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putting-it-into-parc · 2 months

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jealousy, jealousy - chapter 1: sometimes, it’s good to just sit one out

f1 fanfiction: lestappen (max x charles)

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summary: we know em and love em as one of f1's spiciest rivalries. but the ferrari boys and their disgustingly cute chemistry makes max realize there's a fine line between love and hate...

chapter 1: sometimes it's good to sit one out

Two exhausting practice sessions to kick off the 2024 season later, Max Verstappen lay as motionless as possible in his bed. He glanced at his watch: 7:48pm local time. He had exactly 12 minutes of peace left, 12 minutes before he and some of the other guys on the grid would be hunting for a source of food together. He wished the Max of three hours ago hadn’t told them all to meet in his room; present Max wanted to just exist as long as possible alone.

As if someone heard his thoughts, there was a tentative knock at the door. Max flipped over, let out a groan into his pillow, and peeled himself off his bed. He looked through the peep-hole at Charles Leclerc, who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Well, if it had to be someone, better Charles than…most of the others, really.

Max cracked open the door. “You’re 10 minutes early,” he huffed. “That’s 10 minutes I can never get back.”

Charles stiffened, but relaxed when he saw what he thought was an amused glint in Max’s blue eyes. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “They have McLaren staying in the same hall as us. And I think Lando’s trying to show Oscar some horrible new mixtape.”

“Right then,” Max allowed him in. “But I’m not in a mood to chat. I’m fucking tired and plan to be as inactive as possible until the clock literally hits 8.”

“That’s okay,” Charles said quietly. He took his shoes off and climbed onto the other bed, scrolling through his phone. Max returned to his horizontal position, but no longer felt relaxed at all. He kept stealing glances at Charles, who had changed from his racing suit into a pair of linen pants and a breezy matching button-down, perfect for the muggy Bahrain weather. His curly hair was damp, and Max noted the vague citrus of his shampoo. He became acutely aware of his comparatively boring uniform of his usual Red Bull polo and skinny jeans. And then realized how ridiculous it was that he was thinking about fashion at all.

“Rough practice,” Max mused out loud to banish his thoughts.

Charles started at this unexpected comment. “Yeah—Hamilton was on one though. And Carlos did well for himself. I think he’s feeling the car more this season already.”

Max rolled over so that he could look Charles in the eye. “I saw some of the turns you made. Carlos isn’t the only one who’s feeling the car.”

Charles’ eyes widened and his lips parted, but nothing came out. Max instantly regretted his impulsive words. The two awkwardly stared at each other for a few long beats, and were mercifully interrupted by another knock, infinitely most obnoxious than the last. Actually, make that several annoying knocks.

“Oi, let us in!” Lando Norris crowed from the hallway. Max rolled his eyes at Charles, who jumped out of bed and opened the door for Lando, George Russell, and Alex Albon.

“Hey guys,” Charles greeted the group. “Where’s Carlos? I thought he was coming too.”

Carlos Sainz was Charles’ teammate on Ferrari, and although Charles himself was supposed to be one of Max’s biggest rivals, the Spanish driver had been getting on Max’s nerves as of late. There was no reason he should—Carlos was, honestly, one of the best guys on the grid. Funny, charismatic, ridiculously athletic, the owner of an enviable mane of hair and a tanned jawline that you could grate cheese over. And wholesome. So goddamned nice. Fucker could banter with literally anybody on the grid, and Max was pretty sure Carlos inspired a couple hashtag with every teammate he’d ever been with. Carlando. Charlos. So why did hearing Charles ask for him—so fast—make Max’s palms itch?

Lando furrowed his brows. “Carlos? I dunno, he might still be in hospitality. Or in the shower. Could’ve sworn I heard Smooth Operator through the bathroom wall…”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Charles said. “Well, Max is here and Danny should join us any minute, so I’ll try to go find him.” And he left the room as quietly as he’d come in.

Max rolled his eyes. “You guys are early. I said 8.”

“Be thankful we showed up early,” Lando scoffed and rubbed his hands together. “I’m a growing boy and I’m HUNGRY. You prats ought to tell me what you want to order or I’m going to call in a pizza, and I’m not sharing.”

“Carlos said he’d cook,” George reminded him. Max frowned at the thought of Carlos showing off his cooking skills, although of course since it’s Carlos, it wouldn’t be showing off.

“Well, I don’t see Carlos, nor anything he’d be able to cook with, so he’d better get a move on before—”

“Better get that pizza, Lando,” Danny abruptly strided into the room. “Carlos said he’d make breakfast, not dinner. You’ll have to wait to taste his carbonara another day.”

“Why carbonara?” George looked confused.

“Carlos and Leclerc made carbonara for that Ferrari challenge,” Max filled in. “Go watch it yourselves.”

Lando giggled, momentarily distracted from his plight. “I’ve gotten it pulled up, mate.” He tilted his phone towards George and Alex, showing them the video of Charles and Carlos duking it out in front of two induction burners in an effort to create a passable carbonara as fast as possible.

George took one look at the men clad in aprons and ridiculous red toques and burst out laughing.

Video Charles’ voice singsonged through the speakers. “Oh my god, what a mistake! You start with the eggs! Mate! You neeed to start with the guanciale, maybe a little—smell, smell the smell of carbonarrra. So then, you break the egg…right? The white of the egg, we take it off—”

“I disagree,” Video Carlos cut in.

“So the yellow of the egg only—” Video Charles attempted again.

“I disagree,” Video Carlos snapped again, and Alex lost it as well.

“Is this what they call Leclerifying?” Lando smirked.

Max felt his cheeks grow warm, dreading the inevitable mention of “Maxsplaining” that would come next. He averted his eyes from the screen as Video Charles began pacing around the studio, interjecting his clearly unwanted opinion as Video Carlos slowly lost his patience.

Lando suddenly paused the video and zoomed in with his fingers. “Bro.” He motioned for the others to see. “Leclerc has an ass.”

“Mate, that’s so gay,” George raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know me,” Lando retorted. “That’s not very inclusive of you.”

George’s smile suddenly faded. “Hold on, you know I didn’t mean it like that, there’s nothing wrong with—”

“Aaah, I’m joking mate,” Lando smirked.

He let out a yelp as George aimed a kick as his shin.

Max cleared his throat. “Restroom, be right back.”

In the bathroom, he took two deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. He had seen the video himself too, of course…and he had certainly also noticed how Charles’ white pants, expertly cuffed at the ankles, accentuated his backside. He just didn’t expect fucking Lando to point it out so readily. Max didn’t like watching the video in general, though. Something about the way Charles pranced in those goddamned pants around his teammate, peering over his shoulder at Carlos’ pasta, calling mate to him over and over again, almost like he was teasing Carlos on purpose. And of course Carlos was eating it up, even as he feigned irritation. Max could practically picture him steering just a little too close to Charles, brushing him to the side as he made his way over to the judges to explain his dish to the judges like he was competing on fucking MasterChef.

Come to think of it, Lando was the least afraid of the boys to show physical affection, even more so than Carlos. Maybe he was actually into guys. And maybe that would be a good thing for the grid, might make other people more willing to talk about that kind of stuff. Max wasn’t blind, he’d seen some questionable, tense moments among the drivers. But not him. He was just…observant. There just wasn’t any other reason why he couldn’t help but watch Charles and Carlos’ Ferrari challenges as soon as they dropped. Hell, if anything, they were his biggest rivals. Something about keeping your friends close, and your enemies closer.

He heard the door open again, and Charles laughing—a progressively rarer sound over the past year. The Ferrari effect. And then the deep, rolling laughs of Carlos blending with Charles’ breathless chuckles.

“Carlos, my dear lad!” Lando exclaimed, delighted. “We’ve been waiting for you to grace us with your presence.”

Carlos snorted. “What am I, some kind of king? That’s how you should be talking to Lord Perceval over here.”

Charles giggled. A sour taste filled Max’s throat at the affectionate nickname. He walked out of the bathroom and positioned himself in front of the two teammates, whose arms looked practically intertwined with each other’s.

Carlos smiled at Max. “Hey, mate.”

Max had to remember to tear his gaze away from Charles’ crinkled eyes, still harboring a ghost of his laugh, and return Carlos’ greeting with a nod. “Hey. Uh, good work on the track today.”

“Thanks,” Carlos beamed. Charles gave Max a circumspect look, and Max gritted his teeth, willing himself not to turn red in front of him. What on Earth was up with them today?

Lando clapped impatiently. “So are we getting food or what?”

The other guys murmured their assent. Max avoided looking at Charles and Carlos, wishing he had just sat this one out entirely after all.

notes: carbonara video creds to the c2 challenge ;) took a tiny bit of creative liberty

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klaineadvent · 6 months

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Klaine Advent Poll Time!

Hi there Klaine Adventers! (adventees? adventesers?)

We've been kicking around thoughts about the Klaine Advent, (should we still do it, should it still be the Advent, what should it be instead, etc...), and thought we'd use tumblr's handy poll function to get some feedback before making any decisions.

The poll will be open for one week and we'd really love your response, your signal boost, your favorite recipes, etc. What we really want to know is if YOU (yes you) will participate in any of the suggested options (or some other option). I know everyone loves the Advent (so do we!), but for the past few years it's been seriously dwindling in participation, and even though the first week sees an enthusiastic bunch of fic, by December 23 it's not quite so active.

So, if you want to participate in an Advent-like challenge for December 2023, please participate in this poll!! I urge you to pass on any messeges or thoughts about this in the tags, please go wild!

I do want to say that we will definitely be doing something for this year, but it's possible that this may be the last one, and if that's going to be the case I want everyone to know far in advance.

Thanks for reading, and on to the poll!!

Thanks!

#klaine advent #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #fic challenge #glee

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ridreamir · 4 months

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Hello! I just read your Drayton fics and they're soooo good I can't wait to read more stuff from you!

I left this ask mainly to compliment your work, but I may as well request if it's okay... Hm, what about a sort of cultural exchange between reader and Drayton huh? Reader transferred from X region (whichever you want, I personally like Sinnoh because snow and lore lol) to Unova and is new in school. Reader is good in battles and is here to get even better, has a good rank at the BB league. Drayton is curious and sees an apportunity to know more about them. Reader doesn't know that much about the Unovan mainland, maybe it can make for some good conversation, huh. What d'you think? (But if you're not feeling inspired please ignore the request lol np thank you for the good work <3)

Hello hello! I've been trying not to leave Author's Notes lately so as not to be annoying but thank you so much!! ;;;0;;; I'm supposed to be working on a 20K+ fanfiction centred around Kieran but tbh I'm kind of struggling on it (I've been struggling on everything recently, but that's neither here nor there) I know I've put out some not so great stuff as well, but hopefully we can wade through the rough patches together :^)

I went a little off script as per usual since I had an idea, I hope that's not too disappointing :'P It might actually be kinda bad I dunno :/ Well, anyway,

Imagine this: You're disoriented, but you remember your last ditch attempt to trek through an especially nasty blizzard. The winds had all but sapped the last of your strength, and last you remember was desperately fighting against a tumultuous sea of rapid falling clumps of snow. And as you're coming to, your eyes crack open to the glaring white of the outside from somewhere within a dark place. The world is frozen over, but the snow is serene, still, and untouched. You're in an alcove that's just by chance been spared from the onslaught of the flash storm, and there's evidence that someone's recently been judging by the knapsack and the, by the looks of it, aluminum safety blanket that's been carefully tucked onto you.

There's only one problem with that assessment. The people of Hisui do not have access to this type of thermal survival blanket. So unless one had by odd chance been leftover as spacetime debris chucked out from one of the rare phenomena aptly known as a Space-Time Rift, this blanket should not be here. Or, conversely, you're not where you're supposed to be. That is certainly evidenced by the white stone ruins perched atop a tall mountain that you see in the distance. The Snowpoint Ruins. The temple built to encase the Legendary Titan's sealing chambers. Your time in there permissed by the locals had probably amounted to somewhere near months studying the glyphs. The innermost parts of that temple fell frozen in time for likely millennia, and it noticeably felt not dissimilar to the unnatural gravity exposed you'd been exposed to in Distortions. Thick and heavy, inconsistent. Time and space remained still, and yet something outside of both seemed to shift and warp around you. In your first approach of the temple, of the Sinnoh that you once knew, you had only made it to the front gate of that once megalythic, then crumbling ruin. Though you felt drawn to it desipite a sinking sense of something being amiss, your trance had been broken. "Only the chosen may enter the Snowpoint Temple. I'm sorry, but you will have to leave." How ironic, you supposed. Of all the people to deny. But that was then, and this is now.

It's odd to think of the far distant future as 'back then'. And here you were, some ways off from where you'd started from. You hadn't made it that far, but somehow it seemed further than you could have gotten on foot in that horrible weather. Cool air still blowing through the entrance of your small refuge, you have a clear view of that mountain some ways away. There's another issue at hand. There's a lot more pinetrees blocking your direct line of sight than there should be, and the building seems to be cut off from the top. It's too small... it's... missing pieces. You can tell that, even from this far away. The deja-vu hits you in nauseating waves, and you have to bite back the acid that rises in your chest. You feel around for your Pokeballs, only to find them noticeably absent from your waist. In fact, your holster is missing altogether. You have no time to figure out what came with you on your person, as the rustling of the tin foil set over you in your shifting prompts a face to stick into the entrance of the alcove. "Arch-a..?" What. What in the world is that Pokemon. "Chalu-Chalu?" You tear off the foil and take a defensive stance. "Ch-che??" It seems to freeze up in confusion, and juts its neck back. It's, squeaking. The high pitched squeals sound aren't even close to matching the face of this thing..? You hold your defensive stance, though fighting this thing off is probably going to be impossible without a partner Pokemon to match its strength. "Archalu..!" It squeaks, an almost metallic, static-y noise distorting the sound. You don't move, but this thing has you cornered if it really wanted to attack. For its size and unfriendly face, it seems to be surprisingly docile. You hope that isn't a facade.

And just as your assessing your potential tactical options, an additional unexpected factor joins the fray. "Huh? What's wrong bud?" The voice you hear... has an accent. You don't know what that accent is, though. "Oh!" It's coming closer, and you're backing up. This is the most defenseless you've been since waking up in Hisui with little of your memory intact. There's a person there, in an all black snowsuit and chromatic goggles. You've not seen clothes like this in so long that your heart-rate spikes in anxiety. You shuffle backward, pressing into the rocky wall as far as you can. "Morning." Peaking his head through underneath the gargantuan beast you'd just been standing off against, he takes a moment to look you over. "You're not still disappointed about being turned away, right?-" The person, the, young, strange, male? Is making some sort of face at you, but you can't see his eyes. "Hey, c'mon, for real-- you okay?" H... huh? He comes a little closer, stepping into the little 'den' you've found yourself in. "Man, not again..." He sighs, his white, hair, thing, drooping with the rest of him. He really... emotes.

"You're not punkin' me or somethin', are you? S'not funny..." He mumbles under his breath, plopping unceremoniously down next to you. "Well, huh, I knew this might happen. You did warn me after all." He shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head back. "Well, I don't really get how this works, so what am I supposed to do?" He motions to knock shoulders with you, but he stops just short of you. "But I guess I feel a little special knowin' you trust the Drayster the most, hehe." He shyly rubs the back of his head. "Guess we'll be waiting this one out, yeah?" What in the world is he talking about? Is this guy delusional or something..?

"W-What..?" You croak, your voice sounding wrong. He reaches up, sliding his goggles down his face. "Somethin' about this place..." Whatever he mumbles, you don't fully catch. "Well, I want to tell you, but it should only be for a little bit anyway." He's not making any sense. "Maaan~ I'm exhausted-" He wasn't paying attention, but when he catches you looking at him, he flushes and averts his eyes. "What...?" He huffs, voice soft, there's something to it. "You're lookin' at me all funny..." "Archal-" Ah! Right!- That thing?! "Lu-ludon!" "D-Drayton-" The name stumbles from your lips but you're too anxious to realize what you're saying. "What is that thing?!?!" He blinks, making eye contact with Archaludon. "Oh? You mean my budster over there?" He scratches his cheek. "He's our friend Archaludon, my ace."

Ace... 'My ace'... That's right, there's trainers in the future. Pokemon are... friendly. That means this guy next to you is a 'trainer', sort of like you. "And... who are you...?" You ask, trying to understand the situation a little better. "Huh? So you don't remember me?" He seems shocked by this, for some reason. "Well, heh." He gets a mischievous look to him that you just know intuitively means trouble. "I'm your partner, hehe." And then your brain suddenly flooded with information. You are a Pokemon Trainer, and a traveller. You have a condition known as CPTSD.

"Oh! See, I recognize that look!" He giggles, slinging an arm around you. "You dragged me aallllll the way out here, that means you trust me~" He's mushing up on you, and your growing headache isn't the result of your condition. But somewhere in the recesses of your fragmented memories, you remember passing something to someone next to you. You're back inside the Snowpoint Temple, where you're supposed to be. You must've spaced out.

"Are you alright?" A young man asks. His voice sounds far away. You don't say anything. You can't see his face. But you remember his snow white hair, and slitted yellow eyes.

... "You loooove me-" "Can it, idiot."

#x reader #pokemon #reader insert #pokemon legends arceus #drayton x reader #drayton pokemon #elite four drayton #living with cptsd #amnesia #pokemon faller #reincarnated au #kinda sucks probably #sinnoh #hisui region #alternate universe #Drayton likes the snow right?#I wonder why that is #hehe

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ambrossart · 1 year

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Bad Omens

summary: after experiencing the most unlucky morning of his life, eddie is convinced that doom is on the horizon. all his friends think he's just being paranoid, but then jeff receives an unexpected request from you, eddie's little harbinger of misfortune.

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: 4,633 warnings: middle school, young!eddie, insecure!eddie, language, bullying, teasing, secret crushes, the unnamed freak is named grant in this series

series masterpost | series playlist | fanfiction masterlist

It was a dull, dreary, rainy morning for all the students hanging out in the Hawkins Middle School cafeteria. They sat in small, quiet clusters around the room, eating, talking, scrambling to finish last night’s homework. Jeff was part of the latter group, and like everyone else, he was having a hard time staying awake.

While the rain pattered softly against the window, he sat slumped over the table with his chin on his wrist, struggling to resist sleep’s sweet siren song. His social studies book lay in front of him, open to his current reading assignment: something about the Incas or the Mayans (Jeff couldn’t keep them straight and, this late in the school year, he didn’t have the motivation to care). He kept reading the same sentence over and over, but the words always got lost in the fog of his thoughts. His eyes, listless and heavy-lidded, blurred with tears every time he—

Another yawn snuck up on him, threatening to split his mouth wide open. Jeff raised his head and surrendered to it, let it wash over him and then drift away, leaving little pools of moisture in the corners of his tired eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve, put his chin down, and went back to reading.

“Dude, you gotta stop yawning,” Grant said. Then he let out a big yawn of his own.

He was slicing through the school’s frozen waffles with a fork. Inside the other compartments of his tray were two greasy sausage links, a cup of assorted fruit, and two cartons of milk. Grant always bought an extra milk because one was never enough.

“They’re too small,” he would say. “You finish one before you’re even halfway done with your food.”

“Boy, this is riveting stuff,” Scottie would answer. “Now, Grant, how ‘bout you share with us your thoughts on the basic four food groups? For instance, should fruits and vegetables really be grouped together?”

Then someone, usually Eddie, would tell Scottie to shut up, and that would be the end of it.

“God, these are awful,” Grant was saying now, while he stuffed a waffle square into his mouth and forced himself to chew. “Just look at ‘em. Pale, lifeless, cold in the middle. It’s like they have no pride in their product.”

“And yet you keep eating it,” Scottie said while he doodled in his notebook. “See, Grant? You’re part of the problem.”

“I have to,” Grant answered with a shrug. “You know I can’t go to class on an empty stomach. When I get hungry, my stomach growls really, really loud, and I’ve got a test coming up. Can you imagine what it’ll sound like in a room that quiet? Everyone will hear it and they’ll know it came from me. I can’t handle that kinda stress.”

Scottie’s doodling hand slowed. He stared at Grant with bored, blinking eyes.

Then he said, “I keep going back to the tombs. I feel like the tombs are crucial.”

Jeff lifted his chin off his wrist. “What?”

“He’s talking about his campaign.”

“Oh.”

Shocker. Scottie was always talking about his campaign.

“I still haven’t come up with a name for it,” Scottie said. “So far, I’ve got Into the Delves, The Delves of Dunmar, The Delves of Dunland, Digging in the Delves, Digging in the Dark Delves…”

“Why are you so stuck on ‘delves’?” Jeff asked.

“I dunno, I just like the way it sounds.”

“Yeah, but I thought it was about a tomb.”

“Well, what’s a delve?”

“It’s not a tomb! A delve is like a cave or something.”

“A hollow,” said Grant, “or a pit… a grotto.”

“It’s also a verb, which means ‘to dig,’ which would make half those titles kinda redundant.”

Scottie’s shoulder sank. “Well, shit,” he said. “Now I’m back to square one.”

He tore out the page and crumpled it up.

“Hey, where’s Munson? He usually comes in hot with all kinds of weird ideas. They’re usually shit, but sometimes there’s a little diamond hiding in there, and I pluck it out and shine it up real pretty until it glows into a sparkling, wonderful idea.”

Jeff cracked a smirk. “You’re like Rumpelstiltskin spinning straw into gold.”

Scottie squinted at him. “Rumple who?”

“Rumpelstiltskin. It’s a German fairytale. Sorry, my lab partner got her hands on a book of Grimm fairytales and now she’s like Mother Goose. She brings them to class and reads me her favorite ones. Except these aren’t nice, happy fairytales. These are like weird and creepy. Like in one, this girl gets kidnapped by a rabbit or something and is forced to marry him.”

“Oh, ‘The Hare’s Bride,’” said Grant. “That’s a good one.”

“You know it?”

“I know a lot of things I shouldn’t.”

Scottie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Grant, you’re just a well of knowledge. A giant, giant well.”

Grant ignored him and went on talking: “I thought she was into Lovecraft.”

“No, that was last month, thank God. I’m so glad that phase is over. Those stories are the stuff of nightmares.”

“Speaking of nightmares,” Scottie said. “Did anyone else get a weird call from Gareth last night?”

Jeff and Grant shook their heads.

“Well, he called me at like eleven o’clock ranting about the Antichrist and the end of the world. It took me a while to decipher what he was actually saying, but I guess he was watching The Omen last night, and a bird flew into his window and broke its neck, so naturally he started freaking out, like Gareth always does, and the whole time I was thinking, Dude, this why your mommy doesn’t let you watch horror movies. The kid just can’t handle ‘em.”

“Weird,” Grant said. Then he perked up and said, “Hey, here comes Eddie!”

Their friend had come gusting in from the rain and was now trudging through the cafeteria, stomping muddy shoeprints all over the tile. He had yet to draw back the hood of his black sweatshirt, which to the rest of the students, gave him a striking (and amusing) resemblance to the Grim Reaper. Some of them snickered as he passed. One girl cupped her hand over her mouth and said to her friend, “Go back to the graveyard, Eddie Munster,” and the girls tittered hysterically while clinging to each other. Eddie pretended like he couldn’t hear them, but he could. He always could.

He threw his backpack to the floor, ripped off his hood, and slammed both his hands onto the table.

“Guys, something horrible’s about to happen.”

“Yes!” Scottie said, pumping his fists excitedly. “Let’s fucking go! You’re all worked up. You’ve got that crazy intensity in your eyes. This is gonna be just what I need. Hold on, lemme get a new page ready. Make sure my pen has plenty of ink.” He scribbled with his pen, gave a satisfied nod, and settled back into his seat. “All right, gimme some straw, Rumpleskillskin.”

A deep crease formed between Eddie’s brows. “What’s he talking about?”

“Just ignore him,” Jeff said. He closed his social studies book and gave Eddie his full attention. “What happened, man?”

Eddie pulled out a chair, sat down, and dragged his fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, so last night I woke up with this horrible and just uneasy feeling, y’know? It was like this massive weight was just sitting on top of my chest. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. It was fucking terrifying.”

“What, you mean like sleep paralysis?” Scottie said. “Was a demon sitting on your chest, like in that…? Wait, what’s that painting again?”

“The Nightmare,” Grant said.

Scottie snapped his fingers at him. “Yes, thank you! ‘The Nightmare.’ Is that what you had, Munson? Did you have a little nighttime visitor? Did it whisper to you in the dark? Did it tell you secrets about the afterlife? Or maybe, you know, give you ideas for my campaign?”

“Oh, would you stop?” Jeff said to him, and Scottie threw up his hands, as if to say, What? I’m desperate!

“Keep going, Eddie. You woke up with a really bad feeling. What happened after that?”

“Okay, so while I was laying there, I thought back to what Gareth said earlier. Did you guys know a bird flew into his window last night?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Scottie threw down his pen in frustration. “That’s what this is about? The fucking Omen? Eddie, relax, the Antichrist isn’t coming, okay? You and Gareth just have overactive imaginations and like to drive each other crazy with your paranoia. You guys need to go outside and get some fresh air every once in a while.”

“What?” Eddie said. “I’m not talking about the Antichrist! Look, something bad’s gonna happen, you guys. I can feel it. And right now I’m having the worst day of my life. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, so I was running really fucking late. The roof started leaking from all the rain, and everything on my desk got drenched. My books. My homework. Everything. It’s all just ruined, so I dunno what I’m gonna do about that. Then the chain came off my bike while I was riding to school, and I crashed face-first into a puddle of muddy water. It was disgusting and I think I swallowed some of it. I had to walk my bike the rest of the way, and who did I see as soon as I got to school? Her. Because, of course, I would see her on the worst morning of my life. I see her every other morning, why would today be any different? She was just sitting on the steps with a book on her lap. I swear, it was like she was waiting for me or something. She smiled that smile and giggled that giggle, and she said, ‘Rough day, huh, Mudson?’”

Scottie stifled a laugh. “She called you ‘Mudson’? Okay, that’s actually kinda clever.”

“It’s not clever,” Eddie said. “It’s not funny. It’s not cute. Y’know Gareth’s all worried about the Antichrist, but… as far as I’m concerned, the Antichrist is already here, and her name is—”

“She’s not the Antichrist,” Jeff said. “Now you’re just being overdramatic.”

“Yeah, well, her giggle signals doom, so…”

Scottie said, “What, is she like a banshee or something?” and his eyes lit up. “Oh, a banshee, I like that. A banshee wailing in the dark. Shrieking… shrieking… Yes, I’m starting to feel it now. There’s definitely something there.”

He put his pen to the paper and tuned everyone else out. Meanwhile, Jeff leaned back in his chair and gave a solemn nod.

“Okay, Eddie, you had a bad morning, I’ll give you that, but that’s all it was, man. A bad morning. It doesn’t mean something horrible’s about to happen to you.”

“Yeah,” Grant said. “I mean, there’s a logical explanation for most of that stuff. Like your alarm not going off? You probably lost power at some point last night. The leak in your roof? Well, dude, you live in an old trailer and it was raining pretty hard last night. Leaks like that are bound to happen. It sucks, but it’s really not that weird. And chains come off bikes all the time. Same thing happened to me last month. As for your little doom-giggler, well… that girl’s always giggling at you.”

“Exactly,” Scottie said as he put down his pen. “She’s just your little heckler, Munson. Just a sweet little sixth-grader that likes to watch you squirm. God, I’d love to meet this girl. I wanna go up to her and shake her hand and thank her for giving me so much entertainment this year. I’m really gonna miss her.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said. He leaned onto his forearms and went quiet, simmering in his thoughts.

“Feel better?” Grant asked after a minute.

“No.”

“Well, have a fruit cup.”

Grant plucked his cup off his tray and set it down in front of him.

“Thanks,” Eddie said, and Jeff clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, relax, man. Try to look on the bright side. School’s almost out, summer vacation’s coming up, and we’ve got three months of D&D to look forward to. Scottie says this campaign’s gonna be the best one yet.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie muttered. He stuck his fingers into the cup and felt something wet slap the top of his hand.

It was an orange wedge.

“What the fuck?”

He drew back just as a second wedge came skipping across the table. It landed beside Grant’s breakfast tray. Then a third bounced off the side of Jeff’s head—“Ow!”—and plopped onto Scottie’s notebook.

“What, is it raining oranges now?” Scottie made a sickened face and flicked it away. “Is this part of your apocalypse, Eddie?”

“No, I dunno what this is.” Eddie turned his head and—“God dammit!”

Andy Hauffman and Clay Howard were sitting a few tables over and throwing orange wedges at them. Andy said, “Thought you could use some vitamin C, Munster!” and fired another one. It clipped Eddie on the shoulder and left a wet mark on his sweater.

Jeff ducked down and said, “Wait, why do they think Eddie needs vitamin C?”

Scottie shrugged. “Because they wanna boost his immune system?”

Grant sighed. An orange landed on his thigh. “They mean vitamin D.”

“Oh,” Scottie said. “See, that makes more sense, because Eddie’s so pale and hates the sun.”

“I don’t hate the sun!” Eddie said, and winced as the next wedge gave him a big kiss on the cheek. He wiped the wetness away with his hand while Clay gave Andy a high five and said, “Nice one, dude!”

Eddie turned around and glared at them. Clay just laughed and chucked another one. Eddie swung his hand at it, missed, and got hit anyway. After that, he finally gave up and put his head down on the table. “I fucking hate this school.”

“Dude, just ignore them,” Scottie said. “They’re idiots, man. They can’t even insult you properly. Besides, you should consider yourself lucky they only throw fruit at you. Last week, they depantsed me and shoved me into the girls’ locker room. I’ve never heard so many girls laugh in my life. They’d never do that to you, though, ‘cause they’re too scared you might bring a knife to school and stab them.”

A stunned silence consumed the table. Jeff had his hand pressed to his forehead. Grant froze in mid-drink. An orange wedge struck his cheek and made it jiggle.

“Hey—” Jeff began in a low voice.

Eddie pushed himself to his feet, yanked his backpack off the floor, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

“Oh, come on, Munson,” Scottie said as he went by. “It’s funny ‘cause your dad’s in prison! Everyone thinks you’re gonna shank someone. Oh god, there he goes again… off to find a dark corner to brood in… Poor, Eddie, nobody understands you, waah, waah, waah.”

“Dude,” Jeff said. “Enough.”

“What?” Scottie said. “I’m just trying to toughen the guy up a little. If he thinks middle school’s bad, high school’s gonna be a nightmare for him. What, does he think people are suddenly gonna stop thinking he’s trailer trash? I had a stutter when I was six and they still call me ‘Suh-Suh-Sloman.’ Kids suck. They’re always gonna suck. He needs to accept that and move on.”

Scottie picked up his pen, put it back to the paper, and sighed.

“I went too far, didn’t I? Oh shit… I’ll make it up to him later.”

Grant finished his breakfast in silence. Jeff opened his textbook and returned to his reading assignment.

“You know what, though,” Scottie said after a while, “I kinda know what he’s talking about. There’s something in the air today. I dunno how to describe it. It’s like electric or something. I can feel it pulsing through my veins. Yeah, I think something really exciting’s about to happen, you guys.”

Jeff hadn’t given much thought to what Scottie had said, not until he sat down in his fourth-period science class.

It was the strangest thing. As soon as his back pressed against the cold metal chair, a tingle ran up his spine and made all the little hairs on his arm stand on end. Electric, he thought, and immediately shoved the thought away. Come on, get ahold of yourself, Jeff. He wasn’t about to get all worked up over some silly superstition.

At eleven-o-one, the door swung open and you walked into the science lab, your nose wrinkling instantly from the sharp lemon scent of disinfectant.

Oh good, Jeff thought. A weird, whimsical story from you was sure to mend his frayed nerves. All right, Mother Goose, what creepy tale do you have for me today?

You slid into the chair beside him, laid all your materials on the table, and said… nothing, absolutely nothing. This morning, you were oddly quiet. Disturbingly quiet. Instead of gushing about your latest obsession, you were staring at the empty chalkboard and tugging at your sweater sleeve. This made Jeff a little anxious.

“No stories for me today?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Hm? Oh, uhh, no… not today.”

The book of Grimm fairytales lay on top of your notebook, its cover lightly speckled from the rain. How long did you sit out there waiting for him? Jeff wondered. Ten minutes? Twenty? He could almost picture it: you sitting out in the cold, barely sheltered from the rain, huddled over your book, frowning miserably, trying to stay warm, trying to read, stopping every other sentence to look up and see if Eddie had arrived yet. Man, say what you want about her, but you gotta admire the girl’s commitment.

With this in mind, Jeff decided to shift to a different tactic. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

“So… Mudson, huh?”

And just like that, your eyes sparked with life, like two little lightning bolts.

(Electric)

You placed your hand over your mouth and giggled. It was impish yet innocent, and it brought a much-needed smile to Jeff’s face.

“So he mentioned it, huh?” you said, delighted by the thought.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “Yeah, he definitely did…”

“It just kinda slipped out, you know? He showed up all wet and muddy, and my brain naturally mashed the two words together.” To illustrate this, you smashed your fist into your palm. Then you broke up into giggles again. “Oh my god, you should have seen his face, Jeff. He was so pissed!”

“Yeah, well… Eddie’s not having a very good day.”

Your chest rose with a sharp breath. “Why? What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff said, but he knew you would anyway.

You fell back against your chair, dejected, and dropped your gaze to the floor. In a small, guilty voice, you said, “It really did slip out.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff said. “Like I said, don’t worry about it, okay? It’s not because of you.”

The rest of the students came trickling in and class finally began.

Afterwards, while everyone was packing up and getting ready to go to lunch, you turned to Jeff and said, “Hey… uhh, you know that fantasy game you’re always playing?”

“You mean D&D?”

“Yeah, that one,” you said, and suddenly that strange, tingly feeling had returned. It had jumped off the chair and was now crawling up Jeff’s back like a big, hairy spider. He looked at you and wondered if you felt it, too.

(Or maybe he was just losing his mind. Or having a stroke.)

Jeff rolled his shoulders a few times, trying to rid himself of the feeling. Then he snatched his books and quickly headed for the door. You followed him out.

“So, umm, hypothetically speaking, how would one go about joining? Like, is there an interview or an application process? Do you have to sacrifice your firstborn child? What’s the procedure here?”

“Uhh, I dunno,” Jeff said. “Nobody’s ever really wanted to join before. Why? You interested?”

“Kind of… I mean, it may have crossed my mind. You know, you just make it sound so interesting when you talk about it.”

“Oh,” Jeff replied with a sly smile, “so I’ve piqued your interest, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Jeff nodded, still smiling. “And this has nothing to do with your massive crush on Eddie?”

“No…” You paused, fell a few steps behind, and ran to catch up with him. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, not to Eddie. He thinks you hate him.”

You cringed. “Yeah, we kinda got off on the wrong foot…”

“Yeah, you got off on the wrong foot and just kept on walking, didn’t you?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! School really brings out the worst in me, you know? I can’t relax. I feel like I always have to be on the defensive. Middle school is basically hell on earth, and I’ve had to develop some really sharp edges in order to survive this place. Sometimes I cut people without meaning to. And he’s just so sensitive, Jeff. Every little comment sets him off.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Eddie for you…”

“A tragedy is what it is. He has all this potential, but he’s just wasting it! Right now he’s Bruce Banner, but he could be the Incredible Hulk if he wanted to.”

Bruce Banner? The Incredible Hulk? Boy, Jeff was really starting to regret lending you his old comic books.

“Look, Eddie doesn’t wanna be the Incredible Hulk, okay? He wants to be Bruce Banner. He just wants to blend in and be left alone.”

“Well… too bad! I want him to be the Incredible Hulk. And don’t pretend like you don’t agree with me, Jeff. Eddie would be so much happier if he would just stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. He can do it when he’s playing guitar on stage. Why can’t he do it at school?”

“Because Eddie’s a very complicated person.”

“I know. He’s fascinating.” You hugged your books close to your chest and let out a dreamy sigh. “I just don’t understand why he tries so hard to pretend he’s boring and normal. His crazy side’s way more entertaining. I’ve seen glimpses of it when he thinks nobody’s paying attention. Oh my god, Jeff, he’s such a little weirdo! He gets all dorky and hyper, but then he notices me watching him and, you know, runs away. It’s such a bummer. Like, stop teasing me with the trailers, Munson, just gimme the full show! It’s like he’s got a little monster hiding inside him, and I just wanna rip it out and unleash it on the whole town!”

Jeff put his hand up to stop you. “Okay, don’t ever say that to him. Ever. Trust me, the last thing Eddie wants to hear is that you think he’s got a monster inside him.”

You both turned at the end of the hallway. Jeff’s shoulder accidentally bumped against yours and he drew back suddenly, with a jerk. There it was again, that spine-tingling, unnerving feeling. Except this time it wasn’t in the air. It wasn’t clinging to his chair. This time it was radiating off you like some invisible force field. When Jeff touched your shoulder, he felt it surge through his whole body like a shock of static electricity.

“Oh my god,” he said, “you’re Eddie’s bad feeling!”

You scrunched up your face. “What?”

Jeff gave his back to you and broke into a near-jog. You chased after him, calling his name.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, okay?” Jeff ripped open his locker and dumped everything inside. When he closed the door, you were standing on the other side, staring at him with confusion. “I mean, what do you think’s gonna happen, anyway? You think Eddie’s gonna wanna date you or something? Because I can tell you right now that’s never gonna happen.”

A silent gasp escaped Jeff’s lips. You stared at him with a startled, wounded expression.

“Oh, damn it,” he said, and knocked his head against his locker door. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“Whatever.” You sniffed loudly and wiped your runny nose on the back of your hand. “I mean, you’re probably right, anyway. It’s not like I’m blind or stupid, Jeff. I know I’m not exactly the prettiest girl in school.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” you said, and wiped your nose again. “Eddie’s fourteen and next year he’s going to high school. He’s not gonna be interested in dating some twelve-year-old, not even if she was a lot prettier than me. I know that. I’m not delusional or anything. I’ve already accepted that my parents had sex two years too late, okay? I’m not quite tall enough to ride that rollercoaster. That’s why I need some time to… well, you know…”

“Get taller?” Jeff said, cracking a smile.

“Exactly,” you said, and giggled. “Look, I know Eddie doesn’t think very highly of me right now. I bet he thinks I’m really annoying, right?”

“Yeah… he called you the Antichrist this morning.”

“See, that’s… Wait, he called me the Antichrist? Seriously? That’s what he thinks of me? I’m the spawn of Satan?”

“Pretty sure he was just exaggerating.”

“Yeah, that better be some crazy hyperbole ‘cause I dunno how I’m supposed to recover from that.”

You both laughed at that for a minute. Then you squeezed your hands into fists and gave him a pleading look.

“I just need time, Jeff, and right now I don’t have enough. School’s almost over and next year Eddie’s going to high school. He’s gonna be gone for two years while I’m trapped in this purgatory that is middle school. This summer’s my last chance to spend time with him. To make a good impression on him. Show him that I’m not the Antichrist. Holy shit, I still can’t believe he called me the Antichrist! Like, I know he doesn’t think much of me, but that seems a little harsh, doesn’t it?” You gave your head a shake and refocused. “But, hey, that’s okay. I can dig myself out of that hole. It might take me a while, but I’ll get there eventually. And then maybe, like in a few years or so, he’ll start to like me, too… maybe… but I’m not expecting anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s definitely the ideal scenario, but I’ll settle for whatever I can get at this point. Shit, anything’s better than the Antichrist, right?”

You gave a helpless but hopeful shrug. Jeff rubbed the back of his neck, mulling it over.

“You know you’re putting me in a tough spot here.”

“I know.”

“And Eddie’s really not gonna like this.”

“I know.”

Jeff sighed. “Okay,” he said, and your face lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. “But listen to me: if I do this for you, if I stick my neck out for you, you have to promise to be on your best behavior, okay? You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into here. This isn’t just a game for us, especially not for Eddie. He takes his D&D very seriously. It’s like sacred to him. He’s not gonna like you goofing around.”

“I won’t goof around. I won’t, I won’t.”

You did.

A lot.

Sorry, Eddie, Jeff thought, looks like your nightmare’s about to come true.

He walked into the cafeteria with his tray, found his friends sitting at their usual table, and sat down.

“Guys, I’m calling an emergency party meeting.”

Eddie’s whole body tensed with dread. “Why? What’s going on?”

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson x dwm!reader #dancing with myself #dwm #dwm mini fic #dwm middle school fic #ambrossart

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i-like-cats-and-stars36 · 2 months

Text

I have a teeny-tiny nitpick to make about some trans tmnt fanfiction.

You surely know that there is quite a popular headcanon/fanfic trope where the TMNT find out that one or multiple brothers have actually been assigned the wrong gender at birth since they are biologically the other sex, but Splinter didn't have enough knowledge on turtle biology to identify that?

Usually, these kind of fics are tagged with "Trans [insert name of the turtle]".

I think that's kind of a misnomer?

Because here's the thing: being raised as a gender that does not really match your sex and you find about it later in life could reflect more of an intersex person's struggles than a "classic" trans person's struggles where you grow up as the gender that matches your sex, but wanna change it regardless since it makes you happier (not saying that intersex people can't be trans of course, they are allowed to choose whether they wanna identify as that or not).

And I dunno, I think we as a fandom should aknowledge this thing more and maybe label our fanfics with "Intersex[insert turtle name]" in addition to the "trans [insert turtle's name]"since intersex people can often get forgotten in general LGBTQ+ discourse?

I dunno, this is just a nitpick of mine and I just wanted to point this out.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fandom #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2018 #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fandom #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt 1987 #tmnt idw #teenage mutant ninja turtles mutant mayhem #tmnt mm #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons

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technically-ghostly-collection · 10 months

Text

Alright let’s do this one more time, my fanfiction did a lot better then I expected (Yeah I know 31 notes isn’t a lot but it makes me happy). So here’s part two! You gotta read part one to understand this part so I linked it below, I hope y’all enjoy this one too! :D this does switch perspectives at the end to explain Miguel’s reasoning for what he does for the MC.

vvvvvvvv for part one

Part one | Part two | Part 3

TW: Injuries and Hospitals

Word count: 2.0K

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It doesn’t take long for the pain to kick in and you’re left writhing on the floor, holding your side and trying to breath through it. You start dragging yourself towards the hall closet to get a first aid kit, pain meds, anything to make this pain go away before you hear a knock at the door.

A muffled voice comes through the door, “Hey, I heard gunshots coming from here, I want to check that you’re alive!”

Fuck. It’s your downstairs neighbor. He’s very reclusive, you don’t even know why he cares so much when all he does is scowl and grumble at you. You’ve tried to be nice and make conversation with him but heaven forbid anyone acknowledges him, you barely remember his name. He knocks again, but you’re head is fogged with the pain, you’re barely registering anything going on around you. What was his name? It started with an M, you know that much, you see it on his mailbox in the mail room but when your life depends on it you can’t remember, of course.

You hear the doorhandle start to shake, and then something starting to fiddle with the lock. You continue to try and crawl towards your hall closet, taking deep breaths, You’d shout back but your vocal cords have been strained by your recent choking. You finally get to the closet and manage to open the door before your front door slowly starts to open.

“If you’re going to make noise or watch action movies maybe you should, I dunno, turn the volume… down…” you watch as your neighbor’s shadow in the doorway stops as he notices the blood on the floor. “Jesus christ, where are you? Whose blood is this?” he rushes in and sees you reaching for the first aid kit.

You glare at him, “Breaking and entering isn’t really a good look on you” you rasp.

“I think that should be the least of your worries, you sound like shit”

“Wow, thanks prince charming, that really helps”

He rolls his eyes, giving you a quick glare before he comes over and grabs the first aid kit for you, “can you walk?” You shake your head.

“That was a stupid question, try again”

He sighs, you can tell you’re getting on his nerves. Good, he insulted your jello salad at a dinner party the apartment complex was throwing, yes you’re holding a grudge. No, you won’t give it up. “Do you want my help or not?” Miguel hisses

“Wow, you’re so generous, who would have guessed that?” you cough out, wincing at your injuries and slowly prop yourself up against the wall.

He shoots you another glare before popping the first aid kit open. You blush a bit, “don’t glare and snarl at me, you’re the one who’s sticking your nose in my business”

“Would you rather I call the police to file a noise complaint?” He pulls out some gauze and medical wraps as well as some alcohol wipes. “This first aid kit is primitive, how the hell do you expect someone to work with this?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not made of money, I can’t afford the shit Alcamex is advertising”.

He goes quiet, you feel a little sense of victory being able to shut him up. He rolls up your shirt so that he can better examine your side. He stops you before you can call him a perv and pull your shirt down with a stern look and you swallow your words, letting him continue. You watch as he rips open an alcohol wipe and hiss as he starts cleaning the torn up skin.

“You might have to go to the hospital for this, it looks pretty deep”

“I would really prefer not to, it’ll be fine”

He gives you a frustrated look before just putting the gauze on and wrapping your side tight, you hold back a groan as the wrap presses against the wound.

“You should probably get your nose looked at. It looks broken and probably needs to be reset” he says as he packs everything back into the first aid kit.

“Who died and made you a doctor? Let me guess, your favorite board game is Operation.”

He gives you an agitated look, “you need to get your nose taken care of, it’s still bleeding.”

You wipe the blood off your chin and look down at your soiled shirt, cursing under your breath. “God fine, but I’m not going to the ER tonight, I’d much rather go back to bed” as you try to get up you wince and gasp out in pain at your wrist. You scowl down at it, ‘why have you betrayed me?’ you think to yourself. It’s definitely sprained just based on the size of the swelling and the feeling of fire racing through your hand and forearm due to the pressure you just put on it.

“Yeah, I’m dropping you off at the hospital, I don’t want to hear you groaning through the floorboards all night”

You hesitate before nodding, “fine… Okay fine, take me to the hospital.”

He nods before grabbing your arm and helps pull you up to your feet. Your legs feel like jello, you grab onto his arm to steady yourself and blush a bit ‘he’s awfully buff, god damn’ you think to yourself. He keeps a firm grip on your waist and wraps your arm around his shoulders, starting to help you walk out of your apartment to the parking garage downstairs. You’re already panting and sweating from the pain alone by the time you get to the car, he helps you climb in and you buckle up. He starts up the car after buckling up himself and drives off, you didn’t even notice that he put on some sunglasses before you both left and realized you left your own prescription glasses at home on your night stand between your judging looks.

“Fuck” you mumble to yourself.

He glances at you, “don’t pass out in my car.”

“Wow, nice work, I’m so comforted right now”

He rolls his eyes, the audacity of this man. “You’re welcome.”

“God you’re really getting on my nerves, why are you helping me?”

“My own selfish reasons.” He grunts out, you can tell the conversation is over based on the ice cold barrier he’s put up.

You roll your eyes and look down at your hands, feeling a blush spread on your cheeks. you don’t know why you're embarrassed. Maybe it’s because your attitude is less than savory but then again, he’s being an asshole back. He’s uninviting and abrasive and you’re still trying to put the pieces together as to why he’s so concerned because that excuse he just gave you sounded like a bunch of bullshit.

You both ride in silence the rest of the way to the hospital, you stare at the lights flying past you and dose off a bit, pressing your head to the cold window. It’s not long before your neighbor is shaking you and makes sure you’re clear of the door before coming around and helping you out. Like he promised, he’s dropped you off at the doors to the ER, not giving you so much as a second glance before going back to his car and driving off.

You stumble into the ER and a nurse helps you sit down, it takes a minute and some paperwork before they bring you back to a room. They change you into a hospital gown and before you know it you’ve got 5 stitches, a bulky stint on your wrist and a prescription for some strong pain medications that will help with your broken nose. The doctor already came in and they decided you’ll be staying the night for observation and you’ve been moved to a more permanent room, you’re trying to adjust and maybe get some rest before a nurse comes in with a clipboard.

“We just need you to fill out the emergency contact section and your insurance information and then you can rest okay? Do you need anything before I leave?”

“No I’m fine, thank you though” you smile and take the clipboard, already against having to write this down with your non-dominant hand.

“Okay, I’ll just get a refill on your water okay?”

“Okay, thank you” you give her another kind smile as she rushes out to get you more water and you start trying to fill out the form. You didn’t know how to politely say that you didn’t have any emergency contacts. You think for a minute, reflecting on your situation and shake your head. ‘I’ve got to remember his name… for the thank you card’ you chuckle a bit at your own joke. You imagine how his face will scrunch up with disgust, just like when he tried your jello salad… maybe you’ll send him a bowl. Just to make up for him breaking into your apartment.

Suddenly the phone rings next to you, you jump a bit and hesitate before answering it. “Hello?”

You cringe at your neighbor's voice, you don’t care how sultry it sounds, you’re just forced to reflect on his glaring face. “Yeah hi, I just wanted to let you know that you got blood on my seats. We’ll talk about how you’ll pay for that later.”

“Wow, you called me, at the hospital, just to tell me I stained your car’s seat?” You grab a pen and paper and start writing down the number on the receiver, you’re going to annoy the fuck out of him, you’re determined to do so.

“Yeah.. that’s the only reason I called you.” The line disconnects and you stare at the phone in raw disbelief.

You contemplate how you’re going to cuss him out when you see him next. You’re ready to make a scene and embarrass him, just like he embarrassed you. You feel like he treated you like a toddler, like you couldn’t take care of yourself or catch a bus down to the hospital when YOU were ready. You roll over, still imagining his snarl when you see him next and give him a piece of your mind. You settle down for the night, ‘I’m spamming his damn phone tomorrow’ You think as you doze off, ‘he risked his own damn seats’.

Miguel’s perspective

‘Why did I do that… that was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. When have I cared about people after I saved them?’ He knows why, he just doesn’t want to admit that he finds you attractive. And your lack of cooking ability is almost endearing. The way you smile and wave at him when you catch him in the mail room, or the way your face brightens up at the parties the landlord decides to throw. So when he saw you, broken and bleeding after he handled the two shit bags who attacked you, he couldn’t help but soften, and decide that maybe he can allow himself to care about you.

He pulls into the parking garage and climbs out, walking in to the building after locking his car up. He looks at the buttons on the elevator for a moment before pressing one, stepping out as the doors open onto your floor. ‘I’m such a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t be doing this. I have my own shit going on.’ And yet he enters your apartment, grabs a broom, and sweeps up the broken glass shattered on your floor.

It’s not long before his ‘watch’ sets off and a small hologram of a woman in heart sunglasses and a puffy coat pops up. “Hey Miguel~ You have a priority call.”

“Tell ‘em I died” he grunts out.

“Still cracking the same jokes I see” the hologram smiles. “But you are needed at headquarters, some emergency with the cafeteria and some of the spiders. A food fight has broken out”

He groans, “god why didn’t you let Jessica or Lego Spiderman take over while I was gone?”

“Because it’s more fun to create chaos, also they have their own dimensions to take care of”

“Fine, I’ll be right in” he sighs as the hologram closes out and throws the glass away. ‘Might as well be wearing a French maid outfit, they better be grateful for this when they come home’ he walks out of your apartment and makes sure the door is closed before walking out of the building.

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I wanted to include this gem from the comics in here. You’re welcome.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #into the spider verse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #I’m hoping I wrote Miguel correctly #enemies to friends to lovers #I PROMISE THIS WILL TURN INTO SMUT BEAR WITH ME #injury #asshole behavior #jello salad #insult to injury #brain rot #I have severe brain rot for this man #perspective swap #haha funny

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oscconfessions · 2 months

Note

so sorry for talking about tacomic discourse even though theres already been a morbillion asks about it and the topic died like a week ago.

my take: as long as you arent glorifying toxicity or presenting a toxic relationship as being good and desirable there is literally no issue?

people act like you can’t write character personalities or plots differently than what’s canonically presented and thats CRAZY. people do it ALL THE TIME with everything else, have you SEEN how many AUs exist??? why is it a problem with tacomic?

like the whole point of writing ship dynamics and making fanart and fanfic is that the characters will literally never act this way in canon (cause object shows rarely have canon ships). as long as you arent shipping illegal stuff theres literally no problem.

and honestly i think i have to have this outlook on it as a floorphone shipper(SORRY FOR BRINGING UP FLOORPHONE AGAIN BUT I SWEAR ITS RELEVANT), otherwise i’d be a hypocrite. basically yada yada mephone wanted sooo badly to get rid of floory in ep 12 but then they end up becoming cohosts, and like their dynamic does a whole 180 canonically because of this. That just proves, yeah, its possible for two characters to be written in a way where their dynamic starts as 🔥enemies🔥 and then they becomes friends or lovers, even. guys the enemies to lovers trope is soo overused but its also soo epic.

but yeah people who act like its impossible to ship something unless the characters were best friends from the very start or never did any harm to one another are actually bonkers. like are we forgetting the fantube divorce? i dunno man the way test tube was acting toward fan was prettyyy toxic. what about sodapack? canonically they’re pretty awful for each other but a large majority of the fanbase continues to ship them (myself included lmao). even fireafy has toxic traits and thats one of the most popular bfdi ships. personally i think a ship is better and more believable when there ARE disagreements or occassional bad things that happen. that doesn’t necessarily make a relationship unhealthy, every relationship will have the occassional ups and downs. thats just how it is. and to act like everything HAS to be perfect or else it’s unhealthy is just. ugh. that makes it seem like no one should ever ship anything ever again.

i know people are gonna be like ‘but taco was only ever manipulative toward mic!!!’ and yeah i agree, but you’re forgetting my earlier point. you can write things differently lmao.

the amount of fanfiction I have written that COMPLETELY IGNORES canon is nuts. guys it’s no fun to have to follow canon to a t, go crazy be silly write the funny fanfic where literally everyone is ooc and the plot makes no sense, i love stuff like that.

does this make any sense? i dont think this makes any sense.

anyways this is coming from someone who doesn’t ship tacomic, so it’s truly an unbiased news source.

goodnight america.

#confession #/ii #/ii/microphone/taco #/ii/microphone #/ii/taco #/ii/floor/mephone4 #/ii/floor #/ii/mephone4

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finniestoncrane · 23 days

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I used to find self shipping/reader inserts odd and I wasn’t really into OCs either, but a few years ago I turned to them when looking for a content for a minor villain I loved and I fell in love with them. It’s like they opened my third eye and gave me this whole other way to engage with fandoms and the characters I love.

I think my perception of what reader inserts were was colored by the stereotypes about Wattpad, fanfiction, and all of that, but there is genuinely some incredible reader insert fanfiction out there. Like beautifully written stuff. And some people’s OCs have totally stolen my heart, which inspired me to create my own. Something I hadn’t done since I was a kid because I thought it was cringy for an adult. I did worry it was cringe when I got into reader inserts as an adult, because that seems like a place you start in fanfiction as a kid, and grow out of, not something you avoid, and then grow into. But I stopped caring because it’s just so much fun.

see i've always enjoyed reader inserts because when i read a book i put myself in the shoes of the main character anyway, it's how i tend to view it so i can experience it first hand. is that self-centred? i dunno, i just know when i'm reading a book i am the main character, and regardless of who they are i can put myself behind their eyes, so x reader stuff is just naturally my favourite u-u

but yeah i was deep in fandom before and my friend at the time was kind of mean about me wanting to make an oc, like thought she was better than other fandom people because she wasn't "cringe" like news flash babes u-u so like yeah i'm giving myself what i didn't get and you can do that at any point and for any reason forever and ever just be silly and fun

playing with dolls is how people learn to interact and problem solve and socialise or something and we should all still be practising that. so play with your little ocs 💚💚💚

#friends being friends #anon

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nights-flying-fox · 7 months

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a short tidepod duo sickfic gift for @little-banjo-frog & @spacemimz :] hope you guys feel better soon!!

Word count: 1283 ☆ fandom: rottmnt ☆ ao3 link: n/a (yet)

Leo really hated being sick. It was always boring. Especially if he was the only one who got sick. Raph would get anxious and act like a mother hen, and Donnie would never let him leave his room if it was not necessary (and mind you, it is not because Leo has to rest, it is because he’d end up spreading his sickness in the lair), and would be a snitch whenever Leo tried to sneak out. At least Splinter had the experience and always knew what Leo needed.

The thing was that his dad seemed to miss the fact Leo had slept the whole morning, and then the whole noon, and now he couldn’t sleep. To be honest he didn’t want to either. Being sick was bad, but staying in your room and not being able to do much was also bad. The first was okay. He read comics, scrolled on his phone and read some fanfiction, played some video games... Yeah, he had company too but... He wanted to do something other than lying down all the time! He was well enough to walk around, and he was pretty sure his sickness wasn't contagious so he should be able to leave the room, right?

So he got up. It was slow and careful steps, mostly to not wake up others. Thank Pizza Supreme in the Sky, he didn’t cough anymore. He could just have a tour of the lair, maybe even find something interesting to do—

“Leo?”

He turned to see Mikey standing at the entrance of his room. He had his blanket wrapped around him, and his eyes were tired. Uh oh.

“Don’t tell me...” Leo started.

“It is your fault.” Mikey glared.

“...Is this why you came here?” Leo asked. “To accuse me of spreading sickness.”

Mikey whined, “Noooo, I can’t sleep.”

Leo tilted his head, “Why?”

“Because—” He began coughing. Leo watched, feeling terrible. Maybe this was his fault, alright. After his coughing fit was over, Mikey continued. “Well, this...”

“Eugh boi... Yeah, let’s make you some warm tea.” Leo grabbed his blanket as well. It was cold out of his bed.

“That sounds good, but I was wondering,” Mikey was looking at him pleadingly. “Could I stay with you tonight?”

Leo understood his pain very well. Sickness alone was boring as heck. “Sure, but we will visit the kitchen first.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pulled his blanket and walked out of the room.

He’d consider himself fast for someone sick, considering how Mikey had yet to join him. Except he wasn’t aware that Mikey was watching him walk, pulling his plushies on the blanket at the same time. The youngest smiled to himself as he followed his brother, deciding not to say anything.

Eventually, the two reached to the kitchen, Leo making two mugs of linden tea. Meanwhile, Mikey leaned on the counter, watching him. As Leo poured the warm tea into the mugs, he noticed something: “Hey, isn’t that Dad’s soup?”

Leo looked at where Mikey pointed at. A big casserole, which Leo knew that Splinter used it for when he made one of his famous soups. “Yeah, it is...”

“Shouldn’t he have put it into the fridge?” Mikey muttered.

“I dunno, you are the chef here.” Leo shrugged.

They looked at each other for a second before Mikey said “I’m reheating it.”

“I’m getting the bowls.”

And so the two warmed the soup, poured it into bowls, and headed out of the kitchen with two trays of soup and tea. The slideer had yet to notice his plushies on his blanket too, so they came along with the turtles as well.

Leo pointed out that Mikey’s room was the closest one, so they quietly headed there. However, Leo had forgotten that Mikey lacked a bed. Good thing Mikey had unreasonably a lot of pillows. Since Mikey had even less energy and was coughing a bit more now, Leo decided to handle putting the pillows down to make a comfortable place they could sit. As he did the task, he noticed the familiar purple tablet on the ground. “Is that Donnie’s tablet?”

“Mmmhmm.” Mikey murmured.

Well, they could use this! “Wanna watch a lame movie until we fall asleep or Raph finds us?”

“Yeah,” Mikey replied, enthusiastic but tired. “One of the lame horror movies?”

“No, you won’t be able to sleep.” Leo said as he placed more pillows on the ground.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You literally couldn’t sleep after watching those fake ghost stories youtube videos for a week.”

“Lies.”

Leo rolled his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, because he got distracted once he pulled his blanket over the pillows. “Wha- are those my plushies?”

“Yea, you’ve been dragging them along with your blanket the whole time.” Mikey snickered.

Oh. Okay, Leo maybe hadn’t recovered enough, how had he not noticed that? Eh, who cared. He took them and placed them on the pillows. “Bring yours too then.” He told Mikey as he sat down and pulled the trays closer, opening space to put the tablet on. Mikey did as he was told, and then sat next to Leo. They chose a movie and drank their soup and tea as they watched it in the dimly lit comfy room. The fairy lights and the way they were lying on the many pillows sleepily really made it feel like they were in a pillow fort. It was nice.

Mikey eventually got into his shell, only leaving his head out to see the screen. Leo held him close, circling gently his shell whenever his brother had a coughing fit. They both weren’t feeling their very best, but it seemed that the warm stuff and the comfort helped.

The youngest was the first to fall asleep. Leo didn’t remember when, but he fell asleep too. In the morning they found themselves in Leo’s bed, surrounded with some pillows and stuffed animals. And there was grumpy Raph watching them- no, glaring at them, sitting next to them.

“Hey big guy,” Leo smiled. Mikey was still sleeping beside him. “For your information, Mike’s joined the sick club.”

“I know.” He huffed. “What were you two thinking laying on the ground the whole night?”

“On pillows, Raph.” Leo corrected.

Raph glared at him even more, if it was possible.

“Relaaax, I was restless and he wanted company. I thought tea would help with his coughing, and his room is closer than mine...” Leo explained.

Raph sighed. “What am I gonna do with you two...”

“Bring us a very good breakfast?” He suggested.

“How are you feeling?” Raph asked, ignoring Leo’s suggestion. But he had smiled, so he might’ve brought them a good breakfast. Or maybe it was already on the way.

“Still not feeling too hot, buuut kinda better.” Leo answered. “No coughing, a bit tired tho.”

“Yeah, good.” Raph smiled, then put his hand on his forehead. “Your fever seems to be better. But don’t you dare to leave the bed yet. Not alone.”

“Why, where are you going?” Leo asked.

“Didn’t you ask for breakfast?” Raph smiled as he walked towards the door.

“You’re the best Raph.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Raph waved his hand. As he left, he added, “Get prepared against Donnie’s rant of careful usage of his stuff and whatever Pops has to say about soup.”

When Leo groaned, Raph had already left.

But now Leo wasn’t sick and alone. Yeah, maybe being sick was boring, and so was being stuck in your room, but hey, at least he had his family that made his days better. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes to fall asleep before his twin or Splinter paid a visit.

#this was supossed to be a mini comic #but i cant draw a thing the way i want today so #writing it is #heavily inspired by banjos drawing btw :]#it made me so happy #oh right tagging #rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #sickfic #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #nighty writey #i didnt proofread this but grammarly did lets hope it did well #its 1am so i can not proofread it mhm

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meimi-haneoka · 4 months

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So, something quite weird is happening...

I've never written fanfictions in my life, not even in my mother tongue. I haven't even really written any drabble, the most I ever did are funny skits to make my fellow ccs fans laugh on discord....

Yet, I dunno why, my brain these days is affected by something that is writing itself in my head.

Today one of my JP mutuals shared in a Space once again her concerns about whether what Akiho and Kaito got is really a happy ending, or just the beginning of a truly hard life for the both of them. I admit that last month I had my moment where I paused to think about what the life they've chosen *truly* entails. Yeah, we're all happily ignoring it but if you dig deeper it's quite harsh. Standard Clamp for you. I guess I came to terms with it by the fact that it was Akiho's choice, that everyone's happiness is different and determined personally, and that I'm confident there will also be lots of happy moments among the harsh ones. Kaito is quite sickly yes, but he's not completely bedridden.

Still, I have this something that is whirling around in my head and I feel like it's begging to be written down. I dunno, as a way of venting these concerns. It's not exactly a happy piece, I think it might be what people would call hurt/comfort? Considering Mokona defined Akiho as the one with an unwavering resolution, lots of guts and nerves of steel precisely in their Space of yesterday, I felt even more like the universe is giving me signs to write this drabble down.

Man, I'm a fanartist and I should be working on my two WIPs 🤦🏻‍♀️ but I feel like if I don't find an outlet for this, it'll hunt me down and make me procrastinate my fanarts even more.

So...hum, yeah, I have no idea where I'll put it (probably here) but don't be surprised if I come up with something in the next days/weeks. 🙃👀

#text post #what am I putting myself into #🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️#do I really wanna do this?#should I?#do I care about how many people will read it?#i need to be well aware that it might go quite ignored #yunaaki

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scorpiobabylon · 7 months

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hi! what do you make of ai art? im conflicted cause i see how its great for disabled people in many ways, but then i look back at the work people put into becoming artists and mastering the craft and feel many things lol i wish i could look at it similarly like i look at producers for example, where you have a vision and tools and you know how to use it well so you dont need the musical training background to be creative, but i cant help but feel like its more complicated with visual art? that theres a whole other side besides having a vision and good understanding of a shortcut tool. im very very torn and also sorry for all that on your succession blog but knowing youre a fantastic artist whos recently been dealing with this sort of impossibility to make art i wonder if you have some insight in this area.

sending love!

i appreciate u wanting to know my opinion on a Hot Topic such as this! i dunno man i have an aversion to any definition of art of any kind that requires effort or skill as essential features that make the art “real”. i think a lot of what is happening with AI discourse is that people are appropriately appalled by the way capitalism mangles creative output and even what kind of relationships artists can have with their work and with the rest of the world. i do not have a problem with a machine that digests and reconfigures information — a machine is just a machine. if one copied the way i make texture with colored pencil and produced an approximation of a new original work by me, i would be fascinated by what reactions i might have to it. would i feel threatened by it? would i be flattered? what might it open up for me, to see my work broken into a particular machine’s data? this is just a dream, though. i see many artists understandably frightened by what the exploiter class may choose to do with their new toys (and what they are already doing to us with them). it just sucks to see that very plain class antagonism passed over with arguments about the “purity” of human-made art, how it is somehow apparent to any observer when a work is truly endowed with a “soul” (if these arguments sound eerily like fascist aesthetic principles, it’s because they are fascistic).

and then to see people cheering for their own doom with this thing of mr. game of thrones & co suing chatGPT, complete with condescending explanations of how it’s not going to hurt fanfic writers because the problem these multimillionaires have is actually with people monetizing their work, and the true humble Fan would ne’er ask a but penny. do people really not see how this is making the divide between the “artist” and the “common person” greater? it is so goddamn expensive to survive right now, and the wealthy are using fear of technology as a tool to prevent you from making money, and yes, making art at all. only those with enough capital to protect their intellectual property with the force of the law are allowed to express themselves through art. yes, i think it should be well within your rights to bind and sell (for money, yes, money) your game of thrones fanfiction. so many of us are living in poverty right now, bombarded by entertainment but prevented from ever chewing it up or spitting it out. ed roth’s rat fink character had it right. fuck mickey mouse. like, we’re actually back to saying “fuck mickey mouse” being really cool. put him in a blender full of data, have it put him into a beach scene with BBW anime versions of lara croft and princess peach. intellectual property is a historically recent phenomenon. it is a tool to make the rich richer and get you well and squarely fucked. theoretically, yeah, it sounds good to have your work and livelihood honored and protected, but just like they’re trying to replace artists and actors and writers with AI, every single tool becomes a weapon in the hands of the rich. the hell people are worried they need more punishing copyright law to fix is already here. the woman who designed care bears & strawberry shortcake never saw a penny from it. AI art is only a threat in the hands of the corporations that happily do these things in the first place.

anyways. lol. i’m not very technologically minded in my own art practice — i’m not naturally drawn to new technology as a part of my work, and find many of the results i’ve seen from current AI art tech to be kind of aesthetically unpleasant. artwork contains unpleasantness, though. i’m not really interested in arguments over what artwork “should” contain, only what it does. i think the best AI art i’ve seen (ie: the stuff i’ve enjoyed the most) has been from alan resnick:

it is so terrifically disquieting. it leans into what makes AI-generated BBW lara croft kind of difficult to actually jack off to. the overlapping lines of bodies, the nonsense text. but then, if this work has merit, is that because alan resnick is uniquely special, thus proving the point that the technology is only valid in the hands of a “real artist”? can mr. resnick be said to be the “artist” of these images at all, because he trained a program to his own style and input interesting ides? does he deserve lots of money for his work creating iconic adult swim shorts like this house has people in it? well sure

or would this art only have value if somebody put a tremendous amount of labor into it? you know. my mother used to tell me, “hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work”. she said she should nail the phrase to my forehead, like martin luther at the church doors. having very recently become disabled & chronically ill, i don’t believe it anymore. i believe we should be able to use technology to make ourselves more free. we should not be so financially insecure that we are threatened by anyone expressing themselves with something we made. the ultra-wealthy are threatened by infringement because they need everybody else to stay poor, and the poor are threatened because they do not want to be poor any longer. it’s got nothing to do with strange scrambled pictures. if i could take pictures of every work of art i’ve ever loved and put it into a machine that mixes it up and turns it into a monster, i would do it just for a bittersweet laugh at it.

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pengemis-receh · 2 months

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Hi! No neg to you at all but i really need to get this out so feel free to ignore :D

I feel like fandoms as a whole has started to become WAY too comfortable in telling their creators what to do. The drama, complaints, and overall neg that i've seen people spewing to monsta is disheartening.

Critics are fine here and there, especially when mentioned in a respectable way. But people seem to forget that nothing is perfect, they see a flaw and just... zero in on it

Monsta can't satisfy everyone. Heck NO creator can satisfy everyone, but complaining about the thing something is lacking and saying negative things about the creators is helping absolutely NO ONE.

If anything it makes the creators ignore you, at worse double down or get disheartened and stop creating as a whole. Other than that it creates a negative sphere that makes some people (who were fine and enjoying this thing they like) to also feel unsatisfied or be negative as well.

ITS RUINING THE FUN FOR EVERYONE

I feel like these people don't realize how HARD it is to create let alone make a show.. its actually something i've realized in media consumption over the years; people have consumed so much media that they believe they "know whats best" or "understand better how to create this and that"

Creating is not easy. It takes time. It takes skill. WRITING isn't easy. ART isn't easy. ANIMATING isn't easy.

You want a specific episode that cater to what you like and how you want the characters to be? Write it. Genuinely write it.

Thats what fanart is for, fanfiction, fananimation.

Want something? Make it yourself. People have been spoon feed with free content that includes 3 seasons worth of a show, 2 seasons of its sequel show, 2 movies, AND comics.

And again. THESE ARE ALL FREE.

People do not REALIZE how privileged they are.

Do you know how many content now that is under a paywall? Do you know how incredible and generous it is to be given free content of an animated show for years?

To be given a show that is so obviously made with passion and love?

And still having the nerve to complain that its not the way how some people want or like it to..

Write it. To those who fully believe they know how things should be created, then do it yourself. Make a script and give it to them. Make a fanfic. Make an AU. Make art. MAKE WHAT EVER IT IS YOUR COMPLAINING ABOUT OR MADE YOU DISSATISFIED

Sorry about the long rant, this is in no way directed to you, been really peeved with how ungrateful people have been (getting that much free content in anything is a privilege some do not realize). Thinking its so easy to make a free show.

Anyway can't wait to see the continuation of your AU :D

Allahuakbar—THAT'S A LONG TED TALK wwwwwwwww X'D

Lmao I was not ready for a minute with how long your ask was, so of course I couldn't ignore this! wkwkwkw

Ehem.

Truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu 100%!

I am new to this fandom but it genuinely got me a headache. Even with the recent drama "Boboiboy is more likely a fan service franchise now!" or "Why monsta always treat Boboiboy only and abandoning their supporting characters? This is why Ejen Ali is better!" and many other drama that I don't need to know in the past.

Like... Puh-lease. Don't you guys know how much it blessed that they released their show full HD on YouTube? Both TV and movie series? Released their comic on webtoon for free?

Maybe you guys didn't realize how illogical that sound for outside of... I dunno, maybe from sea countries. Like Japan with their infamous strict rules for any franchise when they promote their products.

(and with how ridiculous what had westerns entertainment corporations did to consumers, so pirating on us and Europe almost became a norm?)

Monsta I'd say is genius. They knew they cannot apply the same way with how the Japan did, and thus they find a way to make their show release without losing any money. Even me personally still find that strategy is "somewhat" illegal. But for SEA countries? I can understand why they choose this path. Because that's how The some of franchises from my country did that too to promote their products.

Buuuut does it make the corporate go impecunious?

Now that my friend, it all comes down with the quality and the general public reception themselves.

(I can give you examples buuuut it gonna be longer and might subjective since I don't have any uh... Marketing background knowledge)

Therefor Monsta creatively managed to survive that obstacle. Their shows already big enough across the SEA nations and beyond; their comics and card battle themselves are heavily sold out, and even managed to release on theater in Japan!

Aaaaaaaaand then again, anon. This is internet.

Sometimes criticism could cause endless of drama that never ends. And it's absolutely unhealthy. Uurggh..

Yet in rare occasions, consumer criticism had their own benefits. Like the infamous Gremlin Movie Sonic before Paramount had to change because of the internet. (HUGE internet criticism If you guys don't know)

It really is a gamble to take any discourse if their take was supporting and even disowning some product. Especially on the internet where you could freely critics without hearts content.

I admit I myself have my complaints but tbf, at the of the day I don't mind with what Monsta give to their product. In fact, I respect with how much they take risk to correcting their mistakes from the very first Boboiboy Series up until now.

Nobody's perfect anyway, so I highly appreciate it they way Monsta tried to please anyone.

But that's the beauty of the Fan Art. Whether in form of music, visuals, literary, and any kind of medium to ensure that franchise still has an active community with tons of new ideas to share for their franchises. Big or small.

Fan art for me is a clarification whether the franchise is acceptable to their target market or not. If no one creates it, I consider that franchise is failure and not exist.

"The difference between fanfic and a "real" novel is that fanfic is honest about its inspiration."

-Mary Robinette Kowal

"There's a time and place for everything, and I believe it’s called 'fan fiction'."

-Joss Whedon

Tho...

Why would someone would want to waste their talents for creating fan art that they didn't even like it at first?

I specifically refer to people who made fan art clearly for hate or trigger people who liked it, not for earning money(that's another story to tell)

What a pity to waste time, ya know?

Like, touch some grass dude :/

#boboiboy #boboiboy galaxy #bbb #bbbg #bbbglxs2 #Me personally view PSU is like how Miyamoto visualize his games #The epitome of PSU that started it all. Boboiboy.#Want more in depth character dynamics? There's Mechamato #Need more room for comedy? We got Pipi Papa!#I'd say PSU is pretty well balanced universe that beautifully link without leaving them behind #Heck even there's another upcoming series that yet been revealed!#Anywho—#AAAAAAAAA #I'm too embarrassed that you see my messed up AU.#Thank you very much for your encouragement :'3 #menjawab anon

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melanieph321 · 1 year

Text

LICHANTONY STAN'S AREEE YOOOUUU READYYY!!

Written In The Stars

Lichantony fanfiction +18 (Blame Lisandro)

Summary:

It's after the FA game against Reading. Antony gets a text from Lisandro to meet him up outside of the stadium

Antony was one of the last player to leave the dressing rooms at Old Trafford. To his own suprise he had been elected player of the match, his first player of the match award as an Manchester United player. One of many he hoped.

"It was a good game, no?" Said Malacia. The two of them accompanied each other out of the stadium through the back door that led to the teams parking lot.

"Yeah, the team was really great."

"Yes, but you were outstanding." Malacia smiled. "Player of the match."

Antony chuckled shyly as Malacia nudged his side.

"Do you need a ride home or something?" He asked, pointing to his parked car.

"No it's okay, really "

Malacia shifted his head. The parking lot was empty. "Is someone coming to pick you up?"

"Um..." Antony scratched the back of his head compulsivly. "I dunno, I still got alot of energy from the match I should probably walk home, shake off the extra energy."

"I get it. See you in training tomorrow then."

"Yeah, see you."

Antony watched Malacia get in his car and drive away. He was the only person left in the parking lot now. He reached into his pocket and fished out his phone.

"No new messages." He cursed. Antony thought tonight would be different. That his man of the match award was worth breaking their rules for.

"I guess not." He sighed, angrily putting his phone back in his pocket.

Antony made his way down the road. The walk home would be long, but he'd call one of his friends to come pick him up once he got to the city.

He was upset but he shouldn't be, Lisandro didn't deserve to make him upset. This would be the third time he chose his girlfriend over Antony even though the two of them had made plans.

"Eyo, puta!"

Antony turned around at the drifting sound of a car. It was Lisandro, leaning out of the window of his Mercedes Benz, wearing that silly bukett hat of his.

"Are you trying to get kidnappad or what?" He grinned and pulled up to the sidewalk where Antony stood with hands in his pocket. "You came." He couldn't help but smile.

"Get in before you get a cold."

Antony climbed into the passenger seat as Lisandro hit the gas and drove away.

"You're a fucking tease, I hope you know that. I almost got a ride home with Malacia."

"That fool." Lisandro frowned. He kept one hand on the steering wheel whilst the other fiddle with the radio.

"You're teammates, don't say that." Antony chuckled, Lisandro always made him laugh the hardest.

"He never stops smiling like a fucking idiot."

"Well, he was kind enough to offer me a ride home unlike you. I thought you were going to stand me up again." Antony said, mumbling the last part.

Silence fell in the car. Music from the radio played in the background but it wasn't loud enough to smother the painful silence.

Lisandro kept his eyes on the road so Antony turned to look out the window in frustration. The lights on the highway passed bye like shooting stars, lightning up their pathway in the night.

"Just take me home Licha." He said, without turning his head away from the window. "I'm not in the mood for anything else."

Lisandro didn't answering but turned the car at the next intersection. They were now driving on a country road, one of many here in Manchester.

"Maybe you were right, maybe this should stop." Antony said after awhile of silence. "I've been able to focus more on training without the distraction. I've got my player of the match reward to prove it."

The car jerked to the left as Lisandro pulled to the side of the road, turning of the engine before he turned to Antony.

"Is that what you want?" He asked, an intensity in his eyes as he searched Antony's face.

"Is that what you want?" Antony fired back, feeling how his heart raised in his chest.

Lisandro leaned back in his seat , his expression conflicted.

"I can't keep up with this." Antony sighed. "I can't keep of with your moods."

"My moods?" Lisandro frowned.

"Yes, your moods. One day you want me and the next day you want her. And the rules of us not being seen together so often after training, It's killing me Licha, it's fucking killing me." Antony balled up his fist but released it along with a deep exhale. "What more is there for me to do for you to want me. How stupid am I to think that this..." Antony pulled out his player of the match award from the backpack at his feet. "...this stupid player of the match award might get your attention and make you want to spend some more time with me. To make you..." Antony was silence by Lisandro who had leaned forward in his seat cupping Antony's face between his hands. "I love you and you know that. You don't need to go out of your way to impress me or get my attention. I am always watching you, during the games and training. Hey, I can't take my eyes of during warm up. You're all I think about Antony, you and me. It's written in the stars."

"Then why are you still with her?" Antony's voice was quiet, a bare whisper. Lisandro's hands withered from his face as the came to rest in Antony's lap instead.

"I told you. " He sighed."I just need more time."

"What if I can't give you that time?"

Lisandro lowered his head and let it knock against Antony's chest, where it stayed until Antony's fingers interwined with his hair. He felt a shiver, Lisandro's body twitching a bit. "I swear." He mumbled, somewhere below Antony's chest. His eyes were glossy once he raised his head to look at him. "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."

Antony sat back, his hand still tangled up in Lisandro's hair. He went on to caress his right eyebrow, the one with the bandage over the cut in his eye.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Not more than I've hurt you."

Lisandro went to tilt his cheek into the palm of Antony's hand, turning his head to plant a soft kiss against it.

"You never let anything get you down though." He said, continuing to serenate his hand with kisses, moving on to his entire arm by pulling up the sleeve to his jacket. "My player of the match." He said and paused to look at Antony who was staring at him with wide eyes.

Lisandro leaned in carefully, respecting if Antony would still want him to stay away. However he didn't. Instead their lips touched in the middle soon moving on to fill the car with loud smacking noises. Lisandro's hands krept eagerly, pulling down the zipper to Antony's jack and then his jeans. Antony wanted to make Lisandro feel good too, however his affections got nudged away as Lisandro positioned him right where he wanted him.

Antony sat back with his legs spread a bit, Lisandro's slowly going down on him. Antony's head fell back against the headrest as he was pulled out of his pants. Lisandro new just how to please him, enclosing his warm lips around him along with his hands clasped around his stem, sucking the precum of his tip like he was hungry for more.

"God Licha your killing me." Antony moaned.

Lisandro paused to lift his head and look at him.

"You deserve it. My player of the match." His smile was devious and so was the wet kiss against Antony's lips. Antony allowed a hand to rest on Lisandro's head, guiding him down towards his sweet spot.

He was right, Antony thought. The two of them, it was inevitable, written in the stars.

#antony santos #antony #licha martinez #lisandro martinez #lichantony #fanfiction #manchester utd #manchester united

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justjstuff · 1 year

Text

Babes. I really appreciate all the asks about Daughter of Fire! It makes me happy to see that people love it as much as I do, I just gotta ask something of y’all. Please leave a review before sending an ask here! I noticed a lot of you don’t do that (not to mention the anon asks that I can’t possibly know if they did comment or not) and I just wanna explain a bit why it matters. I don’t know if u guys have been around here for as long as I have but the fandom culture changed a lot over the years, not all of it for the better. Five, ten years ago, it used to be the norm to comment on almost every single fic you read, in every chapter. There used to be discussions in the comment section, readers answering readers and sparking conversation… just genuinely a lot more interaction than nowadays. I’ve mentioned this before but I felt like writing another post about it.

Please notice that I’m not saying “don’t ever send me an ask about DoF again” or “you should be giving me comments NOW!!!”. I’ve just been scrolling through my endless unanswered asks and noticed that there were a lot like those I mentioned.

Now, I know sometimes it’s hard to send a review. I, myself, sometimes get so anxious just by the thought of writing a comment that I just don’t even read the fic/chapter. But notice how this is aimed towards the people who already took the time off their day to sit down on Tumblr and send me an ask. It would take the same amount of time to drop a review! And you can even do it anonymously too!

Anyways, this isn’t a complaint, I’m just always a bit sad to see that this is the way we led fandom culture? I know it might seem a bit disingenuous to be saying that when DoF has the reach it has but keep in mind that I also write other fics and most of them only get a little bit of engagement. It’s honestly disheartening because while I don’t write fanfiction for the comments, I do share it for them. I could just write them and satisfy that need and keep it to myself, never putting myself out there so others might judge me but I do because I love the fanfiction community and I love interacting with it.

I also noticed that authors who don’t have their social media linked tend to have more engagement in the comment section and that’s kinda what this post is about. Although we don’t comment as much as we did back in the days, it’s still the way some people choose to give fics their time of day, they see if there’s a lot of hits/kudos/comments before even giving it a try. So it does matter in a way that the engagement gets through other media only like some of the asks here! I’m not saying stop interacting with me here and keep only to the comment section, even because I chose to link all my social media because I love interacting w y’all in a deeper level here and on twt and other platforms but like. If you do choose to reach out to me, don’t forget to leave a review!

As I’m writing this I’m already regretting it lmao I don’t want to seem ungrateful and nitpicky but in the end I’m forcing myself to post this because it might spark some conversation and I do know a lot of authors feel like I do. We’re seeing how much writing isn’t being valued in our society and that’s kind of the same in fandom culture imo and I dunno. What do y’all think?

Love u to bits and I’ll see you soon 🖤

Oh, btw! Regarding the next DoF update!!! I can’t, and really it’s more like I don’t want to, give you guys a precise date. I struggled for quite some time with feeling like DoF was a chore, a job I had to keep up otherwise I would let everyone down and that (and some other stuff) led me to the biggest writer’s block I’ve ever had in my life. I’m just now trying to reconnect with that part of me that loves writing and finds actual enjoyment in tackling this huge and complex fic (and any and all writing tbh), so I don’t want to slip back into that same pattern I had before. I don’t like the term hiatus for fanfiction because it gives me this notion that the author is obligated to go back to the fic when in fact they’re not (unless the fic has a set update schedule and the author is letting u know when they’ll be back). No one is getting paid for this and most of us study and work full time jobs before coming and sharing something that can be really personal with strangers on the internet. If an author wants to drop their fic and never come back to fandom life than that’s their prerogative. We as fanfic readers kinda sign that unwritten contract that when we start reading an unfinished fic we might never get to see the end of it. However, I like the term hiatus because it illustrates my point with this which is: I’m not done with Daughter of Fire. I just don’t know when I’ll update next. Rest assured that if I ever decided to let it go, I would let everyone know. I would release all the chapters I have written, I would give y’all all of my notes and unfinished drafts and lone scenes, I would give you the document where I tell you step by step what would happen until the very end of the fic (and the sequel I have planed for it 👀). And I would also leave it open to anyone who wants to continue it to pick it up and give it a try. As it stands, I’m nowhere near done with Daughter of Fire 🖤

#daughter of fire #dof #kakasaku #fandom #fandom life #fandom culture #fanfic culture #fanfic #fanfiction #just me being silly #and talking mostly at myself lol #i love y’all

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