#waaaaaait a minute... what?

[the20thcenturykid]

Huh, I just realised I've passed my oral native language final high school exam (matura) by talking about gender fluidity and how sticking to completely binary form is outdated. All that during time I didn't know much about LGBTQ+ community, not knowing I'm aro/ace and of "I don't care" gender and I based my reasoning on the hard sci-fi book (what was actually topic of my exam "how author portraits their time period in their piece" and yes I explained quite nicely why I used sci-fi book as "author's present time") where gender and sex is just the way you portrait yourself since most of people are practically digitalised and you choose your physical avatar you live in and some people have more than one so... You can look however you like basically, so for that manner new pronoun is used for them as basic one.

And I didn't knew this book were quite interesting piece of gender ambiguous umbrella in my country for some time.

You know, in my language (Polish) we use pronounces even in first person talk usually by changing last part of some words for feminine -am and masculine -em (I'm not going to explain it better, I'm ass in grammar) and there's no real alternative aside from pronoun for 'it', which in my language could mean child or object so... Also plural pronouns are gendered to.

There are some initiatives to use 'it' form or create new pronouns for gender ambiguous community but it's tough case since it's basically making quite big change in whole language where our society is still way behind many countries and while portrayed from outside as way more homophobic than it is in case of transphobia... Well, let's say trans people don't have easy and gender ambiguous are usually just treated as 'tomboys' or 'femboys'. (Yes, it's changing and is way better in bigger cities but we are in middle ages still). So pronouns are being created and... While it's individual thing for every person which to use, for me most of them don't seem natural to the language (like -ix one because letter 'x' is basically not existent in polish language and some even change it to '(i)ks' when writing english word in polish sentence) and here I came back to my exam because pronouns that I found the most fitting were... From that book I used as base to my oral essay (created on spot mind you, I had like 15min to prepare after I've got a theme). The thing is they seems interestingly natural and work very well with our grammar. They're based on -um pronoun and next to -om one seems the most fitting to the language itself. They even named after author's surname so it's 'dukatyw' or 'dukaizm'. Of course, I didn't knew that those 7 years ago.

I'm not here trying to push any agenda or great statement - I just found it funny than my 19-yr old ass completely outside of LGBTQ+ community when heard theme was "let's make 15+min lecture about gender and sex fluidity" based on book I've readed like a year earlier which burned my brain and twisted it to the other side and I decided to love it.

The book is "Perfekcyjna Niedoskonałość" (Perfect Imperfection) by Jacek Dukaj and was never translated to any other language and honestly I think it's almost impossible to do so to English without loosing most of it's "flavour". That pronouns thing is just a part of writing and shown universe, tho while subject on ones identity and purpose is main theme of it, the gender is just it - the part.

Time fluctuations, tech bending time and space and some social and interspecies tensions are quite big part of it too but that's other story.

[thedemonsurfer]

Hey can we talk about how the very recent SAMS stuff has turned out to be a brilliant twist of audience complicity?

With the most recent eps, its become blindingly clear that Dark Sun has been manipulating or influencing Moon's actions to some degree. And looking back over it, it's really fun trying to pick out the point where Moon started going downhill and being like 'oh, that's how he was being pushed'. Folks remembered that Moon was the first person Dark Sun ever grabbed, forcibly scanning him before sending him back home. Dark Sun outright told Eclipse that he wanted to do something to Moon.

Now Moon's reactions make more sense. The yelling, the lashing out at his family in a way he's never done before. The extremes that seem so Out-of-Character.

But at the time it was happening?

No one was talking about manipulation. Everyone was willing to go 'I guess Moon sucks actually'.

Including the audience.

How great is that! We're omniscient, more or less! The audience is exposed to interactions and monologues that the characters never see. We have knowledge like the exact things Moon said to Old Moon, or Dark Sun said to him. We can go back and reference them!

And yet we were led into the exact same trap as the characters-- looking at Moon and going 'you're no better than Old Moon'.

The thing Moon hates the most! That comparison to Old Moon, the fear that he really isn't any better. Haunted by a spectre of a shitty person that was apparently loved anyway. And you'd think we, as the audience, would remember that, but as soon as he slips up the comparisons start flying. I was doing it too!

And that's why I think the recent twist has been brilliant, because they hid it inside what they knew the audience would assume, like a pill inside some shitty cheese. By tying Moon's instability to his grief, it made his actions seem more plausible, and therefore it was seen as a failure of his character. Oh, clearly Moon just sucks as a person I guess.

We the audience failed the guy just as hard as his family did for not stepping back and going 'waaaaaait a minute', and we were manipulated by the writing into that failure (as, y'know, that's how writing works).

And that's fucking brilliant, 10/10

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 12 - Remember

Parts 1-11 here

So… we finally find out what happened on the roof. Sort of… *cough* sorry Johnny… and Virg… and Jeff. And Scott who I presume is on the receiving end of some version of this account from John…

🧡💚💙🧡💚💙🧡💚🧡💚💙🧡💚🧡💙🧡

He’d done what he was asked. The kids were “kept out of the way” even if they were yelling and crying and rattling pointlessly at the door handle he’d wedged the chair under. He felt awful about it but they had to be safe, not see anything… worrying. Anything that could cause them more problems than they already had. But he couldn’t just stay and babysit when everything might be going wrong. Dad might need help.

John should have seen this was coming. He should have paid more attention. He should have stopped it. He should have been less selfish. Pressing his knuckles into the spaces between his nose and his eyeballs he swallowed hard then raised his voice above the yelling, told Gordon and Alan he’d be back in just a minute. Then with suddenly trembling limbs followed his father up the fold down ladder to the flat part of the roof they used for stargazing.

The sky was cloudless, the sun had just set and blue hour was upon them, the iron oxide-soaked sandstone gleaming as red as any of Dad’s Martian landscape images. Here, in the lee of the dormer there was a dead calm, as if the wind was anxiously holding its breath in the same way John was. His father, about 5 feet above him was edging carefully across the ridge towards where the peaked roof of John’s third storey attic room loomed over the rest of the ranch. Dad looked back over his shoulder and frowned, silently demanding silence.

John complied. His throat had seized up anyway. As had pretty much every nerve in his body the moment as his eyes drifted past his father’s clambering form to the figure standing tall at the highest point of the roof. He clung to the railing at the top of the stairs and prayed to anyone that would listen that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Virgil was stood at the highest point of the roof, one hand resting atop the chimney stack, the other gesticulating as if he was engaged in a passionate debate. His posture was so familiar, the unstyled hair hanging in his face, less so. He couldn’t hear exactly what his brother was saying but his tone was friendly, good humoured even. Which, given the circumstances, was downright eerie.

A solitary bird of prey wailed impatiently as it hovered overhead. Peregrine, probably, John realised with a pang. Scott would point them out as they passed through every spring and every fall. He remembered the otherwise ‘so much more grown up than you lot’ fourteen year old bouncing gleefully around the yard the day they’d seen a female stoop on a pigeon right overhead. Every Tracy knew, because he reminded them often, that that was the fastest any living creature could travel under its own steam, although Scott was determined to break that record one day.

John was aware it should probably be ‘had been’ but was not in any way ready to make that shift. Not in any way at all. He swallowed hard at the lump threatening to close up his throat and returned his attention to his next biggest brother. He edged slightly closer as Dad finally reached Virgil and held out a hand.

Virgil didn’t take it.

More wailing from above, multiple voices this time. John, unable to resist glancing up at the sound, counted a group of four hastening through the sky towards the lone dot in the distance which he imagined wheeling back around at the cries of waaaaaaait-waaaaaait. Scott’s reverent voice reminded him that these birds travelled alone except for newly fledged siblings who would undertake their first big migration together for protection and moral support.

“YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!”

Virgil’s raised voice dragged John’s attention back - how had he lost concentration? What had he missed? His father was talking in a low voice, but John detected an edge he could quite place? He was… uncertain? That wasn’t like Dad at all. To hell with it, he had to get over there. He abandoned stealth and scrambled along the roof until the frustrated pain in his brother’s shout stopped him in his tracks.

“WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP HIM?!”

Virgil’s back was to his father and he flinched away as Dad reached out to touch his shoulder.

“HE’S GONE, VIRGIL! THIS IS JUST… A… A FANTASY…! YOU HAVE TO COME DOWN! Please…”

His father’s voice was finally raised but then cracked, agonisingly, on that last word and Virgil spun to face him, fury in his eyes.

Time slowed. John felt tension thicken the air, as potent as the moment before a storm breaks and it resolved in much the same way: With a roar of anger and a strike of pent up energy from Virgil’s muscular arm.

Dad crumpled to his knees and leant heavily against the chimney breast. There was absolute silence. John tore his eyes from his father to gape up at his strongest yet most determinedly non-violent brother, in time to see the horrified expression on Virgil’s face, staring at his own clenched fist as though it belonged to someone else entirely. He looked around in a panic and began to shuffle backwards away from his father, more like a small, frightened animal about to bolt than the broad, reassuring presence John knew him to be.

John was moving before his mind even registered the implications. Of course he was too slow, he should have been there to start with. He called out to try to warn him but only succeeded in causing his brother’s eyes to lock on to his for the split second before they widened further and he disappeared from view.

🧡💚💙🧡💚💙🧡💚🧡💚💙🧡💚🧡💙🧡

[sexwithsophie]

Aro? Ace? Can you help?

I'll be expanding on this later, but I just wanted to voice it somewhere for the first time ever, because it's a lot and I'm still processing. I've just really pieced together that my dear sweet husband is 100% aromantic and is definitely somewhere on the asexual spectrum. I'm thinking gray or cupio.

We've been happily married for 10 years, come September, and have a beautiful life together. Two kids, three dogs, and so much love. My first thought when his orientation clicked for me was… unabashed JOY. So many things just fell squarely into place about him and about our relationship.

I'm happy to discuss if there's an interest or if you have questions, but wow. I have always felt so protective of my acearo babies on here, and now I get to shelter and nurture what must have been a horribly neglected, nuclear part of the man I'm madly in love with?

I'll be honest, I'm a little scared, a little overwhelmed, and a little sad in some ways for various reasons, but above all, I'm ecstatic that we can embark on this new journey of deciphering as a team. We've been together for almost 14 years, so to learn anything new about one another is actually kinda nice.

So, sorry for the shameless plug, but I'll probably share more updates on my site sexwithsophie.com. I built it as a safe space to cultivate these exact kinds of conversations! But, I'd love your thoughts and comments, here or on there is just fine. My question to you, if you're aspec, is how would you like for your wife to best support you if you were just now coming into an understanding of your sexual orientation?

Thank you in advance, and please feel free to reblog this for visibility. I'm hoping to learn if anyone's been on the other side of this so I can treat him how you would have wanted to be treated when you shared with a loved one. Also, he didn't come out to me or anything, this is something I figured out after doing a whole-ass podcast on Asexuality and being like… waaaaaait just a minute.… lol

💚💜🩶🖤

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Huntlow Week Day # 6: Opposites/Owl House.

Meet me at the Owl House at sunset. - H 💚💛💚💛

Willow ran her fingers over the sharply written script.

As always? Hunter's handwriting was very distinct.

Very recognizable.

His t's always crossed at the same angle. All letters written at the appropriate heights -- sitting exactly on the line below.

Belos had trained him so very well.

As a child, Hunter was forced to write line after line, copying the exact form and wording as directed by the man monster who had forced him into a tight mold. Belos took Hunter from the ground, and like so many who'd come before -- all the others who had been cloned from the doomed model that was Caleb Wittebane -- the Emperor had covered Hunter's face in a mask, wrapped his body in a uniform, and proceeded to break and re-make him until there was no piece of Hunter permitted beyond what his creator had allowed.

So of course, when Willow saw the green and gold hearts Hunter had added to his signature -- a symbol for the connection between them -- she melted immediately.

It had been a year since Willow had met Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams Hunter at Hexside and the plan had been that the two would go to see The Bloodied Teeth -- and specifically Captain Vyra Spidervein play the Screaming Sidhe in the Flyer Derby Playoffs. Unfortunately the game had been postponed due to an outbreak of the fire flu which took out three members of the Sidhe and two of the Teeth.

"I'm gonna make it up to you." Hunter told Willow.

"Pfft." Willow had waved him away. "It's not like you have anything to make up for! It's not your fault they got sick. They'll reschedule the game when everyone is better and we'll go then."

"Oh nonono." Hunter shook his head quickly, "We'll go to the game, but that won't be on the actual anniversary of the day we met! A - a-and I want to make it special for you!"

So on the morning of the first anniversary of the day they had met, Willow was awoken by the a soft cooing sound on her balcony. Owlbert stood perched with a note in his beak inviting Willow to the Owl House.

As she approached the front door, she saw Hooty -- in his usual spot -- with a sly smile across his round face.

"Helloooooooooooo Captain!" Hooty's smile spread. "Hoot Hoot."

"Hey there Hooty!?" Willow said brightly. She was surprised to see him there, honestly. Hooty spent much more time with Lilith than in the actual Owl House. "Whatcha up to today?"

"Ooooooooooh. Something....." The Owl Tube sang dramatically. He blushed coyly, wrapping himself around Willow's back, he nudged her inside. "I heard today was a SPECIAL day for you and your LOVERBOY!"

"Waaaaaait a minute." Willow crossed her arms. She spun around to look at Hooty, nose to beak. "Please don't tell me you kidnapped Hunter to do a Tunnel of Love thing?"

There was no question that the letter had been from Hunter, but Hooty was relentless. Golden Guard or not, given the chance? Hooty would beat Hunter in any fight.

"Tell me the truth Hooty!" Willow leaned in. "Where is he? Did you make him write that letter to me?"

"Cool your jets lady!" Eda sassed from inside. The Owl Lady was smiling coyly. "Blondie actually set this up for you himself and it took him three whole days to work up the courage to ask for use of the tunnel under the house so..."

"Make sure you give him a SMOOOOOOOOCH! Hoot!" Hooty smiled again. "SEEEEE YOU DOWNSTAIRS!" He sang. With that the house demon curled into a heartshape and slithered away.

Eda smiled and handed Willow a piece of paper featuring an intricate glyph. Willow tapped the middle and it folded, lighting up to for a light in the shape of a flower.

"Follow the light." Eda nodded, "he's waiting for you."

Willow's face flushed just a bit. The flower light began to hover over her hand guiding her down the stairs though the basement to a platform lined with flowers. In the middle stood King Clawthorne. The child titan wore a little tuxedo.

As Willow approached King cleared his throat. "Invitation please?" He reached out a claw.

"Invitation?" Willow but her lip. "Oh!" She reached into her pocket and handed King the letter from Hunter."

"Hmmmmmm." King produced a little monocle from his pocket and placed it on his eye. He perused the letter before returning it to Willow with a nod. "Yep. That is authentic! Please step on!"

Willow stepped on the platform and King pulled a level slowly floating them down to a dock where Raine Whispers stood playing their violin.

"Ah! Hey there." They smiled as Willow approached. Clearing their throat Raine leaned in and looked towards the empty dock. "Listen." They said. "Just so you know, he's been practicing for 48 hours straight, and I think it's perfect, but you know him and..."

"Raine." Willow wiggled her nose. "I have no idea what's going on, but whatever Hunter's got planned ? I already love it."

"That's what I told him!" Raine threw their hands up, "But you know him? Everything's got to be perfect and -- well?"

Before Raine could say anymore a swan boat pulled up -- with the face of an owl. On top stood Hunter, guitar slung over his back. He slid down Hooty's neck and met Willow at the dock.

"My lady?" He said formally. Dressed in what looked to be a handmade suit in the colors of the Emerald Entrail's uniforms, Hunter bowed his head and held his hand out. Willow took it and he helped her into the boat. She took a seat as the Hooty-swan boat pulled away from the dock.

"Aren't ya gonna sit next to me?" Willow shrugged.

Hunter shook his head quickly. "N-no ma'am." A self assured smile crept up on his face. "Not yet at least?"

"Hunter." Willow sighed, "What's this all about? You know you didn't have to go through all this for just the anniversary of the first day we met?"

"But I did," Hunter sighed. "B-because you changed so much for me that day. A -and I don't think I realized how much until --things went wrong? And then I didn't see you for a long time, but I thought about you a lot and -- "

"Hunter?" Willow smiled warmly, "Again. That's water under the bridge! Sit with me!"

"No. Not yet." Hunter shook his head. He moved his guitar to playing position and covered it with various glyphs as the boat began to move. "Willow Park." He began. "So much's changed since we met, and there was so much I wanted to tell you back then -- but I couldn't. S-so I wanted to show you what it felt like -- to meet you."

Hunter's body began to glow -- his guitar burst into a ball of light as each glyph awakened. He began to strum a giddy tune, and he sang.

Ooh, you make me live Whatever this world can give to me It's you, you're all I see Ooh, you make me live now, honey Ooh, you make me live

Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had I've been with you such a long time You're my sunshine and I want you to know That my feelings are true, I really love you Oh, you're my best friend

All around the scene -- set up with cheesy hearts and animatronics changed to a garden of beautiful flowers and vines.

When the song was finished, Hunter let out a long breath. Willow just sat. Her words sat in the back of her throat, where her heart pounded. She remained silent.

Hunter's confident smile faded. "O-oh. Was that too much?" her murmured. "I told Hooty that the normal tunnel wouldn't be enough, but he swore that's how Luz and Amity got together and -- mmmph."

Willow launched forward covering his mouth with her lips. When the two broke apart she smiled coyly.

"You serenaded me on a boat." Willow smiled. "This is the best anniversary gift ever."

"Better than Vyra Spidervein?" Hunter scratched the back of his neck.

Willow laughed. "Yes, actually."

"Oh. Cool." Hunter shrugged. "Then I guess I can sell those tickets for the rescheduled match and--"

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Willow growled playfull.

Hunter chuckled softly and pulled her into a hug. "Happy anniversary, Captain." he whispered.

(Yes Vyra Spidervein is from @lollytea's fic <<< Link)

[rocaillefox]

wait WAAAAAAIT. realization about orv def spoilers below

okay so we know that theres the whole situation with OD creating the universe of the world we see in orv. right. and his beliefs and impressions of the story created it, then at the end all the readers and dokjas out there create the story through their imagination and belief- they make it real.

ive already mentioned how this mirrors his mothers book, but let me take that one step further. because its what od wanted to believe, reality itself may have actually been bent for our main kdj. it may have genuinely not been how the situation happened until his mother, now a character but a character only insofar as every character is (as so much of orv is about becoming real and becoming fiction), decides to make this truth the reality by convincing our kdj of it.

the problem with this theory is that because of kdj's unreliable pov, we cant know if this is what happened or if he was just in denial. its the whole 'everything in the universe was created five minutes ago by a guy named steve who made it impossible to tell by fabricating memory etc' philosophical conundrum- it cant be proven or disproven. from a philosophical standpoint its useless.

but i think its also very interesting from the perspective that this, orv, is a novel. its a story. and to each reader that stops at some point, what they know of the characters up until then is a real version of them. which means that metatextually, through kdj's unreliable pov and the fact this gets revealed at some point, the story and therefore his reality does materially change.

our kdj has always been a self insert character. and a reader. and orv plays off of the nature of reading so beautifully in all possibke readings of it i SWEAR im going to bite something

[nifreti-ii]

My silly “little” OC Eike! (this is gonna be a long one, buckle in)(Also yandere related content) 

Eike is the youngest of three children and the shortest in his family (hilarious isn't it), which is a slight sore spot for him. He was raised by both his parents and two older brothers. Eike started being homeschooled when he was 11 after a bullying incident in middle school that left him hurt (ref scars on his face) and the school did nothing to stop it. Due to spending a large portion of his adolescence (and subsequent MAJOR growth spurt) at home, he constantly hits his head on door frames at most places. Despite his height, he’s just a big ‘ol puppy. He loves going to college and being able to make proper friends, just smiling constantly and excitedly talking to people. When he first meets Gavin, he genuinely finds his (awful) jokes hilarious and proclaims him to be his best friend (Gavin gave up trying to flirt with him). Perfectly remembers the first time he met Harper and had a “waaaaaait a minute” when he met him again (greatly appreciates not having to break his neck to talk to someone). 

(now on to his likes and dislikes) Love love LOVES bugs, but loves moths even more. The first time he saw a fluffy moth he said it looked just like him and cradled it in his hands till it flew away (he denies it to this day he cried when it left, don’t listen to his brothers). His entire family has a very close connection to nature, their home is a 5-minute drive to the closest road. It’s to the point that the inside and outside of the house are littered with plants (even the bathrooms man). He finds it the greatest honor when someone tells him a secret and takes keeping it VERY seriously, you can’t even torture it out of him. His mom gave him his first knife when he was 11 after what happened and made him promise to protect himself if someone tried hurting him (he now has 30 knives…). He grew up listening to folklore, cryptids, and myths; Knows all the signs of nearly any supernatural creature and habitually tells people “not to anger the spirits”. 

He’s interestingly enough very private about his family life, no one who knows him has ever met any of his family or seen them (Only ever talks about anything they’ve done to him/for him.) …Spoons… So. Many. Spoons… (His brothers hid spoons in his room…his closet, his bed, and his bathroom, it was the one he found in his plant when repotting it months later that made him hate them.) Hunters used to hunt on his family’s property and constantly were a problem; It took one of his brothers getting hurt for the problem to be taken care of (he was too young to remember what happened, but does remember all the blood). The town tried to intimidate his family into giving up their land to build more homes, starting to cut down the trees right outside of the property. It was when one of the cut trees landed and destroyed some trees on their property did the town learned its lesson. The first and last time he went to the beach, a crab grabbed his toe and nearly snapped it off. He was 13, so his family just left him home whenever they went to the beach (His brothers tried scaring him with a crab shell, but he ended up liking it and now hangs it up on his wall.).

(referring to 5 min ship, not all tho) He would always steal his family's clothes and hug them whenever he had nightmares or missed them. It feels like he’s being hugged by said person (if he can’t wear it, he just wraps it around his head T^T). His family mostly showed love through actions, always hugging and gifting each other things (they say “I love you” at least twice a year). He tends to admire bugs and take pictures of them before letting them go. He either gives the meanest glare to whoever is bothering his love interest or physically intimidates them when they try to touch them. He’s only been in 2 relationships, each lasting over a year and both ended because he was too possessive (He’s better at his jealousy now but will be in a foul mood for a few minutes… or hours, really depends) 

Was this long? Yes. Did I space out halfway through it and just realize that? Also yes. I love my skrunkly little OCs and giving them fairly fleshed-out backgrounds. I wanted to add that Eike is a decadent of Dryads/Nymphs along with his father and brothers, his mother being a witch. I know that supernatural creatures are canon in-universe, I just hope I'm not stretching tooo much T-T. The leaves in Eike’s hair are PART of him and hurt when pulled on, kind of like pulling out a weed or carrot (they grow back) I love his little ears and slightly greenish skin :3 Im gonna crawl under a rock (for now). Harper and Camp willow peak belong to @campwillowpeak (the silli knows too much but likes to pretend he doesn't :>)

Check out my Masterlist for my art and (limited) writing! :D

[tajmutthall]

One of the most entertaining things about "the adventures of Charles the veretian cloth merchant" is the ol' wagon switcheroo.

So, because I have to, bear with me while I talk about my vehicles. I have owned two generations of a very popular model by a popular manufacturer who sells very limited colors. Every time I walk back to the parking lot, I am just about guaranteed to see another of the same model and color. now, one might think that I will immediately recognize that the first one I come to is not mine because my license plate is customized, because there is a big scratch down one door, because there is a decal in my door window that is of very specific provenance, etc.

but, no, I am concentrating on the groceries I am carrying, or on the diagnosis that I just got at the doctor's office, or whether I will be late to my next appointment… And you would be surprised how many people leave their cars unlocked even in a large metropolitan area like Silicon Valley. So it isn't until I open the door and think, hey! Someone stole the bag of M&Ms that I left on the seat! And wait a minute, why did they leave their hat in my car? And what did they spill on my…waaaaaait a minute... [carefully backs off, closes the door gently, and walks away with an air of innocence to find my own actual car]

Back to the Charls story (which I enjoy, by the way): one thing that struck me right away in this mostly comedy piece, is that we all get to appreciate that the kings threw two kingdoms' worth of money and skilled craftsmanship to work to create exact copies of the bad guy's wagons--and to cleverly switch them in the dark of night with no one noticing.

The master craftsman were apparently even clever enough to emulate everything about the wagons down to the moment--the door on one side that squeaks, and the "I ❤️ my slaves" sticker on the bumper, and the stained seat where someone spilled their ale last night so it is still damp, the precious bottle of griva hidden under the front seat, the board where one edge splintered earlier that day leaving an obvious ragged edge?--

it is not simply the shape and color of the wagons that convinces someone they are their own. It is the oddball unpredictable details. And yet: somehow it works! because this is fiction land! 

Mere mortals can only dream of such hijinks.

[mostlyihyperfixate]

Oh, what's this? Simon, your sister is hot.

*spends three minutes with her*

nvm she called Athena a dull creature all hot points lost

EDIT: Waaaaaait. I'm recalling that at the beginning of this, Athena recognized Simon's last name. Then they have shared exactly zero indications that they know each other. Did she know Aura previously?

....

it doesn't matter. she was still mean to that poor robot.

[sturnioloshacker]

WHAT. WAAAAAAIT A MINUTE. I MISSED MY WIFES FACE REVEAL???!?!?!?! BRO. I KNEW I SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE TO SLEEP.

here my lovey x

[charlesdesvoeux]

terror rewatch time!!! i'll be using this post to comment on ep. 6 "a mercy" block the tag terrorwatch2 if you'd like :-)

jirv's bandaged hand in the first scene :-(

also interesting thing is that when we see john ross in the show he actually seems aware that his men came close to killing him, that in life or death situations hierarchy disappears and whatnot, given both his warnings to franklin and his conduct when lady jane and sophia were at the admiralty. but of course he wouldn't put it in his memoirs; it's a truth he was able to confront privately within himself and a few other people perhaps but before the public? never.

i didn't remember bridgens overhearing part of the conversation between blanky and jfj

❗️ FIRST JFJ GENDER MOMENT ❗️

"turmoil on the inside needn't show on the outside" says soooo much about jopson in general. what sort of internal struggles might compel him to always be outwardly impeccable?

was this scene the first time crozier refers to him as just Thomas???

the cut from hickey poking around heather's brains to jacko poking into the canned food!!!

oh if tozer saw hickey doing that to heather he would have bashed HIS brains in methinks

hickey did out 2 and 2 together regarding them having to march out surprisingly quickly; he is pretty smart, but also absolutely not as smart as he thinks he is, and of course would eventually be done in by his narcissism and god delusions. also appears he kept an eye on jirv specifically 👀👀👀 once on his shitlist always on his shitlist

ned looking over at jopson as the latter is summoned is very interesting. and hickey's snarky little "a worst case of gastritis surely there never was"... is he trying to sound out where ned stands regarding crozier at that moment, seeing if they can be allied? let us remember that when he was with billy they discussed the other two lieuts' activities...

very interesting about hickey pointing out tommy armitage always wanted to be a marine, and considering tommy probably feels he owes him/has genuine gratitude for him not pointing out that he was also in the party that kidnapped silna + his proximity to the marines = hickey maybe having access to guns which could be useful for. you know. stuff 👀👀👀👀

and of course when hartnell asks him a question about himself he deflects immediately because. you know. and also the parallel with him asking hartnell "do you think crozier sees as a new man?" and previously his talk with Billy "the captain doesn't see you at all" and the worst thing is eventually crozier DID come to see hartnell and clearly held him in high regard!!! and if hickey wasn't terrible maybe crozier could have come to see him but the thing is. hickey wants to be SEEN and he doesn't necessarily mind if it is in a bad light... I'm thinking about his talk with goodsir last episode and the script saying that he smiles because he likes being perceived even if in fact goodsir is seeing right through him.

❗️ SECOND JFJ GENDER MOMENT ❗️

❗️ CHARLES DES VOEUX ALERT ❗️

❗️ BRIDGLAR ALERT ❗️

jirv singing and drinking with an angel costume...... i truly he chose the costume as a way to show that he can poke fun at himself..... "look guys i do have a sense of humor and some self-awareness about my religiosity..... i'm light-hearted...." :-((((

goddddd blanky drinking out of his prosthetic

tozer, heather and armitage on the corner :-((

WAAAAAAIT THE TWO GUYS IN THE POT I DIDN'T REMEMBER THAT. very interesting foreshadowing of both the cannibalism and the breakdown of the modes of masculinity/sexuality that follow as they get themselves more doomed by the minute

HICKEY SAVED BY THE PISS ALSO ❗️CHARLES DES VOEUX ALERT ❗️

crozier's speech!!!! truly a sober crozier is the best captain anyone could ask for. also "strange in ways we will find impossible to recount when we are safe and home"... both in terms of the tuunbaq and also the fact that they're on the very edge of propriety about many other things as well. and also well. his choice to not recount it in the end by simply not returning.

the despair on sol's face about heather :-(((

how interesting that hickey probably saved A LOT of man's lives considering 1) what he'd do later and 2) he had to kill a doctor to do it.

probably like. the one action hickey might truly regret was accidentally killing MacDonald but that was arguably one of his best acts bc it eventually saved a lot of peoples' lives.

something very powerful about the carnivale- as crozier put it a manifestation of their longing for home- burning to ash. oh baby you are never making out alive.

the final shots... it really feels like the moment of "even if we make it back to england alive there are some things which simply can never be discussed or said aloud or admitted to anyone not even ourselves"

[3xm-draconic]

Toil and Trouble (Werebat Cyris and Astarion story)

Summary: Revelations about his origins must wait to be processed, Cyris and his gang must track the infamous waterdeep hag down and get Gortash’s stone from her grasp.

“Wait, wait, waaaaaait a minute…hold up” Roger drunkenly mumbled “this means Cyris is a god”, Gale pondered for a moment “well technically yes but also no, it means he a double-demigod since he has taken mortal form”, “but he’s got no mortal parentage…how is he demigod if he got no mortal half?” Minsc scratched his head.

“Guys we can talk about my demi-mortality later, right now Whimbly has one of the stones and that is very, VERY bad” he shuttered, “right, kill hag now talk about god stuff later” Allegra nodded.

Everyone geared up and hit the town…

“Do you think she whent back to waterdeep?” Wyll turned to Cyris, “no, she’s still here, I can smell her, she’s too enthralled by the nightlife here and wants to feed off the misery and pain of the gamblers” he mumbled.

“Whimbly is a rather strange nighthag” Gale pondered “to feed off such things, usually they go for nightmares”, “in olden times nighthags feed of the suffering of others, now they tend to feed off fear rather than misery” Cyris replied “Whimbly prefers the old tastes and is considered… “odd” even by other hags”.

“Odd even to them…how?” Gale curiously turned to him, “she loves company and hates being alone, usually hags can only stand the presence of other hags but Whimbly hats others of her kind, she much prefers devils and other people” Cyris answered “and she LOVES to gamble, there ain't a game on Toril she can’t cheat at. Dice, cards, 3 dragon ante…you name it she’ll bet anything on it…and likely win. Normal nighthags deal in souls, Whimbls does too…but she’d much rather have gold.”

“She’s one of the notorious crime bosses in Waterdeep, right next to Xanathar, while he’s more of thieves guild boss…she deals more as a slave trader, drug exporter, pimp and illegal money launderer…basically she does everything the more tamer guilds aren't willing to do” Cyris sighed “but once she’s dead…everyone is going to be free” he grinned “no more debts…”

They split up to cover more ground, Gale and Cyris whent to the high-end restaurant district while Wyll and Astarion hit the night markets.

“I’ve…been thinking” Astarion sighed “about what Gortash said…about Cyris”, “calling him cupcake?” Wyll laughed a little, Astarion chuckled “no, no about…about a ring”. “you?...that's great Astarion!” Wyll smiled as he hugged the pale elf, Astarion rolled his eyes and patted Wyll’s back “I…know it’s a big step, but Cy and I have been on this adventure for…a while now and I want to purpose…when this is all over”.

“Well maybe while we are looking for the hag, you and I can look for rings? I’am nowhere near ready to purpose yet to Fireworks, I’am still planning on the right time” he grinned as he said Karlach’s affectionate nickname, Astarion frowned “we may not get the perfect time Wyll…we might die tomorrow…you should go to her and purpose, don’t wait, you may never get another chance…I nearly lost cy so I’am taking mine.”

Wyll nodded “you’re right”.

The group met back up and stopped for lunch at a cafe. 

Astarion wanted to show Cyris something…

“A graveyard?” Cyris pondered, “yes a graveyard…and my grave” Astarion took him to a little head stone.

It was covered by centuries of neglect, moss and lichen had overtaken it so much Cyris could hardly read the name of the tombstone.  

“I had to punch a hole in the coffin…and claw my way through 6 feet of dirt” Astarion sighed “then…when I broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood…Cazador was waiting…from that day on I was his…until now” he smiled. 

Cyris held his hand “you were never his sugerfangs”, Astarion laughed a little “maybe…but he did take it…there's almost nothing left of the person I once was…just a name on a rock…” he turned to Cyris “but you helped me change that”.

“You were by my side through all of this, you helped me figure out who I want to be now…though bloodlust, pain and misery you were patient, you cared, you trusted me when that was an objectively stuped thing to do” he looked into Cyris’s big doe-brown eyes “I feel…seen…with you, and whatever the future holds for us…I want it” he turned back to the grave “I should fix this…”

He began to clean it and make adjustments to the writing using one of his daggers…

Once he was done he turned to Cyris who sat next to him.

“I’ve been dead in the ground long enough…it's time to start living again, with everything life has to offer” he smiled “I love you, I love this…and I want it all”.

Cyris took one of the flowers from his flower crown and placed it on Astarion’s grave, “hmm, cute” Astarion chuckled softly “Cy…I want us to be together, regardless if I can walk in the sun or not, regardless of anything that may happen…I want us to be together” he took Cyris’s hands in his “marry me darling”.

Cyris’s eyes are full of tears, joyful happy tears “of course!”

An explosion erupted from the city.

“What was that?”, “I don’t know but we're about to find out” Cyris said worriedly. 

The team: ran through the streets as they came to a burning building. Inside was what seemed to be the remnants of a chemical lab “it may be one of Whimbly’s outpost drug labs…be on your guard” Cyris growld.

Then a familiar voice coughed out “oh hello there my sweet sanguin friend~”, “oh no” Astarion and Cyris grumbled in unison, “I wondered when we would meet again~”, “I hoped you’d have been eaten by wolves by now” Cyris hushly muttered under his breath “Hello Araj” he sighed.

“Forgive the mess…your blood is more…volatile…than expected” she hummed, 

“That's nice but we must be off” Astarion grumbled, “wait oh wait please, just try out my new formula” she pleaded, “what does it do?” Cyris humored her.

“You saw what it did to the lab…drink the formula and anybody that hits you or causes you to bleed…boom!”, “no thanks I don’t think that’s for me” Cyris shrugged. 

They bickered back and forth for a while until a chill ran down Cyris’s spine, he could smell something in her lab…

“Araj…what have you got in there?”, “hmm? Oh…nothing…”, Cyris could tell she was lying, her body said it all.

 “I smell it too…CYIRS!” Station and Cyris rushed past Araj and into the house, down into the basement were…

They found a cage…

Inside was…

A vampire spawn…

One of the turned Gur children who decided to live outside of Astarion’s rules, they looked…sick.

“Mm-mm-...” they tried to speak but they were so weak, “hush it’s alright, we’ll get you out of here” Astarion assured them,“m-mama…” they whimpered “I-I wanna g-go home to…to..mama”.

They were dying…

“Cyris, they need blood quickly!” Astarion cried as he held them, “on it” Cyris slit his hand and let his blood flow into their mouth…but it was no use their tiny skinny body going limp like a ragdoll in Astarion’s arms…

“No…Gods no…” Astarion whimpered, his voice shaking “no please, please drink…”

They were gone…

“What’s wrong? I…I fed them my blood-”, “THAT WAS THE PROBLEM YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT!” Astarion snapped at Araj “YOUR BLOOD IS DISEASED, YOU PRACTICALLY POISONED THEM!”

Astarion grabbed her by her throat, “WAIT WE NEED HER ALIVE!” Cyris stopped him, Astarion stopped and then glared at him “you better have a good reason…”, “look” Cyris showed him a note.

It was a receipt for alchemical ingredients that came from a place called “Aunt Fibi’s Brewery Ingredients Emporium”, “she bought this from Aunt Fibi, that’s one of Whimbly’s aliases, she can tell us where she may be hiding”.

“Well then? TALK!” Astarion growld as he squeezed her throat, “lower…City…by the..d-docks..” she whimpered “will…will you let me go now?”.

Astarion smiled evilly “oh sweet Araj…I thought you wanted to know what it was like to be eaten by a vampire?”

Araj wanted to scream but Astarion kept her quiet.

“Cyris, Gale, Wyll wait outside, I don’t think you want to see this”, Gale, Will and Cyris stepped outside while Astarion proceeded… 

He ate…he did not drink…he ate, he wanted nothing of her to be left to bury…for even maggots in the dirt to feed on…

He ate until nothing but clean bones were left…

She tasted awful… 

“Serves you right for torturing an innocent” he huffed as he patted his now very full stomach. 

The gang didn’t question or wonder what he did…or why he looked so…stuffed.

They pressed onward to their new objective: infiltrate Aunt Fibi’s Brewery Ingredients Emporium and get the stone back from whimbly.

[i-love-pomegranates]

So mom told me yesterday to be at the hospital at 9AM, for the papers n shit. I told her ‘yea ok, I’ll set my alarm for 8:45’, she said ok. Clown to clown communication.

I woke up at 8:09, pondered going back to sleep for another half hour and decided against, thinking I still had to pack stuff, maybe have some coffee and all.

At 8:42, while having my coffee, I thought, hmm, let’s cancel the alarm, since I’m so, so, so awake and all. Naturally, there was no alarm to cancel, because as it turns out, thinking about setting an alarm doesn’t actually set one, so much for mind reading tech.

And as I’m sitting there like, thank god I fully wake up after every sleep cycle, I’m, *insert who aaaare you kid*, waaaaaait a minute, isn’t it 9 in 18 minutes? Yes, yes it is!

Yesterday I spent 5 minutes looking for the knife in my hand. Went to the bank to exchange some euros, without my wallet.

I swear whenever something traumatic happens, half my rational brain shuts down to protect me probably or idk, which does help, as I can’t rationalise what’s going on. That or I’m in the denial stage. Guess we’ll see.

Prayers for my brain, as thoughts I hardly have.

[oonajaeadira]

WINKTOBER DAY 7: Costumes (Frankie Morales)

I don’t usually write for Frankie. The main reason is that I tend to gravitate to fantasy and sci-fi and Frankie is downhome, grounded in reality, and damn if he isn’t well represented in this fandom. I dunno what I could contribute to his library that isn’t already there, but here’s a little something that I couldn’t get out of my head.

This takes place anywhere that Halloween is celebrated with trick-or-treating.

You’re refilling the candy bowl as the sun begins to set, getting ready for the older wave of trick-or-treaters when there’s a knock at the door–a little too hard and nuanced to be a little one, but too polite to be a teenager–and when you open it, your new neighbor beams and nods, “Alright, Snickers are my favorite!”

You’ve been nursing a crush on the single dad since he moved in a few months back, taking any invitation to speak to him over the backyard fence, waving to little Abril while he pushes her in the swing or helps her dig in her sandbox or when he leaves her dancing with her bubble wand to come lean on the fence and smile shyly at his feet.

But right now she’s asleep and hanging off his chest in a kind of military parachute harness, her chestnut curls–so much like her father’s–tucked up under an army issue pilot’s cap and goggles, and above her you notice Frankie’s best olive green baseball cap has been fitted with a propeller and wings and holy crap it’s all you can do to keep your heart from melting out of your eyeballs.

“Hey,” he laughs nervously, a broad hand coming up to rub the back of his neck but bumping awkwardly into his homemade helicopter hat, “so…we went out trick-or-treating and I must have lost my keys and the locksmith says it’s one of those nights where it might take a while and I was wondering–”

“I dunno,” you smirk, stepping aside, “I mean, I’ve got a bed she’s welcome to nap on, but all I’ve got for you is scary movies and popcorn and beer….heeeyyyy waaaaaait a minute…that sounds like an awfully good deal for you…are you sure you didn’t lose your keys on purpose?”

That not-so-elusive dimple shows itself as he takes a step inside, and while he’s keeping his voice low for the benefit of his sleeping toddler, it also serves you well as he chuckles softly, “Damn, I should have thought of that weeks ago.”

---

Y’ALL!!! THIS FICLET HAS ARTWORK! CLICK HERE FOR PATERNLANTERN’S TAKE ON HELICOPTER FRANKIE AND PILOT ABRIL!

---

WINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST

[yeetlegay]

OMG. you mentioned i love you by riopy in your ao3 notes and i was like waaaaaait a minute! then i remembered seeing you in skamfr fandom. love when my previous fandom migrates to my current. i am obsessed with pretty woman au.

OMG A SKAM FRANCE ANON??? God those were the days. If you think Kinnporsche fandom was hysterical while it was airing…imagine living every minute of every day for like 2 months straight knowing that at literally any time the next scene of that week’s episode could drop on your ass with no warning whatsoever. You think you know what adrenaline is? Try living the 42 minutes between vendredi 7h45 and vendredi 8h27 and then come talk to me 😤

But so glad you’re liking Pretty Woman AU and love that you picked up on the connection! 💖💖

[avatarvyakara]

Tiles on the Roof

An Encanto Fanfic

Prompts 13-24

"Choice of Words"

First | Next

13. Tontería

(nf) nonsense

All of his life, it’s been like all Bruno can do is babble.

First it was fairy-stories for his mother and sisters, told with a four-year-old's certainty. Then it was stories that veered very dangerously into the truth, eyes glowing at odd times and the truth mixing with the nonsense; it left everyone fumbling, including him. After a while, he learned to mark the visions in the sand instead, and learned to hold it in and build and not talk, but they weren't as clear. They didn't hurt—it didn't hurt to see the future—but it was still difficult to work out what was true. More so, in fact. His stories held his view of the world, but not the sand. That was up to the viewer.

Bruno went from a chatterbox to almost a mute over thirty-five long, long years. And it still wasn't enough.

14. Exagerar

(v) to exaggerate, overdo, overreact, ham up; 2nd singular present indicative vos exagerás

“It’s—owwww—it’s all okay!” says Papá, wincing. “Could happen to anyone.”

“Ay, Dios mío, Agustín,” moans Tío Félix, “can you not try a little harder to not be a lightning rod for all our bad luck?”

There's a joke in there, a sad joke, that Luisa doesn't want to think about.

“But the work must be done, Félix!” says Papá dramatically. “What kind of example would I be setting for my children otherwise?”

“You’d be around to see your grandchildren,” calls Señor Gonzales from nearby.

“Hilarious, Diego.”

“Um, Papá? You do know you don’t actually need to do outside work, right?” asks a young Luisa. “I can take care of it.”

Papá, his hand already swelling from the beetle bite, sighs and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Ah, I know you can, chaparrita,” he says (and if he still calls her “shorty” when at twelve she’s already his height, well, not only is she not complaining—Luisa Does Not Complain—but she finds it kind of fun). “But you shouldn’t need to. And hey, everyone does their part, yes? And I got the wood chopped.”

“But you get hurt all the time—” And I’m the one with super-strength. You mustn’t overdo it just to prove yourself to anyone, you don’t need to do that.

“Ah, what’s a little pain when we get a nice, roaring fire at the end of it? Besides,” he gives her a wink, “your Mamá has a new recipe that she’s been wanting to try out.”

“But what does that have to do with—waaaaaait a minute...”

Papá smiles a little too innocently.

15. Coro

(nm) chorus

The Madrigals find joy in different things, as is only fitting. But the key is to find the joy. Give a little extra encouragement from the sidelines to the stars of the show.

Abuela is less than easily impressed these days, at least when it comes to Mirabel. But she still usually manages to make someone smile, even if it is only Mamá and Papá, just by…well, loving every minute of being here. She can't do much—not in the way the others can—but she doesn't need that.

And there's the odd thing. Mirabel hates the fact that she wasn't good enough to get a gift, but for the life of her can't imagine what her gift would be.

She also can't quite understand how she can manage to get the entire town in on the game when she sings, because that's kind of weird, but nobody actually seems to notice or bring it up so maybe it's better for her not to bring it up…?

16. Apellido

(nm) surname

Standard practice is for the wife to keep her family name, or tack her husband’s onto the end of hers. But Félix Castillo de Madrigal and Agustín Valderrama de Madrigal happily make an exception to the rule for themselves. Félix, after all, has lived in the encanto for long enough to know what it means to be a Madrigal in San Ambrioso, and Agustín still wants to learn, so badly. Becoming a Madrigal is a badge of honour that no sane man would turn down—least of all those who genuinely love the daughters of the house.

17. Risa

(nf) laughter

"Do another!" cry his friends.

Hmm. Who now?

Padre Juan, he thinks. And the minute he does—

"Ayyyyyiiiii, just look at my head! So bright you could see your face in it!"

Alejandro and Paola are in stitches.

(Mirabel has been playing with them less and less since…that night. Camilo tries not to feel guilty.)

18. Reñir

(v) to scold, fight, quarrel; 1st plural imperfect indicative reñíamos

It's just a phase, it's just a phase, Alma reminds herself. Her daughter could manage plenty of sunshine and clear skies before, it's just a matter of getting her to control herself better. Because if she doesn't, she risks destroying us all.

Pepa really has to learn to be less sensitive.

Lightning crackles overhead as Casita (very kindly) extends her awnings a little so Alma can have a bit of shelter.

Wasn't Pepa's room supposed to dampen the effect? Maybe she wasn't there. But where could her younger daughter have gone?

It starts drizzling.

She finds her in the garden.

"Pepita?"

There's her cielito. She stops crying as Alma approaches—the rain slows to a drizzle—but the skies are still dark.

"I can't take it back yet, Mamá," she says. "Soon, okay? Just…not now."

I wish I had never been given a gift.

"Lo se, Pepita," Alma replies. "Do you want some company?"

She shouldn't. She should go down to the village to reassure the others that the storm will abate.

Or she can help her daughter calm down.

(It's a little sad that, as her children get older, she's finding herself talking to the village more than she talks to them. But not right now.)

Pepa looks surprised, and madre de Díos if that isn't the worst rebuke her eight-year-old daughter could give her. But then she nods.

"Just a little bit," she insists. "I'm still mad at you."

"I know," says Alma.

The sky doesn't clear, not exactly. The clouds are still there, in pearly grey. But they aren't crying anymore.

19. Omitir

(v) to omit; 1st singular preterite indicative omití

It's not that Isabela can't do more than flowers. Right? Otherwise, why would she know all this stuff about the other plants? But she understands, somewhere in her five-year-old head, that right about now it's not needed like that. Abuela loves the flowers, and so to Mamá and Papá and her Tía and Tíos. She can leave out the rest for now.

(But not forever. Not forever.

"Sooner than you think, gordita," her Tío Bruno says. "You think this is amazing? Just give it time. You are going to be fantastic. And that's a promise."

It's one of her Tío's nicer Special Stories in recent days, and even Abuela smiles at him.)

20. Mentir

(v) to lie, tell a falsehood; 2nd singular negative imperative no mientas

"Pepa? Where have you been?"

Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies…

"…down by the creek?"

Mamá raises an eyebrow.

"Definitely not up in the mountains again where you said not to go alone?"

"Hey, who blew out the candles?"

Daytime? Sure. Fog in the house? Also.

"Um."

"Josefa Ciriaco Madrigal Sánchez—"

"Told you she wouldn't be able to do it," says Bruno from the sidelines, and jumps back to avoid a very localized lightning strike.

21. Diálogo

(nm) dialogue

Rat minds are surprisingly tidy, given what they are associated with. Thoughts are compartmentalized almost like they're in a tiny human mind, expanding or contracting with education and nurture, focusing on the roles they play more than anything abstract like a toucan's mind. And Antonio is currently listening to what the rats in the walls of Casita have to say.

Scavenger-for-food. Companion-for-Sad-Man. Top-billing-in-the-Teatro-delos-Ratos, says one.

Caretaker-for-Sad-Man. Best-role-in-the-Teatro-delos-Ratos, says another.

Watcher-for-Sad-Man. Aunt-who-has-amnesia-in-the-Teatro-delos-Ratos, says a third.

"What's the Teatro delos Ratos?"

The three rats look at one another and shake their heads.

Flabbergasted-from-Shining-Mind's-not-knowing-the-Teatro-delos-Ratos, says the second. Seeker-to-rectify-this-utter-disregard-for-thespian-culture.

(Sometimes even the animals think in ways he can't understand.)

"Can you show me?"

Hmmm. Reluctant-guide-towards-the-Sad-Man, says the first. Also—seeker-of-lunch? Observer-of-Glasses-Girl, hungry.

Antonio shares a bit of the spare arepa that Tía Julieta insists they all keep on them for emergencies, and follows the rats into the walls.

22. Cumplido

(nm) compliment

Sometimes they talk about her food, her compassion. Sometimes they talk about her body. (Once or twice in ways that had Pepa out literally shocking would-be suitors and Bruno, of all people, lighting up his eyes and saying "This is gonna hurt you more than it will me.")

Flattering? Yes. But it comes after the fact, so to speak. After she's already given them something. It feels like a way of smoothing things down to get more from her, of one thing or another. Julieta will give, but she gives to everyone. That's what it means to be a Madrigal, to give without expecting something in return. Still, she won't give to those who make a point of mocking her family.

Sixteen-year-old Agustín Valderrama, coming up to visit his aunt for the summer, doesn't praise her after he gets his cure. He offers to help instead. That's surprisingly new. And he asks her about her Gift, about how it works and what she feels and whether she likes it (she's not sure, she gets a kind of warm tingling in her bones when someone is cured, and she wouldn't trade it for anything regardless of what she could do otherwise). And not just about her Gift. About other things, like what she likes to do during her time off and what it's like being part of a set of triplets. It's…well, it's confusing. It's a different kind of interest that she's really not used to.

But that's okay. Honestly, it's sweet.

And because he's easily distracted and gets into more scrapes than Bruno and Pepa combined, they end up seeing a lot of each other during the summers.

23. Interpretación

(nf) interpretation, performance, translation

"What is it like?" asks Mariano, while they sit by the fountain one day.

"Mm?"

Mariano does not, repeat, does not touch her ears. (Tempting though it is.) Instead, he gestures to them with his lips, and feels oddly warm at her giggle.

"It's just…is it not painful? To hear every single sound around you at full volume?"

Then Dolores sighs. "It's a little like…hmm. I don't quite know how to describe it. It's…" She snaps her fingers with barely a sound. (For all Dolores' power, she herself is one of the quietest and gentlest people he knows.) "You know what it's like? It's like being on a chessboard. Only every square has a piece on it and you know where all of them are because…well, you just kind of know."

"All across the encanto?" asks Mariano in amazement.

She gives him a shy grin. "Exactly. A little bit beyond, too. Just in case. So on every square there's a piece, and every piece is making a sound as they move about…but I don't have to look at all of them at the same time. I can sort of, well, see with my ears. And focus in on what they're saying. Or what's happening around them. And make it make sense—" she gestures to her head— "up here."

Mariano's first thought is to say: "Then you are everyone's ears." But Dolores doesn't need that. She needs to be reminded that her gift isn't everything about her.

Instead, he says, "I'm just glad it doesn't hurt you."

"Oh, sometimes it does. When I'm around too many people at once, everything is multiplied and it makes it so much harder to bear." Dolores—brave, brave Dolores—smiles at him. "Not as much lately, though. Don't worry, okay?"

"I think I need to learn to worry, just a little bit," he tells her. And he does. He missed so many signs with Isabella. He can't, won't, get it wrong with Dolores. "Will you let me worry a little bit for you, cariña?"

She smiles, and takes his hand.

"Maybe just a little."

24. Abandonar

(v) to abandon, leave, neglect; 1st singular future subjunctive abandonare

Is it desertion? He could come with them. Keep them safe a little longer. And they could all die together.

Or he could stay here in the waters and try to hold off the beasts that hunt them. Los centauros, monsters of old, raiding and raping and pillaging. Those who no longer follow honour and no longer hold to mercy, if ever they did. There's little chance they'll even be distracted by him, much less that he can persuade them somehow to let them go.

But he has to try. For Alma. For the milagritos, the three little miracles she holds in her hands.

Pedro Madrigal steps forward and tries to keep his wits and what meagre bravery he possesses from fleeing. His heart and soul? They stay with Alma.

The Centaurs cut him down.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36486091/chapters/91028953

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