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frmulcahy · 4 days ago

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Listening to an episode of the @antiquesfreaks podcast where they cover the costuming in The Terror and here are some amazing moments:

"But Ken, are you the only one of us that put themselves through reading the book?" "I did. Because John Bridgens was trapped inside and I had to get him out and if I read the book good enough, perhaps I could save him"

"If you don't tell these men what to wear, they're gonna look like straight up hoochies."

"As we see in the later episodes of The Terror and discipline does break down and Dundy just starts showing up to command meetings with his suspenders out! Slattern that he is!!!

"Victorian Navy: one to one analog to working at present day Target."

"I heard they flog you at Target."

"I was press ganged into working at Target."

"It's Victorian times. Everyone's wicked fucking repressed and they're about to get wicked un-repressed whether they like it or not, and they're going to show that through their clothing."

"a blur of muttonchops"

"I pre-gamed the show for 5 years with gifsets on tumblr to makes sure I would be able to tell at least the major speaking roles apart, and I still could not tell Little and Jopson apart until I figured out they had different eye colors."

"And now I'm Pilkington SpottingTM as a hobby"

calling JFJ a "fashionable boy" with his "nippies out" because he doesn't button up his coat all the way like Franklin and Crozier

The two regular hosts repeatedly comparing themselves to a delinquent class that their guest is stuck substitute teaching

"I think my character would be hitting a fat doobie right about now"

Discussing Jared Harris being obsessed with his own costuming details like all the mending on Crozier's clothes

Jopson's first appearance - "he's normal and they're normal and everyone's having a normal time here on this completely routine expedition." "It's so normal. Do you ever fall in love with your boss???" "It couldn't have been more erotic if they had just had gay sex."

Stanley and McDonald's button grouping on their uniforms to denote rank

THEY TALK ABOUT THE ICONIC JFJ GANSEEEYYY

Also Irving's Sanquhar scarf :')

"the red sweater of tenderness" sobbing screaming throwing up

"I think The Terror would have been improved if all of the marines had Boston accents for no reason"

Also marines vs normal sailors

comparing sailor's clothes to fast fashion because it's not very tailored lmaooo

The canvas overcoats being period inaccurate but still neat because they're referencing later polar expeditions like what we see on the guys in the Shackleton expedition etc

They talk about irl Goodsir's letter about clothes and the many many shirts!

Nive having to wear a cooling vest under her costume since it was real caribou fur and her coat being patched with sail cloth later.

They go into Yup'ik masks which is super cool! As well as have a conversation about the ethics of visuals/information/knowledge about indigenous artwork being shared with folks outside of those communities.

Repeated! Dan! Simmons! Roasting! As! They! Should!!!!!

Reapted! Nive! Nielsen! Praising! As! They! Should!!!!!!!!

Sophia's "oceanic color theme"

"They let the dresses have colors. The dresses have colors. The dresses have bright beautiful colors, and it's great."

"They had invented aniline dyes and they were about to make it everybody's problem!"

Lady Jane in more solids vs Sophia in more patterns

"'A woman could never possibly understand polar exploration' meanwhil Silna's up there doing it better than all of them."

Clowning on how other period pieces never use bonnets and always fuck up in the hair and makeup department

"I found Harry Goodsir's fursuit btw"

"On a scale of Calypso's Birthday to Fitzjames's Carnivale, how's your impromptu nautical drag ball going?"

"It's actually exactly like The Purge." "It's like a little Victorian maritime Purge."

"As far as metaphor and literary analysis and whatever, scurvy understood the fucking assignment."

"I punched in Scorbutic Nostalgia so that I could remember to read about it later." "I have some literature for you if you want." "Yeah fantastic! I love disease"

"CGI bear expensive"

"This episode comes with a heavy caveat of 'go to Terror Camp'" amazing.

THE DRESSTM

Tozer's Hotspur costume and Dundy's Henry VI costume and their relevance

"This is the last we see of Party!Dundy"

(About Little) "Every day he gets emails :("

Bridgler and Apollo/Hyacinthus stuff fuuuuuccckk

"Hodgepodge, my boy"

"Oompa loompa doompity dacticals, don't indulge your morals over your practicals"

"Rip Hickey you would've loved Joker"

Not a silly quote but just a really fantastic one: "That is what the best historical designers do, is they find these nuggets of information that allow them to tell a story with authenticity, both in a way that is historical but authentic to the characters as well." EXAAAACCCTTTLLLYYYYYY

"Whomst among us has not Joplarped to get through the workday?"

#amazing fantastic incredible #my mom is obsessed with this podcast #and has been trying to get me to listen to it for ages #and she was like hey they have an episode on the terror costumes #theyre literally a couple of fucking nerds like you #alright! alright. she was right. I'm endeared.#the terror #antiques freaks

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fatuismooches · 7 months ago

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Sobbing rn I just got hit with the cutest hurt/comfort idea for fragile!reader and Dottore

(The hurt in this instance is just fragile!reader's self deprecating inner monologue 😭)

What if reader was the sort who fussed over their appearance a lot? In the Akademiya they wouldn't be caught dead with dark circles under their eyes or having their hair messy.

Even if they did pull all nighters for a project, they always found time to put just a little bit of make-up on to lighten up their eyebags, and always had a simple yet neat hairstyle in mind in times they're in a rush.

They might be perishing from all the studies and assignments but they're going to look good doing it!

This made Reader and Zandik an even odder pair in the Akademiya. Reader who is always neat and in style, versus Zandik who just spent the whole night taking apart a ruin guard somewhere in Avidya Forest until the sun rose and he showed up as is.

That was one of the features Zandik found 'annoying' about Reader before they got together. Like - ugh they're so bubbly and energetic! They're running around everywhere and they're so chatty! Them with their— nice hair! And— pretty eyes, and those robes that actually fit them as if they were tailored! How pretentious of them— (he was down bad. Bro was coping with anger to bat away the feels)

But of course, that was all in the past. In the present, Reader can't take care of their appearance anymore. They couldn't even pick up a hairbrush, their joints ached horribly, they don't have the strength to hold something so light, they don't have the energy to do the basic care of untangling the strands of hair either.

They can't stand looking at their own reflection. That sense of 'wrongness' they couldn't fix, what they couldn't hide. How desperately they wanted to put just a little bit of blush at least, to give their skin some life with how sickeningly pale it was, no longer warm and saturated as it used to be.

They can't look at their eyes either. The greying, sagging bags beneath their lids was a taunt. No amount of sleep would get rid of them.

They can't wear outfits that were too elaborate. Their temperature fluctuated too much, a deathly cold beneath their skin, then a sudden spike in heat as if they were being scorched by the desert sun. They have to wear basic garments, comfortable without hindering layers to slow down their daily check-ups.

Reader is thankful for the segments caring for them, they really are. A segment brushing their hair while talking to them is a highlight of their day.

But... it wasn't the same.

Of course it wouldn't be, the segments were carers, nor stylists.

Still, the fact that they had no control over their appearance and presentation had their mental state withering.

Dottore noticed this. How withdrawn his dear had become. They had their days of silence, yes... but this was more sombre than usual.

He concludes that their illness was flaring up again, and that they were masking their pain instead of consulting with him. He comes to their room of course, his current duties be damned (not that he could've been productive even if he had wanted to, the Segments were restless and shrinking away from their tasks, their darling's current disposition bothered them.)

Opening the door slightly to enter, he sees them blankly staring at their reflection, prodding a finger on their prominent eyebags, rubbing their cheek to see if it would redden.

Ah... how could he had forgotten that. They were once very particular of how they looked. He should have known this possibility, witnessing their own sickly reflection would be distressing...

[The Crow visits a certain Dove. Despite how stiff and vague the Doctor had been with his words, the Damsalette only tittered in understanding, and imparted the knowledge he was seeking.]

The next day, Reader is sat on their vanity, waiting for a Segment to tend to them (always with a little bit of struggle to walk in the morning, but it's the least they could do to be less of an inconvenience already.)

The minutes tick by... he's late. Did something happen?

More time goes by, and they become more worried. They were about to get up and search before the door creaks open.

Zandik...? And he's carrying a... why does he have a bag?

They have plenty of questions. Why the late arrival? What was in the bag? Why was Zandik himself here?

Before they could ask all of this, however, he sets the small bag down on the vanity. He riffles through it... are those make-up brushes?

Wait, make-up?

The next half-hour was spent in stunned silence for Reader's part, Zandik was silent as well out of careful concentration. Gently applying everything, his touch on the brush strokes and blending soft... applying gloss on their lips.

Once Zandik moves on to their hair, they finally catch a glimpse of their reflection. Their cheeks were rosey, the dark circles under their eyes concealed, their lips no longer appearing dry, and instead plump and shimmering.

Oh.

... they almost looked like the way they were before their illness.

Almost.

But it was enough.

(Reader tries so hard not to cry. Fighting back tears, not wanting to ruin the make-up Zandik so diligently applied. Once Zandik was finished with their hair... they may have hiccuped a little bit.)

They may no longer have that upbeat energy they once boasted... but it was comforting to see their old reflection once again. It had been far too long.

You know, I really love this ask because my whole life I've pretty much never used make-up even though I want to so having Dottie do it for me heals me a bit. Also, I'm not very knowledgeable on it so apologies if anything is wrong. Okay, I'm done. 🤏

In all honesty, Dottore was never one to care much for outward looks but he has to admit that you still always manage to look good despite all of the work from school plus all of the work you help with for his experiments, plus... literally everything life throws at you. Yet you still bounce back like it was nothing. The scholar still had not discovered your secret to this yet despite observing you for so long, which furthered his interest in you even though he didn't admit it.

Zandik did maintain his appearance, to an extent of course as he didn't go out of his way to look great, but nothing compared to the effort you put in. So while he did look presentable most of the time, there have been quite a few times you made him late to class because there was no way you were going to let him out looking like that. You don't regret it, even when you get weird looks from the other students. Being 'odd' with your equally as odd lover was nothing to worry about, in your humble opinion.

Although Zandik couldn't hope to understand your strange nature, always mumbling under his breath about you while you laughed at his comments, he also couldn't help but enjoy being around you. You kept him on his toes (your words, not his.)

Unfortunately, this nature and style of yours gradually dissipated into nothing when your illness struck. At first, you refused to accept it, pushing yourself to do what you usually did but soon enough you realized that it simply wasn't going to work out. You had all these tools and resources and options in front of you but you couldn't use them anymore. The self-consciousness only grew more and more each day as you struggled to see yourself as beautiful - struggled to see yourself as a person Dottore would find beautiful.

Of course, your gratitude to the segments couldn't be properly expressed or put into words. You quite literally wouldn't be here without them. However, it is still incredibly demoralizing to be unable to do what you once loved. You really did love them, but... it wasn't enough.

Dottore, despite spending much time in his lab or elsewhere, still kept tabs on you of course. Not just as your doctor, but as your lover, it was important. He had seen you at your lowest numerous times before, comforting you through the worst moments, and he was angered - not at you of course, but rather at himself for being unable to do anything that would be enough for you. Yet he continued, even when you hid yourself from him.

This time, however, maybe the scientist could do a bit more. He doesn't particularly... approve of the Third, or your "friend", but she's far more knowledgeable in this area than he'll ever be. Thankfully, she didn't tease him too much, knowing of your current state.

Dottore had never been one to take much interest in your make-up or style, preferring to simply watch as you worked your magic. So seeing him walk in with make-up makes you think you're still dreaming. (You remember laughing at his segment's various fashion tastes when you woke up though.)

The questions die on your lips the moment he lays everything out and the soft brush tickles your face, not to mention how he's obviously inexperienced yet he's still doing a good job. A part of you aren't surprised because of course he'd be skilled at most things, but still, you thought Celestia would sooner fall on Teyvat than Dottore do your make-up for you. Slowly, you watch as he transforms your face into something that was once dearly familiar.

It's not the same. It may never be. But it's more than enough for you, to revisit the old days that you loved so much. You fear you may cry full-on if you speak, so a simple kiss on your husband's face will have to do.

But regardless of what you look like, no matter how much your body and looks will change, Zandik will always view you as the most beautiful creation on this planet.

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #still thanks to my moot for giving me that explanation and advice 😭🙏#maybe during the summer i will try but idk what my mom will say 💀 i am deceased #i personally have pretty long hair and i get overwhelmed with it sometimes so id love to have the segments brush and take care of it for me #zandy would make me braids!!#i will be rereading this anon thx u #also dottore and bina besties so true

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canisalbus · 1 year ago

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hello!! i’ve always wondered what kind of traumas vasco holds himself. i know machete can be very particular (e.g. touching/personal space) , but what are some things maybe machete does to make vasco more comfortable out of just their pure love for each other? like, for example - assume vasco maybe has a hard time keeping up with personal hygiene , or maybe machete is just a lot more clean and neat than vasco is , so machete is always folding his clothes to his own standards and reminding him to wash his fur after a while of going about weekly things , since machete himself probably washes every so often just to brush out matts in his fur .

love your art btw!! :3

He really doesn't like being told what to do. His father was keen on molding Vasco into his own image and his mother was overbearing and overprotective. He was their only son (youngest child, he has two older twin sisters) and as such a lot of pressure and unrealistic expectations were placed on him. He has a tendency to rebel against authorities, especially those who use their power and status to make life miserable for people below them. He has hard time accepting advice and doesn't listen if someone shows up to explain him how he should live his life. One of the ways Machete occasionally gets on his nerves is his constant need to be in control of everything going on around him, which means he often ends up attempting to (well-meaningly) manage Vasco as well. Eventually he figures out Vasco isn't very receptive to outside guidance and usually tries to give him room to do things his own way, even if it's not the "correct" way he would prefer to handle them.

Machete has many health anxieties and once Vasco becomes a fixed part of his life he starts to worry about his wellbeing as well. Like many floppy eared dogs, Vasco has a history of dealing with recurring ear infections, especially when he was very young. Antibiotics weren't available yet so the most effective way to treat them was puncturing the ear drum and letting the accumulated fluid and pus drain out. It was painful and scary and left Vasco with a lasting aversion and distrust for medicine and doctors. He's the kind of person that resists seeking treatment even when they're clearly ill or injured and just tries to shrug it off and wait it out. Luckily he's rarely sick and the scuffs and bruises he gets from being an active and outdoorsy person heal fairly quickly. Nowadays he's very careful about drying and airing out his ear canals properly when they get wet, in hopes of minimizing the chances of another infection. He also cleans them regularly, or lets Machete help with that.

He can be a bit disorganized and overly spontaneous, which can manifest as certain sense of chaoticness. Machete does end up subtly and discreetly picking up after him, planning ahead and going the extra mile to make sure Vasco's life goes as smoothly as possible, usually in ways Vasco doesn't even notice. The clothing part was an apt everyday example, Vasco has a habit of disrobing quickly and carelessly and leaving his (expensive and expertly tailored) garments on the floor or draped across furniture and sooner or later Machete will collect them and fold them neatly for him.

#answered #thedarkspiresofkredikshaw #Vasco #Machete

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krypticcafe · 10 months ago

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How do you feel about CoD boys in a monster au? Whether they’re the monster or their s/o is the monster, I just think it would be neat. I’m partial towards werewolves but honestly I love anything that goes bump in the night. I LOVE the idea of a monster being afraid of hurting their partner but their partner knows that they could never hurt them. If you’re open to monster requests, I have so many ideas. Just… monsters, man

oooo are we spitballing bc I love throwing around ideas!!

I absolutely love monster AUs, one of my faves is @/bluegiragi's and I'm sure you all know that iconic one. I'm totally open to monster/hybrid requests, and a detailed list of what other things I write can be found in the cafe's Customer Service Policy aka rules :]

And monster-related plots? I'm a sucker for that shit, need more of that and monster!reader.

If I were to make a Monster Hybrid AU with my own specific ideas though, hmm...

Powerful and stoic, Price would make a great minotaur (lower half of a bull). Sure, maybe his back isn't what it used to be, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have the strength to send you back to your maker. Every step he takes on base acknowledges his presence, a posture that demands respect from its witnesses. The horns on his head aren't something to mess with either, though it takes him ages to scrape out the dried blood from the cracks and tailor his bucket hats.

On the other hand, the canine hybrid for Soap is oddly charming. Similarly to a werewolf, he would have the senses of one, but as a just hybrid, he's unable to fully transform. Instead, he's equipped with features like ears, tail, fangs, some fur on his arms and legs, and a longer tongue. I can see him being a border collie, the Scottish sheepdog just makes sense. But a kelpie/merfolk would also work with his callsign. Soap, a mischievous water spirit known for "cleaning out" rooms of enemies? A body with slick scales, gills, and a frilled mohawk when in monster form? Yeah, I can definitely see that.

For someone with a Queen's honor, a phoenix feels right for Gaz. Bright and burning wings and tail—a light that feels regal and elegant, yet so youthful and lively at the same time. With him in the sky, you're guaranteed to be safe under his watch. Or maybe a cervitaur with those doe eyes of his, gorgeous as ever. Yet equipped with a kick that's sure to shatter the ribs of those who mock him for being just a faun with a pretty face.

Undeniably, with such a specific callsign, Ghost can't be anything other than a wraith. Maybe mix in a bit of demonic blood, soul-eater tendencies, or even marks of an incubus for a little extra kick. His scars look more like shadowy cracks in his skin, smoke pours from the concerningly realistic skull he wears, he looks more like a reaper than a spirit. Regardless, this man is a shadowy phantom that provokes the fear of gods in whoever he sets his target as.

Roach, sure maybe his energy is fitting of a satyr or something more fitting and urban for our token American, like a roach version of Mothman. Bug wings and scales similar to the structure of an exoskeleton, But Roach came to be for being nearly indestructible, like the bug. In fact, it would be more accurate to call Roach, Roaches, as a bogeyman with a human body that can crumble into a swarm of those insects would explain why gunshots and explosions can hardly stop him.

Like Ghost, we can't deny who Hound is, either. Werewolf. Anything less would be criminal. For fun, mix it in with a bit of hellhound hybrid biology, so that he has to either go as a full hellhound or a human with hellhound features. Eyes that burn like Tartarus and a fanged snarl that even Cerberus would shudder at. Maybe even make him in charge of a hellhound K-9 unit, forced to face the very thing he fears.

As for the Reader? Well, that's up to you. Personally, I'm a little fond of shapeshifters. Might need to draw some of these ideas sometime...

Ah well, just some thoughts I had. Any other spitballs you guys have?

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evilasiangenius · 1 month ago

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Sneak peek of a human au where Aziraphale works at a university and Crowley works in a corporate office down the street and there is genderfuckery and Crowley is already engaged to be married to someone else and

On the way back, heavy dark clouds that had threatened the skies all morning finally yielded to rain. A lovely, warm rain, as if a lukewarm shower and Mr. Fell immediately unfolded his umbrella and briskly walked back through the city-embedded campus, humming pleasantly to himself.

And there, sitting on the edge of the great fountain outside the library was the mysterious woman in her neat black suit standing in the warm rain and if he didn’t know better, she was crying.

“Goodness,” Mr. Fell whispered to himself and he hurried over to her side, covering her with his umbrella.

“It’s fine,” the woman said, automatically, as he stood over her with his cream-colored umbrella that shielded her from the rain. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do that.”

“Erm,” Mr. Fell said, fumbling for his handkerchief and handing it over to her. “Please, you’re all wet from the rain.”

She took the handkerchief from him and carefully dabbed at the corner of her eyes before dabbing at her hair and her face, the neat-tailored shoulders of her suit.

“Are you all right, Miss…?”

“Crowley. And I’m fine. And you are?”

“Senior Archivist, Specialist in Classics,” he said reflexively. “I’m technically faculty too, sometimes.”

“Your name?” Crowley asked, eyebrow arched.

“Oh. Erm, you can call me Mr. Fell. I work in the university library. Though I dabble in Sanskrit texts sometimes. And Old Church Slavonic. And…”

“Cyrillic?” She smiled. “Coptic? And demotic Greek?”

“How did you know?” Mr. Fell brightened up.

“Anything derived from a Greek alphabet, I imagine.”

“Yes, actually,” Mr. Fell said, impressed. “Did you study Classics too?”

“No, I just pay attention,” Crowley shrugged and gestured for him to sit, which he did, shrouding them from view with his big umbrella. “Your handkerchief smells nice.”

“Thank you. It’s an–”

“An old custom. Scenting handkerchiefs with perfume.”

“Yes, quite. Aqua di Parma, Colonia. If you like it, you may keep the handkerchief,” Mr. Fell said, in a moment of inspiration.

“No. It wouldn’t be wise,” Crowley said, handing him the handkerchief back. “Thank you for letting me use it. I would have had it cleaned for you, but there are some reasons that it would be better and safer in your hands. It smells nice though. Very fresh, very pretty.”

“Funny, I wouldn’t call it pretty.”

“No? What then?”

“Practical, I think. Invigorating? Aromatic. If your nose is very close, I find the citrus is actually quite sharp, almost offensive. As if to say, keep me at arm’s length, or else beware!”

Crowley laughed, a little, and he was unreasonably cheered that she thought him funny.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she smiled, though there was a sadness in her eyes that disappeared from sight once she put on her sunglasses.

“Erm, if you like,” Mr. Fell said, reaching into his other coat pocket and bringing out a paper napkin-wrapped package. “I took some extra biscuits from the lunch lecture for our student workers; perhaps you’d like one?”

He unwrapped the package, and from the stack of cookies she took a single chocolate chip cookie, which he then rewrapped and slid back into his pocket.

“Thank you,” Crowley said, taking a small, hesitant bite before sighing as the taste of the food filled her mouth. She ate the cookie in quick delicate polite bites, before licking her fingertips clean, careful not to smudge her pink-hued lipstick.

“Would you care for another one?”

“No, I’m all right, thank you. Save them for your students.”

“University catering bakes excellent biscuits but they’re wasted on the faculty and staff. We can hardly eat all of them so most of us take stacks of them back to our offices for the kids.”

“You are very kind and thoughtful, Mr. Fell,” Crowley began but then straightened up stiffly, nothing like that comfortable and cozy sprawl that he had seen in the back study room. She glanced at her watch, it was a delicate affair, black with crimson hardware, studded with tiny diamonds, and he noticed that she wore a striking platinum ring upon her left ring finger gleaming with rubies and a substantial, ostentatiously beautiful diamond in the center.

A very different world, Mr. Fell thought.

“I had better go, my break is almost over. I’m sorry to have kept you, Mr. Fell. A pleasure to meet you,” Crowley smiled, cool and polite.

“Take my umbrella,” Mr. Fell suggested. “It’s only a few steps from here into the library, I’ll be fine. But you have something more of a longer walk, don’t you?”

“I’m fine, I have one of my own,” Crowley said, and she unfolded a parrot-headed umbrella that he had not noticed; it was black and nondescript, but for a silvery interior lining that seemed to reflect upon and brighten her beneath its protective dome.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #ineffable lovers #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens human au #and there is some kind of polyamory involved #maybe you'd call it a throuple?#and lots and lots of unspoken secrets about the primary characters

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vallification · 6 months ago

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kento nanami / ☀️ cancer / 🌙 scorpio / 💫 capricorn

☀️ - sun in cancer makes nanami protective of others and himself, paternal, introverted, and grounded. before i knew nanami’s sun sign, i could just FEEL that he was a cancer. nanami is young, but he has an undeniable paternal warmth, characterized by his protectiveness of others and aura of stability. the subject of his protectiveness is usually a student, too, which just further drives my point. it’s a crucial part of nanami’s character. as a cancer sun, nanami is introverted, not unpersonable, which we see as he ages and matures. he would much rather keep to and work by himself, not only due to his introversion, but partly due to his “shell.” as a cancer, nanami is also protective of himself, which may come across as him being closed-off and impersonal. however, as nanami matures, he finds a nice balance between his caring nature and his sense of self-preservation: professionalism. these are all major parts of what makes nanami such a sensible, strong character in my opinion, and what makes him seem like such a gentleman. sun in cancer makes nanami a man you just know would take care of you.

however, sun in cancer is also known for its moodiness, sensitivity, tendency to withdraw, and manipulativeness. we see very little, if any, of these characteristics in nanami, other than the moodiness of his younger years and his generally stoic demeanor. all around, nanami’s cancer sun is well-balanced, which makes him the man he’s renowned for being.

🌙 - moon in scorpio makes nanami independent, courageous, intuitive, luxurious, alluring, and erotic. nanami is self-assured and wastes no time waiting for someone to tell him what to do. nanami is decisive and proactive, often taking initiative when something needs to be done rather than waiting for instructions. he has no issue putting himself between danger and people who need to be protected, no matter the risks. nanami exudes an air of luxury, displayed by his well-groomed appearance and his choice of clothes. nanami’s hair is always combed and neat, and his clothes are well-fitted and tailored to his body. nanami is extremely intuitive. in a way, nanami can predict how things will go before those things happen; this intuitive nature also includes an ability to read people very well.

moon in scorpio can also explain why nanami behaves the way he does, and why people are so attracted to him. the only person who knows nanami’s intentions and thoughts is himself, which makes nanami seem mysterious and alluring even though he behaves professionally at all times. scorpio moons exude eroticism even in the most mundane situations, often making them seem more sensual than they intend to be.

scorpio moons are drawn to the finer things in life, a lot like taurus moons are. this is potentially a weak spot for nanami in his personal life, because he may get caught up in excesses of pleasure.

💫 - nanami, to me, is a poster boy for capricorn rising. capricorn rising makes nanami disciplined, practical, responsible, mature, and defined. this placement is known for their seriousness, maturity, and money-mindedness. nanami works hard, but draws a hard line between work life and personal life. he’s definitely partly in the jujutsu field for the money, but his disciplined nature keeps him held to his principles and responsibilities as a jujutsu sorcerer. we can assume he’s paid well, as well as all sorcerers are, but nanami seems to exude a sense of wealth.

capricorn risings are also known for their appearance: strong bone structure, defined features, intense eyes, and an affinity for timeless, classic styles. nanami fits the bill perfectly.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk nanami #nanami kento #vallification

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lokidjarin-7567 · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 6: One Night Stand

Nanami Kento x you

Contents: fem!reader x Nanami (JJK), honestly not very kinky and I actually hate this and it’s barely edited but here it is

W/C: 3k

So I think this is overthought and overworked and mostly just nonsense but I love this man and my brain ran away with me, I’ll make it up with filth soon don’t worry <3

Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

You couldn’t place your finger on why, but the moment you laid your eyes on the man at the bar, you were drawn to him.

He had a certain presence around him, commanding. He was attractive, obviously, with neat, parted blonde hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He was tall too, and well built - a fact you could ascertain even though he was wearing a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit. Honestly, everything about him seemed perfect to the point of obsession - his tie knotted impeccably, the pin exactly straight and his shirt tucked neatly, even though it was long after the usual 9-5 hours.

But he looked tired. Drooping eyes with dark bags under them, and he hadn’t lifted his gaze from the glass of bourbon nestled in his hand except to ask the bartender for a refill. He seemed powerful and stoic, and he looked very much like you wanted to be alone. But just in case he didn’t, maybe you should give him an option…

You finished your drink, grabbing your things from the small corner booth to perch at the bar. You were only a few stools away now, but you were too nervous to speak to him directly, opting instead to order a drink from the bartender. The same as always: a martini, gin, dry, twist. The only ‘classy’ cocktail you could stomach. He nodded at you, moving to make it, and you watched, only drawn away for a moment to check yourself in your compact. You would probably have to freshen up after this drink but your make up was still relatively intact - one of the few perks of working an office job for years.

You put your purse away, looking up to see the bartender placing down your drink… that was wrong. It had an olive. You hate olives. You glanced up, not wanting to complain, only to see that he had his back to you. And there was no way in hell you were going to try and get his attention…

“Excuse me, Sir…” you heard a smooth voice say, and saw the man beside you lift his arm to beckon the barkeep back. “She ordered a twist, not an olive.” He was blunt in the way he spoke, but not rude. Commanding and polite. And he had noticed your order, noticed you. It made you blush.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that. I’ll remake it right away.”

“Thank you.” He replied, smiling wordlessly at you as he continued to drink.

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out, forcing yourself to ignore the anxiety ringing in the back of your mind, “I never would’ve asked.”

“It’s not a problem.” You smiled again, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going, but to your surprise, he was the one who continued, “I’m Nanami, by the way.” You introduced yourself just as your fresh drink was served. You thanked the bartender while he apologised profusely, although you couldn’t help but notice that he was aiming most of his regrets at Nanami.

“I haven’t seen you here before.” He muttered once the barkeep had gone, his eyes never wavering from yours.

“No, it’s my first visit here. My office just moved location to a few streets down, so I figured I would test some of the bars in the area.” You paused, cautious of how fast you were talking. Relax. “Do you come here often?” He nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Depends on how late I’m working, but at least weekly.”

“What do you do?”

You hadn’t realised how close you had moved to him until your knee hit his while you were listening to him talk. You must have been leaning in subconsciously, mesmerised by him, but by the smirk on his lips halfway through his sentence, he didn’t mind.

“Sorry, I’ve been going on… I have a lot of enthusiasm for anything besides my work…”

“What’s your plan then? If you don’t enjoy your work, what are you aiming for at the end of it?” He cocked his head at the candour of your question, a more serious expression falling over his face.

“I… I want a house by the beach. A life without working hours. Or maybe just a job that… makes a difference. A real difference to real people, not just to the top 1%. I don’t really mind beyond that.” He sighed, finishing his drink quietly. You could see a lot of yourself reflected in his attitude. You wanted nothing more than to escape the routine, the boredom of it all, the constant feeling of worthlessness you were burdened with from working in finance. You just wanted something outside of that monotony. Outside of the greyscale.

He laughed humourlessly, placing his empty glass on the bar.

“Sorry, I ruined the mood.”

“No, no, I was just… well, I was just thinking about how nice that sounded.” You smiled at him, but it took a moment to realise that your hand had fallen to his thigh. You blushed, embarrassed, starting to remove it but he stopped you, his own hand falling on top of yours. Cold, but not uncomfortably so, his long fingers wrapping around your palm, thumb drawing lazy circle on your wrist.

“Did you maybe want to grab another drink at mine? It’s only a few streets away and the bar’s closing soon…”

“I’d love to.”

It had started raining, and you hadn’t brought a jacket with you. Luckily, you didn't mind the rain, a fact he seemed appalled by when you walked straight out into it without batting an eye. He didn’t have much of a choice but to follow, your hand still wrapped in his. You were both soaking by the time you reached the lobby of his apartment building, dripping in the elevator as you made your way up the many floors. You watched the number tick up hand in hand, your head rested gently on his shoulder. It would’ve been a good time to kiss him, but something stopped you. Something told you if you kissed him now, the night would end. You would fuck and fall asleep in each other’s arms and then you would never talk again. You didn’t want that. You found him fascinating, and as much as you wanted to fuck him, you weren’t ready for the night to be over.

His apartment was gorgeous - panoramic views of the city, minimal but tasteful furnishings, and a beautiful floor-to-ceiling book shelf full to the brim of classic literature. You made a beeline for it as soon as you had removed your shoes, the first time since you left the bar that you had let go of his hand, although it somehow felt colder now it was gone. You recognised a few titles, running your fingers over the spines as you read the names to yourself, marvelling at the perfectly alphabetised collection.

“I don’t know why I keep buying them - I haven’t had a chance to read them all yet. Not enough time.” He had moved beside you, arm touching yours with a warmth you hadn’t expected. He had taken off his suit jacket, his shirt almost completely dry beneath it, a welcome feeling next to your bare arms.

“I’ll help you.” You mused quietly, “We can divide and conquer.” He smiled at that warmly, his eyes seeming to brighten with it. After a blissful second, he seemed to come to his senses, tearing his eyes away from you and sighing in a way that suggested frustration with himself.

“Oh I’m sorry, you’re soaked through, let me get you a towel…” Before you could object he had rushed away, and taken his warmth with him, but he had left you smiling like a school girl.

After you had dried off just enough to not drip rainwater all over his floor, he offered you a drink. You accepted gratefully, and he motioned you to his sofa. You sat at the far end, curling your legs up so you could face him. There was something hypnotic about the way he moved. It was almost lyrical, the fluidity of his arms as he reached to grab a pair of tumblers from his cupboard, the ease with which he opened the scotch bottle, the ever so slight strain of his shirt buttons as he walked. He handed you the drink, fingers brushing slightly, and you thanked him, taking a sip and nestling it carefully in your palm. He had sat close to you, achingly close, the side of his thigh pressed tightly against your shins. It was comforting.

You couldn’t help but watch as he got comfortable in his own home, removing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves, meticulously intruding and folding his tie, placing it carefully on the table next to the cufflinks, undoing just his top shirt button, allowing you to steal a glance at his collarbone and the hollow of his neck. You wanted nothing more than to run your tongue across the pale skin there, hear his groan into your ear…

You snapped out of your daydream when he started to talk, taking a sip of scotch to wake yourself up.

“I’m glad you moved to sit at the bar tonight.” You nearly spit out your drink.

“How do you…” You hadn't seen him look up from his drink once all evening, so you weren't sure when he had time to notice you…

“I saw you come in.” You laughed in disbelief, a playful smile falling across your lips, but he looked serious. “You looked tired. Frustrated. You were squinting at your phone and nearly bumped into three people on your way to a booth.” Jesus, he really had noticed you. “And then you put your phone away, and I could see your whole body visibly relax. You were just watching people, looking at the world go by. I couldn't tell, but I thought you might've been…”

“What?” You whispered, whole body tense as you listened to him speak about you in such vivid clarity.

“Sad. You looked sad, at the lives other people seemed to have. The joy. Not jealous, just… resigned to the fact you don’t have that.” God, he was good. You chuckled without warmth, casting your eyes away from his and to your drink.

“You should be a shrink, you know…”

“No I just… I know that look.” You smiled, tucking your legs up to your chest and draping your arm across the back of the sofa. He wrapped his arm around your legs in a way that seemed instinctive, natural even, pulling you into his chest just a little bit, just enough to feel that gorgeous warmth emanating from him again. “So, what does your future look like? Away from a corporate life?” He echoed your earlier question, and you thought for a moment, gazing into his eyes, hoping for some inspiration.

“A cottage in the countryside, maybe in a historic village somewhere. A sprawling garden with runner ducks and cats and fruit trees. A vintage sewing machine and a record player and a library.” You paused, taking a sip of your drink to try and pull yourself away from your imaginary life before you got too attached. “I just want my future to be something… relaxing, and beautiful. Something or somewhere I can be content. And if I have to work, let it be somewhere I can make a difference. Even if I’m not happy, as long as I’m making a difference...” He began to run his fingers across your thigh in slow circles, his deep brown eyes scanning your face with an intensity you’d never seen before. It was… recognition. Acknowledgment.

“To being content… or making a difference.” he muttered, raising his glass to you, and you repeated the toast, lightly touching the rim to his before finishing the last of it.

You had just started to talk about something trivial when he noticed you shivering. You honestly hadn't even realised, so hypnotised by him that you didn't quite feel real, your body taking over while your mind just let itself admire him. His hand slipped over yours, a concerned look crossing his face.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine, really…”

“No, you’re shivering. Let me get you a blanket or…”

“Or…” you paused, placing down your glass and allowing your now free hand to fall to his chest, “maybe you’ll could think of a creative way to warm me up…” His whole demeanour shifted, the worry replaced with a dark expression, a smirk falling to his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” You muttered in response, stretching your leg across his laps and shifting your hips so you were straddling him, lips now only inches from his. “I heard it’s always best to take off wet clothes…” Your lack of recent flirting practice was showing, and you almost cringed at your own awful line, but the noise was stifled in your throat as he firmly pulled your lips to his. He breathed up into you, needy hands in your hair and teeth catching your lips as you smiled against him, settling your hips onto his lap. It didn't take long for his hands to fall to your waist, squeezing the soft flesh there in a way that made you whine, grinding down onto him ever so slightly.

“God, been thinking about this since I saw you walk into tonight…” he breathed against your collarbone, pressing a sloppy kiss there as you tried to catch your breath. You ran your nails through his hair as he did, and his teeth caught you, biting down and sucking in a deliciously painful way that was sure to leave a mark. It made your hips buck even more, so sensitive after making yourself wait longer than you ever would have for a one night stand, and you could feel him growing hard against you now. He pulled off your soaking top, leaving you in your bra and skirt as your fingers fell to his shirt buttons, deftly undoing them and running your hands over the broad expanse of muscle there. You needed him closer, but even as you pulled his chest against you, it wasn't enough. You needed him inside you.

“You look perfect like this…” he muttered, hands falling to your hips and rocking you back and forth against his length, your core throbbing, and you were already panting with need.

“Nanami…” You could already barely speak, wound up from hours of tension and obsession, needing release, needing something to alleviate the aching that was threatening to tear through you. “I…” The words didn't come, so you moved your hands to his trousers instead, trying to undo the button there but they were shaking. He caught what you were trying to say quickly, gently moving your hands and doing it himself, pulling himself from his boxers. He was bigger than you expected, the tip pink and leaking as it bounced against his stomach. You were impatient, not wanting to undress any more, setting yourself up perfectly above him and pulling your panties to the side. Your core was soaking, so ready for him, but his hands on your hips paused you. One trailed up to your face, holding you by the chin and pulling your lips to his.

“That’s better…” he whispered before releasing you, letting your forehead fall to his before you finally sunk down onto his cock. You both groaned with the feeling, your open mouths meeting briefly as you took more of him into you. The stretch was painful, but in such a perfect way it didn’t matter, and as your lips parted, your breathing got heavy in the small space between you. Your hips met his, and you moaned, feeling so completely and perfectly full. The hands that had settled on your hips moved to your ass and began to guide you up and down, gripping tight as you slowly lifted yourself off, savouring the feeling of him dragging inside your walls. Your arms draped around his neck, pulling him closer as you rode him until you were breathless, your sweat and pants filling the air between you. You were getting close quickly, the angle he was hitting mixed with the way your sensitive clit was grinding against him with every thrust. He was marking you now, hard love bites across your chest that made you whine, the sting delicious, and your hips started to stutter.

“I… oh fuck… I’m close Nanami.” It was electric, every single time he touched you sending you to new level of pleasure and you couldn’t help but moan unabashedly.

“Mhm… I’m close too…. never wanted anything… more than this… fuck…” His ramblings against your chest was enough to send you over the edge, blinding pleasure washing over you in waves as you felt him reach his peak too, hot seed filling you as you tried to catch your breath, body falling limp against his shoulder.

You showered together. Talked some more. Had another drink. Fucked again. He ate you out until you were writhing on the bed, screaming his name. Then you fell asleep with his arm wound tightly around your waist.

You woke up before him. Quietly collected your things and slipped out.

You wanted to leave your number. You really did. But even though you’d only met him a few hours ago, you knew he was the only thing that could keep you in the city. After everything you spoke about, everything you dreamed about with him the night before, you were done with the city. You needed out. You wanted back to your old life.

You had been offered a position at your alma mater a few months back. It was dangerous to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer, so you had declined, but you knew now this way of living was much more deadly.

Maybe that was the reason you had been drawn to him. Maybe he was the push you needed to finally be who you were.

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #nanami fanfic #nanami smut #nanami kento fluff #salaryman nanami

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zaebeecee · 26 days ago

Text

Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 15: New Threads

Alternate Universe (1930s gangster AU, secret relationship)

CWs: Period-relevant racism

If Alastor is going to pose as Anthony’s new bodyguard, he has to look the part.

Word count: 1290

•••

Purchasing clothing was a foreign concept to Alastor.

He had clothing, obviously, he wasn’t some Philistine traipsing around ‘naked as the day he was born’ (as they said back home). That clothing, however, had all been hand-made by his maman and later by Alastor himself once he cultivated his sewing skill enough to tailor things. In the little village outside of New Orleans, where he grew up, there was a shortage of things like professional tailors and the newfangled idea of ‘ready to wear’ clothes you could buy off a rack; there had been more options in the city, of course, but they didn’t cater to people like those who lived in the village, so their only option was the one small store that sold a limited variety of cloth and sewing notions.

The building in front of him was not a place where you could buy plain cotton fabric or a pack of sewing needles. No, this was a New York City bespoke tailor, the kind of place where they gave you champagne and let you sit on soft velvet chairs while men with measuring tapes around their necks practically begged to cater to your every fashion whim. There was even a sign in the window that said, in no uncertain terms, WE CATER TO WHITE TRADE. WAITING ROOM FOR COLORED ONLY, with an arrow pointing around to the back of the building.

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll exactly receive a warm welcome here,” Alastor said lightly, tilting his head enough to look at his companion. With his slicked white hair, entirely white suit, and matching white hat and shoes, his boss (boss’s son, strictly speaking) couldn’t have looked any more like a gangster; it only took one glance to see why so many who worked for the Family called him the Ghost.

“Does that bother you?” Anthony asked, casting Alastor a sidelong glance as his lips curved into a smirk.

Alastor returned the look with a smile of his own. “I think you already know the answer to that, sha. I simply wouldn’t want to waste your time if they’re only going to refuse service.”

“No one refuses the Mezzasalma Family’s money,” Anthony said, his smile growing darker as he took hold of the door handle. “Not more than once, anyway.”

Alastor followed Anthony inside and looked around at the interior that was just as posh as he imagined it would be, the interior all polished wood and fine carpet and largely uncluttered by the usual bolts of cloth and shelves and bins. Instead, cloth samples lined one wall in a neat little row, a large section of the interior dedicated to a seating area and a raised dais with full-length mirrors surrounding it in a half-circle. It was mere seconds before a man strode over to them with a speed that made his attempt at dignified posture downright hilarious, and he stopped near Anthony, clasping his hands together.

“Mister Mezzasalma,” he began, casting Alastor more than one glance from the corner of his eye. “I— This is quite the surprise, we were not expecting to see you.”

“Wasn’t exactly expectin’ to be here myself,” Anthony said, straightening the lapels of his jacket as he glanced around. “I’m in need of a couple of new suits and my usual tailor won’t be back in the city for a few weeks. My father speaks highly enough of your work, so I figured I might as well give my patronage to someone who’s already been good to my people.”

“That… that’s very kind of you, sir.” The shop attendant glanced at Alastor again; Alastor smiled at him, and the attendant’s face blanched to an interesting color that reminded Alastor of bad milk. “We would be more than happy to clear our schedule for you, but I am afraid your man will have to go around to the back of the building for the entrance to the waiting area.”

“Oh, no, he won’t,” Anthony said, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling over to where the cloth samples stood. “They’re for him. He’s recently come close into my employ, you see, and he requires clothing that… befits the position, so to speak.”

The attendant looked panicked. “Sir, I-I’m afraid I must insist, it isn’t just our policy, the law dictates—”

He fell silent when Anthony glanced his way. “Ain’t that a shame,” he said, turning back to the cloth and taking what looked like some expensive gray tweed between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its texture. “I suppose I’ll have to obtain a different recommendation from my father, then. He’ll be very disappointed to hear your establishment didn’t meet my needs, but the law is the law.”

If the attendant looked unwell before, now he looked positively ill, like he might vomit where he stood any moment. While Alastor might have rolled his eyes at the indirect passive-aggression of veiled mafioso threats, he had to admit it was very funny to be on this side of it. “Oh, n-no, sir, it isn’t— I didn’t mean—…” He cleared his throat, gathering himself. “Your father has always been a very valuable patron for us. I’m certain the owner wouldn’t mind making an exception.”

Anthony smiled. “Well, that’s very good to hear. Alastor, come on over here.” When Alastor stepped up beside him, Anthony dropped his voice and said, “Let me know if anybody here says or does anythin’ even a little… inappropriate, alright?”

“You got it,” Alastor murmured with a smile. “Are you planning to shoot them if they do?”

Anthony chuckled. “Nah. Might get someone to accidentally burn down the building, though.” Alastor stifled his laugh as Anthony shushed him, trying to keep his own laughter from bursting out in a giggle.

The fabric was nothing like Alastor had ever held before, and he took his time in making his selections while Anthony told the attendant, in no uncertain terms, that they required the suits as quickly as possible. He negotiated a two-week turnaround that made the attendant sound like he was close to an apoplexy, but he agreed and had Alastor stand on the dais for his measurements.

They returned to the store for fittings three times—Alastor had tried to tell Anthony that he didn’t need anything so extravagant, and Anthony had countered that he enjoyed spending as much of the family money as possible this way—and when Alastor finally stood in a completed suit of light gray cashmere, looking himself over in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

“Leave,” Anthony said to the shop’s employees, and as they scuttled away, Alastor watched him in the mirror as he stepped up onto the wide dais and walk up behind him. “What do you think?” Anthony asked, dropping his voice to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“It’s different,” Alastor said. “But I can’t say I hate it.”

“Most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say about somethin’ bein’ different,” Anthony chuckled, and Alastor felt hands on his waist as Anthony leaned in close to his back.

Alastor smiled, leaning back in return as he fixed his cuffs. “I think I could absolutely get used to this.”

“Good. And besides…” Anthony leaned in close to Alastor’s ear, whispering, “I think both these suits will look fantastic on my bedroom floor.” Alastor felt his face heating up as Anthony’s tongue darted out, flicking the shell of his ear, a little bit of that ‘playing with fire’ he was so fond of. Then, he backed off and turned away. “Let’s get out of here, then. Next time, I’m takin’ you to Rosie.”

Alastor took one last look at himself, smoothing his hand down the front of his jacket, before he turned to follow Anthony out of the building. He could definitely get used to this.

•••

#my writing #drowning in stardust #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #radiodust #hazbin radiodust #hazbin human version #hazbin human au

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applestorms · 3 months ago

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the winners & losers of death note

after repeatedly trying and failing to write this death note essay i'm just gonna go for it:

the fundamental flaw of L, whether you see this as a flaw/discrepancy in his character or the writing surrounding him itself, is the fact that by the time of his death, he has no clear win state. let me explain... by first talking extensively about light aljdsflksd.

MAJOR spoiler warning after this point. 3-ish (very long) sections.

1. light's goals: kira & utopian ideals (ft. fem!light)

i discussed this a bit in my tags on this post talking about how light's core character traits would translate over to a female version of himself, but to elaborate/summarize my thoughts further: i believe that light's fundamental flaw/weakness comes down to his desire to be Seen, to be recognized & validated by the people around him. i often see/hear people describing light's ultimate flaw as "ego," and while that's definitely a part of it, i think this is perhaps a more nuanced/neutral way of understanding it.

as has been pointed out before, light's goal of becoming the "god of the new world," isn't really an idea he immediately comes up with but rather is more of a retroactive justification that he clings to for the rest of the series after the initial rush of guilt he feels for murdering two people without thinking. this is perhaps even more obvious in the manga, as while episode 1 of the anime ends with light's claim to godhood, in the manga it takes him a lot longer to build up to that conclusion and really develop the full extent of his hubris. (EDIT: he totally says this in ch1 of the manga too, i just forgot. the point about it being retroactive justification still stands, though.) even so, i think post-death note light takes to this justification so easily for a reason: again, his desire to be seen.

before the death note, light takes a very understandable if somewhat flawed/juvenile approach to this sating this desire, specifically in how he aims to excel in every single system he is presented with, whether that be academics, sports/physicality (not just tennis, but physical attractiveness/neatness/cleanliness), and social interactions. it's that last category that i think is the most notable here, as light wants to succeed socially on multiple levels: on a personal scale, he aims to be pleasing and charming and polite to everyone he speaks to, for the sake of manipulating them, sure, but also so that he can extend that victory past personal relationships and into something Greater, into the Image of Light Yagami as the studious, respectable son. it isn't just enough for him to do well, he needs the reputation to go along with it, and the recognition and respect that comes with it.

this is part of the reason why the lind l. tailor moment is such a beautiful part of the writing of death note, as it is a moment where L simultaneously fucks light over massively, pinpointing his location and sending a squad his way in an instant, but also a moment where L gives light exactly what he wants: recognition. L doesn't just establish himself as a rival to take seriously w/ this move, he also reveals kira's existence to the world, that the deaths are the actions of a single person consciously and carefully acting and not just some divine power. he see's light's humanity, the potential cracks in his ego and temper, the overwhelming humanity of his ideals, efficiently using such traits to get kira to reveal himself in the first place.

i tend to take a lot of light's explanations of his actions to ryuk with a grain of salt as i think he is a lot less skilled at planning than he lets on, with his real skill being his in-the-moment acting & reactions, but i'm inclined to believe him when he tells ryuk in ch1 that

as a justification for not writing more specific deaths and therefore hiding his existence for longer. keep in mind, kira is established on the internet long before L enters the picture & the lind l. tailor incident-- light is utilizing the death note to push himself into the spotlight of the entire globe, not just the limited social sphere he grew up with.

(sidenote1: i think you can also definitely read into this on a more internal level of why light would want to be recognized so badly in the first place, considering how busy soichiro yagami most likely is and what their relationship looks like throughout the series. i don't think there's any evidence that he's actively neglectful necessarily, if anything light is described as being pretty spoiled & soichiro cares about him when he's around, but it still feels notable to me how empty his life is pre-death note. you can just Feel the silence as he goes through the motions in the first episode, barely talking to anyone as he ghosts his way through life. he might be succeeding in everything system he approaches technically, but that sure as hell doesn't make him happy. whether or not the death note makes him happy is a whole nother question...)

ANYWAYS. this is all to say that light's ideals give him a pretty clear win state, both in terms of what he actually, physically wants in terms of world domination/godhood, but also emotionally when it comes to what truly satisfies him. on a meta level, kira gives light really good motivation-- for the sake of his ideals, for the sake of trying to create his vision of a utopian society, for the sake of being Seen, he needs to keep writing names and out-thinking anyone who tries to stop him. on an internal level, it just starts getting complicated when the one who Sees him best is the one who fully dedicated to stopping him.

speaking of which.

2. L's goals: no real win state?

the lind l. tailor moment is such a fantastic instance in the story because it really works both ways in setting up the rivalry/mutual satisfaction that L and light grant each other. i've already described what light gets out of it, and simultaneous terror and delight that he gets out of it, but this is mostly an L post so let's talk about his side of things.

to my understanding, if what light fundamentally wants is to be Seen, what L fundamentally wants is to Win. ok, yeah, the way he says it is that he "hates losing," but same difference.

the problem with this desire is that in order for L to win or lose, he needs circumstances under which those options are the two main choices in the first place-- he needs a game, someone to test himself against, a challenge(r). when lind l. tailor dies and L proves kira's meager human existence to the world he practically sounds like he's cumming his pants, so i think we can assume kira stands as a particularly alluring challenge for him.

this also explains why L gets so depressed and frustrated with light over the course of the yotsuba arc. not only is light somehow out-foxing him by creating a circumstance under which he can claim not to be kira and actually be correct insofar as his memories are concerned, light has also set the game so that he's stepped off the board entirely, trusting his planning and his own non-death note influenced psyche and denouncing his role as a player entirely. in a way you could read this as light utilizing the one strength he has over L to his advantage: not just his awareness of the supernatural, as people often say, but the fact that kira has goals outside of winning, which can't really be said for L (or at least not without some additional extrapolation/interpretations of his inner psyche).

this is why my main claim here is that L doesn't really have a clear win state. for kira, winning consists of a few clear, distinct things: a utopian world, free from crime, under the reign of kira, where light has the control & worship of a god. for L, winning is a lot less distinct: really just. not letting light do all that. as this other post points out, it really isn't that far off to assume that L's motivations might've shifted from his initial state goal of executing kira, particularly as he gets more attached to light on an individual level, even if it's more as a rival than a true friendship. L is a liar and a troll, yes, but he still has "flashes of sentiment," and it makes a lot of sense to me that so many people see L winning as him stealing light away for himself to be locked away for the rest of their lives.

(sidenote2: i believe it was one of the jdramas (?) that actually does portray L winning but specifically at the cost of his own life, which again fits considering everything i just went through. i don't think L is actively suicidal at the idea of no longer having kira as a rival (well. <3< rival, the children yearn for kismesissitude), but. well, see the final section of this essay where i talk more about boredom for more on that.)

ultimately, light and L kind of suffer for the same reason: living for the rivalry, but also because of that never being truly satisfied no matter which way they come out in the end. the tragic yaoi of it all. i guess one of the conclusions here is that you should read this fic time speaks by aSmallMoon333 for a fascinating evolution of the rivalry past the supposed ending point of canon. anywho.

3. L's death: a failure of writing, or character?

hot take (??? genuinely can't tell if this is hot anymore so ig mean this like, partially sarcastically) but L's death is kind of really fucking unsatisfying, especially if you're witnessing it for the first ever time. i remember distinctly reading the manga back in high school and being really caught off guard by it, despite already having been spoiled about it, and while i pinpointed the cause initially being the fact that light doesn't even bother to write down the damn name himself, i think there's a lot more to this than that.

i've been writing about this idea of L not having a clear win state primarily under the approach of character analysis, looking at L's motivations and emotional desires to see how they inform what him winning would look like, but you could very well read this as being a flaw in the writing surrounding him as well.

L's not really a moral character, primarily because that's one of the main ways he's a foil to light-- where light is painfully, excruciatingly human, naive in his ideals, dedicated to them at all costs, L is a lot more apathetic, perhaps not to the same degree as near sometimes comes across (though he has more to him too, even if the anime doesn't really give enough time for that), but still enough to be generally considered a pretty amoral character. L definitely comes across to me as the type of person that understands the world deeply on an intellectual level, but struggles to meaningfully emotionally connect with it. the way he interacts with people is the clearest example of this, again making him a foil to light in that he gives no shits about how people view him and prefers staying hidden as much as possible, creating detailed psychological profiles of the criminals he follows but still misreading details in-the-moment while speaking to people (the autism. the autism), but i think this could very well extend to how he views morals as well, deciding that kira is evil on a logical level because people dying=bad but not really emotionally connecting with that. like,

yeah yeah they're both JUSTICE!! or whatever, but is this really true? not to get into an in-depth discussion on the nature of ethics & morality in my tumblr essay (though i actually wouldn't mind doing that...), but as the series and especially the yotsuba arc goes on, it becomes more and more clear that L's lack of attachment to people extends to his lack of attachment to traditional ethics. time and time again, L does shady shit for the sake of finding kira, whether that be covering the yagami household in a truly absurd number of cameras, recruiting actual criminals to help with the investigation, or chaining some kid to him 24/7 for weeks on end. this is a large part of the reason behind why i question what winning would actually look like for L-- would he be willing to turn kira in, should he get sufficient evidence to put light through the actual justice system? even if he is willing to give that rivalry up, i have a hard time believing he wouldn't want to confirm the death by doing it himself or something. but if that's the case, then why bother waiting? clearly, he's pretty fucking sure that light is kira, and he basically does figure everything out by the end of the yotsuba arc. so, why? is he waiting to prove it to the task force? is he still waiting for light to incriminate himself? but that seems like an awfully stupid thing to still be waiting for. what does L actually want here?

^^^ this last entire paragraph was basically my motivation for writing this, btw. ultimately, i still don't know if i have a conclusion that i'm really satisfied with, here. perhaps it really is just that light isn't the one to pull the trigger in the end, the nerve of a move that bitchy that kinda instinctively icks me out. or maybe ohba just wrote it bad!! idk. final thoughts-wise.........

one satisfying thing: in a way, light wins because he wins over people (namely, the rest of the task force), which tracks. the only reason why he keeps winning post-L death is because of this win, actually, which keeps him going for years despite the fact that he's doing objectively a dogshit job as L, as near so sweetly points out.

one unsatisfying thing: you could read L as losing because ohba doesn't actually have all that extensive of a view of what a good view of justice would look like, particularly in opposition to kira's view. in a way, L kind of just ends up representing a return to the status quo, where the criminals that kira is so desperate to purge are simply dealt with in the usual way & their crimes are a fact of life. perhaps this is asking too much, the rivalry alone is fun enough to watch without having to get too in-depth asking question about ideal global justice systems and the nature of crime & criminals. i genuinely do think a part of my frustration here is just that light was too much of a bitch to kill his main rival by his own hand, despite holding himself to a more respectable Standard in desperate moments prior (e.g. not taking the eyes deal w/ naomi misora). but it's at least an adjacent question, and maybe establishing more clearly what L's true win would've looked like could have made light's eventual victory just a bit more satisfying, instead of feeling like it comes out of nowhere after his extensive planning miraculously works perfectly according to keikaku. it's almost the marvel problem as is... but i digress.

bonus: boredom

in my recent reread/rewatch of the series, i keep getting struck by how much i really like the beginning of death note, like the beginning beginning of the series and when each main character is initially introduced, especially light and ryuk.

i don't think it's too much of a stretch to equate "boredom" with "depression" in this context. long before L is introduced to the series ryuk is the one being presented as light's equal and opposite-- parallels from opposite worlds, mutually disgusted by their own kind and the miserable state the world around them has devolved to. for L this sentiment is a bit less overt, mostly because again, apathy, but the fact that he spends the majority of his time hyperfixated on the worst parts of humanity speaks of something. perhaps i'll have more feelings about this upon rereading the ending, as that's a bit (a lot) fuzzy in my mind, but it's one of the main points i emotionally resonated with the strongest, a point of connection i keep coming back to.

light really is just a kid, at the core of everything. a teenager that did everything he was supposed to and still couldn't make himself happy with it. that's the real tragedy of death note to me, that for all he did to create a better, more ideal world, he never felt all that happy with any of it. not that he would admit that. but what is light yagami's greatest skill if not his denial...

#death note #astronaut rambles #I DID IT #super long post #death note analysis #light yagami #l lawliet #if i got something totally wrong here uhhhhh please fact check me #i'm not totally up to date on all the non-anime/manga stuff quite yet ;w;#glad i could write something for this i've been trying to write more about my interests since i enjoy it #so if i can't get a fic out writing a little analysis post like this is a nice alternative #more casual/less closely edited. but something to think on and consider?

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clockwork-ashes · 2 months ago

Text

Bright Flames, Dark Shadows

Summary: When Eris is injured during what was supposed to be a very simple mission, Azriel knows how to make it better (one-shot). Read below, or on Ao3 :)

Note: I was looking for something else on my computer and I found FICS!!! thank you for reading <3

Azriel had been working with Eris for months. He’d trusted the spoiled prince to get them safely out of harm’s way, and to take them to a secure location. He’d been expecting Eris to winnow them to his personal home, but as they materialized in the unfamiliar space, Azriel realized it was the first time he was seeing the other male’s room. With a small growl, Eris let go of Azriel’s leathers, shoving past him but not touching his wings. Eris barely lifted a finger, the stunning, stone fireplace to his right roaring to life along with the bronze sconces that lined the walls.

All of Eris’s cottage was elegant, the furniture in it made of expensive carved mahogany that matched the gleaming hardwood floors and sideboards, everything organized, orderly, and tasteful. Eris’s bedroom was much the same. Two comfortable-looking cushioned chairs were placed near the fireplace, a low table between them was covered in multiple neat piles of thick books. His bed was huge, pushed up against the opposite wall, big enough for multiple people to lie in it. The carved pattern on the dresser, mirror, and nightstands was intricate — beautiful. Not knowing what to do with himself, Azriel merely stood where Eris had left him — right in the middle of the bedroom.

Azriel took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, livid that they’d been caught by surprise but the anger not showing on his face. Some of Azriel’s shadows skittered around him, the rest trailed after Eris as he stumbled to the dresser, knocking into it with his knees so that it hit the wall with an ugly thud. Azriel watched as Eris leaned toward the mirror, wincing as Eris wiped at his mouth with the dark brown sleeve of his well-tailored jacket.

“What the fuck?” Blood nearly the same colour of Eris’s hair dripped from his nose, leaking down his face, staining the collar of the offwhite shirt that peaked out of Eris’s jacket. Eris tugged open the dresser’s top drawer, all his shirts neatly folded inside, taking one out and holding it up against his face. He turned to face Azriel, his newly cut hair in disarray as he gestured wildly in Azriel’s direction, “Some fucking spymaster.” His voice was muffled by the shirt, but it did nothing to hide his angry tone, “I thought those shadows were useful.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. For the most part, Eris had been treating Azriel’s shadows like he treated his hounds: with an unexpected softness. The shadows liked brushing up against Eris’s hands as he wrote, or curling up over his shoulders as he read. Azriel had apologized the first few times it had happened, but Eris had assured him that he didn’t mind. He didn’t like the way Eris was talking about them now, though. “They are useful.”

“They are not.”

“They were distracted,” Azriel snapped, defending them.

Eris moved the shirt away from his face, the bleeding seemed to have slowed. He snorted, the sound watery, “By what?” He turned back to the mirror.

Azriel was moments away from retorting “by you,” but he stopped himself. There must have been a reason his shadows monitored the Autumn Court heir’s every move. Azriel assumed it was because they didn’t trust Eris Vanserra, and he didn’t want to offend one of the Night Court’s most important allies by telling him as much.

“Give me that pitcher,” Eris demanded.

Azriel would have ignored him had he not felt slightly responsible for Eris’s current state. It wasn’t that Eris hadn’t been a decent enough fighter, but they both hadn’t been expecting an ambush, and as the more experienced one, Azriel should have kept an eye on him. Azriel handed Eris the pitcher that had been sitting on the nightstand, watching as water sloshed over the edges and onto the dresser as Eris shoved a clean part of the shirt into it before he brought the wet fabric to his face.

Eris leaned closer to the mirror, nearly knocking over the pitcher, and made a funny noise deep in his throat before he spoke. “Cauldron fucking boil me,” he bemoaned, one of his fingers gingerly touching the tip of his nose. “I think it’s crooked.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. His nose looked fine, perfect, even. “It is not.”

Azriel was debating whether or not to sit in one of the chairs when Eris turned an accusatory gaze in his direction, “I blame you for this complete and utter disaster.”

Azriel blamed himself too. That night was supposed to be nothing more than a routine lookout. If he’d known that Koschei was going to send others after them, he wouldn’t have taken Eris with him in the first place. Azriel would have thought about what it might have meant that he’d wanted to take Eris with him, but Azriel was too focused on the way his shadows seemed to be trying to warn Eris that he’d probably end up making his injuries a lot worse if he didn’t calm down.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Azriel suggested, his voice smooth.

Eris paid him no mind, scrubbing a little too aggressively at the blood on his face. Most of it had come off, and his nose had finally stopped bleeding. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Eris muttered, wiping at some of the blood on his neck.

Azriel regretted that Eris had gotten hit in the face with the pommel of a sword, not really knowing why. He’d spent years fantasizing about doing the very same thing, but spending so much time with Eris had Azriel — and he could barely believe it — liking him. “Vanserra, get on the bed,” Eris straightened, raising his brows, “Let me have a look.”

“First Cassian, now you. I don’t like being ordered around by overgrown bats.” Despite the statement, Eris made his way to the bed, leaning up against the headboard, boot clad feet on the dark red covers.

Azriel sat down, sinking into the obviously very expensive mattress. He put out a hand, wiggling his fingers.

Eris passed him the shirt with a scowl. “Like you’d know how to fix a broken nose. You’re not a fucking healer.”

Azriel had been spending too much time with the spoiled prince and his nearly infinite amount of patience seemed to be at its end. “Would you just let me look,” he snapped.

Eris was still scowling as Azriel tipped his head back just a bit, cradling Eris’s jaw in one hand, taking in every feature of his face. He was beautiful in an undeniable sort of way, and now that he’d cut his hair, Azriel thought he looked even better.

Azriel gently wiped at any remaining blood that stained the other male’s skin. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, Azriel could feel the sharp planes of Eris’s face and was reminded of the first time he’d ever seen the Autumn Court prince. He’d thought Eris was classically beautiful in a way that reminded Azriel of broken shards of stained glass. Lovely, yet dangerous.

Azriel put the ruined shirt on the bed, using the hand that wasn’t holding Eris’s chin to move some of the hair that had fallen over Eris’s brow. His nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, a small cut underneath his eye was already starting to heal, and the bruise on his jaw seemed to be fading. His nose definitely wasn’t crooked, but Azriel ran the tip of his scarred finger along the sloped bridge of it just to make sure.

Azriel hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten to Eris. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he murmured.

He watched as Eris’s eyes fluttered, “I heard the crunch,” he breathed.

Azriel didn’t know what came over him, in the moment he thought it might have been madness. Eris was one of his oldest enemies, he was cruel, and ruthless, and he deserved only the worst. That was what he’d believed for centuries. He didn’t know what might have possessed him to press his lips to the mean line of Eris’s mouth, but he knew that it felt… right. Eris parted his lips in a shocked gasp, golden flames bright in his wide eyes.

Azriel was completely out of his mind. He’d never, not once in his entire life, done something without thinking it through. The panic seized him quite suddenly, his wings flaring just a bit as he made to move back, to move away. Azriel was more than just a little surprised when Eris lifted his hand, threading his slender fingers into the dark hair at the base of Azriel’s scalp, pulling him closer in another kiss.

Azriel kissed Eris harder this time, grabbing the other male’s face in both hands, thumbs sliding against sharp cheekbones, lips moving with the force of weeks’ worth of wanting. Eris’s bottom lip was caught between Azriel’s teeth, his other hand coming up to fist in Azriel’s leathers. Weeks upon weeks of working with Eris, talking to him, trusting him. A helpless sound escaped Eris’s lips when Azriel slowly moved his hands so that his thumbs traced the shape of the smooth, pale, column of Eris’s throat. Azriel had more than a million things to do, but as he opened his mouth, Eris’s tongue pushing against his in a savage claiming, Azriel leaned into him, all those things forgotten.

Azriel wanted to move so that he was right between Eris’s thighs, to press the other male into the bed, to watch a prince of Autumn come undone. Their kisses were messy, urgent, desperate. Eris pulled him closer, and Azriel thought he could drown in the feel of him, the taste of him. The taste of crackling embers, of rich cognac, of Autumn mornings.

Azriel’s hands slid down to Eris’s chest, undoing the golden buttons of his jacket, pulling it wide. Eris tugged on the roots of Azriel’s hair in a way that nearly had him forgetting his own name. Azriel couldn’t deny that he was drawn to Eris like a moth was drawn to a flame, he just hoped he didn’t get burned. The tips of Azriel’s fingers found the laces of Eris’s bloodied, ruined shirt. He wanted the shirt to come off, he’d never wanted anything more.

Never in his wildest dreams did Azriel think he’d want, need, Eris Vanserra. A prince born into the most savage of courts, born of blood, and ash, and fire.

Azriel was playing with fire.

Azriel didn’t like fire.

With only half a thought, Azriel roughly shoved Eris away from him.

Eris had red embers dancing in the deep amber of his eyes, his cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly swollen. They were staring at each other, no one speaking for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds in the room their ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Eris ran a hand through his hair, flashing Azriel the pale skin of his wrist as the sleeve lifted. “Well,” Eris started, “That was unexpected.” He huffed a breathless, awkward laugh. Azriel guessed that it might have also been unwelcome.

“That was…” Azriel paused. He didn’t know what to say. That was nice? That was entirely unplanned? That was something they should do again? He couldn’t read the expression on Eris’s face and his shadows weren’t being very helpful. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

Azriel knew he’d chipped away at Eris all these weeks. They’d gotten past Azriel’s one-word answers and Eris’s cruel remarks. They’d researched, and spied, and fought together. They talked to one another, trusted one another, but as soon as Azriel finished his sentence, he thought that perhaps he’d taken any progress they’d made and thrown it into roaring flames.

Watching Eris flip from open and vulnerable to cold and aloof, was like watching the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon — blink and you’d miss it. Eris nodded once, his eyes cold, lifting his chin just a bit. Eris’s voice as he spoke was smooth, arrogant, not a hint of the warmth Azriel had gotten used to. “Usually, males and females alike wait until the morning after to say something along those lines.”

Azriel stiffened, well aware that he’d managed to hurt Eris. He didn’t know what to say to make this whole thing better, but was saved from having to speak when the door to Eris’s bedroom slammed against the wall as it flew open.

“I think I’ve found those—” Eris’s younger brother faltered, stopping suddenly, almost as if he’d hit some sort of ward.

Azriel nearly tripped over himself as he abruptly stood, him and Eris weren’t even that close to each other anymore but he felt like he desperately needed the space. Shadows frantically swirled around his feet, some skittering towards the Vanserra by the door. They hadn’t warned him for the second time that night of someone else’s presence, and Azriel was starting to think they were playing some sort of cruel joke on him.

Azriel had spoken to Rufus many times in their combined efforts to stop Koschei, and the young male almost always had something to say. Rendering him speechless wasn’t something that Azriel would have thought possible, but there he was, multiple ancient looking scrolls in his arms, his jaw slack as his russet eyes looked between the Autumn Court’s Heir and the Night Court’s Spymaster.

Azriel was certain that alarm was evident all over the features of his usually blank face, his shadows dancing around him as he waited for someone else to speak.

Rufus angled his head, amusement glittering in his all-too clever eyes. He looked very much like Lucien as he drawled, “Am I interrupting something?”

Eris’s sharp response nearly had Azriel flinching. “No.”

Rufus smiled, elegant auburn brows raised as he adjusted the scrolls in his arms, “I have many questions.”

Eris’s smile in return was more of a bare of teeth, “And you will ask none of them.”

“I’ll ask them later,” he didn’t even look in Azriel’s direction as he threw himself onto one of the cushioned chairs by the fire. “I got those maps you asked for.”

Azriel had forgotten that they’d asked Rufus to look for some older maps of the continent. Eris had been sure that they would be able to find some in the library of the Forest House, and Rufus had been the one who offered to look for them.

“Are you going to look over these with us, Shadowsinger, or are you going to stay by the foot of Eris’s bed the whole night?”

Rufus spoke to Azriel, but Eris answered for him. “Azriel was just leaving.”

Azriel turned his head sharply to face Eris. He was still leaning against the headboard of his bed, his hair messier than Azriel had ever seen it, his mouth set in a way that suggested he wasn’t very pleased.

“Eris…” Azriel made to take a step towards him.

The Autumn prince just waved a hand dismissively, “Have a goodnight.”

Azriel barely heard him, the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He couldn’t help but feel as though leaving Eris’s cottage might be an even bigger mistake than the kiss. Azriel nodded once at Eris, deciding he’d winnow straight to the House of Wind as shadows swarmed him; he wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone right now. Eris’s flame bright eyes was the last thing Azriel saw as he was engulfed in darkness.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #azris #eris x azriel #i found so much writing from around the time of prince of ashes LOL #it’s like i found a memory chest in my basement i’m so happy about it #ashes writes sometimes

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opalstonedyke · 2 months ago

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how did you know you were ofos? hope this isn’t too personal

- femme who might be ofos, but is still learning lesbian history 😭

That's a terrific question!

Ive always been old fashioned, I mostly chalk it up to the fact I grew up (and still am somewhat) religious, but Judaism has so many beautiful traditions around home life for lovers, it's a whole concept - the torah teaches us to make certain compromises for your wives, and keep her happy, for the purpose of shlom bayit - peace of the house - and it resonates with me! One day, when im lucky enough to wed the girl of my dreams, I will always give out of myself to keep them happy and to keep the peace in our homestead.

Now when it comes to more superficial things, like aesthetics of clothes, ways of speaking and such, ive just always liked them much more than modern aesthetics. I grew up listening to 50's, 60's and 70's folk and rock, and the slang, fashion and behavior of my favorite legends just stuck with me - i wad always an old old lady at heart, haha.

So when I finally started blooming into myself and could make my own fashion choices (aka having the money to buy my own clothes, and my mom stepping back and giving me some independence) I immediately found myself attracted to classic menswear, attracted by the warm color and bold patterns of the swingin' 60's, with _flattering_ tailoring and always keeping myself neat and pretty to bait femmes who would like to be treated with some chivalry. ;)

All those things made me feel strange, disconnected from my age group and unconfident when I was younger, but when I found the ofos community I realized straight people were the strange ones - what kind of fella treats his lady like they do? Poor girls. I feel lucky to be able to show affection to femmes who need it, and i will ALWAYS spoil the femme I go out with, no matter if it's a first or 100th date. I resonate with my fellow chivalrous butches - and am very inspired and smitten by the beautiful vintage femmes I find on here, too. I only hope to find a satisfying and loving relationship with one in real life, one day, when it comes.

I hope this gave you some insight, and even if you find you're not ofos - we appreciate you around, and all lesbians are always welcome on my page.

#opalasks #ofos butch #ofos femme #ofos #t4t butch #dykeposting #butchfemme #butch4femme #butch bait #femme bait

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ireallyliketalldarksultrymen · 19 days ago

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for writing stuff, lizzie & mumbo perhaos? i think they'd be a silly duo (ooh if u want maybe as a hypothetical double life pair?) /vnf

lizzie and mumbo are such sillies <333 (you can find this fic here on ao3!)

—

Never in all his years did Mumbo imagine him and Lizzie having a sleepover—Void, he never expected them to be friends. Their personalities clashed, practically worlds apart; while she was outgoing and effortlessly warm, Mumbo tended to be reserved, fading into the background at times. He’d long assumed friendship between them would be improbable, if not impossible.

Yet here Mumbo was, hands folded politely as he sat on Lizzie’s bed, cross-legged atop hot pink sheets. Lizzie herself was at the vanity in front of him, chatting animatedly as she rummaged through her drawers. Her space buns bobbed with her words, and Mumbo watched, almost mesmerized.

As he listens to her ramble, loud and clear over the song humming on the record player, Mumbo’s allows for his eyes to drift around the room, taking a moment to admire her decor.

Joel didn’t exaggerate when he told him her bedroom was pink—in fact, he downplayed it. The walls, the drapes, the lamp, they were shades from chewed bubblegum to carnations. The latter so happened to rest in a rose pink clay pot on the windowsill.

There are few contrasts to the rest of the room; stood inches from her dresser was a bookshelf, which barely held novels. Sea shells and rocks painted in their own ways sat on the ledge, detailed in acrylic paints. Vinyl records lined the remaining shelves in a rainbow gradient, dark reds bleeding into deeper violets. Mumbo makes a mental note to ask her about her favorite artist.

Right of the windowsill is a poster of band he’d always be familiar with. Gem, Impulse, and Scott were posed with their instruments on the stage of their very first venue, sporting shirts tailored to their favorite colors, accompanied by embroidered initials.

When Mumbo squints hard enough, he can make out the cursive written in Sharpie on the top corner, which is marked with three different signatures that vary in neatness.

A platter of what were formerly cookies was put aside at the foot of her bed, crumbs and chocolate chunks its only remains. Mumbo’s only a tiny bit embarrassed to admit to scarfing down the cookies after the first bite.

Without warning, the bed dips as Lizzie plops down beside him, carefully balancing a handful of nail polish bottles. She grins, simping the assortment between them. “Alright!” she exclaims, looking excited. “What color are we going for?”

Mumbo glances down at the small, powerful army spread out across the blanket and realizes he has absolutely no idea where to start.

After a moment’s hesitation, he thinks he’s settled on a shade, from his peripheral catches his eye, so Mumbo’s positive he’ll settle on that one—but, no, turns out there’s a whole other color that suits him better and, oh, he’s lost.

At this point, his hand hovers over one bottle before he snatches it back, repeating the gesture with the caution of someone touching a hot stove.

Finally, he groans, pulling his hands over his face. “Sorry, I just—“

“It’s okay!” Lizzie’s voice is warm and steady, coaxing Mumbo to pull away his hands away from his face.

He looks up and her smiling at him with a reassuring glint her eyes, full of understanding. “Here, let me see if…”

Lizzie starts to rifle through the pile, nose scrunched as her eyes carefully examines each bottle, and moment Mumbo feels ridiculous, fully convinced they wouldn’t be able to find the right color for him, but the gasp Lizzie lets grasps his attention.

“A-ha!” She triumphantly holds up a bottle, brandishing it like a prized trophy. “Looks like we’ve found your match!”

Lizzie brings up her other hand, placing her nails and the bottle side by-side. “It’s the shade I’m wearing!” she explains, grinning.

Mumbo tilts his head, studying the polish in her hand. The bottle was half-filled with a rose-gold paint, which shimmer slightly with glitter. He feels a smile tug at his lips. “It’s…perfect.”

Lizzie lets out a cheer, raising her arms in victory. The sight of her happy makes a sense of pride coil in Mumbo’s stomach.

Once her enthusiasm settles, she reaches over and gently presses her and Mumbo’s palms together. “See? Now we can even be matching!”

Mumbo looks at the hands, grinning at the sight of her painted nails against his plain ones. He can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. So towards the end of the night, when the lamp on the bedside table is turned off and the sound of crickets chirping can be heard beyond the window, Mumbo settles in his sleeping bag, admiring his nails as they glow in moonlight.

#fics #requests #ldshadowlady #lizzie ldshadowlady #mumbo jumbo #trafficblr #i heard they’re called detective duo #but if they’re called smth else please lmk!!#detective duo

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maliciousalice · 8 months ago

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@thresholdbb omg tumblr ate your ask but thankyou for asking!!!!

👕Character whose fashion you like.

Phoar! Startrek really isn't a show I associate with being fashionable. It's very camp isn't it? In theory a lot of the wardrobe is really cool and they wanted to gain that retro-future aesthetic. Did it work? I'm not sure. However it does make a statement. The Startrek aesthetic is really recognizable and that's important! I think that's where modern trek kind of looses the plot. It's not as careful about the unique visual design as a whole anymore and as a result it doesn't settle in our minds. Is it bad artistry? No but it's not as stringent. What I mean by that is older trek cared about nuance. For example every haircut was done the same way on men, or suits were tailored in a way to look sleek but practical (they weren't). Gaudy patterns were important to denote things like status. It looks ugly on the outside but when you're watching the show it envelops you and makes you feel welcomed into the universe.

I digress.

To answer this, the most fashionable character, hands down, is Quark! That mfer always looks good, and has the finest drip in the galaxy. Love that.

🥲 ST moment that makes you cry.

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There are two moments that make me particularly sad. Kate's acting in the climax of Resistance is incredible. I read somewhere she had a special-wink-wink- relationship with the Director in the early seasons and she was being tested by this episode in some regard. I think it paid off. I treasure any time her captain-hood is removed, and the extreme vulnerability of Janeway is on display-MWAH MWAH poignant. This episode is beautifully intimate, particularly this scene. It's overall gorgeous and unique in how she whispers to him, as if there is nothing more important than to secure his peace of mind as he dies, and it's heart rending when it ends with her just crouching there, emotionally alone. I love how Janeway is forced into the father-daughter dynamic between her and Caylem, one that she would ordinarily resist (heh themes) because I think it inherently weakens her status. The back and forth throughout the episode of them taking care of each other's welfare is so it's terribly sad when it's torn down and we discover the truth behind Caylem's family. If you've dug around her character you know that her Admiral-Father has had impact on her life. She's haunted by him in both a figurative way by being a Captain, and literal sense later on in Coda. Much like Caylem, she looses her father in a violent manner that she has to carry around while she forges ahead. It also reflects well on Kate's relationship with her actual father, she recently revealed that she was never able to get him on her page, but in spite that she adore him with all her might. So a scene like this is really revealing-I believe she was able to draw upon those feelings and that's kinda neat to be so raw as an actor. SIGH.

This one just straight up made me cry fr because Prodigy s1 is a really mature, well done piece of (Startrek) media. Holo Janeway has an irony about it where in the end she is program designed to be a teacher, and she didn't expect to develop a strong bond with the crew. Her final moments are of displaying a huge amount of selflessness and courage to help the kids get out of trouble, similarly to how Janeway would approach dire circumstances. The music swelling and the ship activating is just OOOOF!!! I love how it parallels Dal's initiation of the first Protojump in a Moral Star. By that means It suggests how proud she is to get to do this for them. As a character she is really interesting to think about, in a way I can't entirely articulate. A lot of her moments are quite sad in general, she has to keep an active role so she isn't ignored, and help where help is needed, but at the same time she has constraints, one being that she manipulated by the antagonists. And In contrast to that, the kids do their best to help her feel like she is important and more than a command program to be used insincerely. She grew to love the Protostar crew, that's evident in her body language in this scene. She has a lot of depth overall. Equal to the real Janeway she deeply feels love, guilt and pain, but importantly she is transformed by the her time on the Protostar and while active, learns and grows with Dal, Rok-tak, Zero, Jankom and Gwyn. It's REALLY sweet that they care all care about each other.

I love her and I love JANEWAY!!!!

🥹 Favourite behind the scenes picture.

Ooooh I love all behind the scenes stuff. My brother in Christ It's super difficult to just name one thing and I'm very greedy!! I wish we had more BTS content for Voyager but sadly, it's a matter of grab what you can, however you can. Anyway, I have an inherent interest in seeing the cogs behind the wheel. I chose these samples because I think they're charming.

The continuity polaroid's are so fun and a lost technique, I like to think about assistants having to pull the actors aside and asking them to take those. How daunting! Kate's grin in the one where she is offset is SO cute. So she must have been in a good mood, super Cheeky!

Following that is a screenshot from a video of her having her makeup done. A rare catch. I like this because she often sooks about how much time hair and makeup was spent on her to become Captain Janeway. I get it's a huge time-sink, but love or hate it, the full irony is that her early season appearance is really iconic and in it's own right adds to Captain Janeway's sensibility. Silly goose Kate! Besides that, she looks hot checking herself out, haha.

Moreover, I love on-set editorial photos of actors in costume. While we did have heaps of them in the Starfleet uniform, I wish we had a larger collection with clearer releases, it would have given an opportunity to see in things of interest better detail. Particularly the lower half of unique costumes. For whatever reason special outfits weren't often established or framed for us to see the legs in the show, so a nice big photograph would have solved that. Also I love that these style of pictures capture an impression of an episode without giving it away.

Similarly, fly on the wall on-set photos are cool. They're way more intimate and candid than anything else and it makes me feel as though I am spying on the actors, but they're also a good way to document how things might have been on set.

The Timeless one is interesting too because it's of a deleted scene, we never see Chakotay look at a dead Janeway (how deliciously macabre!), but at some point in time it was in the script and they filmed it.

Hmm this bts picture of Janeway in the Cardigan is adorable! I believe it was worn by Kate for a Charity but look how cute she looks? Makes me wish we saw her mess around with things like that more because 7 Years is a long ass time to be in uniform everyday ( coming from someone who went to school in a Uniform and enjoyed it for the most part). Casual Fridays anyone?

I love this gif. It's from the first shoots of Caretaker and Kate looks so radiant! Her smile is is breathtaking! Whenever I see this gif I get a sense of delight. Poor thing had no idea what she was getting herself into, haha. Really though, check out the original Caretaker photos, they're super-cool. The history behind it is fascinating; I'd love to see more footage from that version of the pilot episode. Unfortunately, it's probably not preserved well, much like lots of Paramount's historical material.

On a similar trend, it's fun to see this set of pictures too. It's for the First Contact film / maybe the Universal studios ride, when she reprised her role as Vice AdmiralJaneway. Kate was genuinely delighted to do this cameo and it shows. As per her operandum she put her whole self into this small segment and that's so darling. It makes me wish we had more of this Janeway at that point in time. I love post Endgame chubby-Janeway. In a fictional sense it denotes that she is comfortable or stressed to be an Admiral (sadly it's the latter in real life) or whatever and I love that for her.

These kind of pictures are fun because it's been said that at times it was the most playful set to be on. There are tales that the cast were not that serious all the time. You get that impression here, and it's probably why the majority of them are still good friends to this day. They're like a family bros!!! Having worked in media I know that wrapping up after working on something for a long time is really rewarding and I bet they had a good time at parties.

Apropos previous, the opposite can be said. While they had fun, the hours were long and the scripts intensive. Kate was around for all of the episodes of Voyager in one way or another, and still managed to bring her A-game each time. She is truly admirable! Seeing her so exhausted is charming. She had a lot of weight to carry for the franchise and did an exemplary job performing her way through 7 years of weird and wonderful material. I wonder how often they fell asleep on set? I know I would. Get some rest queen!

Finally, I've been following Prodigy bts as best I can, and because of my career in animation I get pretty interested in Production art. I love seeing the fast metamorphosis of a visual style. It's really impressive how much attention they applied to the designs, maintaining the older stuff, while adapting a new frontier. One of the lead artists made some pretty neat observations to get Kate's appearance right. It's so cool that they documented that journey, because from my dabbling I know she has a very beautiful, distinct face that isn't easy to capture.

ANYWAY Thankyou for reading my fat thesis fellas. tl;dr i love this stinky Startrek Voyager and by extension the franchise.

#I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS WALL OF TEXT I HAVE A LOT TO SAY AND I THINK ABOUT THIS DARN SHOW A LOT #also my bad it's mostly voyager but it's my true love #hope you can make sense of this I'm fairly illiterate and writing is so hard for me lol that's why i write more than is probably necessary #i like the other trek shows but this one is something special if you know what i mean #appreciate you if you read all this MWAH MWAH #thankyou for the ask thresholdbb ily!!!#Thresholdbb #Kathryn Janeway #janeway #star trek voyager #star trek prodigy #st:voy #kate mulgrew #no sources for this you just gotta trust im a big fat expert :^)#i really need an editor my dyslexic-a jumbles up and forgets words when i write its so embarassing #i have a pretty large collection of pictures now but i could always use more #i also should probably save videos where i can because they get buried / removed from the internet

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