you did a fantastic job!

dunkirk is the kind of film you sit on after you see it. at first you’re like, yeah that was a good film. it was a different kind of war movie. then you leave the theater and you start thinking about it, all your favorite moments, the ones that made you bite your nails off. you think about the message and what christopher nolan is really trying to get across with the way he directed it. and then you realize that it’s actually sort of spectacular. because you were in the film. you weren’t just hearing a bunch of dialogue, knowing what someone was going to do next. you were basically living it. between the music and the acting, you were feeling what they were feeling. long story short, if you were unsure of dunkirk at first: sit on it. i guarantee you’ll see the beauty in it. 

Ducktales, woo-oo !!

I freaking love the new serie! I liked the old one, I grew up with it, but I was always a bit sad that Donald was not part of the adventure. Donald is my favourite character from the Fab Five, and as a kid I loved reading his adventures, weither it was with Scrooge and the nephews in Carl Barks’s comics, or the comics published in Le Journal de Mickey about his everyday life. 

I somehow was always touched by the fact he had to raise all by himself these three ducklings ! The new serie seems to focus a lot on it, and I won’t spoil it but the ending of the pilot was exciting and I can’t wait to see what it has in store for the Duck family!


Congrats to all the artists involved in the new serie, you did a fantastic job, and thank you for bringing the Ducktales back to old and new generations! Woo-oo!

Best of Both Worlds was so amazing that I almost cried ;-;

You guys did a fantastic job and seriously made my day. It was just incredible! I loved the storyline, character designs, voice actors.. Let’s just say everything about the video. Thank you for making minisodes eddsworld movie crew, the whole fandom appericiates it :D @the-eddsworld-fan-movie

Submission by @digdipper09 

It feels really awkward to draw in this manner, but I think it turned out okay. Especially the poses, I’m very proud of them. :)

Just something Starklow (what even is this ship’s name) to cheer you up! I didn’t specify that this was a Hydra base in the picture, but the situation is that this is somewhere Tony’s been kept in, and Brock (pre-CACW) came to “rescue” (?) him. And of course the asshole tells Tony to grab his hand when they’re tied behind his back.

Here's your fic!

You were tired.

            Tired of his tender words, spoken through gnashed teeth and snarling lips. Tired of his gentle hands, when his eyes screamed rage, his veins bulged against the skin of his neck. Tired of being fooled into complacency. He had kept you here for months, and yet you never learned. He knew how to get you to come back, and every time he made you regret it. You weren’t going to live like this anymore.

            You were going to get out or die trying.

            You had figured out long ago that you couldn’t simply escape. Any entrance you could have used was taken into account. There wasn’t a vent left unsecured, nor a window left unbolted. Any time you managed to get out of your room, he would chase you down. It was terrifying, his giant form chasing you down a hallway like a beast as you desperately tried to reach the front door. He never let you get so far as the foyer.

            Getting rid of him was your first priority. He was simply too strong, too fast to evade. Your first plan had been to get him to trust you with cooking the food, so that you could drug him, but he’d only laughed when you asked. Of course you couldn’t be trusted with something like that. His cooking was plenty good enough for you; you didn’t need to lift a finger. Only relax, and he would take care of you. He loved you, after all. That was all to be said on the matter.

            It sickened you, how you “behaved” for the man. You needed the leverage, swallowed your pride for your survival and warmed up to his affections. You had begun to lay your head in his lap while he sat on the couch, watching your evening movie together after dinner. You stopped fighting him when he asked you to sleep in his room for the night, even moved closer when he cuddled you. You could tell he was suspicious of your attitude changes, but it wasn’t long before he was celebrating how obedient you were being, how he knew you’d come around eventually.

            When you asked for a small gift, he was all too happy to oblige.

            You smiled at your reflection, it being the first you’ve seen of yourself in months. You couldn’t remember the last time your smile was genuine. He had removed the mirror in your vanity and your bathroom, and while he didn’t feel comfortable putting them back, he responded to your request for a mirror with a small handheld one, lavishly decorated and brand new.

            “Thank you, Reinhardt,” you said, trying to search for any sense of familiarity in your reflection. Your eyes were more tired than you remembered, sunken deep into bruised pits of sockets, and your entire face screamed of exhaustion. You could see him hovering over your shoulder, unashamedly admiring your reflection. His smile was just as wide as yours.

            “Of course, schatzi,” he said, wrapping one of his arms around you. “You look beautiful.”

            Later that night, the mirror lay broken on the floor.

            You knew the sound of the breaking glass would wake him up. He was a ridiculously light sleeper; you had learned from the countless times you had tried to escape during the night. If you knew him, it would take only a minute to come and check on you. Maybe sooner, if he was particularly worried about what you were doing. He should have been. After all, he’d just left a very dangerous gift in your hands.

            A sizable shard of glass was clenched in your grip, cutting into the flesh of your fingers and drawing blood out. It slid down the smooth pane, unreflective in the darkness. You paid the cuts no mind. If this didn’t work, whatever punishment lied in store was worse, far worse. Only one of you would be walking away from this.

            You had taken position on top of your dresser, just behind the door. Knees bent into a predatory crouch, you brandished your weapon and waited for him to burst in, waited to pounce. Sure enough, the sound of his heavy footfalls began coming up the hallway, and you had only a second to ready yourself before the lock jiggled and the door swung open.

            “Liebling!” he cried out, his back turned to you as he searched for your form on the empty bed, “what’s wrong?”

            It was now or never. You weren’t going to give him the opportunity to turn around. With a feral cry, you jumped onto his back, digging the jagged edge of the glass shard into his shoulder. The sharpness tore through his shirt immediately, finding purchase in his tough, muscled flesh. Reinhardt howled in pain, trying to reach around and throw you off, but you held for dear life. You pried the glass out of his shoulder and jammed it again into his back. Blood gushed out of the now-open wound at an alarming speed, spilling over your fingers as you clung to him.

Already, you could feel yourself growing giddy. You were going to be free, away from this maniac, and even better, he would be dead, unable to chase you down ever again. This was the moment you were waiting for.

You couldn’t pull the glass out again, so instead you tried to push it in deeper. The resulting scream rattled your core, slackening your grip for a second as you came to terms with what you were doing. You were stabbing a man to death. Of course, it only took a second to remember what this man had done to you, and that second was all you needed to steal your resolve. It was all he needed too.

In one grand, fluent motion, Reinhardt wrapped his hand around your wrist, flinging you over his shoulder and right down onto the ground. You slammed on the floor in front of him, the metal frame of the broken mirror digging into your back with the impact. You rolled over and off of it, fingers scrambling to find another shard big enough to fight with, but his hand was already on your back, lifting you effortlessly.

            When he turned you to face him, you didn’t give up, swinging your hands out and clawing at his face. Your stubby nails found purchase at his cheek, the swipes leaving fine red lines across the skin. Reassured, you reached out again, seeking to dig your nails into his face, his eyes, whatever you could reach. You were screaming. Nothing mattered unless you killed him. That was your only option. This was your only chance. You never thought he’d actually hit you.

The blow against your face was enough to send you to the floor, the sting so harsh it snapped you out of your murderous reverie. When you finally managed to look at him, what you saw was worse than his usual duality of loving this and angry that. No gentle eyes and snarling teeth, no soft words with threats hidden within. The only thing you could make out on his face in the dim light from the hallway was pure hatred.

            “Is that how you feel.” It wasn’t a question, his tone made that clear, and you swallowed whatever was left in your dry mouth. How was he still walking? How could he still be upright? How had you failed?

            “I…you—“

            “I THOUGHT YOU WERE PAST THIS!” His booming voice made you curl up in yourself, merely a tight ball in front of him. You still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that this whole thing had backfired. You’d stabbed him twice. You’d done what you could. He reached down and attempted to turn you over, but only scoffed in disgust when you wouldn’t show him your face. It wasn’t long before he left you there like a broken toy.

            “Clean this mess up,” he said with an eerie calm, reaching around his back and grabbing hold of the glass. With a grunt of pain, he slid it out of his skin, taking it with him as he left the room. “We’ll discuss punishment tomorrow.”

3

mayor elle dreams; Shelter by sprungit | 7F00-001D-AA7C

Shelter is a gorgeous town that was so bright and peaceful! I absolutely adore how the colour yellow is used, and seeing little lemons on the ground in places was so aesthetically pleasing. Scarlett, you did such a fantastic job on this town ahhhh <3

All the times Trump cared about himself (or the four Black people he knows) more than Black History Month.

By now, I’m sure y’all have seen some of the tweets and memes about Trump having absolutely no idea who Frederick Douglass is.

But have you seen his little speech though?  Because I’ve never seen someone take a speech about Black History Month and turn it into whining about how they were persecuted by Fake News.

Here’s the transcript if you can’t bear to watch Lil Baby Cheeto Prez.  I'ma just bold the parts that have absolutely nothing to do with Black History Month…even though it’s Black History Month.

Keep reading

Makeup

Warnings: n/a

Word Count: 1,392

A/N: First fic on here. Hope y'all enjoy!


“Hey, Verge?” Roman popped into existence next to Virgil’s bed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking almost worried.

After a quick internal battle of whether or not to ignore the fanciful side (and also wondering why Roman was using his actual nickname instead of something that he came up with), Virgil glanced over, one hand coming up to pull off his headphones. “What.”

“So, you know how you wear your eyeshadow?” Roman was definitely here to ask him to do something. Virgil wasn’t excited, but maybe the other wouldn’t bother him for a while if he complied.

“Cut to the chase, what do you want?” Looking at Roman’s stance and attitude, he did seem uncharacteristically… anxious. Maybe it was just Virgil’s room affecting him. Or maybe he was actually nervous about a request.

“Let me do your makeup? Please?” The words were rushed. Virgil knew that style of speaking. Trying to say something when you were afraid of the reaction. It almost made him a bit more compassionate towards the prince. But not compassionate enough to make Virgil ok with someone else doing his makeup.

Keep reading

sometimes I’m reminded of all the shit Lauren Zuke had to put up with from assholes in the SU fandom and I get really fucking salty about it

she literally didn’t do anything but y’all Zuke-haters had to bully her and send death threats over stupidass reasons (e.g. Lapidot) until she left tumblr and twitter. like seriously what is wrong with you people

The Left-Right Rule

Also known as me, claiming that the CRWBY knows what the fuck they are doing.

So, in Western cinematography, there’s this thing where right-to-left movements and down-to-up movements make the audience wary and uncomfortable. Similarly, if there are two opposing characters on opposite lateral sides of the screen, the one on the left is usually expected to triumph. This phenomenon is credited to Western languages reading from left to right – left comes first, and is therefore the first acknowledged.

So, I looked back at all of our pivotal fight scenes in the Volume 3 finale to see when this rule is utilized.

Major spoilers for Volume 3 of RWBY under the cut!

Keep reading

Christmas Comes Early

Originally posted by confessionsof-riverdale

Betty and Jughead are in their first semester of college. Betty has her own apartment while Jughead lives at home helping support his mom and Jellybean while FP is still in prison. After breaking up the summer before their junior year of high school over Jughead’s involvement with the Serpents, Betty and Jughead have just gotten back together. They are still virgins but that’s about to change…

Fluff with some smut but not too smutty! Gif courtesy of @confessionsof-riverdale

Jughead walked aimlessly through the large tent full of Christmas trees, breathing in deeply the smell of pine. He had made a quick stop after his shift at the garage, where he was a mechanic, before heading over to Betty’s house.

“That’s a 7 footer, the tallest you can go before you hit the ceiling.” The lot manager told Jughead as he gazed at a tall Frasier fir.

“I’ll take it.” Jughead replied as he pulled out his wallet.

Within minutes he had paid and loaded the tree into the flatbed of his truck. He could only hope Betty would be excited about it. Jughead couldn’t get the thought of her not having a Christmas tree in her apartment out of his mind.

Besides, he wanted to do something special for Betty. He understood she was trying to save money since her waitressing job at Pop’s was only paying her enough to cover her rent and bills. She had told Jughead that she just didn’t have the extra money to get a Christmas tree. Jughead knew how hard Betty worked and he wanted nothing more than to give her a special Christmas, especially now that he had gotten her back.  

Their breakup a couple years earlier had been so difficult, for both of them, but they had somehow managed to stay friends. Even though it had been awkward at times. They had still meant so much to each other. While they both had dated other people, nothing had ever stuck with anyone else. Jughead could never quite get over his first love of Betty Cooper. She couldn’t get over Jughead either.

But Jughead couldn’t blame Betty for feeling the way she had felt. He had caused her so much emotional pain. Though their breakup had been mutual, Jughead had always felt like the one to blame. He had stood her up for far too many dates, dances, and meet up’s at Pop’s to the point where his apologies meant nothing to Betty anymore and, ultimately, it was time to part ways.

But there had always been something between them. A lack of closure, perhaps. Or maybe things just weren’t quite finished between them.

Graduating high school had been some sort of catalyst that brought the two of them together again. Maybe it had been the fear that going to college ultimately meant losing touch with people who had once meant everything to you. Jughead didn’t want to lose Betty at all. And now he had learned how to balance his Serpent life with his personal life, and he and Betty had both gotten into Riverdale University. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

So finally, after several months of becoming close friends again, Jughead had asked Betty to go out on a date with him. She had said yes, and the rest was history.

——

Jughead pulled into the parking lot of Betty’s apartment building and parked his truck before getting out to unload the tree. Surprisingly, the tree wasn’t too heavy as Jughead carried it up to Betty’s front door. He knew it was because he’d grown stronger in the past couple of years. Being a Serpent had done something to Jughead, not only mentally, but physically. It was one of the benefits he’d gained from being in the gang.

He knocked and waited.

The look on Betty’s face when she opened the door and saw Jughead standing there, holding the fir tree next to him, was priceless.

“Oh my goodness.” She said with a gasp as her eyes welled up with tears.

“Where do you want it?” Jughead asked with a bright smile as Betty stepped aside to let him in.

“Um, over by the fireplace, in the corner!” Betty chirped, excitedly.

“Oh Jughead! You’re too much! Thank you, baby.” She said as she quickly moved an old, wooden rocking chair out of the way so that Jughead could put down the tree.

“I just couldn’t let you not have a tree, Betty. I know how much you love Christmas.” He replied as he took off his Serpent jacket and beanie and lay them on Betty’s couch.

Betty wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly on his lips.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Juggy.” She said softly as she gazed up at him.

Jughead couldn’t help but blush at the way she looked at him so intently. He could feel his face getting warmer.

“Do you want to decorate it?” He asked as he held her, suddenly feeling a nervousness he hadn’t felt with Betty in quite a while. There was an electricity in the air that he couldn’t quite explain.

Betty nodded.

“I’ll go get the decorations!”

——

Betty played some old Bing Crosby and Dean Martin Christmas tunes while the two decorated the Christmas tree. Jughead had started a fire in the fireplace while Betty had made the two of them some hot chocolate.

“It’s a beautiful tree, Jug. You did a fantastic job picking this one.” Betty said beaming as she sat in front of the tree and watched the lights twinkle. She had turned off all the other lights so that only the tree and the fire roaring in the fireplace lit the room. The dim, romantic glow made Jughead suddenly anxious.

“It’s nowhere near as beautiful as you are.” Jughead said with a sigh, not even realizing he’d said the words out loud until Betty looked at him and gave him an amorous grin.

“You are too good to be true, Jughead Jones.”

He leaned in to kiss her, cupping her face in his hands. Betty kissed him back as she ran her hands through his dark hair. Jughead’s heart pounded wildly in his chest, wanting nothing more than to take this further, but Betty suddenly pulled away. Jughead’s heart sank.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…” Jughead started to say as he looked up at Betty, but she didn’t look upset at all. She was blushing.

“What? What is it?” Jughead asked, confused.

Betty smiled shyly as she tugged at the hem of her shirt. Jughead watched, his eyes glued to her as Betty pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a lacy, red bra. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves. Jughead was mesmerized. But Betty wasn’t done as she got up on her knees and began to nervously unzip her jeans, showing that she had on a matching pair of panties. Jughead could barely believe what he was seeing, but he immediately knew she had worn the underwear set on purpose. It was all for him.

“Jughead…” She said softly. “Can I give you one of your gifts a little early?”

Jughead could hardly speak. She was gorgeous. She took his breath away. She took away his ability to think straight. She was everything.

—–

It was the wee hours of the morning as Jughead listened to the quiet sounds of Betty’s breathing as she slept next to him wrapped up in a blanket in front of the fireplace, the tree lights still twinkling as the fire crackled and popped. Jughead couldn’t help but replay everything that had taken place that night. The way Betty had undressed for him, how nervous she seemed. He thought about the look of pure pleasure on her face as he kissed her all over, rocking his body slowly on top of hers, making love to her for the first time. It had been incredible. Better than anything he could have ever possibly imagined.

He thought about the sound of her breathless pant in his ear, how she had asked him to go deeper, how she had ran her hands over his body and kissed his neck. All of it had been like a dream, the most pleasant of dreams. A dream he wanted to have over and over again. Being with Betty, so close, so intimate, had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his whole life. And then he’d said the words he hadn’t said to her in a very long time.

“I love you, Betty.”

She had looked him in the eyes then, and smiled.

“I love you too.”

And now he just couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to. He wanted to hold on to the night for as long as he could. He hadn’t felt this kind of peace in such a long time. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a Christmas this amazing, and he had Betty to thank for that.

——

Jughead woke up in Betty’s bed, to the feel of her hair tickling his chin as she lay on his bare chest. Sometime during the night, they had stumbled into her room and into her bed, making love again before they both fell asleep.

“I should probably go.” Jughead whispered.

Betty sighed sleepily.

“Not yet. I don’t have to be at work for another hour.” Betty said as she glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

Jughead smiled as he wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her hair.

“So…yeah…last night…” He said shyly, his heart beating rapidly as he held her.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Betty had enjoyed it all as much as he had.

Betty chuckled softly.

“Last night was…amazing.” She said dreamily.

Jughead smiled to himself.

“So…it…I…was okay?”

Betty sat up to look at him, he couldn’t help but notice she was still naked and he felt the urge to pull her back to him.

“You were more than okay, Jug. You were incredible.” She said, a look of complete seriousness on her face. Jughead chose to believe her, whether she was telling him the truth or not. But she was never one to lie.

“And we have some time…” Betty said seductively as she positioned herself on top of him.

She was ready to go again, and so was he. Jughead wasn’t sure he could ever get enough of Betty. And it didn’t seem like she could get enough of him either.

…To be continued!

There are so many great fics out there that need to be recognized! If you find something you like on this list, be sure to show it the appreciation it deserves with likes, reblogs, and messages to the author! I hope you can find something to enjoy!

Just a reminder that no all/mostly smut fics will be added. If they’re part of a series I will link non-smut parts.

Note: It took me so, so long to make this post. I understand that it’s long. You may not want to look through it just because of that, but these authors all deserve some love and I want to spread love as much as possible. All of the stories on here were amazing and I’m so glad I had the opportunity to read them and tell the authors how much I enjoyed them. I hope you enjoy them too, and please reblog this post to spread the author love!

Note 2.0: Authors, some of you may have been mentioned multiple times! Use Ctrl+F on a computer to find the occurrences of your URL if you don’t want to go scrolling through the whole list.

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waxing poetic on chest hair removal

modern AU in which Emma works in a salon and Killian is her client, in for a bit of reluctant manscaping (mermen don’t have chest hair, after all). but it eventually grows back. and then…stuff happens. (definitely rated M!) (somewhat based off of prompts that @thesschesthair and @bleebug posted/rcvd; and thanks to @xpumpkindumplingx for looking it over!)
6.9k | AO3 | ff.net

happy happy happy happy HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SWEETEST COCONUT ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH, @cocohook38!!!! I hope your day is as wonderful as you are, darling!

“Hey, Tink; what’s my next appointment?”

“Your favorite: manscaping in Room 2.”

“Thanks.” Emma winked at the receptionist, washed her hands, and headed to the room where her next client waited. She was always professional, but one perk to working in a salon that offered waxing was the attention she got to lavish to the chests, abs, and other parts of some very attractive customers. True, she had to be almost clinical at times, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still look.

There were some days she did curse her job, particularly when she had an itch that needed scratching (or when it led to that itch in the first place), but she always managed to resist slipping her phone number in with the post-waxing care materials, lest they lose a customer.

However, when she opened the door to Room 2 and saw the man leaning against the table, Emma knew right away that this was going to be the hardest client to resist…and she honestly wouldn’t mind if he never sought their services again.

She had seen chest hair of all kinds before—thick, thin, dark, light, a small amount, and an obscene amount.

But this guy? It was somehow…perfect: thicker near the center of the chest, tapering out over his well-developed pecs, and then drawing a dark, thin line down the center of his toned stomach, disappearing into his low-slung dark-wash jeans.

And he wanted it gone? For the first time ever, she kind of hated her job if she was supposed to rid the world of that beauty.

The owner of said glorious chest hair cleared his throat; Emma blushed immediately, realizing she’d been staring. “My eyes are up here, love,” he said, in a teasing tone and enticing accent.

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Identical Quadruplets

Based On These Aesthetics

Human!College!AU

These will most likely be expanded on at a later date (to some extent).

^^^^^

It took me until midterms of Fall semester of my second year of college to realize that all the men in my art activities weren’t all the same person.

I met Virgil Sanders first. He was in my dance class. He and I were cut from the same cloth—we tended to lurk in the corner. When we reached the ballroom unit—our second unit after ballet—he and I were partners since everyone else latched onto their friends the moment the teacher told everyone to find partners. We became good friends after that. We were the odd ones out. But it was easier to be the odd one out when there were two of you.

Next I met Roman in Theatre Club. I was in it for fun, but he was a Theatre major. He took it ridiculously seriously, but I didn’t mind. I thought he was Virgil and Virgil liked theatre more than dance so he opened up. I was wrong but apparently Roman never bothered to correct me, even when I’d greet him as Virgil.

Logan Sanders was in my private lessons group. We had one teacher—who played probably every instrument on the planet—and there were a couple of us all taking from that teacher. Logan was a violinist, and I played the flute. So we sat on opposite sides of the room. I’d wave and smile every time we made eye contact, still thinking he was Virgil. He was more reserved during music so I wondered if Virgil just didn’t like it as much as theatre. Logan had glasses, so I figured Virgil just needed them to read music, or see better or something.

I met Patton last. He was in my painting/drawing class that I was taking for fun. He too wore glasses, but again I thought that he was just Virgil and Virgil needed glasses for more up-close activities. I also guessed that Virgil liked art more than dancing because he was animated and talkative and overly friendly when I saw him in class the first day and sat down next to him.

Let’s just say that the day of Theatre Club’s first play was… interesting.

It was midterms, and the Theatre Club was putting on our first performance. They weren’t big performances, like the theatre classes’ productions, but ours was fun. We’d all written it together—a horribly confusing hodge-podge dramatic comedy combining as many Shakespeare plays as possible.

Due to my tiny size and youthful appearance, I’d been shoved into the role of Juliet. Roman—who I still thought was Virgil—was Hamlet. He’d volunteered for the part in contrast to me being forced.

We were in the smaller theater on campus in the arts building for the performances. We had three of them—one Friday night, and two on Saturday, in the afternoon and the evening.

It was Friday night and I was backstage, putting my makeup on. I already had on the frilly, floaty white dress that was my costume. Roman-who-I-thought-was-Virgil was parading around in his costume—a white coat with a red sash and black slacks—being the self-appointed director of the play and self-proclaimed stage manager. No one in the Club really minded. He had the most experience, apparently, and it was easier just to let him do what he wanted.

He clapped. “Places, everyone! The house is full and we’re scheduled to start in five minutes!”

I closed my eyes. Freshmen started panicking. He really should have worded it differently. After sighing and shaking my head, I finished my makeup quickly but deliberately and backed away from the mirror.

He placed his hand on my bare shoulder where the thin straps of my dress kept it from falling off. “Are you ready, my dear friend?” he asked.

I blinked. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Verge,” I remarked.

All he did was smirk and stroll off to consult with the actual stage manager after patting my shoulder.

The chorus girls—mostly freshmen who hadn’t earned their place and seniors who didn’t have time to memorize lines anymore—all rushed out onto the stage. I was hiding behind the curtains to watch since I would join them shortly in the Capulet ball.

I wished I could have been Lady Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing—the only Shakespeare play I actually liked—but no, I still looked like I was fourteen so I was forced to play the most cliché role on the planet by everyone else who all fawned over me like I was a toddler playing fairy-princess and assigned me to the character without letting me have any input.

It was okay. I’d get back at them later by writing a play where everyone but me died. That’d be fun.

With a sigh, I strapped my masquerade mask onto my face and strode out into the dancers. The ballet unit of my dance class definitely helped me appear graceful, even though usually I was everything but. I spun around through the dancers as they backed away from me and more Romeo and Juliet characters joined me onstage. Including the junior playing Romeo—who I thought was incredibly obnoxious and would rather have been playing opposite Virgil. At least, who I thought was Virgil at the time.

I was just spinning around on the ball of my foot—

When I nearly fell over.

I’d caught sight of someone familiar.

Or, I suppose, some-three.

They all looked like Virgil—in fact, one of them was Virgil. I could tell because of the black jacket and bangs brushed down over his forehead, and the fact that his hair was suddenly purple, which was a very Virgil thing. The other two were in glasses. One had a gray cardigan tied around his shoulders and the other was wearing a necktie with his polo shirt.

My mind started reeling as I continued through the rest of the scene and then got to flee off the stage.

I looked for Apparently-Not-Virgil the entire rest of the time I was offstage. We had a couple scenes together but we never seemed to be on the same side of the offstage at the same time and it wasn’t like I could just ask him in the middle of the scene.

When the play was over, I rushed out to the house, barefoot, to find the three men who all looked like my friend.

When I reached them Hamlet-Not-Virgil was standing with them, letting Cardigan-Glasses-Not-Virgil fawn over him and shower down compliments like a spring storm. Necktie-Glasses-Not-Virgil was blankly holding a bouquet of four roses, looking disinterested. Purple-Hair-Definitely-Virgil was sharing a similar expression.

“Okay!” I exclaimed, pushing my way over to them. “Someone’s gotta explain something to me. I thought you were all the same person!”

Definitely-Virgil snorted. “These are my brothers,” he remarked, giving a sweeping gesture to the other three. “That one’s Roman.” He pointed to Hamlet-Not-Virgil. “This is Logan.” His finger moved to Necktie-Glasses-Not-Virgil. “And that… is Patton.” He nodded at Cardigan-Glasses-Not-Virgil, who was still happily telling Hamlet-Not-Virgil—or rather, Roman—what an amazing performance he’d given. Roman was listening with a Gaston-like expression on his face, drinking in the praise with rapture.

“Okay,” I began to Virgil. “Because I have you in dance, Hamlet over here in Theatre Club, Professor Necktie in my music lesson group, and Mr. Sunshine in my painting class—and I thought you were all the same person!”

That got Logan to chuckle and diverted Patton’s attention to me. “Hey!” he greeted, throwing his arms around me. “You did such a fantastic job, my little Juliet! I’m so proud of you!”

“She thought you, me, Logan, and Roman were all the same person, Pat,” Virgil informed him.

Patton started laughing and ruffled my hair. “Well isn’t that sumthin’, sweetie!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe we didn’t realize that sooner!”

“We did,” Logan muttered. “Virgil told us all after the first week that he suspected she’d met all of us.”

“Okay, but why do you all look the same?” I interrupted.

“Identical quadruplets. Obviously,” Logan answered curtly.

I ran my hands through my loose hair. “Alright. Well… it has been a day. I’m going to go home and question the nature of human existence. See you all next week.” I waved at them and moved to go back to my car and drive home.

Once I put my shoes on, grabbed my stuff from backstage, and broke out of the crowds in the auditorium house, I felt like I could breathe.

“Hey!” a familiar voice called. I turned around to see Virgil extracting himself from getting crammed between two people and jogging over to me. “Lemme walk you to your car. It’s getting dark out and I wouldn’t feel right about letting you go alone.” I jerked my head in an indication to follow me. Virgil fell into step beside me. “Sorry about the mix-up. Honestly I thought you’d figured out your other classmates weren’t me.”

I shrugged. “Not your fault,” I replied. “Identical quads. That’s so rare that I never would have thought of it.”

“Yeah… my bad.” He paused for a moment. “I’m the youngest. I’m twenty minutes younger than Patton. Thirteen younger than Logan. And seven younger than Roman.” There was another awkward pause while he pushed the door open for me. “Hey, you did a good job tonight, by the way. Before I forget.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. Identical quads, I thought, still surprised. It certainly explained a lot. The different attitudes, the glasses, the wardrobes. So much more about my first fourth of the year made so much more sense.

We walked in silence until we reached my car—an old SUV with an all-metal body. Virgil, impulsively for him, wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I hugged him back.

“See you Monday?”

“See you Monday,” I confirmed. “Unless you’re coming to the other performances.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose. “Watching Roman perform once is enough,” he mumbled.

I chuckled. “Monday it is then.”

I climbed into my car, waved, and drove off for home.

therodcaster  asked:

HEY YOU! I LOVE YOUR ART! YOUR ART IS VERY COOL! I EVEN VOICED BENDY IN ONE OF YOUR COMICS 030

THANK YOU! 

I JUST FINISHED WATCHING THE VIDEO YOU GUYS DID, GREAT JOB BOTH OF YOU! I especially love how you did the last line of ‘ohhh boy.’ Fantastic job! 

I’m gonna just drop the video here as well for other folks to take a look at what @therodcaster​ and @aliznation​ did with one of my comics~!