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#;fate recorder | ask memes ❀
eraba-reta-unmei · 2 months
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Bingo card! (blank under the cut)
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astraltrickster · 1 year
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What I love about the Goncharov meme is how willing most of us are to break kayfabe, because - on the surface level, it's kind, it gives people the opportunity to opt out if this just isn't good for them, and tells people - the secret is that there is no secret, that's the joke, hop right in with a "yes, and"; all are welcome. It's likely to confuse future media historians regardless.
But as someone who really enjoyed House of Leaves I also love it on a meta level because, we are essentially creating a spiritual adaptation of that book, blurring the line between meme and ARG...all based on a pair of shoes. It begs the question, then, what level of this layered narrative are we on, exactly?
I'm not the first person to compare Goncharov to The Navidson Record and I know I won't be the last. It's a very easy, obvious comparison to make - this legendary piece of lost media that everyone has an opinion on, but no one can confirm it's even real? Yeah, at this point in tumblr's collective consciousness, Goncharov is very much like that - the only difference being, we're on the same page and can agree that it's not real and never was.
Except we will place ourselves into a narrative such that it is real. It's an unspoken rule that even if you break kayfabe in other posts, even if you tag your Goncharov posts as "unreality" for accessibility (as you should, especially your original posts), you don't add to a Goncharov meta post, or fanfic, or fanart, in such a way as to even insinuate that Goncharov may not be a real movie. In this layer, that makes you the fool, the uncultured swine. Everyone's seen Goncharov! What do you mean you haven't even heard of it!? What do you mean you doubt it exists!? What rock have you been living under!? If someone earnestly asks what it is, it is to be answered elsewhere - in DMs, in an ask, over Discord, maybe in the replies, but not as an addition to the post that exists "in that reality".
There are a few things we tend to agree upon about Goncharov:
It is a work of fiction. The events of the movie did not occur in the universe - the narrative layer - where we discuss it as a real film.
As stated on the shoe label that created the meme, it is a film directed by Martin Scorsese, written by someone named Matteo JWHJ 0715 (sometimes also written as Matteo JWHJ0715 or Matteo jwhj0715), and it is a mafia movie - namely, it carries the lofty claim of being "The Greatest Mafia Movie Ever Made."
It is about the relationship between Russian and Italian mafia families, set in Naples.
This movie poster is the basis of the canon; the characters listed on it exist and are portrayed by the actors listed.
There is an additional character, Sofia, whose reasons for being omitted from the poster are unknown.
Katya and Goncharov are married; this likely at least started as merely a marriage of convenience, but the full nature of their relationship is hotly debated in a way that highlights many common views of tumblr shipping culture¹.
Katya eventually betrays Goncharov, leading to his death at the end of the film.
There is significant homoerotic subtext between Andrey/Goncharov and Katya/Sofia, much of which plays into the film's themes; however, contrary to the impressions often given by tumblr's fandom culture, it is all subtextual, and while the relationships between Andrey, Goncharov, Katya, and Sofia can be read as significant drivers of the plot, they are far from being the central focus of the story.
Clocks are a major recurring visual symbol.
There is a pivotal "boat scene".
Most other details, however, are left to whoever is currently "analyzing" it. For instance, while many on Archive Of Our Own agree that the character of "Ice Pick Joe" definitely died in the end, with "no beta we die like Ice Pick Joe" being a popular tag for Goncharov fanfiction, at least one early tumblr post implies that the character's fate is undetermined.
The Goncharov meme is simultaneously a love letter to tumblr's fan culture, and a scathing critique thereof², but one of the most underappreciated fascinating things about it is that it forms a nested narrative.
On the innermost layer, we have the unreachable - the film itself. No one has seen it. No one ever will. We're all just trying to imagine it from the shadows on the cave wall. Maybe one day we'll create it, but it will still never truly be the original 1973 film we're all writing about. Making it even harder to recreate and make "real", the mythology includes alternate cuts and regional edits to reconcile the plot points written by different users that undeniably contradict each other.
On the next layer outward, we have the posts about the film. The deep meta. The fanart. The fanfiction. The content "from another universe" where Goncharov is a real classic film that everyone has seen. The layer where we don't break kayfabe. This is a layer we can see the reality of, and contribute to, but never truly live in - it is an imaginary construct. Or is it? The film we're writing about may not exist, but the story we're weaving together from these roleplay writing exercises is somewhat coherent, and the thousands upon thousands of words of meta and fanfiction we write about it are real; one could make a compelling argument that even if Goncharov the film does not exist, the Goncharov fandom is a real fandom. This layer is one foot in the real world, and one foot in a fictional one.
On the next layer, we have the posts about the meme. This can be definitively stated to be real, with no caveats. Posts that discuss how the meme reflects on fan culture, about the self-referential nature of the meme, about the little aspects of online fandom culture it plays with. This is the first layer that can fully be said to be rooted exclusively in the real world.
But even on a layer beyond that, we have posts such as this one, discussing the discussion of the fandom for the fake film - and on yet another layer beyond that (or is it the same one?), we have the future speculation. We have guesses as to what future historians will think of this phenomenon. We have discussions of the precarious and transient nature of information online, questions about what parts of this meme will be archived and which ones will disappear. Will there be historians desperately searching for this alleged lost classic in 50 years? Will it be assumed that the shoes that started the meme were actually a piece of promotional merchandise for a real classic film?
You may notice, then, that the innermost layers are discrete, but once you get into the layers that exist in our reality, they become markedly less so.
This model gives us a structure that can be visualized somewhat like this:
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[Image ID: a diagram of 5 concentric circles. The centermost circle is colored in dark red with a thick black outline and labeled "Goncharov (1973 film) - fictional, unreachable, unviewable". The next circle outward is colored in pink, with a thinner black outline, and is labeled "Goncharov fan discussion". The next circle is colored in light gold, with a black outline that blurs into the next circle, labeled "Discussion of the Goncharov fan discussion". The next layer is colored in light green, with a dark outline blurred so thoroughly that its only purpose is to provide some visual contrast for clarity of labeling, labeled "Discussion of all previous layers; note the blurring of the line between this layer and the previous". Finally, the outermost layer is colored in light blue, with a solid black outline, labeled "Speculation about the future's view of the Goncharov meme, including roleplay as lost media enthusiasts and media studies professors 50-100 years in the future". End ID.]
In fact, there are several rules the Goncharov meme has come to follow:
As stated above, any given post is constrained to its narrative layer, to the extent that those layers are discrete. Posts about Goncharov as a real film are not to have additions that break kayfabe. Similarly, posts about Goncharov as a meme are not to have anyone insist the film is real. This may be subject to change as the meme evolves, but it is the rule as of the time of this writing.
You may not add to a post to contradict a claim about the factual nature of what happened on screen, even if it directly contradicts a previous post of yours³. You are, however, encouraged to dispute its implications and get creative to try and reconcile the contradictions. The only exception is in the form of responding to a meme with another extant meme format (e.g., "I get what you're going for OP but x very much did y")
Posts about Goncharov the film are to be treated exactly the same way you would post about a real piece of media. Analysis is to be taken seriously, using real analytical frameworks and devices. Memes are to use real formats. Fanart and fanfiction are to have just as much effort put into their crafting as you would give any real piece of media.
Complaining about bad readings that do not exist, but you imagine someone might make, is encouraged.
You cannot break these rules. Not "you may not", but "you cannot". It is not possible. You can try. You will fail. Your posts breaking these rules will never gain traction, or if they do, they will do so only after being added to in order to make it fit them. The narrative is hungry. You cannot engage it without being absorbed into it. Your only escape is to walk away and not look back⁴.
In other words, the Goncharov meme is not just a meditation on fan culture, but a demonstration and discussion of the intricacy of the relationship between fiction and reality.
House of Leaves is beloved for its complex nested narrative, and again, the comparison is a common one. However, there is a subtle and potentially unsettling difference - House of Leaves did not include its author or its readers nearly as thoroughly as the Goncharov meme does. House of Leaves was written from outside the narrative; the legend of Goncharov is being written from within.
Every single person who blogs about Goncharov makes themself into a character in this story.
The narrative layers in House of Leaves bleed into each other to give a sense of mystery as to what is real and what is not in the universe(s) of the novel. The narrative layers in the Goncharov mythos bleed into each other because we traverse them freely - from the fictional reviews and retellings and analysis, to the semi-fictional drawing of comparisons to real media and the use of this nonexistent movie as a low-stakes vehicle to lightheartedly air one's real complaints with fan culture, to the fully-grounded discussion of Goncharov's impact as a meme, to the philosophical discussion of its multi-layered nature, to the once-again-fictional speculation of how it will be viewed in the future - the same person can visit any of these layers.
But their impact will always be bound by each layer's internal rules, because building a legend - a narrative - will not allow for anything else.
Goncharov does not exist. Goncharov is a narrative labyrinth that contains us all. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ITS NARRATIVE.
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1. Tumblr shipping culture is as much of a microcosm of queer studies as it is of media analysis. It, like the Goncharov meme, operates on a minimum of two levels: the level of analyzing a story for potential queer readings, namely in the form of romantic relationships, and opportunities for transformative work; and the level of sociopolitical discussion of queer issues and stereotypes, and how they are reflected in media and the discussion thereof; the latter, particularly, in the form of intracommunity disputes and lateral aggression. For example, the dispute over the nature of Goncharov and Katya's marriage and its level of sincerity is implied in some posts to occasionally cross the line into bisexual erasure. While at the time of the Goncharov meme's emergence in 2022, the discourse within this subculture is much more civil than it once was, it is still very much an environment that stands as a constant reminder that there is no such thing as a truly apolitical space.
Of course, most everyone on this website knows that by now, right?
2. This meme comes at a time when a lot of us are terrified of going back to the way things used to be in tumblr fan discourse. We all joke about the Hamilton HIV fanfic catfish, or The JohnLock Conspiracy, or any number of other major scandals now that they're over; they are hilarious in hindsight, but it's all too easy to lose track of the fact that the human toll at the time was real. DashCon is a joke to most, but I've personally met more than one well-meaning volunteer who ended up with PTSD from dealing with attendees who thought even the volunteers were in on an intentional scam. We laugh at the absurdity of the incident known as Boneghazi, but it doesn't take away the fact that there are still people in Louisiana wondering if their relatives were the ones whose bones were stolen and offered up for sale online - though that one was only tangentially related to fandom, it's from the same broad sitewide culture. People have been stalked, harassed, doxxed, psychologically abused to the point of hospitalization and even suicide, there are even rumors of assaults over disagreements about which show is better, or which fictional characters have the best relationships. It's all petty, all funny in hindsight - but the human toll is real.
I got caught in an incident myself once*, before the porn ban. There was one guy, they and some real life friends of theirs got into my circle of friends in a roleplay community in the ■■■■■■■ fandom. They seemed nice enough. Normal enough. We had a few good chats. They played the same character I did, among a few others. Had a fun little concept we were throwing back and forth to start a thread with the doubled character. Accidental cloning due to a computer error, it was going to be.
Everything fell apart when a new ■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■ dropped. It gave us a nice scene of the most popular "ship" in the fandom - one that had been teased since day 1, and of course when it got attention the company wanted to milk it for all it was worth. This guy originally seemed cool with the ship, even though they didn't like it much; they preferred to pair one of the characters off with their self-insert OC. It was all a peaceful difference of opinion for a while, but after this ■■■■■■ dropped and people were excited about the scene, they went berserk. My then-boyfriend's ex started getting anonymous messages imitating him. My inbox started filling up with threats. Some of my more casual acquaintances started confronting me over threats they thought I sent. Meanwhile, this guy was melting down on main about how everyone had "betrayed" them. I found myself blocked by our mutual friends who this guy knew in real life - it turned out, because they were telling them that I was sending them hate and threats. "Someone" tried to convince my then-boyfriend to doxx someone adjacent to the circle for "abuse". I started getting hate messages that hit some of my deepest insecurities and almost ■■■ ■■ ■■ ■■■■■■ - the only reason I ended up okay was because I figured it out, because I realized this guy was the one doing all of it, and they were mining for ammo from our mutual friends.
All of this because a bunch of people, mostly strangers, were happy about the ■■■■■■. Because of a fictional relationship. Their fixation on me was just because we played the same character but liked different ships, and I was a little more known in the fandom. This wasn't even on a website where people could see follower counts, it was right here on tumblr, so they had to be pretty obsessive to figure that out in the first place.
Eventually the friends they lied about me to caught on and left them, but not before they stole a bunch of said friends' stuff. Last I checked on them, it was 2 years since the incident, and they were still melting down on main about how anyone who liked that ship was evil. By that point they had convinced themself that the entire fandom for that ship was a campaign to harass and persecute them personally; that there was no other reason to like it.
The last thing I head about them was that they had stabbed a family member over this and some other personal drama and gotten banned from Twitter and a few conventions for making violent threats toward artists and cosplayers. I don't dare look back anymore.
*Editors' note: Some details have been altered or redacted to protect the ignorant.
3. Ironically, this is one of the few tells that Goncharov is not an extant piece of media. In fandoms for real media, it is fairly common for details to be misremembered and corrections to be made.
4. "Don't look back", of course, is easier said than done. We must recall the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus, despondent at the loss of his love, arranged to be allowed into the underworld to bring her back to life, but there was one condition; one tiny, seemingly simple condition - he must not look at her until they were both back in the light. If he did, she would be dragged back and lost forever; he would not get a second chance.
Like many myths, the details vary from telling to retelling. Some say that she was never made aware of the rule and cried out in terror as her husband refused to look at her, and almost instinctively he turned to comfort her. Some say that he fell victim to almost a form of muscle memory in mid-ascent when he turned to make sure she was okay. Some say that his desire to see her again sooner rather than later was just too strong and outweighed his resolve and common sense screaming for him to hold to the condition. Some say that he turned as soon as he was in the light, blissfully unaware until it was too late that she was still in the dark.
Whatever the reason, Orpheus looked back.
There is no version of the story where he succeeded in not looking back. The narrative will not let him not look back. The myth has no room for an Orpheus who is successful.
He cannot escape the myth.
He cannot escape the narrative.
Orpheus will always look back.
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powderblueblood · 23 days
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Can we please talk about the Jonathan of it all? I love that lacy had the tiniest thing for him before nancy had him all spellbound (no hate to my girl nancy. She can't help it that her pussy pop's severely or however that meme goes) lacy likes herself a weirdo and I am right there with her. I want to ask, she mentions they went out on one date and you mention it a bit but was it really a date or something she, for lack of a better word, tricked him in to? because we both know he wouldn't have asked her out and I'm completely unsure if she'd even utter the word 'date' to him because it might have spooked him or had him thinking she was trying to pull something on him. Basically I want to know how you think lacy would have gotten him to agree to even meet in the park because as stated in a later chapter, he's pretty hard to get a hold of. sorry I'm fixating on this one part. it's just, idk i really liked that lacy saw something in him and went as far as she did to pursue him, you know?
never apologize for fixating in my inbox EVER, that's what this place is for. this dynamic is so secretly special to me. i honestly think if things were different and lacy didn't need a motormouth like munson to rev her engine up and bring her to life out of sheer annoyance, there would be a strong dair energy between her and jonathan. he appealed to something very real within her; he's sweet and thoughtful and sweet and thoughtful are in short supply. the following is how lacy and jonathan ended up standing elbow-to-elbow in main street vinyl that fateful summer. written in the third person because i thought, why not, fun. part of the hellfire & ice universe
HAWKINS, INDIANA. JULY 1982-ISH, SOMETHING LIKE THAT.
Dear reader,
Summer makes us pliable, I think. It makes us liquid and wanting. We've hit record temperatures this July, and even the best conditioned of places feel like they're warping. I find myself spilling over into things I usually wouldn't, looking over people's shoulders to peer into how they're handling the heat. Anything to break the monotony of Carol's/gas station/Lover's Lake/Skull Rock/substitute as appropriate.
I'm not finding anything interesting. Or didn't. Until today.
TRACK ONE - MARQUEE MOON by TELEVISION.
The weather that day was too heavy for the sky to hold, and Lacy's sour mood with everyone was too heavy to gloss out. She peeled her car out of the rocky bank at Lover's Lake and may have nipped Harrington's on the way, humidity fogging over her spatial awareness.
No one bothered to poke holes in Lacy's flimsy excuse for leaving, which she kind of resented--in fact, she was kind of resenting the grand dearth in attention she was getting. Cass on Mikey, Carol on Tommy, Tina chasing Steve, Derek pouring over Nicole, but no one quite zeroing in on her. The boys would shoot a stolen glance her way when her shirt and shorts came off, a momentary and forbidden distraction from whatever they were supposed to be locked into.
She's gorgeous, sure. And she knows it, of course. But not gorgeous enough to latch onto, it seems. Nothing of substance there. Lacy was bored to distraction herself.
Once she hit the throbbing, melting concrete of Hawkins' main drag again, she parked a couple of blocks away from the record store, figuring it would do no good to hitch her car right out front. Even if no one was looking for her. Lacy was a girl made of buffers and alibis, pushing the heavy glass door open just as the lightning cracks overhead. It announced her arrival in a way she could have done without.
The clerk, Jerry, a man made up of mostly Groucho Marx facial hair with bifocals perched on top, regarded her with a half-second glance. Lacy patted her perspiring brow as delicately as possible and wound her way towards the 'T's. She had a riff caught in her head that the darkening sky inspired, with all that threatening rain and achy rumbles of thunder, and she needed to exorcise it. It wasn't something she could do in the grand privacy of her own bedroom, because this was a purchase she hadn't smuggled home yet.
Plucking the record out and looking to the listening booths with a satisifed quirk of her lips, Lacy caught Jonathan Byers' dark, serious, brow-knit stare the very second before he thought to snap back around. His headphones skewed against his dull brown hair in a way she knew should have disgusted her. Pavlovian, Lacy waited for her learned reaction to kick in; a lurch, an ew, Byers, what a weirdo! squeeze of the abdominal muscles but... nothing. Nothing happened.
Like she'd left the part of herself that knew how to perform that back at the lake with the others.
Whatever.
The listening booth beside Jonathan Byers stood free. His spine visibly stiffened as she stepped up to his right, picking up the headphones and putting the needle down. The perspex between them was stained heavily, browned blotches of nicotine from decades past, but still transparent enough to see through. And Lacy could feel Jonathan's stare again, beady and judging and zeroing in on the vinyl cover as she flipped it over in her careful hands.
Confusion teemed off him in waves, prompting her to feel something-- a kind of smug indulgence in the notion that he might be thinking, What the fuck is Lacy Doevski doing listening to Television?
Smugger still that if he were to tell anyone, no one would ever believe him.
TRACK TWO - HERE SHE COMES NOW by THE VELVET UNDERGROUND.
Jonathan doesn't spend any time thinking about people like Lacy Doevski, and he means that. Not a flitting fantasy of oh, what would it be like to have the glaring sun of someone so popular shone upon him, nothing like that. Kid's a realist, okay? He knows that people like Lacy are not even worth entertaining the thought--plus, she's mean. As kindergarten as it sounds, he about as much mean in his life as he can handle, thank you very much.
But there's something about a person encroaching on your space, especially in summertime. Was it not for the perspex, they'd be elbow-to-elbow at the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl. And due to the Byers' shot air conditioning with no fix in budget and therefore in sight, he comes here every day to avail of those big box fans. So, unfortunately, does Lacy.
Doesn't she have a state of the art unit she could be sitting in front of, blasting cold air and listening to all these records that she can definitely afford but never ends up buying in the privacy of her own plush Loch Nora home? Why does she hang around here with a soft sheen of perspiration on her forehead that she has to keep shyly dabbing at? Irritably flipping her hair as she tries to subtly spy what he's listening to?
She's not as smooth as she thinks she is.
Why did she roll her eyes and smile a little when she spotted the copy of White Light/White Heat he was listening to? Why did she swap out what she was spinning for a copy of The Velvet Underground & Nico?
Why did Jonathan kind of smile back?
TRACK THREE - FEAR IS A MAN'S BEST FRIEND by JOHN CALE.
Shutting up feels good in a place like this.
Not that Lacy doesn't thrive off the empty caloric intake of a good gossip, but a break in the buzz became more and more adored. And this wordless game of record chicken she'd taken to playing with Jonathan Byers...
Well, how does one explain that without coming across as cruel? Fact was, she was having fun with it and a huge portion of that pie was because Jonathan was so far out in the social hinterlands that it would never blow back on her. No one would ever accuse Lacy of having freak-loving tendencies because no one would ever care to notice Jonathan in the presence of someone like her. He was younger and he was quiet. He had a busted up family, of course, no one found that too interesting. He didn't parade himself around as a paragon of oddity like some people did, like that Munson kid did. He was just... nobody. And for a while, so was she, and it didn't feel entirely terrifying.
The two of them fell into this strange, silent rhythm, where it appeared to the naked eye that they were just two distant classmates standing next to one another in this stuffy record store.
But Jonathan's nose would wrinkle if she was listening to something he didn't recognize, and he'd tug at the hair behind his ear if he did. Jonathan's nose was always a little oily and a soft waft of body odor escaped under his deodorant as he passed her in the stacks-- yet, none of these imperfections triggered that habitual repulsion that they ought to. That they would have, if school was still in session. Instead, Lacy began to feel this animalic pull toward them.
It was as if she immediately started to try and sniff him out each time she entered the store.
And Lacy being Lacy, the pull made her want to push back. Threaten it. Break the unspoken covenant they had and see what Jonathan would do. Boredom with your life begets a thing like that, you see. So, she lifted her needle off John Cale, curved her fingers around the stained plastic that separated them and said, "I love Linda Thompson's voice, don't you?"
He'd never directly met her eyes before then.
"You wh-- sorry?"
TRACK FOUR - SUGAR ON MY TONGUE by THE TALKING HEADS.
Jonathan's a good judge of character. You have to be, with a father like Lonnie and a mother like Joyce. You have to know how to spot someone who's an asshole or someone on the verge of a breakdown from a few hundred miles away. You have to know the difference between good company and bad; Jonathan's skilled at that. Just, so far, seems that the only good company in Hawkins is his own.
Until. Well. Listen.
Lacy kind of made the lines blur.
He couldn figure out if she was fucking with him or not.
Instinct told him that she was; that this was some big elaborate plot to humiliate him somehow, because something like that always seems to be lurking around the corner for him. But the way she smoothed the arch out of her brow when she spoke to him--bitesized sentences, Bagel Bites of conversation--made Jonathan edge closer to that dangerous maybe not.
And they only ever talked about music.
Lacy did most of the heavy lifting, with Jonathan too struck to offer anything beyond a single-word affirmation or a strangled smile over the alarm bells that kept ringing in his head. She kept going, however, saying these incredibly clever, snipped, almost curated things that made Jonathan notice the shape of her mouth.
"...and I actually have that. I could make you a tape."
Jonathan's finger twisted into the wire of his headphones. "Oh, you don't-- I actually, I have this one too."
"Oh."
What was he talking about? That copy of Talking Heads: 77 that he's played to death but couldn't find for the life of him, not in the deepest recesses of his bedroom? The fact that it was missing brought about crazy feelings of self betrayal because that thing was one of Jonathan's prized possessions. Not least of all because it came out the same year he turned ten; same year Lonnie made him shoot a rabbit, same year he proved to Lonnie that he'd never be the man his father wanted him to be.
"Um, no, actually," Jonathan said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I lost it, actually. My copy." Say actually one more time, buddy. "But you don't have to."
Lacy gave him a look that was solid and confident, one he almost recognized from the real-her, the one that existed in the spaces outside this record store. This looked more genuine, though. Like there was light behind her eyes.
"I want to," she said, "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to."
TRACK FIVE - PABLO PICASSO by THE MODERN LOVERS.
"Meet me in the park at off Maple at like... midday?" Lacy knew how it sounded, so she gave him a shrug, one so characteristic and comforting to her. Sliding responsibility right off the curve of one shoulder. "Or don't. It's up to you. But that's where I'll be."
And if she's confessional honest, she hadn't expected him to come. To breach containment of the bubble they'd created in the listening booths, hogging them away from the other patrons of the store. It was safe there, where they didn't have to exchange pleasantries like how are you or what's new, where things were abstracted yet so incredibly personal because this, this, music was one of her secret vestiges that she didn't share with anyone.
To bring it out in the light like this, in the pollen-filled field, to a pockmarked picnic table, meant Lacy was risking it.
Most of her knew that a thing like this couldn't survive being outside it's stuffy, soundtracked bell jar. But the little flicker that thought, dangerously, maybe burned bright in her. In some long neglected place.
"Hey."
"Oh, hi."
Summer makes you pliable. Makes you want to try anything.
It had that effect on Jonathan too, because he showed. But Jonathan shies away from the light; even sitting with Lacy in the shade, the farthest he could position himself from her, he squinted and hunched and looked all apologetic about it. Lacy couldn't hack through the awkwardness with a chainsaw, one she wanted so desperately to rev and scream,
DO YOU LIKE ME OR HAVE I BEEN WASTING MY TIME? I THINK YOU'RE NICE. NO ONE'S NICE. I SHOWED YOU SOMETHING NO ONE ELSE GETS TO SEE. SHOULD WE TRY SOMETHING? DO YOU READ ME?
Everything is that serious when you're sixteen.
The pirated tape of Talking Heads: 77 sat between them on the bench, and Nancy Wheeler crested the hill with a dog on a leash, and Lacy watched as Jonathan's eyes opened. His shoulders relaxed some and his face took on a faintness of a glow she had recognized, because Steve Harrington had looked at Nancy that very same way a couple of weeks back.
Not a look of distraction. Because they were in the real world now.
Spell broken, bubble popped. The shame that she would ever be so stupid to try something like this blew through her like a harsh gust, snuffing out the hope-- because no matter what she does, what she chances to reveal to boys like Jonathan who operate with a sweetness, who need coaxing, there'll always be kinder. There'll always be better. There'll always be Wheeler.
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vioisgoinginsane · 9 months
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You chose: IKEMEN VILLAINS
This game is not out in EN yet it's set to release in 2024 so if you don't wanna feel like you have to play catch-up with the rest of people, keep an eye out for this one. I take it that the title appealed to your villain liking sensibilities?
I made a meme about this a while ago
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Yeahhh i only played Harrison's route so far. I don't care enough for Liam or William to sit and translate stuff on my own. Harri is arguably the most normal of this bunch of crazy psychos. But like its not all their fault!
In this world, there are people who bear curses. Those people inspired fairy tales and in a circle kinda way, they call them fairytale curses now. Cursed people are fated to meet a tragic end.
People theorised they shut down ikerev cuz they have a new take on the chesire cat and the queen of hearts here and it takes place in London and they didn't want people getting them confused or something cuz the London where Alice came from can't possibly be the same one as this! Alice falls in wonderland, and she want to return to the safety of her home in London, Ikevil MC falls into a world of darkness where she might even die or something and she does it right at home in London!
POV: you are a post woman in 19th century london. While delivering a letter late at night you witness a murder. There was a lot of blood. Plot ensues.
These cursed people with cursed abilities that they don't call magic for some reason, are part of an organization directly under Queen Victoria, and it's one of a kind in the world. Usually cursed people just get shunned from society and stuff but the queen makes them do her dirty work that police and such can't get done. They fight evil with evil.
Now if you know their secret they can't just let you go, right? The deal you get is that you spend a month with them as a fairytale writer in order to prove they can trust you bit to run your mouth. The role of fairytale writer means you have to observe these cursed people and record information both for research and as a report to the queen. If you do well you can go back to your normal life at the end of the month.
This is THE DARKEST game cybird has made yet. There's A LOT of murder. The boys don't do ONLY assassinations but they deal murders and human trafficking and crazy cults and shit.
I love Harri. He's that trope of the guy that lies a lot to protect people. He likes MC cuz she's the most honest person he's met in a while and i like how they treat each other. Being each other's light in this dark world. HE CALLED ME HIS SUNSHINE wait no he also called me a chandelier in a toilet... He's that kinda guy. He teases. He lies a lot. He will ask you a smirk "was that a lie or the truth? Heh" he's A SHERLOCK HOLMES FAN he READS A BUNCH OF BOOKS that so hot of him. Ugh.
I feel like MC really suits up to survive in here. And I'm saying this thinking of one of roger's events, the one where she shot someone with a gun.
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Don't know if you've been asked this before, but what do the people of Detriot think about the TFP Autobots. Wheeljack's never been shy about being from a different dimension, and there's already been talks about the uncanny valleyness of Wheeljack in comparison to the TFA bots. So to the people of Detriot, they have a kinda weird Autobot named Wheeljack. He's built different from the others. Several years later, out of nowhere, there are more like Wheeljack. But really tall?? And human shy? And a bunch of them have identical names to the ones they already know??? What do they think about these familiar strangers?
Hey! :)
Wheeljack being a cryptid among cryptids due to him existing within the uncanny valley even for a giant, alien robot is fucking hilarious.
Like, imagine trying to explain this to someone not from Detroit. It would be like one of those “Only in Gotham” posts—there are things that are just normal for Detroit and Detroit alone.
Like, “oh, yeah—we have a team of six giant, alien robots who trash our town in battles for the fate of the universe but then fix it because they feel bad. there’s a shy young leader with an axe, a grumpy old doctor with Magneto’s powers, a little yellow dude who has broken every traffic law in the city, a fucking jedi, a clumsy artist who hosts galleries on weekends, and Wheeljack.”
There are Internet forums dedicated to posts about the Weird Cowboy Autobot, and the rest of the world is like “???” because Detroit’s like “no, the other robots are Just Some Guys—this one, THIS ONE is strange”. It’s just great.
Examples of post topics:
Wheeljack scaring pedestrians at night with his glowing optics and just standing there, looking baffled.
All of the Autobots transforming and Wheeljack transforming d i f f e r e n t.
Wheeljack drinking Glowing Blue Shit that is different from the Glowing Pink Shit, and then shooting FLAMING Glowing Blue Shit out of his cannons.
Wheeljack being quieter than the other Autobots when he moves around.
The rest of the Autobots being awkward around humans but adjusting quickly while Wheeljack tends to be sneaky, like he thinks he has to stay out of sight.
Some ninja parkour moves that Wheeljack can do because a g i l i t y while the other Autobots actually have density and break surfaces on impact.
Wheeljack getting jump-scared and honking or having his car alarm go off.
A reaction compilation of Wheeljack and the TFA ‘bots being disturbed by each other’s biological differences. Like, Wheeljack is weird even by their standards—but he also thinks that they’re weird???
Everyone else getting healed quickly while Wheeljack tends to Look Like Shit for a bit after difficult battles.
A human guy who looks kinda like Wheeljack helping the little Sumdac kid shop around for school supplies.
Wheeljack choosing v i o l e n c e in the early days while the other Autobots are just like “Wheeljack, no”.
The Wrecker fidgeting when he gets bored or nervous by throwing grenades and catching them or spinning one of his swords.
Wheeljack straight-up talking about being from an alternate universe in public because this might as well happen.
But despite all of this strangeness, the citizens of Detroit LOVE their Silly Cowboy ‘Bot.
He doesn’t take any shit from anyone, but he also defends humanity with his life and he’s been designated as everyone’s Cowboy Space-Dad—the “comfort vigilante”, if you will.
There are memes. There are theories.
There’s a counter for every recorded time that Optimus misses Wheeljack all but declaring that he is gay, and anyone who can actually make it look like Wheeljack looks into their phone camera afterwards like he’s on The Office is guaranteed a city population’s worth of likes.
The citizens post about witness moments in which the Wrecker slipped into “dad mode” for one of the young ‘bots or Sari.
They love it. They love him.
Wheeljack’s a weirdo, but he’s their weirdo.
And then, the multiverse cracks open at the top of Sumdac Tower, and… hey, guys… you think Wheeljack was serious when he claimed to be from another universe? ‘Cause…
He’s got weird friends, now—giant, camera-shy friends that are jumpy when confronted by a human just like Wheeljack used to be. They also seem a bit more serious, kinda like how the Wrecker could be in difficult times—and trigger-happy, so Wheeljack has to watch over them and lower some cannons sometimes.
See, Wheeljack’s adjusted—he acts a bit more like the other original ‘bots now, less violent. He’s trying to teach his friends how to do the same, like he knows it’ll be good for them.
On top of it all, there are recordings of familiar names being thrown around: Arcee, Optimus, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus…
That last one raises some eyebrows because Detroit knows that Ultra Magnus is a bit of an asshole. Bad news, right?!
Wrong! Silly Cowboy ‘Bot walks around with New Ultra Magnus, chatting away while the taller ‘bot smiles fondly down at him.
And thus, UltraJack is born.
The Detroit population basically looks at these visitors like, “y’know, life’s weird. this really just might as well happen”—and they adjust, ‘cause their giant alien robots all seem happy and it’s a fun pastime to watch their antics.
There’s online discourse, fully “Only in Gotham” style, where the citizens just casually talk about the multiverse and alien robots.
Oh, and Professor Sumdac’s kid is just Like That. No one knows why, but they’re cool.
No one on the outside knows what to think.
This is just a big city-wide trend, a prank on the rest of the world… right? I mean, right???
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curator-on-ao3 · 1 year
Note
For the question meme (which I somehow missed when you posted it, so don’t worry if you’re not doing them anymore, I know I’m late to the party):
Chris and Una + “how long have I been asleep?” and/or “did you want to be alone?”
You’re wonderfully on time! 🥳 This might not be what you had in mind, lindsaybob, but I hope you’ll like it anyway. 💕
———
How to Save a Li(f)e
She’s about to follow Spock out, to leave Chris’ quarters with the night’s work done — their cover story planned, practiced, and polished to a believable shine.
I saw Discovery explode.
That’s what they’ll tell Starfleet.
I saw Discovery explode.
Chris and Spock sat too straight as they rehearsed, their gazes too steady, her gentle coaching helping them find their normal postures, to remember that a lie announces itself through changes to the spine, the eyes, the hands.
They didn’t ask how she knows how to lie so convincingly.
I saw Discovery explode.
Spock mourns a sister whose memory he has to lock away.
I saw Discovery explode.
Chris thinks he’s consigned to pain, disfigurement, grief for his own sense of possibility.
I saw Discovery explode.
She has to playact placidity, can’t flounder, not now, not when she could get caught in this lie-to-be, exposed, a newly suspicious Starfleet digging through her service record for other deceits, oddities connected into a pattern, suspicions confirmed, the loss of everything she’s ever worked for.
The doors to Chris’ quarters close, Spock in the corridor, her standing just inside, and Chris looks up, his gaze clouded by fatigue, by time and fate, by a battle both lost and won, a present gifted to them by the Discovery crew’s sacrifices in the recent past and distant future. Chris can be prone to melancholy, to swings of expansiveness and self-flagellation. Maybe she should give him solitude, let him work things through on his own, not run the risk of her burdens compounding his.
“Did you …” The question sticks in her throat. “Did you want to be alone?”
Her chest is heavy with hope. Is she selfish for wanting to spend the night, for wanting to curl her arms and legs around him the way she has so many times before, but never with lies and loss and fear swirling together, a silent storm in the air of a broken ship limping home? Is she selfish for wanting a port in that storm, for wanting to be his port in that storm?
His head shakes and his voice is craggy, fragile in a way he won’t let it sound in front of anyone else, not even Spock. “Please stay.”
I saw Discovery explode.
Her pyjamas pulled from his drawer, clean sheets, no words. They’ve talked too much already about the cover story, about how Starfleet might try to set them against each other, about the need to protect this lie that’s more important than the truth and she’s too familiar with that balance, with the tightrope of wrong to get to right. How long can the balance last? Will this investigation be the tipping point that sends her falling, falling, falling into disciplinary review, court martial, probably prison?
The nightmares come. Twisted faces of angry admirals, accusations, Illyrians deemed sub-human, hunted like Starfleet game, incinerated by phaser blasts set on a wide beam.
Her shoulder is shaking.
Her shoulder is shaking.
“Una, you’re having a bad dream.” Oh no, Chris has enough on his mind. He shouldn’t have to worry about her. “Una, wake up.”
Clean sheets are bunched in her fists, her pyjamas damp from sweat.
Maybe it’s almost morning. Maybe she’s that much closer to this investigation being over and she can find a mission, any mission, and fly away.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About forty minutes.” Chris’ furrowed brow is lit by starlight. “That looked like one hell of a nightmare. What were you dreaming about?”
Forty minutes.
Lies upon lies upon lies — and it’s only been forty more minutes.
She forces her fingers to relax, drop the sheets, ease him onto his back, let her head rest on his chest, steady heartbeats, as if she hadn’t just taught him that a lie announces itself through changes to the spine, the eyes, the hands.
“I dreamed … ” Her eyes flutter closed. She could lose everything. “I dreamed that I saw Discovery explode.”
———
Send me an ask with character(s) and a prompt and I’ll do my best to dream up something you’ll like. ❤️
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kelkat9 · 1 year
Note
Trick-or-Treat! I have come knocking on your Tumblr door asking for a treat. You can answer with a meme, a bit of art/fic, a fic recommendation, pictures of candy, or something else! Then go to your mutual’s Tumblr door and ask them for a treat! Happy Halloween! 🎃👻
Here's your treat :)
Famous jewelry almost always has a mythology or history associated with it.  This is one such tale…
Most people in the mountainous kingdom of Gallifrey were familiar with a myth, passed down for generations. The story centered on a young noble lady, fair of hair, kind and with a smile like a thousand suns, who vanished without a trace.  Recorded history was vague as to the details and there were many variations regarding the events surrounding her disappearance.   
At nineteen years of age and with a substantial dowry, the young lady was quite the catch for any noblemen willing to prove himself for her hand.  She disappeared after a ball in her family home.  Some suggested she was swept away by a dashing count who carried her back to his castle in the French Alps where they lived content and fulfilled lives.  But that happy ending didn’t account for her family’s grief or how her parents died mourning her.
Another account was far more sinister, a cautionary tale recounting the sad story of a young maiden’s fall from grace sent away in the dead of night to a convent after an unhappy love affair which would have embarrassed her family. 
And then there was a version far less happy and a touch more fanciful…of a beautiful young girl with a dazzling smile and compassionate nature, coveted by someone with less than noble intentions; of an evil wizard, a power mad and lustful monster who vowed if he could not have the fair lady, no one could. 
This was a tale of the lady, a victim of an evil spell, trapped in a jewel, forever condemned to dwell in its cold sparkling depths, consecrated there by magic for all of eternity.  Of course like any fairy tale worth telling, there was always a way to defeat the evil wizard.  And as one might expect, the secret to her release lay in her own heart and the ability to find true love…
The multi-faceted pink eye of harmony diamond was coveted for its color and a unique amber facet deep within its depths flickering when the light hit it just right.  Like many other famous jewels, its history was enshrouded in a legendary curse dating back to the mid Seventeenth century. 
It was said any who wear the diamond only find misery.  And there were many owners leaving behind, romantic or not so romantic tales, that bespoke of mournful sounds, tears of love lost and feeling a profound sadness haunting the jewel and any who dared wear the fabulous pendant. 
Some said it drove any who wore it mad.  Others warned the jewel caused more than one bride to rethink her engagement.  Those that dared to wear its sparkling beauty, didn’t for long. 
Unhappy owners would tuck it away in a vault, pass it down generation after generation as a family heirloom or burden, depending on how one looked at it.  Sometimes it would be auctioned off and stored in a private collection.  For decades it lay forgotten, secured from view and lost in time.
Now, fate had deemed the legendary jewel should shine in the light once again.
Lord Jonathon Kasterboros, the Earl of Arcadia had no interest in jewels or auctions.  Jonathon preferred astronomy and technology focusing his efforts to create some new innovation.  Family obligation forced him from his laboratory to uphold the family name, support various charities and continue his family’s legacy. 
It was at one such function he met his fiancée Lady Jeanne Poisson.  Lady Poisson swept quiet, intellectual Jonathon out of his world of research and innovation and into one of parties, dedications and a purpose he had always shunned.  Poised, well-spoken and always fawning over him, her flirtatious and often encouraging compliments plumped his ego.  During a trip to Paris, after one too many glasses of champagne and discussions of their future, he somehow asked her to marry him.
The next morning, the announcement was already published and all of society congratulated him even as he gaped and grasped for words.  Wedding plans began immediately as Jeanne beamed and cooed at him about romance and how she looked forward to seeing his family home. 
It was as Jeanne’s society mother, Cassandra, who joined them at his home that caused him to realize how his life spun out of control.  Yet part of him couldn’t deny marriage and procreation was his duty to his family, even if they didn’t live to see it. 
Thus, he did his best to keep his chin up and avoid wedding plans and remind himself this was for the Kasterboros legacy.  Jeanne might have pushed things along and lacked an interest in his life other than his title, but she had all the requisite lineage and refinement to be a lady of Arcadia. 
At least, he thought so at first, but as the weeks progressed, his discontent banded around his chest until the very subject of marriage caused him to choke.
“Jonathon my angel,” Jeanne cooed over breakfast. 
“Yes, my dear.”  He hid behind a newspaper.
“You have yet to present me with an engagement ring.  People are starting to wonder.”
“Right.”  He put down the newspaper as Cassandra joined them.
“It is well past time you gave my daughter a ring.  Surely, you have family jewels,” Cassandra smiled coldly. 
Jonathon’s throat closed.  In his heart, any family jewelry still belonged to his mother even if he’d lost her a decade ago.  No one had seen those items since she passed.  His father long since tucked them away in the family vault in London.
“Well, I’m sure Jeanne would want something--” He drew out and tugged at his ear.
“I know exactly what I want,” Jeanne inserted, pouring cream into her tea.  “Everyone is talking about Prydion Auctions and I am told by a close confidant, the auction has a mysterious gem to be auctioned after decades of being locked away.”
“Oh?” Jonathon drawled, not the least bit interested in jewelry.
“Yes, I have it on good authority this diamond is special, an unusual pink color.  And if it is the diamond I think…oh Jonathon, I must have it!”
“A pink diamond?” He gritted his teeth.  If Jeanne wanted it, he was sure it was ostentatious.  He hadn’t missed how the balance in his account plummeted after she and her mother’s last shopping trip.
“Angel.”  She reached across the tabled and covered his hand with hers.  “It would make me so happy and everyone would be impressed.  I know you want me to represent Gallifrey well.” 
She fluttered her eyes and a knot formed in his stomach.  Her mind was made up and if he didn’t do this, god knows what part of his family home, she’d decide needed renovating.  He’d already witnessed enough of that to cause him to lock himself away in his lab permanently.
“All right.  Just give me the information and I’ll see what I can do.”  Jeanne laughed coquettishly.
“Of course you will!  It has such history and the sparkle.”  Her eyes glazed over as if she gazed into the gem.  Jonathon knew he was doomed.
He read the email Jeanne received from the auction house.  The Pink Eye of Harmony.  He snorted at the name.  How silly to name a mineral solely because it sparkled.  This particular gem didn’t seem to have the same mystique as the Koh-I-Noor or was as grand as The Hope. 
He nearly choked at the size.  A 32-carat pink diamond pendent surrounded by twenty smaller diamonds. 
Jeanne’s perfectly painted lips smiled coyly as she eyed the historic gem in the auction catalogue.  She had been looking for something unique and lavish, something grand enough to match the wedding she had been planning for the past year.   She deemed the gem a perfect accouterment to her pearl encrusted designer wedding gown which would inspire fashion across the world, or so she convinced herself. 
Her mother was determined Jeanne’s wedding would be the event of the season and even grander than any royal wedding ever.
He’d tried one feeble argument at dinner one night.  “It’s a bit big and pink.  Wouldn’t you rather have something more traditional?  Or something less ostentatious?  It’s not like you need more sparkle,” he tried lamely to compliment his fiancée.
“Jonathon, really,” Cassandra admonished.  “You’re Lord Kasterborous, the Earl of Arcadia and expected to present a certain image and standard.  As will my daughter.  She represents refinement, elegance and status all will work to achieve.”
He winced as she patted Jeanne’s hand as Jeanne sipped tea and tapped out more wedding orders.   
“It’s not like you don’t have resources and it’s about time you used them.  Look at this drafty house.”  Cassandra frowned.  “Bachelorhood has left you living in a decrepit manner hardly befitting a man of your title.  You should thank your good fortunate Jeanne is willing to take all this on.”
Jonathan looked around his castle which these women had now insulted.  He enjoyed the historic aspect as had his parents who remained determined to maintain its authenticity.  It was one of the things he always loved about both his parents, their devotion toward historic preservation and not wasting their inheritance on things like expensive Persian rugs, heavy silken drapery imported from Paris or crystal chandeliers, the glare of which gave him headaches.
He once thought Jeanne appreciated the same things.  They’d often traveled to French estates admiring the artwork and architecture.  But since they’d become engaged, she seemed less enamored of historic relief work and had developed grand expensive plans for renovations that did not require his consultation.  They only required his ample checkbook. 
“I really would prefer--”
“Oh, my poor angel,” Jeanne tutted.  “You have no need to worry about the house or any household decisions.  I will take care of everything.  Besides, don’t you have a project in your lab requiring your attention?”
“As a matter of fact I do,” he admitted, grateful to escape matrimony obsessed women and hide out in his underground work shop.
“Just don’t forget the diamond,” Cassandra coldly reminded.
“Yes,” he answered dryly.  “How could I forget the pink abomination.”
“Jonathon!” Jeanne exclaimed, her perfect pink lips pursing.
“Which of course my beloved must have.” He added tightly before ducking out of the room.
And that was how he found himself, one week later, on his way to the auction.  He sat in back of the car driven by his trusted companion and valet Jack.
He sank into the leather seats thinking about loss and family.  He missed his parents.  Even though he often focused on studies and developing a new technology based on sonic resonance of crystalline structures, Jonathon didn’t like being alone.  He yearned for the sort of companionship his parents enjoyed.
He wanted a family, happy voices to fill his cavernous family mansion.  Although after months of enduring Jeanne’s plans for their life together, he was quickly learning, he yearned for more peaceful times as he watched his home transformed, his family heirlooms disappear and replaced with items he found garish, ostentatious and not the least bit homey or representative of him or his family name.
The auction was at least a distraction and held the potential to acquire other mineralogical samples for use in his experiments.  Unfortunately, nothing caught his attention and he sat bored out of his mind waiting on the pink atrocity to come for auction.  When it was announced, he sighed and raised his auction paddle as if it was some heavy weight, a burden to bear. 
There was only one other bidder for the jewel; a man similar to his own age, finely dressed in a designer suit, short blonde hair and cold blue eyes.  He glared at Jonathon after Jonathan won the diamond necklace.  At the conclusion the man stormed over.
“You know its cursed and any who own it are doomed to misery.  Do you really want to inflict that on your bride?”  Jonathon arched a brow.
“Clearly you have not met my bride.”  He then turned on his heel, retrieved the pendent and left, with it in the breast pocket of his brown pinstriped suit.  He collapsed in the back of his car, pinching the bridge of his nose at the pricey gem and how much he already despised it.
“Jack, I need a cuppa, someplace off the beaten path please.”
“With that rock in your pocket?”  Jonathon winced.
“You’re right.  Make sure they have a decent selection of pastries.  I need the sugar rush after picking up this rubbish.”  He jumped as he swore the stone vibrated his pocket.
“You got it boss.”  He patted the pocket to find nothing but a cool stone.  He scoffed and watched them pass through a village and stop in front of a quaint tea house.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in a corner of the empty shop and Jack standing guard that he looked at the jewel, gazing into the multi-faceted pink depths.
He snorted at the thought of a jewel being bad luck as he held the sparkling gem up into the light.  Perhaps it was a bit of sunlight hitting it just so but out of the corner of his eye, he swore he glimpsed a face in it, a beautiful blonde haired girl. 
He jerked back and rubbed his eyes.  He looked again and saw nothing.  He tucked it away in his pocket and shook his head thinking how the wedding nonsense was making him see things.  Instead, he enjoyed two slices of banana cake, licking the crumbs from his fingers and nodded at Jack to take him home.
As he pulled out his phone and caught up in an article, he kept swearing he heard humming, some old song from long ago. 
He smacked his phone wondering if Jeanne had installed some annoying app when he wasn’t looking.  Then again, she wasn’t really technically oriented.  He doubt she could unless by accident.  He vowed to keep his mobile well out of her reach.
When he arrived at the house, he groaned at white vans delivering full length crystal embedded mirrors and instead went into the super-secret back entrance into his shop.  Inside he took off his jacket the necklace fell out.  The humming stopped and he swore her heard someone say ouch! 
He sat up looking around his dimly lit shop but he was the only one there.  Scratching his head, he walked toward the stairs, peering up but still found no one.  Shrugging he walked back to his work table.
Again, he heard someone humming a song and something glinted deep within the jewel.  He pulled on his glasses and reached for the pendent holding it up to his work light.  The smaller white diamonds sparkled around the deep pink depths of the main jewel.  The humming continued.  It was a mystery that itched at the back of his mind. 
It was not possible for a gem to emit sound waves like that on its own.  This required testing.  Intrigued, he began exposing the jewel to different kinds of lights.  Hours passed as he tried ultra violet, sunlight, heat lamps and varying light exposures.  After staring at it sitting on a black velvet pad, he fell asleep. 
He dreamed of being in a castle lined with the ceiling dripping with various colored jewels.  Jeanne was running around in a big puffy white gown yanking them down and draping them around her neck until she collapsed from the weight.  The room glowed pink as the pink diamond pendent hung just out of his reach.  A voice whispered help.
He awakened with a gasp and rubbed his eyes.  When he looked at the diamond, he very clearly saw a blonde woman watching him.  She was dressed in a long butter yellow gown, wearing white long gloves, her hair in an old fashioned updo of curls and with a sparkling diamond tiara.
“Hello?” he says softly, his brown eyes reflecting surprise and delight.
She smiled the biggest smile he’d ever seen.
“Oh, you can see me! She cried out in delight.”
He scratched his head and rubbed his eyes.
“Yes, yes I can but…who are you and what are you doing in this rather ostentatious diamond?”
“I’m Rose, Lady Rose Tyler and I sort of got put in here by this wretched horrible man, a wizard who consorts with demons and well he’s just awful.  You know, evil and all.”
“Okaaay,” he drawled and “Why? I mean and how exactly are you in there?”
“I wouldn’t marry him.  Because you know evil and all, and well, he was a bit upset.  I don’t really know how he did it but I’m trapped…forever I think.  I’m so lonely.  You’re the first person to talk to me in a long while.”
“How long have you been in there?” he asked, knowing this was loony but unable to stop investigating.  It was in his nature to be curious and this…this was definitely on the list of interesting
“It was my twentieth birthday, 29th day of April in the year of our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Two.”
“Blimey,” he breathed out.  You’ve been in there for 166 years.  Uh this is 2008 I mean.”
Her shoulders slumped and she pressed her face in her white gloved hands weeping
“Oh, don’t cry, please.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t know it had been so long, she said miserably.  Everyone I love, my family they’re all gone.”
He felt an incredible sadness fill the room.  The girl disappeared and when he touched the jewel it was cold and just the slightest bit damp.
“Please come back” he whispered cradling the jewel in his hands.
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FGO HEADCANON STORY MASTERLIST
All of the stories, headcanons and important posts for every character I've written for are listed below the cut!
(Rules | Page 2 | Extras)
MASTERLIST
Gilgamesh NSFW Fanfic (also on ao3)
-Adulation of the King (Gilgamesh x Gender Neutral Master/ Body Worship/ NSFW)
Special Edition
-Vtuber-looking Gilgamesh 3D Model
-Pocky Day Gilgamesh
-Gilgamesh x Master (Kaguya/Shirogane type relationship)
School Clubs + Highschool AU
- Ereshkigal and Ishtar (School Clubs)
- Ereshkigal and Ishtar (Hobbies)
- Gilgamesh's Student Life
- Ozymandias, Jeanne, Iskandar (School Clubs)
- Student Gilgamesh Developing a Crush (High School Au)
- Valkyrie Sisters (School Clubs)
Crossovers
-That one Hakuouki x Fate post nobody ever asked for (Gilgamesh meeting Kazama)
Astolfo
-Astolfo General Headcanons (SFW AND NSFW)
Aśvatthāman/ Ashwatthama
-Aśvatthāman and Master Supporting one Another Through Tough Times
Chiron
-Chiron x Fem Master General NSFW Headcanons(Massage, bath sex, Thigh Sex)
Cu Alter
-TEETH 2 TEETH COMMUNICATION (lmao)
-Fate Series Cu Chulainn (Proto, Lancer, Caster, Alter)-General NSFW Headcanons
Caster Cu
-Learning How to Use the Runes with Caster Cu (FGO)
Cu (Lancer)
- Reuniting with a Previous Master (Archer Gil, Lancer Cu)
-Cu Chulainn (Lancer) x Female Master NSFW Headcanons (Chest/ Temperature Play/ Praise Kink)
-Eating Together with Master (Fem! Master, Lancer Cu, Robin Hood, Mori Nagayoshi)
-Cu Chulainn (Lancer) x Gender-Neutral Master NSFW Headcanons (Foreplay/ Biting Kink/ a 'bit' of sex)
Drake
-Opposites Do Attract, After All (Drake x Reserved Female Master)
Ereshkigal
- Ereshkigal with a Partner who has Depression
Gilgamesh (Alter Ego) *fanservant idea
- Gilgamesh (Alter Ego)'s Life in Chaldea
- The meme post that inspired the idea
Gilgamesh
- Archer Gilgamesh and Hakuno Are Summoned Together in the Fate/Zero/ FGO Holy Grail Wars
- auo take over blog
- Does Gilgamesh Like Feisty Women?
- Gilgamesh and Enkidu on a Shopping Trip
- Gilgamesh’s Banquet with A Princess From a Distant Land
- Gilgamesh's Bizarre McDonald's Adventure
- Gilgamesh Cat Headcanons
- Gilgamesh Confession to S/O
- Gilgamesh Fighting Heroic Spirits (and recording them)
- Gilgamesh's Instagram Live
- Gilgamesh in Love with a Handsome Guy
- Gilgamesh, Merlin and Solomon in a Room
- Gilgamesh as a Museum Tour Guide
- Gilgamesh x Nightclubs
- Gilgamesh's Pandemic Preparations
- Gilgamesh as a Talk Show Host
- Gilgamesh in a World Devoid of Humans
- Gilgamesh Seeing a Strip Pole for the First Time
- Gilgamesh Soothing an S/O Struggling with a Mental Health Condition
- Gilgamesh's Taste in Music
- Gilgamesh visiting Therapy for the First Time
- Gilgamesh's TV Habits
- Influencer Gilgamesh
- OTP ASK: GILHAKU
- Relaxing with Gilgamesh
- Reuniting with a Previous Master (Archer Gil, Lancer Cu)
- Sexy Date with Gilgamesh
- Superhero Gilgamesh
- S/O Dealing with Caster Gilgamesh's Bad Sleeping Habits
PAPA GILGAMESH SERIES
- Papa Gilgamesh Opinions
- Papa Gilgamesh Headcanons
- Gilgamesh with Kids
- Gilgamesh as a Mentor to a Younger Servant
- Master Accidentally Calling Gilgamesh 'Dad'
Goetia
- Teatime of The End
Gudako + Mash
- FERAL GUDAKO HEADCANON
- OTP ASK: GUDA/MASHU
- Chaldea Health Check
- Seeing Spirits
Jeanne (Ruler)
- Fluffy Jeanne x S/O Headcanons
Kadoc
- Kadoc x Master of Chaldea! S/0 General Romance Headcanons
Mori Nagayoshi
-A Conflict of Love Languages (Mori x Female Master)
-Affectionate Time With Mori (Mori x Master)
-Mori Nagayoshi- Househusband Edition
- Mori Nagayoshi x Sweet, Small Fem Master Relationship Headcanons
-Mori Meeting Master's Parents (For the FIRST TIME!)
-Kemonomimi Mori Nagayoshi x Master
-Mori Nagayoshi x Female Master NSFW Headcanons
- Mori Nagayoshi Reacting to his Female Master not Liking Tea
-Master Inviting Mori Nagayoshi out for Bubble Tea
-Eating Together with Master (Fem!Master, Lancer Cu, Robin Hood, Mori Nagayoshi)
-Mori Nagayoshi x Fem Master NSFW Headcanons (Size Kink, Touch, SEX)
Mordred
- Domestic Headcanons- Mordred x fem! master
- Reckless fem! master x Mordred Headcanons
Miscellaneous
- Chaldea: Strip Poker Night
- Gilgamesh, Iskandar and Ozymandias Hanging Out: Trip to the Hot Springs
- - Servants Playing MMORPGS (most kills/ most deaths)
- Just Another Day in Fuyuki
- Chaldea Talent Show
Mastersona
- Mastersona Introduction (1) : Seihai-Kun
- mastersona 1 daily life
- A Yearning Heart (yes one sided crush fic)
- SLEEPOVER☆CHAOS
- Celebration
- Let There Be Cake! (9 MASTERSONAS IN CHALDEA)
Oda Nobunaga (Archer)
-Archer Nobunaga Catching Nobukatsu Drawing (And She LOVES it!)
Oda Nobukatsu
-Archer Nobunaga Catching Nobukatsu Drawing (And She LOVES it!)
Saitō Hajime
-Saitō Hajime’s Life in Chaldea (ft. Guda, Okita and a teensy bit of Izou)
Sigurd
-An Anniversary like No Other (Sigurd/Master)
Solomon
-Solomon x Fem! Master NSFW (Foreplay, Soft Dom, Dirty Talk, A LOT OF ANGST!)
Robin Hood
-Eating Together with Master (Fem! Master, Lancer Cu, Robin Hood, Mori Nagayoshi)
Yan Qing
-Dominant Yan Qing x Female Master NSFW Headcanons (degradation/ edging/ aftercare)
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Thank you!
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zackcrazyvalentine · 2 years
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💋🍭🎱 For Evander and Vihaan please?
[ask meme]
Oya~ Let's see what these two boys have to say!
-- --
👑 Vihaan Kingsgrove 🧡
💋 – Is your muse a good kisser? Would they consider themselves one?
"My, my~ Someone's a little bit curious, huh?" Vihaan teased. "Why not find out by yourself, sugar?" He gave his signature bright toothy grin, with a touch of smugness written on his face.
Absolutely, definitely, 100%, no doubt Vihaan is very confident in his kissing skills, he KNOWS he's a damn good kisser and has no problem showing off
🍭 – What are some thoughtful gift ideas to get your muse?
He turned bashful, one hand tugging at a strand of tight curls as he spoke. "Ehe... Oh man, well..."
Gleeful shy blue eyes looked up at you, "Anything music related, really."
"Vintage cassettes or vinyl records, a personally curated playlist in digital format or in a CD, USB." The sunset boy perked up, "Yeah..! I love curated playlists! It- With them-... With them you can share so much of your soul with me!"
A chuckle left Kingsgrove after calming down from his outburst. "Another gift I like a whole lot is going out to karaoke, or having an impromptu jamming session. Nothing better than making memories with those I love, with the thing I love most: music."
"I love gifts of music in all forms!"
🎱 – Does your muse believe in serendipity or fate, when it comes to relationships and love? Do they have good or bad luck in relationships? What have they done to try to turn bad luck around?
"Dost, what's up with this, eh?" He chuckled nervously. "Well, if I must..."
"I've been in a couple of relationships, yes, but they were very superficial." He talked without shame, sincerely speaking of his experiences regardless of what others would say of it. "Either one or both of us were interested in just the physical looks or fortune of the other. We had very narrow sights for the union. There were no real feelings there." Kingsgrove said casually, "Guess that means I have bad luck on this?"
He suddenly jumped and shrugged carelessly. "But I'm still young, ain't I~? I can learn from all relationships I end up in. Nothing wrong with some fun, right?"
"I have faith destiny will eventually bring the one to me."
.
💙 Evander Bunthrope 🐇
💋 – Is your muse a good kisser? Would they consider themselves one?
The tall beastkin scratched the back of his neck. "Ah... Had to go for that one, huh, mate?" You could see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.
"Let's just... leave it as," The further he spoke, the more he shrunk into himself, "No."
Evander doesn't have much practice with kissing, he can barely say he already has had his first kiss. ("Hey! I did have it!") ...sure... Big bunny guy is shy with romantic affection~
But, given the right person, I'm sure Bunthrope can practice his skills to be an enjoyable kisser.
🍭 – What are some thoughtful gift ideas to get your muse?
"Gifts?" He rubbed his chin in thought. "Hmm... That's a toughy."
A shake of the head with furrowed blue-grey brows, "I don't care for material stuff all that much."
After a couple seconds of thought, Evander delivered an answer he was happy with: "Handmade things do the trick. A bracelet, a knitted scarf or mittens, a drawing, some special craft with meaning behind it, food, cupcakes or cookies. Anything you've spent time and effort to make."
"Nothing shows love clearer than willingly spending time and effort on someone."
🎱 – Does your muse believe in serendipity or fate, when it comes to relationships and love? Do they have good or bad luck in relationships? What have they done to try to turn bad luck around?
"Alright, mate, that's- No, simply no." The bunny turned pink from shyness and slight discomfort the question brought forth.
However, leaving without saying at least a smidge of an answer made him even more uncomfortable than the question thrown his way. "Ugh, alright. Let's leave it as..."
"Only time will tell."
With that, the athlete fled the scene with his characteristic hyper run speed.
Evander hasn't broke through the dating scene. He's felt a couple crushes, but none strong enough to lead him into action. He does believe in soulmates, though. You bet this rabbit will give a proper chase once he finds someone that holds his entire affections and is compatible with his future goals!
-- --
HOLY DAMN THIS TOOK A WHILE TO ANSWER BC THAT LAST QUESTION HAD (and still has ngl) ME RATTLING MY BRAIN FOR AN ANSWER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Hope you enjoy reading through this!
Thank you for you ask, Furo!
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flamingwell · 2 years
Note
2, 21 and 29 for the podfic meme?
Thanks for asking! (Oooh, I’m very excited!)
This is from the 30 Questions for Podficcers meme, which anyone is very much encouraged to ask me more about, I love gushing about podfic!
2. Is there a trope, style or technique you really want to try?
I would like to try soundscaping! I've done opening soundscapes a few times (I'm thinking about Loyalty and Three Months, but One Day Shy, beware the tags), but I've never done soundscaping through the entire fic. I have one that I am very very very slowly working on tho. Maybe I'll even finish it one day. Soundscaping is so freaking hard, y'all!
21. Is there a podfic of yours you’d like to remake from start to finish?
Honestly, not really. I don't post things that I'm not happy with, and even my earlier stuff (which isn't that long ago!) I'm still quite pleased with. Yeah, my equipment wasn't as good and I'm learning new editing skills every day, but I don't think it detracts for me and I hope it doesn't for my listeners. Besides, I'm not sure I would have the patience to redo something. I get really excited about applying new things I learned to future projects, but I wouldn't have the same excitement about redoing something I've already done.
29. Talk about your current wips.
Well, in terms of wips that I've already started recording, that's surprisingly thin on the ground atm. I usually am only actively working on a small number of projects at the same time, but I'll generally have at least 2 or 3 in progress at a given time. Right now, just after Voiceteam? I've only got one. That's the soundscaping project that I mentioned above! It's Night Bus by @suspiciouspopsicle , and the first time that I read the fic, I swear to God I heard an entire soundscape in my head and I desperately want to bring it to life. But holy hell y'all, did I mention that soundscaping is hard?? Like I have A Vision (what's the audio equivalent of a vision?) that I want to bring to life, but even finding the sound effects that sound exactly (or even somewhat) like what I have in my head is Very Very Difficult, much less actually adding them to the podfic. It's sure going to put all of my editing skills to the test, and require me to grow a bunch of new ones! Which is obviously part of the fun! Plus it's just such a good fic you guys, seriously, go read it!!
Then I have a few that I am actively prepping scripts for (even when I'm not working with others, I make sure that all my pronunciation notes and tone markers are in a script, so I can count that as an active wip, right?). One I'm working with a partner on, so I won't say anything about that one since I'm not sure how secretive we are being, but the other is the devastating Drowning in the Sun by @overzelos , aka what if Jiang Cheng was aware but paralyzed during the core surgery? Suuuper up my angst and Yunmeng feels alleys, I'd been working up the courage to ask about that one for a while, and then fate threw me in Zelos' path and who was I to say no? And Zelos said yes, so I'm very excited to get that one started!
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cyfaredd · 4 months
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@theabyssalmuses asked: “  i’m broken.  and i don’t need anyone to try to feed me white lies about it." Cu Alter to ,, Medb, yes Lost The Meme [RIP]
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❝ Broken ?? Is that what you truly think ?? ❞
Golden eyes of the Queen looked the Berserker up and down, taking the entirety of him in as she'd done once before. Now was different to then. Rather than a Queen and her weapon they were equals — at least in her eyes anyway. Maybe it wasn't an opinion he'd agree with ( she was certain it wasn't ) but how else could she see him now that all was finally said and done ?? Now that fate had allowed them this opportunity she could finally look at her work for what it truly was.
❝ Are you implying that when I created you I was somehow wrong in my methodology ?? Or is it your very existence that you're taking issue with ?? ❞ Medb hardly noticed her voice raising little by little, nor the bite of cold in her tone. For him to proclaim so arrogantly to her that she was at all mistaken in all that she had done, it was so much like ———
The Rider stopped, eyes widening a little in shock at herself as she actually hesitated on what to say next to him. All of it felt so familiar to her now that it almost hurt. Realising the tension throughout her body, the Queen unballed her fists, letting out a long sigh as she let herself relax again. No need for fight or flight now... Not with him anyway.
❝ You continue to claim to be a king here, yet you say such childish things as that. For the record: I do everything perfectly, and creating you was no exception to that. ❞ Saying that, Medb turned on her heel and began to walk away, never looking back to him. ❝ If you want me to accept you as a king then do start acting like one, Cú Chulainn. Otherwise I'll have to start agreeing with you and neither of us want that, do we ?? ❞
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eraba-reta-unmei · 6 months
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dress miya up! give miya an outfit and she has to wear it. you can either send a picture or describe it.
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amelancholysunshine · 5 months
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Fake As Hell
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When All Time Low finally comes back to Montreal, Elizabeth has a rather important question for Alex
352 days after Alex and I confessed our love to another in the heart of Quebec City, All Time Low makes a tour announcement. 
As such, in support of their newest album “Tell Me I'm Alive,” released in March of 2023, Alex, Jack, Rian and Zach are set to embark on a North American tour that starts at the Maryland State Fair on September 8th and finishes with the We Were Young Festival on October 22nd. 
Meanwhile, Montreal is on September 19th. 
 This means I have a little over two months to achieve my mission. 
First, I have to get a move on with my ongoing Internet research regarding certain male jewelry. 
Second, I have to concoct a plan to, on that day, actually give said jewelry to said recipient, whom I might add, I’ve gotten even closer to over the past year, despite how hard he’s been at work with the new record. 
I know exactly how I’ll do it. 
Future Hearts Club, may I have two Sound Check Party and Q+A upgrades, along with two general admission tickets, please for Salvatore DelCan? 
 To this, you probably ask: why the purchase? And likewise,why is it put under a combination of my brother's legal and family name, and likewise, my mother's?  
Because I, Elizabeth Delfino am going undercover. As in I’ll make Alex believe that we'll see each other backstage after tonight’s show, but I'll blend in with the fans at sound check to ask him my rather original question. 
Surely, he'll be surprised by my presence.  
Say that Alex rejects my proposition, then, at least, I’ll have my brother to offer moral support. 
                                                     _______
The “Calm Down” memes I currently send to Sam, while he waits inside the hospital for the glaucoma specialist to see him, may be funny, particularly the “Burning House Girl” one, but have never resonated more with Alex’s lyrics. 
Because, literally, I am freaking out that no one else is freaking out! 
And Alex's sickeningly cute text, that is, “I'm counting down the hours until I see you tonight, sunshine” is not of any help!  
When I was told that Sam's routine checkup with Dr.  Lee fell on the same day as the ATL concert, I accepted it, heck, I even found a silver lining in all this: that we’d already have a ride into the city. 
What was failed to be mentioned, however, was that, at 12:30, I’d be stuck in the hospital parking lot because he had only passed his pretest portion of his appointment! In other words, wasn’t even close to be seen by his physician!  
 Oh sure, my mom who sits in the driver’s seat, while I’m in the passenger one, tries to tell me that everything will be fine, more so, that we’ll make it on time for sound check at 2:30. 
Truly, I have the most respect for her because she helped Alex and I reconcile back on that fateful day in May, but how could she possibly be so sure of this fact? She's not the one who still has to get to the subway station, sit through seven stops, and trek the eight-minute walk to the venue, now is she? 
My anxiety is so high that, at this point, I’m ready to jump out of this car and get myself to the venue, sans chaperone. It's not like Sam would mind: he didn’t even want to come in the first place! 
Alex said it best years ago, way before we stumbled into each other on the pit of that alternative music festival, that is, to “Never underestimate a girl’s love for her favorite band.”
 Right now, what should not be underestimated is the sheer amount of adrenaline that courses through my veins so I can, finally, yes, finally, propose to him, gender norms be damned! 
                                                    _________ 
Some of my most famous lines later, that is, “My fist will collide with somebody's cheek!” after I get impatient with the traffic, and second, “Where the fuck are you bringing me?” when Sam makes us walk away from the venue, instead of towards it, and we finally make it to The Olympia. 
Just in time for Ayla, this event’s coordinator, to begin sound check registration. 
To add to my exhilaration of indeed making it on time, the heavy rain reduces my stress of not getting recognized! 
In fact, with my All Time Low centric outfit, drenched untamed natural dirty blond hair, wet red glasses, sweaty skin and with my older brother by my side, I look very little (or so I hope) like the straight-haired and contact-wearing girl Alex has posted very little of online.  
Besides, I am quite certain that this energetic queue of fans cares much more about their impending upgrade than that one girl in the Tell Me I’m Alive” logo T-shirt that stays glued to her concert partner in the blue Oakley hoodie.  
 On that topic of clothes, will Alex see through my so-called disguise? Truly, when you’ve given yourself to someone heart and soul like I have to Alex for the past three years, you'd think he'd be able to select me from a lineup, no? 
Only time will tell.  
                                                        _______ 
A few minutes into the experience and I understand why this upgrade is sought out by fans.   
In fact, with our exclusive laminate around our necks, the bracelet around our wrists, and the sounds of Alex’s s vocal warm-ups, his mention of “Purple Rain” and a rehearsal of PMA with, who I assume is, Lauran Hibberd, that resonate through the venue, we truly are given a backstage pass to this show.   
Even we're only able to see it broadcast through the tiniest screen, since for some reason, the entrance to the stage is closed off by a heavy, red velvet curtain.  
If that's the case, then how am I, or any other fan really, supposed to ask a question to the band? 
 I laugh at the way my brother currently rolls his eyes at Alex appropriating Prince, but, really, it is just a means of distraction from the bigger issue.   
Is the experience we were promised done through a screen?
 Besides being disappointed at not receiving what was advertised on the fan club's website, that is, an interactive and one-on-one experience where the boys answer fan questions and perform a few songs, I also struggle to understand the logistics of this format.   
If I had known that this is what was entailed by the upgrade, I would have simply proposed to him on Zoom! Yes, the intimate factor wouldn’t have been present, but it won’t be present in this current environment, either!   
                                                     ------- 
 A brief debriefing later on the rules of conduct, that is, no asking for individual selfies or autographs, nor any live-streaming, and we’re let into the hall.  
Instantly, the lot of the group rushes up to the barricade, meanwhile, Sam and I nearly stumble on the many, many hard guitar cases covering the floor. 
We recover quickly from our quasi-fall, but, unlike the other fans who are just about pressed to the checkered metal, decide to stay a little far behind.  
Okay, so maybe, that’s maybe because I feel just a tad overwhelmed.   
As in, just a few feet forward from a drum kit that I later learn is the one belonging to Lauren Hibbard’s drummer. 
As the lot of us wait for the band to appear on stage, I try to calm my anxiety by focusing to the sound check playlist, of which includes Shakira's “Hips Don't Lie” and a variety of Jimmy Eat World songs, but it’s fruitless. 
Sure, Ayla did say that we can ask the boys pretty much anything—and that they sometimes go on a tangent depending on the context of the question—but, then again, I’m not just asking Alex anything. 
I'm asking him everything.    
                                                    ----------- 
I slap Sam's upper arm enthusiastically. 
Because there he is in the flesh and on the stage, the one and only Zach Merrick. 
And that can only mean one thing. 
That the rest of the boys will follow. 
Surely enough, in a flash of long limbs and voices I would recognize anywhere, Jack, Alex and Rian come out, to take their respective positions on stage.   
I take a moment to admire each one of them, in all their stage presence, which is all but aided by the “Tell Me I’m Alive” neon logo sign.  
That is, Jack, stage left, in his Britney Spears hoodie that inspired a lyric in “Sleeping In.”  Zach, stage right, in all his musculature. All the way in the back, Rian sits on his drum throne, but of course, in shorts. 
And, in the center, stands Alex, the man that stole my heart from the moment we met, and that, quite frankly, with whom I am not impressed with right now. 
For one thing, his cap does a piss poor job of concealing his butchered bleached hair, which, at this point, can’t even be called platinum, but really, is just white. 
And second, while I have no qualms about his graphic T-shirt because I’ve come to learn that they are a staple in his wardrobe, I do have an aversion to his pants and shoes. 
I’ll be frank: his black, baggy cargo pants that are fit at somehow also fit at ankles make him look like he shit himself. As for his platform white and blue streaked Nikes, well, I understand that they're probably very comfortable, seeing as Alex is on his feet all day, but simply put, they’re ugly, not to mention his usual go-to-shoe. 
                                                    --------- 
“Um, I don’t actually know what that means.” 
 So begins this Q + A, by Jack volunteering to answer questions in French, then, ultimately, not being able to due to a lack of knowledge in the language. 
 His subsequent embarrassment only sets the tone for the signature All Time Low debauchery that get exploited throughout the boys’ answers, which, of course, we all eat up, including myself.  
As such, when Alex, the sensible one, is asked what the band would do if they weren’t musicians, he launches into an explanation that is both historical and nearly philosophical and obviously not aided by off-track contributions, before admitting that he’d be a writer. Jack, the comic relief, offers a straightforward answer, in the form of “I'd be retired.” 
The next question is of the same nature that is, what each of the boys’ favorite album is.   While Alex debates on the band’s catalogue, before finally landing on “Wake Up, Sunshine,” Jack wastes no time in beating around the bush. 
“My favorite album is “Nothing Personal 'cause it's the only album I can play!”  
To add to the innocence, he finishes off his answer with a giggle. 
 As Alex processes the next question, what covers the boys are enjoying playing on this tour, which he answers with that he'd love to do a cover of Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher,” I feel Sam's muscles tense and roll his eyes from next to me. 
When a fan proposes they play a Bryan Adams song, to which Jack instantly proceeds to give us a 30-second cover, complete with enthusiastic strumming and exaggerated vocals, I feel him get even more irritated.   A Prince, Van Halen and Bryan Adams mention? No doubt will this be our topic of conversation during dinner. 
 Next, the boys treat us to a performance of “Fake As Hell,” their newest single released just a mere four days ago, of which also features the one and only and only Avril Lavigne.   
 Alex singing her verse sounds off, but, at the same time, I feel both warm at the thought that that concert brought two opportunities for Alex: our reconciliation and a collaboration with Canada’s pop punk princess.   
 As the song is over, Alex opens the playing field, which is instantly taken up by the fan who asked the alternative career question. 
My spite towards the young man—how dare he ask two questions when we were each promised one—makes me uninterested in whatever he has to say, and more so, relentless.  
Which is why when Alex offers to answer another question soon after, my hand shoots up so high my muscles burn and I shout, “I have a question!” so loud, my throat burns.   
My brother turns to look at me in surprise, but I couldn’t care less. I didn't spend long hours on the Internet finding the perfect ring for Alex, not to mention survive this morning's stress not to ask my boyfriend of three years that question!  
Except when Alex looks at me to assess my question that I haven’t yet asked, a chill runs down my spine and my body freezes over, for hegivesme that stare. 
More so, as he assess me, his deep and brown pupils let me know that, one, despite my disguise attempt, he recognizes me, and second, that there is no way will I live it down if I go forward with my question. 
 At once, my brain replays bits and pieces of the song I just heard, namely, its focus on superficiality.  
How could I have thought this was a good idea in the first place? Asking for Alex's hand in marriage during an event curated for diehard fans, not for desperate girlfriends, yeah, not my most intelligent idea.  
Here they are asking insightful questions about the guys’ interests and career, while I am expecting them to witness an engagement between the frontman and his girlfriend.   
How is that fair to anybody? Surely not for the fans who are obviously here for the music and not the guys’ personal lives, and likewise, not to Alex himself, who, as we agreed upon at the start of our frequentation, likes to keep our relationship out of the public eye. 
 And I have the gull to call the fan egotistical? The poor kid is probably so excited he's dying at a chance to interact further with his favorite band. I should let him be, not be some clingy girlfriend with extremely poor timing. 
That said, my initial plan quickly falls to pieces and is instead replaced by a more, if you will, contextually appropriatequery, that is, one that I think fans will appreciate, and more so, that I've been wanting to know since I rediscovered the 2000s emo staple. 
“What's your favorite My Chemical Romance song?” 
 If Alex saw any signs of my previous distress, though it couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, he doesn't show it, because he reacts the same as he did to the other question. 
“Hmmm” Alex rubs his scruff in contemplation, then echoes my question, “What’s my favorite My Chemical Romance song?” 
“What’s the one that goes I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone?’’ he continues in a singsong.  
“Famous Last Words?’’ I offer, though, apparently, I don’t speak loud enough.    
“What’s that?’   
“Famous Last Words!’’ 
“Yes!’’ Alex then shouts with his hands placed in prayer, as he finally understands me.  
  Jack is next to offer his own input. Apparently, his favorite track is ‘’I Don’t Love You.’’  
 From there, Alex dives into the merits of ‘’The Black Parade’’ at that, that it is one of the best albums to be ever produced and that it defined a generation. He is my boyfriend, so of course, I am tempted to take his side on most things, but on this, my agreement is fully my own.  
‘’Wait, how does that album end, again?’’ he now asks.  
“Uhh’’, I really am not sure if the question is directed at himself, his bandmates or to me, but answer anyway, “I don’t know.’’ 
 At this, though I doubt that the anybody hears my unsuccessful attempts at providing an accurate answer, Rian, from his drum kit, takes his phone and proceeds to name check every one of the songs mentioned. Respectively, we are informed that first, Alex’s favorite song is “Famous Last Words,” second, Jack’s, “I Don’t Love You” and lastly, that the closing track of The Black Parade is none other than “Blood.”  
My question now finished and done with, Alex then proposes that they play a last song. At this, Rian is quick to suggest they do an MCR cover, though I can’t tell if he’s sarcastic or not. Whatever the intention, his original idea gets vetoed off by a performance of “Missing You.” 
A last question gets asked after the performance, though in my excitement of having my own so perfectly answered by the band, I don’t register a word of it.  
Then, as soon as Alex proclaims, “Let’s take pictures!” we’re separated into two groups for sound check photos, while the boys get into formation behind the barricade. In the time that it takes for the first group to pass, I devise a plan to stand in the spots right in front of Alex, but unsurprisingly, I am not quick enough. And so, my brother and I settle for those in front of Rian, which, for anybody, is still an exciting feat. 
With one last glance at strangely, Jack’s sleeve, to have one last memory to look at, I then turn towards the photographer’s lens, with a huge smile plastered across my face and eyes that practically gleam. 
If can only hope that Alex’s expression mirrors my own.  
------------------- 
Just as I expected, Sam's commentary regarding the encounter begins the moment we sit down to eat at the chicken place conveniently placed in front of the venue.   Though I’m not particularly hungry, more so still pumped on adrenaline, he is famished, which makes for some rather odd thoughts. 
“If I could, I would have gone on stage and clipped every one of their nose hairs!” 
 I stare at him from across the table in puzzlement. How and most importantly, why is my brother thinking of Alex and his bandmates' nose hairs? I just don't understand the correlation between this rather pleasant experience and out of all things, nasal hair.  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
“They were being stupid.” He grumbles in explanation. 
“We are talking about All Time Low, here,” I point out, “Were you expecting anything less?”  
“I wasn't expecting Jack to murder “Summer of 69!” He made my arm hair stand up in anger, Elizabeth!”   
I instantly burst into laughter at the outburst, because really, this was being blown way out of proportion. 
“Should I be worried that my boyfriend’s best friend gives you goosebumps?”   
“Speaking of your beloved, how dare he talk about Van Halen and Prince like they’re long-lost best friends!”   
“It's only because Prince is a huge influence on Alex.”  
“Whatever,” he shrugs, “I knew I should have gone ahead with my original plan of throwing a rock at him when I had the chance.” 
Just as I am about to point out that, had he gone through with it, we probably would have been kicked out of the venue, my protective instincts take over, which pave the way for an outburst like my brother’s.   
“Hey! That’s possibly my future husband we’re talking about!”  
He immediately sits up straighter in his seat, as realization hits him. 
“Great. Another scemo brother-in-law.”  
I laugh at his choice of well-placed vocabulary, but really, his comparison of Alex to my sister’s bum of a husband, Hallyson, stings just a bit. 
“He may be a dumbass yes, but he’s my dumbass, okay? And he’s kept the same job for the last twenty years!”  
My brother nods in agreement at my points of comparison, then smiles genuinely. 
“For what it's worth, Sis, I really hope he says yes.”  
                                                    ------------ 
Shortly after our Early Entry admission, Sam and I find ourselves once more in the pit, just this time, surrounded by a larger horde of, to put it lightly, excitable fans.
Which is exactly why he absolutely refuses to stay there for the duration of the show. 
“No, nope, not happening. I will not be pushed and shoved for three hours by screaming fans.” 
“But what if Alex goes into the crowd,” I try to plead.
“Then, he'll be in the crowd, while we stay in the balcony. Where we'll be both comfortable and safe.”  
 “Well, now you’re just being boring.” I huff and cross my arms over my chest. 
“I'm being,” he corrects me sternly, “cautious. Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we were in a concert pit?”  
“Yeah, it’s where I met Al-”   
“No” he cuts me off, “It's where you suddenly wandered off during Godsmack's set during the Amnesia Rockfest.” 
“I'm the one who wandered off?” I am suddenly appalled at how he gets the facts wrong, “No, you were the one who suddenly decided he wanted to see Sul—“ 
“Point is” he grits his teeth in a way that lets me know he’s had enough, “I lost you for close to two hours in the middle of nowhere and I am not going through it again. We're sitting in the balcony and that’s final.” 
I huff in annoyance as we walk up the steps to the balcony, but once we sit down in corner seats, said negativity turns into relief.   
 In fact, I can clearly see the stage from our spot, but most importantly, I can enjoy myself without my claustrophobia or fear of being recognized taking over.  
So happy am I by this consolation that I don't even get bothered when Sam warns me about an event that, in this moment, isn't exactly in my priorities. 
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he speaks with a glint in his eye, “You may have tested my patience with this concert, but don’t think I won't test yours next October, when Godsmack comes back to town.” 
                                                    __________ 
 As he glares at me as Lauran Hibberd and her band play a cover of “Hollaback Girl” by Gwen Stefani, I know exactly what Sam is conveying. 
She's to be polite, decent. Sure, she has a quirky personality, and is very thankful for All Time Low for bringing her out of the Isle of Wright and into America, but based on the poor crowd reaction, her music fails to resonate with the crowd.  
Which is a shame because with just a little more time and perhaps some lessons in performing live, she could really hit it off with the Gen Z crowd. 
 Because despite its difficult topic, “i suck at grieving” really has bop potential. 
                                                              _________ 
 “They sound like Adelitas Way.” 
 My brother’s comparison of Grayscale to the Las Vegas rock quartet makes me smile in relief. 
Because for all the drama and stupidity, we’ve been through since this morning; at least I can afford him this, that sense of familiarity and enjoyment that is akin to the one he feels when listening to his favorite bands. 
Granted, Grayscale can't possibly offer what the hard rock scene would, but currently, they're doing a fine job of delivering infectious melodies, saxophone solos, great anecdotes (namely, that the last time they were in this city, they loaded their gear through the venue's kitchen), and lastly, catchy as hell anthems. 
 So catchy are they that by the second chorus of this current song, Sam and I sing along to what will probably be a slogan for dealing with our respective self-entitled clients.  
“Come say it to my face! Wipe that smirk up and walk my way!”   
                                                      ________ 
When Alex joins Gym Class Heroes, which up until this point is quite boring and disrespectful to underage fans, to sing the chorus or “Cupid's Chokehold / Breakfast in America,” Sam and I have contrasting exclamations. 
“That’s a Supertramp song!” 
“That’s Alex!” 
As such, while he fumes Alex appropriating what essentially is one of the greatest choruses to ever grace the history of rock ’n’ roll, I just stare, mesmerized by Alex. 
How could he possibly think that wearing a white-on-white-on-white outfit, that is, merchandise muscle tee, jeans, and sneakers, minus the black cap on his head, would be in the very least bit smart? It just lacks a sense of style, and, at that, color.   
 Despite this, he still manages to be adorable, with the way he then clumsily bounces to provide a quasi-choreography for Travie McCoy's verses.  
In such, it seems as though Alex foretells what will essentially be an awesome All Time Low set, and, at that, an unforgettable, if you will, après- concert.  
                                                                ______ 
While I sit in All Time Low's empty dressing room, patiently waiting for Alex to come in from his dancing with the crowd to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” so I can finally do what I came here to do, I reminisce about the show. 
With the way All Time Low performed a whopping 22 songs, including the underappreciated “Heroes,” delivered an amazing cover of “Ghostbusters” (thought that was entirely Jack’s doing), interacted with the fans (one in particular had shouted “Tabanark,” the Quebec equivalent of “Fuck” to Jack), they really just gave it their all. 
Just as I am about to do with Alex.   
Speak of the man himself, I can suddenly hear him behind the closed door, mentioning something about Toronto before he’s opening the handle to reveal himself to me in all his sweaty glory. 
Then, with a lock of our eyes, he's tackling me into a bear hug with a shout of, “Elizabeth, you sly minx!” before he presses sloppy raspberries over every inch of my face, which combined with his scruff is irritating.  
“’'Lex, stop please, it tickles,” I try to push him away, but he's persistent as ever. 
Finally, he gives up, and settles instead on wrapping his arms around my waist while mine go around his neck. It’s a position reminiscent of the last time we were in a venue, but now, the context is just slightly different.  
“So,” he begins, “That was a pretty interesting question you had at sound check.” 
 “Yeah,” I shrug, “It wasn’t actually the one I wanted to ask you, though.”  
“Want to tell me what it is?” his lips trace the outline of my ear, which makes my heart flutter. 
“If you’ll marry me.” 
At this, he pulls back with a cheeky grin that all but encourages me to pull away, stoop down on one knee in front of him, take the jewelry box from my pocket, and present it to reveal a copper-colored ring encircled with a single guitar string. 
As his expression now turns blank, my original proposal idea of including song lyrics to chronicle our relationship is suddenly thrown out the window, anxiety now making it half-assed.   
“Alexander William Gaskarth, if the last three years have taught me anything is that I’m disgustingly, irrevocably, and all in love with you. So, I'm here, on my knees, after what has been the most demanding but exhilarating day of my life, asking you to make it that much more exhilarating. Will you just marry me, already?”  
His blank stare persists before it culminates in laughter, the kind that has him sucking in air through his mouth before he finally lets it all out in a loud cackle. 
“No.”  
I stand up immediately and snap the lip closed, where I meet his height.      
“No?” I echo in shock surely this, dare I say it, refusal can’t be possible. 
“Not so nice being rejected, now it is, Elizabeth?” He challenges, “Especially not at a” he pauses, to let his dark gaze settle into mine, “concert.” 
So, that's what this is all about? The fact that over a year ago, I had lapse in judgment and momentarily thought it was better to boycott Ticketmaster than to be with him, who, at the time, I hadn't seen for six months. I hadn't gone through with it, after all, and we spent a whole night in my bedroom making up for it. 
And, after all that, our confession in Quebec City, and now, this, my plan for the day that took out a whole lot of energy from me, he's still holding a grudge? I may have been fake by wanting to propose to him during sound check, but he’s no better, punishing me for something that we, supposedly got over. 
“I thought you said you forgave me for that!” 
“I did and I’m sorry” he relents, his features solemn, then hesitant, “So maybe that wasn't the exact reason I said no.” 
“Want to tell me what this exact reason is?” I echo his words from earlier, genuinely curious. 
“Um” his features remain hesitant as a pink hue tints his cheeks, while he refuses to look at me, his mumbled answer obviously not lost on me.
 “Because I was planning to propose first.”  
(A/N)
On September 19th, 2023, when All Time Low came to Montreal, I asked Alex Gaskarth during soundcheck what his favorite MCR song was. He answered ''Famous Last Words''.
I have not been the same person since.
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eclipsecrowned · 9 months
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reposting from the old blog. not reblogging bc of the user who sent in the initial ask, so i’m rephrasing this from a meme response to a standalone meta on hel, mental health, and the ability to reach out for help.
Hel’s mental health is NOT GREAT. Her life is pretty much a series of distractions from her hopeless situation and the toll it takes on her health, physically and mentally. She is a carefully crafted facade that keeps all her varying issues buried so deeply they cannot possibly surface and fuck her over.
Her entire being is a creature of composure that she grew behind closed doors to serve others first and her own negativity never. And that’s a nightmare existence, especially because whenever the mask starts to crack, she either further isolates or turns to alcohol. Sometimes a combination of both. She is on record saying that alcohol makes the world more tolerable, which is just the tip of the iceberg.
She would have to admit to having internal problems in order to be diagnosed, so no, she is not presently diagnosed with anything. That said, she’s struggling when others aren’t looking.
Depression is a major issue, exacerbated by her dour and dim surroundings, which she can find some relief from in simply leaving her realm for a time. Even then, she is bound to Helheim, and can never truly be free of it. It also tends to surface whenever she has a bad physical flare up, when her nerves start to fray or she is confined to bed.
Anxiety is another major issue with her, though one she carefully covers. You see this most often in how she approaches those who try to get close to her, terrified of being seen for what she is, terrified of not being good enough, and going out of her head with worry that she never truly be able to hold on to anyone, or that people will be hurt for their association with her.
PTSD is the real silent killer here, and her trauma is always hanging over her. It colors every relationship she reaches friendship or beyond. She lives in constant fear that somehow, she will be made to lose again. Someone will be hurt because of her. Someone will leave her, whether willingly or by choice. She’s never going to get out from under the fate of her family, especially when avenging that trauma is stated to be the purpose her entire life is working towards. PTSD feeds into pretty much every other struggle she has mentally. It’s the undercurrent that tugs at every other facet of her mental health, even if it’s not outwardly displaying as such.
Depersonalization and derealization can serve to break her as well, this feeling that she is detached from this life she was forced to lead, or feeling that none of it is real. She is alive among the dead. She is in a place with its own logic and laws. And when her stress reaches its boiling point, her mind simply lets her disconnect to cope. This is happening to someone else, and she is merely the audience. This is happening to her, but she is only an actor on a stage, and soon she will be led back to the real world once the play is done.
Hel projects, and she projects hard. She buries her self-loathing such that she doesn’t present weakness, but she’s very eager to display it in what she thinks of others. Others, she thinks, must see her as she won’t admit she sees herself. You see this especially with her parents – She thinks Angrboda must be disappointed in her, this daughter of a she-wolf who allowed herself to be tamed by the work of the Aesir. She is sure that Loki should hate for all the years she spent doubting him under Odin’s influence. She hates herself, and her weaknesses, and she pushes it upon those that love her. She can’t grasp their unconditional love, cannot see how she deserves it, so she flips it to her own personal narrative of how she should be perceived by those she thinks she failed.
Sublimation is taken to the point of martyrdom for Hel. She does not get angry, she gets clever. She does not get upset, she removes herself from the situation. While these are good coping mechanisms, Hel uses it to the point of denying any negative feelings whatsoever. She does not express anger or sorrow for her own circumstances. She thinks this was the downfall of Sigyn’s sons, and so she has stifled it so tightly that the feelings cannot even be understood any longer. And that is unhealthy, no matter what she might use as alternatives. Anger and sadness are natural emotions, and she refuses to see them as anything but a way to surrender control.
At this point, anything is better than Hel’s grin and bear it attitude. Therapy would be an absolute miracle for someone like her, but that would mean admitting there is a problem and letting someone else in – something her various issues have barred her from doing for so long.
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RULES
These will make things so much easier for everyone involved. Please read these, and understand that any steps outside of the boundaries made in these rules are grounds for being blocked. With no warning, no explanation, and no remorse.
1. There will be no shipping if there is no build-up to it. While I have preferred ships ahead of time for him, I will ship almost anything with chemistry.
OCs and crossover characters are welcome to try and ship but do not just jump in expecting a ship. Desired characters to ship with will be listed on the tags list, but I will never, ever force a ship.
2. HEAVY warnings for: Gore, blood, canon-typical violence, demons, religious themes, trauma, PTSD, regressive coping mechanisms, monsters, mental/physical/sexual abuse, unhealthy relationships, drug use, alcohol use, witchcraft, cannibalism, supernatural horror, eating disorders, age gap ships, taxidermy of humans/animals, body horror, death, guns/weaponry, school shootings, abuse, domestic abuse, gaslighting, victim blaming, non/dubcon, nonconsensual recording, cancel culture, cruelty, sociopathy, animal cruelty, animal death, prostitution, slut shaming.
Know that I will not limit myself or my muses in any way if not asked by a specific partner. I will not write rape on this blog, though it can/will be talked about if it happens. Everything is tagged with cw -tag-. If you need something tagged I will tag it happily, just let me know. 
ANY HATE that I get is going to be deleted. I am not going to tolerate it on this blog. If you dislike what I write, simply go elsewhere. I will block people that overstep my boundaries, I’d like for you to do the same.
My NS/FW tag is (NSFVoxtagram)
For anything else: Please tell me and I will tag whatever you need me to! Just a reminder that I’m not a monster, and I will happily tag whatever is needed. Also, you are always free to ask about what things I tag! I will happily get you a list!
3. If you have an OC, I need to know about them. I would prefer an image and written bio, but at least tell me about them and their relation to my character. Unless you have a good backstory and discuss it with me, no family of them that aren’t canon, please.
4. ABSOLUTELY NO EYE TRAUMA OR DEFECATION. At. All.
5. I have decided to write smut on this blog provided my partner is okay with it. I only talk/plot over DM, I do not rp there. If you cannot do Discord we will figure something else out. I also have Telegram.
6. If you have read these rules please say ‘P.S. We Got Dicks Like Jesus.’
7. Please understand that he is heavily canon divergent. His fate at the end of episode three is retconned for the sake of using him.
8. PLEASE no minors. If I follow you and you are a minor, please let me know. I do not have anything against you, but I am not comfortable rping with underage kids as I am over 30.
9. I operate under “reblog karma” rules. If I reblog a meme from you, I will also send at least one ask from said meme to you. I ask that you do the same for me. If you reblog from me constantly and never interact, it is an instant block.
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mayanakos-madness · 1 year
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So. I have a friend.
We will call her Bloo. Now, remember I specifically say that she is my friend, meaning that I mean no ill will to her by making this post, but god fucking damn it, it needs to be made.
Back in the grand ol’ days of early 2021, some of my friends were having a nice little conversation on Discord, so, pretty average day.
And then Bloo, lovely, lovely, Bloo, asks how to make a grilled cheese. Now, perhaps this would be excusable if she was a small child, but she was not. at this point in time, she was 16.
Now, this was a rather short event on it’s own, but it started a meme in the friend group about how Bloo can not cook grilled cheese, because this was peak comedy to us. It also spawned this glorious fucking image.
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Also just so no one gets confused, “Maw is gae” is Bloo. And yes that does say iPod in the corner.
Anyways, flash back to just a couple weeks ago. almost a month ago. It was an average day in our current GC, the previous conversation having something to do with the difference between cannibalism and vore, when we receive these fateful messages.
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As you can see, my eyes were filled with hope. Was this it? After nearly two full years of torment, was this it? The brilliant moment in which our anime protagonist would finally overcome her biggest weakness against all odds? Were the credits about to roll after the greatest grilled cheese known to mankind had been constructed by her own two hands?
But, then...
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The hope in my eyes deteriorated into dust, tears beginning to fill in their place. How. How the actual fucking hell did she come up with this. After all of the teasing and bullying, this was what her character arc lead up to?
At first, I was too distracted by her spelling mistake, which she then “corrected” with another spelling mistake, to even realize the horror that had yet to come. This was the one and only warning for what was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever dared to lay my eyes upon.
I am going to cut this off here with the keep reading thing because this is honestly just the most disgusting display of something that is supposed to be edible I have ever fucking seen. Click at your own risk.
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My eyes could no longer hold the tears, they flooded out onto my bed sheets as the despair and agony overtook my senses. All I could see was this abhorrent piece of fermented dog shit. THIS is the result of that horrid procedure she took to make what was supposed to be a “Grilled Cheese.”
And the bitch has the audacity to ask-
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I want to fucking blow myself up. This is the most pathetic and nauseating mistake for an edible sandwich that I have ever had the displeasure of viewing. I don’t want to be in the same timeline in which this shit exists.
And to top it off? That bread, which was supposedly toasted despite being white as fuck,
is potato bread.
She used fucking potato bread for her grilled cheese, tumblr. I can not make this shit up.
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I just. I. I fucking. I.
What do I even say about this that hasn’t already been said about NFTs and Politicians. Anyways, we have more things to cover about this shitwreck, so let’s not linger on this for too long. God is it fucking awful. “abysmal at that” -Cam
Now, I, being just the stupendous friend that I am, immediately shared this god-awful mistake with my other friend group, and they reacted with just as much horror as the first friend group did.
One of them asked what cheese she used, which prompted me to ask her. She used velveeta slices.
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Ok, not the worst mistake made here, but fucking... velveeta slices? Really? You couldn’t get one step of the equation correct here? Fucking really, Bloo???
That same friend that prompted the question of what cheese she used then recorded a whole tutorial on how to make a damn grilled cheese, and another friend from the first friend group recorded a video of a power point presentation for how to make it. It was glorious.
Yeah I know I said the potato bread would top this shit off but no, there’s more.
SHE COULDN’T EVEN ALIGN THE FUCKING BREAD PROPERLY. I think Cam puts it best:
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Speaking of Cam, they made a Reddit post about this.
https://www.reddit.com/r/amistupid/comments/117mr7a/my_friend_doesnt_know_how_to_make_grilled_cheese/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
Many beautiful comments here including my own.
And then later one of Cam’s friends also made a grilled cheese tutorial.
OH. AND I ALMOST FUCKING FORGOT.
Cam asked Bloo if she genuinely did not own a stove, because at this point with that stupid ass method she pulled out of her ass, it came into question, Bloo said:
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I am not even fucking with you, this is genuinely how clueless she was about making grilled mcmotherfucking cheese.
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ARE YOU ACTUALLY SHITTING MY DICK OFF? ARE YOU GENUINELY SHITTING MY GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKING DICK OFF???
FOR ANY OF YOU WHO CAN’T DECIPHER THAT SHOVING-THE-WHOLE-KEYBOARD-UP-MY-ASS GARBLED MESS IN THE FIRST MESSAGE, IT SAYS: “WHEN I ASKED ABOUT HOW TO MAKE A GRILLED CHEESE, I WAS SERIOUS”
Yeah she has atrocious spelling too. I’m used to it
I don’t. I don’t even want to exist anymore. I. I think I’m done. That’s a good place to end this. I’ll look back at this in the morning and see if I forgot any important details and reblog with said details, but I think I covered everything of “value.”
Enjoy trying to fall asleep tonight knowing that this life-ruining fucking monstrosity of a sandwich exists.
Feel free to ask me any questions about this, I would love to humiliate her even more. We’re friends I swear.
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