#equal parts fascinating and unsettling
Note
I think it's really nice you thought you could create an unfuckable and untwinkifiable monster, and I always think people should dream big, but I think it might be time to put this one away.
I am endlessly fascinated by this version of me that exists in the head of some fans, of this naive yet stern-faced Writer(tm) desperately trying to make them take my work seriously; frantically trying to stop them being horny for my creations. Like, mate, cmon. Ive been doing this for a long time now, and I made my peace with the monsterfuckers years ago. Am I trying to make an unfuckable monster? No. Cause I'm not an idiot.
I just make my messed-up grotesqueries for my little horror stories and assume someone out there probably wants to fuck them and that's fine. Me trying to stop them would be just be a waste of everybody's time, so I just wish them godspeed and go add some more pus to Mr Bonzo's stitches.
It does make me laugh that none of you know what a twink is, though.
#the weirdest part of being a public-facing creator#is all the various tulpas fans will create and call jonny sims#then earnestly insist are you#equal parts fascinating and unsettling
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They’re about 20 minutes into the movie when Steve feels the familiar dip of weight against his shoulder.
He can’t stop the pulse of fond bemusement that surges through him. After all, Eddie had insisted on picking the movie this week, insisted that it was “an unfathomable travesty” that Steve had never seen it, insisted they had to watch it despite the bruise-colored circles under his eyes, the discreet flex of his hands disguising the tremors he gets when he’s over exhausted. Steve says nothing, lets the movie run, and once Eddie conks out instead of switching to something more his speed, he keeps watching.
The movie’s not Steve’s taste, but it’s not bad. He hasn’t been big into cartoons since he was a kid. The animation is strange yet fascinating, the characters’ movements equal parts natural and off-putting. He drifts in and out of the story, though enough of Dustin and Eddie’s ramblings have sunk in that he’s able to follow along. Whenever a name or location he recognizes pops up he turns to Eddie and says, smugly, “I know what that is.” Eddie replies with a soft exhale that ends in a low hum. His breath skitters across Steve’s throat. Steve shivers.
Eddie’s got this little bank of noises he makes when he’s sleeping. When he crashes after drinking too much, he snores. When he’s asleep but not deep enough to rest, he mumbles—sometimes giggles, too, which is really unsettling if you’re not expecting it. And when he’s dreaming, good or bad, he hums.
They’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for long enough that Steve can tell when Eddie is having a good dream and when he’s having a bad dream. (It’s not weird, he counters to the tiny, horrible Robin voice that lives in his head.) The bad dream hums are low, dredged up from the base of his chest. The good dream hums are high, slipping out from behind his teeth. Steve can’t read music but he took chorus in middle school and he’s hung around Robin while she learned a new piece for band so he’s got an idea of how the note…thingy works. If Eddie’s dream sounds were a song, the good dreams would be at the top of the bar, and the bad dreams would be at the bottom.
Except now, as the movie nears its end, the song changes.
At some point Eddie’s legs had curled up beneath him, his face buried in the join between Steve’s shoulder and neck. Steve can’t hear as much as feel the noises vibrating against his skin. He feels the thrum of bad rising into good, then dipping into something in the middle and holding there. They’re stuck at the center of the stanza (Stanza! That’s what it’s called!) and Steve doesn’t know where to go from here.
“Eddie?”
The arm Eddie is leaning on has gone a little numb, so Steve uses the other to sweep aside the curtain of hair drawn across the side of Eddie’s face, his fingertips grazing his cheekbone. Eddie’s lips part. A new sound, a different sound escapes him. He pushes in close enough for those pink plush lips to press against Steve’s collarbone. Heat curves around the back of Steve’s ears.
“H~eeey.”
He doesn’t want to wake him if this is a good dream. Eddie’s an open book. Eddie’s told him he’s been sleeping like dogshit, that the night terrors have been particularly horrible this week. It’s a joke, a little. The two of them share weird hours. They create bits about how bad things are, how awful they feel about their relationships with people they love, how awful they feel about themselves. It’s fun, until it isn’t. Steve’s seen Eddie’s whole personality swallowed by the wet sand of sorrow. He’s seen him sink into himself and surface with something else, something bright and exuberant and loud and false. If Eddie feels good Steve doesn’t want to ruin it. But if Eddie feels bad—
“Hey.” Steve hooks his palm to rest beneath the ridge of Eddie’s jaw, his thumb pressed into his dimple. “Eddie. Wake up.”
Eddie’s eyebrows cinch, a sigh gliding across Steve’s knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, dark and spidery, his lids hanging low over hazy eyes. He blinks, owlish, then tilts up to meet Steve’s gaze with a slow, dreamy smile.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” Steve chuckles in reply.
“W…” Eddie’s mouth works like its full of sunflower seeds; deliberate, purposeful. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Why’dju stop?”
“Stop…what?” He glances to the muted blue static of the screen. “The movie’s over, bud.”
Eddie blinks again, slower. He’s so sweet like this, soft and syrupy, so when he breathes a laugh Steve can’t help but mirror it. “Oh,” Eddie exhales, then leans forward and kisses him.
The hum of Eddie’s dreams are now against Steve’s lips. Those lovely little middle sounds are now inside Steve’s mouth. He swallows them, feels them knife down his throat, wedge between his ribs, twist into the open valves of his heart. He pulls back.
Eddie giggles again. Pouts. “You stopped again.”
“Oh, honey,” The endearment wrenches out of him, involuntary. He smoothes the worry lines out of Eddie’s forehead. “You’re tired, huh?”
Eddie makes a non-committal noise.
“Okay.” Steve sets his feet and secures his arms behind Eddie’s back. “Okay,” he groans as he lifts him, spins him towards the stairs. “Okay. Time for bed.”
Eddie’s still in a half-conscious limbo as Steve navigates him upstairs, mouthing indelicately at any piece of Steve’s skin he can find. It’s untenable, and Steve’s not proud at how he launches Eddie in the direction of his bed, sprints to the en suite to splash cold water on his face before helping him undress.
“Take it,” Eddie murmurs when Steve unbuttons his jeans, and Steve needs to sit in the center of the floor for a moment before proceeding.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Wantchu t’aveit.”
Steve shoves him into a pair of flannel pajama pants and stuffs him beneath the sheets. Eddie curves onto himself like a mollusk, and Steve sinks at his hip, brushing his bangs away from his closed eyes. Steve feels himself split down the middle: One part already downstairs; one part already nestled in the contours of Eddie’s body.
“Go back to sleep,” Steve says, and moves to stand. Eddie’s hand closes around his wrist.
“Stay?” His eyes flit open, brief, earnest, pleading. “Please, stay.”
And, well.
They’re going to talk about it tomorrow. They’re going to talk about the movie they didn’t watch, and the moment they half-shared, and the reason its so hard to sleep apart yet so easy to sleep together. Not now. Now Steve shrugs into shorts and a t-shirt, slides in beside Eddie. Now, when Eddie’s limbs tangle around his own, he tugs him closer, lets something deep within himself settle.
“Stay?” Eddie asks again.
“Go to sleep, honey.”
And he does. And they do.
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The Wacky Widow's Woes
↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader
Comedy one-shot
Summary: In a twist of fate, the most obnoxious person on Earth, Gojo Satoru, appeared by your hospital bed. Clearly, the universe had a wicked sense of humor.
Word count: 5k.
Genre: comedy, fluff, yapping (Jujutsu Kaisen au).
Warnings/Tags: humor, no angst, whipped Satoru Gojo, bitchy reader, a lot of jokes about chapter 236 of the JJK manga (my personal healing process), mention of Kitkat, prepare for Gojo's nauseating love for his wife, who's probably sick of him.
Notes: I hope you laugh your ass off while reading this.
You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.
On a very, very, very dull autumn afternoon, we find ourselves in a hospital room where its fancy ass curtains are just letting in enough sunlight to cast a gloomy, eerie glow.
There, on the bed, lies a woman who seems to have become one with the medical equipment—or, better to say, a high-tech octopus. Wires and tubes sprout from her body like overgrown vines, connecting her to an orchestra of beeping machines. It's like a twisted version of a modern art installation, where chaos and order collide in a symphony of medical mayhem.
The woman, blissfully oblivious to the cacophony surrounding her, snores away, blissfully lost in dreamland. It's almost comical how she manages to find solace amidst the tangled wires and the chorus of beeps. One might wonder if she's dreaming of a magical place where the cables turn into candy canes and the machines play cheerful tunes instead of somber heartbeats.
The lighting in the room sucks, perhaps to match the mood or new architectural ambiance design. For fuck's sake, who knows! Shadows dance across the walls, conspiring with the flickering fluorescent lights to create an atmosphere that's equal parts unsettling and strangely fascinating.
As if to bring a touch of irony to the scene, a sad excuse for a vase sits on a nearby table, barely holding onto life. Its wilted flowers, once vibrant and alive, now resemble a bouquet of autumn hues gone horribly wrong. It's a symbolic reminder that beauty is fleeting, just like the woman's health, and that even in the darkness, there's a twisted kind of beauty to be found.
The room carries the unmistakable scent of sterile cleanliness, mingled with a hint of despair. It's the kind of smell that makes you want to open a window and let in some fresh air (read jump out), but alas, in this hospital room, fresh air seems like a distant memory.
Well, hold on to your hospital gown because here's a plot twist for you! Picture this: you've been envisioning this serene hospital room, reading it in all its autumnal glory, and guess what? The woman lying on that bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes, is none other than... drumroll... you!
Yep, you're the star of the show, ready to wake up and face your second stroke. But hey, don't worry, it's not going to be as boring as your room décor. No, no, life has decided to throw you a curveball and add a dash of excitement to your hospital stay. Who needs a peaceful recovery when you can have a stroke sequel, right?
So get ready to jolt awake and embrace the chaos! Remember, even in between unexpected events, a good sense of humor can be the best medicine. Laughter might not cure your condition, but it can certainly make the hospital experience a little more bearable. So, chin up, brave stroke survivor! Your story is about to take an exciting turn!
Well, well, well.
As you wake up from your beauty sleep, feeling as if you've been smooching a cactus all night, the machines around you decide to unleash their inner DJs with a symphony of beeps. How thoughtful of them to create an auditory masterpiece that grates on your nerves like a tone-deaf choir. Ah, music to your ears, right?
But fear not, the brave warrior of hydration! You are on a noble quest to conquer the desert that has taken residence in your mouth. Summoning every ounce of strength (and probably some residual grumpiness), you muster the strength to ascend from your pillow fortress. With your hand gracefully reaching out for that tempting glass of water, victory feels within reach.
Your hand hovers mid-air as if suspended by an invisible force, frozen in a moment of pure disbelief. Just when you think the universe couldn't possibly play a more mischievous trick on you, there he was—sitting on the couch like he owns the place—the one person you would rather avoid more than a clown with a pie in hand. Seriously, is this some cosmic prank show?
Your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but let out a little groan. It's like the universe is trying to test your resilience, throwing you into this hilariously uncomfortable situation. Oh, the irony!
You: Hell no! What the fuck are you doing here?
Right in front of your very eyes sits the epitome of style and charm—a man sporting a white shirt and black pants combo that would weaken fashion gurus at the knees. No sunglasses dare cross the path of this confident fellow, for his piercing ocean-blue eyes need no protection from the sun's feeble attempts to outshine them.
But wait, there's more! Let's not forget about his head adorned with fluffy white hair that could rival the fluffiest clouds. Ugh!
Satoru: Hello to you too, love!
He strikes a pose that screams, "I'm the king of this couch!" With one leg casually crossed over the other and his arms spread wide on the back of the couch, he's claiming his throne in the most nonchalant and hilarious way possible.
Satoru: Is this how you greet your beloved husband?
You: Fuck off!
With the speed of a ninja on a caffeine high, you swiftly pull the blanket up to your chest, fully aware that the hospital gowns offer about as much coverage as a single sheet of tissue paper. Yes, those flimsy garments are the Victoria's Secret of the medical world—barely there and leaving little to the imagination! And just when you thought the situation couldn't get any more entertaining, you catch a glimpse of his famous smile. Asshole! Is he peeping on you?
Satoru: Aha! The feisty spirit lives on! Missed your sassy attitude.
He grins like a mischievous little rascal who just stumbled upon a secret stash of dad jokes, except it's a porn website!
Satoru: And, of course, your perked-up nipples!
Summoning your inner grumpy penguin, you dramatically cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a glare that could make a grizzly bear retreat in fear.
You: well, Mr. White-Haired Head with a stinky smirk and eyes bluer than a bottle of Windex, I didn't miss you AT ALL!
Satoru: Why, oh why, did you dye your hair white if you claim not to miss me, baby? Is it some secret signal to the hair gods that you're ready to experience the adventure of life without my captivating presence? Or perhaps it's your way of channeling the wisdom of Gandalf and Dumbledore, hoping that your newly snowy locks will grant you magical powers to forget all about me?
You: Hold your horses, chatterbox! My hair has turned snowy white without any meddling from me. No, I didn't secretly sprinkle it with magic hair dye while cackling like a mischievous sorcerer, you idiot!
Satoru: Whoopsie daisy! You've got a point there. Did I accidentally step on your delicate feelings, wise and experienced grandma?
In a grand display of determination, you muster every ounce of strength to grab the pillow behind your back, preparing to launch it at him. Alas, it seems the strength of a thousand paperclips has possessed your hands, rendering them feeble and incapable of fulfilling your pillow-throwing dreams. The valiant effort leaves you gasping for air as if you have just completed a marathon of pillow-tossing.
Satoru: Yowai mo!
He erupts into laughter, showcasing his undeniable talent as a professional tease.
You: Cut the crapola! Spill the beans! What on earth has brought you to this neck of the woods?
With your firm tone that could rival a drill sergeant's, the machine begins beeping faster than a sugar-rushed hummingbird on roller skates. It's as if the beeps are making their best impression of a hyperactive jazz band, matching the frantic tempo of your skyrocketing heart rates.
Satoru: I'll be rolling on the floor in laughter if you drop dead from the sheer intensity of your anger, Granny. Let's be real; finding inner peace is way more beneficial for you in the long run. Just saying!
You: Satoru!
Satoru: Yep, that's me. Breaking hearts and taking names. Can't a poor soul like me simply pay a visit to my dear wife on her deathbed?
You: Hell to the no! You can't just waltz in our life whenever you please! Sorry, but you lost that VIP visiting privilege when you—
Satoru: Oh, and on that note, could that charming chick who graced you with her presence earlier be our beloved daughter?
You sigh, exasperated, and gently rub your forehead as if trying to coax that headache into submission. Ah, the joys of a headache that seems set on conquering you before any actual sickness does. With a dramatic sweep of your hand across your face, you channel your inner drama queen and then grab your neck.
You: Oh, please, for the love of all that is awkward, just tell me that you didn't try to work your "smooth moves" on her.
Satoru: I was this close to making a move, you know? She's like a spitting image of when I was head over heels for you! It's like you've managed to clone yourself or something. Should I be worried? Did you secretly stash away all my precious genes and hoard them for your own amusement? Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep all those sperms to yourself! But seriously, she doesn't look like me at all. I am hurt!
He pouts like a baby, forever stuck in his eternal state of immaturity, but you aren't about to let that deter you. With an air of defiance, you casually lean against the hospital bed board, gazing intently at the serum making its grand entrance into your veins. Oh, and that obnoxious machine chiming away? You can't help but wish it could just shut up.
You: It's actually better for her, you know. At least she doesn't have anything that serves as a constant reminder of her absent father, who couldn't even be bothered to be present during her birth!
Your words are like a sarcasm waterfall, cascading with vicious wit. You've mastered the art of tongue-in-cheek remarks, and while you're fully aware of their potency, you couldn't care less. It's like you've got a license to sass, and you're not afraid to use it, even if it makes the world say, "Well, ain't you a delightful ray of sunshine!"
Satoru: Let's not paint the picture as if I had some glamorous options! Nope, I was bestowed with the honor of being the designated problem-solver, the one expected to handle it all while gracefully tiptoeing through—
You: Oh, pretty please! If it's not too much trouble, continue your reign as the honored one through heaven and earth, while sparing me from any additional bouts of annoyance. I must say, it's quite the talent you possess—being both honored and a master of irritation. Quite the balancing act, I must admit!
As you clench the blanket in desperation, that rebellious needle gleefully plunges itself into your hand. Fuck unexpected pain! And there, decorating your arm like a chilling masterpiece, are the bruises—trophy marks from your encounters with the needle army. Who knew injections could become an avant-garde art form? With tears welling up and the air growing thinner, it feels like the room is leaving you gasping for breath just to have a twisted sort of fun. Bravo, universe, for your fucked up sense of humor! A standing ovation for this macabre spectacle.
Satoru: Love?
You: …
Satoru: Baby?
You: …
Satoru: My Wondrous Whipped Cream Warrior, the Caramel Crusader, the Sprinkle Spritzer, the Marshmallow Maestro, the Treat Tornado, the Sugar Rush Superstar, the Jelly-filled Joy Bringer, and the Sweetness Sorceress who turns my world into a Never-ending Dessert Buffet! The Honeyed Pussy of—
You: WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT, SATORU?
You are wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic, desperately gasping for air, and his attitude is about as helpful as a wet matchstick. You and the mysteries of poor life choices! What possessed you, in that twisted moment of madness, to willingly plunge into the depths of infatuation with him? It's a dark, twisted enigma that not even the Grim Reaper could decipher.
Satoru: Are you still mad?
As you tilt your head, there he is, looking at you with those big, blue eyes, like a lost poppy desperately trying to win the "Most Heart-Melting Flower" award. What a sneaky trickster! He knows exactly what he is doing, employing his secret weapon of irresistible gazes, and darn it; it works like a charm! You can't resist the powers of those eyes, and you reluctantly surrender, cursing his effective tactics while secretly admiring his diabolical brilliance. Well played, Mr. Blue-Eyed Mother Fucker, well played.
You: I never stopped being mad at you!
Satoru: Fair, but you have to know that—
You: Spare me the creative excuses, please! You pulled off the greatest magic trick of all—knocking me up—and then poof! You disappeared into thin air, leaving me with a growing belly and a bewildered expression. Good job, Houdini!
Satoru: You're welcome, baby. But you've got to cut me some slack here! My job description practically has "Accident Enthusiast" written all over it. It's not like I wake up in the morning, rubbing my hands together, thinking, "Oh boy, I can't wait for another mishap!" So, let's blame it on my occupational hazard, shall we?
You: Oh, well, then, thank you so much for gracing us with your presence again! You chose to go down that path because, of course, you believed you were the one and only capable being in the universe. And oh, how lucky we are that you decided to leave me and our daughter behind. It's truly heartwarming to see you saunter back into our lives after years like it's just another casual stroll in the park. I mean, who needs a father figure during precious moments like birth, first words, and first steps, right? Clearly, you had more important things to attend to. Our daughter has grown up and gone through school, and I've had the pleasure of explaining why her dad couldn't be bothered to pick her up like those "normal" dads. Graduation, dating, first job—she did it all without you, and we couldn't be more grateful for your consistent absence. Now you have the audacity to—
You start coughing, and each painful gasp feels like your lungs are being ruthlessly ripped apart, leaving behind crimson stains on your once immaculate sheets and hands. And there he stands, towering tall, as handsome as the day he first stole your heart. It's just not fair that he still looks so good while sickness has mercilessly drained the life from your weary soul. He approaches you, the lingering scent of vanilla clinging to him, a bittersweet reminder of what you once cherished but now resentfully long for.
Satoru: Take a sip of water. Do you want me to help you?
Oh, he's all worried now, isn't he? But honestly, after enduring all that post-him misery, you're not about to let him off the hook just because he's offering a glass of water. Come on, you might be a little dumb, but you're not "drink-water-and-forget-all-the-pain" dumb! Nice try, buddy, but you'll need more than H2O to wash away the mess you left behind.
You: I DON'T NEED YOUR GODDAMN HELP! How about you kindly take a flying leap back to wherever you've been hiding all this time? I'm sure you've perfected your disappearing act by now. And don't forget to leave behind a trail of glittering resentment as you go, just to keep things spicy. Ta-ta, farewell, and may you step on a thousand Lego bricks on your way out!
Satoru: Listen up, partner in crime! I've had enough of leaving you to your own devices. It's been tough for me, too, and I sincerely apologize for piling on the hardship. But I learned my lesson! Starting right this very moment, I'm making a solemn vow never to ditch you again. Consider me your loyal sidekick, ready to tackle life's challenges together, even if it means enduring endless reruns of your favorite TV show or subjecting myself to your cooking experiments. We're in this for the long haul, love!
You use the sleeve of your flimsy, ridiculous gown to clumsily wipe away the blood from your mouth, all the while shooting him a perplexed look. Seriously, how on earth does he still manage to gaze at you with those doe eyes, all lovey-dovey, when you're rocking the vampire-on-a-sunlit-day aesthetic?
You: So, you decided to grace me with your presence just because I'm sick?
Satoru: Yes.
You: I see how it is! You're not here because you missed me, huh?
Satoru: Uh-oh, am I about to witness another round of your infamous anger? But hey, before you explode like a volcano, let me enlighten you that I didn't write the rulebook on how things work. Nope, not my area of expertise. Turns out, the universe didn't consult me when setting up the whole system. It seems they left me out of the committee meeting where they decided the rules of life. Classic!
You: Does it hurt?
Satoru: It hurt me badly because I snapped in half like a Kit-Kat bar. And no, there wasn't a delicious wafer filling in between, just pure pain and emotional wreckage.
You: Come on, Satoru! This is not the time for your quirky sense of humor. I mean, seriously, I saw your guts out in the open, and to top it off, ants decided to take a leisurely hike on them.
Satoru: TV producers really went all out with the graphic details, huh? Sure, I appreciate high-definition viewing, but did they need a close-up of my stuff? Talk about taking reality TV to a whole new level! I hope they provided a warning. Note to self: avoid snacking while watching shows that involve anatomical explorations!
You: SATORU!
Satoru: Alright, alright, no need to get serious! Can't a man crack a joke about his own death around here? Fine, I'll hold your hand during the whole thing. You know, I once spouted that cliché line about dying alone, but let's face it, that was a load of nonsense. Nobody goes down that final road solo. It's like a grand exit party!
You: Oh, really? So, you had some company, huh? Well, you know what they say: ignorance is bliss. I don't need the details, and my imagination can take a wild ride all on its own
Satoru: Jealousy looks good on you, love.
As he bends closer, his breath tickles your lips, making you wonder if he had onions for lunch. With a dramatic flourish, he grabs your chin as if auditioning for a cheesy romance movie. And then, like a vacuum cleaner on turbo mode, he plants a kiss that sucks the air right out of your lungs. It's like indulging in a dessert buffet filled with marshmallows, caramel, and insulin shots. Who needs a thrill ride at an amusement park when you can experience a sugar rush of epic proportions? You may be risking diabetes, but hey, at least you'll be leaving this world with a sweet tooth satisfied and an unforgettable, albeit comical, memory of that last smooch.
Unfortunately, after what feels like a fleeting eternity, he decides to break the kiss. As your eyes meet, you can't help but sneak a glance downwards, wondering if his pants harbored any surprises. Alas, it appears that either he's a master of disguise or ghosts have taught him their spectacular talent for concealment. Sneaky whores!
Satoru: Are you ready to go?
Oh, snap! Once the horniness fades away, reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Holy shit! How did you manage to forget about your daughter? Leaving her behind is definitely not the best parenting move. Time to snap back into responsible mode and give that little one the attention she deserves. Parenthood: where forgetfulness meets a reality check!
You: Will she be okay?
Satoru: She's our little munchkin. She'll be alright.
You: I want to see her for the last time.
Satoru: You can see her whenever you want.
You: WHAT?
He scratches his head, messing up his undercut, desperately trying to dodge eye contact like a game of social hide-and-seek.
Satoru: Ops! Did I just spill the beans on one of the perks of the afterlife? My bad! My master plan was to witness that priceless guilty expression on your face when we reached the pearly gates. Imagine your shock when you realized you blamed me for no reason, only to discover I had a front-row seat to all your shenanigans during all those years! Oh, the things I've seen! I know how many times you've touched yourself thinking about me! No judging, though! And yes, I know you secretly fumed when our little bundle of joy uttered "Dada" before "Mama." Don't worry, I won't tell a soul... except, you know, all the other souls up there. It's the ultimate celestial gossip!
You: WHAT? YOU KNOW EVERYTHING? THEN WHY THE FUCK YOU ASKED IF SHE'S OUR DAUGHTER?
Satoru: First, just to tickle your pickle. Second, as I cunningly planned.
You: You're still a brat!
Satoru: And you're still as beautiful as the day I lost you.
You: Smooth words, my friend, but let's not kid ourselves. I won't buy into any deceit. I'm old, wrinkled, and sick. Time and disease are killing me, just as you hated. Meanwhile, you continue to flaunt that glorious chiseled chest and those rock-hard butt cheeks.
Satoru: Thank you, ma'am, for keeping my ass in your thoughts. Speaking of which, I must confess I've made some boneheaded decisions along the way. Opting for death in the name of someone else can seem like a breeze compared to the complexity of choosing to live for them. So, kudos to you for being the badass who faced life's challenges to honor my memory.
You: I hope this is not just a dream.
Satoru: We can give it a try and see for ourselves.
As Satoru reaches out his hand, something extraordinary unfolds—the machine starts beeping. You look at the device, noticing that the time between beeps gradually increases. But then, your gaze shifts to your cherished spouse, the man whose absence has left an indelible void within you. The man with whom you would have fearlessly confronted doomsday on that fateful December 24th in 2018, had it not been for the fact that you were carrying his last trace of existence, a precious legacy nestled within your very being.
You: You feel so warm.
Satoru: Some things never change.
His hand gracefully slides towards your waist, triggering a chain reaction of chaos. Those pesky wires and tubes that were so dutifully attached to you? Well, they decide it's time for a break and go on a wild unplugging spree. It's like a rebellious dance party of freedom for those little connectors! And just when you thought things couldn't get any more exciting, your feet are about to touch the chilly floor, ready to embark on an unplanned adventure.
You: Hold up! Fetch my wheelchair for me!
Satoru: You don't need it anymore.
As you place your feet on the floor, you can't help but chuckle at the fact that your knees manage to hold up, allowing you to stand upright. The machines emit a continuous beeping sound, indicating a flat line on the monitor. Suddenly, the door swings open, and a troupe of nurses storm into the room. They swiftly gather around your motionless body lying on the bed. One nurse examines your vital signs, another administers an injection into your vein, and a third retrieves a machine to deliver cardiac shocks in an attempt to revive you. Witnessing these intense moments, you hold Satoru's hand tighter.
You: I don't want to come back.
Satoru: Are you sure?
Tears well up in the corners of your eyes and trickle down your cheeks as you gaze at him.
You: Yeah. I've spent more time living with your memory than I've had the opportunity to live alongside you.
Satoru's grip on your hand intensifies like he's determined to etch his touch into your very being. He lifts your hand delicately, planting a tender kiss upon it. Drawing you closer to him, he envelopes you in an embrace, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. With gentle affection, he presses a kiss upon the crown of your head, leaning his head upon yours.
As teardrops trickle onto your head, you find yourself clinging to him desperately, as if trying to hold onto the fragments of a shattered existence. In that agonizing moment, the harsh reality of his unfulfilled roles crashes down upon you like a relentless wave. He has endured the torment of being a husband bereft of a wife, a father denied a child, and a sensei forsaken his students.
Satoru: I will never let go of you anymore.
You: Is this just another one of those "oops, my bad" promises? You know, like when you swore to be to hold me for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health?
Satoru: Heyyy! I held you till death do us part. I even remember, the night before my, um, grand finale, I held you so good that you had spread your legs, moaning my name and begging me to hold you harder.
Just as you are ready to break free from his grasp and deliver a well-deserved bonk on his clueless head, the scene takes an unexpected turn. Your doctor rushes into the room and towards your bed, barking orders left and right, and proceeds to administer yet another mysterious injection into your poor, defenseless vein.
Deciding to redirect your attention, you avert your gaze and catch sight of your reflection in the nearby window. To your astonishment, your hair has magically reverted to its former glory, defying the clutches of time. Wrinkles? Vanished as if a skilled magician performed a grand disappearing act. You're suddenly transported back to the good ol' days of youthfulness. Bewildered, you inspect your once-bruised hands, only to find them as flawless as a newborn's.
You: Satoru? What's—
Satoru: I know, right? It turns out one of the unexpected bonuses of kicking the bucket is that you get to rock your sexiest form once again. So, brace yourself because I won't behave when you sashay around in that gorgeous drop-dead gown. I can't keep it in my pants till we arrive and I start making cream pies and babies with you!
You: Oh, my goodness! Does it actually work in the afterlife as well?
Satoru: You're referring to my... um, dick? Let me tell you, it still has the same old magic, if not a little extra pizzazz! It's like a fine wine, aging gracefully and delivering peak performance in the afterlife. Who knew there would be such perks beyond the grave?
You: No, idiot! I mean babies!
Satoru: How should I know? I made sure to wear a condom during my frisky encounters with angels.
You can't help but release an exasperated breath, causing your ears to turn as red as a tomato in a sauna. The thought of giving him a good old-fashioned strangling and sending him off to the after-afterlife has you chuckling at the absurdity of it all.
Satoru: Would it tickle your funny bone if I threw caution to the wind and played a game of "heavenly roulette" with unprotected encounters, potentially earning myself some out-of-this-world STD souvenirs?
With a masterful brow raise and a world-class eye roll, you are all set to deliver the ultimate "exit stage left" move. But he pulls off the ultimate surprise maneuver and hits you with the "Hold up, wait a minute" move. He has a secret superpower to freeze you in your snarky tracks! Goddammit! Those puppy eyes again.
Satoru: I was joking, okay? I just jerked off while watching your showering or self-exploration activities. I mean, fingering yourself while calling my name. That's it! Okay? Also, we should have a talk about that dildo you named Hollow Purple!
You: So, it seems you shamelessly watched everything, hm?
Satoru: Yes. Absolutely! I had a lot of spare time to slay, and, hey, let's not divert our attention from the Hollow Purple subject, you dirty little mouse!
You: God! Kill me already!
Satoru: Why? You're just itching to infiltrate the kingdom of my pants, aren't you?
You: You know what? I've had a change of heart. I'd rather try my chances with cosmic sickness than spend an eternity with your delightful company!
Satoru: Goodness gracious! You and your fiery temper! How on earth did you manage to cast a spell on me, making me fall for you?
You: It's common knowledge among our friends that everybody should bow down to your shameless expertise in the art of begging!
Satoru: Is that so?
He displays a smug smirk, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.
Satoru: Well, we can ask when we see them.
Your eyes go from their regular setting to full-on "wide-angle lens" mode, capturing the world in all its wide-eyed wonder. It is as if someone presses the "zoom" button on your peepers, revealing a comical level of astonishment.
You: They are there, too?
Satoru: Oh boy, buckle up for Nanamin's epic rage when he discovers our fashionably late entrance!
You: Well, chop-chop! Time to hit the road! We wouldn't want to unleash the wrath of the entire afterlife just because your chatty ass decided to go on such a long monologue!
He leans in and gently kisses your forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours as he guides you towards the door. As you both stand at the doorway, you cast a lingering gaze upon the nurses and doctor, who seem to have thrown in the towel on their attempts to revive you.
Satoru: I can't wait to spook everyone alongside you. You'll forever be my always.
Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this.
@enchantedforest-network 🤍
#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru oneshot#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru comedy#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojou satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojou#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen#jjk gojo#gojo jjk#shintin one-shot#shintin writes
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thanks for requesting. im sorry this took so long to write i didn't have that much ideas of what to write for a part two. i can't edit older drafts for some reason so i had to take a screenshot of your request and redo this.
☆ the wolf in sheep's clothing [part two]
fyodor dostoevsky x male reader [he / him]
sypnosis: part two of a wolf in sheeps clothing.
the lowercase is intentional !
[part one]
days, weeks and months had passed by since fyodor's first encounter with [name]. ever since then, fyodor couldn't stop thinking of [name]. he was practically infatuated by the priest and his obscure preachings.
fyodor was interested. he was interested in both [name] and the man's preachings. he couldn't help but want more of them. he wanted to listen to more of [name], he wanted to be around [name] more. but of course, it was only for the sessions, right? fyodor didn't want to believe he was actually.. attracted to [name]. he refused to believe it. it was all just for the preachings is what fyodor made himself believe.
it was a regular evening, which meant another one of [name]'s preaching sessions that fyodor was looking forward to once again.
fyodor made his way to [name]'s church and he walked inside. the place hadn't changed much in the past few months. it was the same building, with more or less the same people inside. he had been in the building so much he could practically nagvigate the whole area blindfolded.
fyodor scanned the room, hoping to see where [name] was and he eventually spotted the man. fyodor walked up to him with a smile and a wave.
"good evening, [name]. it's nice to see you again." fyodor spoke, his voice nice and smooth. it was like music to [name]'s ears, a very pleasant song that [name] would have on repeat.
[name] nodded, smiling back at the man that had bumped into him many months ago. "good evening, fyodor." the man replied back before walking over to a pedistool to set up for his new speech.
fyodor followed [name]. he knew [name] wouldn't start until around half an hour passed, so fyodor decided a little more conversation wouldn't hurt.
"how have you been?" fyodor asked, still smiling at [name]. the black haired male's smile was quite unsettling, but so was [name]'s nature so it equalled out.
"fine, as always." [name] hummed, shuffling things around clumsily to get his whole 'stage' prepared for him. [name] believed his pedistool, his altar was a stage. he wanted to believe it was a stage, and that im a few years time the word of his new, true religion would spread. but, that was unlikely.
fyodor watched intently as [name] set up.
it was always like this. he always watched the other man get ready. fyodor watched how [name] would shuffle around multiple pieces of paper of his speeches, how he straightened himselt up.
fyodor was fascinated, to say the least. he enjoyed watching [name] do all of his tasks and devote himself to his cultist ideology. fyodor was definitely interested.
[name] looked up from his pedistool as he finished and he smiled. "you should go sit down, i'm almost ready now. i'm sure you'll like this session just as you like the others." [name] said to fyodor.
fyodor nodded and he walked over to the benches that were littered across the hall. he sat in his usual space where he got a clear view of [name]. he loved sitting there, sitting somewhere where he could see the person he was most interested in (for multiple reasons).
[name] watched as fyodor walked over to his usual seat before he walked over to the bathroom. he freshened himself up so he didn't look that bad infront of all of his followers. he then walked out and got to his stage.
[name] cleared his throat before he spoke to all of his followers.
"good evening all!" he calls out, his voice filling the room. everyone immediately turns to look at [name], amazed by his voice already.
"thank you all for coming. i can't wait to tell you some new things our true god has let me know!" [name] continued, a wicked glint in his eyes that most people looked past. they were too captivated by his voice to care about the nonsense he was going to talk about.
as [name] spoke, fyodor couldn't help but get more and more mesmerised by the man. the way [name] spoke was so captivating, the way he looked was just.. perfect. fyodor loved every second of it. he loved being around [name], listening to his preaches.
after the speech was over, everyone cheered. everyone applauded and called out [name]'s name, loving what he had just spoken.
everyone left, but not fyodor. fyodor walked up to [name] and applauded, smiling at the man.
"that was an amazing speech, [name]." fyodor spoke, his words smooth and pleasing to [name]'s ears. "you never fail to impress me." fyodor hummed, smirking at [name] now.
[name] chuckled, feeling flattered by fyodor's words. he smiled back and nodded at the other man.
"why thank you, you never fail to flatter me." [name] responded, being just as flirty as fyodor was being just a second ago.
fyodor then realised, in that moment, that he was definitely into [name].
it was just because of the preachings or the sessions, it was because [name] was truly captivated.
fyodor was completely infatuated. he needed [name] now, or else he didn't know what he would do. it was like he was craving the other man, longing for him. he'd do anything he'd have to for [name].
fyodor then chuckled and he stepped closer to [name], putting a hand on his cheek and stroking it gently.
"you know.. i could give you something else to worship if you'd like." fyodor whispered into [name]'s ear, leaning in closer with that smirk still on his face.
[name]'s eyes widen briefly, but then he looks at fyodor, returning the smirk to him.
"oh, i'd love to see." [name] chuckled and then he leaned even closer, closing the gap between his and fyodor's face with a kiss.
the wolf in sheep's clothing definitely had more things than just his false god to worship now and fyodor now had [name] wrapped around his finger.
☆ author's note: i'm so sorry this took so long.. i hope you like it @ kaeiyokotoro ! i didn't know how to make a p2 so i really tried my best. keep requests coming !
☆ masterlist ▪︎ request
#fyodor dostoevsky x male reader#fyodor dostoevsky x reader#fyodor bsd#fyodor bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bungou gay dogs#x male reader#x reader#gay#foryou#bsd#bsd x male reader#bsd x reader#fanfic#bsd fanfic
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My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 5: Hubert/Ferdinand)
Hubert: I've already dedicated my life to Lady Edelgard. To throw my lot in with you is inconceivable. But if I had two lives to give… I might devote one of them to you. Not as master and servant, but as equal partners.
Hubert's earliest memory was being told that he was a servant and he must guard his "master" with his life. As a member of House Vestra, he was also responsible for carrying out House Hresvelg's dirty work from the shadows. He left his carefree innocent childhood days behind long before coming to the monastery.
Hubert said he killed his father for his disloyalty to the emperor, but I suspect his resentment ran much deeper than that. Deep down, he truly did desire to devote his life to someone as an equal, not as a servant. Even if he wasn't consciously aware of it, I think he despised his father for robbing him of that dream.
Dorothea: Oh, Hubie, I finally get you. You're just another servant suffering from unrequited love for their mistress.
Hubert: You completely misunderstand. Unrequited love? Do I really look like the kind of drooling simpleton to have that kind of motivation?
The fact that Hubert was so obsequious to his master was not natural for him. He is an Aries, which is a very masculine fire sign. They actually have a naturally powerful and dominant personality, and they are also known for not being very emotional.
Edelgard is the "obvious" person Hubert would be in love with. Dorothea assumes this as well as Ferdinand in Hopes. But he denied that he was motivated by unrequited love. And you know what? I actually believed him. The way he described Edelgard was idolization, not love. Hubert wanted to crush the nobility he hated, and he admired Edelgard for sharing that goal. He was definitely bonded to her since she was the only person he could trust. But there was a distinct lack of emotional intimacy between the two.
Edelgard: Well, that's utter nonsense! You can't possibly keep something so fascinating from me! Who is it?
Hubert: It is you, Lady Edelgard. Did you ever really doubt?
In their A-Support, Hubert was reluctant to open up and share his feelings with Edelgard, much to her frustration. She even tried to use her power as emperor to get him to confess his secrets, but he wouldn't budge. The dialogue actually changes slightly depending on whether he has already reached A-Support with another girl.
But curiously, even if he has, he will still say that the person he loves is Edelgard. You could always take his declaration at face value. However, I believe that it should not be. The implication was that crafty unreadable servant didn't think the details of his love life were any of her business. He knew she didn't want to drop the subject, so he just lied. He'd rather deal with the awkwardness of her believing that he is a simp than letting her know who he is dating.
Ferdinand: Please do not compliment me again though. I find it quite unsettling. It is like hearing a snake sing an aria. At least put it in a letter next time.
Hubert: In the very unlikely event that there is a next time, I promise to put it in writing.
Even if Hubert doesn't have A-Support with another girl, I still think he was lying to Edelgard in his A-Support. I got the sense that Ferdinand was the one Hubert "canonically" had secret romantic feelings for, regardless of their Support level. The way he describes Ferdinand is so similar to how he described Edelgard in his B-Support with Dorothea. While Hubert hated the nobility, he genuinely admired true nobility and all of the qualities associated with it.
Hubert: Is it a gift? Perhaps for someone you fancy?
Ferdinand: A gift, yes. For you.
Hubert: Hm. Who is the unlucky— Did you say for me?! This coffee is a gift for me? Have I heard you correctly?
In Hubert's other A-Supports, the woman is always the one to come onto him, which he does admittedly enjoy. But Hubert actually took the initiative with Ferdinand. If Byleth marries him, he won't even have a ring because he's "never done well with gifts or flattery." But he will compliment Ferdinand and buy him expensive tea?
If this A+ Support is unlocked first, Ferdinand will be drinking Hubert's coffee in his A-Support with Edelgard. It implies that his relationship with Hubert helped him reconcile with his subordinate position to Edelgard.
I loved how the unapologetically evil Hubert developed a crush on the compassionate and conventionally attractive Ferdinand. And I loved how some genuine flattery from Edelgard's #1 fan fed into the flamboyant Ferdie's ego and turned him into a blushing schoolgirl. Hubert is a man who is described as ghoulish inside and out, yet I daresay, there was mutual attraction.
Hubert: I have an entire laundry list of loathing, but if I had to pick one, it would be reminiscing.
The tagline for FE3H was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". Hubert did not have any particular emotional response to fighting any of his former Black Eagle classmates, with one exception. He became nostalgic when Ferdinand confronted him in Enbarr.
While I think he will settle for an attractive woman who makes the first move, Ferdinand was the one he always fancied. This definitely feels like the "canon" ship for Hubert. Of course, no pairings are truly canon, because of player input. By "canon" I mean the writers favored this pairing the most, similar to Eliwood/Ninian in Blazing Sword.
Ferdinand: I cannot afford to die now, or my page in the history books will end in a most horrid fashion. "Plagued by the guilt of striking down his father, Ferdinand welcomed the cold embrace of death on the battlefield." Or some such hogwash. Yes, I killed my father-and I would be a liar if I said it did not wound me nearly beyond reckoning. But I will not hate myself for it. It was the correct choice. I did the right thing.
Ferdinand and Hubert had a prominent relationship in Hopes as well. More prominent than any of Hubert's relationships with his potential wives. I can't exactly say Hubert is a good influence on Ferdinand's (or anyone's) morality. With Hubert goading him, Ferdinand beheads his father, while in his paralogue "Retribution" he tried to save him. And an Empire-aligned Ferdie never does let go of his obsession with his historical legacy.
But Ferdinand had a positive impact on Hubert's character development across both games. He criticized Hubert for not thinking for himself and never expressing an opinion of his own. Hubert is the one who wrote the letter to Claude/Seteth to carry on their goal to defeat those who slither in the dark. We can probably assume he did this on his own. In Hopes, Hubert also used his own money to hire Jeralt's Mercenaries to save Ferdinand's life, without consulting Edelgard.
Hubert & Ferdinand
Hubert and Ferdinand became the left and right hands of Emperor Edelgard, competing constantly with each other to see who could be the more helpful. They were opposites—the Minister of the Imperial Household, melancholy and merciless, and the prime minister, bright and compassionate. Still, they brought out the best in each other. As the Empire became orderly and prosperous, the two came to be known as the nation's "Two Jewels," and were remembered fondly for generations to come. Some say their fame made even Emperor Edelgard jealous.
According to Teaspoon Translations, the Japanese ending for Hubert/Edelgard states that, "Even in their retirement, spent just by themselves, there were likely no romantic exchanges until the end." For Hubert/Ferdinand, it states: "Stories say that even the Emperor was envious of their inseparable relationship [lit: relationship in which they are truly open with one another], but the truth remains unclear."
Hubert's intimate relationship with his partner was apparently meant to directly contrast his emotionally closed-off relationship with his master. And Hubert probably displays the most positive development in his ending with Ferdinand. Instead of being feared for his unsavory reputation, he is actually remembered fondly by the public. I suspect all that kinky sex they were having behind Edelgard's back made all the difference.
#fe3h#fe3h meta#fe3h hubert#fe3h ferdinand#fe3h ferdibert#ferdibert#hubert von vestra#ferdinand von aegir
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Shockwave!
TFA Shockwave is my fav Shockwave by a looong shot
there is. so much to say on him. but ultimately one of the things I love the most and find the most interesting is the sort of backstory reversal that he and Perceptor have
like I'm not sure which continuity it stems from. TFP or IDW maybe? (in which case it wouldn't rlly be a reversal bc TFA pre-dates TFP and probably the issues of IDW that this was revealed about shockwave but UM. IDK) but its USUALLY like...Shockwave who deleted his personality to make room for science. in TFA, its Perceptor who did that, and Shockwave finds that unsettling
which i think is fascinating but i'm going to try to not open the can of "the autobots in TFA are evil" worms on this post bc otherwise we'll be here forever LMAO
Shockwave is just..so interesting in TFA though!! his role as a spy, his design (how can you not love Deer). his voice (yes i know its just his g1 voice actor but TFA Shockwave just hits different). the fact that he is equal parts menacing and funny (thinking abt him pointing and laughing at lugnut. or "lying lying liar" hfldskjhf can't believe this is the same mech that viciously mangled Ultra Magnus)
just the ominous presence of his single red eye, which once you notice it on longarm you can never unsee it. a headcanon i have is his eye emits a low, ominous, almost threatening hum. one you wouldn't really hear unless its dead silent otherwise, like the high pitched sound a TV makes when it's on but not playing anything
as for ships...i think my biggest ship w him has gotta be Shockwave/Blurr obviously. i do like the idea that it was a relationship carried over from Longarm. got too in-character, accidentally caught feelings for an autobot. sometimes you panic and smash your bf into a cube its fine. he got better
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Disney Rumplestiltskin (Part 1)
Ok! Here’s my plot and final designs for the hypothetical Disney Rumplestiltskin, recobbled from the bits in OUAT, the actual fairytale, and some ideas of my own :)
And to start off here’s our lovely leading lady Corinne!
The feisty young daughter of the local miller, Corinne wants more out of life then being stuck in her small town. Picture a Belle with a sharper tongue, more cynicism, a passion for fashion as well as books —and a father who ignores her— and you’ve got Corinne. She dreams of traveling to the city where she can share her dress designs and actually make a mark on the world.
The chance for that comes when she literally runs into the dazzling Prince Dior (and his younger less dazzling half-brother Henri)
Prince Dior rules the provence of Aveyon with an expensively silk covered iron fist, demanding higher and higher taxes to fund his lavish life style. Henri tries his best to curb his brother’s impulses but rarely manages to make himself seen outside his brother’s very long shadow.
(If Dior looks familiar it’s because he becomes the father of another Disney prince with a famously bad temper, a trait inherited from his father—wanted to tie in BatB somehow as it’s part of Rumple’s story in OUAT—and speaking of…)
Finally there’s our titular pro/antagonist: Rumplestiltskin
A mysterious man with mysterious motives, who both frightens and fascinates Corinne as the story unfolds.
And our story begins when Corrine is nearly run over by Prince Dior’s carriage. Far from being apologetic, the Prince leaves her humiliated and angry by shaming her notebook of dress designs and, when she insults him back, taking it with him to laugh at further. Determined to prove herself and get her notebook back, Corinne takes a dress she’d been making for a patron for herself, and the necklace which had once belonged to her mother, and sneaks into the Prince’s masquerade ball being held that night at his “vacation palace” in the nearby woods.
While there she manages to dazzle the crowd with her wit and charm, winds up dancing and bonding with the oft overlooked and much more agreeable Prince Henri, and get instantly caught by Prince Dior when she sneaks into his private wing to search for her notebook.
When the Prince accuses her of being nothing more then an overdressed burglar, sneeringly asking if she stole her dress as well, as there’s no way someone as tasteless as her could sew something so fine, Corinne bitingly replies she could spin straw into gold if she put her mind to it—and grinning wolfishly, Dior says he’ll take her at her word.
Which is how Corinne finds herself locked in a tower with a spinning wheel and several piles of straw, and told she has the rest of the night to try and spin it into gold—or never leave the tower again.
Furious at the prince, and at herself, Corinne tries at first to escape, but finding it impossible begins to cry angry and then hopeless tears.
Which is when she hears an unsettling giggle, and looks up to see an equally unsettling person standing in the doorway.
Though startled by this intruders appearance in more ways then one, Corinne’s first instinct is to run past him out the now open door. But the man quickly tells her that Prince Dior as put a set of guards at the bottom of the stairs with orders to kill her on sight if she manages to escape that way. No the only way out is if she fulfills the Prince’s impossible demand, and isn’t she lucky, as “spinning straw into gold just so happens to be something I like to do.” And quickly gives a small demonstration.
Once she gets over her shock, Corinne starts thinking. There’s no way this man is going to do this simply out of charity, there’s always a price for something, life has taught her that well enough. And she says so. The man grins and agrees “Magic always comes with a price, and mine tonight will be…that necklace”
Corrine swallows hard, the necklace is one of the only things she has to remember her mother, her father never speaks of her anymore and couldn’t bear to have pictures of her around. He can hardly bear to look at Corinne as it is. Her mother was always the kinder, the more understanding of her parents. The memory of her is what Corinne looks to for warmth when she feels herself growing colder in world already so cold to her…a world that she may well never see again if she doesn’t agree. So she reluctantly hands the necklace over, and the strange man smiles a predatory grin, his eyes gleaming gold as he takes it, and sets to work...
And that’s part one! I’m pretty happy with the story twists I’ve come up with for this to both incorporate the fairytale and what Disney gave us in OUAT so stay tuned for part two for more!!!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
#disney#my art#rumpelstiltskin#ouat#prince henry ouat#beauty and the beast#this all takes place in the BatB castle#we get see it in its glory days in this imagining#my ocs#Disney ocs#rumplestiltskin#ouat cora#ouat rumple#fairy tales#fairy tale retelling#brothers grimm#once upon a time#cora mills#DisneyVerse#Disney Movie Concepts
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Brickclub 5.1.8 “The Gunners Taken Seriously”
Gah, Combeferre is so far in the wrong here? I don’t know if I’d really put together before how much the grapeshot is an immediate existential threat to the barricade that they need to solve NOW, before another shot of it is fired, and the artilleryman is the one about to do that.
Yeah, Combeferre doesn’t like killing, which: very fair! But man, it is not the time for that objection, when it’s the death of this guy vs the fall of the barricade and all their deaths RIGHT NOW. It’s not really the time for that objection in general! They are on a barricade, which he judged to be a worthwhile goal! The government is shooting at them! The two sides of this fight are not equally right and there isn’t some peaceful alternative way of fixing the world! Combeferre you KNEW THE PREMISE.
And he’s a doctor, and he hates killing, and even his fascination with weapons of war seems to be at least in part a compensatory obsession to deal with how much he hates this. I get that he’s coming apart from the stress, and I sympathize, a lot.
But aghhh, his reasons why this guy’s life is worth preserving are. Something.
Combeferre’s arguments:
- He is presumably well-educated and looks like a thinker.
- He “could be [Enjolras’s] brother,” ie he looks like Enjolras, who is Combeferre’s friend.
- That is to say, he’s around twenty-five, handsome, blond, and blue-eyed.
- He probably has parents and may be in love.
His larger point, which does make sense, is this is a human being with a specific history, and also that he really could just be another Ami, if things were different. Combeferre was probably used to trying to recruit people like this guy in more peaceful times. He describes him “charming” and “intrepid” which links him to Enjolras and Prouvaire, the two Amis we’ve seen Combeferre being closest to. He’s seeing a mirror across the barricade, and the people over there don’t look that different.
But wow do I not love “he’s white and has familiar middle-class class advantages!!!” as reasons this guy’s life particularly matters?
Like: yeah! You guys do happen to look a lot like the people you’re fighting! This has as much to do with Hugo being weird about having working class protagonists as it does anything else, given that in actual history this is a working class rebellion! You guys also look a lot like Tholomyes’s whole friend group! This is not an indicator of worth!
Like everything Combeferre says when he’s fraying, it’s not totally wrong--this guy’s life has value, same as everyone else’s. But Enjolras’s sorrowful “he is [my brother]” gets that point much, much better than Combeferre seems to.
And maybe it is worthwhile to remind Enjolras of that. That has been the role of Combeferre and his other friends in his life, and he seems to have gotten the point.
It just feels so unsettling that this moment that kind of disguises itself as a moment of a Myriel-like impulse on the barricade is kind of the opposite of the things Myriel most stood for--that people’s lives and souls matter regardless of their outward appearances, educations, virtues, or prospects.
I keep thinking about the Conventionist’s directive:
“I will weep for the children of kings with you, if you will weep with me for the children of the people."
"I weep for them all," the bishop said.
"Equally," G- exclaimed, "and if the balance tips, let it be on the side of the people: They have suffered longer."
Combeferre knows that, of course. I don’t think he values the life of artillery sergeant less than that of the child who starved to death, at least when he has time to think about it.
He’s just fraying and losing it and losing friends and really fucking done with all the killing.
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Another ask, if you feel like it: Eärwen: 4, 5, 7 (including: does she have a favourite kid?) and 13.
I have been WAITING for someone to ask about Earwen. I love her so much.
4. Favorite canonical relationship?
Look. You CANNOT make me choose between Finarfin and Anaire. I love both dynamics equally. The fact that Earwen was able to resist her longing to see the rest of the world --- the very same longing that her children inherited from her and fell victim to --- in part because Anaire was staying???? SO much platonic love. I will never get over it.
On the other hand, I am fascinated with the implied development of Earwen and Finarfin's relationship, both leading up to their marriage and after his return from the Helcaraxe. It's just !!!!!!
5. Favorite non-canonical relationship?
I'd have to say with Amarie, definitely. I have a very complicated set of headcanons surrounding Amarie and her story that I won't fully explain here for the sake of length, but I think there was a time when she moved to (or at least spent a lot of time in) Tirion because she found more acceptance and empathy there, since there were many in similar situations. I have a lot of thoughts about Earwen kind of taking her in and feeling somewhat responsible for her, because, like, she wasn't ever technically her mother-in-law, but she was supposed to be, and she does have some quasi-maternal feelings towards her. It's very complicated and if I had more free time/liked writing more, I could write a very long fic about them.
7. Thoughts on her as a mother (if applicable)?
I think she jumps into it with a lot of enthusiasm, she loves having the chance to teach these tiny people all about the world (but especially about the sea) and answer all their questions. Overall, I think she's very encouraging of her children's interests and unique personalities, but maybe takes the "fun parent" role too far and leaves Finarfin to be the strict one. Not perfect, but very good. As for the favorite child, I think it would just be the one she happens to be talking to at the moment. Maybe she has a little bit of a closer relationship with Aegnor and Finrod, but I don't think she actively, consciously, has a favorite.
14. What character do you really wish she had gotten to meet/hope she will someday meet?
Celebrian, actually. I headcanon that their personalities are so similar that it can be almost unsettling for Galadriel at times, and I would love to see them interact and have Earwen show Celebrian her favorite tide pools and Celebrian tell Earwen all about her favorite species of trees. Grandmother-granddaughter bonding time.
#i am extremely weak for platonic love stories btw#and yes i am biased towards the arafinweans being the least dysfunctional ones in the family#what did you expect#earwen#aj's finwean ladies ask game
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Chapter 103 Preview
(Hey guys, I’m making headway with Vol.6 and I’m not far off now, so here’s a preview as it’s been so long, much longer than I anticipated)
Bonnie continued to suffer with a headache, a stomach ache, and the general notion that she was exhausted, preferring that she remain still or in bed for the remainder of the day. Having never been intoxicated before, Bonnie had not experienced the results of such a decision and she was starting to regret her impulse to drink copious glasses of wine. Hurrying to the door, she whined, her hand pressing against her stomach, anticipative that this would somehow ease the dull ache within. She opened the door with an apology, the words dying on her lips when she perceived who it was.
Her suspicion had been correct, for, towering above her, was Florence. The older woman realised that they were now standing before one another, a smile appearing on her lips. She appeared to believe the motion was agreeable, not wishing to unsettle her guest.
“May I come in? I feel we have much to discuss.”
Bonnie could not comprehend that there should be any need for a discussion, except for one reason, though she did not wish for that conversation to be had.
In her hesitation, she uttered: “Erm...”
“Excellent!”
Florence brushed past her, her broad sleeves sweeping past Bonnie’s. The sight of the room fascinated her, though it was her own. It was the concept that it was the room that Bonnie herself occupied that was riveting to her. The air was fragrant with her perfume, and the nightgown that was flung upon the chair, her books on the table, were all studied with interest. Thereafter, she peered over her shoulder, her smile one of amusement. Her brow raised, though she endeavoured to repress the motion, the equal delight and inquiry in her expression visible, despite her best efforts.
In her wait, her gaze turned to expectancy and Bonnie turned to close the door. It was indisputable that they were to talk, regardless of Bonnie’s apprehension, this suggestion torturous to her. She gazed forlornly at the oak, her lips parting in her nervousness. It was fortunate that her hostess could not view her, for the door received the full effect of the woman’s dismay, she wishing she could rest her forehead against the wood for some semblance of moral support.
Upon turning around, she observed that Florence had seated herself on the sofa, one leg dangling over the other. Her arm had settled along the backrest, arced at the elbow, so that her head could lean idly against her curled hand. The two women stared at one another, Bonnie uncertain; Florence, unperturbed. There was an aspect to her countenance, as there had been since their first meeting, that Florence was knowledgeable of an event that Bonnie could not entirely fathom. Her worst fear was that Florence knew of all that had transpired between her and Yvonne, that she was a lover of some kind or had been, this circumstance causing her to be derisive in her presence as a result. Accordingly, Bonnie could not discern any positive outcome to Florence’s connection with her neighbour nor the feelings she may harbour towards her guest.
With this thought in mind, Bonnie glowered down at her. It was an accidental occurrence; she was not entirely conscious of enacting it, for she would have thought it impolite, yet her tone further indicated her irritation as she spoke.
“What may I do you for, Mrs Alston?” Bonnie had not used Florence’s married name, aside from among company, during the three weeks that they had spent together, trusting that this abrupt use of decorum would remind the woman of formality. She hoped that no etiquette would be lost between them, simply due to Bonnie’s leaving in two days. “If we are not to travel into town today, I was thinking of sleeping soon. I did not sleep well last night...”
She stumbled to an end, for Florence merely continued to stare up at her, her foot flicking backward and forward in the air, indifferently.
“I know what you are thinking,” she said, hereafter.
Bonnie could not prevent herself from laughing in astonishment. “Do you now?”
“You want to ask about the nature of my relationship with Yvonne.” When there was a momentary silence, she continued. “I knew it from the moment you stepped from that carriage; you have been wary of me these past few weeks. Last night, I could see it in your eyes. You do not like me, do you?” This question caused her to laugh; she appeared to find the matter entertaining. “It is not personal, I know. Jealously makes a fool of us all, at some time or another.” She viewed the way Bonnie’s lips parted in her willingness to defend herself, which merely caused Florence to speak faster, desirous to finish her speech before she could interject. “I am sure Penny has told you that we have been close for a number of years, and she did admit to me that you were told of Augusta.”
Bonnie stared down at her hands, her fingers that twisted together. She inhaled deeply, her attention returning to Florence, moments later. She hoped to compose herself as much as she could, though she perceived the quickening beat of her heart against her chest.
“Why would I be bothered by your friendship with Yvonne? Surely, two consenting adults may form any friendship they wish to.”
Florence raised a brow, her amusement still visible in her countenance. “I am not under the allusion that you have some aversion to me.” She paused to chuckle. “Dear Bonnie, you are not a good liar. It has been written all over your face! I know the nature of your feelings towards Yvonne, as much as I know the nature of hers.”
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No, but seriously, about Nana Daiba (spoilers for episode 7 & 8):
I find it fascinating how, we started off with a character, who has a joke name and motif (even her hair is bananas!) that feels like a direct import from the Ace Attorney universe into a shoujo anime, and, over the course of a single episode, it’s revealed that she’s an antagonist who is equal parts unsettling and sympathetic, and it gets even more interesting when you consider that, despite her goal of a reiterating the same ‘perfect’ show over and over again, and how dismayed she seems to be by change (like how she was sad about two minor background characters, whom the audience never saw, dropping out of the 99th class), her reaction to a newcomer (Hikari) was not anger or rage or anything like that, but a sincere, good-intentioned promise to find a way to add Hikari to Nana’s show (and we know Nana’s being sincere about this because she first makes that promise to herself in a soliloquy at the end of episode 7, and then reprises it to Hikari during their duel in episode 8). To summarize, she’s a surprisingly nuanced antagonist, and I’m looking forward to see where the show goes with her.
Also, it may just be a coincidence, but I feel like, especially when she’s in her white theater costume, Nana Daiba’s design may owe a bit of inspiration to what NANAmi Kiryuu might have looked like if she wore her brother Touga’s student council uniform (notably, the director, Tomohiro Furukawa, did not work on Revolutionary Girl Utena, but *did* get his first experiences with directing by assisting Kunihiko Ikuhara with Penguindrum and Yurikuma Arashi, sooo, maybe?)
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Stella Carter, English major with a focus on mythologies at Miskatonic University. An eccentric young woman, much of her time at the university is spent studying ancient civilizations and their mythologies, working on her thesis of the grains of truth in which many myths and legends in ancient stories reside. Her studies have directed her towards one very protected volume kept under lock and key in the Miskatonic University library, only available by request - the bizarre and unholy Necronomicon, equal parts holy text and spellbook for civilizations ancient and unknown.
Carter's studies led her here due to her accidental uncoverings of a lost expedition, some 50 years prior, to the Antarctic by several Miskatonic professors and students alike - by which, according to what little remaining accounts are left, only two returned alive, only one of which returning sane. Everything about the lost Miskatonic expedition has been lost and forgotten, save for the scattered personal journal of the one sane survivor, but even that remains largely unreadable due to age and damage. What little can be deciphered, however, made mention of the Necronomicon, and... SOMETHING that had been discovered down in the South Pole that so reminded the writer of such a forbidden text. There was her grain of truth; something physically existing in the world that was the inspiration for such twisted, unsettling myths and legends.
In her time at the university, Carter makes friends, as well - namely the two strange boys studying the art of surgery at Miskatonic Medical. Dan is everything a doctor should be - humble, kind, precise, intelligent, just to name a few traits. His roommate and friend, Herbert, is... a different case. His soft, gentle face, his innocent eyes, and slight frame are but a thin veneer for the cold, analytical precision that lay underneath the surface, and his studies in the nature of death have Carter absolutely fascinated. The two eccentrics hit it off quite well, much to the surprise of others...
It isn't until one fateful night in the Miskatonic medical school's morgue that things take a true turn for the bizarre.
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Review: A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G. Summers
I think anyone would be intrigued by that cover, right? I had very little idea of what to expect of A Certain Hunger but I knew that it featured a female serial killer, a particular buzz phrase for me. So, I wasn’t completely prepared for what was to come!
Dorothy is a food critic who loves food as much as she loves sex. Both of these passions often take her travelling between Manhattan and Italy, living a really quite wonderful life. Now from her prison cell, she is finally telling her story of how she ended up there.
Like the vast majority of women, Dorothy has had her fair share of belittlement at the hands of men. I was on edge every time she was alone with a man who had tried to assert himself as the dominant party in any way. Dorothy’s voice is perhaps the inner voice of many women -sharp, unforgiving and undeniably violent. I could fully believe in her as a character, which unsettled and excited me in equal measure.
There are some lengthy, verbose descriptions of food and ingredients. When Dorothy is actually talking about food stuffs, this is a real treat for the senses but my stomach churned when she used the same descriptors for human flesh. Because yes, there is cannibalism in this book. Quite a lot of it. So, be prepared for that should you decide to pick it up!
It goes without saying that there is a lot of blood and violent imagery in the book. The way that Dorothy delights in it is horrific and to be honest, it was so graphic in places that I started to wonder how Summers did her research. Is this what it’s really like when a person is killed so violently and if so, how does she know?
There is a bit of discussion on the difference in treatment between male and female psychopaths. It’s true that women who kill draw a much greater fascination than men who do the same and it’s purely down to how society has been conditioned to perceive women. Women are expected to be nurturing, kind-hearted, selfless creatures while violence and aggression typically belong to the world of men. The idea that there are women out there who are emotionless, unremorseful and unpredictable is terrifying for some people, so women like Dorothy become true curiosities.
In some parts, it felt like Dorothy was giving other women (female readers) advice on how to get the upper hand with men. I got chills when it felt like she was talking to me because it was almost as if she sensed something in common with herself. It’s a clever writing device and it definitely made the reading experience a lot creepier.
A Certain Hunger is a well-written, engaging story that will make you feel sick. I’m pretty sure I can’t ever re-read it, which is why I can’t really give it a maximum rating. It’s a short book but it took me a while to read because I kept having to work up the courage to sit with Dorothy again for a little while. If you like books that thoroughly unsettle, then A Certain Hunger is a good shout!
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They performed as if the rent was due and the home was about to face foreclosure
Murray Bartlett and Nick Offerman, The Last of Us
Photo : Courtesy of HBO
Guest stars Offerman and Bartlett took center stage — and broke our hearts — as they chronicled Bill and Frank’s romantic relationship from gruff start to heartbreaking finish. Offerman’s performance as the secretly sensitive Bill was a revelation that proved the comedic actor’s got some serious dramatic chops. And Bartlett’s easy earnestness as Frank made for a loving counterpoint that perfectly complemented Bill’s defensive cynicism. Together, what a dynamic, moving and eminently watchable pair! — Kimberly Roots
Photo : Courtesy of Prime Video
In the Amazon comedy’s fifth and final season, Borstein — who has already picked up two Emmys for her role as Midge’s indefatigable manager Susie Myerson — was tasked with playing her gruff, potty-mouthed alter ego through multiple decades amid some extreme emotional highs (Susie breaks Midge!) and lows (Susie breaks up with Midge!). And there was nary a false note in her work. In fact, the Susie-centric, Friars Club roast-themed sixth episode ranks among Maisel’s finest hours, in large part due to Borstein’s remarkably restrained comedic and, ultimately, heartbreaking performance. — Michael Ausiello
Photo : Courtesy of Apple TV+
Think back to Ted Lasso’s earliest episodes and ask yourself if you ever thought you’d be cheering in Jamie Tartt’s corner. No? Us either. And yet, there we were in Season 3: gutted for Jamie when Zava usurped him as AFC Richmond’s star player; anxious as we waited for that final goal against Man City to hit the back of the net; and utterly charmed by Jamie’s three-season metamorphosis, an arc that satisfied so deeply because of Dunster’s endearing approach to it. In Ted‘s third season, Jamie was all at once an effortlessly cool football superstar, a soft-hearted mama’s boy and perhaps the most devoted friend in Richmond’s entire clubhouse — and Dunster made us believe every version of him. — Rebecca Iannucci
Dominique Fishback, Swarm
Photo : Courtesy of Prime Video
We’re still thinking about Fishback’s fascinating turn as Dre, a hyper-fixated fan who embarked on a cross-country murder spree in her idol’s name. The actress impressively matched the show’s chaotic plot with an equally riotous performance, portraying Dre as mild-mannered in one moment and delectably unhinged in the next. We were especially blown away by Fishback’s transformation into Dre’s alternate persona Tony in the finale, appearing unrecognizable with just shorter hair and a downward vocal inflection. Swarm may have illustrated the perils of extreme fandom, but consider us obsessed. — Keisha Hatchett
Photo : Courtesy of Apple TV+
Ford’s natural charm and charisma were on full display throughout Shrinking‘s debut season. Even the quietest of quips and Paul’s mildest of irritations were transformed by the actor into big laughs and major moments. And despite the oodles of comedy the screen vet delivered, he also flexed serious dramatic muscle. When his character’s Parkinson’s disease raised concerns with his daughter, lingering resentment came to a boil, giving the actor plenty of meaty material to chew on. The living legend’s performance sizzled, frequently catching us off-guard, and elevating everyone and everything around him. — Nick Caruso
Photo : Courtesy of Peacock
Simone’s profound yet absurd journey in the Peacock show was as impactful as it was entertaining, and that’s because of Gilpin’s divine performance as the wry nun. The actress skillfully navigated each twist and turn of the show’s ambitious story with stunning clarity; even if we didn’t fully understand what was happening, we knew exactly how Simone felt each step of the way. Gilpin has always impressed with her exceptional talent, but it was this memorable performance that converted us into lifetime devotees. — K.H.
Photo : Courtesy of FX
Idris’ raw and deeply unsettling turn in the FX drama’s final season is a huge part of why Snowfall is also one of our picks for the Best Shows of 2023. As Franklin’s desperation to retrieve his stolen money intensified, so did the actor’s performance, resulting in one of the richest and most devastating turns we’ve seen all year. — K.H.
Devery Jacobs, Reservation Dogs
Photo : Courtesy of FX
Jacobs proved herself to be one of the Hulu series’ most versatile performers. When her character Elora wasn’t grappling with grief or trauma, the actress spent the show’s swan song going toe-to-toe with uproarious guest stars and exploring what it meant to be young and directionless. She aptly juggled complex emotions when Elora met her dad for the first time and made the difficult decision to leave the reservation for college. With her exceptional comedic timing and on-screen vulnerability, Jacobs will forever be remembered as the Rez Dogs’ beating heart. — N.C.
Natasha Lyonne, Poker Face
Photo : Courtesy of Peacock
We loved Lyonne’s raspy-voiced sarcasm on Orange Is the New Black and Russian Doll, but she may have found the role of a lifetime in Peacock’s charmingly retro mystery. Lyonne channeled classic TV detectives like Columbo and Jim Rockford as amateur sleuth Charlie Cale, who has a supernatural sense of when someone is lying. But she put a modern spin on it, too, with an endless supply of smart-ass one-liners, and she also let us glimpse the wounded soul that Charlie hides underneath all the punchlines. Here’s hoping she sticks around as long as some of those classic TV detectives did. — Dave Nemetz
Photo : Courtesy of Amazon Freevee
You might say that this was hardly a performance, since Marsden essentially played himself in an elaborate prank that convinced one unsuspecting dude he was a juror on a totally fictional court case. You’d be wrong, though. Marsden’s very presence on the jury helped sell the prank — who would make that up? — and he gleefully poked fun at his movie-star persona with plenty of shameless name-dropping and diva-esque demands from the jury box. He even formed a touching bond with the unsuspecting juror Ronald, cementing this as one of the very best performances of Marsden’s career… since Sex Drive, at least. — D.N.
Zahn McClarnon, Dark Winds
Photo : Courtesy of AMC
AMC’s Dark Winds with Season 2 amassed more of the acclaim it richly deserves — much of which is born of what McClarnon brings to the role of Joe Leaphorn. As the tribal police lieutenant, McClarnon with the nuance of an artisan brings forth many facets, including dead-serious intensity, understandable fear, camaraderie (and even the occasional dollop of biting wit), and the warmth of a family man navigating all manner of drama. We care about the cases because McClarnon’s performance makes us invested in everything that Joe cares about. — Matt Webb Mitovich
Ebon Moss-Bachrach, The Bear
Photo : Courtesy of FX
Season 2 of Hulu’s culinary dramedy offered a feast of great performances, from unexpected guest stars (Jamie Lee Curtis!) to cast members hitting new heights (Ayo Edebiri!). But the most satisfying of all was Moss-Bachrach’s heart-wrenchingly vulnerable turn as Richie, the tough-talking bastard who actually got his act together and transformed himself into a world-class restaurant employee. Sure, he was salty throughout, but it was a joy watching him discover his life’s purpose — and sing Taylor Swift along the way. — D.N.
Elizabeth Olsen, Love & Death
Photo : Courtesy of Max
Coming off 2021’s genre-spanning WandaVision, Olsen confirmed with Max’s true-crime miniseries that her range is indeed boundless. Though Candy Montgomery’s life took a notoriously tragic turn, Olsen played Candy in those early episodes with a magnetic charisma and surprising humor, making her eventual pivot to axe murderer all the more heartbreaking. But Olsen then transformed the housewife into an anxious, withdrawn version of herself as her trial began, and a crucial therapy scene in which Candy mined her childhood trauma proved Olsen can literallydeliver the goods with her eyes closed. — R.I.
Bel Powley, A Small Light
Photo : Courtesy of National Geographic
The Morning Show alum was immediately lovable as Miep Gies, one of the people who risked everything to help Anne Frank and her family hide from the Nazis. Watching her take Miep from floundering young woman to steely member of the resistance was riveting, thanks to Powley’s choice of making Miep utterly unable to hide any of her emotions. Her turn in the finale, particularly when she blended devastating loss with a determined hopefulness as Miep comforted Otto Frank, was nothing short of a masterclass. — K.R.
Ramón Rodríguez, Will Trent
Photo : Courtesy of ABC
You don’t deliver a freshman season that earns a rare average grade of “A+” from TVLine readers without having something really special going on. For ABC’s Will Trent, that added oomph came from a stellar cast led by Rodríguez. Readers of the Will Trent novels by Karin Slaughter may have needed a minute to process the TV series’ casting, but Rodríguez from go brilliantly encapsulated both the investigator’s insightful strengths and his haunted, personal weaknesses. The season finale, in which Rodríguez cycled Will through an array of intense feelings, cemented his perfection in the role. — M.W.M.
Photo : Courtesy of HBO
Everyone brought their A-game to the final season of HBO’s riveting corporate drama — Jeremy Strong and Kieran Culkin could easily be on this list, as well — but Snook blew us away with her final episodes as scheming sister Shiv Roy. She was still quick with a cutting insult, but she also dove deep into Shiv’s true feelings as she faced unprecedented crises: first, the sudden death of her father Logan (with Snook submitting a career-best performance) and then the sad decline of her marriage to Tom. The worst of times for Shiv, though, brought out the very best in Snook. — D.N.
Patrick Stewart, Star Trek: Picard
Photo : Courtesy of Paramount+
This old dog still has a few tricks left up his sleeve. The 83-year-old Stewart could’ve just glided through Picard’s final season on cruise control, but instead, he submitted some of his best Trek work yet as Jean-Luc dealt with the massive shock of learning he had a child he never knew about. His emotionally charged confrontation with Beverly about their son Jack made for mesmerizing TV, and he was downright spry as he led the reassembled Next Generation crew on one glorious final mission. — D.N.
Meryl Streep, Only Murders in the Building
Photo : Courtesy of Hulu
It took no time for the three-time Oscar winner to escape into the role of a struggling stage actress, wowing us with her well-honed dramatic chops as she delivered Loretta’s audition in the premiere’s opening scene. A season-long arc would afford her the opportunity to be comedic (for instance, when Loretta flipped over a potential part in Grey’s New Orleans: Family Burn Unit) and romantic (in her scenes opposite Martin Short aboard the Staten Island Ferry). She got to sing her heart out (see: “Look for the Light”) and lay it on the line (when Loretta was confronted by estranged son Dickie). Suffice it to say, we were dazzled. Death Rattle Dazzled. — Ryan Schwartz
Photo : Courtesy of FX
We know her as Ted Lasso’s perky publicist Keeley Jones, so it took some getting used to when Temple went Minnesota Nice as meek housewife Dot. Within minutes, though, Temple sold us on Dot’s Midwestern roots — and showed us she’s not as meek as she seems, either. Temple is perfectly chipper as the happy homemaker and also holds her own packing heat in Season 5’s high-adrenaline action scenes. Plus, she hints at the many skeletons still hanging in Dot’s closet, making her a fascinating mystery we’re still working to unravel. — D.N.
Ali Wong and Steven Yeun, BEEF
Photo : Courtesy of Netflix
The feud was messy, but the performances were divine. As two characters who clashed, bickered and set out to destroy each other, Wong and Yeun wowed us with turns full of humanity and humor. Amid the series’ campy comedy, both actors dug deep into their character’s insecurities, showcasing blind rage, anxiety and sadness as they wrestled to accept the lives they had created. In a series that ran the gamut of emotions, genres and tones, the two actors combined their skillsets to elicit some truly next-level work, and as promised, this BEEF was flamin’ hot. — N.C.
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TVLINE'S YEAR IN REVIEW!
Performer of the Year: The 20 Finalists
By Team TVLine
December 13, 2023 7:00 am
Not even a months-long actors strike could stop the steady stream of phenomenal TV performances we were gifted in 2023.
All year long, Team TVLine has recognized the small screen’s most compelling work via our Performer of the Week column, honoring actors from broadcast, cable and streaming series as they brought their characters to dazzling, devastating life. But now, we’re tasked with naming a Performer of the Year — a decision that seems almost impossible, given the abundance of talent in the last 12 months.
To make the choice a bit easier, we’ve narrowed down the field to the 20 finalists below (named alphabetically), a list of nominees that doubles as a “ballot” of sorts. (Note: As is TVLine tradition, any contenders comprised of multiple co-stars — for example, BEEF‘s Ali Wong and Steven Yeun — compete as and will be considered one finalist.)
On Wednesday, Dec. 20, we will crown one of the nominees (and only one!) our 2023 Performer of the Year, dethroning the 2022 victor, Better Call Saul‘s Rhea Seehorn. And while our esteemed panel of judges won’t necessarily be swayed by the Comments section, we’re itching to see if our 20 finalists line up with your favorite performances of the year.
Keep scrolling to see who’s in the running from this year’s shows, then drop a comment with your thoughts on who might be named Performer of the Year 2023.
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Chapter 1 Darkheaven manor
I added some stuff to this chapter. Right now I'm trying to make it all have more depth and maybe even more emotion in it. There are also things I need to write more about. I need to make it to make more sense in some parts.
Ran had always been an ordinary individual, leading a life that felt remarkably unremarkable. Born and raised in a small town, he found contentment in the simplicity of rural living. The town was nestled between rolling hills and meandering streams, a place where everyone knew each other's name. Yet, for Ran, the tranquility of rural life was both a comfort and a burden.
On one fateful day, the winds of destiny began to blow in a different direction, leading him toward a grand but eerie mansion in the heart of the countryside: Darkheaven Manor. Its very name sent shivers down his spine, evoking a sense of foreboding that the townsfolk had perpetuated for generations.
"Darkheaven Manor, huh?" Ran muttered to himself as he approached the looming mansion. "A place with a name like that is bound to have secrets."
Darkheaven Manor was fascinating place for Ran. Its ivy-clad walls stretched skyward, reaching for the heavens, while its towering turrets seemed to pierce the very fabric of the cosmos. The manor's sprawling grounds were a lush, verdant expanse, meticulously maintained yet shrouded in an air of melancholy.
Generations of townsfolk whispered tales of the curse that hung over the manor like a pall. The stories told of misfortunes that befell the manor's previous inhabitants: accidents, untimely deaths, and disappearances that left the community in dread. It was said that the curse had its roots in a tragic love story from long ago, one that had left a lingering malevolence in its wake.
On moonless nights, when the world lay enshrouded in darkness, the manor's silhouette was even more ominous. Locals spoke of seeing strange lights in its windows and hearing mournful cries that carried on the wind. Many believed that the spirits of those who had met untimely ends within the manor still roamed its shadowy halls, their presence an unsettling reminder of the curse's enduring grip.
Ran had heard these stories since childhood, sitting by the fireplace as the elder townsfolk recounted the manor's grim history. It was the kind of legend that made your spine tingle with dread and curiosity in equal measure. Ran, in his ordinariness, had always been drawn to the mysteries of the manor.
But there was another layer to his inner struggles that few knew. Throughout his life, Ran had battled with questions of identity and self-discovery. He had been assigned female at birth but had always felt that his true identity lay elsewhere. The small-town community, while well-intentioned, didn't always understand or accept his journey.
In kindergarten, a defining moment occurred in Ran's life that would ultimately shape his journey of self-discovery. On one ordinary day, he was excitedly rushing to join a group of children at play. As he approached the playground, he saw two distinct groups forming: one for girls and another for boys. It was at this moment that he felt a profound internal tug-of-war. Ran instinctively felt drawn towards the group of boys. He couldn't quite explain why, but he knew in his heart that he belonged with them, despite being assigned female at birth. However, when he tried to join the boys' group, he was met with resistance from both his peers and the teachers. They insisted that he should join the girls' group, as that was the expected and accepted norm.
This experience left Ran with a sense of confusion and isolation. He didn't fully understand the complexity of gender identity at such a young age, but he knew deep down that he didn't fit into the mold that society had assigned to him. The incident marked the beginning of his awareness that his true identity didn't align with the gender he had been assigned at birth, and it would set him on a lifelong journey to discover and embrace his authentic self.
In response to the dissonance he felt that day, Ran disassociated from his true feelings to protect himself. It was a coping mechanism he adopted as a means of survival in an environment that didn't fully accept or understand him. But the memory of that pivotal moment in kindergarten remained etched in his mind, a symbol of the early awareness that he was different and that his gender identity journey was unlike that of his peers. This realization would later lead him to Darkheaven Manor, where he hoped to unravel the mysteries of the mansion and, in doing so, explore the intricacies of his own identity.
As Ran embarked on his path of self-discovery, this kindergarten experience remained a poignant memory, a symbol of his early realization that the conventional expectations of society didn't encompass the full spectrum of human identity and expression. This realization would lead him to Darkheaven Manor, a place where secrets and truths were hidden behind ivy-clad walls, mirroring the hidden facets of his own identity.
The confines of traditional gender roles felt suffocating, and the mirror often reflected a person he didn't fully recognize. Ran yearned for acceptance and understanding as he grappled with the complex tapestry of his identity. Darkheaven Manor, with its enigmatic history and mysteries, seemed to offer a parallel to his own inner world – a place where secrets and truths were hidden behind ivy-clad walls.
The unexpected call from his childhood friend, Alex, ignited his curiosity and set him on a new path. Alex had become an accomplished paranormal investigator and had gathered a team of experts to explore the mysteries of Darkheaven Manor. Knowing Ran's fascination with the supernatural and his struggles with his paranormal powers, Alex believed that this investigation might offer the answers Ran was seeking.
One evening, as Ran sat alone in his small-town home, the phone rang. It was Alex, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and concern.
"Ran," he said, "I need your help with something that could change everything we know about the supernatural. I need you to join us at Darkheaven Manor. There's more to this curse than meets the eye, and I think it could be the key to understanding your own journey."
As Ran hung up the phone, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for – a chance to unravel the mysteries of the manor, confront his inner struggles, and embark on a life-altering journey. The winds of destiny had carried him to the threshold of Darkheaven Manor, and he knew there was no turning back.
As he ventured closer to Darkheaven Manor, on that day when fate beckoned him toward its dark embrace, Ran couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he could never have imagined. The journey that awaited him within the ivy-clad walls of the manor was a path to the extraordinary, where the veil between the living and the dead would thin, and the secrets of the curse, as well as the mysteries of his own identity, would slowly unfurl before him.
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Year in Review 2022 — Part 6 — Top Ten Movies
10. Top Gun: Maverick (dir. Joseph Kosinski) I'm an easy mark here, ever-fascinated by the arc along which Tom has orchestrated his career, and whatever we call this current era. To call him a singular performer sells it short; it's hard to think of a single artist or performer in any field that has functioned in such a way, throughout all these enigmatic phases. There's a very reasonable impulse to draw him in the lineage of Jackie Chan and Buster Keaton, but neither of those guys were fucking sex symbols, they didn't have the spectre of an actual cult lurking just out of frame, they never played Frank T.J. Mackie! (No fault of their own, obviously.) Tom has just had so much baggage, both earned and not, so much meta-text informing his work and our reading of it, and through it all he continues to exude the same magnetism all the while contorting himself into this physical martyr for our entertainment. He simply cannot exist unless he is killing himself onscreen for us, physically, metaphorically, all of it. And what's more, the guy just really fucking loves movies. The near-maniacal agency he's asserted on virtually every level of production, the collaboration he's cultivated with McQuarrie, deep down the man still has this childlike wonder with what movies can do, and say what you will about the guy, but after everything that is a beautiful and rare thing that should be protected at all costs.
So on to Maverick. This is the perfect vehicle for the Tom experience; he gets to employ all the painstaking precision while pouring on the nostalgia to remind us all what going to the movies is about. Sure, I expected to enjoy this movie, but I was not prepared to feel the depth and swell of feelings that I did. It was e-mo-tion-al. For something as obvious and dumb as Hangman's third act reversal to genuinely send my lip aquiver means you're just doing something right from a moviemaking perspective.
9. Pearl (dir. Ti West) Ti West is a guy I root for, but do not exactly ride for. He's at his best when playing with pastiche, devoting himself to classic genre tropes and aesthetics often beyond even the point fetishization, and the results are varied. He's a guy that seems to have more good ideas than you can actually point to in his movies, which isn't necessarily a knock or even his fault I don't think. It's no coincidence that his best achievement by far is also the first time he's really spent exploring character, when his other films were often antagonistic to them (I'll never get over Greta Gerwig's death in House of the Devil). Pearl is such a refreshing turn, a promise that yeah, there might be more to this guy than his VHS-era horror movie dioramas lead on.
And really, it's Mia Goth who deserves all the credit in the world here. Looking at her filmography, the choices she makes, the artists she seeks out, she has proven herself to be a legit little weirdo in the best possible way. That so many people try and fail at faking this quality makes it all the more satisfying when someone like Goth genuinely goes all in. I honestly feel fortunate that these two have found one another; in Ti West, Goth has a director who will never tell her no, who will push her to go bigger, broader, past all reasonable sense. And that's precisely what his movies have always needed, something larger than the scaffolding he's so complacently proficient at building. Her performance her is manic and fascinating, animated and chaotic in a way that repulses and seduces in equal, unsettling measure. But for all the goose-stabbing, all the apocalyptic dance numbers, all the immolation, the most striking part of her performance is a shockingly tender monologue. The camera stays still for what feels like the first time all movie and the unexpected deftness of the writing shines through with what is revealed. All the while, Goth delivers it masterfully, vulnerably, and it somehow works. Between that scene and the insane closing credits alone, this was one of the best performances this year.
I also have to mention how cool it is that these two pulled a trilogy out of nowhere. Even though I didn't really care for X (it's pretty much the worst of West's tendencies all at once), shooting the two back-to-back and announcing a third feature the same week that Pearl opened shows that West in some new and totally invigorated mode. Beyond the effect of his collaborator, he's found a way of working within budget constraints that seems to energize and inspire. It's almost dare I say it Soderberghian, and you know i'm an easy mark for that. Here's hoping that MaXXXine reaches the bar these two have set with Pearl.
8. Triangle of Sadness (dir. Ruben Östlund) Östlund is a Renaissance painter of cringe, able to cull a veritable gyre of political and philosophical tension out of a single moment of everyday awkwardness. Triangle is deliberately uneven, pushing you away and winning you over in turns throughout; there is ample exposition (thankfully more thematic than plot-wise, though) leading up to the (unfortunately literal) explosive setpiece before becoming a much more raw movie in its back third. In stranding his principals on a desert island, stripping them of signifiers of wealth and the power structures they suggest, Östlund literalizes his metaphor in a pretty ingenious way. He takes on the familiar tropes and gags from any shipwreck scenario while turning a cynical eye on his characters as they establish new, lopsided power structures informed by altogether base and sometimes arbitrary human currencies.
Between this, the loathsome Glass Onion, and The White Lotus, we're seeing a whole lot of commentary on the rich, with this year's Infinity Pool signaling that we're far from through here. To me, this is a fool's errand, a surface-level pandering to what's left of Twitter, willfully turning a blind eye to anything deeper than limp satire. Dear lord the last thing I need is to be explained that Elon Musk is bad, actually, by Rian fucking Johnson by way of Edward Norton, of all people. Triangle at least has the benefit of being mostly fun.
7. Petite Maman (dir. Céline Sciamma) Sciamma's latest is as haunting as it is clever, throwing out all the usual trappings of its magical realist framework to instead delve into the rich emotional resonances that it allows. The result is heartbreaking and beautiful, a tender meditation on memory and family that, looking back now, suggests a brutal double-feature with Aftersun, both films artfully interrogating the relationship between child and parent through time. Can't think about either too hard or for too long or I'll lose my shit.
6. Three Thousand Years of Longing (dir. George Miller) This one was an unexpected gift. Not knowing how Miller would follow-up Fury Road after so long, and with the threat of a prequel ever looming, I had no clue what to expect from this very welcome diversion. Miller's fairytale hits all the beats you would want it to, its delightful frame narrative soaking up all the chemistry of the leads before giving way to lush enactments of timeless parables. It's a joy to see the use of all the memorable visual effects flexed in Fury Road to be employed here for such a different outcome. DJ Big Driis plays his djinn with such a believable world-weariness, so perfectly balancing his desperate impatience with obligatory deferral. The games he and Tilda play around one another,
5. AmbuLAnce (dir. Michael Bay) What a fucking banger. Instant classic, already firmly cemented in the Bank Heist Mount Rushmore. What is there to say, really; this is a movie that has your jaw on the floor, heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping for the entire duration. Any movie that can elicit such an intensely visceral reaction surely can be forgiven its faults, none of which are anywhere egregious enough to puncture your awestruck suspension of disbelief or distracting enough to interrupt the breakneck pace. And pace is everything here, rushed along by the plunging drone shots that punctuate the converging plotlines, new tricks alongside the maestro of explosions' familiar touches. Whoever is asleep at the wheel of the Fast franchise better be taking notes; the past few entries have all been desperately missing just an ounce of the juice that Bay squeezes out of every shot here. They just don't make 'em like this any more, and with this one, Bay seems to put everyone else on notice to step the fuck up.
4. Tár (dir. Todd Field) Let me just get this out of the way up front so there's no confusion on where I stand here: Lydia Tár is a real person and she did nothing wrong. The third feature from the acclaimed co-inventor of Big League Chew, Tár revolves around an absolute powerhouse of a performance. It is a rigorous and commanding film, one that demands your attention and almost punishes you for being anything less than totally enraptured by it. It is rare that I would use the word "relevant" to describe a movie and even rarer that I would consider that quality to be among a movie's strengths, but I was honestly taken with how it handles some very contemporary cultural questions. The Juilliard scene is so jarring, the tension between us not yet knowing if the film is condoning the diatribe of its title character or poking fun at it. The discussion that it invites can be a fruitful one, and one that should lead to somewhere more nuanced than this aforementioned binary so long as we avoid the pitfalls of certainty that both of its principals cannot seem to stray from. I found it surprisingly satisfying to see a scene like this play out here alongside so many lesser, groan-worthy attempts to tackle "cancel-culture" (to think that that Spotlight-but-make-it-Me Too movie was out around the same time! I could barely make it through the trailer.)
Beyond the cultural conversation though, and honestly in its own way strengthening it, this is a ghost story, one that unfolds with a masterful subtlety. Mood and tone take over, warping the shared perception of both the viewer and title character as guilt deepens and takes on external forms. It's reminiscent of Personal Shopper in these ways, where we feel haunted not by what is depicted but how. Through this haunting we're able to see with a sort of dramatic irony how Tár internalizes and navigates the thorny trappings of her own life and fame and influence that she's so confident in dispelling when it comes to others. For her, it is not even a question of forgiving some genius virtuoso or other for their shortcomings or foibles; she barely acknowledges they exist at all; art and genius absolve. We watch her squirm as the heat gets turned up, making frail attempts to cover her tracks all the while deluding herself into thinking she's maintaining the haughty guard of her persona. The eye on her remains cool and almost objective, Field's deft restraint allowing us to bring our own experience into the character. I think that's a lot of what's polarizing about the movie, and what makes it so powerful; it's become so rare that we are allowed our autonomy as an audience, that we're not told precisely how to feel about characters we can easily deem either good or bad.
Also, for as seriously as Tár takes herself, the film itself has a wonderful and cutting sense of humor, from Cate Blanchett threatening a child to the hilarious knife-twist of the closing scene.
3. Decision to Leave (dir. Park Chan-Wook) One of the deepest and most wrenching love stories I've ever seen on film. Decision to Leave is in some ways more grounded than the sumptuous The Handmaiden, but twists and diverts from its detective story frame in unexpected ways to follow these two doomed and inextricably linked characters. With these last two especially, Park slyly belies the early notoriety earned with his still shocking Vengeance trilogy, revealing himself (or maybe just reminding us) that he is just simply one of the most skilled and creative technical directors out there. Decision to Leave is unforgettable, it is mean, it is precisely my kind of feel-bad flick. That chainmail glove is just about the coolest shit I've ever seen.
2. Nope (dir. Jordan Peele) The most effective proper spectacle in recent memory, assisted greatly by understated promotion, impeccable sound editing, and a sublime sense of scale. Peele has such a sense of the enigmatic, weaving all these striking, unforgettable images that resonate with one another as his films unfold. In an age where trailers tend to show every major plot point, we take for granted just how unsettling and captivating it can be to not know where a movie will go from once scene to the next. The opening of Nope is so transfixing precisely because you have zero context and Peele exploits this tension to its fullest throughout.
One of the many things that astounds me about Nope is just how many narrative and thematic levels it's operating on. This is a movie about making movies, about the new and brutal ways that American people are becoming further disenfranchised, about a reflexive type of contemporary isolation, about desensitization and stunted attention spans, about legacy ... I guess it's about aliens, too. It's a western, it's science fiction; the use of genre does so much to inform each of these readings. It's so packed full of ideas and nothing is wasted, nothing is arbitrary. As with Arms Across America Us, here Peele continues creating his own winking Mandela-effects; don't lie and tell me you didn't scour the internet to see if Gordy's Home was real or to research the identity of the "Plate 262" rider. Peele has such a way of capturing, of inventing, a collective imagination.
As with his other features, the casting here is spot-on; Peele has an incredible way of working with actors, of capturing chemistry. Keke Palmer and Daniel Kaluuya are so much fun to watch together, such perfect foils to one another. Steven Yeun's Chris Kattan monologue is an absolute all-timer.
With each effort, Peele makes me think more and more of Hitchcock, of Shyamalan. I watch his movies and just feel so fortunate that we have his singular voice right now, especially at such a nadir of moviegoing. This guy is operating within a rich tradition of the spectacular, masterfully employing genre to interrogate potent and present anxieties. His works are time-capsule pieces, perhaps the most telling of our era. I just want him to keep making whatever the hell he wants with whatever amount of money he needs to do it.
1. Aftersun (dir. Charlotte Wells) This movie just simply does things I've never seen before, operating in some of the subtler and more poetic reaches of what cinema is capable of as an art form. We're witnessing memory as it is formed and recalled simultaneously. This is slowly revealed in flash-forward, leading up to the jaw-dropping climax that is stirring to the core, a frenetic fever-dream frame narrative that punctuates the softness of the impressionistic and nostalgia-drenched camcorder brushstrokes. Paul Mescal's character is a ghost haunting the reflective surfaces of resort swimming pools and mirrors, an indefinite form captured obliquely against the screen of a turned-off television. His daughter can only ever conjure him in these fleeting and enigmatic ways; he is not his own person yet to her, only sketched in the ways she that sees and needs him. Such is the inevitable tragedy of the relationship, made all the more harrowing by the simmering turmoil he bares in private that she can only naively intuit. This film is so intimate and personal it almost feels like my own memory, my own aching and secret guilt reflecting on the selfishness of childhood, on taking something precious and formative for granted after it's too late to recover. This movie just fucking wrecks me in irreconcilable ways the more I think about it.
#movies 2022#year in review 2022#top gun maverick#tom cruise#pearl#ti west#mia goth#triangle of sadness#ruben ostlund#petite maman#celine sciamma#three thousand years of longing#george miller#ambulance#michael bay#tar#todd field#decision to leave#park chan wook#nope#jordan peele#aftersun#charlotte wells#better late than never
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