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eclecticopposition · 1 year

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give meee... headcanons about the Sangfielle friends in the most boring AU you can imagine like. idk. office Sangfielle. grocery store Sangfielle. they all work at a movie theater. whatever sounds mundane as hell and you have Thoughts about :3

okay tumblr ate my fucking answer the first time. let's try this again.

the thing about these guys is that no matter how mundane you make it, they can make anything into a situation. that's just the guys they are. so we put them in a Walmart.

Marn is an employee with a great customer service voice. She's keeping it together in the face of some truly wild statements and requests. One man keeps asking for frootie hooties, a brand of cereal that he insists is real and everyone is just refusing to sell to him, and she's spent twenty minutes trying to tell him that they just don't have it in stock

Lye and Es are having an animated conversation in the clothing area, where she is examining various colorful dresses and he is distractedly picking things off of nearby shelves and putting them back down. The conversation started at how they got kicked out of dayward yve's novelty store and is now about whether stealing should be more or less of a crime than manslaughter, because it's not as bad as killing but it is on purpose. People are trying not to pay attention to them. Eventually they are asked to leave, at which point it is revealed that lye has about two hundred dollars worth of items in his pockets and es has some candles she liked and a new pair of shoes in hers. They are both barred from Walmart.

Duvall hates it here. It's loud, he hates the lights, the aisles make no sense, he can't find anything he's looking for, and people keep coming up to him to ask him where things are. He doesn't even work here. Why do people assume he works here? He's not even wearing any Walmart merchandise. Is that what it's called when you're an employee? Merchandise? Well, it's what it would be called if he wears it, which he never will, because he doesn't work here and never wants to. Have a nice day ma'am.

Pickman is slowly marching her way through the aisles one at a time, peering at her shopping list and holding a tiny shopping basket in one hand. She has to be very careful not to knock the shelves over sometimes. Just trying to get groceries. People are nervously avoiding her. Says "Hey, you" to some poor employee to ask where the milk and cigarettes are. Just grunts at everything else. When she's at the checkout, the guy there asks "Did you find everything you're looking for?", and she just says "No." and leaves

Chine comes out of the bathroom with a live rat in his hand. People scream. The manager finally comes up to him like "Sir, you can't have rats in here." They say "Oh, she's not mine. She was just having trouble opening the door." Gets a big meat on the bone at the deli and nothing else. When he asks how much it costs, they just say it's on the house and try to get him to leave as soon as possible. They go like "Oh, really? Are you sure? I have some money." and sound surprised but pleased, like they're being done a personal favor. The employees insist. He's like "Alright, thanks!" and then asks the rat if she wants anything

#the manager tells an employee to get the rat some cheese. chine says that cheese is actually bad for rats and some seeds would be better #the manager tells the employee to get the rat some seeds and for chine to get the fuck out of their establishment #chine is a little taken aback by the rudeness but leaves without further issue #runs into lye and es outside and is like “hey look they just gave me some free stuff”#Lyke is like “what???? I got kicked out because I wanted free stuff!”#chine says “I think I just got kicked out too. Maybe that's just what happens?"#lyke says “yeah but you got to keep the stuff!”#“Did you not get to keep your stuff?”#“I mean. Not *all* of it.”#“Huh.”#“They didn't let me keep the stuff I kept on purpose.”#es makes a reasonable sounding remark about how they'd be running a pretty terrible business if they handed everything out for free #everyone should get what they need but these people do have livelihoods to think about #is also putting on lipstick that she definitely just shoplifted #duvall comes out and swears he's never coming back here. is asked if he's also banned for life from the Walmart.#demands what the hell these people were doing in the Walmart to get banned for life #because he saw a man getting real heated about frootie hooties and that's definitely not a real cereal #so if that doesn't meet the bar he's not sure he wants to know what does #sangfielle #friends at the table #Shoop #asks

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villa-kulla · 2 years

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(x) (x) As good as the writing is on Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul, can you imagine how much they could have leveled up if they’d had some actual Mexican writers, not just Tony Dalton on his smoke break or whatever

#better call saul #tony dalton #i love the 'epazote' lore #what's the other one where he was like he read 'cilantro' in the script #and was up all night sweating before his first scene like 'i can't be that guy on the first day but nor can i not address this'#like 'I'LL DO IT IF YOU WANT NO WORRIES BUT -'#and no kidding lol #someone offers you a taco like 'hey man i put cilantro in it ;)' it's like uhhh yeah i sure hope you did??#anyways yeah i've definitely heard the 'spanish script by google translate' criticism before and defs believe it #very telling that i can follow most everyone's spanish on the show exCEPT his lol #the slang he added makes such a difference!!#te la vas a pelarrrrrrrrrrr

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autistic-shaiapouf · 9 days

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Girlies I'm gonna need to stop pretending I'm unemployed and actually go back to work soon and I am not looking forward to it U_U

#i have to actually message the new boss tomorrow like hey here's when i'm available this week please. let me in.#i have completely let go of money stress and it kind of feels incredible #i think i genuinely do need to start submitting stuff for hospital work though; i've heard better things about it surprisingly enough #but ghghhh yeah this has basically been a reset for me and i'm making art n stuff again!! had an emotional crash in the beginning #and have recovered pretty well; i feel a lot better and wanna make sure i can consistently make time for friends and hobbies now #especially after i like. went off the fucking deep end with the store closing #shai speaks

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pocketramblr · 6 months

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For the five ask game, if that's still going on, how about an iideku au where OFA ships them?

Torn between thinking this means the vestiges ship them, or that it means the quirk itself is a very excitable puppy dog that wants Tenya around as much as possible...

1- Tenya did not make a great first impression on 5/7.5 vestiges. Kudo and Bruce were like 'let 👏 him 👏 speak 👏' because they do, you know, kinda think Izuku's annoying but they sorta all did a 180° turn about him after the exam when Tenya apologized and praised Izuku's choice. Most of them like him. Bruce and Kudo are wondering how this kid keeps getting people to decide to like him after all.

2- OfA reacts differently under Izuku's hands, but he never realizes it because he assumes it's his own emotions and projecting. Yeah, his quirk feels jumpy and volatile around Kacchan like he could set it off and blow up his arm too easily, and fun and bubbly around Uraraka who's sure he'll figure out how to use it soon, and ok Izuku isn't sure why OfA races up to his skin faster around Iida, pushy, but maybe it's because he feels competitive with his friend.

3- The vestiges are actually in agreement for once when Izuku looks at Tenya at the train station. That Kid Is Going To Try To Commit Murder (and probably die in the attempt). "Is that what I looked like the last time you saw me alive?" Kudo asks Bruce. "No. But it's what I looked like to Shinomori." They want to help him. They want Izuku to help him. Izuku wants to help him. But they can't do anything except try to bend the power into something Izuku can actually use, and hope it's enough when the kid jumps off the train to find Tenya.

4- Nana, romantic she is, keeps getting excited when it seems they might lean in closer, might take each other's hands. Kudo asks if she and her husband were high school sweethearts to have such optimistic expectation of such a relationship, but Banjo says that dang it, Izuku at least deserves boyfriend even if they split after school, and Yoichi who has little concept of school and had a max relationship length of two months just wants them to confess already. Tenya's admiration is clear to everyone in Izuku's head except Izuku, and they can feel the boy's heartbeat in return. But sadly, they can't do anything while Izuku can't hear them... But, once he can...

5- "Good job training today, you'll master Float as soon as it comes to you at this rate!" Nana cheers Izuku in his dreams. He blushes, still unable to talk in the fog, but they figured out how to have him write in a notebook while he's there. "Hey, you know, White Day is coming up. Any plans? I can help you make something." Izuku raises his eyebrows because he's been warned Nana is a bit of a lethal chef, and also he's already made plans to make chocolate in return for his classmates, and more than triple the chocolate covered apple slices Eri was so excited to present him with a month ago. "I mean, other than Eri and the courtesy chocolate. Any confession plans?" Izuku starts waving his hands because he didn't get any confession chocolate and haha, why would he need to give any now, and En just sighs and breaks in with a "they need a third day for gay chocolate, bet Iida-kun would have made something for you then."

Izuku is eventually cajoled into making some orange chocolate treats for Tenya, only because he'd have plausible deniability that he just wanted to gift to his friends, but then Tenya presents him with All Might shaped chocolates and admits that maybe they are not purely platonic but that he still highly values Midoriya's friendship and would never mention the feelings again if he didn't want them and completely understands rejection and truly he- wait he didn't get rejected? Wait, it's the same for Midoriya? Both of them are very red, but happy. They don't really change much, neither is one for pda and calling each other their boyfriend feels like A Lot, but they do share food more often and move to calling each other by their given name in a manner that is adorably both shy and excited. But ah, we're halfway through March, and at the end of the month...

A couple weeks later, Izuku tapes letters to the doors of his classmates, then packs a bag to go, not planning on returning to the dorms again. He picks up the little bag of All Might chocolates that he'd slowly been going through. There's only two left. He slips them into the side pocket of his bag, then slips himself out of his window and down the building to leave campus, the vestiges silent around him and his quirk burning to go back when he can't.

#but then Tenya brings Izuku back to campus and holds his hand for like a solid week. it's back to being adorable #and also then Izuku can make a joke that eating chocolate in the shape of All Might's hair is much better than actually eating a stand of it #'hey Yoichi why do you ship Izuku so much with a tall blue hair red eyes undercut boy who's both down to kill and to extend a hand'#oh no reason I'm sure.#pocket talks to people #anon #ask game

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cephalofrog · 27 days

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hades 2 story discussion

if it weren't SGG making Hades 2 I'd definitely be worried about them falling into the "oh this character makes good points BUT he also kicks puppies therefore you know he is evil" thing with chronos. like he is absolutely correct that the underworld sucks ass and also that the fates probably have too much power but he also does literally kick a dog (out of the underworld into the fields of mourning) every single time u do a run. that being said I've played pyre and bastion so I'm pretty confident on SGG actually addressing that part of the game in a satisfying way

I think one of the issues with Hades 1 (honestly not really an issue per se, more just a thing to note) is the fact that despite zag helping a bunch of people with the shitty systems of the underworld it still left those systems unchanged. like it kinda worked as a dark comedic type beat almost? like "well life ain't perfect but at least it's a bit better". but Hades 2 does feel like it's noticed the issues Hades 1 left behind and is working to resolve them in-universe (at least, in a roundabout way).

that being said if they don't end up addressing these things and instead have a "chronos is beaten, fates are saved and just get back to their jobs, Hades (or someone else) goes back to running the underworld as it was" type beat I will take the L and become the unironic chronos apologist of the fandom. he may be a stinky old man but at least he's anti-monarchist yk

#hades 2 #on my most recent run when I got to him he was like #hey prior to the gods getting into power mortals didn't have to deal with the underworld and stuff #and I was like yeah! we should be examining the underworld and stuff to make sure that mortals are actually getting what is best for them!#though to be fair it's p obvious that that is not why he is actually doing all this stuff #but it is a point to take. better not just ignore it

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happi-tree · 8 months

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are we out (of the woods yet)

You look down.

Well, this explains the pain, you think, eyes darting over a body that you inhabit but do not recognize in the slightest, in colors that you can scarcely remember seeing.

Father is going to kill me. Then, Where am I?

Or: Henry Oak, and being destined for two worlds and when you've only ever walked in one.

ao3

Here’s my fic for day 3: werewolves. Like day 1, this is part of a supernatural au that @kaseyskat and @llumimoon masterminded alongside me, although this one takes place chronologically before day 1's. Hope you like it!

Life is good for you. Great, even! At least, that’s what Father wants you to believe.

Below your feet, the leaves crunch in shades of silver and gold, compounded into tiny bits that fly up around you as you sprint through the dense forest, and life is… as good as it can get, for the time being.

The sky is becoming clearer by the day, more and more pieces of azure heaven made visible by the ever-growing gaps in the canopy, carrying with it relief and distress in equal measure.

The sun lances to alight on pale golden fur, warming you through, unfettered by the leaves as you bound from shadow to shadow, light to light. At the same time, you feel the autumn’s chill on the breeze; though it is not yet cold enough for the grass to don their frost-coats at the gray-gold-blue dawn (scarcely ever is, these past few years), there is a weariness in your bones that belies the winter ahead, aching in joints that have not shifted right in quite some time.

It tugs at the back of your mind, the turn of the seasons, the shifting of moons, the shedding of leaves that regrow with the promise of spring. But there isn’t much you can do about it - not without it getting back to Father in some way or another (it always does, and you have long since learned that this corner of the wood has eyes beyond those of the white birches), and that is the last thing you want - so you growl under her breath, clench your jaw, and run harder, as if the ache is just a muscle you can stretch simply by outrunning it all.

You bank around the trunk of an old, gnarled dogwood and think of winter. They’ll need food stocked up at the Commune, soon.

(Commune, a name that Father has given your number, because Pack is too much too animalistic, too barbaric, too laughably simple for what you are. For your purpose. For your community.)

(You would personally like to tell Father where he can shove his community.)

(Well, most of it.)

The sun will be setting soon, you know, and as you bask in golden hour you dread the encroaching indigo-tinge of twilight that will bring you to Father’s side, ever the obedient daughter. There is not much you can do, though, except to attempt at grasping ephemeral joy in your hungry jowls, to crush the dead growth underfoot until you are expected back within the heart of Commune territory.

<Hen!> a familiar mind-voice calls out to you. <Hey, Hen, over here!>

Well. You suppose that maybe there is something else you can do.

The careless footfalls of your partner approach from behind, and you whirl around.

<Goose,> You sigh, half-exasperated, half-fond. <What in the moon’s name are you doing over here?>

<Could ask you the same question, Hen Ry’,> he chuffs, trotting over to brush against your flank.

<Plus, you always head over to this part of the outskirts when you’re all moody,> he notes, gesturing with his muzzle at your surroundings.

The cliff-wall before you is a massive, towering thing, all craggy rock and silvery moss. You could spend hours following the striations in the stone, nosing at the peaks and valleys, following them to the edge of Father’s influence. You have spent hours doing just that, following the winding currents within the rock, stripes of light and dark that squirm organically like the veins of some giant, petrified creature.

The trees thin out, here, and you glance sidelong at Goose.

<I’m not “all moody”,> You argue rather pointlessly, staring at the ribbons of light-dark in the stone before you.

<Please, babe, you’re always moody. I can smell it from miles away.>

Goose Sy’ is a gangly, wiry thing, with dark fur that looks lit from within in the dappled sunlight. He hunches lazily now, but there is strength and power and quickness beneath his pelt.

<What’s on your mind?> He asks, and you let him touch his nose to your cheek, an affectionate gesture that is a rarer and rarer treasure, these days. <Is the old man on your ass again?>

<When isn’t he?> You respond simply, growling a bit as you kick up more debris.

You sigh. <He keeps asking if I’ve thought about a mate,> you confess, and you scent his agitation and the slightest bit of worry as he turns his golden eyes on yours.

<He’s not, like, suspicious or anything?> Goose asks.

<Moons, no, thank goodness,> You respond, seeing him untense before you. <Could you imagine?>

Goose says, his laughter resounding in your brain. <I’d love to see the look on his face when he realizes his perfect paragon pup has been fraternizing with a mangy commoner. You know, before he kills me.>

You nuzzle against his side, let his scent wash over you. You’ll have to roll around in muck and mire for quite awhile to erase it, but as you bury your face into his ruff, you think it’s worth it.

There’s an ache in your heart that matches the ache in your unshifted bones, and you often wonder which came first.

<Killing is against his own rules, and my Father surely wouldn’t debase himself to such levels. It is beneath our glorious, enlightened kind,> You sniff mockingly.

He bumps his side to yours, snorting.

Father… has been getting very insistent about settling you down. Perhaps a part of you always knew that pups were the only things he judged you as being good enough for, but your stomach turns at the very principle. You feel trapped, miserable here in his territory, heir to his kingdom of oak and earth. To bring more of yourself into the world, to force them to endure as you have…

You scent a chill on the breeze, and it ruffles your fur, causing a shiver to run down your spine. The ache intensifies, and you can practically feel the creaking of your bones beneath the sinew.

You hear yourself whine before you can stop it, and Goose presses closer to your side.

<Have you thought about Changing?> He asks, mind-voice lowered to the slightest of whispers.

You balk. <Are you insane? Father would actually kill me. Just because you can get away with it doesn’t mean I could just - >

Goose says, trying on a soothing tone like an ill-fitting coat. <It’s just that - > he snarls, low and angry, and you flinch.

<Sorry,> He cuts himself off. <But you’re hurting, and it’s his fault. Him and his stupid fucking rules.>

It’s not the sun against your fur that makes you feel warmed through, now.

Goose tells you.

You reply, instead of the me, too that lies just below your speech-thoughts.

<A little,> He answers. <Well, a lot, at the beginning. But then, the pain goes away a little, I guess. Shrinks. You could try it, you know. I’d take care of you.>

Your heart says something different, as it always has. You ponder for the briefest moment the concept of running away from it all, of a full-moon sunrise where you awaken in a body that is still yours but also not, side by side with him. You imagine the shift-ache unfurling into a new shape before shrinking dormant below your reformed skin.

You wonder if he would drag you to the treeline outside the nearest town, dress you in human things until you could masquerade among them. If he would teach you how to walk on two legs.

You wonder what he would look like. Instead of brushing against your side, you wonder if he would hold your hand.

Wondering is a pointless thing, though, Father says, and running is cowardice.

Staying feels even moreso, but you know nothing else.

<Well, if you change your mind and wanna stick it to the old mutt, you know where to find me,> Goose’s voice echoes softly between your pointed ears, breaking you from your thoughts.

<Thank you,> You respond, trying to wrangle your mind-voice into something that sounds less morose and forlorn. You fail, judging by the way Goose presses his muzzle against yours.

You wish you could go, just pick up and leave, but there are things that keep you. Mother, for one, though she grows more and more distant by the day, ever colder, like the Autumn she is named for, as Father sinks his claws into you both, bleeding you of your heart and your strength and your freedoms until nothing is left but exhaustion and ache and apathy.

Mother belonged to another Pack, once, you know, even though she has never spoken of it. A real Pack, in name and in function. She has known what it feels like to move between forms, between worlds, transient like the phases of the moon.

You would’ve liked a life like hers, a name like hers, one that feels equal parts human and beast.

Instead, you were named in Commune tradition. The first moons of your life you went nameless, in order for your parents (your Father, mostly) to judge what name would best suit you.

You think of Father’s name: Bear, a towering, massive presence compressed into lupine form that looms over you even when he is not there. Strong, masculine, predatory.

Goose was named this way, too, and the name suits him well - your partner is flighty, a free spirit, but brash and loud and quick to bite and clamor at whatever displeases him.

Even your childhood tormentor, Horse, suits his name. Proud and haughty and ornery and loud in his own right, skittish beneath Father and Mother’s glares.

You do not have to wonder why Father chose Hen for yourself. You are a livestock, a thing to be kept in a wooden cage, with clipped wings incapable of flight, legs unsuited for traveling too far from his reach. Your children and your children’s children will feed the gaping maw of your captor, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Your name chafes at you, scratches at you like brambles upon your hide. Meek and feminine and prey-animal and all the things you are but wish not to be.

<Sun’ll be down soon,> Goose’s mind-voice resounds in your brain, and you startle, cocking your head to dislodge your useless spiraling.

You look around, noting the yellowish light stretching the tree-shadows longer and longer across the ground.

<You’re right,> You agree.

<Lost you for a minute, there,> He says.

Goose doesn��t press for answers, but the flicking of his ears gives away his concern.

<Just thinking,> You respond, glancing at the deepening blues on the horizon.

<You were thinking pretty loudly,> Goose remarks with a light press against your side. <You gotta get back, yeah?>

<Wish I didn’t have to,> You grumble, already turning to the depths of Commune territory, pawing forward even as you think it.

<Offer’s always open,> Goose replies. <Full moon’s only a week away.>

The pain within you seems to increase at the reminder.

Goose exclaims as your paths begin to diverge - his, to his home on the far reaches, yours, to whatever Father has awaiting you tonight. <Thanks. See you soon?>

<Soon,> You agree, and hope you can make good on that promise.

“Hello?”

The first thing you register as you awaken is that your body hurts.

Bone-deep, marrow-deep, cell-deep, all over. It feels like your limbs have scrambled themselves, ground themselves to dust, and then attempted to piece themselves back together from the rubble. It is as if every muscle fiber within you has been stretched past breaking point, as if every nerve ending fell prey to one thousand claws, one thousand fangs.

Your very soul yowls in pain, and it is only because your teeth feel so wrong and foreign in your own jaw, because your vocal cords scrubbed raw, that you do not vocalize it beyond a shaking rasp.

The second thing you register is a presence right in front of you.

You open your eyes, and the third thing you register is dazzling, dizzying, scintillating color.

Your hands (hands?) scrabble at the rough earth in a vain attempt to ground yourself as you look around half-dazed and hurting, and the soft, uncalloused flesh of your palms smarts and stings against jagged bits of debris.

You look down.

Well, this explains the pain, you think, eyes darting over a body that you inhabit but do not recognize in the slightest, in colors that you can scarcely remember seeing.

Father is going to kill me. Then, Where am I?

You don’t recognize this part of the woods - the scents of the Commune are all but nonexistent, and the area around you is well-trod, devoid of grass, human odors lingering and overlapping.

A human hiking trail?

You blink rapidly, taking in the fuzzy dawn light and its myriad of hues.

Mother had taught you about colors, once, when you were a very young pup and the world was still bright with more than shades of yellow and cerulean and she was not yet as poisoned by oppressive bear-weight of cynicism.

She had told you their names, even, though you struggle to remember them.

You test them out, now, forming their mouth-shapes with a slow clacking of newly-blunted teeth.

Green, the color of moss and grasses and foliage at the height of solstice.

Orange and her deeper sister red, the colors of the fallen leaves underfoot, the colors of the sky as evening starts its slow descent toward dusk.

The coveralls that the human woman before you wears are purple, you think, a flower-color, a dusk-color, a dawn-color. A spring-color, a beginning-color.

“H-ello,” you attempt, your voice creaking and throat constricting at the novelty of speaking aloud.

“Hello, again,” the woman responds, slowly and frowning, but… not unkindly, you think.

You inhale, and her scent is tinged with something sparkling and warm and cold all at once. Magic-smell, you realize. There is worry there, as well - not for her own safety, but for yours.

There is not even the tracest amount of falsehood to her - her demeanor, her expression (though, that, admittedly, is mostly guesswork), her scent.

It’s a novel concept.

You cannot remember that last time anyone had had honest intentions with you (apart from Mother and maybe Goose), let alone went as far to show genuine concern over you.

It takes you aback, strikes you nearly as harshly as… whatever it was that has left you feeling so crippled.

“My name is Mercedes,” the woman says, gently, softly, as if speaking to a wounded prey animal.

The comparison is… not without merit.

“What can I call you?” She asks.

Smart, this woman is. Or incredibly stupid. To lend her own name like that knowing full well the risks is either an intense show of trust and compassion, or…

There is a glint in her eye, you notice, and the magic-scent sharpens.

Well… best to repay a kindness with a kindness.

“Hen,” you croak, trying to get the shape of your name to form on your clumsy, human tongue. “Ry’Oak.”

“Well, Henry,” the woman (Mercedes!) says, and you splutter at the way that she slurs the first two syllables together rather than the last.

“Are you okay?”

Moons above, no, you are not.

Your body hurts like it never has before, and your eyes sear with a kaleidoscope of hues you haven’t seen since you were a young pup, and the way this witch has butchered your name might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

Henry, you mouth to yourself, running it together. It sounds rather plain, achingly human. Father would hate it.

You quite like it.

“I think… I will be,” you tell Mercedes.

“Good,” she says, extending a hand. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

#this au has LAYERS i tell you. layers!!!#anyway. shoutout to nyx for the idea of barry having a cult of fucked-up werewolves that believe that their wolf forms are superior #surely. henry will not have several complexes as a result of this. and chronic pain #but hey! mercedes!!! it's not all bad :)#ANYWAY. thank y'all for being so nicies on the last one. hope this one makes sense!#dndads #fic #happi scribbles #dndads halloween week 2023 #bat and wolf #also. i know this one is ANOTHER 2nd person pov but i swear it's the last one. probably. it just flows better this way. trust 😌#okay i THINK. this is all the tagging i need to do

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