#edit: God no almost a full decade now what the fuck where does the time go lmao

[the-punforgiven]

God I fucking love mixed weapon fighting so much, just being able to go at it with the thing you're most comfortable with against someone else using the thing they're most comfortable with is so cool and awesome, coming up with strategies to a weapon set you don't use and testing them against someone doing the same, it's so rad tbh

Makes me sad that so many places I've fought in regard it as like, an afterthought at best

#I get it there's rules and safety concerns #but idk man not to tempt fate or anything but my buddies and I have been sparring mixed weapon ever since we started sparring #and not only have we been having a blast exploiting each others weaknesses but we've also like #barely ever injured each other at all #like I think worst we had was my buddy got a small cut on his cheek the first time I tried to fight with a staff #and that was on like #the second year we were sparring I think? #something like that but we've been going for half a decade now lmao #and it's been so fun I love it #edit: God no almost a full decade now what the fuck where does the time go lmao #Pun's text Posts

[fireheartwraith]

So, I decided to watch Fate: The Winx Saga after some deliberation (I saw the trailer and it looked cool). As I never watched the original Winx Club, I'm coming into this pretty much blind to the lore, so if you want to know what someone that doesn't have the "it's different from what I wanted" baggage thinks of the show, let's go!

Episode 1 and Episode 2

• Ooh, this is giving me flashbacks to my first day of university... Luckily Pedro is a good soul and saw me just standing there and asked me if I was a freshman (yes), if I was lost (very much so) and if I wanted help (please)

• I can tell the the show wants me to ship these two because meet cute but... I didn't think it was cute. He was kind of rude in the beginning and it wasn't *sparkles* it was small talk. My talk with Pedro was pretty much the same, except he was nicer. Being a decent person doesn't mean romantic attraction, Show, if you want me to ship this you will have to try harder

• Oh, he's the ex

• Something tells me Stella wasn't this bitchy on the original show. I am not here for the female rivalry, specially if it's because of a basic white dude

• I have never related to someone as much as I relate to Terra since I too tend to talk too much, too fast, and overshare to make up for my insecurities and anxiety. My mom is the plant gal though...

• I want a succulent!

• Bloom, who the heck talks on the phone with the speaker turned on in a room full of people you don't know???? Show wants me to believe you're an introvert when you pull this shit???

• I love Aisha

• I also love Musa

• Is a burned one kind of like a werewolf? Where if it scratches you, you turn into one? If that's the case, is there a way to get them conscious again? Like the wolfbane potion in Harry Potter

• I'm gonna pretend everyone is over 18 bacause I can't handle another Riverdale

• ........ everything changed when the fire nation attacked

• I'm sorry but you can't talk to me about the elements and expect me to not think about atla

• Being an empath in high school must suck. All that teenage angst....

• Changeling! Makes sense. My bet is that her father is the leader of the burned ones and the principal is her mom

• I get that she's missing home and normality but her mom was a bitch

• I'm glad they revealed this now and not at the end of the season, when literally everyone would know

• Stella quit being a bitch

• I expected the princess of Solaria to be a fire fairy, not an air one....

• Riven and Beatrix deserve each other

• Protect my gay baby!!

• MAGIC LESSONS

• Bloom needs to meditate and Stella needs to chill

• What kind of human parents name their child Bloom??? Aisha sounds like a human name, not fucking Bloom. I bet it's a white people thing, like Ashleigh

• Stop being mean to Aisha and Terra! They're just trying to help!

• Musa really found the one bitch in this place that doesn't have anxiety and went 👀 huh

• No! Don't use anger! Are you the only kid that never watched A:TLA?? Have you learned nothing from Zuko???

• No! Don't follow the whispery voice in the woods! That's how people get killed in horror movies!

• Oop, that's a lot of bodies

• Something tells me that burning a burned one isn't going to help

• Aisha to the rescue!

• Gross

• SO THERE IS A POTION

• Silva is a really common surname here in Brazil.... We're fairies confirmed

• Oh, they are going to pretend that Sam being Terra's brother is drama worthy huh

• Stella quit being a bitch /rt

• Yes! BOND

• huh

• That's different

Episode 3

• Have I already said that Aisha is the best??

• I still don't get what the specialists are. One the first episode Sky told Bloom "you are a fairy" as if he isn't one, and the only thing I've seen specialists do so far is fight with sticks. What are they doing in magic school?

• So, Silva can't get better until the burned one that infected him is dead? I'm pretty sure there's something like this in vampire or werewolf lore

• Is Silva Sky's dad or something?

• MAGIC LESSONS

• Don't go to the dark side Bloom! Beatrix bad!

• How many headmasters does this school have??

• Oh yeah, this dude is evil too. I forgot he existed

• Uh, do all hetero coupled do cringey shit like that?

• My mom starts talking to me about something she was thinking about as if I have the context ALL THE TIME!! We're all Terra #PowerToTheNerds

• But I'm more of a coffee addict than a tea aficionado

• Oh thank god they are using km

• RIP Silva

• Aaawww suite to the party!

• Okay but grown ups gossiping while being 100% of what the youngsters are trying to hide is my favorite trope ever

• All these pop songs are going to age the show

• Terra that was so awkward omg

• What the fuck Stella???

• How old do fairies get? Like, do they live for centuries?

• Is it bad that I discovered what shotgunning is through a smutty wolfstar fanfic? 😬

• Rosalind? Former headmistress Rosalind?

• Oop, another dead body

• Oop, Silva..... F 😔

• Bloom can't you listen to Aisha for once??? You are going to get yourself killed

• That's a sweater, not armor

• Because that's not creepy at all

• You could at least have phoned a responsible adult before running off into the forest looking for a toasted slender man

• Your suite mates don't qualify as responsible adults but it's better than nothing I guess

• Oh look, a portal to another dimension!

• Look! A responsible adult!!

• Oh, he's still alive

• Oh wait, nevermind

• Did she just Thanos him?

• Hugs!

• I still don't get what the specialists are

• My best friend in high school was adopted so I'm having flashbacks... Her birth parents got in contact after almost two decades of radio silence. It was a very difficult time for her, with lots of different and sometimes opposite emotions about the whole thing. In the end she accepted that whatever happened, happened and that the mom that raised was her real mom, no matter her faults. I hope that Bloom can get to the same conclusion

• Alright, I wasn't expecting Rosalind to be in magic cryogenic coma

• Why can't they meet? Is Rosalind evil or something?

Episode 4

• At least now Bloom is aware that her friends have their own lives and aren't they just to be her sidekicks

• Girls sticking together!

• Still don't get why Musa needs to hide her relationship with Sam.... If I was Terra I would be more upset that my friend was hiding the relationship from me than the relationship itself

• Last episode was Sky's daddy issues, so this one is Stella's mommy issues. And, of course, the whole show is about Bloom's issues (general)

• The Queen of Solaria is named Luna?? Huh

• This episode is also about snooping

• I'm going to find whoever thought hdr was good idea and force them to watch something on Netflix when the screen is so dark you can barely see what's happening

• I'm going to pretend that's a p!atd reference

• I'm going to pretend I didn't hear 2004

• Can the camera stop spinning, I'm getting dizzy

• Anakin noooo

• Rehabilitation magic?

• So Queen Kindness is not so nice after all

• I want to give Sky points for figuring it out but let's be honest here, it was not that hard

• When did they name themselves "Winx"? And what does that even mean?

• ANAKIN NO

• Good for you sky

• Yes! Tell the responsible adults!

• Push her

• So your parents were from Aster Dell

• Well they both are redheads

• Oh sweet Anakin...

• SEE???

• Silva that's shady as fuck

That's all for now! I will watch the rest, but don't know if I should make another post or just edit this one...

#fate: the winx saga #ftws #ftws spoilers #ftws reaction #fate the winx saga spoilers #bloom #bloom x sky #terra #musa #stella #aisha #am i forgetting someone #sky #riven #beatrix #dane

[savrenim]

hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

#my life #my writing #ifmlam

[rudysrings]

Drunk texts/Billboard Imagine Pt. 2

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, but as it has been for almost everyone, this week has been really tough, especially to those people who still haven’t been given time off from work, or at least allowed to work from home.

Look what happened at fucking Costco last week when someone pushed me down trying to get shit they don’t even need?

It’s pretty nasty but I bruise kind of easily so I’m hoping it’s not serious. It’s already a lot better than when I took this picture.

Point is: Where’s our goddamn humanity people, for fuck’s sake?

Take care of yourself guys. 

Anyways, this is part two to this drunk texts/billboard imagine here. Thank you guys for all the love that imagine got; I had no idea that people would like it as much as y’all did. Also, this is unedited AF… I’ll come back and edit it a little later :)

You swerved as you parked your care, letting your forehead flop on the steering wheel and trying to catch your breath.

You took a slight shuddering breath and willed yourself not to cry. You drummed your fingers against the wheel.

Fuck.

This was the last thing you wanted.

It’s not that you didn’t want your relationship to get out—Well, in some ways it was that, too. But your anger was mainly at the how not the what.

Jeff was important to you. It had only been a few weeks that you had been together, but it was a lifetime of waiting. You had known Jeff when he was a twelve year old boy who brought you bottles of Snapple on the weekends.

And you loved Jeff. You knew that. Even if you hadn’t told him to his face, you hoped that he knew it, too. You knew he loved you; he didn’t need to say it for you to know.

But your careers. Fuck, your careers. This getting out the way it did would cheapen everything the two of you had, at least, in the public eye. And you were afraid that you and Jeff hadn’t been together long enough, not nearly, for your relationship to get through that kind of merciless beating. You didn’t mean to place the blame on Jeff; you don’t even think you did. But it sure did seem that way. You were just scared god damn it!

You slapped the wheel in frustration but were startled by the sound of knocking on your window.

You snapped your head up to see Jeff right outside, hand pressed to the window. He nodded at the door and you sighed, opening it.

Jeff stepped around the open door and towards you, placing one hand on the headrest of your seat and leaning into you.

Before he could say anything, you pushed him away with a hand to his chest; the proximity was screwing with your head.

“Y/N…”

You got out of the car, slamming the door and walking up the front steps of your house, Jeff hot on your heels.

“Y/N?” He called.

Without a response, you hastily fished for your keys in your pocket and struggled to find the right one to turn the lock. Tears involuntarily sprung to your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Please, Y/N. Just let me—Fuck—” He reached out for you but you flinched away violently.

“Just let me go, Jeff!”

Finally, you got the door open and you rushed in, shutting the door behind you.

Resting your forehead on the door, you tried to stifle your sobs, which proved to be difficult. Jeff could hear you from the other side and he knocked softly. You shook your head to yourself.

“Y/N?”

He called your name three times before you finally responded the fourth time. “Jeff…”

His voice softened at your resigned tone and he pleaded. “Please let me in.”

“No, no, no. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“You can, sweetheart, you can. Please. I can’t leave this the way it is, Y/N—All ”

Sighing, you straightened up, wiping the tears from your face, and turned the door knob.

“Hi.”

Jeff didn’t reply; he just stepped over the threshold and gathered you in his arms, holding you to him, his hand gentle but firm on the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, doll. This is the last thing I wanted to happen. At least…not like this.”

You pushed at his shoulders. Jeff fell away from you, furrowing his eyebrows.

You couldn’t look at him. “Jeff…” You stared at his chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Don’t say it. I know we haven’t been together long, Y/N, but we’ve always been us. And now that we are together, I can’t imagine going back. I can’t go back after having a taste of this.”

“But Jeff—”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“What?” Your eyes met his.

“I do. I’ve been in love with you since middle school, doll.” He had your face in his hands, ensuring that you maintained eye contact. “Can you honestly tell me that you don’t love me back?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Jeff grinned. Although he never once doubted the way you felt about him, it didn’t hurt to hear you confirm it. “Love’s not enough, Jeff. It never is.”

Jeff grabbed your hand, pulling you flush against him. “Don’t give me that. Love is enough.” When you opened your mouth to argue, he said, “And even if it wasn’t, we’ve got so much more than that. We’ve got over two decades of friendship, Y/N. We’ve got trust. We communicate. What more do we fucking need?”

You smiled sardonically. “We need time, Jeff. This just started and now it’s out in the open. It’s been exposed like a cheap fling and there’s nothing we can do it about it. We needed more time. Since we didn’t get that, maybe we should take space instead.”

You saw Jeff blink a few times. His throat tightened. “What do you want me to do, huh? How can I fix this?” He brushed your ear with his thumb, a habit he had picked up over the last few weeks.

You shook your head, looking at the ground. “As much as I wish you could, Jeff, you can’t turn back time.”

Jeff narrowed his eyebrows, his chest puffed. “Will you stop fucking calling me that? Since when do you call me what everyone else does?”

You blushed.

“What if I told you that there’s a way turn this around—to take control of what David did and make it our own?” Jeff asked you.

You smiled. “I would be willing to hear you out. How?”

Jeff smiled. He pulled upwards by your waist, lifting you onto his toes so that you were eye level with him. It was one of Jeff’s favorite ways to hold you. This way, every one of your curves fit into his contours and he got to be in the perfect position to kiss you without bending down. He paused, looking at you for a few moments. “It’s really fucking mental.”

“Just tell me.”

He whispered. “Marry me.”

“WHA-“

He shushed you. “I know, I know. It’s really fucking crazy. But it’s the perfect way to take attention away from what David did. I know that nobody can cheapen what we have if we don’t let them. But still, if this gives us a better chance against the world, a better chance at lasting, then I’m all for it. Besides, sweetheart, is it really all that crazy for us to get married? We’ve been married for years.”

“Jeffrey…” You breathed.

“Say yes, doll.”

“Do you really think it’ll give us a chance?”

Jeff shook his head. “I don’t think this will. We don’t need a chance. We’re going to last, Y/N. This, sweetheart, is to give us an edge.”

You nudged his nose with his. “I don’t even believe in marriage. You know that.”

Jeff smiled. “That kind of what makes it even more perfect. Marriage doesn’t need to be such a heavy weight on us. It’s just you and me.”

“And a piece of paper.”

“Yeah, and a mothafucking piece of paper that doesn’t mean shit—or at least, doesn’t change shit.”

Another tear slipped from your eye. “I really fucking love you, Jeffrey. It’s really fucking mental how much I love you. No one should be so in love with another person.”

Jeff’s smile was like an eternal flame. “Marry me?”

You nodded. “Yes, Jeffrey, I’ll marry you.”

You kissed him, your hand slipping under his shirt to feel his torso, your sudden touch on him making Jeff gasp slightly. You took the opportunity to suck on his tongue. When you pulled away, Jeff still had his eyes closed, a glazed look on his face. “Fuuuck. That drives me fucking crazy, woman.”

He opened his eyes, which were full of desire. He slid his hands down to your lips and turned the two of you around, backing you up against your front door. “You’re going to be my wife.”

“You’re going to be my husband, Jeffrey.” Jeff might have just moaned a little at the word, sloppily kissing you on impulse.

He had a hand kneading your breast, having crept in from one of the open sides of your romper, the other on your ass, pushing you against him.

You pulled away when you felt his hands unbuttoning your romper and slipping into your panties. Breathless, you said, “Holy shit, Jeff, wait!” You laughed.

Jeff looked out of it, like someone had pulled him off a drug high, but he immediately stopped. “Huh? What? Why?”

“Because we have a fucking plane to catch.”

@sabrinafey @omg-lexiloveyou @yulisaangelica @heyy-shannon @hannarudick @yoongi-holland @brynthebulldozer

I’m super new to tags so I apologize for any mistakes or if I accidentally tagged the wrong person...awk

#jeff wittek x reader #vlog squad x reader #jeff wittek x you #jeff wittek x y/n #jeff wittek imagine #vlog squad imagine #david dobrik #david dobrik imagine #drunk texts #billboard imagine

[lokiondisneyplus]

In late March, when Robert and Michelle King convened the writers room for their supernatural drama Evil, they plotted out a second season premiere in a haunted New York City subway station.

Now, more than two months later, as the novel coronavirus continues to ravage so much of the world, the idea has been scrapped at the behest of their line producer, who warned that filming permits would be hard, if not impossible, to come by. When the CBS series does return, the season opener will explore the spiritual consciousness of its characters instead, with a storyline devoted to the "God helmet" and its virtual-reality-meets-peyote-style impact. It's a plot perfectly suited for a post-pandemic world, explains Robert King, because it relies heavily on visual effects. "You have to look at scope in a different way," he says, in this case referencing the scope of the brain rather than scope of a subway.

In virtual rooms all over Hollywood, writers like the Kings are being asked to rethink what could be feasible once production resumes. Many are waiting to actually tweak their scripts — "I don't want to have to rewrite everything six times while the guidelines change," says Shameless' John Wells — while others are already avoiding or scrubbing crowds, hugs and handshakes. Sex scenes and fight scenes will need to be carefully considered, too, and in some cases reconsidered as storytellers along with their line producers and studio bosses navigate an unknown future.

"What we're telling our writers is 'Don't be dumb,' " says one studio executive, who suggests that an elaborate crowd scene with dozens of extras would surely qualify. "We're not going to be able to shoot it, so don't write it."

Regardless of directives, which vary by studio, more than a dozen producers who spoke with THR say their anxiety lies largely in the uncertainty. "It's very hard when you don't know what the future looks like," says Marta Kauffman, showrunner of Netflix's Grace and Frankie, whose situation is made more complicated by the fact that the youngest of her four leads is 79 years old. She has yet to go back into her scripts and start making the necessary changes, but that's coming, and she's dreading it. "We had scenes at our assisted living facility with a crowd, and, well, we can't do that anymore. And we know we certainly won't be doing lots of kissing with elderly people, but it may have to go beyond that."

Though Kenya Barris' actors are several decades younger than Kauffman's, he's having trouble wrapping his head around how he'll make his Freeform series Grown-ish, which takes place almost entirely on a college campus. "It's literally about a place where people gather," he says, "and you can only do so many [contained] bottle episodes before it starts to lose the tone and feeling of what the show is." Meanwhile, Mythic Quest's Rob McElhenney was smack in the middle of shooting a scene set at the E3 gaming conference when production shut down. "There were literally thousands of people in the audience, and that's not going to happen anytime soon," he says. "So I'm going to have to rewrite it and reshoot it."

The days of doing a dozen extra takes are likely over, laments another producer, and shooting long just to have it, too. In fact, one executive suggests scripts could soon be five or six pages shorter ultimately, to make room in a show's budget for pricey protocols like crew-wide testing. There have been rumblings of putting line producers into writers rooms as well, though writers with any modicum of power are likely to resist additional infringement on the creative process. ("It's a terrible idea unless you have an irresponsible showrunner," says Kauffman.)

Writers will also be asked to lean on fewer characters along with special effects to provide scale. As one producer explains, if a pre-virus scene was set at a backyard birthday party full of children, the post-virus one will have two or three characters sitting around a kitchen table talking about the party — and any flashes to it would largely be CGI.

"The technology that brought you dragons and exploding people is the same technology that will be bringing you ordinary crowd scenes on shows you wouldn't expect [to use] visual effects," says You's Sera Gamble, who suggests CGI will be of little help on her intimate scenes, which she isn't interested in writing out. "We're not at the place in 2020 where we can talk about using visual effects to fake a kiss between [You stars] Penn Badgley and Victoria Pedretti — that's a separate issue and one we have to figure it out."

In recent weeks, writers such as Gamble have been looking abroad to see and study how productions elsewhere are grappling with the same challenges. All eyes are on Australia's long-running soap Neighbours, which announced it's resuming without extras or physical contact between castmembers. The show's producers have said they'll cut away before a kiss or punch, relying on the audience's imagination to do the rest. It's a strategy that some will consider stateside, too, particularly when it comes to intimacy.

Other approaches being discussed involve facilitating separate shoots, which can then be pieced together in post, and quarantining participating talent for 14 days, with testing done regularly, before shooting the scene in full. The actors involved with the latter would have to be OK with that plan, of course. "And if they're not, you're fucked," says one executive, "because you can't force an actor to do something that they're not comfortable with." At least two more predict those kinds of conversations about comfort levels — both general and specific — will start to happen with No. 1's on every call sheet in the coming weeks, if they haven't begun already. And the responses are expected to vary, particularly among the older and more vulnerable set. Regardless of how many safety measures are put in place, there will be some who simply won't feel comfortable and, as one network head warns, some shows could go away as a result.

For the time being, writers seem to be relying on their own gut to guide them. Barris, for instance, won't be writing in handshakes anytime soon, since he cringes every time he sees one on TV now. "I'd be less offended if you came up and cupped my girl's boob than shook her hand," he jokes. Curb Your Enthusiasm boss Jeff Schaffer agrees: "The handshake is gone," he says, "it's the VHS of salutations." And McElhenney's partner, Megan Ganz, reveals she'll be editing out a pre-pandemic line in which Mythic Quest's lead characters are asked, in response to their slacking, "What have you been doing for the past six months?" because it no longer feels right.

Studio and network execs must rethink their choices, too: Some are looking to their own libraries for contained shows that might be worth rebooting, while others are exploring potential series add-ons where only a couple of characters are needed. Working in their collective favor is an overwhelming desire among most casts and crews to get back to work. Says Black-ish showrunner Courtney Lilly, "If [our show] ends up being a one-act play for 21 minutes between two characters so that people can work and America can see characters they like onscreen doing something that isn't a repeat, we're going to find a way to do it."

It's a sentiment shared by many — just not all. Robert King falls among the skeptics: "Oh my God, network shows can't be made more boring," he says, horrified by the notion of having to scale Evil or The Good Fight down to a series of two- or three-character scenes. "You need to find ways that are visually interesting and inspired, and if you start limiting things, it'll just be, 'Why do I want to watch that? I'll wait for the newest Netflix thing that's shot in Hungary or somewhere where they will let people sit on each other's laps.' I just think everybody needs to calm the fuck down and not write with the idea of limitations in mind — or [at least] not as the guiding force."

[staycatcher]

Anguish 002- Anarchy

“Out of genuine free will, I, Lee Minho, exercise the divine right to reject my sacredly designed soulmate.”

Member: Lee Minho / Lee Know x Femme Reader (she/her)

Au: FratBoi! Minho + Rejected Soulmate AU

Genre: Angst, with added fluffy flashbacks past life to make it enjoyable lol

Rated T for a #@&% ton of swearing, violent bodily reactions/extreme pain, hospitals, drunk people, altercations, and just general intensity 👀💀

Note: It skips around a lot, a border is before and after the past life flashbacks/dreams and after those, it’ll say when/where it’s set!! Hmu if it’s still confusing~

Word Count: 4.3k

Anguish series 2/?-  001, ~002~ 

Edited: 210116 (Original: 190918 )

‼Edit: rewritten to exclude Kim Woojin, so the characters in the plot are now all scrambled and changed from the original!! If you’ve read this before- first of all thank you so much🥺💓💞- secondly you might want to reread because of the supporting character changes going forward!!😅🥰💝‼

Your eyelids flash open in the backseat of an unfamiliar sedan, the car jostling your seatbelt-less form about as it’s swerving fast down the side streets in the dead of night. Being brought back to consciousness unfortunately also brought agony that unconsciousness saved you from. Your current state knocks the breath right out of you, forcing out pathetic whimpers for breaths of needed oxygen, alerting the people in the front. 

“Y/n?” Through the agony just of just being conscious, you hazily hear Jamie’s highly concerned voice. This is the first time in your decade-long friendship that you’ve heard her voice sound like this. Though, you only hear your surroundings very blearily and distant as if you were some sort of different time and space. Her voice- it was full of fear!

 You just croaked out an incoherent sound as an acknowledgment as best you could between gasps for air. That’s all you could conjure, with your heart and brain pulsing magma through your entire body. Your insides must be neon at this point from the excessive heat and energy surging through you. You felt as if you were burning up, burning [alive]. Not even the overflowing tears, sweat, pathetic snot, and slobber could cool you from the intensity of the fever.

“Is she awake?!” 

“I think so? She’s making weird noises and she’s moving!”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh-” The rattling car slowed down a bit.

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE FUCKING ROAD, SEUNGMIN!” 

“I’M SORRY! JESUS!” The car sped right back up, maybe even faster than before, ramming into a harsh turn which came with an entourage of groans from both the vehicle and its passengers. 

“Fucking hell!” 

“I said I’m -fucking- sorry!”

“Just keep driving, for Christ’s sake! And I’ll keep giving you directions!-”

“Okay, okaayy!!~ God!”

You’re not quite sure how much time passed from the time when you awoke in this godforsaken sedan and when it reached a full stop. It could have been five minutes, fifteen, or an hour. The torture of rejection had you blacking out frequently on the turbulent ride to this unknown location. Your main focus is only on the sole fact that your soul was getting ripped apart each second, a chaotic ride was the least of your worries. The only stream of consciousness you remember is that you threw up in the backseat once or twice, and all-consuming, volcanic pain and fever. You also had no idea where in the hell they were taking you, and you weren’t in a state to care. Hell, you didn’t even know what was up and what was down, what year it was, you had much more prominent, violent, bodily reactions that took up all of your bleary concentration. 

Once the car did reach a full, screeching stop you heard the grating metal of the rush of seatbelts being undone, the jerk of the car’s ignition switch off with a gritty rattle of keys, doors being ripped open, slammed shut, only for the doors near you being ripped open in succession. It made your ears bleed, or maybe they were already bleeding. Wait, are my ears bleeding? 

“Holy shit!!”

“How in the hell did she puke that much?! My fucking car!” 

“Oh my god, Seungmin, shut the fuck up! We’re not worried about that right now! Help me carry her in!” 

“Okay, okay, okay! Jesus!” 

“Here, I’ll come on your side.” Another door slam. Soon after, you were startled to feel a pair of comparatively cold hands latch at each of your arms and gently ripping them out from under you, pitchy sounds of disapproval screeched out of you before they began dragging your wrecked body towards them. You weren’t conscious enough to feel the amount of humiliation you normally would at being fussed over like this, or how you may appear or what sort of public decency you might have. You could only spit out loud incomprehensible sounds of discontent. So out of it, you had no choice but to submit to whatever they were doing and allow yourself to be helped, even if you currently feel like your suffering is being heightened significantly. Your eyes were still swirling around inside your head in dizziness, brain throbbing, being upright only aggravated your body more with the forced movements and new changes in circulation. 

“And up!~” That was met with groans from all of you.

“Fucking hell there’s more of her than I remember!!” 

“Shut the hell- Literally no one has ever asked you anything, Seungmin.”

“It’s not like that! I’m saying she’s tall, Jamie! Why is she so long-”

”For the love of fucking theater, please put a sock in it. I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one!” You can barely hear them by now, their voices blurred away further and further until you once again float away and away, right back into the mercy of sweet, sweet unconsciousness. 

Soft snowflakes fall upon your warm cheeks- happy, smiling cheeks. It was only because of said precious snowflakes melting against your warm skin that you were made aware that your cheeks must be as red as the scarf your grandmother knitted for you. Despite all this snow, all you could see was what was vaguely forty or so yards away from you: A single figure among the rest, a handsome young man with whom you felt an immediate pull. 

Your train was about to leave and the rambunctious morning rush is now in full swing. The train you were supposed to catch to leave to a new city with a future waiting for you would take off soon, you kept trying to remind yourself. You couldn’t risk losing your train for a random stranger! But, despite all of your best efforts to carry on, you felt no urge to go and chase a suddenly meaningless mode of transportation. You felt full all of a sudden, complete, all because of some blurry stranger in front of you, whose silhouette you could barely even see amongst the hoards of people bustling past you in every direction.  

My god, does this mean- Could it be?! This feeling, this person, is that- 

“Is that ‘You’?” You heard your voice call out, loud enough to yell over the hustle and bustle, your eyes twinkling wide in wonder. 

Nothing else in this world could matter even half as much as this person in front of you. This person you hardly got glimpses of in-between rushing people. Not even the train that would take you to a safe, guaranteed future, seemed to weigh as much to you as this stranger. Just glimpses of this man, made things feel right, in a way you couldn’t begin to explain. A feeling deep, deep inside you told you that everything in your life has led to this. That you came to this train station to see him, and not to leave the city to another. If it was socially acceptable to slap yourself in the face for what you are currently thinking, what you are currently doing- you’d do it. You were going to miss this train, your ticket was not refundable, you had an opening to pursue-

“I’d assume so!” He tried to get out loudly all the while shoving through, inching closer. Without a doubt, he was just as affected as you. Seemingly, entirely more thrilled like he had no other plans than to meet you, despite the blatant fact he must have some. He’s at the train station at daybreak for god’s sake! 

“Where are my manners? I’m sorry!! My mother would have a fit- raising me better than this!” His tone was infinitely more friendly and silly than you would have predicted, especially in comparison with the words he said. Why is he smiling so wide while apologizing? For some reason you loved it! This must be one of his many quirks.

“My name is Minho Lee.” He came even closer as he was saying this with cool, confident footsteps inching your way despite the busy, disruptive rushed bodies, all with their own lives, their own hurried paths. All that was important to you suddenly was this beacon of a person in front of you, whose DNA was handwoven by the celestial, specifically for you, a matched set. 

“I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n- It-it’s a pleasure!” You offered your hand for him to shake. You didn’t even know what to say, you just relied on your natural politeness and ingrained manners to get those few words out. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss L/n.” And then he smiled, his angelic feline smile sealing the deal. Just with his sparkly smile and an electric handshake, all your doubts fade away. 

Park Jinyoung Memorial Hospital

Room 3025

“-I don’t want him here!! I’m not letting him come in here!“ You come to, the sound of a vaguely familiar voice waking you up. None of your other senses seem to be working well besides your hearing, and even that was dubious, barely catching any of the words that were being said, almost as if you were underwater. 

“Jamie! It’s been ten hours! He’s her soulma-“ Ten hours- since what?

“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass, Chris!! He’s the reason she’s like this! He could hurt her even more!!“ Jamie and Chris? Jamie and Chris- where have you heard those names again?

“Jamie, shut up!! Her monitors will go off, they said she might still be able to hear- you’ll stress her out!!” Monitors?! Monitors, what places have monitors? Are they talking about you? You think so- You tried to open your eyes to investigate, but they refused to budge.

“‘Think this is bad, Seungmin?! Think what’ll happen if Minho walks through the door-“ Huh?! Minho!! That name sounds familiar- The blaring sound of a heart rate monitor beeping interrupts your thoughts before you can continue much further.

“Don’t say his name! She’s reacting negativ-“ They have to be talking about you! The heart rate has to be yours right- you reacted and then the heart rate spiked- then the sound happened. WAIT, YOU’RE IN A HOSPITAL! You’re in a hospital and hooked up to things! Your monitors give off an alert, though that doesn’t shut up these people you’re hearing. 

“Oh?! So you don’t want me to say his name but you want me to allow his unstable ass to come on in and get some visiting hours on the books?! How does that even make sense, Chris!?” Oh wow. Okay, this is- a lot. 

“Jamie, be realistic-”

“No you guys be realistic! Y/n’s parents are flying out here and they’re allowing me to speak on Y/n’s behalf until they land. And I’m not allowing that fucker to come anywhere near this room until she’s healed a little-” Seriously, what in the hell is going on right now? So much is happening all at once, you just woke up- What happened?! You want to go back to your dreams, not a whirlwind of whatever the fuck this is.

“Who says she’ll heal? Her soul is dying-” Hold up! Pause. What now- ‘dying’?! DYING? WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY SOUL? 

 “SHE’S D-“ The voice tried to continue, only to be cut off, but it’s to be expected at this point though. All you can do is stand and watch… well in your case, lay down and listen... to try and help you make sense of this.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“It’s true! Y/n’s-”

“I said don’t… the two of you can leave now.” Oh god- this is just getting uglier and unpleasant by every shouted word. What on earth did you wake up to, well... you’re not completely awake to be fair. You can’t seem to feel or move. It's like you’re just floating around, distantly experiencing your sense of sound.

“Jamie!”

“Leave.”

“Jamie, I’m her friend too you can’t just-” They’re my friends!! That’s how I know these people! Finally some answers!

The sound of a door being burst open met with quick footsteps. “Is everything alright in here? What’s going on? Do I need to get a Doctor? Security?” Hearing the distress of this person made your heart race faster, yet again, nerves heightening by this highly concerned person storming in. 

Wait- what were you even in here for?

“No-”

“They were just about to leave, ma’am-“

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask all three of you to leave. We have to calm her down and then run some tests. It seems that Y/n's vitals became unstable again. We’ll contact you, Jamie, and her parents when we’re done, and you can come back.” 

You were out in the country, on your way to fetch some water from the well for you and your oversized family. Being a frequently forgotten middle child, you often get away with hiding away in these fields, perhaps with a book or some sewing project you worked at, or perhaps just taking in the sun’s rays, cloud gazing, or napping like a kitten in the pleasant sunlight. Alas, today wasn’t so kind to you and as your younger brother who was usually charged with this task, fell sick in bed, thus the task was passed along to you. 

The well wasn’t too far, a nice walk for some. But all this time could be spent doing something more fun, something filled with more imagination than someone your age should have. Something curious or something that instilled peace in your heart. Something that didn’t involve hauling water in buckets back to the cottage without it sloshing it all over the place, spilling it, and splashing onto your layers in your rush to get back. 

Out of breath and traveling back with a heavy wooden bucket filled to the rim with water in each hand, your hand-me-down clad self began walking back along the dirt road. When you finally decide to look ahead and not at the buckets, you spy two people on horses trotting your way. You shake your head a few times making sure that what you were seeing was actually happening and not one of your daydreams.

Today was not a day full of your mind's little tricks, this was happening. It was made real as each second drew nearer. The two seemed to slow down their trotting as if to approach you. As they grew closer, the clearer they became, making it all the more apparent that they were in some sort of uniform, clearly of higher status within the military. Your eyes grew to the size of the chipped plate you ate upon this morning. It wasn’t often you’d see or interact with anyone with a status of any kind, much less outside of the village, right outside your family’s humble cottage doors. 

Eventually, the two came to a complete stop in front of you. The first man on your right seems to have a stern look despite his pretty lips, he could only be described as beautiful. His face was angular yet soft but his aura made it feel sharp, his presence alone felt important. He cleared his throat, right when your eyes were about to wander to his companion, who’s eyes you could feel began to take you in. You gasped in realization, quickly set down your buckets, and deeply bowed, paying your overdue respects. You nearly forgot to, too startled by their presence, to say the least. 

“I beg your pardon, sirs! It’s not often I see military in the area, it certainly is a shock! Please forgive my manners!” You wobbly got out, still bowing at a ninety-degree angle and looking down low at your worn shoes, too embarrassed to look up now. They could beat you for your disrespect if they wanted to. Your mother would have killed you herself if she found out. 

“Let it rest, Sergeant.”  You heard a downright musical voice chide the soldier you made eye contact with earlier before continuing. “The poor girl is spooked, to say the least! Not much unlike that new recruit- what’s his name- Jeongin! Not unlike Jeongin’s horse!” You couldn’t hold in the snort at his execution of what you’re assuming is supposed to be a good-natured joke at your expense to ease tensions. He seemed to be just as flustered as you, his delivery mocked himself more than he could’ve attempted to mock you!

 When you finally decide to look up, you instantly make eye contact with him. Unfortunately, you become even more ‘spooked’ than before! This man was astonishing, completely, and utterly astonishing. He looked as if he were carved out of stone, but his voice was so sweet and mischievous. He was the sort of contradiction you’ve read about in books, you still couldn’t fully comprehend if this is just another one of your daydreams or your reality. His radiant features almost make you fall over before regaining balance, but not without emitting humiliating noises that had the two of them snickering.

 And you thought that other guy was pretty! Just one moment of eye contact with this one before immediately feeling tingles from your head to your toes and your face became even hotter now; hotter than the sun. 

“My soulmate?” He gasped in amazement, amazement at you. His eyes lit up like he was handed the keys to a castle for a weekend. He’s full of newfound energy and leaned a bit too much on the flirtatious side for your face to handle. Your face could only get so red. He was testing your body pigment’s limits and he didn’t say more than a few sentences. 

“Soulmate?” You whispered, fully astonished now. Your brain is surely gonna fry any second now. Your unrelenting plate-sized eyes zooming across the entirety of his being, trying to take it all in at once with the wonder of an astronomer looking at the night sky for the first time.

“You know what this means, Sergeant Hwang?” 

“Lieutenant , we have t-”

“It means I have some parents to meet!” 

“What are you- you haven’t even asked for my name!” Your voice ripped itself out of you without your permission, your sentence could only be described as informal.

“Right, you’re quite right, even if you were a bit informal, I’ll have to forgive you for that now that I have been equally as such.” Then all of a sudden he began to dismount the horse, making your eyebrows fly to your hairline. He quickly dismounted the horse with the grace of a dancer, and immediately began to approach you. While all this was happening, ‘Sergeant Hwang’ had no problem gawking at you and his superior, but you could hardly care. Most of your energy focused on your sense of sight now that he was coming out of the now blinding setting sun and off his high horse, literally. And what a sight to behold he truly was. His gorgeous, generously lashed eyes looking right into yours, now only a respectable foot away from you.

“What’s your name then, my love?” He asked, reaching for your hand, instantly giving you both a zap which makes you both giggle in awe. Just the touch of him had you toasting in your high collared cotton. The sizzling increased but the realization set in, your hands were the two final pieces to the puzzle. Nothing in your sheltered, naive world made so much sense or felt so right like this.

“It’s- it’s Y/n.~” You breathed, looking up from your connected hands into his sharp facial features that became soft with endearment, crystal eyes gleaming at you in response.

Sigma Kappa Zeta Fraternity House

Twelve hours ago

“WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING MINHO?!” Changbin started chasing after Lee Minho who already made it the majority of the way up the narrow, carpeted stairs. Changbin was outraged that he’d pull this shit, especially at a time like this.

 For some reason, in his mind, he thought that when Minho found his soulmate, his reckless behavior would cease. Alas, he witnessed with his own two eyes, Minho did just do the unthinkable and rejected the very person that was made for him. Shock and anger didn’t even begin to describe how Changbin felt. He had to get to the bottom of this, this just didn’t make any sense. This behavior just wasn’t acceptable anymore. Minho has gone too far. He could no longer tolerate his friend’s bullshit. Someone had to collect him and knock some sense into him!

If Changbin had to be the one to knock some sense to Minho he would. When he saw the way Y/n and Minho looked at each other, he was ecstatic that it was you he was destined for. He’d never admit to it unless probed, but he may or may not had eyes for you a semester or two ago.

Noting your understated beauty and the unabashed quirks like how you only sat in odd positions, the excessive amount of pens and highlighters you liked to use, and your unrivaled cuteness despite your grunge exterior. He knew you could be just the right person butter Minho up, but he didn’t even let you say a sentence to him before he severed the celestial bond before booking it the hell out of there without a second thought.

What Changbin wouldn’t give to find his own soulmate, his one and only, and to see how quickly Minho just threw his away- No, Changbin couldn’t just stand there and watch! Minho wasn’t being rational, he probably wasn’t even thinking at all! He was being completely and utterly selfish, a fucking coward.

Changbin was tailing after Minho now, catching up closer and closer with each stride through the masses of drunk or high college kids. Minho was beginning to run with a limp, palming at his chest, as he was shoving his way through crowds of endless people partying their sorrows away. The younger one started to notice the closer he got, the more clearer it was to see that his friend looked off. Like he was injured, or maybe seriously sick. As if he was not only running from you but also running away from the symptoms and the consequences of his actions. 

Changbin barely made it in time to catch Minho when he inevitably doubled over in pain, shouts of which were being swallowed down, only bits and pieces coming out as chokes and grunts, and he refused to even look at Changbin. Completely and utterly ashamed, and full of frustration as he was trying to get Changbin off of him. But changbin was easily stronger than him in this state. The swarms of people on the main level just aloofly made a bit of a way for the two boys, with a roll of the eyes, just assuming it was another drunkard wilding out with a friend coming after him.

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Minho?!” Changbin interrogated, holding Minho at his shoulders with eyes studying him with the disappointment of a father and the confusion of a child.

“Ssstop- just- fUCk! Let go of me-“ Minho was thrashing in his arms, at this point he rendered a fish out of water, in dire need of something out of reach to breathe clearly. Beginning to freeze up as well as he hissed breaths in and out, acting as if he was going to pass out soon if Changbin didn’t do something, but what exactly, Changbin had no idea. 

Changbin has only heard distant horror stories of people rejecting their soulmate, shit like his sister’s friend’s brother’s cousin. Never in his life did he think he’d witness such a thing right before his very eyes. Before now, he didn’t even know what the incantation even was to reject a soulmate! Was there an incantation to undo it? Was there more than one to reject someone and if so did it need a specific matching reverse incantation? Does Minho know the reversal to the one he recited? Or could you even reverse it in the first place-

“Minho!!” Changbin gripped him by the shoulders this time, forcing his thrashes to a stop, though Minho was still huffing and puffing far too much to be just from the quick dash he did. “How do you reverse this!?”

“It’s too late, it’s too late, it's too laaaate~!“ Minho wallowed, practically blubbering, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Get over yourself!!” Changbin gritted his teeth before smacking him across the face, shaking his own head in disbelief. 

“OWW- wHAt the fU-“

“I said, get over yourself!” Changbin clutched at Minho tighter, forcing him to look into his fiery eyes. “Think of others for once and grow the fuck up, already! You got yourself in this mess, now how do you get yourself out of it?” 

“I did it out of free will-” Minho gasped for air, glaring his once sharp eyes at him. “It won’t be easy-” With each second passing by Minho’s breaths became more labored, his body twitching and stiff with intensity, veins popping out, pleading for help. 

Unlike the quick wildfire of pain you went through, Minho experiences a slow, dull pain creeping up him, leaving him begging for it to be over before it even really began. Drawn out, slow and steady in the worst way, with each minute he began to wish it were harsher or to get it over with. This dull, icy knife cutting at him slowly, was truly torturous, like a death from a thousand cuts. 

Changbin, on the other hand, was honestly so disgusted with this entire situation, and the fact it was out of his best friend’s own doing, made it even worse for him to deal with.

 “I don’t care how hard it is!! I want to know how to fix it!!” Changbin scorned and silently prayed to the universe to give him the patience to deal with Lee Minho for the rest of the long night he knew they had ahead of them. 

#stray kids fanfic #skzcreators-net #Lee Minho #Lee Know #Brewgie's writing!!! #minho fanfic #lee minho fanfic #lee know fanfic #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #minho angst #lee know angst #lee know au #Fratboi!Minho #FratBoy!Minho #minho x reader #sfw #soulmate au #rejected soulmate au #kpop fanfiction #THANK YOU FOR READING I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED AND ARENT TOO MAD AT ME AND MINHO #IM ALSO SORRY THAT IT TOOK A MONTH #BUT YA KNOW I WAS GOING THRU STUFF AND ALSO I CANT POST IT UNLESS ITS AS PERFECT AS I CAN GET IT #PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK ID LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK AND FEEL #SCREAM AT ME #OKAY BYE I LOVE YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOU

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Inconsequentials

Moodboard Credit: @alottanothing​

Summary: You’ve lived in New York City for a few years and were one of Angela’s roommates in college. You bump into Elliot on the night of Angela’s birthday party, and you and Elliot connect. Smut’s at the end.

Warnings: Smut

* * * * *

The noise of the bar is too much; it isn’t the competition between the music and the televisions, or the cacophony of alerts on cellphones that people couldn’t bother to silence for one night.

It is the loud conversation, or rather, attempts at conversation. The too-loud small talk with people You only vaguely knows and honestly doesn’t care to know. The endless cycle of too-loud questions: “Hey! Good to see you! What have you been up to?” and “Are you seeing anyone?” and “How are you?” and “What’s new?”

Unable to bear another hour, you make your goodbye to your old roommate, citing an early morning meeting as an excuse, and then quickly exit through the door of the bar, hoping to slink unaccosted by anyone else into the city’s quiet nighttime.

  However, the solid body you collide into as you round off the stoop makes your quick exit come to a pretty damn obvious halt. 

  “Shit! I’m so sor—"

  Your words escape you as your eyes lock onto the most ethereal eyes you’ve ever seen. You think, for an instant, that if you got close enough to them it would be like that final scene in one of the Men in Black movies where doors keep opening and opening and opening just to show us how insignificant our understanding of the universe really is. 

  You realize that you’re standing there, open-mouthed, like an idiot and quickly take a step back before beginning your apology again.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Jesus. Fuck me up and drive me crazy. Even his voice is otherworldly.

  “I must say, though, that’s not the safest place to stand considering the endless parade of just too much to drink that walks out of this place.”

  The man looks at you and you can feel his mind working, feel his tenseness over whether or not to talk. You almost begin to apologize, again, when he speaks. 

  “I’m supposed to be in there. It’s my friend’s birthday.” 

  “You know Angela?”

  His eyes widen, although it seems impossible that they could get any larger.

  “You know Angela?” He echoes and you can’t help but chuckle. 

  “I do believe I asked you first,” you say through a grin. 

  He smiles, just a quick blink and you’ll miss it quirk of the lips, but you definitely categorize it as a smile. 

  “We’ve been friends since we were kids. And we work together now.” 

  “You’re Elliot,” you state with a finality that surprises him. “I went to college with Angela and we shared an apartment with two other girls, Jess and Annamarie—actually, both of them are still inside, and you know how it is. Late night talks. Shared childhood stories. I have an odd affinity for remembering inconsequential details. Not that you as a person are inconsequential!” 

  Fuck. You’re babbling like an idiot, and sort of shocked that this almost-stranger could make you so school-girl nervous.  

  Elliot did that almost smile thing again and seemed sort of surprised at his own response. 

  “Aren’t we all inconsequential, though? Swallowed up by the people we answer to? Or by society’s expectations and our inability to meet them?”

  As soon as the words leave his mouth, he seems paralyzed, like he can’t believe he said them out loud. 

  “Shit. I didn’t mean to say—"

  “Sure you did. But I suppose it has something to do with you not wanting to go in there? Maybe worried that you’ll feel weird because you don’t know anyone other than her?”

  Elliot watches as you tilt your head to the side just a bit and finish simply by saying, “Or maybe you just hate people?”

  Elliot turns to look inside giving you an opportunity to look at him properly. He’s head to toe in black, a worn hoodie clinging to his thin frame. His shoes are scuffed, also worn, but you can’t help but to let your eyes wander up his denim clad legs and to his ass, outlined nicely enough in the tight pants. 

  And that face. You could look at that face forever, like a piece of art that has layers and layers of depth. How many times do you meet a person in real life with a face like that? 

  Elliot sighs and turns back to you, your eyes snapping up to his. 

  “You’re not missing anything. Unless you enjoy watching Angela’s latest terrible choice in men cling to her like she’s a life preserver and he’s drowning.”

  Your comment earns a snort of derision from Elliot. 

  Emboldened by his response and the fact that he has made no move to go inside the bar, you ask, “Instead of going in there, do you want to maybe go somewhere else? Engage in some horrific small talk until we get to the good stuff?”

  “Okay.”

  One definitely awkward, mostly silent ten-minute train ride and an equally awkward and mostly silent block and a half of walking later, you are at your favorite dive bar. It is in an old building that should’ve been torn down a decade ago but escaped the clutches of modernization. Stale cigarette smoke still clung to the walls even though smoking was banned inside years ago. Despite the aged odors and decor, it was clean and quiet, full of regulars who also wanted to hold onto the past, desperate to have a place to just watch the outdated TV above the bar and talk with people like themselves, desperate for a time before Snapchat and Facebook and the stale conversations of the superficial, of people who only pretend to know you because they only really know your profile and your posts.  

  No one pays any attention to you and Elliot as they walk in and head to one of the booths in the back. You slide in and shuck off your coat as Elliot pulls back his hood, his hands running through his hair quickly. 

  You wet your lips at the sight of his face without any barrier and at the practiced way his hands fix his hair.

  He’s beautiful.

  And what an idiot you feel like as you think it, but wow. You make a mental note that despite the worn hoodie and boots, he must know he looks decently good if he visits a barber regularly enough to get a high maintenance haircut like that. Elliot was shaping up to be a true enigma. 

  “What do you want to drink? My treat,” you say through a quick smile. 

  “I’ll have whatever you have.”

  You slip out of the booth, and when you place the order, you make sure to lean just a bit into the bar as you wait in order to show off your ass. 

  When the bartender returns, you ask, “Sammy—is he looking? Did he check out my ass?” 

  Sammy chuckles and leans in to whisper, “Oh, yeah. Didn’t even try to do it discreetly.” 

  “Interesting,” you reply. “I’m not quite sure what to make of him, but that helps a bit.” 

  “I’ll keep an eye on you, babe.” 

  You chuckle, pay, and say your thanks. 

  “Coors Light. Bottled. I’m pretty much as basic as they come.”

  Elliot sort-of smiles, lifts his bottle to his mouth and takes a long drink. 

  “So, back to the whole idea of the inconsequentialness of humanity—what makes you believe that? 

  Elliot shakes his head and starts to backpedal, but you push him. 

  “Don’t tell me you blurt out dark truths about humanity but don’t mean them. Don’t be that guy.”

  “Most people don’t want to hear the things that I keep in my head. I’m not sure you really understand what you’re asking.”

  You raise an eyebrow, a little annoyed at his reluctance.

  “I assure you . . . I can handle it. I taught high school for a few years before I got my current gig in the city. If anyone can understand cynicism, it’s a teacher.” 

  Elliot leans forward, his fingers lightly tapping against the sweating bottle.

  “Why’d you stop? Teaching, I mean. Isn’t it supposed to be . . . rewarding?” 

  You genuinely laugh and it is loud enough and strong enough to make Elliot blink in surprise. 

  “Christ. Those moments are so few and far between the chaos of putting out everyday fires that after a while, it just isn’t enough. The bad outweighs the good. And I knew I didn’t belong in front of those kids once I felt like that. Now, I work for a mid-size company writing and editing technical manuals and working on grants to get more funding so they can expand. I’m just an inconsequential buried in work by the people who are hoping to become people rich enough to run the world.” 

  Elliot is quiet for a minute or so, most likely processing everything you unloaded.

  After another drink, he says, “I work at Allsafe. It’s…it’s a cybersecurity firm. We protect companies from cyber attacks. We protect those big companies that are actually rich enough to run the world.”

  You roll your eyes and nod in agreement. “It seems like the more I read, the more depressed I get because those companies just eat up everything. Consumerism, I guess? As long as there is something they can convince people to buy, they will continue to take people’s money and they will continue to be richer than god.”

  Elliot studies you as he finishes off his beer.

  “My turn,” he mumbles as he grabs your empty bottle and heads to the bar.

  Conversation becomes easier; while you definitely are the one talking the most, Elliot does relax and stops looking so shocked every time he shares something with you.

  At the end of the night, and after you’ve both developed a good buzz, you slide out of the booth. You give Sammy a smile and a wave to let him know you think the man in black is alright after all and the two of you head back toward the subway. As you walk, your shoulder brushes Elliot’s, ever so slightly.

  “I’m really glad I quite literally ran into you,” you say, sneaking a sideways glance as the two of you jog down the stairs.

  Elliot’s hands are buried in his hoodie pockets and you can just make out the small smile that crosses his lips.

  “Me, too.”

  “Text me sometime?” you ask as you hand Elliot your phone.

  You watch as he enters his number, his fingers moving almost faster than your eyes can register, especially due to your tipsiness. He hands your phone back and you let out a huff of a laugh as you see he’s already texted himself. A simple, “Hi.”

  Your train arrives at that moment and you give Elliot a small wave as he watches you step through the doors. You take a seat and turn to look out of the window, meeting his eyes once again. As soon as the train pulls away, your phone vibrates and you grin.

  It’s stupid, really, to feel so happy. All he’s sent is a simple message: Goodnight : )

  * * * * * * *

  Over the next three weeks, you and Elliot text a lot, meet up for coffee twice, and then decide to go for drinks at your bar again. The night progresses in a similar fashion to their first night together, but this time, when Elliot walks you to your train, you ask him if he wants to come over.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for the night to end this time,” you confess as you look up at Elliot, running your hand through your hair and biting your bottom lip.

  “Okay,” he says in more of a rumble than an actual word.

  The train ride seems to take twice as long as usual. You sit close together but not quite touching; you’re just close enough to feel the presence of him, to feel the heat of him, and to breathe him in. You desperately want to lean into him, to rest your hand on his thigh, but you know that touching is something of a struggle for him. It’s going to be up to Elliot to cross that line.

  It is a short walk from the subway to your apartment. You live in a decent enough neighborhood where people mind their own business but are still friendly enough to hold a door open for one another.

  As soon as you’re inside, Elliot busies himself by moving around your space, his eyes searching everything and nothing at the same time. It is a small studio apartment so it’s pretty easy to take everything in. You were lucky enough to find a studio with a loft, so the bedroom isn’t currently staring obscenely at the two of them, reminding you of the line that you so desperately want Elliot to cross.

  You take off your jacket and your shoes, happy to finally be barefoot. You go to the fridge and grab a bottle of water for lack of anything else to do while Elliot finishes his inventory of your stuff. Seemingly satisfied, he takes a seat at the barstool on the other side of your kitchen counter, which doubles as a table. He still has his hands stuffed in his hoodie and the hood is up. You’re eyes inadvertently flick to the hood, and he reaches up to take it down, mussing through his hair in that same way that makes your lick your lips every damn time. God, how you want to be the one who fixes his hair when he takes that fucking hood down.  

  “I really like you. These past few weeks have been nice—having someone to talk to,” you say as you twirl your water between your fingers.

  “I’m not very good at this,” Elliot says in a too-loud blunt voice as he looks away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

  You laugh softly but stop the instant you see Elliot’s hands twitch up, as if he’s about to pull on his hoodie again.

  You move quickly around the counter and reach out, your hand barely resting on his covered arm.

  “I mean, who is if they really like someone? It’s always weird when you’re deciding whether or not to cross that line.”

  Elliot turns those eyes on you, large and dark in the dim lighting of your apartment, and full of vulnerability. He presses his lips together and takes a deep breath. You’re pretty sure you can hear his heart beating, but then again, maybe it’s yours?

  He turns his body toward you and skims his fingers, light as feathers over your arm before grasping just above your elbow. Your eyes are locked on Elliot’s as you step between his legs, closing the last bit of distance. He looks up at you and uses his other hand to grasp your chin and pull you toward his mouth.

  Your first kiss is soft, hesitant. Your lips ghost against his as you slowly open your mouth more and more until he is the one to slide his tongue past your lips. You don’t mean to, but you let out the tiniest groan of pleasure as you open your mouth wider to his explorations and begin to return the kiss. The heat between the two of you is such a mixture of chemical wantonness and desperate urgency not be alone that it’s amazing neither of you combust.

  Elliot’s hand slides from your chin to your hair and you’re gripping his thigh so tightly as you lean into him that you’re sure it hurts. But if anything, he’s opening up for you, sensing in you the same feelings of loneliness he has buried within himself.

  You move your hand from Elliot’s thigh and from the back of the barstool to place both in his hair. You’ve been desperate to touch that black mess since the first night you saw him remove his hood and fix it himself. His hair is thicker than you expect, but so soft and when you dig your fingers into his scalp and move impossibly close to his body, he moans.

   You pull his head back to angle his gorgeous jaw to your lips. You kiss his chin, moving your lips slowly and softly along his jawline, peppering it with sweet kisses until you reach his earlobe. You close your teeth over it before kissing just underneath his ear.

  Elliot’s hands have moved to your hips and he’s gripping them almost as ferociously as you gripped his thigh.

  You pull back and look at each other, searching each other’s faces for any sign of leftover hesitation. He looks so sexy with his lips just a little raw from kissing, shining with saliva and still slightly parted.

  “Upstairs?”

  Elliot nods and takes your hand as you extend it to him, trailing just behind you as you walk up to the loft.

  “Are you looking at my ass?”

  Elliot laughs, a sweet, short burst of noise that you want to memorize in case it never happens again.

  “That’s how I knew you liked me that first night,” you explains as you reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him. “I asked Sammy if you looked.”

  Elliot smiles as he answers, “You have a great ass.”

  You laugh at his frank reply, and he pulls you into him. He kisses you until you need to pull away to breath and that’s when you knows it’s good—that he’s crossing the line and that it’s a good, good thing.

  He reaches around to grip your ass through your jeans and you grasp his shoulders. He pushes your hips into his and you can feel how hard he is already.

  “Way too many clothes,” you mumble into his neck.

  He steps back and unzips his hoodie, shrugging out of it, the clang of the zipper hitting the floor making the reality of what’s about to happen all the more intense. You pull your top over your head and let it fall from your fingertips. His eyes are taking you in and you enjoy the heat his gaze brings to your core. You reach up and unhook your bra, Elliot’s eyes watching the front clasp spring apart. He steps forward and slides the straps from your shoulders. He reaches out to cup your breasts, his thumbs sliding over your hard nipples. He pulls gently at them, watching your face instead of your body. Your eyes slide shut and you groan at the motion, and he does it again before he trails his knuckles over your stomach and grasps the front of your jeans. He pulls you into his body, encapsulating your lips in a heated kiss as his hands travel over your back, into your hair, and back to grip your ass again.

  You need to feel his skin against yours, so you reach down to pull his t-shirt over his head. You immediately move to kiss the smattering of freckles across his shoulders, your mouth leaving hot kisses from shoulder to shoulder, stopping in the middle to lick at the base of his neck. His body is hot and tight and your fingers are in love with the feel of him.

  You trail kisses down his chest, tweaking his nipples in a motion that mirrored how he had touched yours. Elliot groans and his head drops back as his eyes close. Once you’re on your knees, you pop the button on his jeans and his head snaps back to attention, watching you with those goddamn eyes. You look up as you palm his hard cock through his jeans and he moves your hands out of the way so he can unzip and open his pants, inviting you to touch him.

  You pull his jeans down and off, tugging off his black socks as well. You know you shouldn’t, but you chuckle, low in your throat.

  “My god, you really are the man in black.”

  Elliot shrugs his shoulders in response and you smile as you pull his boxer briefs over his erection and down his legs. He steps out of them and you look up and raise your brow.

  “Impressive.”

  Elliot doesn’t have time to debate with himself on a reply because your mouth is surrounding that impressive length, your tongue cradling his cock as you take in the taste of him. You suck, hollowing your cheeks as you grip his hips to keep him steady. You alternate between slow, torturing licks and engulfing him in the heat of your mouth until his hands grip yours, signaling you to stop. You give a final lick to the tip, enjoying the saltiness of his precum.

  He holds his hands out to help your stand back up, and as soon as you have your footing, Elliot’s pushing you toward the bed. You lie back stretching, teasing him as he looks at your body. He reaches down to open the button on your jeans and unzips them, tugging them off of your legs. Elliot traces his fingers up your legs, pushing them apart. He runs his thumb over your still-under-wear-clad center. He presses on your clit, gently testing your arousal.

  You moan and push yourself into his touch. You don’t care if you sound needy.

  You continue to watch Elliot as he lightly fingers over everything but your clit, and you’re just about to beg as he slides his finger into your underwear and lightly grazes your core. He brings that finger to his lips and slides it into his mouth, closing his eyes at the taste.

  “Jesus Christ, El. You’re killing me,” you pant.

  He smirks, just a quick twitch of his lips.

  “I like when you call me that,” he begins as he reaches up to slide your underwear off.

  “But I think I want to hear you scream it,” he finishes as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks.

  “Fuck! Elliot, El, oh, fuck!”

  Your body is trembling with its need to orgasm and you’re pretty sure that Elliot’s lips are built for the sole purpose of making your come, but you want the first time you come with him to be while he’s inside of you.

  You wiggle away from his face, and he looks up, his lips glistening, his brows furrowing until he sees what you grabbed out of the nightstand’s drawer.

  “I want you in me when I come,” you say, tearing the foil packet open, probably looking a little more like an animal than a seductress but so desperate to feel his cock inside of you that you don’t even fucking care.

  However you looked, it worked for Elliot. His eyes are blown wide and so dark with arousal. He shudders as you push the condom over him, not even giving him time to process the sensation as you pull him by the base of his cock toward you.

  He doesn’t hesitate to slide into your soaking center, both of you moaning at the feeling of him finally inside of you. You tighten your thighs around him and hold him still, relishing in this sensation that only happens once in every relationship; the first time he sinks into you, the first time you experience what it’s like to be sated by this person you’ve allowed to cross the line is a true moment of intimacy that is only ever experienced once in every relationship. Each subsequent time just attempts to chase the high of that very first time.

  You eventually loosen your grip, allowing your body to respond naturally to his. Elliot is slow, methodical, at first. Beads of sweat are forming at his temples and he looks so lost in the feeling of your body, lost, but at peace, like everything in his head is finally quiet.

  He fucks you at that excruciatingly slow pace until you beg him to go faster, harder.

  “Please, El. Need you. Need you so much.”

  Elliot’s hips begin to rock into you, your hips rising to meet his until you create a perfect rhythm. You can tell he’s getting close from the red blush that creeps across his chest and the slight faltering in his pace. He changes his angle so he can watch you as he rubs your still swollen clit, your hands reaching up to grip the headboard as he slams into you.

  “Oh, god Elliot!”

  You cry out as your orgasm finally shocks its way through your body leaving you a trembling mess as Elliot stills himself in you and comes with a groan that sounds a whole lot like your name. 

  He falls half on top of you, careful not to crush you, but you can feel his heart pounding, echoing your own heart’s strong beats. His breathing is deep, but slowly returns to a steady pace. You have your arm flung across your eyes, still steadying your own breathing as you feel his weight shift as he gets out of bed.

  Elliot hisses just a bit as he pulls the condom off. The silence is long and awkward enough for you to remove your arm and look over at him, standing adorably in a state of confusion as his eyes dart around the room. You giggle as you realizes he’s looking for the trash can.

  “Shit—sorry!” You slide over and open the front panel of your nightstand to reveal a trashcan inside.

  He tosses it in the bin and quirks his head at you stating, “You’re very. . . clean. I mean, like, organized.”

  “One of my idiosyncrasies. Why? Are you a slob?”

  “Uhhh. . .”

  “Alright. So, next time, we go to your place and maybe we clean instead of doing this?”

  “Was I really that bad?”

  You laugh and hold the sheet up, inviting him back into bed.

  Elliot slides in and lays his body half over yours. You slide your hands up his smooth back and he dips down to kiss you.

  “You know that was amazing,” you say softly.

And you think to yourself that you could get really used to the feeling of Elliot’s lips quirking into a smile as he kisses your neck.

* * * * *

Note: I’ve wanted to write Elliot for a while, but I’ve never been confident with my characterization of him. I guess I just want happy Elliot too much, so sorry if I’ve mucked it up.

Also, the line, “Fuck me up and drive me crazy” is stolen from the Lil Peep song, “I’ve Been Waiting.”

#elliot alderson #elliot alderson x reader #female reader #elliot x reader #elliot alderson smut #rami malek #mr robot #elliot alderson imagine #elliot alderson fanfic #rami malek imagine

[foxtophat]

in chapter 3, nick brings john some food and tries to interrogate him, but it doesn’t go quite as planned. john sure is acting weird! i mean, weirder than usual. i mean, usual for john, anyway. i mean... well, let’s just say that nick is as in control as he can be in today’s update!

WHEW i really like this chapter actually, i had fun editing and writing it and all that. soooo i’ve been doing weekly updates but for the sake of consistency i’m going to be changing that to a bi-weekly schedule instead. gives me more time to flesh out these thinner chapters before i get them out to you, the viewer!

speaking of viewers, DAMN thank you guys for the warm ass welcome for this story! i’m so glad to see that people are enjoying my self-indulgent mess. i’ve had so much fun working on it by myself but i’m having even more fun now that i know other people like it!

hey, i’ll slap the text of this chapter below the cut so you don’t have to go off-site if you don’t feel like it. if you read, please consider reblogging, as that’s the best way for me to get this update out there :) otherwise, just like, have a good day and junk!

John is, unfortunately, still alive when Nick goes to check on him. He even seems to be aware of his surroundings, unsurprised when Nick opens the door and downright guarded as Nick approaches him with a plate of vegetables and some smoked venison. The role reversal doesn't sit right at all with Nick, but at least he knows he's in control of the situation for now. Give the bastard a couple of nights of good rest and John will no doubt attempt to get back on top, but tonight he's too sick to do anything but cringe away as Nick unceremoniously drops into a crouch and drops the plate in his general direction.

Tense, with his fingers twisting in the blanket below him, John rasps, "What's this?"

Nick frowns. "Food," he snaps, trying not to let his own rudeness bother him. He doesn't have to feel guilty being short with John — it's fucking John . Nick should be mad at himself for not being more of a dick! Being in a position that would earn a normal person sympathy doesn't mean squat when the guy is a murdering, violent psychopath wearing the thin veneer of a human being! He doesn't deserve anything Nick gives him, besides a swift and merciless kick to the temple.

Nick exhales heavily and reluctantly adds, "You look like you need it."

It's only once Nick rises to his feet again that John reaches for the plate, dragging it into his lap and proving Nick right as he quickly begins to inhale his food. It's alarming to watch John cramming jerky and vegetables into his mouth hand-over-fist, and despite himself he warns, "Slow down, you're gonna choke."

John stops eating like a switch has been flipped, dropping his hands to the plate as though he's been physically restrained. He doesn't say anything, just twists his fingers against the rim and stares at Nick's boots.

Okay.

This, uh. This is weird.

Nick feels his unease chewing at his nerves. "Well?" he snaps, trying to bluster his way through it.

"Well, what ?" John asks in return. There's an edge of annoyance in his voice, an old-world relic of John's normally nasty attitude, but it's not enough to reassure Nick.

"You know what. You're supposed to be dead . Rook put you down almost a decade ago, and I dunno if you noticed, but there's been a nuclear apocalypse since then. There's no way I'm putting you in your grave before you tell me how you got this far in the first place."

It's a lie, but the important part is that Nick sounds tough when he says it.

John clenches his jaw in response and finally meets Nick's glare with his own steely gaze. "They shot me," he says, his ragged voice still managing to scrape together enough attitude to sound vaguely condescending. He touches his gut, fingers prodding gently. "Then, the deputy left me for dead. I assume they returned to your welcoming arms."

Ugh, it is so fucking weird to hear John's passive-aggressive bullshit. Eight years apparently wasn't enough time for him to get over his nasty infatuation, if he's still bitter about Rook picking the Ryes over his own family.

"All of us were happy you were gone," Nick says, unwilling to indulge in John's creepy pity-lust for the deputy. "So, what then? How did you find that bunker? How'd you even know it was there ?"

John picks up a piece of jerky, bending it between his thumb and index finger. "It was my backup plan."

"What, in case the Cult backfired on you?" Nick scoffs loudly as John silently pops the piece of meat into his mouth. "I bet your brother would be real pleased to know you tried to weasel your way out of his prophecy."

John chews and swallows. "I doubt Joseph survived the Deputy at close range. I doubt I'll survive the second round myself. Where... is the Deputy, anyway? Shouldn't they be here casting down judgment, too?"

Nick sets his jaw. "I don't know," he says, folding his arms over his chest. "Nobody knows. They went to confront Joseph, but with all the Bliss in the air... I don't know. We lost track of them in the chaos. If they've had access to a radio, they haven't used it to contact anyone."

If John has any insight into what might've happened, he doesn't share it. He picks at a few pieces of carrot but it seems like he's lost his appetite again. "I see," he says, too pensively for someone who seems half out of their gourd.

"So, you survived being shot down, crawled into a hole with a gut full of buckshot, survived that , and then... what?"

"You saw what," John sighs. He looks tired — all this talking must be wearing him out. It's hard to believe John Seed is too weak to hold a conversation, considering how hard it used to be to get him to shut the fuck up. Nick tries not to spend too much time thinking about it.

"You want me to believe that you spent eight years just sitting there ?" Nick asks. The disbelief in his voice doesn't come close to the incredulity he's feeling. There's no way that John spent the last eight years in a quiet limbo. Hell, Nick's bunker life wouldn't make for riveting television or anything, but he still did more than exist . Even if he was on his own, John had to have some kind of — of backup backup plan, a plot to manipulate the nuclear apocalypse in his favor, something . Right?

"What do you want me to say? The bunker was lacking in entertainment. I was trapped alone, miles away from the Project, with nowhere near enough supplies. I was certain I would die before the first year was over, and from then on I assumed every day would somehow become my last. My being here is as much a surprise to you as it is to me."

He glances up, watching Nick's reaction with a wariness Nick isn't comfortable with. It's too much like a wounded dog, and John has to be playing some kind of angle to be using it.

"I had a radio, but no microphone," he says. "All I could do was listen."

Nick remembers what the radio channels were like for the first couple of months after the bombs dropped. Everyone going through every step of the grieving process over the world they'd known, screaming, begging, arguing, crying all the time. Lots of repentant Peggy idiots cursing Eden's Gate, even more innocent people sending out their last painful goodbyes. Kim would talk to them, sometimes, but for a while, it was safer to just leave the damned thing off.

"Eventually, the radio died," John mutters. "I thought it would be... better, somehow, being isolated. After all, that's how Joseph spoke to God, and I had a lot of questions that He might have answered."

"The last thing we need is another hallucinating prophet," Nick warns. He hopes John tries to sell him on some new-wave Josephism, though — he'd love to shoot the guy on principle and be done with everything. Boy, would that take a load of ethical weight off his back!

John's lips tighten wryly. "Apparently I don't possess the same qualities that made Joseph such an inviting disciple," he says. "I was alone. For... seven years, eight months, three days. Give or take."

"You keep a calendar down there?" Nick snaps, as if he and Kim hadn't quickly sorted time out themselves.

"I did," John replies, somewhat smugly. "Long enough to know when I ran out of supplies, at least. After that, it wasn't long before I had to leave the bunker. I couldn't... I couldn't take it anymore."

Nick waits for John to continue, but he doesn't. There must be more to it than that, Nick's sure of it, but John doesn't seem capable of handling the conversation.

John drops his line of sight to the pistol holstered at Nick's hip. He seems to be waiting for something.

"What happens now?" he asks, once whatever he's waiting for fails to happen. No doubt he expects Nick to brandish the gun in his face, to intimidate him or threaten him or... whatever. Shoot him, probably, because not even John Seed would be stupid enough to give himself clemency for all his crimes.

"Now?" Nick repeats. "Well, I guess that depends on you." He crouches down once more, sure that he's well out of John's grasp as he does so. He wants John to look him in the eye. "See, it's been a while, but I still really fuckin' hate you. After everything you've done, to me, my family, my home ... Honestly, I should've probably put you down the moment I recognized you."

John meets Nick's hard glare with the resolve of a condemned man. "Why didn't you?" he asks.

"Because I haven't had to kill anybody in nearly a decade, and y'know, I'd like to keep that streak." Nick jabs a finger at John, inwardly pleased when he recoils to avoid contact. " You're the one who came to Hope County looking for a fight. So I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet."

Nick figures he sounds pretty intimidating, but John doesn't seem moved by the indirect threat. Of course he isn't. The guy built half a religious movement out of his sadomasochism — he's not going to feel threatened by Nick, not even if he were holding a pair of pliers to his teeth. He doesn't even give Nick the satisfaction of asking what he means — he only stares and waits for Nick to hand down his sentence.

"First, we gotta see if you're gonna make it through the night," Nick says, gesturing towards the abandoned plate. "After that, I'm gonna put you to work. Kim and I, we got a list of things we need to get done. It's back-breaking manual labor, and you're gonna be the one whose back breaks." Nick rises to his feet, trying to seem tough when in reality, his knees are starting to ache, and he can't afford to throw one out over a show of force. "You do what you're told with no back-talking, and I guess we'll find a way to keep you fed."

"And if I don't?"

"I don't think you're in any position to refuse, jackass. Nobody else is going to think twice about shooting you around here. The cult, your followers, family, they're all dead and gone. Anyone left who knows your face is gonna want to smash it to bits, and they aren't going to be inclined to be as generous as Kim and I are being. So it's either this, or I throw you back in that bunker where you belong."

For a moment, Nick thinks that John might try to turn him down anyway. He hopes he does — it'd be nice to get to punch the guy without feeling guilty for hitting a seriously ill man. But John's pale face belies how desperate he is to avoid that bunker of his, and eventually he gives in with a slow, resigned nod.

"You're right," John replies, voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Joseph — the Project — it's all gone. And I..."

John trails off with a heavy, resigned sigh. He looks up at Nick through a thick clump of long, tangled hair that's fallen over his face. "I'm at your mercy," he finally says, dropping Nick's gaze immediately after as though he doesn't expect much mercy at all.

"What, that's it?" Nick asks, honestly fucking confounded at the lack of backtalk. He'd made a good argument, sure, but — what? "No arguing? No negotiating, no defending the cult? No trying to deflect blame?"

"What good would it do?" John replies. Despite everything, he manages to scrape together enough attitude to look unimpressed by Nick's entire deal. It's the first time since realizing John was alive that Nick feels a twinge of that old-fashioned irritation that used to make shooting John seem so appealing. "I have nothing. You've won, Nick. I hope you've been enjoying the prize."

"I ought to punch you," Nick snaps. "Lucky for you, I'd feel bad for giving you a beat-down in your sorry state." He nudges the plate with his boot, sliding it closer to John. "I'll be back with some water so you can clean yourself up. You stink enough to put me off my own dinner. Anything else, well..."

He gestures to the ratty, mildewy pile of junk that they've been collecting in the room, as if any of it could be useful. Broken picture frames, mouse-torn bedding, broken down cardboard boxes and more all piled innocently away in what was going to be Carmina's room. Looking at it fills Nick with a sense of profound sadness that he shoves right back down where it belongs.

"You can figure something out," he tells John, who doesn't seem capable of making another dig at Nick's new position as prison guard. Unwilling to be moved by John's labored breathing as he simply nods in return, Nick quickly about-faces, storming from the room with just enough anger to hide the retreat for what it is.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

[migleefulmoments]

Abby has a 'CC 2017 A Year in Review' post. It's fascinating. Totally convinced me they are 100000000% correct. Darren and Chris were both at 2 events. Darren wore his God Save the Queer shirt. TLOS is definitely a representation of CC.Oh, there are pictures of them in similar poses!!! They tweeted on the same day!! Darren sang songs from Glee. I'm convinced. She really knows her shit. #sarcasm is dripping off this message, btw. She's a certifiable nutcase. Go read for yourself. its Hilarious!

I cracked up when she said they were both at the LA Women’s March with the several million other people who went. How is that different from “they both live in LA”?  

The God Save the Queer T-shirt is her most treasured post-Glee “proof”. She is sure that he wears that because he is saying ‘I’m queer’.  It isn’t simply that  he is wearing a LGBTQ-positive shirt to an LGBTQ events. Darren and Mia’s entire group carried pro-LGBTQ and women’s signs at the women’s march.

They also both went to a huge Adam Lambert concert thousands of their friends.  The man was on Glee and Darren never misses a music event... of course they went.  One rando posted a Tweet claiming that Darren and Chris were talking and Abby buys it.  His 27 likes and 4 retweets is proof enough for me!  It’s cclove. 

Darren and Chris both went to spirit day- a LGBTQ support event.  That’s huge...why would both men attend an LGBTQ-positive hosted by their friend Justin Trantor if they weren’t together? It makes NOOOO sense.  THEY WORE MATCHING OUTFITS, FFS!!!! Jeans, a Jean jacket and a t-shirt is not a common outfit for a 30-ish yo man at a causal event so IT’S PROOF.  History is not wrong!

We cannot forget TLOS 6: A Love Letter to Darren Criss by Chris Colfer.   Darren released a song called Lost Boys Life written by his brother that is clearly about a man on the road missing his love. But ccers immediately declared that Darren actually wrote it -plausible deniability-because it “reeks of CC”. That along with it’s Peter Pan reference and Chris’s dedication  “Let’s never grow old together” is PROOF PROOF PROOF PROOF OMG ITS PROOF.  And O.M.G. Froggy is on the cover in the Mirror that MorInA put him in and Chris is a petty dick so we know that is about Darren.  He also called MorInA a goat - he’s such a misogynistic dick and I LOVE IT. 

“And this amazing quote that speaks for itself:“Only idiots listen with their eyes” she said. “if people don’t hear your words, that shout them. If people silence you, then write your message with fire. Demanding respect is never easy but if something you love is at stake, then i’d say it’s worth the price”.   (Ok, I gotta be honest, all sarcasm aside, how the fuck does she not see this is what she is doing and realize he was calling out people like her?  How does she believe this was something cc positive? Also all the STFF stuff...how is she so obtuse?).

Oh I forgot they both posted childhood photos on the same TBT -nobody else did that...nope never.  

Chris denied he watched AVPM -not because it’s been a decade and he forgot-or it doesn’t really mean anything to him but   because CC IS SO ON. “Denial of AVPMI know for a fact this was not a planned question. He was caught by surprise and instead of answering truthfully, Chris got flustered and denied seeing AVPM when it has been documented countless times that not only has he seen it, he was a huge fanboy.” 

Also these two nonsense statements “That time when Chris was asked if he kept in touch with D and he said “Kind of Sort of”The Promo Interview right before TLOS was released on the SocialIf it’s on social media, you’re not happenin’. I try to keep my personal life personal, and not mix the two. It’s hard to do, but I try.” All CC positive moments in 2017. 

I’m just going to leave this one without sarcastic comment because it speaks for itself: 

A Doll’s House Part 2.  

“A show chris saw when promoting TLOS and that months later we discover Darren saw as well yet not one photo or tweet placing him there unlike the myriad of other shows he sees where there are copious pics and accounts. Both loved it.” (Ok, I give it a Huh? Darren goes out all the time and we don’t know most of the time. He has said so but of course he didn’t say so with a social media post so ccers don’t count it).  

Chris wore his “cc” scarf in London...yes a scarf he wore in an actual picture of Chris and Darren from an early event is somehow a cc scarf.  Oi vey.  

and Darren’s ccfamous tweet where he used a Batman gif saying “I don’t want this” is ccproof becuase he was telling us he doesn’t want his life but he’s in too deep to get out now

When will this end? 

This was followed by Chris’ Epic Snap Chat, Don’t you wish your bunny was cute like me that can be found here (x)” in which Chris posted a filter of a bunny on his face and voice singing “don’t you wish your bunny was hot like me’ I would imagine that Mia must have used a similar filter somewhere int he last 6 months prior to this “so much shade” from Chris. Again he’s a dick.   

And there was the time Darren waited over a week to respond to a tweet, a tweet posted on May 27.  It should be noted he chose his tweet to respond of the likely thousands he was tagged in as i was right after the selfie and the CG show. Further, he replied right after Chris posted his Peru pic where he claims to have spent his birthday. (In other words I”m really grasping here) 

I Don’t Mind” a song that is so clearly about Chris even though he has since mentioned he wrote it during his teenage years in San Fransisco. Her 2017 proof isn’t that he wrote the song about Chris but that he didn’t play it in 2017 even though it was on two playlists and he made a big to do about no playing it at Elsie Fest. 

“Remember that Variety Article, an Exclusive About Indigo that originally contained this quote:Colfer’s news comes a day after his former on-screen love interest Darren Criss reunited with Murphy with a starring role on season three of anthology American Crime Story. So mysterious how it was edited out almost immediately”. 

TLOS movie and ACS Versace moving to season 2 happened on the same day- I believe that movie news is in Variety on the same day hence it gets out to press on the same day.  

Then we come to more mirror imagine photos -years apart 

Darren sang Glee songs which means he loves Chris- Hopelessly Devoted 

“The Day the Dance is Over  The video from the first time we heard this beautiful and incredibe love song about a dedicated love full of obstacles (and every version since as continued to amaze)” Another song that plausible deniability was written by Darren not Chuck.  

“And Critical to Remember, 2017, the year both C&D made a deal with Fox. This is going to majorly contribute to 2018″

(X)

[southernconundrum-blog]

It’s time we talk about 1987, Adventures in Babysitting Vincent D’Onofrio.

I’m a lesbian. I was born in 1983. I did not see Adventures in Babysitting till about 91. By then I’d already discovered my sexuality via Mallory in Family Ties, Lisa Bonet in the ____ Show and of course Carla Gugino as the troubled but beautiful Chica Barnfell in Troop Beverly Hills.

I love a girl in uniform.

The lip bite before Kstew was a twinkle in her mother’s eye.

Split bangs = basically double the bangs. 

** honorable mention to Gabrielle Anwar for single handedly changing dyke fashion with this beanie/beret sitch**

These are not complicated matters. 

The early 90′s really kicked off what would become the genesis of a decades long Elisabeth Shue phase. She had already dazzled me in Karate Kid and for whatever reason my parents allowed me to watch Soapdish on repeat. So no one should’ve been surprised when I cleared my Sunday night plans to watch the ABC (super edited) family movie showing of Adventures in Babysitting. Whatever straight was left in me was gone by the end of the first scene. One of the most glorious in cinema history.

The feathered hair, the t-shirt dress, the 32 year-old jawline on a 16 year old. She was perfection. I was entranced. 

Scene after scene I fell deeper and deeper into a dark gay hole of feelings. 

Every time Elisabeth’s hair grew in circumference, so did the lady wood inside my gay heart. 

Everything was going according to god’s glorious plan until this happened...

Um. What. the. fuck. Where did he come from?? Is that the guy from Mystic PIzza? What is happening? Oh no...

I began to gay panic and gay grasp at all the montages of lovely ladies I had stored in my gay brain. They were whizzing past me, too quick to for my weak jello lady arms. If only I had Thor’s arms..wait no..what? No I don’t want that. I want sinewy Blair from Facts of Life arms. Blair wait... WAIT..

She slipped seamlessly into the void. Along with all the others. All the feathered hair, the bangs, the shoulder pads. All gone. Now all I could see was oily, milky white 80′s muscles (good enough), corn silk soft blonde wig hair that if we just put a hat on it we won’t have to worry if it looks real or not. Tight jeans and man bulge and WHAT WAS HAPPENING.

My body was changing. My heart confused. A young gay girl in crisis. I studied the image as much as I could without the ability to pause. Thank god we were taping it on the VCR. I could come back later I decided. I would have to. Wouldn’t I? WHO AM I NOW?

The chest hair. I didn’t want to touch it but I didn’t not want to touch it? The way he was an asshole about the $5. Was that a lot in 1987 or was he just a sexy asshole? How he gave into Sara so easily, so quickly. I actually almost hated him for it. How he’d allowed the child’s tears to dash out his brawny, sweaty man hatred. Why had he softened for her?? Or was it his true strength coming through. In the end, wasn’t it a better show of power and dominance to allow his city hardened but oily sick arms to reach out and show his vulnerability? Is he tall or does he just seem tall? He’s tall. 

A million tiny little thoughts running through my brain. Can’t pause the thoughts the goddamn technology hasn’t been invented!! Where do I go from here? Do I have a boyfriend now? AM I PREGNANT????

Luckily, this is the only appearance of sexy as fuck, slick armed, bulging Vincent D’Onofrio. I would get a solid 45 minute break from hormones starting with that horrific blues club scene where Elisabeth Shue proves no she cannot sing and kids are annoying as fuck.

But every so often I’d catch a glimpse of him. He was haunting me like a sexy bisexual ghost. I couldn’t escape the chest hair. The tank top. The pants hiked so high I could see his religion. I felt like a Civil War wife longing for the day my sweet Dawson would return. Would life ever be the same? Would I ever be the same? Could I? SHOULD I?

I was snapped out of my bi-sexual crisis by Elisabeth wielding a switch blade and commanding a train car full of West Side Story Reprise Rejects to never fuck with the babysitter. 

Whew. That was close. 

Years later, when I was in Jr. High, he’d cross my mind from time to time. I’d just smile and tilt my head towards the heavens, close my eyes and absorb the fleeting rays of light coming from his greasy biceps. Then when I opened them again, he was gone.  A shooting man star in my lesbian sky. I knew that while I appreciated him, I would never love him, not truly. And I would never know such confusion again....UNTIL... 

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#vincent d'onofrio #adventuresinbabysitting #jordan catalano #gay #lesbian #bisexual #factsoflife #gaygasp #gaypanic #clairedanes

[tessatechaitea]

New Titans #112

Don't you worry your pretty little head about Red Star's right leg.

I keep trying to organize my life so that I can read more actual books (as opposed to comic books which I'm not judging. I'm just differentiating) without having to sacrifice any of the other things I enjoy doing. What that generally means is that I wind up reading about ten pages every morning before going to bed (I work nights!). Which realistically means I need to do improve my time management if I'm going to be serious about reading. I have managed to read the first "book" of Alan Moore's Jerusalem but it's taken me a fucking long time to do it. I thought it would take me a long time because I was expecting a difficult read but I'm finding it enjoyable. Plus by the time I've finished, I'm fairly certain I'll be able to navigate Northampton with ease. I'm also wondering if all the descriptions of the characters' movements through the city are an encoded treasure map! Or, being that Alan Moore wrote it, it's more likely a spell to summon some sex demons. While organizing (and by organizing, I mean the main definition of organizing: moving shit around in a way that makes you feel like you're accomplishing something but really you're just engaging in an activity to forget about your mortality for awhile. Plus you can generally get some really fucking good dusting done), I managed to place all of the books from various book shelves that I have yet to finish reading (or that I simply want to reread) on the top shelf of the row of bookcases in my office. Jerusalem is first on that list followed by some books by high school friends (Rogue's Curse by Jason Beymer and Soy Rakelson's children's books that I'm willing to bet everything I own as well as my life and my mother's life on that they're black and white morality tales with a super conservative and possibly Ayn Randian view of the world). After that is There Is No Year which Doom Bunny gave me because it's supposedly a terrible book that I'm not sure he even finished and which I wanted to make fun of (but, hey, maybe I'll love it!) and the rest: Inside the Yellow Submarine, Trixie Belden Mystery-Quiz Book #1, Don Quixote, Gravity's Rainbow, Lost in the Funhouse (reread!), A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, And the Ass Saw the Angel (by Nick Cave!), King's The Wind Through the Keyhole (A Dark Tower book!), Crime and Punishment, Hey Nostradamus!, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft, The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren, The Boomer Bible (re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-read), Six Volumes of The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night (finished with one and a half volumes after owning this set for twenty five years!), The Holy Bible (currently reading for my Patreon), The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry (Second Edition) (because I need poetic context for the 20th century!), Only Revolutions, The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick, and The Familiar (currently just book one but there's going to be like nine hundred of them, so maybe I won't even bother!). Oh, and I just added We Learn Nothing (reread) and I Wrote This Book Because I Love You, both by Tim Kreider. I'll probably start with those because funny essays are easier to get through than anything by Dostoevsky, Danielewski, Pynchon, Cervantes, Barth, Joyce, or Sakelson! I mean Rakelson! Oh man. Rakelson would have a stroke if he knew I listed his name with all those postmodern authors! Not that they're all postmodern. You can figure out which ones are and aren't on your own. I'm busy reading New Titans #112 which must be good since Starfire is naked on the cover. Okay, almost naked. She is wearing a dickie and a belt. I know a lot of you just skipped that big paragraph while thinking, "Oh, la dee da! What a fancy book reader you are! Fucking virtue signaler! Or whatever the term for listing or showing off your reading list full of classic literary texts is! Seems like virtue signaler works well enough! Better even than what idiotic fuck nuggets use it for on Twitter anyway!" But maybe you missed the part about how those are books I haven't been able to get through yet! I've owned some of these books for over a decade! And I didn't even put The Collected Works of Gertrude Stein on this shelf because do I need to be reminded that I used that book more as an address book than something to read? Although I carried it with me everywhere I went for a year or two (which is why it's full of phone numbers and addresses!). And I really did want to read it. I didn't carry it around so people could think, "Look at him with that book! Who the fuck is Gertrude Stein? What a ponce!" Although to be fair, I did leave off a few books on my "to-read" shelf! But it wasn't because they weren't smart enough sounding! It's because they were comic books and also pornography and also also fucking hilarious.

One of my friends in the state department who learns a brand new language every four years or so bonded with me over Oglaf last time he visited. He was all, "I'm glad I know somebody I can share my love of Oglaf with and not be looked at like a completely demented perv!" Although I do look at him like he's a completely demented perv, I didn't need to admit it to his face!

I embrace my delusion that readers merely skipped "one" paragraph of my comic book "reviews"! This issue is called "A New Home" and my brain continued to add to that title with "o-erotic Journey." Mostly because of this panel:

Fairly certain "bamming" a baby is illegal, even in space.

The Titans (and I use that term loosely since the characters encompassed by that shorthand are Changeling, Red Star, Pantha, Baby, and Starfire) have been stranded on The Terraist's space station. That name probably could use a hyphen so you don't first read it as terRAIST twelve times thinking "What the fuck does that mean?" before your brain finally sees the God-awful pun and you give up, finally letting go of that last gossamer thread that's been connecting you to the reality you just discovered doesn't fucking matter. How can there be any meaning to existence when an editor greenlights the name "Terraist"? I'm sure Wolfman's pitch contained at least two dozen "Get it?!"s. Anyway, maybe most readers never even noticed, shrugging their shoulders at every single moment in which a comic book doesn't make sense because at least Starfire is practically naked throughout the last few issues! I have a theory that most people don't really absorb much of what they're reading in comic books. They tend to just love a character for some magic reason and stick with loving that character no matter what terrible writer winds up writing them. And at that point, they just ignore plot holes and inconsistencies and terrible dialogue and whatever the fuck Ann Nocenti does with her typewriter. They simply go star-eyed and gape lovingly at the drawn images of Dick Grayson's throbbing buttocks. That was a hypothetical sentence and not a memoir. Here's a panel with evidence that might lead to proof of my theory if I could actually interview anybody who read this comic book in 1994 and ask them, "Did you even notice this panel?" To which they would all probably respond, "No, I was distracted by the opposite page where you can see tons of Starfire's side-boob and I think one of her outer labia." Um, anyway, the panel I mentioned:

Damn, Marv. Beyond the Forest was nearly fifty years old at the time this comic came out.

To be fair to Wolfman and Changeling, I did an Internet search on "Whatta dump" (and, yes, I spelled it differently than Marv did) and the first hit was video of the scene where Bette Davis says the line. What's odd is that she delivers it flatter and straighter than anything I would have expected out of Bette Davis's eyes...I mean mouth. Gar's rendition of it is terrible! The way Bette says it, I would never think to spell it any way but "What a dump." But that's not the point! The point is how is "What a dump!" a immortal words?! Granted, you're probably now thinking to yourself, "Well, how did X and Y and Z become oft-quoted movie lines?!" (where X and Y and Z are actual phrases from movies and not just letters. But I'm not psychic so how should I know what terrible oft-quoted movie lines you were thinking of? Mine would have been "Seven schools in seven states and the only different is my locker combination" or "William H. Bonny. You are not a god?" "Why don't you pull the trigger and find out?" or "Ziggy Piggy! Ziggy Piggy! Ziggy Piggy! Ziggy Piggy!") I suppose one can't help what phrases the zeitgeist picks up on. According to the YouTube video of Bette Davis, "What a dump" is Bette's famous bitchy line from that movie I'd never heard of. I guess I just haven't traveled in the right circles! Although I have heard the phrase "What a dump!" Has everybody in the world been quoting Bette Davis all this time and I just didn't know it?! Was this movie the first time that phrase was ever uttered?! To think I could have known all of this if I hadn't been distracted by Starfire's side-boob and — I'm fairly certain — one of her outer labia. To shut Gar up, Starfire admits that she doesn't remember any of them and then she punches Pantha in her vagina.

Starfire punching Pantha in the vagina is funnier than anything that Pantha has said in the last forty issues.

After punching Pantha in the vagina, Starfire knees Red Star in the balls for no reason. Unless the reason is that she's been wanting to do that for a long time and her pretend amnesia allows her this moment! I suppose I'd fake amnesia too to get away from being a Titan. I've been joking about seeing Starfire's outer labia but is this it? Is that one of those things?

Is my boner proof that it's her labia or is my boner proof that I'm a comic book reading virgin nerd?

I can't wait for everybody to message me telling me how that can't be her outer labia because that's not where it would be and anyway this photographic proof I'm sending you is what one looks like! Then I can actually them and say, "Well, you can't know that for sure! She's an alien and maybe her outer labia is fully engorged due to Pantha back-fucking her!" Also I'd really enjoy some of that photographic evidence!

This is not what I would do with those photographs.

Garfield turns into another monster because he can't do birds and rhinos anymore. He lies on top of Starfire and then reveals something that destroys every moment in DC canon where Garfield turned into a rhino to knock some hugely muscled bad guy on their ass. He tells Red Star, "Hey, I may be big and ugly but my mass doesn't change! I'm not as strong as she is!" Well fuck me! The whole concept of Beast Boy has been based on a huge lie! Or at least scientific principles that make the character utterly worthless. Why the fuck would he ever change into a huge beast if his mass doesn't change? Wouldn't he always change into something small and fast to be most effective?! This revelation is one of those moments where DC tries to make their universe more logical but only winds up fucking up the entire multiverse. Red Star and Changeling knock Starfire unconscious and then tie her up which probably isn't totally rapey at all, even if the artist draws it that way.

Yep. Everything is just fine here! Move along.

Meanwhile on Earth, Arsenal, Aqualad, and Flash consider a proposal from the United States government to get the Titans to work for them. They consider it over a couple waters at a local strip club named Ding Dong Daddy's." I mean, the comic book calls it a "retro club" but everybody either gets a private lap dance or laid. It's hard to tell what Marv Wolfman was going for with this scene. Proof that the young cool Titan men fuck? Proof that women are only to provide relief for men's sexual desires? Proof that Aqualad should maybe think twice before saying "Hey guys! We came together!" when women are throwing their vaginas at them?

How long does Aqualad think a lap dance takes?

Back in space while the reader was away, Red Star and Changeling have managed to put a gag on Starfire and tie her legs together. That makes things less rapey, right? If not, I'm sure Marv will improve the situation in a sensitive and professional manner!

Oh come on!

Starfire remembers everything while Changeling whines about how he didn't get to kiss Starfire while she was tied up and scared and beaten and suffering from amnesia. Poor kid! Maybe next time! After regaining her memory, Starfire says, "X'hal! That was dick I saw in South America!" and I snicker like a twelve year old. The first decision Starfire makes after regaining her memory is that she and Dick should get their marriage annulled, if it even took which I'm pretty sure it didn't. If you were a fan of reading the letters pages, whoever the letter answer person was constantly kept pointing out that they couldn't be married because the priest blew up before he could say they were man and wife. But now Wolfman provides more evidence like how no paper work was filed and nobody signed anything (although don't you sign the papers before the ceremony?) Anyway, they're not married and probably never will be if the last twenty five years of reading comic books has taught me anything!

Snicker!

Baby has an idea to use The Terraist's satellite as their new headquarters and the government is all, "Okay! But you have to work with us on a minimum number of yearly missions!" And Roy Harper is all, "That number is zero!" And the government is all, "Yes sir! What a deal! We will pay you a salary, give you the satellite, and get nothing in return! Let's shake on it!"

Who the fuck is wearing The Flash's costume?! First appearance of New 52 Wally West?

The epilogue reveals Raven needs to rape the Titans so that they'll all give birth to Trigon's children. So it should be a fun few final issues before either this comic book was cancelled or I finally recovered my sanity and simply stopped buying it. New Titans #112 Rating: B. It was all kinds of stupid but I enjoyed making fun of it!

#Teen Titans #New Titans #DC Comics #DC #Comic Book Review

[sophoreads]

Annotation notes for Wicked Saints

Attached under the cut are my word-for-word annotation notes pulled straight from my copy of Wicked Saints. Check out my previous post and goodreads review before reading the annotation notes.

I only decided to start annotating this book 115 pages in, because I realized that there were so many problems I was complaining about to my friend Sophie over text that I thought “Hey, I’d better write this shit down so I have receipts/can easily reference my thoughts.” I’d never really done annotations before, so I pulled out a new pack of sticky notes and color tabs that someone gave to me for free when I was in college and got to work. I ran out of sticky notes (started a new pad) and yellow tabs (borrowed last few from a weird tab/highlighter I found at the bottom of my college study stuff bin). I also got so frustrated I had to put the book down several times, because I’d paid eighteen dollars to pre-order this fucking garbage.

Pg 115 Pink tab – Character note --Bitch do you want to kill him or not? This is like bad Reylo fic— (Nadya being ~~inexplicably~~ held back from killing Mal, because she really wants to kill Mal, but just CANT for SOME REASON)

pg 123 Yellow tab – writing/literacy/grammar note --no note written— “He braced himself for the inevitable summons from his father. It arrived immediately by way of servant wearing a plain brown mask that left only his eyes visible. One of his father’s personal servants.”

Pg 137 Yellow tab – writing/literacy/grammar note --WTF is “it commanded attention”?! This whole throne bit is needlessly over-explanatory and could be fixed by adhering to golden rule “show, don’t tell”—

pg 139 Yellow tab --you don’t have to repeat the same thing twice!— “…Serefin paused, swallowing down the anxiety threatening to choke him. He was suddenly unspeakably nervous.”

Pg 140 Yellow tab --you just said they didn’t know who it was and now, not even a page later, you’re literally describing Mal and saying you DO know who it was?! WHO TF EDITED THIS SHIT— (Izak telling Serefin that they don’t know the vulture who escaped, then the vulture lurking behind him describing the backstory of the vulture who escaped)

pg 145 pink tab --what, is she Canadian now?— “You’ve realized your father isn’t so good a father to you, eh?” she [Pelayega] asked.

Pg 146 Yellow tab --For all that Duncan over-explains things in this story I still don’t fucking understand the High/Low prince thing??? Not once has she gone into it. And what the fuck is a slavhka?— (in reference to the first mention of there being “low princes”)

pg 148 Blue tab – Plot note --Why is the church still standing they LITERALLY TORE IT DOWN! THIS PART OF IT COLLAPSED!!!— (in reference to parijahan lying on top of pillows in the church Mal and Nadya just destroyed to get rid of the Vultures)

pg 153 Yellow tab --Are we really still saying “invalid” in the year of our unbridled insanity 2019?— “…Your mother, Estera, is an invalid…” (Mal making up a fake background for Nadya)

pg 153 Blue tab --SINCE WHEN DOES HE HAVE TATTOOS ON HIS HANDS— (in reference to the very first mention of Mal having tattoos on his hands, 153 pages into the story)

pg 155 Pink tab --Anna is so flat a character she could be removed from the whole book and not one thing would change— (in reference to Anna deciding to leave the group to re-join Kalyazi forces. I hold by this statement because Anna had no fucking role in the end of the book, and was therefore a useless character throughout)

pg 157 Pink tab --I’m sorry are we ETHNIC CLEANSING?! IS THIS WHAT WE ARE ENDORSING?! WTF?— “…then we can cleanse Kalyazin of the heretics entirely”

pg 163 Blue tab --this is the first we are hearing about any hierarchy in the vultures, which we should have read many chapters ago, not just when convenient for the author/plot— (in reference to first mention of Crimson Vulture)

pg 164 Yellow tab/Blue tab (overlapping domains) --Inches? FRACTIONS? IN THIS ECONOMY?!— (what is math in medieval Poland)

pg 167 Yellow tab --Still have not defined nobility and what makes a family “noble” or slavhka or whatever “low prince/royalty” or some shit— (In reference to yet another mention of low princes/royalty and somehow differentiating them from slavhka)

pg 168 Blue tab --I am more interested in gay Romeo/Juliet in a blood mage society than I am the entire plot of Wicked Saints— --Also this interaction feels cringey and thrown in for…no real reason?— “You’ve missed so much! Did you know that Nikodem Stachowicz was caught in the palace archives with the youngest Osadik boy?” (Zaneta)

pg 170 Yellow tab --FIRE YOUR COPY EDITOR— He shrugged, burying his tattooed hands in his pockets. “It binds over time, magic does. Especially blood magic. It’s so accessible. You don’t have to have a true affinity for it…” (Mostly I got furious over the fact that we’re only just getting Mal’s tattoo hands, which was obviously written in as an afterthought for his character partway through the writing process and not retconned into the story. I also just hate the sentence “it binds over time, magic does.”)

Pg 170 Yellow tab --Page 170: “walked on” Page 177: on horseback. WHAT IS THE TRUTH?— “Malachiasz stopped to wait for Nadya while the others walked on ahead” (this note coincides with a future note)

pg 173 Orange tab – blatant parallels to and lifts from Dragon Age franchise --you get a special shame-color for copying Dragon Age (also WHAT IS YOUR MAGIC STRUCTURE HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE) (it’s just bad writing)— “He was referring to witches—apostate magic users outside the gods’ approval—but there had been no witches in Kalyazin for decades. Their route of magic was considered just as heretical as blood magic…”

pg 176 yellow tab --Emily A Duncan focuses [more] on the little actions of Malacheezit than she does for any other character and it hurts the story— (specific reference to line “He fidgeted, fingers picking at a hang nail” interjected in dialogue. This action-dialogue tag does no service to the story at all.)

Pg 177 Pink tab --What the fuck? Is this about Holy War or is this a romance fantasy? (note the order: not “fantasy romance”)— “In a flash, his hand was underneath her chin, thumb brushing against her jaw…If Nadya hadn’t been sitting down she suspected her knees would have given out on her.”

Pg 177 Yellow tab --SINCE WHEN DO THEY HAVE FUCKING HORSES?! FIRE ALL YOUR EDITORS FIRE THE PUBLISHER— “Nadya let her horse wander instead of tying it up, sending a short prayer up to Vaclav to keep an eye on the animal so it didn’t stray too far.” (These horses were never mentioned before (note connects to a prev. note) and were never mentioned again after this. I literally cannot fathom how or why this book made it to final printing in this state.)

Pg 183 Pink tab --All this romance shit seems so forced for both Nadya and mal. I see no actual attraction on either party?— (I’m not recording the second note as it is a crude remark against the author, a remark of which I still stand by, but would be damaging to both her and myself. However, the emotion of the second note follows the concept of “anyone who knew what they were talking about wouldn’t write this kind of bullshit.”)

Pg 185 Yellow tab --“Per se”? I’m sorry is there LATIN in this world? (it’s bad writing)— “He wasn’t putting it off per se, he…”

pg 186 yellow tab --“It was fitting THAT assassins…” ugh— “It was fitting assassins chose to strike that same evening” (Doesn’t the author have a masters degree? And works in a library? How is her writing this chopped and sloppy, omitting crucial subject/action markers?)

Pg 198 Blue tab --Jesus, are prostitutes of war a NORMAL THING? WE SHOULD BE SAVING THESE POOR WOMEN— “The girl is…” He faltered, convincingly. “Well, you understand.” He winked at the soldier. (the soldier doesn’t even remark on Nadya’s sex slave status) (Also I realize that “prostitutes of war” is not the correct vernacular, however I’m committed to giving you my direct and exact notes. I know that they are slaves of war, sex slaves specifically, and do not receive true compensation or reparation for their suffering.)

Pg 201 Pink tab --HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT NOBLES? YOU LIVED YOUR WHOLE LIFE IN A MONASTERY!— “Nobles are nobles,” she [Nadya] said waving a hand. “Regardless of where they come from. The pettiness of court transcends all cultural boundaries.”

Pg 202 Blue tab --WHAT THE FUCK? EXPLAIN YOUR MAGIC/MYTHS— (referencing the blasé and brief mention of Wolf Changers, which we never hear about again)

pg 203 blue tab --WHAT NECKLACE? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?— --Oh, that necklace, that was mentioned in the first chapter, forgotten, reintroduced the following chapter, then COMPLETELY forgotten again! Bad writing. Bad props.— “Her prayer beads were safely in her pocket, so she clutched at the necklace Kostya had given her.”

Pg 205 Blue tab --Is her accent suddenly better?— (reference to previous statements of Nadya having a terrible travanian accent, hence the sex slave thing to the border guard so she doesn’t have to talk, but now she’s talking and there was no reference to her improving her accent at all or even working on it.)

pg 207 yellow tab --I can see Emily has a kink for masks + chin grabbing— “He [Serefin] reached out and took her chin in his hand, lifting her face up to his” (Mal has also done this to Nadya countless times and she orgasms almost every time.)

Pg 209 Orange tab --The veil, yet another stolen Dragon Age concept!— “…closed her eyes, letting herself feel the invisible wall separating gods from men. She felt it the moment they had stepped into Tranavia, the weight of the veil pressing down against her, choking off her only access to the divine.” (This is also the very first reference to any such veil being in place. It took 209 pages for this to be mentioned, in a book chock full of a girl talking to gods in her head. Also, they’ve been in Tranavia for awhile. Why wasn’t this mentioned when they first stepped foot inside? (because it’s bad writing))

Pg 209 Pink tab --Nadya’s powers seem almost limitless at this point— “Holy speech whispered through her head and she moved to disassemble the spells woven through the walls. She couldn’t take them apart completely— someone would notice, precautions in place—she was just making them fuzzy, bleeding them out. She dulled them so any information imparted back to the mages who set them would appear mundane.” (If Nadya’s powers (at this point in the book) are tied to the gods, there is no mention of which god provides these powers. If this is meant to foreshadow that Nadya has her own powers, it’s a lazy job. It’s simply overpowered and oversimplified. )

Pg 210 [no tab just a sticky] --oh FINALLY we hear how they met!— “I’ve known him [Rashid] my whole life. And we crashed into Malachiasz about six months ago after getting into trouble with some off-duty Kalyazi soldiers.”

Pg 214 [no tab just a sticky] --also can we acknowledge the whole “brown girl serves a white girl” thing because WOW— (in reference to Parijahan playing handmaiden to Nadya at the palace)

pg 215 Pink tab --“Couldn’t worry about the prince”? wasn’t HE the one she wanted to kill in revenge for Kostya? (IS THAT ALL FORGOTTEN NOW?)

pg 216 Pink tab --First Zaneta is Indian [coded] and now she’s black [coded]? WHAT?— “…a tall girl with luminous skin like onyx threaded with gold…her spiral curls fanned out around her head like a halo.”

Pg 217 Orange tab --The game? Court intrigue? Masks? This all reeks of Orlais and direct theft from Dragon Age— (in reference to basically the whole castle competition, masks, etc)

pg 217 Yellow tab --And now we’re switching perspectives mid-chapter? Just start a new chapter!— (in reference to the very first mid-chapter perspective switch, which will occur more from here on out)

pg 232 yellow tab --I am so sick of these italicized words without any translation or description— (in reference to szitelka which I still DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS)

pg 233 pink tab --what the fuck is Nadya’s perspective? Does she want to kill all Tranavians or not? Emily make up your fucking mind— (in reference to Nadya getting pissed at Mal for killing the other blood mage girl in Nadya’s duel, so that Nadya wouldn’t die and the duel would end)

pg 234 pink tab --literally when has Nadya worried about his safety, esp. when she’s the one always threatening to kill him?— “She hadn’t forgotten, not even while she found herself worrying about his safety and wanting him by her side.”

Pg 235 Pink tab --oh FINALLY we get a description of his tattoos! 235 PAGES IN!!!! BULLSHIT YOU HACK WRITER!— “She found her eyes drawn to the tattoos on his long, elegant fingers. They were simple, straight lines: two on either side of each finger and one down the back that started at the bed of each fingernail and ended at his wrist in a single black bar.” (I literally vomited in my mouth when I read this)

Pg 238 Pink tab --Oh so Mal can’t murder to save you but you can murder Tranavians and its fucking justified? Nadya is such a bad Nazi char.— “It’s not an apology for murdering that girl, she noted. But it was a start. It was something from this boy who obviously had no morals and no regard for anything that didn’t serve his own interests.” (Nadya is the worst hypocrite and I want to punch her in the face)

Pg 239 Yellow tab --Hanged? Since when? Has hanging? Been a threat? Ever? In this world?— “…or else this whole mess of a plan will go up in smoke and we’ll all be hanged for it.”

Pg 240 Pink tab (this is another omitted note because it is a crude comment in part against the author, but the other half does say that Nadya is such a virgin and that I am second-hand embarrassed because this book and the “romance” scenes are so bad)

pg 242 blue tab --If Nadya used blood magic, why don’t the gods cut off her powers for her heresy? It would only make sense— (this is just a general comment on the chapter and how, after the duel and Nadya used blood magic, her gods were still talking to her. This is also before we find out that Nadya has her own powers)

pg 247 yellow tab --the way this is lazily written we’re supposed to assume it’s Ostiya at the door. Could be written much better (all of this could be written much better)— “Serefin hastily wrapped his still-bleeding hand with cloth while Kacper got the door. Ostiya blinked her single eye at the sight of both of them.”

Pg 248 Blue tab --“delicate gov[ernmen]t? we don’t even know how  the gov’t is even structured!— “This was too far. It would crumble Travania’s already delicate government.”

Pg 259 Blue tab --Oh good, a love triangle. Good to know Nadya’s type is “blood mage  tortured/charming boy” that grabs chin + kisses hands— “…and wasn’t sure what to do with this charmingly awkward boy. That he was one of the most powerful blood mages in Tranavia...She wavered too much already; she couldn’t allow herself to feel any more.”

Pg 260 Pink tab --Literally all that Parijahan does is be soft + comforting? That is literally all she does to Mal + Nadya + Rashid?— “Nadya usually didn’t see this side of Parijahan. It relieved her to see there was a warm softness to Parijahan’s flinty gaze.”

Pg 270 Blue tab --What do you mean? When did you mention that the gods had withdrawn their power from Nadya?— “She had no magic. She had nothing. She had no hope without her gods.”

Pg 275 Blue tab --But they would abandon her for using blood magic you dumbass— “The gods wouldn’t have abandoned her. Not for a few doubts, not for kissing a heretic—not even that.”

Pg 278 Blue tab --Okay this is actually a really cool scene— (when Nadya is first using blood with the pendant to see her way out of the room the rogue Vultures locked her in)

pg 280 blue tab --Calls her “little bird” is this Mal?— (referencing this unnamed god that Nadya is talking to via Kostya’s necklace)

pg 287 yellow tab --sloppy transition makes it seem as though a new person is talking— (Basically for the next two pages Emily incorrectly punctuates her paragraph breaks while Pelayega is talking.)

Pg 294 Orange tab --Velyos=Solas=Mal? Oh my god is this whole plot a regurgitation of DA:Inquisition/Trespasser?— “Have you heard of him? I suppose not. The veil went up, Velyos broke away. Your gods were probably relieved, but here he is once more...”

pg 298 blue tab --fucking called it (“acted like he was dead”? Literally said before that he was “sent to the country”)— (in reference to Serefin seeing Mal and discovering that his cousin is the Black Vulture. Previously, a not so subtle mention of a nameless male cousin of Serefin’s was “sent to the country” when he was young. I immediately pegged it as being Mal. But now it is written that Serefin was led to believe that his cousin died? The inconsistencies are rife.)

pg 308 pink tab --Does Nadya literally have no self control or sense of morality (for her own morals)? What the fuck is this?— “Then her traitorous, heretical hands betrayed her as she reached up and wove them into his hair, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Because she was angry with him, furious with his lies, but not even her anger was enough to cool the burning she felt when he was near; the heat that spread through her nerves when he touched her.”

Pg 308 Pink tab --ooh power shift, she’s doing the chin-grabbing now!— “She took his chin in her hand, directing his gaze down to hers.”

Pg 309 Blue tab --except for the vultures that kidnapped her? What about them?!— “Go to the cathedral when you’re finished here,” he said. “None of the Vultures will give you any trouble.”

Pg 313 Pink tab --Didn’t want the fate of nations? She LITERALLY came here to topple the monarchy and uproot Tranavia and start a mass ethinic cleansing— “She was only one girl; she didn’t want the fate of nations resting on her decisions.”

Pg 314 Pink tab --YOU CAN’T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS YOU DUMB BITCH— [the dumb bitch being Nadya] “The war took something important to me,” she said, fingering Kostya’s necklace unconsciously. She couldn’t think about how it had been Serefin who had led that attack. (Nadya literally forgets and completely forgives Serefin for what she believes is Kostya’s murder (we know that Kostya wasn’t killed by Serefin but his BABY BRO WAS). Like, wasn’t Kostya super important to her? And she tried to kill Serefin in revenge but Mal stopped her? And in literally less than a week she totally forgets about it?)

Pg 318 Pink tab --Honestly, Mal deserves better than Nadya. He’s clearly doing his best and she’s just being racist and unwavering.— He opened his mouth, at a loss for words. Finally, he asked, “Will it always be like this?” Would it? She couldn’t say. Would she ever be comfortable with what he was? Or would it always be this constant hot and cold, friends one second and enemies the next? “I don’t know.” (Nadya is so abusive in this whole relationship I feel bad for Mal)

pg 321 yellow tab --He literally said he only told her the truth?! Mal has literally not told one lie?— “He was a liar and she wanted his truths”

pg 322 yellow tab --The whole order of this scene description + the characters is clunky and wrong— (no further comment really, that pretty much explains it)

pg 326 pink tab --Did she literally forget about Kostya? Did Nadya literally just forgive Serefin b/c she thinks he’s cute and tortured? LITERALLY? WHY?— “Serefin. He’s good,” She nuzzled his chest. “I like him. He should live.”

Pg 327 Blue tab --Can Serefin suddenly write his own spells now?! I thought only Mal could do that— “As he sat down at his desk with spells sprawled out in front of him, blood still drying on the pages, he couldn’t shake the feeling…”

pg 335 pink tab --That’s right, bitch! You’re damn nigh abusive to him and for some reason he keeps coming back! I don’t know why since you have the personality of a Nazi but for some reason Mal just really wants to fuck you!— “How could she be the only good thing to happen to him? She had almost slit his throat, had hung him off a railing. She didn’t even trust him, not really.”

Pg 351 Blue tab --since when have we seen a fucking calendar system?— “…turned the tide of a battle in 625 when…” (this is a “Vasiliev’s Book of Saints” entry for chapter 33. There is one more reference to a year in an earlier codex entry (tsk another Dragon Age ripoff) for something like 15XX. We don’t know what year it is, nor do we know when/why they started counting. Maybe it’s not critical for the story but it IS critical if you’re bringing it up.)

pg 357 orange tab --Literally Solas’s plot in Trespasser— “She bit back a cry of pain and shoved her magic harder up at the veil. If this was when she died, then fine. Fine. She would tear this veil down first and bring the gods back to Tranavia with her dying breath.”

Pg 360 Blue tab --How did she get here? Already? These scenes are so lazy, show me Nadya scrambling up the dais to Mal’s waiting neck— “He idly spun a chalice on the armrest and Serefin watched as the cleric stood and darted for a dagger that reseted a few steps away. It was time to test just what he could do with this power. (now it’s Nadya’s POV) Malachiasz’s eyes closed. He tilted his head back, baring his throat to Nadya’s blade.”

Pg 363 Yellow tab --Did we just miss Serefin fighting his father for Nadya’s sexy threatening? Was that really a real choice the author made?— (Nadya looks over at Serefin) “Serefin was on his knees, hunched over in pain, blood oozing from his head, one hand white-knuckled on the ground holding him up. Dead moths littered the floor around him. The stars around his head began to flicker out.”

Pg 368 Yellow tab --you CANNOT call it an “Adam’s apple” when there is no “Adam” or Christianity in this fantasy world! Lazy writing indeed!— “His head tilted back, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he swallowed hard.”

Pg 376 Yellow tab --this line is so cliché and fucking bad why the fuck is it even in here?— “The king is dead, long live the king,” she said, handing it [the crown] to him [Serefin].

Pg 376 Yellow tab --And why didn’t you write that the other vultures disappeared? There is so much missing here— “Where are all the Vultures?” Ostiya asked “Most probably fled with their king,” Serefin said.

Pg 378 Yellow tab --Is what enough? Power? Crown? What the fuck? This is so sloppy— “Will this be enough?” she asked him [Serefin]. “To stop the war?” … [Serefin:] “It will”

pg 380 yellow tab --No clear description of where Mal is. Is this physical or ethereal? What the fuck is happening?— (Mal’s whole epilogue)

#review #wicked saints spoilers #spoilers

[rmjagonshi]

Visions of HeartBreak Past

On AO3

It was almost done, Soos was finishing up the last few stitches before they let the thing into the air. If he could pull this off, he might actually get more customers into the Mystery Shack. There might actually be an upside to this ‘Woodstick’ Festival yet. He’d seen the way these kids spent money – heck, some of them were adults not that much younger than him – and with any luck, he might just be able to top off the budget for this month. He was short on the utilities payment by a good three-hundred-bucks. If there was one thing he never counted on, was that his brother’s dumb sci-fi portal mess drove the electricity bills further up the ‘dear god why’ charts. He does kinda feel bad for the kids; he’d had to come up with some lame-ass old man excuse for never turning on the lights or air conditioner during the day. He’d make it up to them…somehow…maybe. He sighed.

If he was gonna pull this off, he was really gonna need to prepare the kids for the eventuality of their entire world upending. But for now, he just needed to advertise. And the balloon was…abso-fucking-lutely not like he had anticipated. It was a fucking horror show, looked nothing like the blueprints and very much like what he saw in the mirror every morning. Although, Soos’s comment that the nose looked like a sausage and that it reminded him of the story that his Abuelita told him about a couple who find a genie and they fight over the wishes and one ends up with a sausage for a nose, kinda made it better. Soos was a good kid – er, man. Man-kid. Stan was sure he didn’t deserve the kindness and loyalty that the man gave him. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he’d used that unwavering loyalty to his advantage a few times.

Stan gritted his teeth in frustration at his own mind. Everything came back around to that, didn’t it? Everything he did, every time he felt even the tiniest bit of happiness, it all had to circle back and remind him that he was a sad, tired and despicable old man that didn’t deserve the friends and family he had. Hell, until the kids came, he didn’t have any family to call his own. But…maybe, just maybe, after all these years, he could do something right. Be less of a fuck-up. Which brought everything back to the hideous hot-air balloon that he was beginning to doubt was a great idea. He took another look at the blue prints and tried to make sense of the horrid scribbles he had jotted down in the margins when the sound of a lot of hot air being released into the night sky caught his attention.

“Wuh-oh. Mr. Pines. Think we got a problem.” Soos gestured to the ripped seam up near the balloon’s fez. Sure enough, the patchwork fabric they’d used to make the fez was flapping wildly as the hot air trapped in the misshapen balloon escaped with force, threatening to burst adjacent seams with every second. Well, shit. It would take a good hour for Soos to deflate the balloon, repair the damage and get it back up and running. Why is it that everything always had to go wrong? Why couldn’t one of his plans go off without a hitch? Just one? Oy!

“I’m on it Mr. Pines! I’ll have this balloon fixed in a jiffy. Now, what lever turned off the do-hicky again?” Make it two hours until Soos figured out how to fix this. He should probably scope out the venders and see what the young people were spending their money on. I couldn’t hurt to expand the gift shop merchandise to include things his new customers were actually interested in buying.

“Hey, Soos, I’m gonna go walk around, scope out the competition, ya’know. Figure out what these kids are into.” Or he really just needed to walk around and think and didn’t need Soos to pick up on it. As oblivious as the kid was, he always had a knack for knowing when Stan was moping around. It seemed every time, without fail, that he was feeling particularly depressed, he would open the door to see Soos standing there with cookies, or breakfast, or something sweet his grandma had made, or some kind of ‘Boss Appreciation’ gift. While he adored the boy, sometimes, he just needed to stew. He was sixty for Pete’s sake, he was entitled to a few days where he could just be a sad and grumpy old man. He’d earned it.

“Sure, Mr. Pines.” Soos had already started flicking levers and pushing buttons on the engine. Stan shrugged, Soos was the better of the two at figuring out how it worked anyhow. What harm could it do? He turned and walked back to the rows of venders all in pavilion style tents. All the venders were shouting and trying to attract customers, showing off their products and…what was that? Giving out free samples!? And the kids were eating it up! How the heck can they make any money by just giving stuff away? Oh sure, keep the t-shirt and caps for full charge, but give the stickers away for free.

Stickers are where he made most of his money! People were rubes, but some of them were pretty price savvy. Show’em a t-shirt with cheap cloth that will fall apart after five washes and tell’em it’s twenty-five bucks, they’ll laugh in your face and keep their wallets tightly closed. But show them a cheap key chain or sticker and tell them it’s a buck or two, they eat it up. They buy five, one of each variety. Paint one shipment gold and call it “special edition” and charge an extra buck, they buy the whole stock. Have a stack of postcards that got wet and the ink warped during the last storm because the roof leaked? Sell them as prints of a hand painted scape of Gravity Falls and double the price. People were absolutely stupid when it came to money if you just nickel and dimed them with special editions and ‘one of a kinds’.

But he wasn't here to boat to himself about how much better a con-artist he was. He was here to figure out what the young people of today were spending their money on. The further he walked, the more food and drink stalls he came across. Okay, so having a food truck on site might be a good idea. He’d done that with the fair he’d put on at the beginning of the summer. Didn’t he make a lot of money that day? Honestly he can’t remember much – he does the fair every year to replace the county fair that the town can’t pay for anymore, and it breaks even most years – all he remembers is sitting in a dunk tank for the afternoon and bleeding the suckers dry as rube after rube tried their hand at dunking the old creep from the Mystery Shack.

Okay, food truck. He could do that. Have a tiny kitchen where he sold drinks and shitty hot dogs and icecream to the families that come from miles around. Might even call up Susan and see if she had a spare cook and the Greasy Diner can share in the profits.

Or…not. He’d not too keen on calling the resident Crazy Cat Lady again. Especially since she still seemed to want to date him. That was a total disaster. And poor Mabel. She meant well, but he was just, as Wendy had put it, ‘un-fixable’. Heck, Soos had been trying for over a decade and hadn’t gotten anywhere. He was doomed to be alone forever, he supposed. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He’d pushed everyone in his life away. He creeped most women out – most men too for that matter – with his really tired and used pick-up lines. His six hour marriage to Marylin ended with her ducking out of the El Diablo at 75 mph with their ill-gotten casino winnings. He’d really thought he’d been in love. Then again, he’d thought he’d been in love with Carla too. He’d dated her through high-school and when he’d gotten kicked out, they’d tried to go steady for a while. But his constant moping over living in his car and losing his family had pushed her into the arms of a musician. And Ford…

Well, he’d pushed Ford into a swirling vortex of Hell in a fit of rage. His guilt hadn’t let him get a full night’s sleep in thirty years.

And now he was avoiding his feelings by wandering the tents at the Woodstick Festival. Dang it! He really needed to go see a therapist like Soos said. But what was he gonna say; ‘Hey, yeah, so I pushed my brother into a sci-fi portal and have spent the last thirty years trying to teach himself quantum physics and calculus, so he could get him back. Oh, and I may or may not have romantic feelings about said brother.’ Yeah, that would go over well.

Stan sighed. He really was hopeless wasn’t he?

A yell and the sound of a cart of beads being turned over caught his attention as he saw a telltale mop of brown hair and a rainbow sweater dart around the corner. He watched as both Mabel and Dipper cut and weaved through the crowd, a rather pudgy blond man in moderate pursuit. At least, until the prop wings on his back started flapping and Stan got a nagging prickling at the back of his head whenever he encountered something supernatural. His gut reaction, the same one that had kept him from going insane in the last thirty years was to turn around and ignore, repress, and feign ignorance. A slightly more pressing gut reaction was to chase down the offender with a baseball bat for endangering his kids.

I really wasn't even a debate as he found himself darting after the three, watching in only slight horror as he saw the absolutely not supernatural man fly overhead to cut off the kids at the fenceline. Stan caught up just a moment after, quick and practiced fingers taking the bottle of black powder from Mabel’s hand as he came up behind her and tucking it in his jacket. He was braced to punch a hippie in the face to protect his children. Heck, he’d probably punch the hippie anyway.      

“Sorry, kids, but you’ve left me now choice. Visions of Heartbreak Past!”

As the blond hippie raised his bottles of creepy hippy powder to throw at Mable, Stan darted in front of her, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her back to fall to the grass and was coated in the pink and purple smoky haze instead. He inhaled and immediately regretted his need to breathe as he doubled over, hacking so hard he was surprised his dentures hadn’t fallen out. Whatever this guy was using to drug people, it was doing a number on Stan’s lungs. He really was lucky to have quit smoking when the kids showed up. He’d probably have passed out by now if he hadn’t. The residual powder coated his mouth and throat. It tasted of bittersweet hope, and…was that jelly beans? God, he hadn’t had jelly beans since…

“Stan?”

Stan froze. He knew that voice. Knew it better than anything else. That voice, that scream that haunted his nightmares.

“Wait, wah?”

“Why is there a pink flavored Grunkle Stan? Hey Love God, what was that supposed to do?”

The ‘Love God’ gaged.

“Ewwww, Man! I knew this bozo was weird. I didn’t think it was this bad.” The twisted face of disgust on the Love Gods face confused the twins, but was completely lost on Stan.

As the smoke cleared, a pink tinged hand extended out to him. A six-fingered hand, wreathed in pink light reaching out to him. When he looked up, it was like looking into a mirror, one that reflected only his best features. His tired, half-blind eyes meet soft pink ones, ones he knew were supposed to be blue so his mind filled in the correct color.

“It’s supposed to show you romances you’ve had and lost. It gets people off my back when they get too suspicious.” Spat ‘Love God’, momentarily recovering from his aborted retching.

Stan heard none of it. Eyes fixated on the phantom in front of him.

“Himself? Huh? Guess it’s not that surprising.”

“But, why would he have ‘lost’ himself? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Man, you kids have one freaky family.” The ‘Love God’ gulped down something from his belt of potions.

The six fingered hand reached for his own, tugging gently at first before pulling Stan to his feet and interlacing their fingers. A shy smile pulled at that lips he used to catch himself staring at. He knew, logically, that he wasn’t looking into the face of his brother. Stanford was likely older now than his memory allowed. And Stanford wasn’t pink, he knew that. Logically he knew that. But his heart couldn’t take it. The phantom embraced him, twelve fingers digging into his suit jacket.  

“Please…” God, he wanted to. Whatever it was, he would do it. But his mind clouded, his eyes clouded and all he could do was cry.  

He gripped the phantom tightly, the twins watched, even more confused but thankfully silent. The ‘Love God’, true to his name, showed somewhat of a heart and stopped gagging and even frowned in empathy. He barely noticed when the phantom pickpocketed him. The phial was tossed to the ‘Love God’ and the phantom Stanford shot a wicked smile at Stan. One that, while it was supposed to look like betrayal, only shot a bolt of heat down his spine. The ‘Love God’ was right, he was a freak.  

Panicked screams echoed as the night sky lit up orange and red. Stan turned in time to see his would-be advertisement scheme in flames and headed directly for them. Through residual tears, he launched forwards and scooped the twins up and out of the range of the fall out. The ‘Love God’ was not so lucky.  

When the dust cleared and the fire crew crowded in to put out the flames, the kids squirmed their way out of Stan’s grasp and raced back to the spot where the pudgy aspiring musician stood.

“Love God? Are you ok?”

“Please be immortal, please be immortal.”

It was just Stan’s luck that Cupid was invulnerable. He still got a good punch in before the freak got to the stage.

*~*~*~*~*

When they found the portal in the hidden basement and everything literally almost turned upside-down, it made sense. When the author of the journals walked out from the glowing blue light and introduced himself, they understood. When Stan told them the stranger was his brother, everything fell into place.

Mostly.

Mable was still struggling to understand what had happened at the Woodstick Festival. Climbing out of bed, Mabel made her way downstairs and out the back door, hearing muttering from the open door to the gift shop.  

She found Stan leaning back into the couch on the back porch, glass bottle in one hand, lit cigar in the other. Eyes red rimmed and blinking slowly at the treeline like he was a million, billion miles away. He was letting he cigar burn down, the ash dropping off the end to land in the ashtray he’d absently left on the side table. She tentatively took the cigar from between his fingers, squashed the lit end into the ashtray to put it out, and climbed up on the couch beside him.

He startled when she took his cigar, but just watched her as she put it out and sat down; not speaking, not accusing, not asking. He knew why she was up, why she’d come looking for him. Ford was still in the basement working on something or other; the clang of metal occasionally reverberating enough to be heard through the floorboards. He settled back, moving to set the bottle down before wrapping an arm around her. She curled up into his side, fingers picking at stray hairs on his dress-shirt – the suit jacket left somewhere inside. She knew they hadn’t hugged, and that Stan would need one. She liked her new Grunkle, he was cool, and super smart, he just, had some anger issues to deal with. But as mad at Stan as he was, he couldn’t hate him, could he? They were twins, like her and Dipper. They could never hate eachother. She felt her Grunkle slump further into the couch.

He really didn’t want to talk. But like pulling out a loose tooth or a splinter, it was the best thing for him.  

“So…the Woodstick Festival?”

Stan flinched. He tilted his head so that the glare from the open door blocked his eyes and withdrew his arm. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but his voice caught in his throat and no sound escaped. After a few seconds, he just gave up, closing his mouth with a click and turning away from her.

The ‘Love God’s’ words had stuck in her head. Not love, ‘romance’. As in, crush, as in stay awake all night thinking about them. But, Grunkle Ford was Stan’s brother. Love God had to have been wrong, maybe he used the wrong powder, or maybe it applied to familial love too. Her head jerked up when she heard Stan’s ragged voice.  

“I…I…understand…if you want to…go home early. I won’t ask you to stay. It wouldn’t be right. Just…all I’m askin’ is that you not tell your parents about that. I don’t care what they think of me, but Ford deserves a chance to know his family. He never got the chance to meet your dad. Shermie told me that they are a lot alike. Probably where Dipper gets it.”

He chuckled to himself. Voice dry and lacking any sense of real warmth. He reached down and took a swig from his bottle, draining it and staring at the label as if it held the cure to his every ailment.

“But he didn’t know. Nothing ever happened. I was all me. I’m the freak. Ford didn’t know, still probably doesn’t know.” His movements were jerky, bottle dropping to the porch as he turned and grasped Mabel by her hand. “Oh God, please…please don’t tell him! I’ll do anything!” He had clasped her hand in both of his. He was pleading with her, just like he’d done back in the basement. Begging her to trust him, begging her to not do this.

She felt scared. Why on Earth would she not tell Grunkle Ford that his brother loved him enough that their falling out broke Stan’s heart? Why would she not tell her parents that, either? Why would it even need to be a secret? Why would Stan call himself a fre…unless……oh. OH! He meant, as in, oh wow! That changed things, didn’t it? He meant it like, he ‘loved’ his brother. He loved Stanford.

Something in her expression must have showed recognition because his eyes filled with shame and he turned away, letting go of her hands and picking at the tear in the couch cushion.  

“You love him. And I mean, like, love love, like lay awake at night thinking about them, love.” It wasn't a question. But all the same, Stan nodded.

She didn’t know what to say. Usually, she’d tell Stan to go tell him, go confess your feelings. They either liked you back, or didn’t. But this was way different than everyday romances. This wasn't even just forbidden love between a snake and a badger or like between Dipper and Wendy. This was taboo. This was all kinds of wrong. What could she say to that? ‘Oh, hey. Grunkle Ford, I know that we just met and all, but did you know your brother is in love with you? No? Well he is, and spent the last thirty years trying to get you back because of it.’ She shook her head. There was no real way to talk this through.

She tried to imagine feeling about Dipper like that. Like, tried to picture Mermando and the feelings she got when thinking about him and tried to put Dipper there. But, she just couldn’t. Every time she pictures his face, all she felt was good natured affection for her bro-bro. He was cute…she guessed. But he didn’t make her heart beat fast like Mermando did.

Grunkle Stan had called himself a ‘freak’, maybe he was right. Loving your brother, wanting to smooch your brother was weird. She understands now why the Love God got so grossed-out when he saw the phantom Grunkle Ford. It was kinda weird and gross, but…well, Stan was a weird, gross, old man, maybe it was ok. He looked so lost now, like he wanted to jump into the Bottomless Pit and not come back.

She would be sad if he did. He would cry and cry and cry until the whole of Gravity Falls was under water. Dipper would cry too, though he would never admit it. And she doesn’t know Grunkle Ford very well, but she’s sure he would cry too.

They had sat in silence for several minutes as Mabel processed what had to be her Grunkle’s greatest secret. With a small smile, she flopped into Stan’s side and did her best to wrap him in the biggest Mabel hug she could.

Stan flinched, jarred by the contact he thought he would never feel again. He shifted his weight on the couch, turning just enough to gather Mabel into his lap and squeeze as tight as she would let him. He buried his face into her soft hair, brown strands absorbing the tears he couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into her scalp, gravel voice hardly a whisper. “I’m sorry your uncle is a freak.”

She wanted to tell him that is was going to ok, that he wasn't a freak, and that he wasn't a bad person. But, she just couldn’t…not yet, and maybe not ever. She didn’t know how to feel about this. She loved Stan, yes, and nothing he would ever do would change that, but, this was something she didn’t know how to handle. She just squeezed tighter.

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Upstairs, the triangular window was propped open, and a microphone dangled from a string from its ledge. Dipper’s – with oversized headphones over his ears – face was contorted, brows furrowed and chewing nervously on his thumbnail.

-

-

Ford leaned against the wall beside the back door just outside of view of anyone looking in from the outside. He’d left his boots downstairs to muffle the sound of his steps. His was was grim, tired, and despondent. Hand absently trailing to the inner pocket of his jacket where he kept the one photo that had kept him going the past three decades. He wondered if it would still carry the same meaning now.

#stancest #Stanley Pines #stanford pines #love god #S2Ep9 Gravity Falls #I thought about this for months #How would that have gone #Sure Carla and Marlyn #but com'on #You know Ford would have been in the lot

[gneissmica]

Ok, so, I almost never post anymore, barely spend time on Tumblr at all actually, but I'm SO EXCITED and I don't really have anyone I get to just babble happily to right now but it needs to escape somewhere so, screaming into the void it is.

My husband and I have been together for almost a decade, married 6 years. Nonmonogamous in theory but not often in practice, because we had a kid right after getting married and between work and parenting didn't have enough energy left over for each other, let alone anyone else.

When we finally started getting back into the swing of things, it was rough. Had to relearn the communication skills necessary for polyamory, and because I have trauma from a prior abusive relationship it was difficult. I have a habit of being overly cautious of other people's emotions, and afraid of causing them to have negative emotions.

Little over a year ago I had a fling with a friend of ours. My husband got jealous, and asked if I'd be willing to slow things down while he got the hang of processing his jealousy. I agreed (easy enough, it was a long-distance thing with someone I briefly got to visit on vacation. so really it would have slowed down anyways). But with the distance, it fizzled, and I didn't have anyone nearby that I was interested in. Part of the issue, I thought, was that the person I had the fling with was a mutual friend. I also, through this time, am kinda low-key crushing on another friend from half the country away, but I don't pursue it.

Months pass, covid hits. We move nearer our friends - 3 hours drive away instead of a 6 hour plane ride. I'm still crushing on that friend, still not pursuing it, nervous about how to bring up the subject, to reaffirm that we're still polyam, to discuss boundaries and expectations. So I don't bring it up. I keep telling myself 'soon', keep choking, because with all the stress, the move, the isolation, the living conditions, I can't muster up the courage.

Then my husband tells me about a woman he's interested in. I tell him he should go for it. He falls hard. He's like a teenager, giddy infatuated and it's ADORABLE. And I'm thinking, I should bring it up now. But my mind makes small risks seem terrifying, and I delay just a few days.

The day I decide I'm ready to discuss whether he can cope with me having relationship with someone he's good friends with, we're snuggling in bed. I open my mouth to speak. He speaks first. "So, anyone you're interested in?" I turn bright red, and squeak out, "I've been crushing on K." Without a moment's hesitation, he answers, "Oh, that's good! You should go for it!"

One conversation down, one to go. Because while there's been what might pass for mild flirting, I've been doing my best not to let on. Cuz I don't want to make the friendship go weird, if it's not reciprocated.

That day was a hard fucking day. That conversation was the only party of it that hadn't sucked completely. That night I'm on Zoom with a friend, C, and we're chatting, I'm telling him about my very rough day, and he says "I want you to tell me one good thing that happened today." And it's like a curse, if I'm asked a direct question, I give an honest answer. I can't not. So I turn bright red and tell him what J, my husband, asked, and that I told him who I had a crush on. C teases, in a good-natured way, and asks who, and I don't answer, so he starts listing names of our friends. "N?" "No." "D?" "God no." "K?" and I turn so red I can hear the blood rushing through my ears.

He totally ships it. He teases, a little, but also gives advice. Good advice.

J and I along with our daughter have plans to visit our friends 3 hours away over the weekend. I decide I'll broach the subject with K then, in person, when we have a chance to be alone.

We don't have a chance to be alone. We hug, like friends (maybe a little closer and definitely a little longer), lean on each other, sit close. But everyone wise is always there. Finally, 10 minutes alone, and I

Fucking

Freeze.

I can't get words out. I'm a shy, nervous teenager again.

He goes home, J and I crash at D's house, and the next day we go to K's house. Again, no moments alone. I start thinking, just ask him to go talk privately. The words don't come out. I message C. Tell him I'm a wimpy coward. He tells me 'write him a do you like me check yes or no note' I send him a grumpy gif. And I type out a message in notepad. Edit, revise, copy it to messenger. And sit there, so glad my mask covers my blush, for a full minute before hitting send.

"So I get super nervous about stuff like this (which is really fucking embarrassing by the way) but I know I'd regret it if I didn't say something. And I can't seem to get the words out verbally but I've been interested in you for awhile, not sure if it's reciprocated but if so I'd like to see where things lead. If not, no big, not gonna make it weird."

And he doesn't check his phone. I wait. Then tell him, K, check your phone. The message didn't go through. He needs to reset his router. He does that, all the whole I'm sitting there with my hands shaking and my heart thundering in my ears, and then

"100% yes lol I've been looking for the way to bring it up for awhile now, but also nerves 😵"

I've been all smiles ever since. I'm so excited. I'm giddy and nervous and definitely frustrated because I waited so long and after that, still didn't get a chance to be alone with him for so much as a second until we had to leave.

But those a bit too long to be just friends hugs I had gotten earlier? They didn't have nothing on the one I got at the end of the night.

#personal

[mikenips]

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

I got back into bed after having my morning cigarette at three in the afternoon.  Still half a cup of coffee.  Just the right amount of Kahlua.  Enough to catch the notes of rum through the vanilla hazelnut cream.  But not overpowering to the point where you feel like shit for spiking your first drink of the day.  It’s not even five o’clock here yet.  A cigarette always tastes better when you smoke it in bed.  But you gotta get your fresh air somehow.  Probably won’t leave the house today.  Lots of editing to do on the documentary.

Crawl back under the fleece pineapple blanket.  Spoon a lump of sludge into my mouth.  Oatmeal.  Spent a lotta time avoiding the junk.  A coworker turned me onto it during a morning shift when I drank too much coffee on two hours of sleep and couldn’t see cause I hadn’t eaten at all.  I was always under the impression it would fill me up more.  But it’s fuckin’ oatmeal.  Just sits there.  Clumps up in your stomach.  Doesn’t do shit for ya.

Flip open the laptop.  White rocks stuck in the holes over the speaker.  Kief covered keyboard.  I really should finance for a better grinder than that shitty plastic thing I’ve used since high school.  Old reliable.  Works wonders on grinding.  But everytime you shove the top piece back in, clouds of kief mushroom around it.  Settling in puddles of sweat.  Every now and then the fingertips come back stained after a long editing session.

Camera lays next to the bed.  Sitting directly in front of the trash can.  A wall of VHS tapes stacked up next to the black cylinder.  Can only distinguish the different objects by the masking tape.  Chicken scratch Sharpied onto the cream backdrop.  I really should’ve dated all of them.  Not just the subject.  Can better timeline the filmmaker’s journey by knowing when each segment of the film was shot.  And now I won’t be able to track the dates.  Who the fuck saves emails and texts anyways?  Might be able to find a few from Instagram DMs.  But that’s all up to how the artist wants to portray the story.  Should the viewer discover chronologically?  Or should they piece it together and learn with the filmmaker?

Check the Hamtown Rats Facebook group.  It sounds like some gentrifier bullshit.  Young white people moving into a two square mile city.  Starting a Facebook group with all their friends that live there.  Very elitist.  Especially for a town where the majority of the population is below the poverty line and speak English as a second language.  But after all this shit.  More and more people come begging to live in the city that once had a dumpster running for mayor.

That’s literal too.

At least it’s a good way for neighbors to share shit they can’t afford to get on their own.  Posting which alleys have the best furniture to trash pick.  Or what bars have a pop-up kitchen each day.  Or other general bullshit.  Closest thing you can get to commune living here.  Never know what you’re gonna see walking through this town.  Which makes it so much more interesting what the citizens find to be newsworthy.  That’s what you gotta love about this city.  It’s a community of people that didn’t know where else to go.  From the Polish immigrants that founded it.  To the now growing middle Eastern population.  To all the artists and drunks that can’t afford anywhere else.  Everybody is a part of this community.

Last week people were tracking the journey of a wild turkey roaming the streets.

Today.  The first image that pops up through drops of Stroh’s dried up on the screen, the image of a local legend.  Sporting a fur coat.  Mardi gras beads slouching his back.  Bugler and beer in hand.  Only eye contact with the camera was the eyeball earring a friend had made.  Weird how it always looked to the side like that.  Sparkles shimmering in the purple skin around his eyes smeared by a finger with blue eyeshadow.  You never really were sure if he had gotten into a fight or just hadn’t slept in weeks.  Come to think of it.  Nobody ever had heard stories of him getting into fights.  He had a collection of handguns.  But no bullets.  Anything was possible with Bart though.

Barf.  That’s what his friends called him.  The nickname dated back to high school.  The burnouts he was friends with mocking him for puking when they introduced him to grass his freshman year.  Boys will be boys.  A good vomit joke always gets the laughs.  And of course when you tell any guy to stop, they never do.  So the name stuck.  I can still hear him in the interview.  “Fuck the name your family gave you.  Blood don’t mean shit.  I can get a transfusion whenever I want.  A nickname reflects the person others see you as.  And isn’t someone else’s perception of you better than your own?”

He had moved to the city after getting busted with a script full of Vicodin his first year at Wayne State.  Grandma bailed him out.  Mom said he could keep living with her after the bust.  He was an adult now.  Had to make his own decisions.  But he couldn’t bring any junk into her house.  So he got his own place in Hamtown.  Moved in with a girl he was seeing.  The split would happen not much longer after that.  But she didn’t wanna keep the shitty apartment split front and back.  So he took it over.

Sad to see the image.  It was taken at one of his house parties.  Nobody could pinpoint which one.  Not surprising though.  Anything was possible with Barf.

Skim over the stack of tapes.  Find the one labeled “Barf.”  Pop it in the VHS player.  Something about capturing all that stuff on tape.  Seems more real.  Seeing the actual tape move from reel to reel broke down the illusion to me more than watching the Instagram story highlights or YouTube videos that circulated the internet.  With all the fake news out there, you can never be sure where reality and illusion separate.  But wasn’t that kinda the point of art?  Or at least Barf’s body of work.  Pushing the boundaries of reality and illusion.

He was a magician.  Hard way to crack through the art world.  But somehow Bart managed to slip through the cracks.  To the bewilderment of some of the old heads that still were active in the DIY scene.  The urban legends that inspire locals to pick up the axe and start shredding away the stump that still remains.  Bart was slingshot to their status by his peers.  Many of them leaving a much bigger dent on the stump of culture than Bart.  Still, they cited him as a major help to their careers.  As he kept standing in front of the stump.  Curtain held over it.  Hoping one day he’d pull away and it would all be gone.  Some of us, kids my age that were sneaking into his shithole bar underage, believe the stump was never really there in the first place.  These notions were all just in our head.

The snow gives way to the glimmer of a bottom lip grill.  No top.  Mouth hanging open.  Gasping to the tune of “Zig Zag Wanderer” by Captain Beefheart.  Black octagon sunglasses still on in the room dimly lit by rock god prayer candles and ritual candles melted straight to the glass table top.  Greasy hair falling over his face.  Hiding the chain stretching from the industrial piercing in his left ear to the diamond at the lobe.  A knot of baby hair tangled in his right eyebrow piercing.

His head sinks into the penguin pillow.  A gift his grandma gave him when he was a kid.  The white face now gray.  Almost as black as the outer color.  Color chipping off his cracked fingernails.  Purple kimono barely covers his sunken stomach.  Skin detailing the texture of bone.  One floating rib on his right side.  Never was sure how that happened.  “Can’t hold onto everything that hurts you.”  It’s eerie thinking in other people’s voices.

“You ever do quads brooooooo…”  His now baritone voice trails off as the nitrous canister falls outta the cradle of his arms onto the dirty carpet.  The fiend in me wants to Hoover his carpets with my nose.  Someone like him probably doesn’t give a shit how much he spills.  Less getting in his bloodstream.  But part of me says he does regular cleaning on his own.

From the TV you can hear Scooby-Doo scratching his ears.  Doesn’t mute the PS2 game.  Just turns the record player up over it.  Gotta have that full sensory overload to really get in the head space.  “You wanna know the real story of how I lost this tooth?”

“Sure.”  It’s always a shock hearing your own voice on recording.

“So I woke up one day with the worst tooth pain I have ever experienced.”  He rips a line of blow without even lowering his shades.  Looks up and smiles.  “Like ‘em?  My buddy left them after a house show at my place.  His going away party on Devil’s Night when he joined the navy.  Used to run this really cool cassette label.  Always did my part by providing him a venue for releases.”

His palms thunderstrike together.  Shakes his hair violently.  “Anyways.  I shoved my whole phone in my mouth.  Capture a nice pic of the inside of my tooth.  Solid black.  So I get it yanked out.  Smoked three packs of Camel Blues through my nose while I waited out the dry socket.  That was when they did that Camel through the decades promo.  Still got some of the packs on my display of empties in the kitchen.

“Anyways.  Fuckin’ sidetracked.  What most people don’t know is I chipped the tooth at Jenkem.  Managed to get this insane Aussie garage band to play while they were touring the US.  Sold out show.  And this one fuckin’ asshole I knew.  Ian.  He fronted some shitty indie band.  Mac DeMarcore type sound.  Until I opened the bar he only knew me as the bowling bartender.  Even though I met him several times before working there.  And the asshole had been to my house for parties!

“All these shitty indie bands lived in the burbs.  But they loved coming to Hamtown and seeing the garage bands.  Made them feel like they were doing something they shouldn’t be.  And they’d smoke cigs at the bar.  Play pinball and pool.  Stand at the front of the pit.  But stand completely still.  Just kinda romanticizing our filth and flaws without having to see it at home.  Ya know.  Where daddy could pay to get them on Spotify playlists for publicity.

“So he begs me to let his band open.  And they didn’t fit the bill.  But they wanted a fuckin’ shit show.  So we gave ‘em a fucking shit show!  Sparked a joint during their set.  Tried passing it to him while he played.  But he refused.  All the homies booed.  Just dumb shit to make them uncomfortable.

“So the headliners go on.  I’m tanked by this point.  I mean.  I was tanked when I unlocked the bar that day.  But now I was just obliterated.  And somebody hit me from behind in the pit.  I fell forward.  Bust my tooth on this asshole Ian’s leather jacket.  That is standing completely fucking still front and center.

“Lost a third of the tooth.  But left a pretty nice scratch on the leather jacket daddy got him that afternoon for his ‘big gig.’”  I’m gonna miss that beautiful smile.  The kind of innocent smile of a child unsure what’s going on.  But knows he’s enjoying it.

#jenkem #novella #vague glimpses of beauty #grown up fucked up #somewhere the angels are screaming

[imaginetonyandbucky]

AnthroAU Imagine wolf!Bucky trying to court cat!Tony and Tony not understanding at first. Bucky tries really hard, bringing him gifts and food and just being there. Tony thinks it's nice but never says anything because Cat. Bucky finds a dead bird on his pillow and is discouraged. Tony is dismayed when Bucky backs off. He thought they were courting but maybe he overstepped. The team explain that it's basically the same thing he's doing, just... grosser. Bucky doesn't understand but gets kisses.

Also Prey

“We’re not slaves to our biology, Sam,” Stevesaid. He wasn’t looking at Sam, instead he was scanning the park. How was itthat a four-foot-at-the-shoulder-with-a-metal-front-paw fucking timber wolfcould hide. In a park? In New York City? How was that even a thing.

“You might not be,” Sam said, his voicecompletely registering doubt and sarcasm, “but Tony is the most cat-like catI’ve ever met. He comes into the room just so he can prove how much he’signoring you.”

“You’re just sore ‘cause he pounces on you,”Steve pointed out. Where the hell was Bucky? He shouldn’t worry so much, butthe last time he took eyes off his best friend, Bucky had been dead for seventyyears.

“Well, it’s a lot more annoying when he does itin his wyr form,” Sam said. “I still got claw marks on my shoulder.”

Steve blinked at that. “I would think it wasmore annoying in his human form.” Steve still found it weird to be claimed, theway Tony did it, rubbing up against his teammates from time to time. Minemine mine. Except for that bit over there. You can have that.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said, brushing it off.“Point is, Tony’s feline, and Barnes is a wolf. It’s never gonna workout, and you need to tell him before Tony starts asserting himself and yourfriend ends up without a roof over his head.”

“Don’t be such a speciest, Sam,” Steve said.“After all, I’m feline, and you’re a bird.”

“Don’t give me that. I know what you were beforeProject Rebirth,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re moreavian than you like to admit.”

“Still am,” Steve said. Project Rebirth had donesome interesting things to him, given him a much larger human form, andtransformed his wyr from the scrawny little aggressive chickenhawk that he’dbeen born with into a cross between his and Stark’s DNA, making him into thefirst gryphon in living memory. Half lion, half eagle, his wyr was nearly thesize of an SUV. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to pounce on your ass, from time totime, myself.”

Sam uttered a completely charmed and startledlaugh. “You need to up your flirt game, man,” he said. “I don’t even know whatto do with that.”

Steve ducked his chin. “That’s not what you saidlast night.”

Sam shoved him, which of course did absolutelynothing. Steve was a rock, even when he didn’t have his feet set.

“They’ll work it out,” Steve said. “Or theywon’t. But I’m not gonna take Bucky aside and tell him that he can’t have Tonybecause of some ridiculously outdated notion of cats-and-dogs.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Cats and dogs, livingtogether. Mass hysteria.”

“All right, all right, I get the point,” Stevesaid. “I’ll… mention it. Or something.”

(mobile readers, ware the read more line)

Tony took the whole idea of catnaps to theirultimate expression. Mr I can fall asleep anywhere as long as it’s not bed wason the top of the fridge again. Which was all well and good for him, except healways snapped awake as soon as Bucky came into the room.

Bucky’d been trying, he’d really been trying tonot be in his wyr whenever he was in the Tower. Four hundred pounds of timberwolf was intimidating to just about everyone, but when Bucky could haveswallowed Tony by yawning, well, let’s just say that Bucky had been prettydepressed, watching Tony flee the room, his fur sticking up in every direction.

Even puffed up to full size, Tony’s wyr probablyonly weighed in at twelve pounds or so. Large for a housecat, but he wasdefinitely a second-tier predator.

Tony lazily opened one golden eye as Buckystopped dead in the kitchen door, the tip of his tail twitching. That flat,you-blink-first stare was disconcerting as hell and made Bucky want to checkwhen he’d last taken a shower. He nervously ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky said. He blinked, once,twice. Steve had told him that would help, a bit, even if he didn’t understandit. Tony’s eye slid closed again. “I just… was hungry.”

Tony made a dismissive sort of tail flick, stoodup, turned aaaaall the way around in a circle and curled up again, facing theother direction.

Right.

Bucky sighed. Rather than opening the fridge anddigging through it for something red and raw that would satisfy his inner wolf,he grabbed bread and some of those nasty nut spreads that the avians in thebuilding liked so much. It was protein, it would fill him up even if he’dprobably have to go hunting again. At this rate, he was going to have to dropin on a feral pack and see if he could join in on an elk run or something.

Tony stretched, arching his back. He licked oneblack-furred paw and wiped his face. His wyr form was tiny, adorable, withalmost solid-black silky fur, save for the white patch at his chest and Buckyhad the worst time with temptation. He wanted to pick Tony up and cuddle him,which Bucky was almost positive would not be well-received at all. Catswere like liquid; Tony finished his stretch and slid off the top of the fridge,landing lightly on all fours, somehow going through the shift in thehalf-second it took for gravity to catch him.

Tony’s eyes, golden-brown now, rather thanluminous, flicked from the sandwich to Bucky’s face and then he shrugged. IfTony still had a tail in his human form, Bucky would have imagined the tipflicking as he strode out of the room. Bucky sighed. Once again, he’d managedto offend, just by existing.

Maybe Steve was right. Cats and dogs just didn’tget along. Depressing.

So was his lunch. He stared down at the utterlyunappetizing sandwich. Hydra had fed him things like that, bean pastes andnutritional shakes that had no tang of blood, no hint of having ever once beenalive.

Bucky stared down at his bed.

The door had been locked when he left; he’d hadto use his thumb to open the door, same as always. No one else was allowed inhis personal space.

And yet…

Bucky looked around, over each shoulder as if hewas being watched. He never quite could get over the feeling that Hydra wasjust waiting. Nothing. Even in his human form, his nose was keen; he didn’tsmell anything that wasn’t as usual. The various scents of the other Avengerswho lived in the Tower… and now that he was concentrating. Blood. Meat, raw andstill warm.

Bucky let his wolf take him, shaking into hisfur and fangs. His spine rippled into the new form, a dark fire that burned andsoothed. His head dropped, lengthened. Hips snapped and formed. His tail sprouted,claws popped out of fingers that curled up into paws. He finished the shift,sat down on his haunches, panting. With his mouth open, smell was even greaterthan normal and he was salivating at the taste of the air.

He checked his six again, then pounced.

The freshly dead bird disappeared in threebites.

God. Meat.

He hiccuped, spitting out a few feathers.

Usually after a meal, Bucky liked to curl up andsleep, but Steve was supposed to come by later and they were going to all goout to the movies, and Steve would probably be offended if he found evidence ofdead bird in Bucky’s room, despite the fact that Steve hadn’t been avian fordecades, and Bucky had to eat, right? Whatever.

He shifted back, feeling pleasantly full andsleepy. He dumped what was left of the carcass in his trash and changed thesheets.

Bucky bent over the fabric, pulled it right upto his nose. Mostly what he could smell was blood, but under it… cat.

Tony?

“Oh, my god, no licking, Bucky, no,” Tonyexclaimed, shoving at the giant wolf that suddenly bounded into his workshop.He pointed to a spot on the floor just in front of him, rather desperate.“Sit!”

Bucky issued a short whine from the back of histhroat and then sat the fuck down like he was a damn golden retriever orsomething, complete with the little paw twitches that indicated he wanted tomove around but was too well-behaved to do so.

It should not have been charming. Really.Someone, somewhere, was going to take away Tony’s license to cat.

Tony heaved a great sigh, doing his best to lookutterly exasperated and not like this was cute, because it was not.

Bucky whined again and dropped something, whichlanded on the floor with a clatter.

“We’re at fetch, now?” Tony rolled his eyes andprodded at the thing with the toe of one designer shoe. At least he’d put it ina ziplock before bringing it downstairs as some sort of concession to Tony notbeing thrilled, at all, about dog drool. He blinked, looked at the toy insidethe bag, and blinked again. “Where did you get this?”

Bucky wagged his tail a few times, then shifted.He was a slow shifter, to the point where Tony could see the hair sinking backon his face, letting the skin show thought, until the gray and black furredwolf was gone and the man remained. He twisted his metal arm once as thequicksilver molded and reshaped itself. He probably had to shift slow, just tokeep the limb from snapping off as it transitioned from one shape to the other.Could have been worse.

Tony pressed his hand to the spot where hisarc-reactor had once been. The whole time he’d had the arc-reactor inside hischest, he’d been unable to shift at all; the palladium couldn’t transition withhim and it would have killed him to try the shift. Four years of being withoutthe bliss and ease of living in his natural skin and it nearly killed himanyway.

“Ebay,” Bucky said, and Tony blinked back to theconversation.

“This is a limited edition Robby the Robot,”Tony said, taking the slightly worn box out of the bag. “Like new.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I missed that movie, firsttime round. Caught it on late night Syfy last weekend. Thought it might besomethin’ you were into.” He shrugged, trying to be indifferent, but it wasn’ta good look on him. He was too excitable for that and eventually leaned overagainst Tony’s shoulder to read the back of the box with him.

“Thank you,” Tony said, honestly, touched. “Whatdid I do to deserve presents?”

Bucky tilted his head. Tony was a bad person, hewas, because whenever a canine did that around him, he became unbelievablytempted to find a gramophone to shove under their ear. “You’ve been leavin’ mebirds, haven’t you?”

Tony shifted his gaze to one side. “You don’teat right,” he said. “I was worried that Hydra might have interfered with yourability to hunt.”

“Wolves are pack hunters,” Bucky said, soft. “Idon’t have anyone to hunt with, anymore.”

“You live with the apexiest apex hunter inexistence,” Tony pointed out. “Doesn’t Steve go hunting all the time?”

“I am not going to sit on Steve’s back while heflies off to some forest in the middle of Pennsylvania to eat half a herd ofdeer,” Bucky said. “I like keepin’ my feet on the ground.”

Tony finally looked over at Bucky, met thosegray eyes. He blinked, slow and easy. “Well, if that dislike of travel doesn’tapply to cars, I know where there’s a really nice rabbit warren, just over thebridge on the far side of Jersey. I can chase rabbits right to you.”

Bucky lit up like someone had offered a kid anice cream. “Oh, really? Would you, that would be swell!”

“No licking!” Tony took a hasty step backward,then, as Bucky’s face fell, he put a hand on the man’s arm. “Kissing it okay. Ido that.”

So, the kiss was a little wetter and somewhatmore enthusiastic than the ones he was used to, but Tony could work with it.Yeah. This could be good.

~as always, @tisfan

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #shifter AU #wolf!bucky #cat!tony #sam is a bird brain #prompts #tisfan #reioka