#that's not even hyperbole I GENUINELY cackle every time

[royalarchivist]

[ via @DuneDoArt ]

I'm not typically one to repost tweets, but literally every single time someone uses this emote for a bit I start cackling like a crazy person (the caption made me laugh too).

[wordstrings]

Kryptonite pt 2

Written & submitted by Silvie. Publisher’s notes can be found at the end. Words: 2,150

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: CW-undisclosed boundary accidentally crossed, trauma response (rift repaired with care and attention and consent re-prioritized), vague/brief nsfw reference at very end of fic.

_______________________________________________

Lightning fast, Cas’ hands are on Dean’s uppermost ribs, prodding in between them with lethal skill. 

It takes no time at all for Dean’s knees to full-buckle and drop. He is squatting above the kitchen tile, falling forward, away from Cas, who has followed Dean to the floor and is on him so close Dean can feel Cas’ exhilarated breath on the back of his neck. He spends a few moments fighting between his opposing urges to extend an arm to hold himself up, or to clamp his elbows to his sides in an attempt to dampen some of the electricity sparking under Cas’ fingers. The leftover wine-buzz, the late hour weighing on his muscles, the surprise of it all, leaves him no room for defences, and he is barking out his laughter more quickly than he’d hoped. 

Cas has been following Dean’s every movement, tracking him, moment by moment, and adjusting himself accordingly. When Dean’s knees buckled, Cas stepped in closer, flushing his chest to Dean’s back, bracing to catch whatever fraction of Dean’s weight would inevitably fall into him. When Dean dropped to a squat, Cas went right to the floor along with him. From there, he enjoys watching Dean short-circuit, tied between reaching for purchase and protecting himself. When Dean’s sensitivity wins out over his dignity, and he clamps his arms down over Cas’ fingers in protection, Cas sure does not waste any time in propping Dean back, helping him totter and sprawl awkwardly out on the linoleum. Cas smiles, loving the way Dean is fully allowing himself to be guided into a more vulnerable position. Cas pries his hands from where Dean’s trapped them in his protective slammed-to-sides arm trap, and steps gracefully around the cackling man to straddle him. 

Cas beams down at Dean while he gives him a moment to sober.

“I really thought you were being hyperbolic when you described yourself as ‘stupid ticklish’.” Cas says, grinning while Dean throws his hands over his face, avoiding Cas’ gaze. Dean tries to groan, like he wants to be anywhere but there, but the sound comes out far too brightly, and giggles tumble into his hands.

Cas wants to see more of that pretty, giddy face. He takes his two pointer fingers and wiggles them high up on Dean’s obliques. Dean makes a glorious sound of surprise that fizzles into slithering snickers, slipping out between his tongue and teeth. He dismisses one of his hands from its face-hiding post and allows it to bat uselessly in Cas’ general vicinity.

He pokes around and wiggles over Dean’s front ribs and abs and he loves the way this makes Dean stick the tip of his tongue between his teeth and crunch his nose as he laughs. Cas flexes his hand into a claw and spiders it up Dean’s side. He wiggles his fingers into the divot between Dean’s pec and his upper ribs, like a real spider might dig down into desert sand. He finds his way in, and is able to dance his fingers at the bottom of Dean’s armpits, no matter how hard Dean squeezes his elbows in. Dean’s feet scramble out on the floor behind Cas’ back—shaking out excess energy or fighting for purchase— and from his seat on Dean’s bouncing hips, Cas bucks in place. 

“You could also accurately employ the term ‘debilitating’ next time you’re prompted to describe your ticklishness. Dean, you are definitely debilitatingly ticklish.”

Dean makes a noise that could very accurately be called a whine, but the mouth it slips out of is smiling ear-to-ear. He shouts “Cas!” through his laughter, in a tone that indicates this teasing is unfair. His hands snap back to his still-flushing cheeks and he attempts a slight roll to the side, trying to hide his growing blush.

Cas yanks his hands again from Dean’s smoosh-sandwich and takes advantage of his mostly-unprotected torso, pinching around the lower part of Dean’s sides. Dean gasps. His laughter lightens into silence and his head shakes no, eyes wide, and he grabs the wrists of the offending hands. 

For the first time, Dean is protesting, although the fight he puts up is not very convincing, his watery wait’s and his jovial no’s are threaded with genuine excitement. They spend a moment tied up in the action— Dean, who was previously quite clumsy in his defence efforts, suddenly has laser-sharp focus and a seemingly primal, instinctual knowledge of how to protect himself. They go through a few rounds of Cas getting his wrists caught by Dean’s hands, then slipping out of his grip and reaching back in for his hips, then being thrust away again. Dean’s laughter has kicked up a notch; though premature, he’s graduated from snickers and giggles and chuckles to shouts and a deep belly-laughter. He’s babbling, bartering, trying to negotiate like his life is on the line, but there is sunshine glaring from his every pore. 

Cas really wants some quality time with those hips. But he must take a detour. The scenic route, he supposes.

He stretches his arms back behind him, past the limits of Dean’s reach, and digs with clawed hands into the meat of Dean’s thighs. Dean gasps before falling into cackles. He jackknifes, reaching for Cas’ arms again, finds he can’t quite reach, and settles for his default—hands over face, rolling and arching and crashing into the tile below. He’s kicking his legs out straight, bending them, twisting them side-to-side, but there is no way he can move that will evade Cas’ feverish hands.

When Cas deems Dean sufficiently melted, sufficiently distracted, he swoops back in, latches those claws onto Dean’s hips.

Dean shouts out his surprise, curls to sit right up, grabs again at Cas’ hands, his breath stuttering between his deep and easy laughter.

Since someone didn’t dry their dishwater-wet hands quite so thoroughly, his grasp is far too easy to slip out of, and Cas is swift then, guiding Dean to lay back down and scooching his seat up to straddle higher on Dean’s waist, so he can’t sit back up if he wanted to. Cas leans into Dean, smiles dangerously down at his wide-eyed, fully grinning face, which rolls back and forth as he shakes his head, expression laced gorgeously with intertwining panic and ecstasy.

Cas walks his fingers like scurrying spiders against the tile, reaches behind his own seat, where Dean’s hips are now completely unprotected. He skitters there gently, taunting Dean’s bare skin, where the bottom hem of his shirt’s rumpled up in the scuffle.

Dean bucks at the light brush of Cas’ fingers on his skin. He takes a moment to fully absorb his position. Cas looks menacingly down at Dean, but raises his eyebrows, adding a false painting of innocence to his expression, watching him realize how absolutely fucked he is.

“Uh oh,” Cas singsongs, on Dean’s behalf. 

Dean babbles, already laughing, pushing at whatever part of Cas he can reach. His mouth is saying, “Wait, wait, wait—you can’t,” sputtering words out between breathless laughter, but his eyes are genuinely begging him to continue.

The look on Cas’ face is delicious, so devious, when he hums and says, “Can’t I?” He floats his hands a few inches above Dean’s skin and makes a big, slow, show of getting closer, and closer, and closer.

And though the opportunity has always been there, it is the first time Dean moves to scribble his own hands into Cas’ skin. In this new position, with Cas straddled higher on Dean’s waist, Dean can reach easily up to the dip of Cas’ own waist. So he does. Cas gasps to cover what had nearly been a squawk. His laughter bubbles out right away. He grabs Dean’s wrists, pulls them away from his sides, looks at him, feigning appall, like, how very dare you? and pins Dean’s wrists to the floor above his head. 

When Dean tugs at his captive wrists and squirms, his expression suddenly shifts. His energy changes and it seems that every cell in the room changes with it. Cas notices immediately. By the time he hears Dean’s genuine protests start to spill out, he is already letting go, moving off of him.

Dean moves to sit up, is trembling slightly. He sips at a series of grounding breaths.

When the game is no longer something that Dean feels like he is playing an active part in, and shifts into something that is happening to him and his system panics. 

Dean stands first and Cas follows, keeping his distance, staying attentive while Dean paces a little, moves his own body, reminding himself he has control of his movements again. 

Dean is murmuring something a few times over about being sorry, trying to laugh it all off, hiding his further-reddening face. 

Cas pulls out a seat from the kitchen table for Dean, and he sits down, face toward the floor. Cas chases Dean’s downcast gaze. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Cas insists. “I apologize. I crossed a boundary. I should have asked.” 

Dean lifts his gaze slowly, like it takes tremendous effort, and meets eyes with Cas. He nods and half-smiles in an appreciative way, then lets out a long exhale, hands on his knees. 

Cas gets Dean a glass of water, and he sobers soon after. Cas is attentive and caring and apologetic until Dean convinces him he really doesn’t have to apologize anymore. 

Cas finds the nearest wall leans back against it. Things are silent and a little awkward for a moment before Dean gets up from the chair, shaking the moment out of his limbs a little, and walks toward Cas. He laughs out his nervous words, wringing a bit at the back of his neck. 

“I didn’t mean to cut the fun short.”

He fumbles, tries explaining that he just needs to have his hands, needs to be able to go through the movements of protecting himself, even when he knows the fight is futile. 

Cas nods, offers a soft smile. 

“That makes sense. Duly noted.” 

Then he asks, plainly, “How about when I straddled you? Was that too much?” 

Dean shakes his head, smiling at the memory. 

“No.” He scuffs his feet sheepishly, mumbles, “Liked that.” 

Dean is looking somewhere above Cas’ head when he suggests maybe they could try again. 

Cas nods, eyes adoring. He asks, “Now? Or sometime in the future?” wanting to be clear on boundaries this time. 

Dean plays with his lower lip, looks at every wall, every piece of furniture, every floorboard—everywhere but at Cas. 

“Maybe, now? If you wanted….” he manages. 

Cas nods, takes a step toward Dean, comes closer until he’s standing near enough for him to hold Dean by the waist and for Dean to lean his forehead on Cas’. 

They do just that, and Dean focuses on playing with the hairs on Cas’ forearms. 

“Anything else I should know?” Cas asks. 

Dean doesn’t mean to say this, he really doesn’t, but the words slip out, dressed in a whisper: “Hips are a death zone.” 

Cas breaks into an unbridled grin. He wants to tease, Yes. That is information already gathered. Instead, he nods. He wants clarification, though. 

“Something to steer clear of or—?” 

Dean interjects quickly. 

“Something to be careful with,” he corrects. 

Cas nods again, and Dean is starting to love watching him nod. 

Cas swings him around slowly, guiding Dean to lean his back against the wall. The spot is warm from where Cas had been standing. He waits a moment, eyes on Dean’s, to make sure this position does not have him feeling constricted. When Dean gives the all-clear, fingers slide slowly down his waist, lifting the hem of his shirt again, and teasing gently at the aforementioned “death zone.” 

The touch is so slow, so light, so feather-soft, it has Dean inhaling through his teeth and gripping Cas’ skin and working to override his every instinct because he does not at all want to run away. He tosses his head back against the wall, jaw slack, throat stuttering, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, as the electric sparks send a rush of blood down beneath his waistband. He soon finds his groin pressing through his jeans against Cas’ leg. 

Cas stills his fingers. He drops his eyes slowly from Dean’s face, to the junction of his legs. He makes a grand show of noticing; arching an eyebrow up before flicking his eyes back to up Dean’s, tilting his head slowly, examining. He looks at Dean’s lightly panting mouth, and is inspired to make an even bigger show of being really, really into this. 

As he snakes around to mouth lightly at the side of Dean’s neck, below his ear, he drops his voice just shy of a hiss, lets it gravel. 

“Anything else I should know?”

—

Publisher’s note: This… is the best birthday gift I’ve gotten in a LONG time. I am IN LOVE with this characterization. Silvie, you are incredible and I adore you.

[marvellouslymadmim]

Oh I'm coming at you bro! Which story have you been stuck on then has had that golden bolt of inspiration and boom genius? What's your favourite review? A fic that would be put into a quiz to describe you and your stlye? And how do you get into the writing zone?

Oh, damn. For all my “come at me, bro”-ness, I was not prepared for you to come at me this hard!!! (I love it, thank you!) Ok...a story I have been stuck on, then had a golden bolt of inspiration and boom genius? hermmmmmm....most recently, probably All That Glitters. I got distracted by other projects and then coming back around to it felt like such a monumental task because I wanted to “get it right” and I felt like I’d taken such a long break that I couldn’t possibly make that happen. And then...like one day I just woke up and felt “yeah, I really, really want to write this story again.” I don’t know how or why. But just like...my brain was clearly not stressed out and able to handle it, so yay!

My fave review. (more Jeff Goldblum noises...) There are so many amazing readers out there, who have left reviews that had me cackling like a maniac or squealing with fan-girlish delight...the most hyperbolic ones always send me. I don’t think I could ever have *one* favorite. My favorite types are the ones that are along the lines of “life is tough right now, but this story helped me”. Like...that’s why I do it. I have always taken immense comfort in stories, and the idea that I can give that gift again in turn, even for a few minutes, is just...mind-bending in the best of ways. 

There was one a few weeks (days? months? time slaps differently these days, ya know) that genuinely made me cry (honestly, that is NOT a hard feat, I’m a marshmallow), because it mentioned how basically I was helping them retain sanity in these insane times. And it meant so much because my writing is my only hold on sanity so many times, so to have it be that meaningful to someone else...ok, I’m getting a little teary eyed again.

For the record: I am a little review hording gremlin and love them all, tbh. 

A fic that would be put into a quiz to describe me and my style....hummmm, probably the entire run of Softly and Tenderly We Begin. Because I DO THE SLOWEST OF SLOW BURNS EVER Y’ALL AND IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW, NOW YOU KNOW.  But more specifically, Chaos, Thy Name is Circe. It has (what I feel) are my best elements: slow burn, USELESS LESBIAN PINING, fun OCs, and world building, which is my fucking absolute jam. How I get into the writing zone: honestly, I get up, drink a huge-ass glass of water and take a ridiculous amount of vitamins and supplements, and then get to writing, before anything else can buzz into my brain and distract me. I get up at 5.30 every morning during the work week, just to have a solid 90min writing block before I have to get ready for work. On days off, I don’t wake til 7ish, and somedays (like today!) I literally just write all day, with a few small breaks throughout. Generally, throughout the day at work, I’m mulling over potential lines, working and reworking them. When I hit a particularly good one, I jot it down on my phone. So I’m basically never not in the zone.  BUT if/when the writer’s block hits, I go back over my outlines, update them according to new published chapters, listen to my fic playlist, and re-read the entire published section of the fic to jumpstart my brain back on track.

Come at me, bro: inbox random-ass questions about my stories, itemized number lists be damned.

[lemonietrinket]

Trio ||| Minhyuk x Reader x Jooheon

Summary: Movie nights with your favourite bickering friends is always an event to behold. Everything is peaceful with your trio of giggles, and that’s the way it would stay. You were sure of it.  Genre: Fluff Warning(s): Oneshot that accidentally gained a plot that may now need a sequel but I’m busy so idk Word Count: 2831 Theme Song: Humph! - Pentagon AN: December 12 prompt, movie night. Credit as usual goes to @songi-writes I’m going to keep tagging I’m sorry I don’t want to be annoying but I feel like a thief otherwise I’m sorryyyy!! Do I call him Jooheon? Joohoney? I do not know ..... i love u bb joo i promise

~~~

The living room was filled to the brim with near-manic giggles that didn’t falter even as you entered the room. Confusedly tilting your body round the door frame, you caught a glimpse of the thick fluffy blanket on the sofa moving as if it had a life of its own.  The amalgamation of pastel blue fluff juddered as another roar of raucous laughter emanated from its depths, its sides flourishing and stretching at random while it snorted unceremoniously.

Quickly grabbing the snacks from the kitchen counter, you hurried into the fray, coming to a halt directly at the side of the beast.

Upon closer inspection, you could see the shapes rippling beneath the blanket reflected one person being held captive by the other, and, going by the sudden convulsions at one end, said captive was being tickled ferociously—leading him to kick wildly in response. 

You didn’t even need to listen in to work out who was the perpetrator here, though deciphering who started it would perhaps be a trickier endeavour. 

Dropping the snacks on the coffee table, you crouched down strategically, aiming to free the victim from his torture.  Tactfully, you leant in at an angle that allowed precision and accuracy, and low enough so to avoid any collateral.

And then, you struck.

Minhyuk took the jab below the ribs with glamorous dignity. And glamorous dignity meant shrieking like a fox.

The manoeuvre gave Jooheon a chance to escape, which he took gladly, knocking the blanket off his head and breathing a huge sigh of relief.

“It’s not over yet soldier!” you exclaimed, swooping in to protect him from recapture, catching Minhyuk’s arms as they swung round to grapple Jooheon back to his body. “Honey, get him!”

 “Oh!” Jooheon was startled, but immediately dug his fingers into his band mate’s sides. Cackling, Minhyuk tried to wriggle free, but found himself laughing too hard. 

“G-guys! Sto-! P... h—yah!” 

“We will never relent!” you declared, letting go of his wrists, deciding he was rendered practically immobile by that point, and joined in on the assault.

Bad move.

Instantly Minhyuk caught you instead, dragging you onto his chest and using his legs—albeit trapped in the end of the blankets—to push Jooheon down onto the two of you. 

Yelping at the sneak attack, you were immediately trapped in Minhyuk’s grip, leaving him free to do whatever he wished, which in this case was unleashing an merciless attack upon your stomach. You were left barely able to breathe between laughter, your body shifting wildly with every jolt of giddiness, while Jooheon was left to collapse on your back, cheek squished against your shoulder as he scolded the perpetrator weakly.

Minhyuk laughed victoriously, his master plan of a cuddle pile coming together neatly, even though he couldn’t really breathe either. 

Suddenly though, there was a high-toned thud that made you all freeze.

“What was that?” Jooheon asked groggily.

You grimaced. “The remote, I think.”

The two turned simultaneously to glare disapprovingly at Minhyuk as you groaned, it no doubt being a consequence of his kicking legs.

“Hey!” he whined, “I didn’t know it was there! Also you were tickling—! You can’t blame me entirely!

Clambering off the sofa, you left him to pick up the blanket as you joined Jooheon in searching for the lost remote.

He had his head hanging down the gap between the sofa, end-table and armchair, attempting to spot the black remote in the shadow there. You rolled your eyes at the slight lack of common sense, leaning over to turn on the lamp on the table. 

The click and sudden ability to see made him jump slightly, but he swung himself a little further down nonetheless. “I can’t see it here!” he called.

You huffed, scowling exaggeratedly at Minhyuk who reciprocated with an even more hyperbolic pout, before laying your hand on Jooheon’s back, indicating for him to stand up.

You felt his body stiffen slightly at your touch, head reappearing to make eye contact with you, bemused. 

“I hope it’s not under the chairs,” you remarked, crouching down onto the carpet, “otherwise Minnie’s in big trouble!”

You heard Jooheon laugh at him and say a teasing comment that you couldn’t quite make out as you pressed your head onto the floor, your phone flashlight on.  Your shoulders slumped as you spotted the remote nearly in the very centre of the space below the armchair.

“Found it,” you sighed, obviously disgruntled, “it’s under there but it’s too far for me to reach and,” you got to your feet, brushing your hands on your shirt, “like hell I’m sticking my hand under there.”

“Why not?” Minhyuk asked, tugging Jooheon’s ear until you pursed your lips at him, to which he smiled, wide and bright, and let him go. “You... scared?”

You protested his accusation. “Uh?! Hyuk? Are you not scared of the under-space? That’s the place where demons live, I’ll have you know.”  

He scoffed, passing Jooheon and patting you on the head. “Well, I’m not scared, I’ll get the remote.”

“Yeah, and because it’s your fault it went missing in the first place, remember! You are totally doing the washing up today.” You chuckled at the huff you heard from the floor.

The other man just laughed. “There’s no such thing as demons, Y/N.”

You looked him dead in the eye, slightly taken aback by how beautiful his eyes were. Fashioned of a gemstone in normal situations, in the lamplight they had become the glittered pools of two galaxies. “Can you be sure?.”

As you perched on the edge of the sofa, you could barely stop the giggle from arising from your throat as you heard Jooheon check with Minhyuk that demons didn’t exist, the laughter gradually dying in his voice. 

And especially when the man on the floor just brightly replied, “If thinking that helps you sleep at night, sure!” 

Jooheon looked back to you, a highly unnerved expression upon his features.  He looked so adorable when he was ever so slightly petrified.

“Oh, Honey, it’s ok they don’t exist, I promise,” you cooed, motioning for him to come and join you on the sofa. He obliged, soft lips set in a trembling pout, taking the space to your left and curling into your chest as soon as you opened your arms for a cuddle. You couldn’t resist squishing his cheek gently, reassuringly holding him close.

“And even if there was, Honey, we’d never let them hurt you,” Minhyuk added, before jumping up victoriously, remote in hand, “I got it!”

You nodded, playfully smushing both of Jooheon’s cheeks so his lips were pursed. “Besides, most demons are nice anyways. They just get a bad rep.”

Minhyuk sent you a quizzical look, but you pointed to the TV, silently asking him to load up the film. “We’ve procrastinated long enough, I think.”

He put his hands on his hips. “The things you make me do, Y/N.”

You pulled an indignant face at him, which he mimicked right back, before turning to the set, opening the box and placing the disk in the tray.

Once it was done, he returned to the sofa, retrieving the blanket and arranged it so it covered you and Jooheon nicely, and then finally climbing under himself.

“Thank you~!” you sang, watching him shuffle and get comfortable, before inclining towards, but not quite against, your free shoulder. You wondered how long it would take for him to give in and sprawl across you, basically making you into a pillow for two tired dorks. 

Not that you minded. They were so warm, and you like being crushed with affection, genuinely. The true remedy for touch-starvation. Besides, it was your choice of film, and though you were interested in it, it wasn’t one that the other two were that fussed about, so you’d foreseen this.

Taking the remote from Minhyuk as he shifted, you held it to Jooheon, for him to press the buttons. After all, though arguments over who got to use the remote was something you had not foreseen the first time, you weren’t about to let that happen again any time soon.

The film menu screen faded into black, and you felt Minhyuk’s arm snake around your waist.

50 minutes, you thought, 50 minutes will be how long it takes before they’re out like lights.

.

.

The film was as enriching as you expected, and you couldn’t help but mentally gush about just how on point the metaphors were, or how the colour schemes helped foreshadow the unfurling events—you realised as you went. And usually it took a lot to distract you from all movies. However, the two things that could distract you the most were situated on either side of you, and they were doing a brilliant job of it by somehow putting in as little effort as possible.

It hadn’t taken long at all for Minhyuk to give into resting his head on your shoulder. He’d started off by nuzzling his nose into your neck, deliberately trying to distract you so you would hold his hand. When you did as he wished, he decided he was happy with his head upon your shoulder, and so there he remained. Eventually, he untwined his fingers from yours in favour of holding you in his arms fully, and so you resorted to threading your fingers through his hair, very carefully easing out any knots you stumbled across. 

That had been what sent him to sleep, you reasoned, with his arms clutching you like a teddy bear. Very occasionally he hummed in his sleep, tiny whines or murmurings of something barely understandable. One time you thought he’d uttered the word ‘love’ but it was hard to tell, with his mumbling coinciding with a swell in the music of the film.

It remained though that you’d no doubt overestimated his willpower by a good 40 minutes. He hadn’t opened a single packet of snacks, nor asked what was going on. It amused you how quick they were to lull into the arms of sleep when warm and coddled. It made you feel good, that they felt secure in your arms enough to drift off whenever.

Meanwhile, it was Jooheon that had proved to be much stronger, willing his heavy eyelids not to droop too low and lull him into a sleep. He was sullenly watching the film, somewhat transfixed by its motions and colours, rather than the messages and dialogue, but he’d stayed awake for a while, even if he hadn’t gotten anywhere near the 50 minute mark.

“Hey Honey, you doing ok?” you whispered, smoothing his shirt sleeve beneath he blanket. 

He nodded once, lacking the energy or the desire to do anymore than that. He was perfectly comfortable where he was, not wanting to move a millimetre if it meant causing even the slightest bit of discomfort. 

“You want any snacks?” you enquired, receiving the tiniest shake of his head. It wasn’t like you could reach them anyway.

You rubbed his back, feeling him press closer into you, if that were even possible. “It’s ok, Honey, you can go to sleep. Heaven knows you need it after the week you’ve had.”

It was if you’d whispered the final command of a hypnotist, as right after the words left your lips, he let his eyes close, nestling his hands to grip your shirt rather than the blanket loosely, and gave into sleep. 

You felt your heart lurch as you felt Jooheon’s breath steady. Glancing across carefully at Minhyuk and admiring how the light of the TV arched across the bridge of his nose, you found no respite as your breath hitched in your throat.

You’d never questioned what you had. You were eternally grateful to have it. You had two people who cared for you so deeply that they immediately travelled to your door from the other side of the city, when all you did was mention that you were a little gloomy that evening. You of course would have done the exact same. But what was it all?

You didn’t let the voices owned by all those unsettled and interrogatory faces into your thoughts that often, because what use was it? But even your obstinate tendencies couldn’t deny that they all did see something, that they all then latched onto like limpets. Constantly asking if one of them was your boyfriend. Acting overtly surprised when you shook your head vividly and asserted ‘no’.  Questioning if you were leading both of them on. And then never letting the idea drop no matter how many times you saw them, no matter how many times you requested them to. 

It was none of their damn business, you were close as friends, a peaceful trio uncomplicated by labels. Friends could be close and touchy and clingy if they wanted to, and you told them that, square to their faces. Only to find them laugh at you strangely. 

That laugh, you’d witnessed in other scenarios, was the one that people always used when they knew something the others didn’t. The laugh people heard when they asked about their favourite character to an older fan, which never indicated their safety. The laugh people uttered under their breath when the movie was paused and they knew something bad was going to happen to one of the characters.

Dramatic irony. 

But you weren’t in love with them, either of them, neither Minhyuk nor Jooheon. No. Well, at least not in that way. At least, you thought.

A particularly loud mumble brought you out of your thoughts, as Minhyuk shifted his weight on your shoulder. 

“Min?” No response. 

You exhaled in a quiet chuckle. From his new position, you could see even less of his face, his lips instead pressed against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His grip was tight at your side, as if he was afraid you’d leave.

You moved your hand from his hair, and placed it at his waist, caressing the sliver of bare skin you found uncovered there absentmindedly. 

Your thoughts swirled, urging you to pull him closer—both of them closer. Even though they were both practically on top of you, you wanted them closer.

What did that even mean...?

You shook your head, taking a glimpse down at Jooheon, fast asleep. A mistake, as you suddenly felt that rise in your soul again. It wasn’t a new feeling, but you’d never felt it this strong before. You’d always written it off as a protective, almost nurturing feeling.

You forced your eyes to focus upon the film again, but you’d lost track of what was going on. The colours blurred and merely danced in front of you.

You wanted to...

No. That was completely, utterly, wholeheartedly a bad idea.

No matter how inviting the idea was, no matter how close they were.

You were just sappy because it was dark out and you were tired and because they’d been so sweet and funny and endearing. 

But it was too late.

With your conscious miles behind, your body seemed to behave by itself.  It was as if you watched yourself in third person. You supported Minhyuk’s head with a hand, as you leant down and placed a kiss onto Jooheon’s hair. Returning, you did the same for Minhyuk, brushing some loose strands back into place. 

You sat up straight again, eyes naturally returning to the screen, and for a solid five seconds there was utter tranquil. No disturbance of a thought, no incessance of a noise.

And then your consciousness slammed back into your head as you realised what you’d done.  What had you just done?

.

.

Panicking, with your chest heaving, you sought an escape route. 

As smoothly as you could, you slipped out between the two of them. Making sure their heads were supported and their bodies covered with the blanket, you praised all the gods evidently watching over you at that moment that they didn’t wake up. Then, you snuck out of the room, into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Sitting on the cool floor, focusing on your breath that was ringing in your ears, you interrogated yourself.

What did you do? Why did you do it? What were you going to do about it?

What you did not know was that they didn’t have a clue either.

When they decided to pretend to be asleep, they had expected to pull a ghost prank on you seamlessly. It would end in you screaming, chasing them around the place, and finally more cuddles when the film was over. They’d checked the bed earlier that day, it was certainly big enough for all three, despite what you’d said!

But now they were stuck, eyes flickering over each other’s faces, on opposite sides of the sofa.

“She kissed you?” Jooheon whispered first.

“Yes!” Minhyuk replied. “You too?” 

“On the head, yes!”

“Same!”

Maybe things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated for the three of you. 

~~~

AN: I’m sorry this fic was late, a lot of things got in my way yesterday. I’m really sorry it turned into a character piece too lol. Y/N has many feelings apparently sksksk

This was also not how I imagined this would turn out. I’m always adding plots to my oneshots pls save meeeee

I will fix up the masterlist soon, I promise. 

College is a pain in the ass and coursework is murdering my soul so yeet me.

I’ll write the next part at.... some point.... 

Feedback is always welcome too like, I’m going to try and edit all of these after christmas so if you think something is too long then lmk 

I’ll stop ANing now.  Thank you for reading! 

Masterlist

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Edited: 18th May 2020

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream - Star Wars: Episode IX - The Rise of Skywalker

Star Wars is a franchise very near and dear to my heart. I’ve grown up watching the films and have fond memories of each of them, in particular Revenge of the Sith, which I got to see in theaters with my father. It’s a series that has introduced me to great characters, great actors, great ways to tell stories, and if nothing else the movies were always fun. I never saw a Star Wars movie I couldn’t enjoy on some level.

That all changed with this movie.

The Rise of Skywalker is a wet fart of a finale. It is a mess, it is underwhelming, it is disrespectful to the previous two films, and worst of all it’s bland. But hyperbole aside, this movie isn’t a complete and utter waste; it’s certainly not the worst film of all time or anything, or even the worst Star Wars movie. It’s just a sad case of a mixed bag where the bag skews more to the bad side than the good side.

Let’s go over what I actually did enjoy first. Obviously, the score was fantastic, but I think this goes without saying; John Williams has never once screwed around, so why would he stop now? His music honestly does a lot of the heavy lifting emotion-wise, as scenes such as the supposed trinity of this trilogy’s reunion at the end would not have any sort of impact otherwise. Then we have stuff like the practical effects, which is both a blessing and a curse as they seem to be a sort of dancing bear for this trilogy. As great and lively as they make the worlds, they shouldn’t be what gets focus over story and character development… but hey, Babu Frik is great.

Speaking of characters, there are a few who were handled very well in this film. In terms of comedy, there is C-3PO and Palpatine. C-3PO is just a genuine riot here, and almost every goofy little joke he cracked gave me a genuine chuckle. He’s really at his best here. Palpatine on the other hand is just a character who is so inherently hilarious that it is physically impossible to be mad at him. Like, he’s an evil zombie wizard who spends half the film insulting Kylo Ren and then the other half cackling and shooting lightning in his big arena full of hooded weirdos while strapped to a big dialysis machine and wearing a sparkling red vest under his robe. Sheev Palpatine is pretty much the greatest character in human history, and while his role in this film is so stupid, shoehorned, and underbaked, you cannot help but crack a grin at the sheer lunacy good ol’ Sheev brings to the table. The sheer revelation that this man actually, canonically had more sex than Kylo Ren is enough to send a man into a fit of giggles.

In terms of actual character, Rey gets a solid arc marred by some incredibly poor writing choices, but overall stays solid throughout. Her interactions with Kylo Ren especially solidify her as an interesting and engaging character, and honestly the whole reveal that she’s a Palpatine is intriguing and could have added depth to her… but they managed to bungle it. And it’s an easy fix too; early on, there’s a scene where she and Kylo are playing tug-of-war with a transporter that is holding an iconic character. Rey accidentally unleashes Palpatine lightning and blows it up, seemingly killing the character inside… only for the character to inexplicably be alive two scenes later. Now, if Rey had actually killed said character by accident and spent the rest of the film struggling with her nature, it would make her ultimate showdown and rejection of Grandpa Sheev’s ideology all the more sweeter and satisfying. A moment at the end would have likewise been improved if she had simply not chosen to rename herself and instead chose to just simply be “Rey,” but gotta have that sweet, sweet branding! Still, I think Rey is remarkably done here, though not nearly as good as she was in The Last Jedi.

But the real MVP here is definitely Adam Driver as Kylo Ren. I’m just gonna say it: this guy carries the film. He has had the most remarkably consistent character arc in this new trilogy, and that concludes just as well here, though sadly in the most obvious way: with a redemption. However, it comes not from Rey, as desperate shippers had hoped, but from his parents – Leia and Han both play a part in ensuring their son’s redemption. And when he’s redeemed, the way Driver is able to convey the character of Ben Solo with just his face and body language is incredible enough to make the redeemed man feel like a totally different character than when he was Kylo Ren, and all of this is without speaking. Driver deserves every ounce of praise he gets for these films, and while I feel his arc would have been far more satisfying if it wasn’t a carbon copy of Anakin’s arc, it’s a testament to Driver’s skill that he managed to sell me such a cliché turn of events and made it work.

This is where my kindness dries up, however, as the rest of this is going to be pretty negative. The story here is just an incoherent mess; it honestly feels like an entire trilogy crammed into one film, a film divorced entirely from the other two films. The big problem with this trilogy is how there is so little cohesion between films that each film feels like a soft reset, and nowhere is that more clear than here. It doesn’t help that this film decides to cram in a bunch of stupid backspaces to everything from The Last Jedi, the most awkward and egregious being how they write off the “Holdo Maneuver” as a one in a million shot at success despite the fact that using the far more obvious “using the rebels as suicide bombers is a bit morally iffy and such a move should not be used unless we’re totally desperate” explanation would have sufficed. It honestly feels like the writers were chickening out a lot of the time and decided to try and distract us from their yellow-bellied attempts at ignoring the previous film by slapping us in the face with tons of fanservice. Sometimes it works – the voices of all the fallen Jedi in the final act was an awesome touch (I hear you Qui-Gon, Windu, and Ahsoka!) - but most of them time it is just painfully on-the-nose and groan worthy, such as when Chewbacca gets his medal. The worst offender here is Lando, who is so carelessly tossed into this mess of a plot that it feels really disrespectful to Billy Dee Williams.

Speaking of screwing over characters though, no one got it worse than Finn, Poe, and Rose. With Rose, it’s frankly just insulting they didn’t even try. It would have been so easy to redeem Rose in the eyes of the fans that didn’t like her character in The Last Jedi; if The Clone Wars can make Jar Jar a likable character, then I’m pretty sure a big budget Hollywood blockbuster can fix the issues of a poorly written character in its sequel. Instead though, this film takes the coward’s route and relegates Rose to a role less important to the plot than Babu Frik, who despite his integral role is only in one single scene. Poe is just handled as nonsensically as ever, given really dumb jokes and a forced and unneeded backstory as a spice smuggler, complete with an implied female love interest in an attempt to try and convince us the character is heterosexual.

But Finn gets it worst of all. Not only does he get a forced implied love interest (who is black, because we can’t have miscegenation in our big blockbuster films!), but he just in general gets shafted so hard. Finn being shafted has been a running theme with this trilogy. The first film set him up to be an integral, important main character, one who would even become the main character…. And then he slowly faded from relevance as the writers put him in increasingly bad plotlines, culminating with the slap in the face this movie gives us by implying but not outright stating that Finn can use the Force. There were so many interesting ways they could take Finn’s arc and they chose the route that is, quite frankly, the absolute worst. The fact that Finn got totally shafted in such a way despite being a fan favorite is all the more baffling and honestly has me wondering what the suits at Disney were thinking. If they weren’t actually minimizing a character as beloved as Finn was after The Force Awakens out of racism, what were they even trying to do? John Boyega has a right to be as angry as he is.

There’s other stuff that’s obnoxious. Leia’s scenes are all terrible and poorly executed, which comes off as really disrespectful to Carrie Fisher; the romance in this film which, as mentioned above, is totally forced, but special mention goes to the Ben/Rey kiss at the end, which while not some life-ending travesty is so utterly out of nowhere due to the lack of romantic chemistry between the two in any of these films that it’s laughable; the editing is so incoherent and terrible in places that it feels like it was done by someone on a mixture of crack and Red Bull; the complete waste that is Hux and his childish reasoning for betraying the First Order, completing the character’s change from a terrifying Nazi allegory to a complete and utter joke; the fact that the new First Order general who takes center stage gets so little development despite being a great throwback to Grand Moff Tarkin and a genuinely amazing character otherwise, with a fascinating history with Palpatine that is never explored and no meaningful interactions with the heroes; the complete and utter unexplained nature of Palpatine’s return; and just how painfully unfunny a lot of the humor in this film is. This movie just has so many problems, so many flaws, and it ends on such a completely limp and unsatisfying note that it’s honestly kind of sad.

This film… I don’t know about this film. It’s definitely not the worst Star Wars film, because it at least has some genuinely good bits to it, unlike Attack of the Clones which I can only really justify liking ironically. But that being said, this film is just so unsatisfying, and what’s more, it’s not very memorable. Not much will stick with you with this one, and if it does, it might be more of the bad things rather than the good ones, which is a shame, because I do think there’s some good stuff buried under the garbage here, but I don’t know if it’s worth sitting through this film to find. This is not the worst thing ever, I really can’t stress that enough… but it’s just not fun, engaging, or anything that will really make you feel anything meaningful, and sometimes that’s just worse.

Ultimately, this film has an incredibly uncertain audience. It’s wrapping up a trilogy in one of the biggest franchises on earth with a plotline that tries to pander to fans in a way that feels gross and condescending, leaving the film feeling like it was made for absolutely no one. If you like this, that’s fine; Star Wars is a franchise that has greatness ingrained in its DNA, to the point where I can’t say any of the films are really among the worst I’ve ever seen. But I think generally this is not going to be a film worth watching, and certainly one to skip in any future marathons of the franchise. It really is a shame… this trilogy if nothing else was full of potential to be a new take on Star Wars for a new generation. Instead, it ended up as a confusing, corporate mess. 

[harrieheaux]

Cold Feet

hiiiii so this is teeny tiny but I just could get the idea out of my head. it’s pure unadulterated fluff. I’ve got some Christmas smut coming for you soon so hopefully this can hold everyone over. xx 

It’s a particularly lazy weeknight in your shared flat with Harry. You’re strewn across your modern charcoal sofa in your comfiest sweats, a soft pair of pajama pants and Harry’s merch sweatshirt. He’s equally cozy, sitting at the other end of the couch in running shorts and a Packers jumper, white socks pulled high on his calves. You’d finished dinner not an hour ago. You still sipped at what was left of the red wine in your glass while you read the new thriller novel you were ten feet into at the moment. Harry’s reading something or other as well, he keeps pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose every few minutes.

You stretch your legs out to get more comfy when you finish your wine and brush Harry’s bare thigh with the tips of your freezing toes. He hisses, twitching away from you and fixing you with an annoyed stare. You’ve had this argument more times than you can count in the time you’ve been together. In fact, it’s not even the first time tonight you’ve (playfully) had it out.

“You’re annoying the ever living shit out of me now, babe.”

“I can’t help it,” you pout, you’re not adjusted to the cold winters in England like Harry is.

“You could wear socks like a normal person.”

“S’not normal, at home I was always barefoot in the house,” you remind him, “I don’t like the feel of just socks.”

“Well I don’t like the feel of your ice cube toes all over me, hmm?”

He pulls your legs over his lap unceremoniously, wrapping the loose end of the soft pink throw blanket there around your bare feet and cupping them in his hands. He rubs back and forth and you sigh at the warmth he’s creating, feeling your feet thaw slightly.

“That better?” His tone is so self-important and you scowl at him instead of answering. You’re not a little child and he’d be remiss to forget it. One ill intentioned move and your heel could do some real damage where it’s resting near his favorite body part. You remind him of that fact and he does little but roll his eyes, jostling your ankle with a wide palm.

“S’your favorite part too, don’t forget. Now leave me alone, just got to the good part.” he pushes his reading glasses further up his nose and then resumes his place holding your ankles, the other hand holding his book open as his eyes scan the pages quickly.

You tap the screen on your kindle to get it back open, re-immersing yourself in the thriller. You don’t even realize how invested you are when you suddenly gasp an hour or so later, making both yourself and Harry jump in surprise.

“What happened?”

“They killed him off! Her husband… he’s a main character I don’t…” You explanation is far from coherent but you’re preoccupied with scanning your eyes over the death scene, shocked at the twist.

You can feel the muscles in your face contorted with extreme expression. And you know by Harry’s giggle he’s watching you take it all in.

“I genuinely can’t believe it.” Your eyes meet Harry’s in genuine confusion, “I’m so sad, he was hot.”

“How do you know he was hot? It’s a book.”

“Chiseled jaw, a set of sparkling teeth, a built chest and eyes you could drown in? Sounds well fit.” You do some put on version of an Essex accent just to ruffle his feathers.  

“Don’t start using my people’s slang against me,” he warns.  

“Am I mugging you off?” You burst out into a cackle and he tuts at you, twisting his lips so that his smile doesn’t spread across his cheeks.

“I never shoulda’ let you watch Love Island with Gem.”

“Its so fun!”

You whine and he concedes, pulling your legs in a surprising show of strength so that they’re completely over his lap and your bum is resting against the side of his thighs.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, nipping at the apple of your cheek playfully.

“Am I?”

His nose is skimming the side of your neck as he hums his confirmation, “The worst.”

“You put up with so much,” you sigh, cupping his jaw and bringing his face back up to yours.

He gives you a puppy dog pout with sparkling eyes as he nods, puckering a kiss to the end of your nose.

“Patience of a saint,” you continue through a whisper, accepting the warm kiss he’s offering gratefully.

What he doesn’t say is that he’d take your menace over the whole of the world any day. You know it’s true by the way that his kiss deepens and he pulls you closer against his chest.

His kisses taper off with pert pecks that you can’t help smiling against. He tucks you into the warm curve of his neck, where his smell is undiluted and you can practically taste the spice of his musky cologne.

He holds you like a child in his lap, pulling both arms around you to see the open pages of his book, “Can read with me for a mo’.”

You don’t read as he’d suggested, your eyes skim the page for a moment but you’re too blissfully warm and loved up to focus on the wonderful hyperbole the author is spinning on the page before you. Your eyes close softly as you bury your head into Harry’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, echoes in your ear through the soft cotton of his Packer’s sweatshirt. You sync your breathing to it and sigh as one of his hands leaves the pages to card through the hair behind your ear. Without thinking, you slip your fingers under his sweatshirt, intending to get a hand on his chest and feel his skin. His howl is a reminder of the conversation you’d had not an hour before when your icy fingers meet his furnace hot torso. Your hand shoots away, leaning back to catch the look of equal parts shock and annoyance etched across his face. His brows are high and knitted together, mouth hanging open as he looks at you incredulously.

You burst out in a cackle, unable to stop when you see the surprise across his face.

“What did I just say?” He’s trying to sound fuming but it’s much too hard to stay mad at you when you’re giggling like a lunatic.

Instead he joins you with a worn chuckle, shaking his head and bringing the offending hand to his mouth and kissing your icy fingers one by one.

“Gonna return you to the store one of these days,” he grumbles.

It’s an empty threat and you know it. In honesty, he’ll just keep sitting on this couch with you, letting you warm all your icy extremities against him, for as long as he can.

[musingsofaperpetualdaydreamer]

I’m not good with words, I wish I could say something beautiful and eloquent that could adequately convey how I feel about this album. But here’s my best stab at it anyways. You my love are insanely talented. This right here is an actual masterpiece. And no, I’m not being hyperbolic. You masterfully weave these poetic lyrics into this magical tapestry that you breathe to life into with your vocals and beautiful melodies and rhythms that serve as a beating heart beat pulsing through it all. They’re more than just songs. They transport you to another dimension where you’re watching memories and scenes play out, sometimes layered on top of one another.

That’s what I love about your music, in drawing from your own life and putting your heart and soul into it, your music is so much more than just songs, they’re like little pieces of you that are now hold a life of their own. Kind of like Pensieves in Harry Potter. It’s so rare and a quality that is just your signature. But it never feels old and tired or too foreign, every album is new in its style and approach but they’re always you and beautifully done. The fact that you put so much thought and care into it all means the world. (Oh wait I just realised this is also sorta like the concept of the Lover music video. We’re the girl and every album is the magic snow-globe giving us a little peep into your world haha).

This album really stands out to me amongst the others though. I love them all to death (I will still forever remain adamant that RED was robbed of her Grammy for album of the year). This was extra special in that it was like a beautiful kaleidoscope of the different shades and seasons of love and tiny pieces of all the different old Taylor’s scattered amongst the pieces of the self you have currently evolved to. You listen to it in awe, everything is precious and magic. It’s so beautiful. Your mind is so beautiful. Your heart is so beautiful. You are so beautiful.

There are truly no bad songs. I genuinely mean that. Listening to the entire album feels cathartic. You feel everything. You really captured the intensity of all of those different emotions, their depth and range, and even the complexity of feeling multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously. Your bravery in allowing yourself to be so vulnerable, continues to inspire me.

It’s not just the songs, reading your diary pages was really special and I am so grateful that you trusted us enough to do that. I still find it crazy when I can relate to lines in your songs, writing/poetry and now pages of your diary where I’m like, wait that’s exactly what that feels like or I used to be or am exactly like that also! I know you’re like this huge superstar that most likely has zero clue I exist, but growing up with you over the years you really feel like a good friend and you some how manage to make me feel special and understood.

This album has made me cry and want to go back in time and hold you and make it all okay again but also cry lots of happy tears, and cry from the euphoric joy of experiencing the magic of listening to it all, shout that’s my baby that’s my girl and glow with pride, dance, scream, beam from my heart, smile so much my face hurt, feel like I was wrapped in a burrito blanket of the fluffiest forever this is home love, feel enraged, inspired and motivated, cackle, daydream, think deeply, laugh, bop and dance so hard I thought I might pass out, dramatically clap and be like YESSSS GIRL, clutch my heart and fall on the ground, drown in so many feelings, lose my sanity, choke, die dead, like dead dead finito dead and ascend to astral planes I didn’t even know existed. What a heavenly death this is. I feel so blessed to be able to listen to it.

It’s such a powerful album I still kind of feel like I’m floating outside of my own body. It doesn’t seem real that I really get to pour over all these lyrics, commit these songs to memory and incorporate them into the soundtrack of my life (yeah I’m that weird whimsical girl that likes to romanticise everything and imagine her life as a movie and attach songs to memories).

I am so so glad you get to own this album this time. Which feels almost strange to say, you should own the art you create, to suggest otherwise is an injustice. You seem so much more confident in this one, so much freer and it shows in the lyrics and how much your creativity has just soared to impossible heights. This is you at your best.

This album is a masterpiece. I am incredibly proud of you and everything and achieved and become. I am so thankful for this album. Thank you for being you. I love you more than I could ever really say with words. You mean so much to me. I am so so glad that you have found the kind of love you used to dream about and love yourself so much more. You deserve every happiness in the world. I hope this era brings you peace, love, delirious joy and lots and lots of unexpected good magical things happen to you and all your dreams and wishes come true.

Love always,

Mariam 💖✨

[recentanimenews]

Breaking News: Nichijou is Back on Crunchyroll!

Glorious news, everyone. A great wrong has just been righted, and at last, joy and justice have been returned to the world. That’s right: Nichijou is back on Crunchyroll.

If you’re not familiar with Nichijou, you might think the above statement is garnished with perhaps a dash of hyperbole. Well, today I’m here to tell you that is absolutely not the case. Personally, I think Nichijou is the single greatest comedy I’ve seen, and beyond that, it’s also one of the most visually impressive and generally charming productions you’re likely to find. So settle in folks, and let’s explore exactly what makes Nichijou so special!

  Nichijou doesn’t really have a premise beyond “situational comedy ensues,” and its main cast is actually split into two groups. On the one side, we have Mio, Yuuko, and Mai, three best friends and high schoolers who each have their own quirks - Mio is the straight man (sorta), Yuuko is the huge idiot, and Mai is the mysterious weirdo. On the other side, we have Hakase, Nano, and Sakamoto - Hakase is a tiny girl who is also a mad scientist, Nano is a robot she built, and Sakamoto is a cat they give a scarf that lets him talk.

Nichijou proceeds as a series of weird sketches involving both those core groups and all the people they interact with, like Mio and her friends’ classmates, or various local business owners. One sketch will focus on Mio trying to keep her steamy drawings from a cackling Yuuko, while the next might focus on Nano negotiating with the professor about taking out the giant winding key on her back (“but it’s cute!”). And in between these, we get wild vignettes about things like the school principal wrestling a deer, or an extended fantasy about the kingdom where he who rules the cubes rules the world.

  By presenting itself as a series of at-best loosely connected skits, Nichijou is able to embrace a vast and endlessly inventive grab bag of comedy styles and unexpected punchlines. Some skits will last half an episode and build up an entire internal mythology, while others will last just for the duration of one particularly absurd visual idea. Some gags are built around extended physical comedy, while others play off the character relationships, or build up visual absurdity, or set up an entirely new visual and dramatic style only to undercut it immediately. One of the great things about Nichijou is that it’s never really content to be just one thing - even if some joke doesn’t work for you, the show’s diversity of styles and consistent movement through sketches means that it’ll soon switch from slapstick to deadpan or absurdism or wordplay or cringe comedy or something entirely different.

Beyond its consistent comedic creativity, Nichijou is also bolstered by the fact that it’s one of the most visually impressive productions of the last decade. Anime comedies aren’t often afforded the fluidity of character acting and fullness of visual storytelling needed to sell gags like “for the first five minutes of this episode, we will be an entirely straight-faced historical drama,” but Kyoto Animation afforded this show all the love it could carry, and the results are incredible. So many jokes within this show are jokes other shows plainly couldn’t do, because they just don’t have the consistent fluidity of animation to make them funny, nor the understanding of comedic timing to make them land. Nichijou is as beautiful as it is funny, and the show’s visual strengths are actually key to the power of its comedy.

  Finally, beyond the show’s aesthetic polish and just-plain-hilarity, Nichijou is also one of the most charming slice of life shows you’re likely to find. In between their wildly destructive arguments and generally pettiness, it is abundantly clear that Mio, Yuuko, and Mai actually care deeply about each other. Their banter feels warm and natural from the start, and over the course of this series, they actually grow closer as friends in a variety of meaningful ways. As for the other main leads, Hakase’s relationship with Nano is likely the closest anime will come to getting a genuine Yotsuba adaptation. As unlikely as it sounds, I’d count Hakase, Nano, and Sakamoto as one of the most endearing anime families out there, a family that sticks by each other even when they’re driving each other crazy. Though the jokes are plentiful and the visual wonders dazzling, it’s Nichijou’s profound love for all its characters, and their love for each other, that sticks with me to this day.

So that’s Nichijou, if you haven’t heard. Perhaps I’ve oversold it a bit, but honestly, there just aren’t that many shows punching in Nichijou’s weight bracket. From its myriad comic ideas to its beautiful delivery and very lovable cast, Nichijou is everything I want in a comedy, and a genuine classic. I am thrilled to see it back on Crunchyroll, and hope at least a few of you end up enjoying it as much as I do!

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Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now, and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com