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toa-kirhan · 1 year

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First time watching ToH S1E14 (Really Small Problems). Thoughts below:

Detailed thoughts:

Although this episode had almost the entire main cast from the intro (only missing Amity) w/ four of them involved in the A plot, the focus here is on King and how his relationship w/ Luz has changed w/ her admission into Hexside.

While Luz has known Willow and Gus for almost the entire time she’s been in the Boiling Isles, spending time w/ them has never an issue before since Luz was still being self-taught by Eda. Most of her time was spent around the Owl House, w/ Luz only going out w/ Willow and Gus for big events like the Covention or a Moonlight Conjuring.

In that time, King and Luz have developed an incredibly close relationship w/ each other, going from strangers w/ opposing personalities to the best of friends, starting w/ E4 (“The Intruder”), when the two first opened up to each other. While King was initially confused and uncomfortable by Luz’s hands on affection, he now actively seeks out her attention w/ the assurance that Luz sees him as more than just a cute face.

It isn’t ever brought up, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Luz was King’s only friend, considering the only other characters he interacts on a daily basis are Eda and Hooty. It certainly goes a long way in explaining why King is so attached to her and eager for her to come back now that she spends more of her time at Hexside now.

One of King’s issues is that he tends to focus on himself, making impulsive decisions that benefit him in the moment and ignoring any consequences that might crop up later, with the hope that they’ll resolve themselves later. This episode is a clear example of that w/ King putting aside his panic over accidentally disappearing Willow and Gus to spend time w/ Luz. Other examples include King signing a deal w/ Piniet for Ruler’s Reach and using Owl Eda to take over the Slayground.

One of King’s strengths is his willingness to admit that he was wrong and give heartfelt apologies to those that were wronged by him. While this has usually been Luz, here we also see King apologize to Willow and Gus as well, offering them two parts of the friendship bracelet that he treasured so much (sort of similar to Luz offering King the crown from her Azura doll after King lost his).

General thoughts:

So crystal balls are just this world’s version of computers/phones. That’s what the how-to guide crystal balls at the library implied, but seeing Luz’s video call and play an alarm confirms it for me. Not as convenient as an actual either, but it is stylish and I can respect that.

Luz and King Comedy Hour! They should perform for Willow and Gus!

Luz and King have a really sweet relationship now. I’m glad King is happy w/ how Luz shows him affection.

Pixie infestation? I wonder how Luz found out so fast. I guess she just got a call from Willow and Gus.

Eda needs to get a mailbox. It’s clear having Hooty eat and regurgitate the mail is a solution that no one likes. Eda needs a new trash can too.

The Carnival! Luz and King Day! And maybe Eda, Owlbert, and Hooty too?

Oh... Hooty’s not coming. :c

Does Hooty talk to all of the flies that he eats? The ending suggests no.

Tibbles finally returns! I’m surprised Eda didn’t read the back of the message.

They’re all going to get shrunk and put into the tank aren’t they?

Eda can just put Owlbert and her staff into hammerspace?

Eda goes through Luz’s laundry? .~.

Skeleton skin dunk tank, molar coaster, and fried orbs! What’s not to like?

King is Luz’s bone son!

Oof. Really feeling for King. It’s never fun when you get thrown into another friend group that already has its own dynamic w/o you.

Boscha has a pet pixie.

Wow! It’s the great psychic Obvioso!

Damn... not even King is safe from a carny’s wily tricks.

Man, Willow has to constantly deal w/ everyone else’s anatics, but damn if she isn’t capable of dealing w/ trouble when it comes down to it.

The Fun Police hate outdated human references.

Eda’s right, I can’t be mad at Owlbert’s adorable antics either.

Damn, Billy Bob Bear was a prize thief. Who would have known? Also, we get to see more wanted posters! Looks like Eda really is the most powerful witch since the only one that even comes close to her bounty is the Mass of Skulls (and it’s still off by 3 orders of magnitude).

So the house of mirrors features Furry Luz, Skeleton Luz, Alien Luz, Anime Luz, and my favorite: Celestial Horror Luz.

Whelp. Everyone is small now. Guess we’ll be counting on Eda or Owlbert?

I like the clinking sound whenever King taps his claws to his face.

Oh, the unicorns here operate on Terraria rules.

“Those are my dumb kids!” ^^

Hey! It’s Boscha’s friend w/ the long yellow hair! Good to see minor characters like him again.

I wonder, when are we going to get an episode where Hooty is a main character?

#the owl house #toh #toh season 1 #toh s1 #first watch #media analysis

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acloudofmoss · 6 days

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anyone got a link to the “they shrunk the dunk” post. been looking for it

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nox-the-former-demon · 2 months

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>>Nel killed God.

Sorry, let me start from the beginning, I just really wanted to cut to the chase on this one. Ahem

In this post, I, ex demon Nox, will discuss the flaws of the old ways now that their arbiters are all gone, be it by their intent, their melancholy winning, or a violent outburst by someone who had had enough of their shit.

When I first took up my mantle, my job was simple. Agitate the waters of the river of death, check on the state of souls and if any were ready to cross over into the river of rebirth, scoop them out and toss them over. A quiet but mindful job that was simply done and monotonous as hell. On the other side, leaders would contemplate, plan, and direct their unders to use the souls as clay in a manner not unlike a sweatshop to mass produce and send on their way the lives to be born.

The issue with this system was that as the population grew, demand grew in turn, and with certain individuals being extremely stuck in their ways, there was a growing demand on the people working the system. I think it was that stress coupled with the monotony that pushed me to my limit and made me do the things I did. The system was broken in ways I could obviously see and I didn’t want to perpetuate it.

Funnily enough my rebellion did necessitate some level of change. The river of death now has intentional bottlenecks that create harsher flows that do the agitation automatically, and some of the more… stained souls will be put into a cage of sorts and left in these areas for extended periods to really scrub away the past they had.

The river of rebirth, by comparison, has apparently taken some level of modernizing. I don’t claim to know the details for that, I wasn’t too privy to that side of things during my time. But I do know that they’ve sped things up and lightened the work.

But the fact that a war needed to happen to make these changes is but one of the many reasons why the old ways didn’t work. And more importantly, why the old people needed to go.

In a past post I mentioned Cariel, Death, and a third individual I left unnamed just to avoid stirring the pot too much. I did so because their chosen name was the name of the god Christianity and the rest of the Abrahamic religions venerate. God, Yhwh, etcetera etcetera. For simplicity’s sake I’ll henceforth refer to that one as Y. And Y is far and away the central point of this post.

As you know by now, Cariel reincarnated 31 years ago. And Death did so as well as year. These ancient spirits saw their time needing to end and ended it themselves on their terms so as to allow the world beyond life and death to have the room to grow. But Y… Y was a sticker. The founder of the Knights of Justice, the knower of all the old things, the last remaining soul to exist unchanged for two millennia. With a position like that, Y garnered respect and admiration. But also contempt and anger.

Asa and I have visitors time to time. Her and Nel’a guardians, a few other notable individuals, hell even my daughter Marisol is on friendly enough terms to use our body as a means of getting away from work time to time. And whenever they visit, they chat with Nel. And in recent months, many of them were stressed out and complaining. Complaining about Y. Complaining about the extra authority he now had. Complaining about how everyone was stressed out

Nel decided Y has to go.

The story as I’ve been told (as I was standing on guard duty over Nel’s body at the time) was that Nel broke out of the shackles of their physical form, projecting themselves out and up. They then shrunk their soul down to a tiny size to sneak up on him before growing to full size and lashing out with wolf like fangs and sharp claws and antlers. Allegedly he fought back, got a good blow in on Nel’s nose. But Nel held firm. They even showed Y Cariel’s old face for a moment. And then, they dunked Y into the river of rebirth a few times before tossing him in entirely, all before reinforcements could arrive.

Funny thing about the river of rebirth. It doesn’t have good effects on a soul that hasn’t been stripped by the river of death. It can deform and twist and damage a “complete” soul. Rather horribly. So Y was in no condition to keep existing after that. He’s been sent to the river of death for an extensive cleansing. One long overdue.

With this head stripped away, the system finally has room to change. To improve. The new generation has a clean slate to make the world better, to make the future more unique and more beautiful than it ever was.

And we have to thank Nel for killing God and allowing that to happen. And you wonder why I love that deer-fox?<<

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ndragoon · 6 months

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Really love how the past two weeks have played out.

Starts off with me going to the ER because of back pain so severe I couldn't even just sit and watch stuff because every pulse of pain made me physically move in kind

They told me that not only did I have a bad infection, but it had caused sepsis and I needed to stay and be treated for it.

Okay, whatever. I don't know the specifics of it but I know it killed one of my closest friend's mom a few months ago, so I'll put up with it.

While I'm there, I get seen by a urologist (technically I saw four, but the other three were decent) who tells me that actually, the prostate doesn't really have any issues unless you're around 60, so even if this wasn't going on they'd never look at it anyway. It doesn't matter that it hurts to stimulate my prostate because it's "small and perfectly healthy".

She then goes on to tell me that I didn't actually have any shrinkage from the testosterone gel. Sometimes the testicles do reduce in size some. But mine are just small and were small since I was born. The only reason they "seem to sit high" is because I'm just really fat and because of all the fat down there, it hangs around them and obscures them. The only reason I felt any pain in them was because of this infection, since it's all connected.

Doesn't matter that they shrunk down so much I only feel the tubes behind them most of the time. Doesn't matter that I can't even find those sometimes because they pull up inside me. Doesn't matter that they used to hang low enough that if it was warm I had to put in effort to make sure they didn't dunk in the toilet water. Doesn't matter that my penis has shrunk so considerably that it's clearly visible with photo evidence, since I used to take size comparison pics to show just how small it was for the longest time. Clearly I'm just a Manly Man trying to strut my stuff and explain why I'm not packing a summer sausage with two oranges at the moment.

When I finally get told I'm well enough to leave, I'm also told I'm not allowed to drive for some reason until I see my PCP and get cleared. So I'm like whatever, I'll deal with it since I shouldn't be going anywhere anyway.

Finally see my pcp and she tells me that apparently the scans they did found stuff on my liver, some kind of thing alongside fibrosis. What's going on with it is something that just seemingly happens. She told me there really isn't any known cause, it just happens.

The rest of my lifespan is basically going to be dictated by roulette. It doesn't matter if I became *perfectly healthy* by the most ridiculously strict standards. I could see the doctor one day and be told I have 2 to 10 years left anyway.

And now I can't even find anything pleasant online because people are acting like reblogging about Palestine's genocide to the exclusion of everything else is going to help. If anyone posts anything even slightly positive or neutral, they get attacked because they are supposed to be reblogging about it exclusively with no breaks.

So I'm basically stuck being reminded that I'm stuck dying alone because I'm not going to drag someone else into my life when I might have to tell them I have two years left after we just got started, on top of everything else. While also seeing an endless running commentary about how a genocide is going on that is actually okay! Because apparently Jews are the only forbidden people to genocide!

Because people seem to think that the US Army will suddenly start to care about what the people want if they are just annoying enough to the right people, as if they haven't been doing whatever they want longer than I've been alive.

And I'm sitting here being forced to pretend that everything is okay because if I stop to so much as catch my breath, everything will breach my mind and I'll start to spiral badly. But I also can't step away from anything because it's as they say, it makes me selfish putting myself over everyone else who has no choice but to keep dealing with it with no way to get out.

#Reki Personal #Reki Medical

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

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This is exactly what a Hard knock kicker at 5150 choppers look like and you can order it custom like this with a pink frame pink tank and rims with chrome and pink fenders right right here Paris Hilton is about 6 ft 4 so it looks a little small for her and most of you end up being around 5'8 and it fits perfect. She's my sister but she's shrunk and she couldn't get it back and didn't know why it was chemicals she's on she heard and tested and couldn't figure it out and it was not Prilosec and rispered all it was something else and she wasn't something you're on or we're on to see you got to start with something you're wrong but that stops growth and you find something that might not be the same but she tried it on kudzu found out what it was thank you a lot it's a good she started growing a little they are going after her for it so don't get mad at me it's him Duncan MacLeod over there and message you called you dunking the McDonald's. It really miffed I'll see what's the matter is because late for your school bus don't worry we'll teach you. Don't back there and say you're starting trouble so there's no I saw a short so I told her why so many cream you see is shut the f******. Actually they're gone a whole bunch of them. We're going to start doing it over his height and sickness and poverty right now too Thor Freya say and here it is we need to do it she's going to get it approved. This is a nice bike but it's not really custom and it's not really custom chopper

Hera Zues

I want one of those now is to tith me over

Miley Cyrus

Was sending it with a package and was sending several and it'll be different once a barber chopper and one leaves more to bobber and one's a chopper and different size motors so a few of them each and all of them your color when you say pink and that's perfect will send pink and you probably want to be pink that if that's fine other people like people it's a job

Thor Freya

I hear you use it which is good

Miley Cyrus

Olympus this message is approved

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talenlee · 1 year

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Story Pile: The Great Jahy Will Not Be Defeated

New Post has been published on https://press.invincible.ink/story-pile-the-great-jahy-will-not-be-defeated/

Story Pile: The Great Jahy Will Not Be Defeated

There’s this genre, called isekai, about a person winding up in a magical world after some major event. Then there’s this other genre based on that, called reverse isekai, where a character from a magical world winds up in a normal world after some major event. And while we can absolutely argue about whether or not Ranma 1/2 is a reverse Isekai (it is), I’d like to talk about a really fun example, with a minimal expansive plot that’s basically just a fun, half-size sitcom about a character who is so much like one of my friends I kinda am concerned she’s not getting royalties.

You can argue amongst yourselves about whom I mean.

The Great Jahy Will Not Be Defeated is a 2021 reverse-isekai anime about Jahy, the former second-in-command of The Great Demon King (or whatever), who upon the defeat of that great big boss, wound up stuck in our mortal realm. Instead of a leggy tits-out catgirl vampire lookin’ lady, because of the reduced availability of magic in our world, she is stuck in a miniature form – shrunk down to child size from her normal adult size. What’s more, as well as not having the magic she needs to be the cool boss monster style character she was, she also has to find ways to afford rent and food, but she doesn’t have all day to do it or any educational qualifications, and she needs to keep trying to find magical gems that will let her recover her power, which means she also needs a job. Something low-qualification and convenient.

Okay, that means the story is about a character with a part-time job making ends meet in a modern world while pursuing a nonsense secondary interest. It’s a pretty good formula. And you know what makes anime great? When conventional characters are escalated into being completely garbage screwballs.

Then along with that, add a rule: Jahy will not be defeated. It doesn’t matter how obviously bad or how awfully her determination has gotten her hosed, she will not give up. Core to the arc of the story, and how things improve from watching this awful little gremlin get dunked on to seeing her genuinely improve her life, is that she won’t give up and just what she’s focused on changes.

The Great Jahy Will Not Be Defeated! - Opening | Fightin★Pose

Watch this video on YouTube

There is a special kind of anxiety used for a bunch of the comedy in Jahy’s story, and that is the anxiety of poverty coupled with a character who isn’t cynical or aware enough of the world to pre-emptively resist the exploitative mechanics of capitalism. There’s a whole episode I watched on double speed because I was quietly anxious about how it was basically watching my own addled brain’s reaction to my earliest paychques – watching as money I needed to live got turned into a pile of stupid gegaws because I wasn’t practiced at thinking about how much use I’d get out of those useful things versus just having more money on hand for other more practical and boring things.

Bear in mind I was thinking about my life as a child, and the special anxiety of wasting money when you’re already poor.

There’s also a lot of B-plots around silly and funny characters and the ongoing story of how this world works, and that’s fun! And it sometimes features a character screwing up a magical potion and being stuck as a friendly dog for a day? Sometimes? It’s all very light, and the main appeal is seeing just how many of these characters bounce off each other in a small escalation of the ridiculoussness… that culminate in somehow finding ways to get along.

It is kinda funny-and-also-sad the way that anime, with the existing community space of ‘how much anime bullshit am I going to have to handle’ running down a checklist of potential oh-no reactions, measured by their severity and dealbreakiness, can need a very specific set of signifiers for what people might expect. To that end, I’ll let you know, if you’re afraid that Jahy uses the kid mode to do creepy stuff, I didn’t see any and I was duly relieved. Like I kept watching with a pre-emptive cringe and it was a relief that… nope. Jahy’s kid mode is used for two basic ideas:

The first is to just underscore how she’s powerless. She’s small so she doesn’t have raw magical or physical power enough to bully people or attack people. It’s the easiest way to remove that avenue from her, so the world she’s in has to be the world where you comply with what you’re told, which is pretty relatable. It also serves to make a lot of what she does kinda more forgiveable and less pathetic; bursting into tears or throwing a tantrum is a little more tolerable as a character when it’s a little kid having a rotten day.

I dunno, it just feels a bit, to me, like part of what’s going on with what happens when the show diverts to Jahy dealing with being a kid is that there’s a lot of fun stuff associated with being a kid. While sometimes Jahy’s goblin mode is used as a way to exploit her, there’s this recurrent theme I kept seeing where Jahy will wind up being treated as a kid and induced to experience something kids experience, and her reaction is to recognise that, oh no, wait, this thing that kids do is just fun? And it’d be cool to do them? Having friends and going to the park and partaking in the festival is fun, and it’s okay to enjoy that, and have fun?

I’m trying to frame this in a very personal, individual experience here, because I like this show. There’s some stuff I could unpack further, like how this works as a kind of landlord propoganda where one of the main characters being a landlord is shown as being you know, pretty reasonable and the fact she wasn’t doing anything for Jahy and occasionally picks her up like a large doll is a funny foible. On the other hand the same character does go through an arc later on where she seems to realise that she’s not doing enough and just wants Jahy to be her friend, and also, gets powerbombed?

It’s funny how this show does have this recurrent theme that the ways we treat poor people, retail workers, and children sucks, and it’s not like those people inherently have to have unpleasant lives, but it comes so close to being able and willing to say ‘maybe there’s some greater problem with the whole system of landlords, since the room wasn’t doing anything.’

Can’t quite say it though.

Can’t quite point that out.

The actual show is pretty toothless. It’s fun – and there’s a lot of charming sweetness and the music is enjoyable, but it really does hinge for me on how much I like Jahy, how I feel about her as a person, and how much I watched the show just hoping for those moments when Jahy had a good day.

#Anime

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krispdreemurr · 3 years

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so like i am all here for Spamton Shrunk From The Acid, but i think one of the lines used to talk abt it has some different and interesting implications. spamton has been burned in a lot of ways and i'd like to talk about one while i lovingly dunk him in the acid. long post behind read more, unsurprisingly also containing some kris theories,

so let's look at the dialogue again:

* I USED TO BE NOTHING BUT THE E_MAIL GUY, NOW I'M THE [[It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!]] GUY! * [[Amazed at thi5 amazing transformation? You too can]] HAVE A [[Communion]] WITH [[Unintelligble Laughter]] * SOON I'LL EVEN SURPASS THAT DAMNED [[Clown Around Town!]] * BUT UNLIKE HIM I'M GONNA [[Shoot For the Sky!]] AND GET ON THE PATH TO ... * [[The Big One]] * I'LL GET SO. * I'LL GET SO. * I'LL GET SO. * I'LL GET SO. * I'LL GET SO. * I'LL GET SO. * [[Hyperlink blocked.]]

so. let's try and translate this out of spam email. he's talking about being hurt, but he seems to regard it as a good thing to some degree - something that will let him surpass jevil, and get on the path to something bigger and better (like, say, Heaven) and on the path to [Hyperlink blocked]. he either thanks or blames something or someone he can't like. describe. except as unintelligible laughter, something he had some form of communion with, perhaps granting him knowledge of heaven and the angels.

(hey did you know one of jevil's little battle things says "Jevil is laughing incomprehensibly"?)

i remember someone saying in the tag that in the japanese, spamton's more clearly saying that his eyes are burning, like he looked at something too bright. i've lost the source on that, so take it with a grain of salt, but it'd track with some things he says in his weird route fight:

THE [Voice] RUNS OUT EVENTUALLY YOUR [Voice] THEIR [Voice] UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU ARE ALL ALONE YOU LOST IT WHEN YOU TRIED TO SEE TOO FAR.... ... YOU LOST IT...

sidenote this dialogue freaks me out. anyways.

it requires a few assumptions, but i think it's possible to take what spamton's saying as meaning that he got in touch with gaster, and gaster showed him the angel's heaven, or the world above/beyond the game, or both. like jevil, seeing the true nature of reality fucked spamton up pretty damn hard and put him in some level of permanent physical/mental/spiritual pain. however, he sees it as a blessing overall, and wants to use the knowledge he has to finally break free and make it into heaven.

(it's a tangent, but i do think he tried similar before, but for gaster's benefit, not his own:

ARE YOU WATCHING, [Heaven]!? IT'S TIME FOR SPAMTON'S [Comeback Special]! AND THIS TIME... I LIVE FOR MYSELF!!! NO... MYSELF AND MY [Friend(s)]!!!

also the end of his pacifist fight also freaks me out. anyways!!!)

so. while he may have also been thrown into the acid, as he deserves, this particular source of burning is a lot deeper and existential.

and if you talk to him about another subject, he suggests he might know of someone else who's been burned by communion with an outside power, someone else in touch with something that's too far from their reality to even see properly...

* SPEAKING OF [[Communion]] * KRIS, DID YOU KNOW THAT THE KNIGHT...

but he gets cut off pretty quick.

* No, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to -- * TOO MANY EXCESS VACATION DAYS?? TAKE A GOD DAMN VACATION STRAIGHT TO HELL

i'm sure it's fine.

HEY HEY HEY! I'VE NEVER SEEN A [HeartShapedObject] LIKE THAT BEFORE!! MY EYES ARE [[Burning]] LIKE [[DVDs of ANY movie at Half-pr1ce!]]

#deltarune #spamton #deltarune snowgrave #as a passing mention just one of the dialogue sources is that route

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sirowsky · 2 years

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A Safe Place

So, I have no idea where this came from. None. But it's Pero, and I don't really need reasons to write him.

This is a standalone Pero Tovar one shot, with a female reader but told entirely from Pero's perspective.

Summary: He opens the door one night to find a friend in trouble, and in trying to help, he discovers that she's much more than a friend.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: TW domestic abuse, TW physical abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, no physical description of reader beyond female, happy ending. Word Count: 3250

Author's Masterlist

The two short knocks were so faint that had he not been on his way to lock the front door, he never would’ve heard it. It was well past midnight, and he’d just turned the tv off to go and brush his teeth before bed, so the house was dark and quiet, and still he barely heard it. He switched on the lights in the hall and opened the door. It had been a long day for a lot of reasons, and he was tired, but that all became insignificant when he saw you out there, leaning against the wall, covered in cuts and bruises, and hardly able to stand. You’d been beaten. Badly.

He stepped out and wrapped an arm around your waist, seeing how you flinched when pain shot through you at his touch. He wasn’t the most careful or tender of men, but he tried to soften his grip so as not to cause you any unnecessary discomfort, while he helped you get inside and guided you to his bedroom. You followed without protest, moving slowly and with great difficulty. You didn’t meet his eyes even momentarily, and he wondered why it felt like you were ashamed. Once he’d sat you down on the bed, he went into the adjoining bathroom and got some warm water and towels that he brought back and placed on the nightstand. He tried to be gentle as he wiped the blood off your face to try and see where it was coming from, but some of it had already dried and therefor required more effort. Every time his ministrations made you twitch or wince, he felt more and more like a monster for adding to your pain, but it had to be done. He found three larger cuts on your face and head, none of whom would need stitches, but he was gonna tape them together after he’d checked the rest of you over. Next were your hands, and they were in bad shape. You’d fought, and you’d fought with everything you had, as evident by the badly chafed knuckles. Your hands would need to be bandaged, but at least you seemed to have avoided breaking any bones in them.

“Where else?” he asked while dunking the small towel in the now dark red water.

You gave no response and didn’t move at all, and repeating the question yielded no better result, which made him huff in frustration. He was neither patient nor eloquent, meaning his responses to most situations consisted of grunts, sighs and eyerolls, which was usually enough to convey how disinterested he was in most things. But this time, for the first time, he regretted using such a crude way of communication, because you visibly shrunk at the sound, hunching even further in on yourself and angling your bowed head away from him.

He’d known you for almost ten years, ever since working his first real job, as a bouncer at a bar where you’d been a bartender, and at first, he’d found you childish and spontaneous and way too naive. You’d been the brightest spot of every room you set foot in and the one that everyone wanted to hang out with, simply because you’d radiated fun. You’d basically been his complete opposite, and while he’d never had anything against you, he hadn’t particularly liked you either. That is, until he’d seen you take every ounce of masculinity out of a guy that had made the mistake of putting his hands where they weren’t welcome. Naive, yes, but by no means helpless in either words or actions. He liked that quality in people, all people, not just women, because knowing that they could and would handle themselves meant that he didn’t need to worry about them. And try as he might, when he cared about someone, he worried. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to care about you, since you’d been nothing but an annoyance to him ever since then, but he damn well did. Not that he’d ever admitted it, even to himself. You’d pretty much just decided to befriend him, whether he agreed or not, and that had been how your relationship had worked from then on. You’d show up unannounced at all hours of the day or night, sometimes inviting yourself to crash on his couch after a long night, and sometimes bringing takeout and a movie, just because you were bored and knew that he wouldn’t throw you out. Occasionally, you’d even cook or bake. And it didn’t matter to you that he rarely engaged with your ideas, or even answered you when you prattled on about anything and everything, you just smiled and kept at it, determined to have a good time, no matter the mood of the room. That was who you were at your core: someone that made the most out of every breadcrumb. And more importantly; a free spirit. Someone not meant to be tied down and trapped by commitments and promises. You’d been happy to take home a random guy to enjoy yourself with for a few hours on the weekends, but that was as close as you’d ever gotten to people. Even the friends you’d had were more shallow acquaintances than real relationships, since you’d never allowed anyone to really know you. Well, anyone but Pero. During your forced visits you’d usually talk all the time, and the topics were as varied as insects were plentiful. But sometimes you’d stray into more personal areas, like your family, or dreams, or things you’d gone through in your life. So, in truth, he was probably the one person that knew who you were, behind the scenes, even though he hadn’t asked or wanted to be. Or perhaps because of it. All of this meant that he’d known when you’d met the guy that had changed everything. He’d known it from the first day, because your behaviour had started to change that quickly. He’d never mentioned his observations to you, it wasn’t his place to judge or meddle with your affairs, but he’d noticed, and he hadn’t liked what he’d noticed. The guy had snared you into a relationship you didn’t want, but for some reason didn’t know how to get out of, despite your confidence in yourself. And the result of that had been a slow and painful death of the person you really were, as your soul became increasingly trapped behind the walls of the cage that somehow grew around you. He’d watched it happen, and said nothing, even though he’d wanted to, because in your eyes he’d seen how desperately you’d needed his house to be a sanctuary. A place where that person was still allowed to live and shine, as free as she’d always been. So, he’d let you, knowing that every time you’d left, you’d returned to that cage.

Now that he saw the finger-shaped bruises on your wrists, he regretted his silence. His compliance. Because this was how the guy had trapped you. This was why you hadn’t found the strength to walk away. And a part of him had known it all along, but told himself that it wasn’t his fight, and that unless you asked, he had no right to meddle. But the truth was simply that he hadn’t wanted to get involved. And for no better reason than because that would’ve meant admitting that he cared. Well, too fucking late, pendejo…

“I don’t care what happened, just let me take care of your wounds.” he pleaded, hating how gruff he still sounded.

You wouldn’t meet his eyes, but you took a jagged breath and reached up to pull your long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, grimacing badly with the pain the movements caused you. And as soon as the shirt was off, he knew why. Big black bruises had already formed along your left side, from the hip all the way up to the underside of your bra, and angry red scrapes, most likely from the toe of a boot, adorned the softer flesh of your love-handle. White-hot rage filled his blood at the sight, and he had to clench his jaws down tight, to silence the string of curses that spilled from his lips. But he couldn’t halt the anger.

“I’ll kill him.” he spat between his teeth.

You flinched, but more likely at the hard and cold tone of his voice, than the words he’d said, so he tried to speak softer, although with limited success.

“You need a hospital, scans, medica-…”

“No.” you cut him off, but your voice was weak and fragile, even with such a small word.

“You could have internal bleeding, broken ribs, damaged organs.” he pressed, but you just shook your head.

“He doesn’t know… about you. I’m safe here.”

That would imply that you weren’t safe at a hospital, and when he considered the fact that this man had forced you to marry him, and would likely have a story prepared, explaining your injuries, it wasn’t unthinkable that he could get his hands on you, even around medical professionals. You were scared, and you’d come to him to feel safe, which for some reason eased the rage and made a different kind of warmth spread through him.

“Okay. Let me get some bandages.” he offered, and you nodded once.

He noted that you still hadn’t looked at him, and that sense of shame still hung over your head somehow, which he just couldn’t understand. But for now, his focus was on making you feel better. When he came back to the bedroom after having retrieved his first aid kit from the kitchen, you’d slumped down on your side on the bed, with your feet still on the floor. He lifted them up to make you more comfortable, and you didn’t react to the movement at all, so he kept a close eye on your breathing while he worked, just in case you weren’t merely sleeping. Even though your pulse was strong, and everything seemed stabile, he was much too anxious to have a hope of sleeping that night. So, he dragged a more comfortable armchair from the living room into the bedroom, that he could sit in to watch over you while you slept. But before he settled in, he dug up the duffel bag from the bottom of his closet. He hadn’t used the blades inside of it in the ten years since he’d cleaned up his act, but he still trained with them, and kept them sharp and ready. He’d never imagined that you would be the reason he might have to resort to that kind of violence again, but he would gladly do it to keep you safe. For all the annoyance you’d made him suffer over the years, you’d never once been unkind or deliberately selfish or unthinking. Not to anyone, even your bastard husband. He took his seat by your side, and after a few moments, reached over and wrapped one finger around your pinkie. Just so he’d know if you stirred, in case he dozed off. He looked at your hand, all red even where there wasn’t any visible damage to your skin, and he thought about how hard you must’ve fought, and it brought a small smile to his face, just barely enough to twitch at the corners of his mouth. But it felt bigger than that. Because that kind of spirit was how he was used to seeing you, that was the person he knew you to be.

The morning came without anyone having banged on his door in the night, reinforcing your statement that your husband really didn’t know that Pero’s house was where you’d spent most of your free time, even after getting married. He wondered how you’d managed that? How had you been able to carve out entire days or nights away from him, for over three years? Abusive men were controlling assholes, they generally kept their victims on a tight leash, but somehow, you’d figured out a way to keep a little corner of freedom, no matter what your lesser half had done. It was admirable, and perhaps the only reason you were in his bed right now. Without that little speck of freedom, you probably would’ve succumbed to your husband’s control completely. Allowed him to dictate every thought and emotion. But perhaps only because you’d had a slice of something better, reminding you that life wasn’t supposed to be lived in chains, you’d been able to hold on to yourself, until you’d found your breaking point, and used it to get away. He wondered how much you’d managed to hurt the guy in return, given the state of your hands. He hoped that the answer was: a lot.

You regained some energy over the course of that day, even though the bruises only looked worse, and your pain was still not lessened. The improvement seemed to be more of mind and spirit, than body. He cooked for you and helped you move around, and you were strong enough to tease him about his culinary skills, which was a good sign. But any time he tried to ask you about what had happened, you shut down and stopped talking all together. He wanted to know so that he could decide what he was gonna do about the situation, and with his general lack of patience, it was twice as maddening to be forced to wait, when he had no clue what your husband was doing to find you. By the end of the day, you asked him to stay with you after he’d tucked you into bed, and he couldn’t refuse you. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept next to each other. Sometimes when you’d stayed the night, he’d found you curled up on one side of his bed in the morning, having snuck in at some point during the night, and he’d always woken you and told you to get your own bed. Your response to that had always been to suggest shared custody of his bed, since it was the comfiest one you knew of, and in more recent years had graduated to you simply reminding him of that shared custody, even though he’d never actually agreed to it. But now, he wondered if maybe it had just felt safe to you, even before you’d met your husband. A calm port in an otherwise perpetually storming sea.

There was no moon to be seen that night, nor stars to bear witness to his vengeance. It wasn’t his to take, not really, and he’d left you alone even though he knew that you needed him there. But his blood still boiled at the mere thought of the man, and there would be no peace until the bastard was gone for good. He knew which house it was, even though he’d never been there before. He knew where the hidden key was, even though he’d never used it before. Through your eyes he’d seen every inch of your home, and it seemed as familiar to him as you did, when he stalked through the bottom floor, making no sound at all. One step of the stairs creaked, and he skipped it without even needing to count them. The master bedroom was on the far end of the upstairs hall, to the right, past the nursery that he’d made you decorate in the hopes that it would make you yearn for a child as much as he did. No doubt only for appearances, as a man like him would take enormous offence at the suggestion that he wasn’t fertile, or man enough, to father a child. The bedroom door always stood open a few inches, so the bastard would hear it if you moved through the house at night. He snuck inside and found the guy sleeping on his side, the duvet down by his waist and his arm on top of it. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the bruises you’d left on him were on full display in the light coming from the small lamp on his bedside table. Pero took a moment to admire your handiwork, some of it bad enough that large medical patches hid them, and he smiled in earnest. Because this meant that you’d already won. You’d already beaten him, in mind, body and soul. Meaning all he had to do was finish the job, so that you would never have to.

It would take another two days until you finally told him what had happened. He’d understood your shame then, as your kind heart had been made to endure terrible things for you to save yourself. Forced to reduce yourself to the most basic of instincts, ignoring all forms of humanity and decency and respect, in order to free yourself of a monster. You’d managed to stop your inner beast before delivering the killing strike, though, of which he was grateful. Both because it meant that your soul was still intact, but also because it had allowed him to exact his own revenge as well. It would take another few days before he told you about that, though. And only because the news reported about your husband’s disappearance, asking for tips concerning the whereabouts of his wife. You were shocked at first, but not appalled or disgusted, and after just a few minutes, you thanked him for his actions. He assured you that the body couldn’t be found, and that no blame could ever be laid at your feet, and you left it at that for the time being.

You never married again, but you did have a baby, a few years later after finally finding someone that you trusted to treat you right. He’d always been there, but you’d always thought that he was out of your reach, and he couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t been. If you’d wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him to you for that first kiss, back when you were still just the friend he never invited, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve kissed you back. But he did that day. He kissed you with all the passion he possessed, tugged at you, begged you to come closer even when your entire body was pressed against his. He kissed you all night, everywhere that you would let him, and in those kisses, he learned what it was to love someone. How it felt. How it hurt and comforted all at once, how it burned and soothed and then started all over again, every single minute.

You gave him the rest of your life, and he took it proudly, all the way to your shared grave, many wonderful years later. In his final minutes in this life, having grown old and grey, he thought about the events that had unfolded back then, and he wondered if he’d given you enough. If the years you’d had with him had been good enough to balance those awful ones. To outweigh them, even. He looked at your face, still so soft despite the wrinkles, and still warm despite your soul having departed in the night. And you looked so peaceful, almost happy, even in death, that he had to have done something right. And that was enough. He’d gotten to be the one that made you happy. And now, he was the one that got to go with you to the next adventure.

--THE END--

Thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your day/night! (Again, I've copied the DMT taglist, with a few additions. Please let me know if you don't wish to be on this list, because I will use it again.)

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @elegantduckturtle @lovefreylove @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @talesfromtheguild @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @startrekkingaroundasgard @thisshipwillsail316 @ellie-darling @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @andiesturgss @deadhumourist @spideysimpossiblegirl @pedrostories @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @nolanell @bison-writes @dornish-queen @shsoba05 @myfavpedrothings

#pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall modern au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern!pero #pedro pascal

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omgsquee2001 · 3 years

Text

In Due Time; The Hobbit: Various x Modern! Reader

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Key:

[Y/N] = Your Name

[L/N] = Last Name

[H/C] = Hair Color

[H/L] = Hair Length

[E/C] = Eye Color

[Y/H] = Your Height

[S/C] = Skin Color

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Prologue

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I remember very vividly how I appeared in Middle-Earth. It was a Friday evening and I had just settled down with pizza and a movie when a bright white light blossomed in the middle of my chest, where my heart was. The light enveloped me and the next thing I knew, BAM! I was at the front doors of Erebor. I eventually met Thorin, who was in charge of looking after and protecting me. I was there when King Thror fell to Dragon Sickness. I was there when Smaug attacked Dale and plundered Erebor. I was there when the Elves left the Dwarfs and myself to fend for ourselves. I am [Y/N].

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Now, here I was,

//You can change the color of the hair to match your own if you would like.//

walking with Thorin Oakenshield,

through the muddy streets of Bree, dressed in a red tunic, brown trousers, fur boots and a black cloak. A sword, given to me by Thror many years before, hung at my hip, thumping lightly against my leg as I walked. I had pulled part of my [H/L] [H/C] hair into a Dutch Braid, leaving the other half loose.

Thorin turned his head slightly, making sure that no one was following them. Oh, I also forgot to mention that I had shrunk when I appeared in Middle-Earth. I was no longer [Y/H]. I was now the height of a Dwarf, a bit shorter than Thorin, reaching his chest. He opened the door, holding it open for me as we walked in. We chose to sit near the back of the Prancing Pony Inn. I sat next to Thorin, who had taken his cloak off. I had taken my cloak off as well. My beautiful [S/C] skin of my face was now shown for all to see. I cautiously scanned the room, looking at and assessing the people who were also staying at the Inn. Thorin leaned his head close to my ear, speaking quietly as to not draw attention to us.

“If anything should happen here, I don’t want you using your powers. I don’t want people to know who you are,” he said quietly. His low, baritone voice sent slight shivers down my spine. I looked at him and nodded my head. Thorin noticed the disappointment in my [E/C] eyes at hearing that I could not use my powers. I felt as if I could control my powers very well now compared to when I had first discovered I even had powers and first used them. Thorin sighed tilted his head slightly. “It is for your own safety, *Ghivashel. I am certain that rumors have spread of your being here and your powers,” he said. His blue eyes bore into my own [E/C] orbs. He sighed and gently stroked my soft cheek. I sighed and lowered my gaze, finding the floor to be quite interesting at the moment. “Do you promise not to use your powers, [Y/N]?” Thorin asked. I sighed once again, then looked up and nodded.

“Yes, Thorin, I promise,” I said. Thorin smiled lightly, pulling away. “On one condition,” I said. Thorin raised an eyebrow at my request. “Tell me what Gh-Ghiv-Ghivashel means, please.” I pleaded. Thorin chuckled at my poor pronunciation of the Dwarfish word.

“You will learn, Ghivashel, in due time.” Thorin said, smiling. I pouted, biting back a smile. I still kept my promise not to use my powers. In truth, I was slightly afraid to use my powers in public. The barmaid walked over with a plate of bread with cheese and a tankard of ale. She set it in front of Thorin.

“Here you are.” She said. Thorin nodded in thanks.

“Ah, thank you.” He said. The barmaid looked at me.

“I’ll be right over with yours, love,” She said. I nodded in thanks, smiling. A bar patron walked past the barmaid nearly knocking a bowl of soup, a plate of bread with cheese and a tankard of water from her hands. “Watch it!” She snapped.

“Sorry, darling.” The patron apologized. She made her way over to mine and Thorin’s table and placed the mean down in front of me.

“Here you are, love.” She said. I nodded at her.

“Thank you very much,” I said. The barmaid nodded, walking away. Thorin had already started eating.

I tore a piece of the bread off and dunked it into, what seemed to be beef stew, before eating it. My stomach grumbled in thanks for the meal it received. As I took another bite, I could feel some not so kind eyes staring at me. I glanced at Thorin. “Thorin,” I whispered slightly nervous. Thorin stopped eating and nodded.

“I feel them to.” He said quietly. We glanced around. I lightly turned my head and saw a man in the corner watching us. Thorin looked around and noticed another man on the opposite side also watching. They got up and started to walk over to us. I lowered my hand to lay atop his, gently squeezing it. Thorin set down his bread and squeezed my hand back. My breathing started picking up as the men got closer. With his free hand, Thorin got ready to draw his sword when suddenly a man in gray

sat before us.

“Mind if I join you?” The man asked. He stopped the barmaid as she walked past our table. “I’ll have soup and water please,” he said. The barmaid nodded and walked off. I slowly looked around, noticing that the two men stopped in their tracks and went back to their seats. I let out a shuttering breath of relief, letting go of Thorin’s hand. The man looked at us.

“I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey.” The man, now known as Gandalf, said. Thorin nodded lightly.

“We know who you are.” Thorin responded. I nodded, confirming what Thorin said. Gandalf looked at me, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Tell me, my dear,” Gandalf said. I looked up at him. “You name wouldn’t happen to be [Y/N], by any chance, would it?” Gandalf asked. I looked over at Thorin, silently asking him if it was alright to share my name with the Wizard. Thorin nodded his head. I turned my gaze back to Gandalf and nodded.

“Yes, my name is [Y/N].” I confirmed. Gandalf nodded, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.

Gandalf then smiled and rubbed his hands together.

“Well, now, this is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree,” Gandalf asked then looked at me. “With a Daughter of Man as his companion.” He said. I looked at the Wizard with light surprise. How did he know I was human? Because of my height, and the Dwarfish sword at my hip, most people would assume that I was a Dwarf, unless I told them different. I also lacked the facial hair that was common for most Dwarfish Women to have. ‘Well, he is a Wizard, [Y/N],’ I thought. ‘And Wizards tend to know everything before you do.’ Thorin sighed, bringing me out of my thoughts. He glanced up at Gandalf.

“We received word that my Father had been seen wandering the wilds near Dunland,” Thorin said. “[Y/N] and I went looking, found no sign of him.” He said. Thorin sighed and looked down. I placed her hand upon his, gently squeezing it. I knew Thorin missed his Father greatly. So did I, actually. He had treated me like his own child while I was in Erebor. Gandalf sighed and looked at Thorin.

“Thorin, it’s been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain.” He said. I looked at Gandalf, determination and surety shone in my eyes.

“He still lives, we are sure of it.” I said. The barmaid interrupted, bringing Gandalf his soup and water. He nodded in thanks. Gandalf looked at me.

“And what business, if you found him, would you have with Thrain, my dear [Y/N]?” Gandalf asked. I looked down slightly, sighing.

“Thrain came to see you before he went missing. He mentioned me, did he not,” I asked, looking up at the Wizard. Gandalf nodded in confirmation. “Then you, being a Wizard and all, know that I am not from this world,” I said. Another nod. I sighed, lowering my gaze to meal that sat untouched in front of me. “I had a suspicion that Thrain knew how I got here,” I brought my gaze back up, looking him in the eyes. “But when I asked Thrain about it, he would not tell me,” I said. “I hoped that, if I found him and asked him about it again, Thrain would tell me.” I said. Both men avoided eye contact with me, as if they were hiding something from me. I glanced at them. My eyes widened in realization. “Thorin,” I said. Said Dwarf looked at me. “Y-you know, don’t you. You know what brought me here, don’t you.” I said. Thorin nodded slightly.

“I have my suspicions.” He said. I looked at Gandalf now.

“Gandalf,” his eyes met mine. “Do you know, for sure, what brought me to Middle-Earth?” I asked. Gandalf nodded.

“Yes, my dear. I do know how you arrived in this world.” He said. My eyes widened. I gently grasped one of his hands with both of mine, desperation shining in my [E/C] orbs.

“Can you tell me?” I asked, excitement in my voice. I desperately wanted to know how to get home. Gandalf’s eyes twinkled. He patted my hands gently with his free hand.

“You will know, my dear, in due time,” He said. I sighed in frustration, retracting her hands and placing them in my lap. Gandalf chuckled. “Now, to the true topic I wanted to discus with you both,” he said, causing Thorin and I to give him our attention. “When I met with Thrain, I urged him to march upon Erebor, to rally the seven armies of the dwarves. To destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain, and I would say the same to you both. Take back your homeland.”

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//So, here’s the Prologue. I hope you all like it. I wanted to let you all know who your different love interests are going to be for the story:

First, there’s Thorin,

Then there is the Oldest Brother, Fili,

Then there’s Kili,

There’s Bofur.

I feel like he doesn’t get enough love, so if you don’t like Bofur, well sorry Charlie.

There’s sweet Bilbo.

And then there’s the handsome, ladies man, the Prince of the Woodland Realm himself, Legolas.

If you would like me to add anyone, let me know down in the comments please. Always remember that reblogs are much appreciated. Feel free to comment on any of my content.//

#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #thorin oakenshield #fili #kili #fili x reader #kili x reader #bofur x reader #bofur #bilbo baggins #bilbo x reader #legolas

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dcbbw · 3 years

Text

Sixish Sunday and Update

Hello, Tumblr! Miss me? I know it’s been a (hot mess) minute since I have been around these parts and a lot has happened. (it’s all under the cut)

I quit my job in DC (and worked three full days AFTER my end date because apparently the 11 page spreadsheet, calendar of everything I was responsible for complete with internal deadlines and vendor deadlines and notes, as well as examples of all the things was not clear enough) and packed up my life and made the move to NC.

My cousins moved me because no way was I paying someone $3800 to haul my stuff 300 miles and renting a car. I ended up paying $1300 + meals for the move and got a ride to boot. All I’m gonna say is I got what I paid for; it was a two-seater panel truck and we put a metal folding chair between the seats. We looked like Bonnie, Clyde, and Curly coming down the road, and the passenger door didn’t close properly, so it randomly swung open at inopportune times.

But I made it one piece; my laptop was not as fortunate. It looks like a rusted out Chevy sitting on bricks at the moment but it saved my stuff and I can type, so YAY!

While I am excited about a fresh start here in the Tarheel State (new job starts Tuesday), I am sad to be away from my studio; I lived there for 17 years and swear it’s the home I (emotionally) grew up in. It’s where I rediscovered my love of writing and became family with a building full of strangers. But I am certain I will find that again here.

While I try to maneuver a huge chunk of my life into what used to be my brother’s bedroom, I have found time to jot down thoughts and ideas that will eventually become full-blown stories. I plan to work on Burnsy’s incredibly late birthday fic, answer some asks for SGL, Dramien, JGL, and a writer’s choice ask. I want to follow-up on so many of WIPs and to post my follower appreciation poll.

And on that note, I do have a little somethings to share for Six Sentence Sunday!

From Remixed: The Social Season, Chapter 3:

“I got a text message from Drake,” Bliam said as he tucked his crisp white shirt into silk black trousers. “He says House Beaumont has a sponsee.”

“Did he say which one?” Asiam asked eagerly as Whiam tried unsuccessfully to knot his necktie.

Bliam shook his head negatively. “When I asked, he said he needed a “what the fuck” emoji.”

Asiam looked at Whiam impatiently. “I could have tied this thing three times by now!”

“You had it wrapped around your waist saying it was your belt!” Whiam retorted, his eyes squinted in concentration. “I can get it, it’s just this is harder than it looks.”

“That’s what she said,” Asiam smirked.

“WHY are you like this?” Bliam complained.

“I’ll be happy to get some real food in me,” Whiam commented as he finally looped the cravat.

“I took the liberty of requesting prime rib and yearling potatoes.” Bliam pulled his arms through the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket.

Asiam frowned. “I ordered curried lamb with rice.”

Whiam sat on the edge of his bed, clumsily buttoning his shirt. “I asked for seafood pasta!”

Bliam rolled his eyes. “Can we EVER agree on anything?”

Whiam pulled on his socks. “Madeleine!”

Bliam nodded in agreement. “Amen to that, brother!”

Asiam said nothing, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead. Feeling two pairs of blue eyes staring at him, he gave a loud exhale. “WHAT?”

Whiam shook his head in disapproval. “You didn’t! Did you? I mean, she was engaged to … Leo!”

Asiam ran a comb through his raven locks. “All I’m going to say is the drapes and carpet match.”

Original song lyrics for Love Grind from the next chapter of my Platinum/TRR crossover fic:

You workin’ so hard to bring home the bacon

Hustlin’ a grind, no time for lovemakin’

Giving your keyboard all your strokes

All your strokes

You ain’t kissing these lips

You ain’t grabbing these hips

Baby come home, let me clear your mind

Put this peach in your lap

And take you for a love grind

Bounce, roll, thrust, hold

Kiss, moan, scream, groan

Give me that eggplant, make me eat vegetarian

Then lay back so I can ride like an equestrian

Lemme give you that love grind

That love grind

Slap this ass, fill all my holes, make me say your name

Gimme that love grind

Bounce

That love grind

Moan

That love grind

Roll

Gimme all your strokes

Groan

All your strokes

Thrust

All your strokes

Fill all the holes

Mr. Sonny’s Children, Original Work:

“Hello, Ma.”

There is silence for a few moments; my mother is caught unawares because I rarely answer her calls during the day. There is baggage between us, and demons who play messenger with us. I can’t deal with that when I am trying to heal and cure people.

I gave up on trying to save anyone a long time ago.

“Mabel?” Her voice is hesitant and laced with a warble.

I wonder if she is holding back tears or curses. My mother doesn’t hate me, but she is scared to love me.

I am a child of rape. To love me is to admit she is okay with the violent assault that conceived me. To acknowledge that I survived the rusty hanger and jagged forceps that tried to kill us both is to accept I was meant to be here, destined to be hers throughout all eternity.

Nothing good comes from an evil act.

“Hi, Ma.” I don’t bother to remind her I go by Ann now. She knows.

More silence, thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

I set the spoon back in the bowl and use my chopsticks to toy with a sushi roll instead. I idly roll one side in wasabi that is more pasty than creamy and dunk the other side in soy sauce. I speak into the phone pressed to my ear.

“Ma, I’m at work. Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Sonny died,” she exhales.

I set the chopsticks down carefully before blinking my eyes and staring out at the rain again. “When?”

“Last night. Lung cancer.”

I nod slowly. Mr. Sonny was notorious for consuming all types of tobacco products: he smoked cigarettes, cigars, and pipes. When he wasn’t smoking tobacco, he was chewing it. When he was younger, he was quite handsome: tall with dark, wavy hair and deep green eyes. He was a persuasive speaker with a raw confidence unheard of rural Mississippi, even for whites. That is how he became the Imperial Wizard of our county’s chapter of the KKK.

The last time I saw him was three years ago. He had shrunk, walking with a hunch in his back. His face was wizened and wrinkled; the pate of his head speckled with brown liver spots where hair no longer grew. The backs of his hands were wrinkled and knotted with bright blue veins, his fingers gnarled.

He looked at me as if I were shit on his shoe.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask slowly. But I knew why.

Mr. Sonny was my father.

#kinda long post #dcbbw writes #i'm back #with wips #and an update #I was gonna tag folks but not #I will when I have a story

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gentrychild · 4 years

Note

Gen ed Izuku: Nomu follows Izuku around because AFO made it so Nomu will follow any orders from him and he commanded it to follow Shigaraki. However, the way he follows AFO is by knowing it’s him by his DNA and since Izuku is AFO’s son he recognizes his DNA and just goes “mini master? Master shrunk? Tiny master has priority over handy master. Wow, tiny master has friends. Tiny master and friends are nice, I like it here” and that’s how Gen Ed got a class pet that says “get dunked on” to League

You will notice that the noumu from the USJ never attacked Izuku at any point. :3

They have to explain to the noumu the concept of Sport Festival and no, he can’t kill Izuku’s opponents, it’s not sport-like.

#Noumu: *nods*#Noumu: Oh yes the young master doesn't want me to steal his kills. I understand.#gen ed izuku

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fallowfinality · 3 years

Note

☯ (Jasmine’s foolish attempt to rescue Aladdin from getting dunked into the sands as Mozenrath zaps her)

Aladdin really did look ridiculous in that costume.

"No lamp," Xerxes said.

But his master's eyes were still cast downward. "No problem," he replied.

Mozenrath tucked one foot behind the other as he hovered mid-air. "I have you now. I'll have him soon enough."

But, swooping in on their magic carpet came Jasmine, who called out: "Aladdin!" and grabbed his hands. She pulled and pulled, and Mozenrath was almost starting to admire the effort she put in... but this pitch he'd summoned couldn't be escaped by mortal strength.

Pastels, he thought. And he laughed. "O-ho-ho, a girl of action! Where are the tears, little Princess?"

That got her attention.

He commanded, "Beg me for mercy," and fired a blast of blue flame straight at her.

She tumbled unceremoniously from her carpet-- Mozenrath's blasts would never set her alight, she was too entertaining for that.

"Mozenrath!" Aladdin called, but with little more than a flick of his eyes, he summoned a hand from the tar to pull him under.

Jasmine called for her beloved, and tried to follow him in, but the hand and the pit both shrunk away-- leaving her face-down on the ground.

That tar was now a dark bead that Mozenrath twiddled between his fingers, musing: "You know, Princess... pitiful is very cute on you."

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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

Text

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”

#Batfamily #BatFam #batbros #batsiblings #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #bruce wayne is a good parent #exasperated dad bruce wayne #batman bingo #batman bingo 2020 #fanfic #fanfition #writing #chaotic batfam

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