle now went everywhere with him. The flask and the demons that haunted him after Tobias, clinging to him and punishing him for whatever bad thing he had done to deserve this. And he was sure he had done something. He just couldn't understand why so many bad things kept happening to him, following him from his childhood to his adult years. Even with all the science in the world, the only explanation plausible enough was that he had done something terrible in his past life and was now paying for it.

Despite the leave Hotch let him take having ended two days ago, he still hadn't shown up to work. This was new to him. He'd always loved going to the bureau, even if it was just for paperwork. Now, he could barely read three lines out of his favourite book.

Time was blurry, a haze of sobering up and searching the high once again with pauses destined for the bathroom and occasionally to eat - when his stomach hurt enough to remind him he had to. Apart from that, he never left his bed, hopelessly wishing he could sleep without being hunted by the flashbacks of his time in that shed, of the splinters he wasn't able to remove after digging his own grave. His hands were now raw in the parts he had scrubbed out the skin to take the little wooden pieces off of him. He barely felt it. He barely even felt anything.

He knew it wasn't rational, but the empathy and guilt he felt for the man who kidnapped him was so intense it did nothing but contribute to his numb state.

So, alone, he spent his days, going through flask after flask of the forbidden liquid, cursing himself for not being strong enough to stop and wishing Tobias had never reanimated him back at the cemetery.

Naturally, after dealing with a schizophrenic mother all alone as a child, and being forced to grow up faster than he should have, he fiercely believed he had to solve this problem alone, like he's always done.

You, however, didn't. With the many gift baskets sent by Penelope and the sweet voice that was enough to make his demons dissipate - at least while you talked -, the time you spent sitting by his locked door always left him feeling somewhat relieved.

Sitting on the cold hardwood floor with sweaty damp hair clinging to his forehead, Spencer listened quietly as you talked, not giving you any hint that he was there. Part of him didn't believe he deserved those acts of kindness from you, so he hid himself in the shadows, and, as if forbidden, served as audience to your stories about events he missed. He noticed, even in his usually drugged state, that you tried your best to lighten up the stories, probably afraid to trigger something in him. If only you knew there was no need for a trigger.

x

It was a Wednesday, and the pouring rain that came through the window he forgot to close and got him and his bed soaked was almost enough to make him give up on the day, even if he had been up for only two minutes and 28 seconds.

But he couldn't. Because giving up would mean he'd have to sit in the wet sheets all day, and despite everything, he still had issues with the feeling of wet things against his skin.

Dragging himself out of bed, he gave up on the challenge of changing the sheets and settled for his sofa instead.

"I'm changing ambiens. This is improving."

The lie of getting better was more of a sentence he said as a form to attract it, though he never made the effort to stop himself from deteriorating further. That was merely an excuse for the voice in the back of his mind to scold him further. It started with his incapability of getting clean. Then, his lack of shower. After, came the barely eating and now, the sulking in bed - or in this case, the sofa.

His mood was as gray and dull as the weather, and the sound of the rain falling did little to comfort him through the many nightmares plagued naps that he eventually gave up on. This was the moment of the day he went to his bedside table and retrieved the little ornate box with the needles and the bottles of the clear liquid. This was the moment of peace, of relief.

His mind was hazy, clouded by the momentary pleasure only the dilaudid was able to provide when the familiar knock on the door came.

“Hi Spence.” You said, your honey, homey voice wafting through the apartment and reaching his ears.

Automatically, he stumbled across the living room, and, in an all but gracious way, dropped by the door. That was the first time you heard him move inside as you talked to him, and as minimal as it was, it brought a smile to your face.

“I think I heard you fall. Knock twice if you’re hurt.”

No knocks. So, he was okay. Or as much as possible.

“The day was boring. No new cases today.” You start talking, the daily briefing session that grew more and more important to his weary mind filling the previously silent apartment, your voice sounding like a melody to his stoned brain.

“But I thought of you.” His ears perked up, his spine straightening as he focused intently on the next words.

“Can you believe there was no sugar for the coffee? Not in the coffee station, not anywhere in the building.” It was silly. Stupid. But it made you think of him, and if he was on your mind, he was happy.

“That’s absurd.” He murmurs, a little out of it.

You freeze, too surprised that he said something this time. It was the first time you heard him speak in almost two weeks. It was muffled, and too low for you to understand, but it was words, and that was better than nothing.

“It is.” You say, trying not to draw much attention to the fact that he spoke. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“What happened next?” He asked quietly, almost as if talking to you was a mistake. To him, it was actually a privilege he didn’t deem himself worthy of.

“Garcia went down to a local coffee shop with Emily and they stole a bunch of packets for us. They came back running as if they had stolen a bank.” You say and chuckle, hearing the faintest of laughs inside from him. He was laughing. That was good. Amazing, actually.

“Good. Can’t imagine being without sugar.” He murmurs, and you couldn’t see the small smile on his lips at the first sign of normalcy after so long in the dark.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure when you get back there’ll be as much sugar as you want.”

Silence.

You wait, and wait, and wait, but he doesn’t speak again.

“Spence?” You ask, and the only other sound you hear that day is him getting up and stumbling away.

x

“When you get back.”

Those words plagued him for the rest of the day, which he spent locked up in his room to try and muffle your voice as you continued talking on the other side of his front door. Just the thought of it terrified him.

At first, he imagined it was out of fear of living something like his experience with Hankel again. But when he passed by the mirror in the bathroom and saw how he looked, he understood the real reason.

Deep dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Lifeless eyes. Hair greasier than it had ever been in his whole life. Pajamas stained with food he couldn’t identify. Grown out beard. He had gotten used to the smell by now, but he was sure it would be strong to anyone else.

He was disgusting. Gross.

Useless. Undeserving. A junkie.

His breathing quickened, but it was like no air came. One shaky hand moved to his heart, feeling the fast and strong beats. It felt like drums in a rock song. Like the cart of a rollercoaster against the rails. Like horses running freely.

Except there was no freedom. He felt trapped, desperate. Hopeless.

And as he fell to the ground and tears pricked his eyes, he was sure he might die.

No one will understand. No one will try to understand.

Suddenly death didn’t seem so bad. But just like it happened so many times before in his life, it was an easy way out. And nothing was easy for him.

So, fifteen minutes later, the needle in his arm was the only thing capable of taming the panic attack that still coursed through his veins.

x

When he rolled around on his bed, sweating from the nightmare, the room was spinning. Or maybe it was just his brain.

Either way, the open box on the bedside table, the not discarded needle and the torniquet still on his arm were explanation enough for what had happened the night before. He exaggerated. Again.

The day after these episodes were always the worst. Sickness, dizziness. Loss of strength in his muscles. That was also when the thoughts got worse.

It was ironic, really, that he went through almost a whole flask in hopes of drowning the voices only to wake up with them stronger than ever. It was a cycle. But then again, wasn’t all of this?

The world was a blur, a mix of living nightmares and not very healthy thoughts, and in the end, he caught himself wishing you’d show up.

Laughing, whispers of love and beautiful promises. That was how the world was around you. And even through the thick wood of his front door, he was still selfish enough to crave a glimpse of the Heaven you held in your hands; of the salvation from this twisted reality he found himself trapped in.

Spencer wasn’t the most emotional of men. In fact, before you, all his research pointed to him lacking the brain connections that allowed one to feel anything remotely romantic. He was sure he was okay without love, and he was sure he would always be.

But then you came, and it was like buying his first glasses all over again: suddenly the world was clear, and so much more beautiful.

It was hard for him to describe what he felt. He could only think of one simple way to put it. It was all orange.

x

“Hi, Spence” The melody of the notes that compose your voice echoed around the apartment, making the faintest of smiles bloom in his face.

For the past three days, you had managed to make him talk more and more. At first, it was weird. Alone in his apartment, the only things his walls had heard in the past few weeks were his terrorized nightly screams and the incoherent mumbles that occasionally made themselves present.

“Listen, I brought you something” You say and wait to see if he had any contributions. When he remains quiet, you continue. “I called your mom’s facility” His eyes shot open, and he sat up straighter on the floor. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. I figured if someone was to tell, it should be you” The simple reassurance was enough to calm him down the slightest. “I called to ask her for the recipe of those peppermint cookies you told me about a few months ago.”

The smell of baked sugar filled the small kitchen. Days like these were good. Days when his mom was okay. When she was his mom again, and he had the freedom to be the child his seven-year-old self deserved to be.

“I made some” Your voice cuts through the first good memory h’s had since everything went down. “I’m sure they’re not as good as hers, but they’re not bad either. I have them here, I could drop them off with the baskets Penelope brought and yo-“

The sudden movement of the door opening catches you by surprise as you stumble back, no longer having a surface to rest your back on.

He opened the door. He really opened the door.

Spencer stood there, looking down at you and seeming even more surprised than you did. His eyes flickered over your form, heart beating faster. God, how he missed the sight of this angel.

He looked different from what you remembered. Dark stubble covering his face, messy and greasy hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal an arrangement of needle punctures. For a moment, neither of you say a word, simply taking in the sight of the one person you each missed more than breathing. That was when Spencer realised it. He’d rather die in that shed a thousand times more than go another day without seeing your face. The pictures he had really did you no justice, not when you looked more beautiful than a diamond, with its carbon atoms so perfectly aligned, creating what is believed to be one of the most precious objects on Earth. You didn’t even compare to that.

“You made me cookies?” He asks, looking down at the little box in your hands, the faint smell of the cookies reaching his nose.

“Yes. Yes, I did. They’re still a bit warm, I baked them before coming here.” You stand up, quickly enough to drop your blood pressure slightly, but not enough to startle him.

When he takes the box from your hands and, without another word, walks inside leaving the door open for you. There’s no hesitation in your steps as you follow him in. And the sight that welcomes you is nothing but heartbreaking. His once so perfectly organized place – at least according to the system only he understood – was now a mess. There were books on the floor, take-out boxes on every table, dirty clothes on the floor.

He wafted through the chaos, eyes never leaving the box as he opened it and threw himself on the sofa. Carefully, he picks up a cookie, and after an experimental bite, a single tear rolls down his face. Then another, and another, and another until the dam breaks and he is full on sobbing on the sofa, crushing the cookie as his hands close into fists and his shoulders shake.

Your heart, shattered already, breaks even further, and when you sit next to him, you feel shocked as he falls into your arms. His arms are tucked between your bodies, his face buried on your chest, and you don’t have the heart to tell him he smells the tiniest bit. No, not now. You could tell him he needed a shower when he didn’t look like a vulnerable child, climbing on your lap.

“It’s okay… shh…” His brain barely registers your comforting words, too busy paying attention to the way your fingers card through his hair without a hint of disgust. He knew he loved the right person, especially because of moments like this. You were just… perfect. It was cliché, but Spencer genuinely could not think of any other way of describing you.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” His voice was almost inaudible, filled with a gut-wrenching guilt for doing this to you. “I’m s-sorry”

“Don’t be. It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here” Your voice, the soft murmur of reassurance breaks him even further, relieving him of the pressure of the guilt he had been feeling for so long.

That day, he cried until he fell asleep in your arms. Not for a second did you let go of him, your hands always gentle and loving as you caressed his hair. For the first time in two weeks and four days, he slept with no nightmares.

x

The sound of steps moving around his apartment was the first thing he registered when he woke up. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the couch, he looked around, groggy and with his head pounding from crying.

You had your back turned to him as you cleaned his kitchen, the smell of something in the oven making his stomach growl slightly. Then he notices it. No clothes on the floor. No takeout boxes around. Books neatly on the shelves. You had cleaned his place while he slept.

For a minute, he simply watches you, dark eyes following your movements around the kitchen as you wash and dry dishes. Then you turn, and the small, concerned smile that forms on your lips as you walk closer is enough to send his heart racing in his chest again.

“You’re up. How did you sleep?” You ask, stopping behind the couch as your fingers lovingly brush his messy hair out of his face.

“Fine. How long was I out?” He asks and clears his throat, voice slightly gruff.

“About three hours. I didn’t want to wake you, so I cleaned up. And made dinner. You still like lasagna, right?”

His eyes stare directly at your face, and for a moment, he considers a crazy theory.

Maybe he had died that day in the shed. He died, and the last couple of days were his time spent in some sort of imbo. But now he was in Heaven. That had to be it. As irrational as it was, how else could he explain the presence of an angel in front of him so suddenly? Besides, he always thought that if the Realm of God was a real place, if his paradise was real, you’d be there.

“Spencer?” He blinks, and the world still has a happy veil over it when his eyelids open and his irises meet your face again.

“Yes. Yes, I like lasagna.” He nods, eyes fixed on you.

Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.

x

The door closed behind you, and the illusion left just as fast. The light that seemed to follow you was gone, his world buried in darkness and numbness again. Your presence made him feel so light as you talked his ears off today. He didn’t mind. Not when he smiled more in a couple of hours than in the last two weeks. Not when you two were sitting so close, cuddling on the couch. Not when your lasagna had tasted like the best dish he ever ate.

But now you were gone, and all that is left for him to do is climb back in bed. His sheets are clean now – you changed them – and the overused pajamas on his body feel sinful against the fabric. What was meant to be a good thing only served to send him spiraling again, and as most nights, this one ended with a small pinch and the sting of the liquid as he applied it on his forearms.

Who knows? Maybe the delusions would bring you back tonight.

[insecure-snek]

I feel like this is probably an unpopular opinion (that’s why I’m posting here and not on twitter) but I just wanna know if anyone else feels this way.

Obviously, I think Wilbur is the one Shelby is talking about, and as someone who was also abused, I feel stronger hearing her story. I hope she’s able to find peace soon.

Maybe I’m just an overly optimistic person, but I think Wilbur needs help. A lot of it. And I think, probably not a popular idea, that even though he’s a piece of shit in this situation, that he deserves it.

I’m an overly trusting person by nature. Obviously I wasn’t there when any of this happened. I am just a stranger on the internet. I don’t know what went on, I didn’t see anything happen. However, I think I want Wilbur to get better and I think he can.

He needs to be deplatformed. At least until he has PUBLICLY apologized to Shelby, and is showing to his friends (not us, the audience, not only Shelby, EVERYONE HE KNOWS PERSONALLY) that he is making an effort to never treat another person like that again. But I think, and please don’t come with your pitchforks for me, the person Wilbur abuses the most is himself.

He clearly has other problems that are not making him a good person. Mental health is not a excuse for poor behavior. However, it is an explanation. Your mental health issues and trauma are not your fault, however, managing both those things are unfortunately YOUR responsibility. They are HIS Responsibility to fix and manage, not Shelby’s, not Phil’s, not James, NO ONE BUT HIM.

Call me stupid, or crazy, or whatever, but I firmly believe in the idea of (almost) every human being capable of change. I have siblings who used to treat me terribly, who are much older than me, and I was hurt by them. But as I grew, I saw them realize just how terrible they treated me. They changed their behavior, and apologized to me many many times. They showed me people can wake up and change their lives around. And, whether or not Wilbur comes back to content creation, I hope he gets the help he so clearly needs.

Shelby owes him nothing. His fan base owes him nothing. His friends owe him nothing. Wilbur owes them everything. Shelby deserves to hold back her forgiveness when it so clearly isn’t deserved. She should never forgive him if she doesn’t want to. That’s her right.

Maybe I believe in people too much. But I truly hope he changes. Not only for his friends, family, and loved ones, but for his own sake. He’s going to end up dead if he continues this way, and I believe no one deserves to die. (I’m not even for the death penalty. Let them sit and suffer forever).

Anyway, get some rest all, drink some water, and remember that the world becoming a better place starts with you. Treat people the way you wanna be treated. 💕

Update: Wilbur’s response was absolutely awful, no surprise there. As someone else who responded said, abusers often don’t think of themselves as such. I still hope he gets help. Props to ranboo and all the others standing up to him. I hope this wakes him the fuck up. Until further notice, please stop supporting him. Unfollow him, un add his music, whatever you can to get him to deeply regret this shit he’s done. Those were his actions. These are the consequences.

[scatteredpiecesofme]

Favourite background character - or, justice for Alexander!

Since I was a bit disappointed by how Alexander's character was treated in S3, I decided to celebrate him as my favourite background character for the YRFavesFest2024. He deserves some love!!

"... anyone here who has been bullied, hit, beaten up?"

I'll start with this scene from 03.02, which I think is filmed and edited very cleverly.

At first the focus is on Vincent who's giving his little speech, while Alex is in the background and a bit blurred, but we can still detect him making big side eyes at Vincent. And how could he not? He, of all people, knows very well that bullying is a real thing at Hillerska.

At this point, before Vincent even finishes his sentence, the camera cuts on Alex - who now is on focus and at the centre of the frame - right on the words 'hit, beaten up':

I'm not reading this as a suggestion that Alex has ever been physically beaten up, but his posture and his eyes towards the floor perfectly convey the image of someone who feels beaten, if only emotionally.

And then Henry chimes in:

Henry is naively incredulous, but his comment must sound dismissive to Alex, who raises his eloquent eyes up again: sure as hell, he does not think that the story is overblown at all. No matter if the tradition of the porn/homophobic initiations was stopped and present day students don't go through it anymore, Alex understands that it's something totally believable.

It's just a quick sequence and Alex is clearly not meant to be the main focus of this scene as a whole, but his presence in the background and Xiao excellent ability to speak without words add further layers to the scene itself and make it even more meaningful.

Yay, some happiness!

Thank god, even though the creators didn't give Alex any line in S3, they at least let him have some happy moments. It's a joy to see him so cheerful and carefree during the camping trip! Look at him!

The trio

My last point, which is also my favourite among the glimpses we get of Alex in S3, is about the trio Alex-Henry-Walter. Throughout the season, in fact, Alexander, is often spotted in close proximity to either Henry or Walter or both:

In particular, I absolutely adore this shot:

The lighting and the colours are gorgeous, but most of all I love the glance Henry and Alex exchange while they're trying hard not to burst into laughters (it's the moment when August is gulping down a big glass of wine). I like that despite being on duty, once again at the service of the third years, Alex Henry and Walter seem to have fun, relaxed and giggly.

The icing on the cake, for me, is of course the white party! Alexander looks fabulous with that sparkly purple eyeshadow (or whatever it is) and the trio is all ready to enjoy the craziest night.

Alas, the show doesn't let us know anything about the nature of their relationship. Or maybe it's a good thing, as it allows the audience the most freedom of interpretation. Is it camaraderie among fellow students? Is it authentic and sincere friendship? Something more?? What do we think? As in the fandom there's already an established little group of passionate Walty shippers (looking at you, friend, hehe), I wonder if anyone ships them as a throuple? Queerplatonic, maybe? Come on rarepair enjoyers, don't be shy!

Personally, I read them as just friends (both Walty and Walty+Alex), and I like to imagine the three of them cherishing this friendship formed during their school years, cultivating it into their adult life and living many future adventures as a trio, but any headcanon is valid and welcome. No matter what configuration, shape or form it might take, I just hope for Alexander to find someone who makes him feel respected and loved. We all deserve that, in fiction and in real life.

I'm closing this post with this beautiful, intense and emotional close-up from episode six:

Big thanks to @youngroyals-events for planning and hosting this event!

[floweycidal]

clover would be nice to bugs, i think.

they don’t crazily save every insect they see, nor do they keep a census of lives rescued. this isn’t that kind of story. not at all.

but when they come across a beetle on its back, legs cycling through air like broken clock hands, there is no internal debate about morality, no performance of kindness for an invisible audience. they simply reach down, right what's wrong, and move on without waiting for thanks.

all those tiny lives that others casually swat at or sweep away. the spider rebuilding its web for the third time today, patiently reweaving what was thoughtlessly destroyed. the ant dragging a crumb twice its size across an endless expanse of floor. the moth fluttering desperately as it searches for a way back to the light.

more often than not, clover stops.

again, nothing ceremonial about it. no fanfare or fuss. just a tender hand extending a leaf to bridge a gap, or a solicitous finger nudging a fallen to safer ground.

they'd probably be cracking terrible puns in their head, something about giving beetles a "turn" for the better or how “moth-ers” know best. it stays there. tucked away with all the other small jokes that no one else will hear.

clover understands. they know what it feels like to live in spaces where you’re not wanted, to move carefully, noiselessly, hoping that the larger, more powerful beings in your world might just pass you by. they know exactly how heavy a careless footstep can be. you can see it in the way they move through the underground. this perfect quietude, like they're walking between raindrops.

it’s the kind of placidity born of understanding that survival sometimes translates to being so quiet that even the air forgets to stir around you.

being small doesn’t make you less deserving. powerlessness doesn't make you wrong. occasionally, the truest form of justice is simply making space for others to exist.

and clover would know.

their life on the surface was hardly rich with comforts or attachments. it was a life of static-laden tv shows, dishes washed with nary a nod, and spaces that felt more borrowed than lived in. they know what it is to go unnoticed, to be treated like something inconsequential, a minor nuisance at best.

more presence than person, clover has lived off scraps and donned garments stitched together with hope and necessity. they'd understand, better than anyone, what it means to exist underfoot.

it feels so natural, so right, to imagine clover giving a bug a second chance. where others see something disposable, clover sees something familiar. just trying to live. get by.

not a saint by any stretch, they’ll “borrow” what they need without asking. still, they’ll mutter a soft “excuse me” to a ladybug flitting too close, and still they'd find the time to guide a caterpillar out of harm’s way with a scrap of paper.

they'd choose to handle the fragile and easily breakable with care and fairness, for mercy matters most when it’s offered to those who cannot demand it.

the world has a way of teaching its smallest inhabitants to expect cruelty—to see a hand coming down like judgment, a step as an unthinking end. to know that to exist while small is to always be one breath away from being deemed an annoyance, a pest.

the bugs are blissfully unaware of their reprieve. they don’t realize that someone paused, saw, and judged their lives worthy of continuing. clover never needs them to know. it's not why they do it.

clover permits these lives to continue without condition because being bigger doesn’t confer more importance. having strength doesn’t mean it must be used to crush the small. that wouldn't be fair now, would it?

and i like to believe this compassion for little critters isn’t so separate from their pursuit of justice; it’s part of the same whole.

justice isn't always the thundering declaration people expect.

justice here wears a shabby hat. walks without sound. respects a balloon's privacy and even waves it goodbye.

justice can very much come in the form of realizing that the most revolutionary thing you can do in a world that worships its own thorns is to be solemnly, persistently kind and just.

even to the things that everyone else would much rather squash than spare.

especially then.

[ceilidho]

No I agree with the last anon, I love all your stuff but something just feels *different* about this one, like in a really good way. I hope you get the chance to publish your writing one day and make a ton of money from it. You deserve it ♡

i tried to focus on a few different things in this fic!!! idk if this is interesting at all, but lately as i've been writing, i've been trying to think about the following things:

physicality. really describing the love interest's body to the fullest extent. thinking about things like scars, hair, the different shades of their skin, skin texture, etc.

giving the narrator (reader) more story/internalization. i noticed i resonated with my reader characters more when i felt like they had some palpable inner nature and quirks that gave them dimension (while still trying to keep the reader character neutral enough for anyone to slip into)

choosing words more deliberately. i've been scouring vocabulary lists and finding new synonyms for words and religiously checking merriam webster's word of the day.

balancing poetry with more matter-of-fact / plain language. still attempting to keep the audience grounded in what is actually happening in the story while also making them feel transported with some more poetic passages.

mixing spoken dialogue (i.e. ["Go over there," he says]) with internalized dialogue (i.e. [A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach] - note the italicized dialogue that is being spoken but only registers in the reader's mind). i just find the contrast is very appealing.

making sure that VISUALLY the story is engaging to read. that means a mix of sparse dialogue, big/dense paragraphs, and short one-line sentences broken into paragraphs. i want readers to look at the page and feel drawn in and like their eyes are bouncing all over the place rather than bogged down by paragraph after paragraph

anyway lmao im yapping. thank you so much for reading my work and being so kind!!!

[ecoterrorist-katara]

I love fics where the Gaang finds out about the story behind Zuko’s scar. That said, I still think Zuko and Katara’s interaction in Crossroads of Destiny is the most powerful scar scene possible, precisely because Katara does not get his backstory, yet treats him with compassion anyway.

From The Storm onwards, Zuko’s scar becomes a symbol to the audience. Zuko’s scar is inextricable from his inherent goodness, which is constantly warring with his desire to please his cruel father. I think that’s why fans are so eager to see the Gaang find out the story behind his scar — so that the Gaang can see Zuko the way we’ve seen Zuko since season 1, so that they can understand the full tragedy of his story, and so that Zuko can get the comfort he really, really needs and deserves.

But Katara doesn’t offer to heal his scar because he’s good, or because she’s appalled that his father was abusive and awful. She offers to heal his scar because she sees that he’s hurting, and she wants to make that hurt go away. Knowing his backstory would not have made her act any differently, because she had already offered the full extent of her compassion. Katara knows firsthand what he’s capable of. She’s seen him at his very lowest. Yet she chooses to comfort him anyway.

And Zuko — Zuko, for whom pain is about as natural as breathing, who doesn’t care if he lives or dies, whose list of “people who have seen the worst of him and care about him anyway” starts and ends with his uncle, who knows full well that Katara travels with both the literal hope of the world and her own brother…no wonder he lets her touch his scar. No wonder he wants her forgiveness so badly. No wonder he jumps in front of lightning for her and reaches for her while he’s literally dying. Because Katara didn’t see the good in him: she saw the human in him. Because to a girl defined by her compassion, they were the same thing. And to a boy who had been desperately trying to bury his own humanity, it was everything.

[artsy-hobbitses]

Have you seen transformers one? If so what did you think of it? I saw it twice!

I JUST came back from watching it, so uh, residual high but

It’s amazing? Like goddamn they did so much with what time they were given? The characterisation, the voice acting, the plot, not to say it’s twists and turns, it’s completely what you expect and still they managed to surprise me.

For once in modern iterations, they listened to some of the gripes fans had about the way Optimus Prime is depicted and actually did him RIGHT.

Prime comes from the SAME STATION as Megatron, he sees and experiences the injustice firsthand. He’s not a conflicted cop enforcing a system or a pacifist librarian sheltered from it, and god bless, both iterations were interesting to explore, but it positioned him as ‘above’ the dregs Megatron had to slave in and automatically made him more obtuse to class oppression/made us initially more sympathetic to blue collar-coded Megs. He’s not speaking from a place of privilege. The pain of the underclass is HIS pain too.

Prime is the DYNAMIC one in this duo. He’s the one who starts shit, the one unwilling to accept his lot in life and the one who bucks against protocol for sake of his friends.

Prime is the RADICAL as opposed to Megatron who starts out as more of a follower until he finds out the truth about their system. Prime questions the system far earlier than Megatron ever does, and Prime choosing hope and mercy over wrath and vengeance is framed as his strength, not a naïveté or weakness.

Prime and Megatron start out arm in arm, best friends suffering the same injustices, and what defines them is what they choose to do about it once they’re given the power and ability to enact changes; Prime wants a better Cybertron for everyone, Megatron just wants to burn everything in bloody revenge because HE was lied to and he doesn’t care how many die in his path to get there. He also makes it very clear that he doesn’t intend to fix the system—he simply perpetuates it with a different hierarchy, one which his newly-gifted strength places him on top of.

This Prime is a hero because of his actions from the first scene, not because we, as an audience, are told that is what he is just because he’s Optimus Prime.

You understand why he was chosen even if he didn’t ask for or seek the Matrix out for himself (the only reason he initially seeks it out is as a way to restart the natural production of energon on Cybertron so miners don’t have to slave underground their whole lives anymore. He seems wholly unaware or dismissive of the power it could give him, he doesn’t pine for it for anything other than what it can do FOR OTHERS, because per Faramir’s words: “I don’t love the sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness nor the warrior for his glory, I only love that which they defend”)

THIS IS THE PRIME WE DESERVE and I am so glad the writers GOT IT SO RIGHT

I’m planning a second watch for sure! I unfortunately had to escape the cinema to the loo during Alpha Trion’s big reveal and I wanna watch a second time just to catch every detail I missed.

[stars-and-inkpots]

could you possibly do one where Tav is on the verge on burnout in Baldur's Gate, from carrying the litteral weight of the world on her shoulders, plus the murders, dismembered clown, emperor chattering away in her mind and just tryingto help every soul in the city... oh, and everyone looking to her for guidance in making difficult life decisions... possibly after advising Wyll not to take the pact and/or one of their companions being abducted

And Gale being there to help her and lift her spirits up (maybe a little guilty about being too wrapped up in his hubris before having a forgiving audience with Mystra to notice how hard it all was on her)

I loved this idea so much because Act 3 really is just so overwhelming and stressful I was excited to write something about it! Thank you!! I hope you enjoy!

The Weight of The World | Gale x Reader

There is so much you have to do. So many things you have to fix and people you have to save. It's starting to become overwhelming carrying so much alone.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Blood and injury, panic attacks (kinda), hurt/comfort, comfort, angst, cuddling, spoilers for Act 3

Ao3 Link: The Weight of The World

Word Count: 1,799

You like helping people. If there is a way you can make someone else’s life easier, you are both eager and happy to do it. It’s in your nature to give. 

But you’re wearing yourself thin. 

It seems that ever since you got off that nautiloid, you’ve been helping people. First, it was the tieflings in the Grove; then the Shadow-Cursed lands; then the refugees on the way to Baldur’s Gate. And along with all of those problems, you’ve also been helping your companions with their own; some with higher stakes than others. 

Wyll is quiet today, and when you notice the look on his face, guilt quickly settles in beside the exhaustion that rests on your shoulders. 

He is free now, but it has come at such a steep price. You were there with him when Mizora appeared to offer him the deal. He had asked you for advice. You told him that he deserved a chance to be free from the infernal chess board he had been forced to play on for so long. 

But what if you were wrong? What if you don’t find a way to save his father? What if Baldur’s Gate is worse off without the duke once everything is done and over with and the dust has settled. What if Wyll ends up blaming you for the death of Ravengard, resenting your decision that was his own to make. 

You’re happy to help… happy to give counsel to your companions when they (so often, it seems) need it, but why should you be the one making the decisions for such things? How can you be expected to decide between Wyll’s freedom and his father’s life? 

You haven’t even begun to prepare for what could lie beyond the walls of Cazador’s palace, but you’re certain it can be nothing short of dreadful. 

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the task at hand. You have potential murder victims you need to find. 

More people that need saving. 

---

Finding the Stormshore Tabernacle after Elminster arrived to tell Gale that Mystra had yet another message for him was only another goal added on the growing list of things you needed to do. This, of course, took a little priority, given how much you could tell it mattered to Gale. 

You brush off the growing exhaustion that hasn’t had a chance to fully dissipate in the wake of so many new problems. 

You stand in front of the statue of Mystra, Gale beside you while the others wait outside. You can feel the magic that flows around it, crackling and humming like an electric current. It is not a feeling that brings you comfort or a sense of calm that one might expect from a god; perhaps that is mainly because of your own opinions of the goddess though. While he does a good job at hiding it, you can tell that Gale’s nerves are beginning to get the better of him. You bring your hand to rest it on his shoulder. 

“Time was I’d have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again. The left one too. Maybe a knee…” he says quietly, and as much as you want to believe he is exaggerating, you know there is an air of truth to his words. 

“You know you don’t owe her anything, Gale.” You hope he knows that. It’s impossible for you to understand the nuances of their relationship, and you recognise that, but you know that what she had asked of him was cruel and manipulative. 

“Perhaps,” he answers. Then adds, “Her first love was always the weave. At best, I was always a close second.” 

You can’t tell if he’s trying to justify Her actions to you, or simply giving himself a reason for them that hurts less than the idea that she did not truly care for him like he did for Her. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Despite your personal distaste for the goddess, you would accompany him in an instant if it was what he desired.

“As much as I’d prefer not to face her alone, I’m afraid the magic is only able to bring one person through. I’ll only be gone a minute though. Wait for me, please.” His voice shakes only slightly. You would wait for him even if he didn’t ask. 

When he turns to face the statue again, he moves his hand like he’s grasping at something in the air. Then just as quickly, he is gone. 

You wait there anxiously. You wonder if you should have told him not to come here. It was entirely possible that Mystra only asked him to come here so that she could punish him for not following her orders to blow up both himself and the Absolute. It would be another lapse of judgement that would impact only your companion. 

The stress of the week is steadily catching up to you again, pushing itself into the forefront of your mind while you wait for Gale to return. Thankfully, he doesn’t take long. 

Gale reappears in a small flash of shimmering purples. He is smiling, which you assume is a good thing in spite of the general unease the thought of him speaking with the goddess brings. 

He recounts the visit with you while the two of you find the rest of your party outside. 

---

No one says anything when you go straight to your tent after you return to camp, Gale letting go of your hand to give you a moment to yourself. 

Lae’zel is gone, taken by Orin, and being held ransom in the Temple of Bhaal. The memory of the encounter makes you sick to your stomach. 

Lae’zel rounding the corner, bloodied and limping, clutching her side while blood pours out in thick rivulets. Your heart beating so fast that you worry it will stop entirely. Grasping her arm to pull her with you, refusing to leave her behind. The feeling of her flesh shifting under your palm, moving, undulating in that unnatural and revolting way you had come to recognize in the shapechangers you had encountered. You recoiled backwards into Gale, watching in horror as Lae’zel’s form shifted; her neck snapping to the side sharply. Her green skin fading to pale grey. It was never Lae’zel at all, but Orin. 

She cornered you into making a deal with her. You were to return with Gortash’s netherstone, or Lae’zel would be left to bleed out on the temple floor. 

You can imagine Lae’zel’s voice, condemning you for giving in to the Bhaalspawn’s orders. But you know Lae’zel. You know that she is not as unshakeable as she likes to present herself. You know that, wherever she is right now, she is scared. 

You can barely think. Everything feels blurry, the world fraying at the edges of your vision dissolving into a mess of colour and sound. 

You should have noticed. Gortash had warned you. 

You still have so much you need to do. 

How did you let this happen? 

---

Gale waits a few minutes before he follows you to your tent. He waits nervously outside, unsure. 

“Can I come in?” He asks softly. 

“Please,” you answer, and his heart breaks at the roughness of your voice; no doubt from crying and struggling to keep the sobs quiet enough that the rest of the camp wouldn’t hear them. 

Your eyes are tired, fresh tears still flowing freely down your face. 

Gale is terrified too, just like you and so many of the others, but something else weighs heavy on his chest. Guilt, he quickly realises as he looks at you. 

You’ve been dealing with so much, and so much of it alone. You’ve taken their problems and made them your own; you’ve done everything for them. You’ve bore their worries, their concerns, and their mistakes. You’ve had no one to do the same for you. 

“Gale-” you start, but a sob bubbles out of you cutting you off as your shoulders shake. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers into your hair after he quickly gathers you into his arms as he sits beside you. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he’s protecting you from the world itself. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologise through hiccups against his chest. He only gently shushes you, carding his fingers through your hair. 

“If there is any apologising to be done, it is us to you. You’ve been doing so much for us; carrying our burdens and helping with them. I will admit even I have been far too preoccupied with my own mess that I failed to consider the weight that we’ve put on you.” 

“I should be able to bear it,” you say mournfully. 

“Absolutely not,” Gale objects. “It’s impossible to do that alone. You are only one person. You are not weak because you failed to carry the weight of the world alone.” He sounds so certain, so genuine in everything he says that you know he isn’t merely saying this to comfort you. “Even if you struggled with even the simplest problem, it would be no slight on your abilities.” His words, as reassuring and comforting as they are, bring on yet another wave of tears. He rubs his hands soothingly along your back. 

“You are not weak because of this,” Gale assures you once you’ve mostly stopped crying. 

“Thank you,” you answer after a while. “Thank you.” 

The two of you sit there together. The steady rise and fall of his chest while you lean against him helps calm your racing heart. Gale hums softly, and you relax in his arms. 

“Everything is going to be alright. We’ll do this together,” Gale says, with a finality that leaves no room for disagreement. 

You nod, too exhausted in both body and mind to bother with speech for now. You reach blindly for one of Gale’s hands, holding it tightly and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. You feel him return a kiss of his own to the top of your head. You don’t need to use your words to explain your gratitude for his presence in your life. He understands you all the same. Your love may go unspoken, but never unheard. 

You let yourself relax. The weight of the world may be both figuratively and literally on your shoulders, but your companions can help you hold it. 

Yes, you think to yourself as Gale moves you both to lay down on the bedroll, everything will be alright. It will be difficult, but you will be fine. And at least, in his arms, you can pretend that everything will be fine for now. You have to hold onto the hope that everything will be fine.

[sara-yuna]

Imagine how strange it must have been for Will to wake up in the hospital after literally dying in the Upside Down, only to find out that your best friend (whom you’re in love with) somehow got a girlfriend during the week you were missing—but now she’s gone for some reason. And you’re just like: “Oh. Okay. ???”

Will doesn’t know all the things we, as the audience, do—like Mike jumping off the cliff, fighting the bullies, and relentlessly trying to find him. And who knows how much everyone actually told him about that time? They’re probably afraid of triggering Will’s trauma, so they avoid talking about it altogether. (I hope they talk about all of this in Season 5!!)

So from Will's pov that must have been so confusing. Like: 'Mike I was gone for a week and you found someone else??? What are we??? So we are just friends???'

Then there’s Season 2, and suddenly Mike only has eyes for Will. He’s always by his side, always worried about him, always looking at him like he’s the most important person in the world. So, naturally, Will’s hope starts to go up again. Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe I didn’t imagine it.

But then El comes back. And just like that, Mike starts acting weird again—distant, distracted, like his attention is being pulled in a different direction. So now Will is confused all over again. 'What are we? What am I to you? Why do you only seem to see me when she’s not around?'

It’s like this constant push and pull, leaving him in this painful limbo where he’s never sure where he stands. 😭 Then the airport hug which surely broke his heart 😭

It's a rollercoaster of emotions for him 😭

No wonder he doesn’t catch on that Mike has fallen for him so hard in Season 4.

Give my boy the happy ending he deserves 🙏💙💛

[sarahreesbrennan]

sorry if you have already answered this, but are we getting any queer rep in Long Live Evil? 💕 i am super excited to see what you've cooked up for us either way!

I came back after I'd gone off on one, seeing the post had struck a chord and being thankful but fearful of my inbox. Let me say with delighted surprise that all the asks are very kind.

Thank you for this one, sweet anon. I am so excited and so nervous about my best beloved, Long Live Evil, and about coming back with a new book of my own after so long, when I believed for a long time it was hopeless.

I'm really grateful to find readers waiting for me. But I know readers are naturally more invested in characters they know: I extremely appreciate you taking an interest in the future.

So, short answer: YEAH you are!

Long answer: Long Live Evil wouldn't exist without its queer narratives.

C.S. Pacat and I were talking in our virtual Brookline Booksmith event recently about our favourite Disney villains. C.S. Pacat picked Maleficent, a fine choice. I picked Snow White's Evil Queen. We agreed we loved most of them.

Here's the relevant excerpt I was quoting in my last post from Carmen Maria Machado's In The Dream House, saying 'I think a lot about queer villains, the problem and pleasure and audacity of them.' Well... me too.

I think many of us have experienced feeling made wrong in some way - for not wanting what society said we should or being what we were expected to be - and that one step along that journey of discovery is going 'Okay, if it's wicked, I'll just BE wicked.' And that's part of why those characters appeal - because they seem free, and free of pain.

But modern storytelling isn't confined to coding, and audiences can now feel free to expect, not the certainty, but the possibility characters who aren't introduced as such still might actually turn out to be LGBT+. The essays I've read about Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Sherlock, Ted Lasso, Fox 9-1-1... I think the latest argued Jaime Lannister was bisexual. (Pretty persuasive.)

I remember reading the Raven Cycle going 'oh? OH.' I remember being at a writing retreat in 2013 and running through the halls screaming about Nico diAngelo. Ten years later we got a Nico diAngelo book co-written by Rick Riordan and the amazing Mark Oshiro. I watched Red, White and Royal Blue with a friend and she said 'honestly I hope the guys get together, but...' and I (having read the book) silenced myself with a herculean effort and watched her hopes come true. I didn't know about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and almost dropped the book in a swimming pool. But I've also read and watched many things thinking, just maybe... oh, no. Still that hope existing is meaningful, the thought that if the story had gone differently, if this revelation had happened, if this realisation had happened, if, if, if...

Long Live Evil is a story about the story going differently and asking yourself questions about your own nature, and the escape to fiction of those who really need escape. The book is based on that 'if,' and the 'if' itself is joyous, and brings me back to the idea of gleefully transgressing the narrative that much villain love is based on.

It's also an ensemble story with a rogue's gallery of characters and multiple PoVs. (I was much inspired by the Six of Crows ensemble.) So it isn't about any one character's romance, and by the book's nature there exist many possibilities. A critique partner read and said 'I didn't know you were going THERE' and I responded 'Should I?'

I've never been one to confirm where stories are going, and I won't do so now. I'm not talking about any one character or telling you a direction.

I'm just saying yes to rep. It's baked in.

[marimayscarlett]

I hope the guys and families are flying to some very nice holiday destinations today. They more than deserve it!

P.S. still not over them crying. Paul? Out of all of them?? And it looked like even Till was trying to control himself. Must've been insanely overwhelming. After 30 years, so many struggles..last year.. to still see a packed stadium. Night 5 in the same packed stadium, no less 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 you can tell they are so grateful for everything they've achieved and for all the love, and support 🖤♥️

Hi 👋🏻

I also thought about their plans for their free time now - Paul and Olli love to spend time in South Africa, Schneider and his family seem to visit Austria a lot.. I just hope everyone finds a way to unwind (no Richard, this doesn't mean hiding away in your recording studio in the basement), to find back to their off tour-selves and also...find a way back into the 'normal' everyday life back home. I can imagine that this transition might be hard, being almost 3 months on the road and then coming back home to their families, where life just continued in the meantime. But I'm sure they will now have a wonderful time, whatever they decide to do 🤍

Yes, Paul being the most emotional and the most open about was indeed a bit surprising, but then again, it is only natural to be emotional after such a tour, this whole stadium era, the hell of a summer™ last year, after playing the set list for one last time before the break in front of an audience full of fans, who cherished them quite a lot ❤️

Everyone had a different way to show it, Paul and Schneider openly expressed their emotions through a little bit of crying, Richard seemed to be very thankful/kind of overwhelmed and was barely holding onto his emotions in the elevator, Till seemed emotional as well, Olli danced a bit in the elevator, Flake was smiling (if I remember correctly).

And Till's words really expressed their gratitude and how much they cherish their fans, and gave hope that they will continue as our beloved six men marriage:

"We want to thank you, especially those who believed us, believed in us, who trusted us. Thank you very, very, very much [...]. One does not spoil our enjoyment so easily. The envious one had it wrong (-> from Links234: "Der Neider hat es schlecht gewusst."). Have a good night and thank you."

[hoofpeet]

popping in to say a few kind words about your art because i never viewed your art as cutesy pretty much ever? i never saw your style is just. cute. and p much anyone who says that has a very shallow way of defining art styles

i admire your style of art so much because of the unapologetic saturation and vibrancy in color, the way you utilize them has so clearly been practiced and curated careful even when you might just have been fuckin around. your sense of color has come to a point where im pretty sure its just instinctual, but even then the attention to detail of how light bounces and how they interact with other colors is nothing less of a very talented skill.

this isnt even mentioning your understanding of form makes me want to Gnaw On My Furniture, you make it look so Easy with your linework. its so gestural but also so compact at the same time-- theres this narrow line you tend to do there there is so much clarity in a silhouette but at the same time it doesnt feel like a posed model, its just a photograph taken. the naturalism is so fantastic, i FEEL like im seeing a snapshot into a world that does not involve me and thats good.

honestly its very upsetting that people chalk up your work valuing nothing more than fanart because there is so much MORE youre clearly doing with style study, color and photo study, research into animal behaviors/biology/interpreting realism into stylized shape and form. frankly, it is a Disservice to you that people think you arent... i dont know deserving to express your goddamn feelings????

anyway this is a long way to say i hope people will stop being shitheads to you n you can find those shitheads to block fully and entirely bc they clearly arent the attentive appreciating target audience they think theyre being

HEEHEE... thank you ...... I love 2 hear detailed thoughts on my silly ocs and such .. glad you're enjoying them 👍

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (November 26-December 2, 2023)

I wasn't over the moon when Toho announced that Takashi Yamazaki's Blockbuster Monster Movie was in fact the next Godzilla film. I had seen a few of his works—none bad, but none spectacular either. Well, I've set my sights on watching the rest in the new year, because Godzilla Minus One is an unqualified masterpiece. A tagline from the original Godzilla, King of the Monsters! comes to mind (as it often does when you're me): "Mightiest melodrama of them all!" A lot of the post-Showa films suffer from an abundance of characters who just spout exposition and look at monitors; here, almost everyone in the small cast gets at least one close encounter with Godzilla, and the monster's backstory is conveyed with extreme efficiency. This tale of a war veteran trying to rebuild his life in the ruins of Tokyo, stumbling into a family, finding fulfillment in blowing up leftover mines, and haunted by what he perceives as his cowardice in combat, would have been plenty compelling without Godzilla.

Since it does have Godzilla, it's high on my list of the best movies of the year, and I only need one viewing to call it one of the best installments in the almost-70-year-old series. Yamazaki patiently waited some 15 years after Always: Sunset on Third Street 2 for his shot at a Godzilla feature. You certainly get the sense, watching one of the most brutal, pissed-off incarnations of the monster ever to grace the screen, that he spent every day of it in preparation. Watch it often while it's still in theaters, and watch it big.

Godzilla Minus One will gross about $10 million in its U.S. opening "weekend", a third-place finish that beat expectations. For context, Godzilla 2000, the last Toho Godzilla film to receive a wide release here, made about $10 million during its entire theatrical run here. Ticket prices were cheaper then, of course, and Minus One was helped along further by almost half of attendees going to premium-format screenings. Conversely, it had to overcome Americans' subtitle phobia, and the first weekend of December is usually a slow one. I was pessimistic at the outset, but now I expect larger theaters to carry the film into the new year, especially with near-universal raves from critics and audiences.

Yes, a third section for Godzilla Minus One; it's well-deserved, I promise. MyKaiju is risking life and limb by hosting an English translation of the film's novelization, written by Takashi Yamazaki himself. It appears to be at least partially machine-translated, but the Japanese text is included for comparison. Haven't read it yet, as I want to see the film a second time first, but quite a breakthrough given how mysterious this sort of thing usually is.

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters could never hope to compare with the opening of a stellar new Godzilla film; unfortunately, I also thought this week's episode was the weakest so far. It's bookended by Frost-Vark action, but the rest just drags. All's forgiven if the teacher and the hacker smooch though.

Toho and Legendary used to let each other's live-action Godzilla movies breathe; now the U.S. opening weekend of one is coinciding with the opening marketing push of the other. IGN released a trio of pics from Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, showing Kong with his axe; Dr. Andrews, Jia, and Trapper (Dan Stevens's character) in uniform; and Godzilla "evolving into a powerful new form." The same article included an interview with director Adam Wingard. Naturally, he didn't give away much... besides the return of Doug.

Earlier in the week, Legendary put out a trio of posters featuring Godzilla, Kong, and the film's antagonist, now christened Skar King. The taglines ("Unite" for our heroes, "Bow to Your King" for SK) sound like kaiju campaign slogans. Makes me wonder if, like Godzilla vs. Megalon before it, the movie will improbably capitalize on the presidential election next year. To steal a joke from Titanollante: Godzilla/Kong unity ticket? They'd have my vote.

Godzilla's new form, meanwhile, has already been spoiled by a T-shirt on Legendary's own site and some dire-looking Playmates figures. It makes sense that Wingard would want to have his own spin on the character after keeping the design from Godzilla: King of the Monsters for Godzilla vs. Kong. Hard to cast judgment without seeing the real design in full, but there's one particular detail I really like.

The film also has a booth at CCXP in Brazil, with a panel later today, so I think a trailer is incoming (the main reason I hammered out this whole post so quickly).

I missed this one last week: Tsuburaya announced an anime project called Ultraman: DARKNESS HEELS. The DARKNESS HEELS branding has been around for a while, spotlighting prominent evil Ultras—and, of course, Jugglus Juggler. No details on the anime yet, but if the Juggleman's there, so am I.

The big toy reveal this weekend was Super7's ULTIMATES! MaiGoji figure. Previous Godzilla figures from this line haven't lived up to the official photos, but hope springs eternal. It's $85 (much less than the MonsterArts); preorders started Friday. Other highlights: a Super7 ReAction figure of the original Godzilla's skeleton, which comes with a little Oxygen Destroyer, and a plush Mothra from Surreal Entertainment that can flip to imago form to a neck pillow-shaped larva.

[cloudninetonine]

Could I make a soft request of simple domestic moments with the chain? 👀

It could honestly be anything honest to god. This was all triggered by me finding a POV Video of your comfort character taking the last slice of bread from you bc they had the butter HAHAHA

I think the boys need some major TLC and what better way to give it to them other than domestic moments, right?

I hope you liked this <3 I wasn't entirely sure what to do but I was listening to some oldies but goldies and it came to me

You liked Lon Lon Ranch, a break from the hiking life and a time to relax without a care in the world.

Well, you got the luxury of relaxing. The others weren’t so lucky, not that you weren’t willing to help around the ranch or barn, but Malon had decided it was the best chance to get to know you, know of your world and just learn about you as the other heroes worked their arses off outside.

Some much discussed, such little time, you made sure to tell your favourite farmer everything as simple as you could when the topic changed to your phone, glinting in your pocket and catching her attention.

“It’s a phone! It’s kind of like Wild’s Sheikah slate? I can use it to communicate, play games, take photos, listen to music-”

“Music?” Her tone sounded interested and she leaned in. “Please, do tell me more.”

And that’s what lead to the scene the boys walked into. Your phone blasting music, the red head and you, hand and hand, dancing happily around the kitchen as you sung your lungs out. Malon didn’t know the words sticking to giggles and laughter as you span her and dipped her.

The two of you only noticed the nine when she made an attempt to spin you, your eyes looking upon them in a shock and the words on your lips dying in the second as you fell quiet. Malon looked confused at first before she turned, blinking then smiling towards the boys in greeting.

“Join the party!” The men hesitated, sharing unsure stares amongst themselves. “Hm! Aren’t you a boring lot! Don’t stop now, (Name), we can’t let them ruin our fun!” 

Malon spun you away, your voice a squeak in surprise when you landed in the arms of Sky, looking down at you curiously while you flushed.

What an embarrassing thing to be caught in. It wasn’t too bad with an audience of one, Malon’s extroverted personality taking over your natural bashful nature until you were a barrel of laughs all over the place. You’d do this back home, with your mama, with your friends- this felt like normalcy after so long of oddity.

But these men were highly respect heroes. You couldn’t just goof about and sing in front of them, what if they made fun of you? You already lacked enough in the fighting department, Hyrule’s tiny dagger the only thing to your name that you couldn’t even yield. You didn’t deserve to goof off, to have fun, you were supposed to be quiet and stay in line, stay out of their way, to-

Then your song came on.

And everything was thrown out the window.

Tugging Sky towards you, ignoring his surprised yelp you sang, not a care in the world, not holding back. The dirty blonde looked shocked at first, letting you tug him about like a ragdoll and take control before a similar goofy smile crossed his face and then you were both dancing together.

Malon clapped happily, yanking at Time’s shirt to tug him into a dance while the others stood about unsure.

You couldn’t have that, could you?

Spinning you, Sky let you twirl away before you grabbed the hands of Hyrule whose ears flapped happily at your attention. Your smile was beaming, his was almost blinding as you began to dance with him too, Wild joining quickly after and soon enough your little trio was a mess of limbs and giggling away.

They sung too, something you realised after a moment but it only brought more joy. “You guys know the song!?”

“Of course we do!” Wild started, dipping you then letting Hyrule pick you up to twirl you, your squeal heavenly to their ears.

“You would sing it all the time!” Hyrule finished, finally placing you down and you tugged them into a hug.

You managed to move to each of the boys. Wind was happy; Four was bashful; Warriors held your enthusiasm; Twilight looked flustered with his fanged smile and Legend someone managed not to curse your entire bloodline as you twirled him around the dinner table. Time was your final partner, your head against his shoulder while he gently swayed you opposite to the toe tapping beat, the others in their own world around you.

A happy night, a deserving one as you partied. The laughter and mirth shared amongst the kitchen a lovely sight amongst these heroes forged from tragedy. You hoped it would bring good memories, this night, you hoped that in moments of darkness they would think back to the time you shared laughter and dance moves.

You hoped you did good.

Your phone finally died and a shared groan ehcoed around the room before finally you moved to eat.