#the most popular ones at the very least
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Annabeth: *using her dagger for target practice*
Percy: *watching her make a bullseye and yelling at the top of his lungs* I SAID, whoever threw that dagger, your mom’s a HOE
Every Demigod within 20 feet: *staring at Percy in horror*
Percy: *smiles and walks away without a word*
#He’s a Gen Z kid#he’s definitely seen Vines#the most popular ones at the very least#pjo incorrect quotes#pjo tv show#pjo fandom#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo disney+#percy series#pjo#annabeth chase#pjo series#camp half blood#percabeth#annabeth percy jackson#percy jackson disney+#percy jackson incorrect quotes#rick riordan#riordanverse#athena pjo#percy pjo#annabeth pjo
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2024 Tumblr Top 10
1. 11,390 notes - Sep 3 2024
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5. 1,806 notes - Jun 1 2024
6. 1,579 notes - May 29 2024
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waow 2024 is almost dead!!! gone too soon. feels like it’s been a big year for me art-wise for many reasons, BUT. i’m making 2025 bigger.... hopefully....i’ve made some art goals for next year which i won’t explain in detail but they boil down to 1) do more studies 2) tackle my weaknesses (backgrounds, dynamic poses/angles, uhhh lots of stuff i am a one trick pony right now) 3) get into drawing comics, all of which are in preparation for 4) take my story ideas more seriously and get started on one of the many graphic novels living in my head. i have one in mind i HAVE to complete in my lifetime or i will die, but firstly i’m gonna mess around with some little standalone svanhildr comics perhaps. goat fans rejoice.
anyway i wasn’t meant to ramble so i’ll just say THANK YOU for the support as always!!! i’m very flattered all of these have more than 1000 notes.....crazy. thank you. muah
#tumblrtop10#my art#looking forward to 2025 i really really REALLY REALLY want to get stuck in with my story ideas.....#my main passion project i'm more and more leaning into not even sharing i cannot lie. it's very personally made for ME to love and enjoy#and i suck at a lot of what i'd need to draw for it (humans interior backgrounds and an art style that's at least a little gritty)#GOD it's been taking over my mind so much i want to gnaw on it but it's in my head#so maybe i'll just do a first draft for me and me alone and when i'm in my 30s and maybe better at those things i can draw it finally#actually one of the characters for that features here hiii mockley!!! coming in at number 2 most popular of 2024 i'm so proud of her#her design's come a long way i'm kind of super happy with her as always <3 i love you my repressed old woman dinosaur#ALSO i'm SOOOOO excited about a character i made recently i can't wait to share her with the world#she's been a LONG time coming....my goirl.....#i will hopefully show her off in the new year#ALSO no one will see this i'm sure but thank you to my commissioners for the patience#i have now finished my break and will continue drawing
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Shuake and Jundori are basically the same ship
List of similarities between Joker/Akechi and Junpei/Chidori:
Ship is between a chill guy and an assassin
Characters share the same persona affinity (Arsene and Loki both use curse, Hermes and Medea both use fire)
Assassin's outfit colors are mainly white and red (specifically akechi's robin hood outfit)
Assassin's persona may hurt them (Loki has call of chaos and Medea attacks Chidori)
Assassin deceives the chill guy into thinking they're normal to get info on the group he's part of
Assassin betrays and kidnaps the chill guy + separates him from his friend group because he's the leader (Junpei was lying about being the leader but Chidori believed it)
Friend group is only cordial with the assassin at best but doesn't wish harm on them
Chill guy is the only one who truly connects with the assassin
Assassin insists they dont care about the chill guy but deep down they do
While responsible for their own actions, the assassin is still being manipulated by someone close to them
Revealed that the assassin's abilities were being exploited by the families of both games' wealthy Empress Arcana (Okumura used Akechi via Shido to assassinate enemies, Kirijo group used Chidori as a child experiment)
In late November, the assassin has a 1-vs-many fight against the chill guy and his friends
After you beat the assassin, the ones manipulating them appear and reveal they're willing to discard the assassin for being weak
The manipulators threaten to shoot the chill guy instead
Assassin sacrifices themself for the chill guy during the shooting
Chill guy's greatest wish was to be with the assassin and losing them challenges their resolve to fight (Joker may or may not fold on 2/2 but Junpei gets his resolve back as part of the plot)
Toxic doomed trope
If Royal and Reload (because thats what I played):
14. Chill guy and assassin have a special attack (showtime and theurgy)
15. Assassin died permanently in the original version of the games, but they can be saved in future remakes (if you spent enough time with them and made the right choices in-game)
I think that's it? But if anyone points out more I will edit this and add them
#i love both these ships so much so i couldnt help but notice the similarities#very interesting that despite being nearly identical jundori is universally-loved while shuake is considered controversial#we all know why (straight vs gay) but yknow. still pointing it out#although despite being controversial shuake is still probably the most popular of the persona ships? at least on ao3#and thats what rlly matters#if the fandom dont got them then at least their boyfriends do. joker and junpei come get ur dubiously-dead lover!#im going to make a post comparing akechi and chidori one day. theyre super similar it's crazy lol#my post#persona 5#persona 5 royal#p5#p5r#persona memes#persona 3#persona 3 reload#p3#p3r#shuake#jundori#goro akechi#akira kurusu#junpei iori#chidori yoshino#p5r akechi#p5r akira#p3 junpei#p3 chidori#p5r analysis#p3 analysis
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girl wake up im writing a no one knows au sequel
“Danny, one of these days you have to tell us what’s up,” Sam said. “You can’t stretch yourself thin like this forever. Whatever your secret life has you doing.” “I don’t have a secret life.” Which is exactly what someone who had a secret life would say, but Danny obviously evaded this with the loophole that was being dead. His secret half-life was also none of their business.
#this is very early stages dont expect me to post for a while#if you're new here the link is to the first no one knows au fic i wrote and the bit ABOVE is now from the sequel#Danny Phantom#anyway following the spirit of the original 'excuse this monster' fic this will ALSO be an AU rewrite of a DP episode. but !!#instead of my favorite episode (my brothers keeper <3<3) it will be one of my least favs#which is also like one of the most popular episodes but like we hate it here because of it's wasted potential#i know i know it's pretty funny to talk about wasted potential in the DP fandom since that extends to so much of the show BUT CONSIDER#i don't care
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It doesn't quite sit well with me when parts of the fandom act as though they don't understand why, exactly, people become so hyper-defensive/are so hyper-sensitive when people bring up Mel being manipulative. It's because this trait has been weaponized to demean and disparage her at the expense of acknowledging any other nuance/facet about her character, and this also often goes hand-in-hand with ignoring the faults of other characters as to emphasize hers. The fact that Mel is a Black woman can not be put aside as a definitive factor as to why and how she's perceived the way she is—by both the fandom and the writers of the show. I would even argue that one of the show's original sins is a lack of understanding of the real-world intersections between race, class, and colonialism.
In regards to both Mel and Ambessa, this lack of understanding is evident in the writing. Writing that ignores the real-world implications of the Medardas and their social position relative to whiteness, which is one informed by socioeconomic and sociocultural disparities as a result of racism and misogyny. Yes, I understand it's a high fantasy show where things like racism don't exist, so to speak, but Arcane, like all media, is informed by the state of affairs of the world we live in. With classism—classism, which Black people are disproportionately victims of—being a core theme of the show (ostensibly), it's disingenuous to disregard the, from a Doylist perspective, haphazard nature of Mel's function in the narrative as a wealthy Black woman in a classist society juxtaposed against poor, oppressed white main characters (this also applies to Ambessa as a warmonger).
With that said, and harkening back to the beginning of this post, even if you're not bringing attention to Mel's flaws and complexities to demonize her, you have to acknowledge them in the context of her as a Black female character being written with little understanding of intersectionality and how they've been weaponized against her, which are the reasons people—specifically Black woman fans such as myself—are compelled to defend her (or even pretend these flaws don't exist. After all, it's never been a problem in fandom when non-black and male characters' flaws are erased/diminished. It can't suddenly become one now). It's easy to say Mel is a multi-faceted, three-dimensional character, thus, that's why downplaying her flaws is a disservice to her charcter, and this isn't an unreasonable point. However, it's harder to admit that the reason people point out these flaws is not always in the service of acknowledging her complexities but instead in the service of demonizing her due to internalized/unknown biases against Black women. In the end, no one has to like a character. No one even has to defend a character they don't like on principle. No one has to not be annoyed at the sanitization of a multidimensional character. But if those things are being done without an acknowledgement of how the perception of that character is mired by racism and misogyny—knowing or unknowing, from the writers on down—then maybe it's time to address some oversights or unpack some internalized biases before wondering why people feel the need to defend that character.
#arcane#mel medarda#fandom sexism#fandom racism#I feel like I've been transported to a parallel dimension when I'm privy to certain discourses on that bird app#and it's become very clear to me that many of you do not understand intersectionality or misogynoir#as a black queer woman it is very irritating to me to see queerness prioritized at the expense of race#as if these things can not and do not exist simultaneously#or shall I say white queerness is emphasized above all at the expense of addressing misogynoir#the disservice done to Mel's character is a result of that + the white centrist pov of the writing that enables broad perception of her#if she were a white man the politics of the show still wouldn’t be good but I can assure y'all#she'd be one of the most popular characters in the fandom#anyway im rambling#I love her#at the very least don't let christian linke touch her noxus spin-off
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I will never not love Sarnax taking phrases too literally. Especially since it usually involves him trying to be helpful, and not understanding that it’s just a phrase
Like Victoria mentioning the phrase “catch more flies with honey than vinegar”, and this man was SO ready to give Victoria tips on how to actually catch flies. I just. I can’t. I love him so much.
It’s like Shepherd keeps saying, Sarnax is a little rough around the edges but he means well.
#I just realized that two of my most recent loa blorbos are both Mikey’s characters#(being Jericho and Sarnax)#huh#side note but when I would see a bunch of cos fanart of Sarnax I just. didn’t fully understand why he was such a popular character#granted this was before I watched cos#but I understand now#this funky little lizard just. absolutely stole my heart by episode 3 at the latest#legends of avantris#curse of strahd#curse of strahdanya#sarnax of the edelwood#also the tail holding is so funny to me bc I have read a lot of Widowmauk smut fics and one common thing among them was that tieflings#tails were fairly sensitive. At least the tips are. which I know logistically doesn’t make any sense for the rest of the tail bc otherwise#you’d hear a tiefling moan every time they bump their tail against a table or smth. but yknow its smut so.#but bc of those fics i know cant help but associate the tip of a tiefling’s tail being very sensitive (and I specifically mean the spade#thing) no I don’t apply this same type of thinking with lizardfolk or Tabaxi and such#because I imagine their tails function the same way as their animal counterparts do#tieflings are just different bc I say so. anyway can you tell it’s late and I’m tire?
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call my name and i’ll come running my behated
#😭😭😭#not to be self-deprecating bc truly all my fics have a place in my heart#im just perpetually bitter that the one i put least effort into is . my most popular fic#PDJDKDB#… i dont care abt notes much these days but#every time i see someone like it im like . TAT#its so outdated !!!!!!!!!!!!!! weeps#i love feral gojo under the moonlight very viscerally but other than that its just … ehhhh#ari noises ✩
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Mfw one of my favorite characters in a game either isn't popular and barely exists in the fandom, or everyone hates them.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/00044850c7779d2df080ee7e7cce9e80/4dcabe1d2ee81037-06/s250x250_c1/0d2ed3e573aebd9f0e36e20d4df22452fd8f1ed6.jpg)
#toy freddy#for the love of Scott Cawthon i beg all of you i need more toy freddy#balloon boy#he is my son and i will throw hands with you over him#the entirety of fnaf4#the twisted ones#they're so funky and gross#i don't care if they're just blank animatronics with illusion disks they've set up camp in my mush brain#this is mostly me crying bc i just had to make half of my favorite characters the least favored/most neglected of the entire damn franchise#also shipahoy dudley#sure wilson is a creep but dudley seems like a very polite boy#it's not his fault his father's a creepy old loon#shipahoy dudley#i worried glam chica would end up like my other favs considering how people basically acted like she didn't even exist before SB came out#anyways this originated from me being sour that toy freddy isn't very popular#y'all too busy lewding a clunky robot chicken that'd actually eat you to appreciate toy freddy#who canonically retired from killing night guards to be a gamer and is actually a pretty funky lil' dude#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#batdr#bendy and the dark revival#fnaf 2#fnaf 4#fnaf the twisted ones
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Twelve, Thirteen, and One
Words: 6k
Rating: G
Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love
(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)
When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.
—
It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.
The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.
When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.
Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.
A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.
When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.
It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.
They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.
Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.
One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.
A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.
Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.
The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.
The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.
They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.
—
The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.
When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.
There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.
The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.
Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.
“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”
He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.
She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.
Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.
The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.
“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”
He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.
It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.
He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.
It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.
—
There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.
She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.
This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.
She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.
When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.
He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—
A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.
It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.
The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.
Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.
Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—
—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.
Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.
“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”
When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.
The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.
—
A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.
It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.
It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.
In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.
When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.
As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.
The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.
“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”
Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.
“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.
The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.
It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.
“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“
They’re different.
The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.
They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.
Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.
“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”
Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.
The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.
“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”
“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”
—
The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”
“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.
She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.
“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”
And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.
Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.
With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.
—
He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.
“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.
“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”
The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.
“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.
They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.
He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?
The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.
“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”
The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.
“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”
The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.
“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”
“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”
It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.
They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.
“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”
“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”
The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!
—
The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.
She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.
Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.
When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.
“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”
The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”
The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.
The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.
“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”
“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”
—
The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.
He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.
He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.
Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.
Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.
It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?
The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.
She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.
“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”
“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”
“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”
—
The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.
“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”
“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.
She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.
Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.
“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”
The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.
The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.
From there, he watches.
It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.
Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.
Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.
They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.
Then, they dance.
Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.
The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.
(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)
The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.
He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.
The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.
—
Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.
She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.
ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.
“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”
THREE—FOUR—
Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”
FIVE—SIX—
Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.
“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.
SEVEN—EIGHT—
“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.
They burst through the door and out into the open air.
NINE—TEN—
It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.
She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.
ELEVEN—
A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.
There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.
TWELVE.
Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.
The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.
—
She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.
It’s quite the walk.
—
The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.
The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.
The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.
The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.
Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?
It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.
There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.
Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.
The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.
Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.
Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.
“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”
“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”
“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”
“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.
The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.
She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.
A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”
The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.
The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.
He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)
“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”
It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.
It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.
—
The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:
One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.
Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?
The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.
The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.
The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.
And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)
“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.
“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”
The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.
One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.
The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.
She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.
With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.
#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT -#since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it)#I tried this one instead!#pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME#And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful!#cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact#please excuse the general lack of editing thus far#I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller#before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions?#Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story.#So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one.#All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! <3#inklingschallenge#four loves fairy tale retelling challenge#love: philia#love: agape#Cinderella#story: complete#basil writes#salt and light
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was really excited for sonic 3 at first but the more information that comes out about it the more nervous i get. we barely even know anything yet and they somehow keep making all the wrong decisions. Come on man.
#first the eggman fatphobia now theyre allegedly picking one of my least favorite fan castings for shadow#i knew they wouldnt pick an actual voice actor but i was hoping at the very least that it would be an idris elba knuckles situation#where they pick somebody no one expected but did a decent job and made it clear that they care about doing the character justice#not just. one of the most popular fancasts. that i happen to really not like#ughhh whatever man#if this is real (which the general assumption seems to be that it is because the site that reported it is usually reliable)#i guess ill give him a chance and actually hear what voice he puts on for shadow before deciding if its bad or not#but im not happy about this decision
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impromptu form of '24 retrospective where i was like i wonder if i did a vivacious cerulean / blue drawing each month? only noticed [none] for october when i got to the point i would've copy/pasted it lol
#naturally not a planned thing like ah gotta get a Blue Pic in there. i just do a lot of them b/c i like it#glanced at the year prior like More Months either w/o something blue or w/o drawings at all. alas#here april was All Blue & july had other more usual Lighter Blues but i picked the lsoh one#also in that bluer & darker than usual coloring kind of balancing out ''not many drawings here; unhoned sketches; desaturated'' lol#big year for sort of getting on that [very light yellow highlight] like kind of Lighting type effects as well#next most popular color choice is probably pinkish purple / purplish pink; not a big surprise with that one#& ofc in picking the exact Blues each time like the slight variation even here w/this pattern & established preference#always still feeling it out & having fun w/the flexibility. while the rare choices like Green; much less sure how i'd wanna use that#meanwhile the trend already continues into january '25 of course#noticing at least desktop tumblr's thumbnails don't have that like mini Slideshow icon in a corner if there's multiple images / a photoset#that is less Information to be sure....also the [none] in october is also like No Drawings period besides simply no blue ones. as more info#there was also the light yellow highlight tayston lying down drawing in april; though i chose the Variety of this solid extra tealy pic....#which is also tayston to me in the inspiration while drawing it lol#certainly if i had included that one then really All These Pics save the more solid may/june ones would have the sorta Lighting going on#the highlights as it were....which is fun to note
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why are all of my based on your likes! posts speculating about famous lesbians not really being lesbians? i checked my likes, theres nothing in there. you all need to stop being fucking weird about lesbians tho. especially lesbians who have dated/fucked men in the past. you look like a toddler with your gold stars.
#charlie.txt#tw lesbophobia#by a lot of posts that means 2 but it has been within the same 24 hours and it was about two different women so that feels like a trend i do#or at the very least the start of a trend that i dont want to be a part of or privy to#chapelle roan has slept with men? lgbtq+ rights are in the line of fire in like. every country. and your biggest concern is chapelle roan#fucking men???????#and for the record i find chapelle roan super annoying and i dont like her music and im saying that so you know im not white knighting my#fav here. im saying that regardless of who it is and regardless of whether or not you like them speculating on someones sexuality is#super fucking weird. SUPER fucking weird.#and even if you were 100% absolutely correct that someone is using a label for support -- an INSANE and tone deaf take that i can only#assume is being made by the most privileged fucks in this shitshow of a community who are stuck in their own little bubble where ppl#loooooove The Queers and thatd SOMEHOW make you More Popular In Society --#EVEN IF YOU WERE CORRECT THIS ONE TIME#YOU WERE STILL SUPER WEIRD FOR HAVING DONE ALL OF THAT.#BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY#YOUR BASIC CIVIL RIGHTS ARE BEING THREATENED. AND YOUR BIGGEST CONCERN IS THAT SOMEONE IS PRETENDING TO BE GAY TO SELL MORE T SHIRTS.
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Man, this doujin isn't fucking around
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ac96221de60603dc68239bb1555ade1a/c261a7707b2a6a54-a8/s500x750/9b41b4ec27a799822c286608a5753af1cff0d206.jpg)
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Meanwhile, Seikuri in the background...
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c7b0ac596cf82947b0729d7df720a5f3/c261a7707b2a6a54-af/s540x810/6d607799a5113478c745074e4379c19b723ad956.jpg)
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Doujin: Flashbackers by Totobe
#my ramblings#bocchi the rock#no fr tho. please read flashbackers!! it's so good!#it's a ryokita doujin made by one of my fave artist and everything about it is just...so great. I can't express it enough#whether you ship ryokita or not it's still a good read! like really it's well articulated and goes in depth about ryo & kita's relationship#and acknowledges how unhealthy it is but the realization of this makes the both of them understand each other more clearly without-#-seeing through rose colored glasses. I just- ughhh! I'm not good with words and I can't stress it enough so once again please read this!#you can really tell how much this artist is passionate and dedicated about the ship#not only that but how they color the cover page (and their art in general) is JUST SO CATCHING! LITERAL EYE CANDY!#and the pacing and panelling of the story is well thought out plus the equal balance of humor and angst is so entertaining & heart wrenchin#and their art style... fricking adorable and expressive and striking!! Just grrr!! I LOVE THIS ARTIST'S WORK SO MUCH!!!#I'm not that particularly crazy about ryokita but they are very interesting to explore and could have some potential if they worked out-#-their own flaws. I've been meaning to draw them sometime (if only I could start posting decent bnj art-#-tfw hyper fixation so strong it overwhelms you and in turn can't make fanart of it even if you most definitely WANT TO)#ehem. anyways I think it's quite criminal that ryokita was one of the least popular btr ships#in other story. I was woken up by my cat way to early today so I ended up reading this in a half awake state XD#I just found out last night that this doujin was already translated so what better time to read this other than first thing in the morning-#-running on three hours of sleep 😃👍
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THANK YOU OLI I don't get the season 8 hype. No Cas, Sam and Dean have the same conflict they've been having the entire show with no new angles like why????
YEAH LITERALLY. inital conflict is literally dean being angry at sam for trying to move on and heal which is just so intensely unlikeable and for some reason i was shocked by it and it made me genuinely dislike him. to me dean is at his most awful in s8..... like he's not. he's definitely not. gadreel possession in s9 and like most of s9/10 with the mark is much worse than anything he does in s8 and killing amy in s7 was sooo awful too. but dean is just so intensely a dick in s8 and i was so angry with him and not even in a fun way. like in s9/10 he is AWFUL but i enjoyed the drama. i didnt even enjoy the interpersonal drama in s8. which is when you know something is wrong
then again. im probably too harsh on it and am basing it off memories of sitting through the first half because i LOVE the trials and sacrifice and the great escapist so so much. and i love kevin <3 he's s8 right. but. to me s8 will always be the worst season. maybe i just hate what it brings to the shows canon. sam leaving dean for a girl and a dog (which is NOT EVEN WHAT HAPPENED... and if it WAS it wouldve been justified.... id support sam even if i thought he abandoned dean unprovoked idc.....) is constantly brought back like the worst of his sins even as late as like. s11. SHUT UP. first half of s8 is just upsetting for sam reasons and not in a fun way
#i was fully a dean hater for a while back in s8#i still love and support dean haters i just could never manage being one myself. god bless.#self recognition through the other (derogatory) but i would never pull his s8 shit at least#i just. HATE the whole. omg sam is in the wrong for trying to move on even though thats what he wanted dean to do while he was gone#and he thought its what dean would want because surely he would want sam to be happy (no he wanted sam to destroy his life looking for him)#and deans going to punish him for the evil crime of Wanting His Own Life and Getting Free and the narrative is also going to condemn him fo#this and its going to be treated like yet ANOTHER thing he needs to repent for. season four all over again except season four was really#fucking GOOD it was just emotionally devastating. s8 isnt even GOOD. the episodes were fucking boring half the time#tbf i also didnt like s6 very much because i hated the campbells being brought back so much i found it devastatingly boring#and apparently s6 and s8 are some of the most popular seasons. so. shrug#i preferred s10 a hell of a lot to both of them.. am i crazy..... s10 wasnt good but like. it was entertaining and i liked watching dean ge#worse and worse and it had rowena and claire and sure its thematically a mess but it was enjoyable to me. plus i liked the finale a lot#spn#s8#objectively i do actually think some of s8 is much better than anything else but emphasis on SOME#i find dean entirely uninteresting also when hes just Sooo sooooooooooo angry all the time unless its coming out in more interesting fucked#up possessiveness or hes actually killing people. so s8 dean was so boring#anyway. s8 haters of the world unite#asks#oliver talks
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guys i need to be dancing at a house party tipsy with someone im attracted to so bad btw. ive never been to a house party in real life (though id quite like to at least once) but i really have been desperately needing that specific (probably awful for me) sensory and social environment so bad lately
#just me rambling again#i keep looking through ao3 to try to find smth with the exact vibe im looking for but cant :(( might have to grab hold of some old or some#half made ocs and write it myself idk. or just like. find a way to experience it irl#oh btw ! tmrw night slumber party w one of my friends who ive been wanting to hang out with more + also happens to be the one i recently go#to smooch on the mouth :3333#the stated purpose is ive been trying to get her to yap at me abt her biggest fandom / interest for ages and just explain all of the lore#and story and characters to me bc ive been wantign to hear abt it from her but we just havent had a good time#and also i cannot lie i hope that i can smooch them on the mouth again! theyre such a lovely person and so very pretty#ive been meaning to tumblr tag ramble abt that for a bit and forgot anyways i have straight up told them and also one of our other friends#that if they get invited to a party ever they should please please lpeaseeeeeee see if they can invite me along#my brain has a half assed hope at maybe getting the teen party experience (most likely not oging to happen for me but it is a real life#possibly grounding for little daydream of wants) bc a somewhat popular guy the year below me (guy i fancied when i was in the play fun fact#for any loyal frog lore enjoyers) put smth on his instagram story like if i throw a bday party is anyone interested ?? with like a story#poll and obviously i picked the affirmative bc i dont know him super well but he knows a lot of ppl i know and i did a cool photoshoot with#him once idk im hoping if its a big event i have a shot at going (as aforementioned--not going to happen in real life but a man can dream)#sigh i recently made a new playlist of the weird yearning ive got going on rn and the flavor of my minds niche longings#its a good playlist#idk ive been so nothing recently im just excited that i get to see my friends this weekend i get to hang out w some of my besties tmrw#through the day too im very excited#OH ALSO omg im just throwing every single diary update i have into one post now ig but erm#ive realized recently (last week or two) that i think im finally 'over' my most recent relationship?#like im still sad abt the fact that my high school best friend.. doesnt talk to me anymore#and im still coping with all of the nightmare insecurities i have deep in my mind being proven correct within the past however many months#but like i only just registered oh hell yeah at the very least i dont have like. romantic feelings of any sort still towards her? i do#love my wonderful ex gf shes such a lovely person and for a long time was an amazing friend to me#but it feels like a weight is off of my chest i straight up was sitting in the feeling of well i'll be missing her forever and i just have#to live like this forever oh well but like. no im chilling in that regard actually we're clear.#idk ive had like nothing going on lately i work and school and i think about my feelings SOMETIMES#i try not to generally but they always get in somehow you know how it is.
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thank god I wasn't deep into the tbosas fandom pre-movie bc I wouldn't be able to live in peace with ppl fancasting sejanus as the dude from love simon or andrew garfield
#this is a joke#only half a joke tho I'm fr#I saw it once and closed my page#this one and hailee steinfield as lucy gray....#at least this wasn't the most popular fancast for sejanus thank god#most of the ones I've seen back then were very diverse#I'm just yapping at this point#my silly little posts
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