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arthropod-concoctions · 8 months

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(AO3 - prev)

“Grian, I have great news, I- MY HAIR!” Scar yelled into Grian's ear, startling him so much he nearly dropped Scar's cane. He jumped away from his shulker monster to look at Scar, who was pointing at him accusingly. “What have you done to my luscious elven locks?”

“I waffled them,” Grian simply replied. Long hair was nice sometimes, but he wasn't in the mood for it at the moment, so he'd bundled it up for convenience. “What's the good news?”

“Oh, right. I figured out how to do the third eye thingy without dissapearing from the mortal plane! See, right now I can...” Scar trailed off, and his regular eyes went out of focus. “Oh my, you really have turned my hair into a waffle. But I can see the back of your head from here! Isn't that great?”

“Oh, that- that actually is great,” Grian replied. “That means we can actually look at the code I messed up. Do you wanna do that right now?”

“Sure,” Scar said, pulling up Grian's chat. “It's just a file in here, right?”

“Yep. Probably called Double Life... something.”

Scar tapped away into the device, his brow furrowing. “There's nothing called Double Life.”

“Oh, for goodness'...” Grian trailed off, trying to remember what he would've called it. “I probably shortened it in some stupid way... try 'dubl'. Like Dublin, without the last two letters.”

Scar snorted. “You think I know how to spell “Dublin?” Then his eyes flitted across the screen. “Wait, what's this? 'waystobringmumboback.txt'?”

“Scar, please stay focused-”

“No, I'm reading this. I want to see your ideas. 'Build a nice piston door'... yeah that could work.”

“Scar...” Grian started to walk towards Scar.

“'Build a BAD piston door'- oh, that might actually be smarter. These are good ideas, Grian!” Scar smiled at Grian, then looked back at the screen, squinting. “Bring back ari- bring back arinara-”

“SCAR!” Grian shouted, and nearly tackled Scar to the ground. They both started laughing. “Quit reading my private documents!”

Scar stuck the arm holding the chat into the air, in an attempt to keep it away from Grian-- he simply plucked it out of his hand. “I'm the taller one now, Scar, that isn't going to-”

The device vanished, and reappeared in Scar's hand. Right. It was impossible to take someone's chat device away from them, unless your name was Grian and you were godawful at coding.

Scar rolled over on the floor, still laughing. “Sorry, Sorry. I'll behave. What was the file called again?”

“Nah, forget it,” Grian responded, grabbing some firework rockets. “Class is cancelled. I'm gonna go follow your advice.”

---

“Cub!” Grian called out, as he approached the outside of Total Chaos. Cub looked up from the mess of redstone he was standing in, and waved at him.

“Hey, Scar- no, wait, you're Grian now, aren't you?” he said, as he hopped down onto the floor.

“That's right. And he's been having a whale of a time flying around as me, and he told me you are the man to come to to have- to do cool things as Scar.”

Cub thought for a moment, then smiled deviously. “Ah, you want to learn the ways of the vex?”

“Is that what I've just... yeah, alright, sure,” Grian responded.

“Awesome! Oh, this is gonna be sick. Alright, follow me inside, I'll get some stuff sorted,” Cub said, and led Grian into the interior of Total Chaos.

Grian sat down on the carpet while Cub vanished into some nook of the building. He came back a minute later, holding two icy blue masks; one with a happy face, one with a sad face.

“Alright, this is- well, this is Scar's mask,” Cub said, as he held out the smiling mask to Grian, then briefly pulled it back. “You don't really smile as much as him, though, so maybe we should swap- actually, no, I don't know what the consequences of that would be.” he shook his head, and held out the mask again.

“...Should I be concerned about any of this?” Grian asked as he took the mask.

“Nah, don't worry dude, you'll be fine,” Cub replied. “Just put on the mask, relax, get comfortable. I'll do the hard stuff. Don't panic, alright?”

“...Okay,” Grian said, Cub's words entirely failing to comfort him. Still, he put on the mask and watched as Cub did the same. He very softly heard Cub whispering something-

Then things began to get weird. Grian's colour vision began to shift, everything turning into shades of blue and grey. Cub's skin slowly turned blue, and at once his hair rapidly shifted from black to white. Grian felt his own body change as well; he felt lighter, and the ache in his legs he was slowly getting used to faded into the distance. Grian didn't panic. He felt great, actually.

Cub smiled at Grian; somehow, he could see his mouth, even though the mask he was wearing was opaque. “You wanna go prank Keralis?” he asked, and his voice sounded very high-pitched, yet somehow normal.

Grian smiled as well. “You bet!” he replied.

---

Flying as a vex was a different sensation entirely from using his wings. Grian barely had to angle his body to accelerate to incredible speeds. At one point he was speeding towards a big tree, and started to panic as he couldn't slow his momentum enough to avoid it; but then he simply passed through the branches as if they weren't there. It felt a bit like being in spectator mode.

Grian followed Cub all the way to Keralis' starter house, and when they arrived, Cub pulled pocketfuls of blue tinsel out of his inventory, and handed some to Grian. They barely had to exchange a word as they both set out to cover Keralis' house in the stuff. Grian zipped through the house, passing through hallways and walls, smiling the whole time. He wasn't sure if he was just giddy from the flying or some kind of vexy effect from the mask.

Once the house was sufficiently tinseled up, Grian and Cub flew away from the house and settled down on top of a nearby tree to admire their work.

“Oh, baby, Christmas came early!” Cub said to Grian, who laughed in response. Instinctively, Grian reached for the cane which he'd gotten used to having at his hip. It wasn't there. He thought back, and realised he'd left the cane behind somewhere in the house to hold more tinsel. He hadn't felt the effects then, but he was starting to now.

Grian's smile faded. He started to panic. “Cub, i-” he started, but stopped talking as the world changed back to normal with a flash. Grian lost his balance from the shock, and fell.

He dropped unceremoniously onto the ground next to the tree. The fall wasn't long enough to kill him, but it hurt quite a bit. Grian looked up to see Cub gliding down towards him, his face obscured by the mask.

Cub let out a high-pitched warble which Grian couldn't understand. Then he shook his head and pulled off his mask, revealing a concerned face. “Sorry. You good?” he asked.

“I lost the cane,” Grian said, trying to sit up. “I left Scar's cane in the house somewhere.”

Immediately, Cub pulled the cane out of his inventory and handed it to Grian, crouching. “I got you. Scar did that all the time as well, don't worry about it.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Grian took the cane, and tried to stand up, but failed. Even after eating a golden carrot to recover his injuries, his legs still hurt too much to stand on. “It's not... it's not working. The cane isn't working anymore, Cub.”

Cub nodded. “I'll go get a chair. Be right back.”

Cub flew off on his elytra, leaving Grian alone at the base of the tree. He was back quickly enough, bringing a wheelchair with him.

“Thanks,” Grian said as Cub put the wheelchair down and helped him into it. He sighed. “This sucks, Cub.”

“Yeah, that was my bad. Vexing can be a little intense, maybe we should've-”

“No, not the vex stuff. That was great,” Grian interrupted him. “I mean this... this whole situation.”

“Like, I've been working with Scar to try and get us back to normal, and he is not cooperating in the slightest. Which is annoying, but... I can't really blame him? Like, he's been running and flying around and having a great time, while I'm-” Grian gestured to the wheelchair. “It feels like he's upgraded and I've downgraded, and- no wonder he's being so obtuse! I want to go back, but I feel terrible asking him to.”

Grian took a deep breath. “Sorry. None of this is your problem, really.”

“No, no, I get it. It makes sense,” Cub replied. He scratched his chin, and said: “I think you should just give Scar a bit of time, and he'll come around eventually. I mean, I've possessed other people before, and it's always fun for the first few weeks, but eventually you just want your own body back. And in the meantime, you can discover some cool stuff to do as well. Heck, we just did!”

Grian nodded. “Yeah, I hope you're right. Thanks.”

“Wait, what do you mean you've possessed people before?”

“Should I show you how to attach your elytra to the chair?”

(next)

#arthropod writes #the swap au #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #double life fic #grian #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #convex

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prismatic-bell · 1 year

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So I was listening to Christmas music at work today, because I do that sometimes. I grew up a gentile and still have fond memories of Christmas as a kid, even though I don’t celebrate it anymore. Anyway I thought this would be fun:

A FORMER GENTILE RANKS CHRISTMAS SONGS:

1. All I Want For Christmas Is You: I have no idea why people hate this song so much. Joyful, bouncy, fun to dance to. 6/10.

2. Mr. Heat Miser: this song is so stupid and that’s why I love it. The Christmas special it comes from is even stupider and I love it for that, too. Best versions of this song are the ones where the singers realize just how campy it is with no effort at all, and don’t try to “help” it (thus way, way overdoing it). 8/10.

3. The Little Drummer Boy: my mom loved this one, but all I can think is “ah yes, let’s play a loud instrument for a sleeping newborn, great idea.” Also at the end when they’re all “theeeen he smiiiiiled at me” like it’s all mystical and shit? Do you know why newborns smile? Because they have gas. They don’t actually know what a smile is yet. You woke up Jesus and he farted at you, little drummer boy. 4/10 because it makes me giggle inappropriately.

4. Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24: LISTEN. This song already slaps because it’s a takeoff on Carol of the Bells. It slaps even more because it’s got electric guitar. But the reason I’m about to rank it so high is the story behind it, which is that it’s honoring a man named Vedran Smailović, “the cellist of Sarajevo,” who spent 22 days during the Siege of Sarajevo playing Albinoni’s Adagio in D Minor in bombed-out buildings and the town square knowing he was under threat from both bombs and snipers. A man standing up in the face of death and saying with his actions “there will be death, but let there be music, or there’s no life, and I will die for a chance to live”? He’s not Jewish, but that’s still the most Jewish fucking thing I’ve ever heard. 1000000000/10.

5. O Holy Night: this song is actively triggering to me for not-fun reasons. Negative infinity/10.

6. The Holly And The Ivy: I’m 34 and still don’t understand the narrative structure of this song but it brings with it heavy memories of wrapping (and unwrapping) presents in the early 90s, so I kinda dig it. 7/10.

7. Snoopy’s Christmas: nothing says “Christmas” quite like Snoopy the beagle trying to shoot down a WWI sniper plane. This song is absolutely baffling but I give it credit for trying. Also my mom liked it so I have to give it a +1 for that. 5/10.

8. Last Christmas: GET OUT OF HERE YOU FUCKING FUCK why are there 4048263958327 versions of this godawful song who LIKES this song it’s so stupid and doesn’t even have a good melody to make up for inane lyrics, what the fuck. 1/10.

9. Christmas Shoes: the only reason Last Christmas is #2 on my list of terrible Christmas songs. A perfect demonstration of self-righteous slacktivism Christianity in the form of consumerism. @sailorzeo reminded me a couple days ago this song exists and I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive her. 0/10.

10. Silent Night: it’s not a bad song per se, but I’m so tired of every year seeing a fluff piece about “the humble origins of Silent Night.” We all know, WE ALL KNOW. If we don’t know it’s because we don’t care. I want to hear about the humble origins of Please Don’t Shoot Me Santa. Now that’s probably a story. 3/10.

11. Santa Claus is Coming to Town: Ah, the song that’s made generations of poor kids and kids who aren’t part of the culturally-Christian hegemony cry and feel terrible about themselves. I’d give it 1/10 for that, but here’s the truth, the Christmas special that goes with this song is SO FUCKING UNHINGED I have to take it into consideration because they somehow made Santa into a communist, anarchist, and capitalist all at once. Also this special was made during the Cold War and you can literally see the moment they went “oh shit, we made Santa a commie, uh uh uh AND THEN HE GOT MARRIED ON 25 DECEMBER TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTH OF OUR LORD. BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IN THAT. UNLIKE THOSE DIRTY REDS.” Amazing. 3/10.

12. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer: the song reminding us that if you’re unusual, you’re worthless unless you can be exploited by the masses. I’d give it 1/10 but Christmas Shoes has, by force, put this scale on a MASSIVE curve, so I will grudgingly provide a 2/10.

13. Fairytale Of New York: this is a complicated one. The original version includes a queer slur. In the last few years, new recordings have rewritten the lyrics to fix it, but a lot of the fixes are…bad. In a couple of new recordings the artists literally just leave this very obvious pause where the word should be, like they think they’re being cheeky. At the same time, it’s a fascinating song because it’s about lives that aren’t your typical Christmas story, and the melody is great. 6/10 for the Pogues and a later cover by Mostly Autumn (if you happen to have that cover PLEASE TELL ME), 4/10 everyone else.

14. Joy to the World: if this wasn’t a Christian song I’d be tempted to make it my alarm clock. I don’t agree with the thrust of its message, but I enjoy the enthusiasm. 8/10.

15. Baby, It’s Cold Outside: the most beautiful example of “what was once progressive is now wildly outdated,” the OG version by Dean Martin is literally a chick who’s looking forward to getting railed but has to put up a front first for her reputation (hence “say, what’s in this drink?”—when the song was written this was a coy way to say “is this alcohol? Gee, if this is alcohol I can’t be responsible for my actions”), and the narrative doesn’t shame her for this. I personally think the Idina Menzel version actually does a really great job at rescuing the storyline, and I’m also fond of the Glee version. With the original intent of the song taken in mind, I’ll give it a 6/10.

16. Walking In The Air: this is not actually part of my christmassy childhood. I first encountered it in college, via Pandora back when Pandora was actually good. Apparently it comes from a British Christmas special. There’s a version by Nightwish, and Nightwish automatically makes everything better, but the lyrics are so haunting and adventurous, it’s great. Solid 9/10.

17. It’s A Marshmallow World: the bane of my childhood holiday concert existence. This one and Walking In A Winter Wonderland. We did both every single year. I’m sure they’re very nice songs for people who haven’t had them done to death. 4/10.

18. Thank G-d It’s Christmas: my introduction to non-1960s Christmas music. It’s not quite as standout to me these days, but it’s by Queen, which means there is only one possible rating, and that’s 10/10.

19. White Christmas: most people don’t realize this song took off like a rocket because it was released only days after the US entered WWII. While it wasn’t specifically about being a soldier, Bing Crosby once said the most difficult thing he ever did in his life was singing this at a USO concert in front of a hundred thousand crying GIs, without crying himself. I give the Bing Crosby version 10/10 for actually having some heart and meaning behind it. Most other versions just kinda ring hollow.

20. Santa Baby 2: betcha didn’t know there’s a sequel to the original by Eartha Kitt. It’s just as hilarious, perhaps even moreso. Technically it was also released under the name “Santa Baby,” but that’s not very helpful in this conversation. 8/10.

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. A correct and accurate ranking.

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stevebabey · 1 year

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Modern!Steve receiving your photos while you’re at the mall with Robin and Nance and you’re trying to find something to wear at your cousin’s wedding and his response is “you’re perfect in anything, you should buy them all” god he’s annoying because this happens EVERY TIME you go shopping with him and you can’t decide between that shirt and that dress “babe you look great in both of them” “Steve I can’t buy both of them, pick one” “ok then I buy them for you” “oh I swear to god-“ Already said that he’s annoying? Yeah but I want him anyway

ANON UR SO RIGHT— he’s so annoying i love him so bad

he’s the type that pesters you for photos because sue him, he loves seeing u in every little thing! — and omg, when u send one, he sends back like 7 photos in a row of him falling to his knees, covering his face in like agony of ur beauty cos he’s one of THOSE boyfriends. is always like ‘oh ma god i’m melting ur so hot’ and ur like giggling to urself in the changing room, esp if he sends a stupid live photo of him pretending to faint or something <3 he know u love it when he does it, it’s 100% why he does it

but!!! it also means he’s actually godawful at helping with any of those decisions, because to him, they’re all the prettiest shit ever :) especially if you’re shopping for something more on the fancy side for a wedding; honestly, more than half his decisions come from how it might be to take the dress off you, whether the sleeves can slip off your shoulder easily and— you’ve had to tell him to calm down w the horniness because ‘christ steve just tell me if you like the dress’ and he’s like ‘😎 what part of that implied i didn’t like the dress. i LOVE the dress :)’

but you’re RIGHT the problem is he does it for EVERY SINGLE DRESS!! it’s not even dismissal either — he pays attention, he gives compliments based on colour & says it matches your eyes, tells you it suits your form, when he likes the neckline. but it’s almost like he’s got no opinion if he loves every dress :(

u send back a >:( and are like steve please help me make a decision and he’s like :( but you look pretty in all of them and you’re like ok! but i can’t get all of them baby, i need just one, okay? and he’s like oh that’s the problem? and then ding! yep, he’s sent thru some moola and ur like STEVEN and just send it straight back and he’s like :( what like he isn’t being the most unhelpful bf ever. u just end up asking what tie he has that he likes the best & steeb has no idea how’s that’s relevant but tells u all the same and you match it to that :) power couple vibes

#sorry i took so many moons to respond hehe #AND I COULDNT ADD ANYTHING BETTED #U ALREADY HAD THE BEST IDEA NONNIE #i love him i want to bite him #he might even send a voice-memo like ‘is it hot in here?’#HES SO STUPID (AFFECTIONATE)!!!!!#he would send a text like #boingggggg (that’s my boner)#<- i would temporarily block him for that #i lub him so much #stevie thoughts <3 #ruby talks #asks #answered #anon

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sunsetconcert · 3 days

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every time somebody goes "oh man teal mask and indigo disk are so great" i want to fly to japan and then strangle whoever came up with the dlc because *i fucking hate kitakami and i hate blueberry academy*

couldve done ANYTHING in paldea couldve had any amount of fun involving the paldean empire or the lore behind the treasures or even a legendary based on spanish mythology but instead we rehashed momotarou and got the worst batch of mythical/legendary pokemon in the history of the franchise

pokejapan has like literally *half the franchise* to itself cant we let these other regions have sort of room to breath in? kitakami is so boring and even if it WASNT the most generic location ive seen in my life, the whole place revolves around the ogerpon legend like a terrible jrpg town rather than a normal location that happens to have folklore about ogerpon. theres no buildup to the festival, its so desperate to shove this new legendary/mythical at your face that it barely builds up the kieran friendship before making the entire dlc revolve around him.

and blueberry academy is like... despair. i hate its stupid blue futuristic aesthetic and i hate that its out at sea instead of at an actual location where you can see how unovan culture actually interacts with their academy. i hate how the entire endgame of scarlet/violet revolves around this ugly fucking clubroom. why is the postgame just inviting random npcs to the clubroom and repeatedly throwing yourself at the bb league? why couldnt there be more stuff to do in paldea?

god forbid we actually STAY in paldea for more than ten seconds

like hell even if we HAVE to have this godawful dlc mess maybe jacq could be like "oh yeah some new pokemon have shown up here in paldea maybe come back for a while and check them out" and you go find like a paldean aipom or a paldean mienshao maybe you go down to area zero and its like "yeah time machines dont turn off in a linear fashion" so now youve got a bunch of new paradox pokemon running around (real talk my best idea is paradox muk and its a ghost/ground type because its a tar pit).

or maybe like we could put literally ANY REASON to go out to socarrat trail that isnt getting the treasure of ruin like maybe gimmighoul are more frequent over there and its a postgame way to more easily get a gholdengo or maybe theres like a whole bunch of treasure hunters over there who do gauntlet fights where youve just gotta fight five dudes in a row without healing

i wouldve preferred literally anything except what we got

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #ranting about nothing #also why the fuck do they make nemona not from paldea?#she looks spanish she speaks spanish she believes more in the local culture than anybody else does #but no she apparently moved here as a kid #which rmeans arven is the most paldean/spanish character of the main cast #arven looks like hes from galar he looks like he shouldve been in a bitchy boyband with bede

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okamirayne · 5 months

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O’Rayne!! Stalking your posts and totally freaked at your mention of HHU (please no pressure tho Rayne just see it as support and stalker interest lol) and was curious…is it your burnout that is the toughest part for you regarding HHU and your original works? Stupid question probably??? >.< I haven’t written in a looong time myself (so many unfinished fics heh >.>) but I think it’s block and not burnout. Is there a big difference?? I get confused but I know you’ve been struggling and always said it was burnout not block? I’m sorry and hope you heal soon. 🧡🧡🧡

Hello, hello! 🤗💜

Stalking your posts and totally freaked at your mention of HHU (please no pressure tho Rayne just see it as support and stalker interest lol)

[..] is it your burnout that is the toughest part for you regarding HHU and your original works? Stupid question probably???

Not a stupid question. And yes. It is undoubtedly the toughest, most frustrating, and devastatingly painful thing I've had to face regarding my creative journey.

I haven’t written in a looong time myself (so many unfinished fics heh >.>) but I think it’s block and not burnout. Is there a big difference?? I get confused but I know you’ve been struggling and always said it was burnout not block?

Oh luv, I'm sorry you've not been able to write for such a time. I'm not sure which camp you're in but I'll try to give my two cents re: differentiating between Block and Burnout. Please note: this isn't a one-size fits all explanation, as I can only speak to my own experience.

So for me, personally, the distinction is this:

Block = I have no ideas or inspiration; I have gas in the tank, just no map and no destination. Maybe my tyres are spinning in the mud a bit. I need a jump-start. Or maybe I need to figure out which gear I'm stuck in. With the right mechanical mojo, I can take the wheel.

Burnout = I have a destination, I want to reach it, I even have a map, but my engine is shot to shit and my tank is empty. I cannot be jump-started by my usual tricks and my gear-stick is broken. I have all the ideas and even sparks of inspiration yet I possess absolutely no capacity to actually get it OUT of my head onto the page. I am a fuming roadwreck. Even Jesus can't take this wheel.

Burnout, (again, I'm speaking to my personal experience of it) is a severe, scary, and surreal kind of shitshow that feels like my brain has mutinied and is gaslighting itself. Unlike a block, burnout is defined as 'a state of emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion brought on by prolonged or repeated stress' (said stress is different and unique in each case). Basically your nervous system has been sadistically rewired into survival mode, your creative tyres have been slashed, and you're not firing on all cylinders because your cylinders are now warped scrap metal in a flaming junk yard. It is a godawful state of breakdown. And when you try to rev, it costs you.

Blocks are cordons that can be navigated or bulldozed...burnouts are the love child of napalm and Greek Fire. You can't smash or power through them. Unless you like third degree burns on your psyche and soul.

Drama. I am full of it. I know. This is what happens when a writer isn't writing. Monsterous. Inconsolable. Insufferable.

I’m sorry and hope you heal soon. 🧡🧡🧡

You're a sweetheart. Thank you so much, Anon. I really hope you manage to clock what's got you stuck (I sincerely hope it's block, not burnout) and that you are back to writing again ASAP! 🧡

#burnout is a bitch #writers burnout #burnout ask #personal asks #personal ask #writing ask #creative burnout #reinvent the wheel that JC can't take #dropkick me Shiva through the flaming shitshow #the struggle is real

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papermint-airplane · 1 year

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I'm alive!

More or less. 💀

Y'all oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD I've had two terrible weeks for absolutely no reason whatsoever but I've got some Base Sim Project townies ready to go and I'll be putting them up VERY SOON. No concrete dates because last time I did that, everything went to shit. 🙃

Work has been absolutely grim lately and when I did get time to play, my game updated to the EA app and everything was fine at first until the first time it did its stupid little update routine (I forgot to disable auto updates) and it deleted all my settings and then I couldn't get the borderless window to work right and everything looked horrible and I still can't get it exactly right like it was before and I got so frustrated, I was about to yeet my computer, delete my blog, and throw myself down a well to live on algae and trash for the rest of my life. A perfectly rational level-headed response. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ So I took a break from Tumblr for a bit. Not by choice, it's just that all my spoons were gone and all I had left were stabby knives. It wasn't the right time for interacting with people. 😭😭😭

I think I got my game mostly looking right now though so my screenshots won't be in some godawful resolution with all these weird little artifacts everywhere. I have no idea what happened but if it happens again, some inanimate object in my vicinity is getting strangled. If work can stop being the bane of my existence and I can actually have like five fucking minutes to enjoy life for fucking once, I'll be back to my regular barely-stable-but-at-least-present self.

I have a lot of blog subs to catch up on my dash. Y'all are fixing to get so many notifications from me just liking all the posts I've missed.

#tangentially sims related #ramblings #istg #life is stupid #but i'm back #i get more southern the more exasperated i am

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queenofbaws · 10 months

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Potentially genius idea that came to me in the dead of night

Josh is working on a movie and is hiring actors online and here comes Dylan Lenivy to audition! Flirting ensues?

It was the last time he let Emma talk him into something, of that much he was explicitly sure - yeah, on paper it had sounded hilarious, them showing up to audition for parts, but when they'd actually set foot in the film and theater building, it had quickly, quickly, oh, just so quickly lost most of its luster. Reality had set in, was the thing, and if there was anything Dylan didn't deal especially well with, it was reality; that went double when the reality in question meant he might end up being laughed off campus for taking a stupid role in some cringe-worthy film major's thesis, and...

And then they'd ended up in front of Josh's table and something worse than reality set in: The flat, blasé sense of humor he used as a coping mechanism when making eye contact with someone attractive.

"So, what're the chances you need like, a super charming background character who just says quirky stuff then bails," Dylan droned, shooting Josh a sidelong glance as he picked up and pretended to page through the description of the project he was casting for, "cuz I gotta be honest...I'm getting a little tired of always playing the romantic lead, know what I mean?"

Josh seemed to take his measure of him for a second there (a long, long second), and even before he answered, that smirk of his told Dylan in no uncertain terms this was about to be trouble; "Oh, I hear you, the only thing is, see, this is a horror movie, so most of the super charming background characters I'm casting for don't really say quirky shit then bail so much as they scream a lot before getting decapitated."

He knew it wasn't the right thing to say - knew it in his very bones - but that fucking godawful sense of humor beat him to the punch, and before he could bite his tongue to keep that part of his brain from winning, Dylan said, right in front of Emma and all, "So...what I'm hearing is...you're looking for someone to give you head?"

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

#riverrunscold #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #ohohohoho POTENTIALLY nothing - this is 100% genius for SURE!!!

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itsavgbltpta · 9 months

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Should You Watch KamiKatsu?

(Full English title: KamiKatsu: Working for God in a Godless World)

(Japanese title: Kaminaki Sekai no Kamisama Katsudou)

A Brief Summary

Protagonist Yukito has been raised his entire life as part of a muscle-man obsessed cult that worships a single goddess, due to his father being the leader of said cult. During a ritual, Yukito is stuffed inside a barrel and thrown off a cliff into the sea to survive. When Yukito wakes up, he doesn’t seem to be in Japan any more. Instead he’s now in a world where religion doesn’t exist, and where the population accepts any order from the government to die when given - all except for a few spunky weirdos who are cast out into remote villages. Luckily, Yukito winds up at one of these villages and is taken in by the townsfolk.

Through plot, Yukito ends up with the power of a real god on his side - but how will he use this advantage to live out life in this new world? That’s what KamiKatsu aims to find out.

So, should you watch the anime?

Probably not, unless you’re open to a lot of jank.

I won’t lie, KamiKatsu is a mess. But it’s the kind of mess I like. The kind of mess where I don’t know if it will hit the same on a second viewing, but it kept me on my toes enough to enjoy the ride the first time around.

Shock value is a big player in KamiKatsu. You know, things like the main character getting jerked off in an effort to revive him within the first 10 minutes of the first episode. That kind of thing - where you raise one, or possibly both eyebrows thinking “that couldn’t possibly be what just happened” - happens quite a bit. I get the feeling the creative team for the show was like “fuck it, why not” to a lot of ideas that were thrown out there.

To make a comparison, the closest thing I can think of is a B-team version of The Idaten Deities Know Only Peace. So if you enjoyed that show, KamiKatsu might give you a bit of the same WTF feeling. And fan service moments. Oh man, there is a lot of sexual… flavorings in KamiKatsu. A little too much, honestly, but “in for a penny, in for a pound” was their motto, I guess.

Again, this kind of attitude works for me personally as I was also morbidly curious as to where they were going to go next, but this show is not for everyone. However, I’m still not sure why all reviewers at ANN (Anime News Network) hated it with such vitriol. Like, it’s dumb, but fun in weird, wacky, inappropriate ways. Then again, ANN tends to frown on anything with inappropriate fan service situations, and KamiKatsu has that in spades. To each their own - but if you rely on ANN reviews and skipped watching this anime because they hated it so much, maybe give it an episode or two to figure out if it’s your brand of fun.

I found myself snickering most episodes - and I downright lost my mind when they rolled out the rotoscope/photoshop head on a dude riding a tractor bit. I had to pause it and immediately share that absolute stupidity with my anime club - half of which didn’t believe it was real.

Speaking of that, the animation veers wildly back and forth between very pretty (usually when breasts are involved), typical isekai (serviceable but stiff), cute retro 16-bit style (sometimes for no apparent reason), and godawful CG (for animals/monsters). Like the rest of the show, it’s a real mixed bag. I’m not sure if that adds to the flavor or if I was just ready to accept whatever KamiKatsu decided to throw at me.

Plot-wise, KamiKatsu is ok. There are some intriguing ideas about gods and how to get people to join your cult- oops, I mean religion - and there’s a twist part-way through that I won’t spoil here. The plot isn’t really why I looked forward to watching KamiKatsu though - it was more a means to create insane moments and character interactions. That’s what powered my enjoyment.

What flavor of characters can you hope to enjoy?

A loli goddess (Mitama) who’s obsessed with getting the protagonist to believe in her.

A pair of sisters that run the local inn (Al and Sil) - one who is infatuated with the protagonist and the other infatuated with getting drunk.

The absolute scummiest human being in the show- which is actually impressive (Roy).

Clen, who seems a little too normal…

A kuudere powerhouse that will do anything for ice cream (spoiler, so no name here).

And a former knight who has fallen into disgrace for various reasons (Bertrand). Those reasons are giant gazongas, by the way.

Plus more! I don’t want to give away too much because a lot of the fun in this show is experiencing what random wacky things happen each episode.

If any of that sounded appealing, I say you should give KamiKatsu a watch. Maybe a good old 3 Episode test. For those not intrigued, you may want to skip this one.

Where does it rate on my personal scale?

S: I will buy it at full price (unless it’s released by Aniplex USA, because fuck their pricing).

->A: I will buy it on sale sometime down the line.

B: I had fun watching it, but don’t need to own it.

C: It’s not my cup of tea, but wasn’t awful.

D: Dropped it.

X: Finished it out of spite, but did not enjoy it.

KamiKatsu nets a low A. It might have to be a pretty good sale for me to pick it up. I will definitely watch a second season if it ever gets made though!

#anime review #anime #kamikatsu #itsavgbltpta #should you watch the anime #KamiKatsu

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commic-jester · 2 years

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“hey dingus. i got an idea”

“oh god again?”

Steve leaned against the counter, watching as people passed by the ice cream shop without even a glance. He didn’t like slinging ice cream by any means, but at least it was more entertaining than sitting here doing nothing. It was summer, you’d think more people would come by.

He jolted up as the window to the back room slid open.

“Dingus, hey. I got an idea,” Robin said, causing Steve to narrow his eyes at her.

“The last time you had an ‘idea’, we both nearly got fired. I don’t like this godawful hat any more than you do, but I like having a job,” he said, flicking the stupid “Ahoy!” hat to make a point.

“Nono trust me, it’s a good one this time I promise!” Robin said. “And don’t even try that shit, we had fun.”

Steve cracked a smile and chuckled. “Yeah, okay. What is it?”

“Ok, I know you’ve already graduated, but homecoming’s coming up. You’re the only dipshit I know who can drive and is willing to take me, so…” she prompted.

“You want me to be your getaway driver to vandalize houses,” Steve deadpanned.

“Exactly! And, specifically, Billy Hargrove,” she said, grinning.

Steve stared for a moment. “Well, shit, why didn’t you start with that? I’m in,” he said, throwing a hand up in defeat.

Robin smiled fully. “Fuck yeah,”

Steve rolled his eyes, startling once more as the service bell started ringing incessantly. “Jesus Christ, alright, shit—“ he said, turning around to get back to work as Robin shut the window.

#steve and robin mean everything to me btw

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umusicians · 3 years

Text

UM Track By Track : : Josie Proto -‘Oh What a Godawful Stupid Idea’

British singer-songwriter Josie Proto released her sophomore EP ‘Oh What a Godawful Stupid Idea’ today! You can stream the EP here.

Of ‘Oh What a Godawful Stupid Idea’, Josie explains: “[‘Oh What a Godawful Stupid Idea’] is probably the most juxtaposing EP to ever grace the planet. It’s full of my shower thoughts that have somehow wound up in stories of how I think I want to live my life. Just like my brain, it doesn’t really make sense. If you want warm and fuzzy, I have a song for that, if you want attitude and female empowerment, I got one for you, if you want angry and sad, click play… It goes on. This EP is just an extension of the work that I am dying for everyone to hear”

Josie was kind enough to write a Track by Track for the EP which you can read below!

Terrible Idea Terrible Idea is the title track of the EP. It’s an anthem for those who are like me, full throttle, headlong into some of the biggest mistakes of my life, knowing full well they’re going to cause problems, but having blind faith in some type of luck that might just save me from the worst of it. It’s the story of being blindly in love, hoping that this time it will be different. I guess this time it does, and the story has a happy ending. It’s a strange thing that we love a bit of drama, we’ll go running back to it at any cost. I wrote this song about a very specific moment in my life, those close to me will understand some of the subtle references. It feels like a train of thought on paper. When I wrote it, I tried to write the lyrics how I would explain the story to the person in question.

Kids TV Born out of a rant, like many of my songs, Kids TV is me standing on a rooftop yelling ‘let me live my life how I want to!’ Bored of people promoting this ‘fulfilled’ lifestyle, I wanted to give people a song to stick their middle fingers up to and say, it’s so important to feel sad and unhappy and to be angry about things. Feeling all your emotions is important, not just ‘happy’ all the time, which by the way, is impossible.

Kids TV was written with Ben Matravers, who I co-wrote ‘Burner’ from ‘Pub Songs: Volume 1’ with. It started with Ben sending me over the first part of the instrumental and I noted that it sounded like a Kids Tv show theme tune. The idea came after we started discussing various different social media influencers that were insistent on spreading positivity like a drug and as thought everyone had access to it like a tap. Kids Tv feels like my way of saying that a perfect lifestyle includes every emotion.

Puddles I wrote puddles at 5am before going into London to record the first EP. I had been toying with the idea of re-writing the lyrics to a song I had written before and for some reason at 5am the idea came to me. I rewrote the song without any music, just lyrics. I think that that comes across with the way the lyrics are written. Despite Lockdowns and COVID-19, I had a fun-filled summer spent mostly outdoors to avoid contact with others. Being outdoors reminded me of being a kid and making mud pies in my wendy house in the back garden, being told off for ruining my clothes with grass stains and mud and losing my shoes in trees when I'd climb far higher than I would now. I wanted to write a song that made feel like I was skipping down the road to primary school about to wreak havoc!

Champagne Fizzles Champagne fizzles was never meant to be a love song! I wrote it to try to express the love that best friends have for eachother and the way that sitting across from your best friend while they unload to you feels. It’s actually one of the first songs I ever wrote that I actually liked! When we were discussing recording this track I explained to my producer Paul Whalley that I couldn’t hear any other instruments with the song. I thought that it was because it was such an early song that I hadn’t yet learnt to write with other instruments in mind but he helped me realise it was because it actually sounded better without anything. It’s pretty much completely live, just me and the guitar with a little embellishment from a double bass and some pretty mixing. It’s still to this day, i think, one of the best songs i’ve written.

I Bet You Fall Apart I absolutely adore this song. This was all attitude and no remorse! I wrote this song as one of my friends from college was breaking up with her boyfriend of the time. They were the IT couple and everyone knew more about her relationship than she did. She finally had had enough of the rumours that he was going to split with him and did it before he got the chance to. It was petty, but badass. The energy carried in that move will forever haunt me as this incredible power of taking life into your own hands and sometimes being the villain in the story. We were young, and she wasn’t having any wastes of her time on her watch!

The whole EP is just more ramblings that have fallen straight out of my brain and onto the paper. I can feel the growth in the music of this EP, though I think my perspectives and ideas are still in keeping with the first. I really hope listeners walk away from this EP thinking that they have a bit of an insight into my wobbly brain!

Connect with Josie Proto on the following websites: https://www.josieproto.co.uk/ https://www.instagram.com/josieproto/ https://twitter.com/josie_proto https://www.tiktok.com/@josieproto https://music.apple.com/gb/artist/josie-proto/1502660214 https://soundcloud.com/josie-proto

#Track By Track #tbt #Josie Proto #EP #Oh What a Godawful Stupid Idea

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Play Pretend

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~4170

Warnings: I don’t think there are any? Some language. Egregious amounts of fluff. A blanket fort and a Star Trek onesie. Gratuitous descriptions of Spencer Reid’s bone structure, because apparently I can’t help myself.

A/N: For the “treat yo’ self” square on my @cmbingo card, and also for @railmereid‘s 2k challenge! Prompt for the latter is bolded.

It’s been a godawful case, and in the BAU, that’s saying something. At least nobody ended up in the hospital this time? But as you all troop onto the jet in a straggly line of wrinkled clothes and puffy eyes, that’s about the brightest spot you can find in this whole fucking week.

As you get settled, though, Hotch clears his throat. “Your attention, please. We’re taking a long weekend, Strauss’s orders.”

“Oh thank god,” you mutter under your breath.

“Once we get back and grab our things, you are not to return to the office for a full seventy-two hours.” Hotch looks sternly (well, even more sternly) at Spencer, who’s on the couch next to you, curling up for a nap. “Understood? And you are not allowed to take case files home, Reid. I mean it this time.”

“Understood,” he says grouchily. You can’t help but laugh at the pout on his face.

“Seriously?” you ask.

He shrugs, lips quirking up like he does actually realize what a ridiculous human being he is. “I have many talents, but ‘taking it easy’ is not one of them.” He does the air quotes, even.

“All those PhDs and you never got a degree in relaxation?”

“That’s not—” He realizes you’re teasing and grins. “No. No I did not. I just… never really know what to do with myself, I guess?”

“Shocking.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I am going to have a treat yo’ self day,” you declare proudly.

“A what?”

“You know, like in Parks and Rec?” He gives you a blank look. “No, you totally don’t know. Of course you don’t. But there’s this one episode where two of the characters have a ‘treat yo’ self’ day, and they go shopping and get, like, really self-indulgent things that they wouldn’t ordinarily buy themselves.”

He frowns. “You’re going shopping all weekend? You’ve never struck me as a particularly materialistic person.”

“Fuck, no. It’s more about indulging in experiences. Self-care. Things that make me feel relaxed. Just… whatever makes me happy.”

“Like what?” He still has this totally puzzled look on his face, with his nose wrinkled up. It’s so much more endearing than it has any right to be.

“I like painting. I’m not good at it, but I like it, so I’m gonna get some new paints and a big canvas and make a mess, because it makes me happy.”

“Huh.”

“What about you, then? What do you do to relax?”

“That’s… a good question, honestly.”

“Well, what’s your idea of a perfect day?”

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise you that self-care is a foreign concept to him. You wait patiently as he overthinks it.

“Perfect seems unrealistic,” he concludes wryly.

“So, like, remember when you were a kid and you walked into a really awesome toy store?” you prompt. “Just feeling that sort of carefree, giddy kind of happy?”

“Not really.” He shrugs.

“What did make you feel like that, though?” you ask. “When you were younger? There had to be something.”

“I think I just — I didn’t do much normal kid stuff.” He lets out a huff of a laugh and runs his hands through his messy curls, suddenly self-conscious. “Didn’t get to play pretend, or… I don’t know. Didn’t have time.”

“Right,” you say softly. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

You nod, throat suddenly tight. “Yeah. Get some sleep, Spencer. Sweet dreams.”

He gives you a tired half-smile and tugs his blanket up to his chin, tucking his hands under his cheek, and the dark hollows under his eyes are hidden by his long lashes as he falls asleep almost immediately. You need to rest too, but it takes you a while; you sneak a glance at him every so often, feeling that twist under your breastbone that happens all too often when you’re around Spencer.

By the time the jet lands, though, you have a plan.

* * * * *

You second-guess your plan approximately a thousand times on your way over to Spencer’s the next morning. When you get to his door, you almost convince yourself to walk away before you manage to knock; is this totally presumptuous? Is Spencer going to think you’re ridiculous? Is the whole thing just plain stupid?

Then again, you were stupid enough to fall for Spencer in the first place, so. What’s another stupid decision on top of that whole mess?

When he opens the door, he’s wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a phenomenally hideous bathrobe, and he’s all messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, and for a moment you’re panicking because oh shit I woke him up. It’s almost noon, to be fair, but he did have some serious sleep to catch up on. Then you notice the coffee mug in his hand, and after a moment of relief, that morphs into more of a oh shit he’s so fucking beautiful type of panic.

You’re used to that, though.

Then you realize he’s staring at you, smiling but puzzled, and you haven’t explained yourself. Oops.

“Um. Trick or treat yourself day?” you blurt out, hoisting your shopping bags and giggling at your own lame joke. “I… brought you something. Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you — I should’ve texted, I just—”

“You’re always a good surprise,” Spencer says shyly, and then seems to shake himself. “Come in. Sorry. Coffee?”

“Please.”

You set down your shopping bags and follow him to the kitchen, where he fixes you a mug of your own — exactly how you like it, because of course he remembers. Then he takes a couple deep gulps of his own sugar-sludge and tops it up, and by the time you go back out to the living room, he’s starting to look vaguely awake.

“What’s all this about?” he finally asks, head cocked to look curiously at the bags.

“Well,” you start slowly. Now that you have to say it out loud, it sounds even more stupid. “I was thinking a treat yourself day would be a lot more fun with company, and it seems like… maybe you’re overdue for some of that? For… self-indulgence, and just, like, enjoying yourself without worrying. And you deserve it. So. You wanna?”

His eyes are soft and bright, oddly vulnerable, and a smile spreads slowly across his face, twitchy at the edges like he’s not sure he’s allowed to smile yet.

“Really? I don’t know what to do, though.”

“Well, I have some ideas about that. But first, you gotta make a deal with me.” The way he’s beaming makes you feel a whole lot more confident as you tell him, very seriously, “This is the sacred covenant of treat yourself day. You have to solemnly swear to do whatever you want. Anything you can dream up. Indulge every whim. Take an oath to give in to every one of your silly, random, frivolous desires, without any form of self-denial or doubt. Can you do that, Spencer?”

“I can try,” he says, and his voice cracks. It’s like he can’t shape the words, with the way his smile has taken over his entire face.

“Okay, good enough. And… I have a few ideas.”

“Like what?”

You shrug. “Like… some things I thought maybe you didn’t get to do as a kid? Here, let me—”

You rummage until you find what you were looking for, and then you turn around, holding it out like an offering. Spencer’s mouth drops open.

“Is that a Captain Kirk costume?” he asks squeakily.

“It’s a Captain Kirk onesie,” you correct. “And it’s for you.”

“Holy—”

He shucks the bathrobe and sets down his coffee hastily, and he’s zipping the onesie up before you can say “Beam me up,” looking down at himself with this joy on his face, totally giddy in a way you’ve never seen him before, and holy hell, even if he hates the rest of your ideas, this will be one hundred fifty percent worth it for the memory of that smile on Spencer’s face.

“I have one too,” you admit, and pull your Chewbacca onesie out of your backpack. Once you’re both appropriately attired, you tell him, “Next order of business is cartoons.”

“I don’t actually have TV?” he says apologetically. “I mean, I have a TV, but it’s only for —”

You grin. “I came prepared, though!”

Spencer’s the only person you know who still has a VHS player, but you’ve been holding onto some things you rescued from your parents’ attic a while back; you find your VHS of Tom & Jerry cartoons and wave it at him triumphantly.

“I’ve never watched that before.” He examines the cover, bemused.

“It’s essential viewing.”

“Okay,” he says slowly.

While he performs whatever arcane ritual makes his ancient TV work (there’s like a rain dance and an animal sacrifice involved, you’re pretty sure) you settle on the couch, nesting in all the blankets and sipping your coffee contentedly. Spencer presses play and sits down next to you, but you can feel his uncertainty; he’s holding himself stiffly, and he keeps sneaking glances at you.

“Spit it out,” you tell him, a few minutes in. “If you hate it, you can just say so, Spence. I won’t take it personally.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that! I just — is this really how you want to spend your Saturday?”

“What do you mean?” You have a Chewbacca onesie, a perfect cup of coffee, and great company; you’re not entirely sure how this could get any better.

“Doing nothing,” he mumbles. “This is… there are so many things you could be doing. Don’t you have a whole list of things you wanted to do? But instead… I don’t know. You’re here. With me.”

Sometimes you want to scream until he realizes how awesome he is, but the screaming is probably not the best way to convey that particular message.

Instead, you keep your voice very quiet as you tell him, “There is absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”

It’s a little too true. Your cheeks burn as you turn back to the TV, trying not to dwell on the way you can see him watching you in your peripheral vision.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. He settles himself more comfortably into the blanket nest, and before long, he’s giggling along with you.

You watch in peaceful silence for a little while, but at some point, Spencer’s stomach growls, and you pause the tape to make food — chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, as per his verdict on “ultimate treat food.” As it turns out, he knows a lot about the science of cooking, but not a whole lot about the actual practice, so he sits cross-legged in a chair and directs you to various cabinets as you measure and mix and whisk. When you get the batter poured out on the griddle, he’s pattering on about the chemical differences between baking soda and baking powder.

He looks utterly dismayed when the first chocolate chip hits his forehead. Turns out his lack of hand-eye coordination applies to mouth-eye coordination too, and the floor is littered with semi-sweet projectiles before he actually catches one, but he’s laughing, so you really can’t bring yourself to care.

The pancakes are a total success. When you’re both stuffed and sugar-high, you grab the syrupy plates and bring them to the sink for a quick rinse.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer protests. You ignore him. His next words are much softer, scratchy and hoarse: “Thank you. I don’t — just — thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you say briskly. Then you turn around, and you freeze, because he’s a whole lot closer than you thought he was; he’s right there, close enough that you could reach out and run your fingers through his hair, or trace the sharp line of his jaw.

He has a tiny streak of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth, right where his lips curl up as he smiles, and for a second you can barely breathe with how much you want to stand up on your tiptoes and see if he tastes as sweet as he looks.

For a second he looks like he wants you to. He’s frozen too, for a moment, and you can hear his breath catch, but then he scoops you up in a hug, squeezing tight. And yeah, it’s just friendly, but it’s a hug from Spencer, and that happens rarely enough that it feels like a treat of its own, so you go with it, forehead pressed to his shoulder, heart racing.

When he releases you, you tell yourself you’re not disappointed.

“Right,” you say, bossy to cover how flustered you feel. “Back to business.”

“I think I need more practice sitting still,” Spencer confesses, following you back out to the couch. “It feels weird just… not doing anything.”

You pause, deliberating. “Well, we could keep our hands busy?”

With a quick rummage, you produce paint and an extra large pad of paper, holding them up for Spencer’s inspection. He frowns.

“I don’t have any paintbrushes.”

“They’re finger paints,” you say, grinning, and he laughs.

“Of course they are.”

You set everything up on the coffee table while Spencer presses play, and the two of you sit down on the floor, side by side. Spencer looks down at his onesie, then at the paint, frowning.

“It’s all washable, Spencer.”

“Still,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to take it off, but —”

He unzips the onesie halfway, peeling the arms off and letting the fabric bunch up around his waist.

“There we go, putting that genius brain to work,” you tease, but you’re touched that he cares enough about your present to worry about stains.

It’s hard to ignore how close you’re sitting. You do your best, keeping your eyes on either the TV or your masterpiece of Abstract Expressionism, but Spencer’s knee is pressed to yours, a constant warm pressure, and your hands keep brushing as you both reach for containers of paint, and you can smell him, like vanilla and maybe old books. The whole thing has you feeling flushed.

Other than that, though, it’s comfortable. It’s always been easy to talk to Spencer, which makes sense considering how much he knows about every subject imaginable, but it surprises you sometimes how easy it is not to talk to him, too. Silence isn’t awkward, with him. Neither of you say anything for the next hour or so. You just giggle at the TV and paint, wordless and companionable, and it’s the happiest you’ve felt in… longer than you care to admit.

Life is rarely perfect, especially not in your line of work, but this? This is pretty close.

As the credits start to play, you stretch, and then you look at his paper. It takes you a second to recognize yourself, but the likeness is unmistakable. Spencer’s got the exact angle of your eyebrow when you’re looking at him skeptically — apparently you do that often enough that he’s memorized the expression. He somehow managed to capture your smile, the curve of your lips, all in tiny delicate pinky-strokes of purple and turquoise… trust Dr. Spencer Reid to bring that level of precision to finger-painting, and oh god you are not going to think about his fingers any more.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” you manage. You clear your throat. “Yeah, I really do.”

Then he makes it worse by rubbing the side of his neck, bashful and self-conscious, smearing blue-green paint from his collarbone to the sharp line of his jaw, and he’s so busy smiling at you that he doesn’t seem to notice. He swallows, and his Adam’s apple dips, shifting a streak of color, making it flicker. It’s such a silly thing, but it draws your attention to his skin — makes you want to touch. Worst of all, it reminds you that he’s already art, that the shape of him, the delicate precise way he’s put together, is more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in a museum.

It reminds you that you want some things you can never, ever have.

“You’ve got — um,” you say, gesturing helplessly. He blinks at you, slow like he’s coming out of a trance, and tucks his hair behind his ear, smearing more paint there before he remembers. You giggle, sharp and nervous, and it breaks the tension all at once. Spencer laughs too, rolling his eyes at himself. You get up clumsily to go grab a wet paper towel from the kitchen.

The moment is gone, but your heart is still racing.

“What’s next?” Spencer asks softly, once you’re both cleaned up.

He missed a tiny spot; there’s a blue smudge right at the corner of his jaw, and you want to touch it, feel it under your fingertips, see if the skin is as soft as it looks, right there where the bone stretches it thin.

“Blanket fort,” you blurt out, before you can do anything embarrassing.

His eyes light up.

It really shouldn’t surprise you that Spencer and his engineering PhD make quick work of a pile of sheets and clothespins. You’re pretty sure that he could revolutionize the entire field of blanket fort construction, if left to his own devices, but you keep poking him when he gets lost in his head or starts muttering calculations to himself. The point is having fun.

The end result is a lot more Frank Lloyd Wright than any of your childhood creations, but Spencer looks absolutely gleeful, so. It’s the spirit of the thing.

“One more thing,” you say. “Do you have any Christmas lights?”

Spencer frowns. “I don’t — oh! Wait!”

He runs to the closet, and he ends up halfway inside the closet, digging around on his hands and knees. You’re about to make a crack about Narnia when he comes out, holding up a box with a triumphant smile.

You read the label: “Halloween decorations 3 of 4.”

Because of course Spencer Reid has Halloween lights. He pulls out several long ropes of them; a couple are shaped like tiny skulls, one is strung with Jack-o-Lanterns, and two could pass as Christmas lights if they weren’t orange and purple. You help him detangle the knot of them and drape them over and through your fort, and when you turn out the normal lights and draw his heavy curtains, the whole thing glows in patches of orange and purple and white.

“After you,” you tell Spencer, and he crawls in without any more prompting.

There’s more than enough room to sit up, but Spencer is lying down on his back in the nest of blankets and pillows that you’d relocated from the couch. He’s staring up at the “ceiling” in silence, eyes glittering with some unreadable expression where they catch the twinkling shards of light. You make yourself comfortable next to him, looking up and wondering what he’s seeing.

“I always wondered what the appeal was,” he whispers. “Of blanket forts. And… childhood in general, I guess.”

“You grew up pretty fast, huh?” you say quietly.

“Yeah. And I never — I feel like most of the team doesn’t take me seriously sometimes. Like I’m still a kid to them. I always feel like I have to prove myself.”

Your instinct is to deny it automatically, but you know what he means. They laugh him off for his quirks, for the way he gets excited about things and for the things he gets excited about. That’s what’s so incredible about him, though: that dichotomy of knowledge and curiosity, the breathless excitement when he makes a discovery.

“I liked pretending I had my own little world,” you tell him. “Blanket forts. Felt like I could actually shut all the bad things out.”

“Still feels like that,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Nothing wrong with acting like a child, sometimes. We need that. Even if it’s just pretend.”

“I think I get it now.”

“Hmm?”

He’s silent for a long moment before he says, “In here, everything’s perfect.”

“Or we can pretend it is.”

You turn your head to find Spencer looking at you, and he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. You barely want to blink for fear of breaking whatever spell you’re under.

There’s something raw and earnest and almost scared shining all over his face, like you’re catching a glimpse of the child he used to be, before the world taught him to put on a brave face and keep his most intense feelings to himself. It makes you feel shaky in ways you were really not prepared for.

There’s a heavy moment of silence. You’re painfully aware of how loud your breathing sounds.

It’s a hell of a thing, to have his focus like this. You fell in love with him watching him work; you know how intensely he can devote himself to a task, to a puzzle, to a map… and every so often, when the two of you talk, he focuses all that brilliance on you, and he listens so completely that you feel his attention like a spotlight.

That’s when he usually looks away, dropping his gaze like it’s something to be embarrassed about, because too many people have told him to stop staring.

He’s not looking away now. He turns onto his side to completely face you, curling up in that sweetly childish way with his hands between his cheek and the pillow, and you mirror him.

“Feels like we’re alone.”

He’s right; there are no distractions, no excuses to be made, no interruptions. It’s just the two of you, and it’s terrifying.

“Feels safe,” you whisper, because that’s true too. Your heart is racing, and it’s like you can hear your pulse in your ears, but it’s the quietest sort of panic you’ve ever felt. “I think that was exactly what I wanted, after the last couple weeks. To get away. To feel safe.”

There’s an orange light throwing most of his face into shadow, but you can see the corner of his mouth a little too clearly. You’re maybe a foot apart. It would be so easy —

“We don’t get that often.” His voice is barely more than a breath.

“Safety?”

“That too, but —” His breath hitches, and he clears his throat. “What we want. I don’t usually get what I want, but this was — this was very close to perfect.”

“Yeah, well, when is life ever perfect?” You manage a smile. “What would make it perfect? If you could have anything.”

“It’s not something I can have, though.”

“So pretend. It’s just us, and there are no rules today. What would it be?”

He bites his lip. “I don’t think —”

“For once in your life, Spencer, stop overthinking it,” you half-laugh, and then he’s propping himself up on one elbow, shifting forward, leaning closer, close close close until he’s all you can see, and —

He kisses you.

It’s the most gentle, feather-light brush of a kiss you’ve ever felt, barely more than a graze of his parted lips over yours. It’s there, and then it’s gone again before you can even begin to process the sensation.

As your eyes flutter open you can already see the fear setting in, dark intense gaze fixed on you as he inhales sharply.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe; you’re too stunned to react beyond blinking at him.

“I’m sorry. Can we just —” He shakes his head, hand over his mouth like he’s trying to hold onto the kiss. “Do you think we could pretend — can we pretend I didn’t do that? I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to pretend,” you say shakily.

He stares.

This doesn’t seem real. It’s such a strange moment that you might as well be trapped in a Dali canvas. There’s fingerpaint on his face, and he’s wearing a Captain Kirk command uniform onesie, and there’s a tiny Jack-o-Lantern glowing over his head. If you’d imagined the “perfect” moment, this would not be it.

But you reach out, running your fingertips over the dark smudge of paint on his jaw, and the skin is hot and smooth. He shivers at the touch. It’s real.

“Spencer?” Your throat is tight, but you manage a choked, “I want you to kiss me again.”

He does, with a careful hand cupped to your cheek and a smile curling his lips when they meet yours. You run your fingers through his hair, and you both laugh when they catch on dried paint.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

It really is.

#renswritingchallenge #cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

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“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar.

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her.

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation.

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.”

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned.

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!”

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey.

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

"Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

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i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are

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