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mighty-ant · 3 years

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Launchpad 2.0, Part One

Happy holidays and happy New Year @solemn-vow, I was your Secret Santa for @ducktalessecretsanta2020!

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Part Two

Double-O-Duck never thought he would find himself back in a F.O.W.L. holding cell.

Then again, he never thought he would be back at all.

The cell is the same as the ones he and Dewey were trapped in so many months ago, cinder block walls and a protect-o glass shield, only this time he doesn’t have any rubber bands at his disposal or a convenient troupe of hyper-intelligent lab experiments to free him. Best case scenario, they somehow find a way to jerry rig the control panel from over fifteen feet away. Worst case, they wait for an Egghead to collect them and overwhelm the poor devil.

Of course, that’s not the only thing that is markedly different this time around.

“What happened to Launchpad?”

Double-O-Duck sighs agitatedly, running a hand through his coiffed hair. “I’ve already explained. I am Launchpad.”

Darkwing Duck watches him from the opposite end of their shared cell, the distrust behind the eyes of his mask burning and unfamiliar. “Explain it to me again,” he demands.

Double-O-Duck both is and is not Launchpad McQuack. In some respects, they’re one and the same. Their memories are a singular set, Dewford is his best friend, little brother and charge all rolled into one, and he’ll do anything to protect his family. What the Intelliray granted Double-O-Duck (aside from his existence) was perspective and a straightforward intelligence that three decades worth of crashes had otherwise nullified.

Simply put, Double-O-Duck is an improved version of Launchpad McQuack, a version people can count on for something other than bumbling ineptitude and the occasional happy accident.

However, his existence is fleeting. Double-O-Duck is created and destroyed amid chaos; a brief, brilliant supernova that could have changed everyone’s opinion of him for the better and allowed him to be an asset to his family. But Steelbeak’s a fool who doesn’t comprehend the magnitude of what he’s unleashing, and Double-O-Duck does what Launchpad always does best—throw himself headfirst into certain danger.

It’s with a heavy heart that he makes peace with his necessary sacrifice for Dewey, for Duckburg, and puts himself in the path of a blast that scours away his newfound existence like flame to flash paper. Reduced to an observer, locked behind the eyes of the blind and deaf Launchpad McQuack who once held the knowledge and skills to protect his family and reveal the true face of F.O.W.L. Instead, he does neither. Instead, he lives his life as though nothing has changed.

For half a year, Double-O-Duck lives a silent and solitary existence as he bears witness to the incessant blundering of the man he used to be.

Unfocused while facing Jormungandr, despite the fate of the world hanging in the balance and Uncle Scrooge badly injured. Lost to delusion and fear on Halloween, tormenting children and monsters alike. Those crucial nights in St. Canard, Darkwing fitting perfectly in the circle of his arms and Gosalyn looking to him for answers and reassurance as a crimson portal crackled and sparked, all too similar to the blinding light that locked Double-O-Duck away.

Falling in love with Drake Mallard was as easy falling on him in a dead faint.

His sheer reserve of strength and steely-eyed determination, the refusal to fail, to give up and stay down, practically take Launchpad’s breath away. He’s humble in the face of his ego, hesitant to don the cape and cowl of their mutual hero until Launchpad encourages him. Launchpad knows that Drake can become something beyond the Darkwing Duck they grew up with, if he just put his mind to it.

Of course, Launchpad doesn’t have the words for this. He could never properly describe the way DW entrances him when he gesticulates, his hands fluid and alive in the air, or how he’s distracted by the breadth of Drake’s shoulders. He can’t put to words the unworthiness that burns through him whenever Drake looks up at him with trust, gratitude, and dare he say it, love, as though Launchpad isn’t the one lucky enough to be caught in his orbit.

Instead, Launchpad’s clumsiness paves the way. Clumsy bearhugs, clumsy advice, a clumsy confession in the gloom of early morning. Even Drake’s smile, brilliant and blinding in the dark, and Drake’s hands cradling his face, carding through his hair, do little to temper the certainty that Launchpad and Double-O-Duck share, because at the end of the day they are one and the same—he’s still not good enough.

Rediscovering the F.O.W.L. base beneath Funzo’s is practically a fluke.

Launchpad hasn’t been here since he played that video game with Dewey, though the events of that day remain hazy and uncertain in his mind, almost dreamlike. Fittingly, that same night is the first occurrence of the Dream. Though perhaps nightmare would be a more apt descriptor.

It’s the same every time, on and off for the last six months: a beam of red light so blinding he thinks the back of his eyelids will never be rid of the stain and the sensation of a fall, perilous and plummeting, that jolts him to consciousness in a cold sweat. His memory of the nightmare fades until the next night it tears him from sleep.

He can’t say what brings him to ask Drake to stop the Ratcatcher, can’t explain why the darkened silhouette of a children’s arcade brings him so much dread. They’ve just dropped Gosalyn off the mansion for a sleepover and are meant to be well on their way back to St. Canard for patrol. But even if he wanted to, Launchpad can’t stop himself from gripping Drake’s arm and saying, “Let me check something out, DW.”

Drake humors him; whether because he actually trusts his judgement or because he just wants to try out his new set of lock picks is debatable, but in the back of his mind Launchpad is grateful. The bulk of his focus is devoted to the déjà vu that increasingly overwhelms him as they slip in through the side door.

The feathers on the back of his neck stand on end as they cross the sticky floor, their footsteps almost soundless in the otherwise empty, expansive building. Aside from Drake’s flashlight, their only source of illumination are the screens of the arcade games a ways off, flickering noiselessly. But Launchpad can’t fight the sensation of being watched that grows in intensity when he makes a beeline for the ballpit.

“Launchpad?” Drake whispers behind him, as confused as Launchpad has ever heard him. But he has no words to explain the compulsion that’s driving him so he doesn’t try to conjure any. Instead, he climbs into the ballpit.

He immediately sinks up to his waist, the balls rustling hollowly around him. Launchpad doesn’t hesitate before wading forward, prodding at the uneven foam flooring with the toe of his boots. He still isn’t sure what he’s searching for when he hears Drake climb in after him.

“Okay,” he says to Launchpad’s back in a tone that demands an answer. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?”

The pet name kindles a new and welcome affection beneath his sternum, stoking the fire that has been burning and steadily building for months. Whereas Launchpad often speaks without thinking, Drake hyper analyzes every syllable before it leaves his mouth. While it can result in his anxiety taking over and making him second guess himself, other times, most times, it gives every stutter and hesitation greater meaning because he chooses his words so carefully. Launchpad knows how much thought is put into every ‘sweetheart’ Drake utters.

Before he can figure out a response that makes even the barest lick of sense, the secret entrance Launchpad belatedly realizes he was searching for slides open beneath their feet. Both of them fall through with a yelp, and a rainbow cascade of plastic follows them down.

“LP,” Drake hisses, minutes later as they peer around a corner into a gray stoned hallway nearly identical to all the ones they’ve passed. “How did you know there was a secret base down here?”

The déjà vu buzzing in Launchpad’s ears has worsened, adding to the sense of unreality that’s plagued him all night. It’s as though he’s dreaming while at the same time never feeling more awake. All Launchpad knows for certain is that he’s been here before, but he can’t remember how or why he’s so certain.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he says truthfully, and wishes he had the answers Drake needs.

They creep down the hall, peering through the windows of the few doors they cross and find unlit laboratories and storage rooms on the other side. Launchpad is grateful they’re taking a stealthier approach, though he isn’t certain why he feels that way. Not until they hear the crackle of a radio from around the next corner and the pound of marching footsteps.

“Squadron 87, report to Sector C. We have reports of an unauthorized P.I.T. entry.”

Launchpad freezes at the same time Drake swings into action. He grabs Launchpad by the front of his coat and pushes the nearest door open with his other hand. Drake dives through the opening, dragging Launchpad with him.

Launchpad has the presence of mind to close the door behind them, as quietly as he’s able, and both he and Drake press up against it to catch a glimpse of whoever’s coming around the corner. Their caution is rewarded as a squad of Eggheads file past the window, all of them armed, their faces uniformly blank. Drake is practically vibrating beside him.

“A secret F.O.W.L. base,” he whispers as loudly as he dares. “We’ve uncovered a secret F.O.W.L. base underneath Funzo’s. LP, do you have any idea what this means?”

“Uh, no more two for one pizzas?” Launchpad answers uncertainly.

“It means,” Drake gushes, clutching Launchpad’s shoulders and shaking him a little, a manic grin lighting up his face, “you and I are going to be goshdarn heroes.”

Drake doesn’t swear often, and the pointed non-expletives he’s taken to using because of Gosalyn usually get a long laugh out of Launchpad. But the sickening sense of familiarity continues to weigh him down, and he’s barely able to let out a chuckle.

Luckily, Drake doesn’t notice as he spins away to examine the room they’re hiding in. it’s presumably some sort of storage space, and there are shelves lined with everything from bizarre weapons to spare Egghead helmets. Launchpad follows him without thought, scanning the room as Drake fiddles with his burner phone, muttering about the lack of signal.

“If I can get ahold of McDuck or Fenton or, eugh, Gizmoduck….”

Drake’s voice fades away as something draws Launchpad to one weapon in particular.

It’s a gun unlike any he’s ever seen, even with all the adventures under his belt. It’s sleek and geometric, like a ray gun out of a cartoon. There’s a crystal of some kind embedded where the barrel should be, but something tells him that this isn’t the sort of gun that fires bullets.

The déjà vu that’s been sending his senses into overload finally and abruptly quiets as he picks up the weapon. He should put it down, walk away, because nothing good ever comes out of a F.O.W.L. invention. But a whisper in the back of his mind tells him he should be happy to hold it. That same voice tells him to look at its buttstock, where a dial is pointed to a negative sign. He turns the dial the opposite way, toward the positive sign, and the weapon comes to life, humming in his hands.

It feels like he’s doing the right thing when he turns it on himself and pulls the trigger. Blue light floods his vision before darkness overtakes it.

An unknowable amount of time later, he wakes up on the cold concrete floor, looking up at Darkwing’s panic stricken face.

“Launchpad,” he breathes, relief making his features slacken, but Double-O-Duck barely hears him.

Memory rushes to the forefront of his mind with almost overwhelming speed, deafening him to all else as he finally recalls his and Steelbeak’s first confrontation, the accidental discovery F.O.W.L., the satellitehouse, his fall. All at once, he’s aware of the half-year he spent trapped, silenced, practically useless to his family against the forces lurking in the dark. That his patchwork memories were enough to spur his return is nothing short of miraculous.

“Launchpad,” Darkwing says again, when his silence grows too long. Concern has his voice wavering, and his small, strong hands smooth over Double-O-Duck’s chest in an unnecessary, if pleasant, search for an injury that isn’t there. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Double-O-Duck sits up gingerly. Unfortunately, his collapse apparently garnered him a nasty bump on the back on the head.

“I’m fine,” he responds, tamping down the accent that naturally arises. No sense in worrying Drake any more than he already has. “But I’m...not sure what that was.” The sting of guilt over his lie is assuaged by the elation he struggles not to let show on his face. Finally, he can be the partner Darkwing deserves, a man worthy of Scrooge’s trust, a proper guardian for Gosalyn.

He pushes himself back to his feet, and though his movements are smooth, Darkwing hovers over him in a way that makes him smile and feel terribly cared for. When he shows no sign of keeling over, Darkwing briefly stoops to recover the intelligence enhancement ray that Double-O-Duck dropped.

“Well, I guess it must be some sort of stun gun,” Darkwing says slowly, examining the gun with a wary eye, as though it might fire again at the slightest provocation. Double-O-Duck is abruptly struck with the mad desire to take the ray from Darkwing’s hands and smash it on the ground. It would all but guarantee that he’d never be locked away again and reduced to his old foolish, bumbling self.

Before he can act on this impulse, they hear voices coming from the other side of the door once again. Darkwing sets the ray down with exaggerated care on the nearest shelf and hurries over to peer through the window.

“Another patrol,” he says grimly. “We’ve been here too long. We have to let the others know what we’ve found, but I can’t call anyone until we’re topside; something’s blocking the signal.”

“Lead the way,” Double-O-Duck replies.

Darkwing fixes him with a worried look. The stern vigilante mask that’s started coming so much more naturally to him slips in favor of his true feelings. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he insists.

Alright? It’s too small a word to describe the depth of his relief and eagerness to leap back into the fray. With his intelligence and skill returned to him, he’s more alright than ever. Confident in a way he hasn’t felt in half a year, he takes Darkwing’s hand and raises it to his beak so he might drop a kiss on his knuckles.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, delighting in the startled blush staining Darkwing’s cheeks. He watches Darkwing make a few attempts to swallow, feeling terribly pleased.

“Okay then,” he answers weakly, before immediately clearing his throat. “Let’s uh, let’s get dangerous.”

Checking again that the coast is clear, Darkwing opens the door to the supply closet. They slip out into a quiet, gray hallway, heading back the way they came. Double-O-Duck knows they’re walking blind, and his ineffectualness grates at him. But there’s nothing for it; he hasn’t been here in half a year and his enhanced memory might be good, but it isn’t good enough to recall each twist and turn he made in this labyrinthine base.

The stomp of footsteps around the upcoming corner has them faltering in their tracks. There’s no convenient closet at hand, the nearby walls blank and utilitarian. Unease has Double-O-Duck’s heart rabbiting at the base of his throat, but he ignores it as he grabs hold of Darkwing’s arm, tugging him in the opposite direction of the approaching patrol. A confrontation may be inevitable at this rate, but the longer they go undiscovered the better.

Darkwing follows him without question, which is heartening, but ultimately for naught.

Around the next corner, they find no less than a dozen Eggheads waiting for them, each of them armed with blasters. The technology is familiar to him, almost Moonlander in origin. Reverse-engineered copies, perhaps.

“Well, well, well! It looks to me like we’ve got a couple of trespassers.”

And just their luck, the Eggheads aren’t alone.

Agent Steelbeak is exactly as Double-O-Duck remembers him: impeccably dressed, his cruel beak curled into a shining smirk. He carries no weapon on his person, or at least none that are visible; there’s no need, when his bite alone is enough to draw blood. And just like before, his arrogance falters in the face of the unexpected.

“What—you again?” Steelbeak squawks.

Darkwing darts forward, dropping into a fighting stance. His proud voice fills the hallway. “Thought you’d seen the last of Darkwing Duck, eh, metal mouth?”

Steelbeak blinks hard, rearing back as if startled by Darkwing’s presence. “Huh? Aren’t you the twerp I beat up for that circuit thingy?”

Darkwing’s shoulders droop in dismay, only to rise again with his mounting confusion. He follows Steelbeak’s line of sight, turning to look at Double-O-Duck over his shoulder, eyes alight with realization if not understanding.

While he takes the insult nearly as personally as Darkwing surely does, a small part of Double-O-Duck is thrilled at being recognized, if only to properly demonstrate his reclaimed prowess to his partner. After all, up until fifteen minutes ago, as far as either of them knew Darkwing was the only one to have faced Steelbeak before.

“LP?” he says quietly, uncertain and seeking answers. Double-O-Duck is heartened by his ability to finally provide them.

But this isn’t the time, so for now he just reaches out and briefly clasps Darkwing’s shoulder in reassurance. “It’s been a while, Steelbeak,” Double-O-Duck says loudly, letting more of his accent bleed into his words. “Not that I picture this meeting going any differently than our first.”

Steelbeak sputters indignantly as the Eggheads around him murmur amongst themselves. “It is you!” he accuses, yellow eyes narrowing. “You smug sonova...Wait...how is it you? Last time you got hit with…” Steelbeak cuts himself off with a long, nasal laugh. “Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me! Did you bust in here just to get smart again?”

“Launchpad,” Darkwing hisses out of the corner of his mouth, more insistent than before. “What is he talking about?”

Double-O-Duck smoothes his long bangs back into the coiffed hairstyle he hadn’t realized he’d missed. “I promise I’ll explain everything once Steelbeak is dealt with,” he begins to say, when the F.O.W.L. agent in question yawns theatrically.

“Bo-ring!” he says in singsong. “You two can continue this snoozefest with Director Buzzard. Eggheads, scramble ‘em!”

The Eggheads need no further prompting as all dozen of them launch forward with blasters at the ready. Like a thrown switch, Double-O-Duck blocks out all distractions save for the threat headed his way. The focus that the intelligence enchantment ray grants him is greatly appreciated as he fells the first two Eggheads to approach him with swift blows to the head and flips a third over his shoulder.

While he’s not one to ever gun for a fight, Double-O-Duck would be lying if he said he hasn’t looked forward to partnering with Darkwing now that they’re more evenly matched in skill. He’s no slouch without the ray’s enhancement, and Darkwing hasn’t voiced any complaints when they spar, but he’s undeniably better this way. A better fighter, a better partner, nevermind Dewey’s long-ago promises that he was enough just as he was. Enough to be a child’s best friend, perhaps, but nothing more.

Now spared even the possibility of a bumbling mistake, he leaps eagerly into the fray.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Darkwing surrounded by a trio of Eggheads, and immediately moves to rectify that. Knocking the blaster out of the hand of the next Egghead that rushes at him, he grabs them by the arm and swings them at the group Darkwing is fighting. Double-O-Duck doesn’t bother with a shout of warning, not for a move they’ve executed half a hundred times before.

But Darkwing isn’t where Double-O-Duck expects him to be.

He somehow moved without Double-O-Duck’s notice, the three Eggheads he was facing off against lying in a pile at his feet. Now he’s standing directly in the path of the careening Egghead Double-O-Duck just launched his way, and they collide forcefully.

He watches with no small amount of horror as Darkwing collapses under the weight of the thrown body. His hat goes flying as he knocks his head against the floor, and while Darkwing looks dazed it doesn’t prevent him from knocking out the Egghead with a swift jab of his elbow. “What gives, LP?” he barks, clutching the side of his head.

“I-I didn’t see you there, Darkwing,” Double-O-Duck blurts, neatly sidestepping the Egghead running at him with a war cry. While Darkwing might not be badly hurt by his own stubborn standards, the slipup rattles Double-O-Duck in a way he never thought possible.

Though he shows no outward sign of it as he trips up another Egghead and slams them into the wall, his mind spins like a globe off its axis. They’ve never made a mistake like that before. He’s never made a mistake like that. Even during their brief tussle in Darkwing’s trailer a year ago they were in sync, aware of each other’s movements and reacting accordingly. Double-O-Duck shouldn’t be making mistakes that not even regular old Launchpad would.

There’s a moment of pause once Darkwing punches one of the remaining Eggheads in the solar plexus and drives their face into his knee, shattering their visor. Double-O-Duck starts to go to him, guilt tightening a stony fist in the pit of his stomach when he sees the blossoming bruise at the edge of Darkwing’s temple.

“Darkwing, I’m sorry,” he starts to say. “Are you alright?”

Movement in the corner of his eye, and Double-O-Duck’s instincts are all that spare him from the broad yellow fist plowing through the air scant inches from his face. He bends over backward, nearly tripping over an unconscious Egghead to avoid what would have been a crippling blow.

“Trouble in paradise?” Steelbeak chortles, unperturbed by his near-miss. His eyes are alight with a sickening combination of malice and glee, fists tightly coiled and shoulders hanging loose. Double-O-Duck hasn’t forgotten the power behind those fists, Steelbeak’s casual, confident violence that allowed him to be ceaseless in his assault. Double-O-Duck was able to best him last time by getting into his head, but he doesn’t have that luxury when his own thoughts drag him down the sinkhole in his mind.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got a cozy, quiet cell for you two to talk things out,” Steelbeak continues leisurely.

Double-O-Duck lunges at him, coming in low at the last second to take him out at the knee. Experience tells him that aiming for Steelbeak’s face straight away will turn out worse for him than Steelbeak.

Still, he fails.

Steelbeak steps out of his reach and comes back in close to deliver a kick to the underside of Double-O-Duck’s chin. He goes sprawling onto his back, immediately diving out of the way when Steelbeak jabs at him with his jagged beak. It’s a move most birds wouldn’t attempt in a fight out of fear of chipping, or worse, cracking their beak. Having seen Steelbeak once splinter stone, Double-O-Duck knows he has no such compunctions.

“You’re off your game, smarty-pants,” Steelbeak taunts as Double-O-Duck rolls back onto his feet and blocks his punches. “Maybe Heron’s Intelliray isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Double-O-Duck glowers, ducking back to avoid a hammerfist punch. His control is fraying, and he speaks without thinking. “It’s enough to stop you,” he snaps, a quick jab making Steelbeak clutch at his ribs with a grunt. When he lifts his head, he glances over Double-O-Duck’s shoulder and his grimace morphs into a smile.

“What about your little friend?”

Turning around would be a mistake. A stupid, rookie mistake that Launchpad would make, not Double-O-Duck. But what if, his traitorous mind hisses, tying up in knots. What if it’s not a trick. When it comes to Drake Mallard, Launchpad McQuack will always be a fool.

So Double-O-Duck turns and sees Darkwing dangling limp in the grip of two Eggheads. His head hangs forward in unconsciousness and his eyes are closed and his hat’s still missing and Double-O-Duck’s stomach freezes in painful piercing cold before dropping past his feet altogether.

“I think it’s about time you joined him,” he distantly hears Steelbeak say, before there’s a pain in the side of his head and the floor is rushing up to meet him.

#ant writes #ducktales secret santa 2020 #drakepad #double o duck #related to the finale funnily enough #but no spoilers!#launchpad mcquack #darkwing duck #steelbeak #what if dod came back??#drama is the result ofc

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deanofwhumpuniversity · 4 years

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Chambers Authority: Becoming

This is the first of this verse I’ve posted here, and it’s pretty gross. A real Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. Nearly 4k words of...whatever the hell this is.

CW: Self-mutilation, amputation, cannibalism, medical whump, intubation, choking, acid, guns, blood, gore, human sacrifice, murder, death, immortal whumpee of a sort.

It started last October, on a night so quiet and comfortably cool I should have known it wouldn’t last. I was sitting in the passenger seat, finishing a granola bar when the radio chirped to life with a no-nonsense message from dispatch. “Ambulance requested at 1002 Pike St.”

We didn’t have to speak; my partner was already putting the truck in gear while I picked up the CB. “Team Sierra Hotel responding, we’re on the north side. Details?”

There was an uncharacteristic pause before the dispatcher came back. “It was...a strange call. We’ve also reached out to PD.”

A spike of anxiety shot through me. It’s never pleasant, rushing to some horrible scene, mentally preparing while physically you just can’t do anything until you get there. All that adrenaline with nowhere to go might just be the worst part of the job. Aside from, y’know, everything else. But this was a new kind of harrowing: situation in progress, bracing for nothing and everything. My brain dredged up every sort of first response procedure I knew, like I was cramming for EMT exams all over again. It was overwhelming and useless, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts, when the radio clicked back to life one final time. “They just said that someone’s going to die.”

Our siren was blaring outside and the road was flying past, and I hoped I had misunderstood; but Roman shot a concerned look at the radio and then at me, and I knew he’d heard it too.

“Come back, dispatch? I did not copy.” The radio only played a low whine, almost more the whirr of magnetic tape than any of the familiar fuzzy sounds the CB usually made. After a few more moments I gave up, switching the machine to police frequency. “This is SH 176 emergency medical, who’s responding to the call on Pike?” My only answer was that same low mechanical rasp. No voices came back over the radio, to me or anyone else. The constant chatter characteristic of the police band was simply...gone.

The silence stretched as I stared at the dashboard radio, microphone sitting useless in my hand.

WHAM! I startled back to awareness as Roman thumped the side of his fist into the radio, trying to jostle it to life. I shot him a look as I hung up the mic and took a deep breath to settle my nerves; he kept his eyes on the road and we began to slow. I realized we were on Pike Street, our destination coming up on the left. The area was all nondescript commercial buildings, small warehouses with vague signs that gave no indication what sort of business they did.

We came to a stop on the wrong side of the street, lights and sirens granting us permission to ignore the rules of the road. It seemed we’d gotten here first. There were no other emergency vehicles, no police, no one coordinating the scene. “What do we even take in?” It was part genuine question, part musing aloud. With no hint of what we’d find inside, I had no idea what our potential patient -- or patients -- might need.

Roman didn’t answer, staring out into the night with a look of consternation furrowing his brow. He leaned forward and flicked a switch, killing our siren but leaving the lights flashing. The silence was so sudden I could feel a ghostly echo of the blare bouncing off my eardrums. I popped my ears and craned in my seat, but I didn’t see any lights but ours bouncing off the glass storefronts; there were no distant wails of sirens coming to join us.

My partner opened his door and hopped out. “I guess it’s on us.” Of course it was fine for us to respond first; that was the job and we didn’t need the police here to get to work. But something in the stillness, thrown into ghoulish contrast by the flashing red and blue, seemed...different from our usual calls.

“What if this isn’t the place?” What if I had heard the dispatcher wrong? If we somehow both had? I knew it wasn’t likely, but the look Roman gave me showed he had doubts too. He leaned back into the cab and switched through the frequencies on the radio. Dispatch, police, back again. Then to a random band. All silent. There wasn’t even a momentary shock of static as the frequencies changed. He shrugged, grabbed a trauma kit, and started off toward the building, leaving his door hanging open.

I pulled my own first responder kit from behind my seat and followed after him, telling myself it was purely professionalism that hastened my step -- the ability to do my job without need for direction -- and not an expanding discomfort at the thought of being alone in that garishly lighted stillness.

I surveyed the building for side doors and open windows as we approached, inwardly cringing at the idea of breaking the glass front door only to discover we were, in fact, in the wrong place. But Roman gripped the handle and the door swung open soundlessly, as though it were perfectly natural and the place was open for business at whatever ungodly hour of the morning. This seemed to give him pause, and he stood holding the door open for just a moment before continuing on into an unlit lobby.

We looked around for a moment, at the magazine-laden tables and a desk with its darkened computer; a hallway led further into the building, with lights on toward the end, our only obvious choice to proceed. Heading that way I began to hear a voice, muffled by distance but clear enough, and I realized it was the first speech I’d heard for many minutes. I was almost comforted by the normalcy of hearing other people before I began to process what the voice was saying.

“No! No. You’re crazy! This is crazy, why are you doing this?”

Roman and I picked up our pace, hustling toward the sound. We rounded a corner and came to a set of propped-open double doors. The room beyond was large and cluttered with equipment, but my trained eye was drawn immediately to the carnage at its center.

A young man -- maybe a teen, but it was hard to tell -- sat strapped to something like a modified dentist’s chair. His face and shirt were spattered with blood; I couldn’t immediately tell if it was his, or if it was all coming from the slab of gore being held to his mouth. A darker, silver-haired man stood before him, offering up a piece of bleeding meat with his right hand. The man’s left arm was...gone. His dress shirt had been tied off above the elbow, a rubber tourniquet knotted over the bloody sleeve. A table beside them was strewn with irregular chunks of flesh, unrecognizable except for a hand.

The man’s voice was quiet, almost pleading, despite his clear control over the scene. “There isn’t time for squeamishness, Mads.” His head was cocked and brows were knit with worry, as though he was pressing some much-needed medication on the boy and not some raw remnant of his own mutilated body. “We have to hurry! Just do as you’re meant to and everything will be alright.”

The boy in the chair let out a muffled grunt, struggling in his restraints but unwilling to open his mouth to cry out. He tossed back and forth against a leather strap across his chest, cycling his knees up and down in the mere inch of give that the ankle cuffs afforded him. As we watched, frozen, one of the straps gave way and he kicked out, barely glancing the man but knocking the table and its grotesque bounty to the floor.

The man let out a frustrated growl and stepped back. A black-robed figure I hadn’t noticed before rushed forward and grabbed the boy’s leg, wrestling it back into place.

Suddenly I was shoved hard to the side, barely catching myself against the wall of the hallway before I struck my head. I turned to see Roman, ducking to the other side of the hall and taking a position in the sliver of protected space behind the mostly-open door. As I regained my senses I took in more of the room, seeing now that some dozen black clad people ringed the space, standing nearly unmoving in the shadows. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my partner signalling at me; I turned to look as he pointed his thumb back the way we’d come, then held his hand up to his mouth like a phone. I nodded, yes, the radio, then turned back to the grisly scene playing out in the room. What could I do for this kid? We needed the police.

The older man, though, clearly required medical attention; his sleeve was soaking through over the stump of his arm, the cloth saturated enough now to begin dripping freely. A morbidly hilarious image ran through my mind -- of me simply walking in and offering the aggressor first aid. Would he leave the kid be and let me staunch the wound? Somehow I doubted it.

The figure at the boy’s feet gave up on the broken restraint, sitting back on their heels and simply holding the kid’s leg in place. The man had righted the table and was gathering up the wet meat that had fallen to the floor. He sighed heavily, and his voice took on a disappointed tone. “Alright, Maddox, have it your way. Just...remember, it didn’t have to be like this.”

He strode away, to the poorly-lit edge of the room, and the boy -- Maddox, it seemed -- took the opportunity to shout in earnest, alternating “Help!” and “Stop, please!” and “Let me go!” as he rocked forward and back against a leather strap buckled across his chest. The shadowed figures held their silent vigil, unmoved by his outbursts.

When the man stepped back into the light, he held a jumble of supplies bundled in the crook of his remaining arm. He dumped them onto the table, letting them slop into the bloody mess, and I heard a metal clank among the soft, wet noises.

Maddox stopped mid-shout, leaning back and raising his hands as far as the restraints would let him, in a half-warding, half-placating gesture. “Let’s just talk about this, ok? Just...just don’t--”

The silver-haired man selected an implement from the pile, and stepped well into the boy’s space, looming over him. He pushed what I could see was a speculum toward Maddox’s mouth, and the stump of his left arm moved -- as though he was trying to hold his victim steady and he’d forgotten his new amputee status. He fixed his gaze on one of the robed figures and nodded, and they rushed forward, grabbing the boy’s head and pulling it sharply back. They grasped his chin, and Maddox’s eyes screwed shut with effort as he clenched his jaw. With two people scrabbling at his mouth, he couldn’t resist long.

He gave one last sobbing cry -- “Don’t, please don’t do this! Dad! --” before the speculum wedged into his mouth, holding his tongue down and distorting his cries. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched the man reach for a spool of plastic tubing.

Movement to my right alerted me to Roman’s return, and I hissed as loudly as I dared, “Did you get anyone on the radio? Are the cops here?” When I got no response I dragged my eyes away from the horrifying display. Across the hall, behind the other door, was a man I’d never seen before White shirt and jeans, with an obvious underarm holster. He was braced against the wall, holding a handgun in ready position, his attention firmly on the boy in the chair. Plain-clothes cop. Oh thank God.

The officer didn’t acknowledge me before he ducked into the room, keeping to the wall and quickly disappearing from my view around the corner. A loud, sickeningly wet choking caught my attention, but the man had positioned himself up on the chair, kneeling over the seated boy and blocking his face from view. All I could see were Maddox’s fingers flexing and digging into the armrests, and his legs tossing side to side as far as they could, movements no longer controlled but instinctive, animal struggles to survive.

The man stepped back down onto the floor and grabbed a chunk of flesh from the table, then stuffed it into a funnel I could see had been crudely jammed into the top of the thick tubing. It shouldn’t have fit -- couldn’t possibly have fit -- but I heard a thick sloshing, and saw as a white froth started to stream from the boy’s mouth around the intruding tube. The foam quickly began to turn pink, and thick rivulets of blood ran from the corners of his mouth to meet under his upturned chin.

“Oh holy Jesus!” Roman’s voice came from right beside me and I spun toward him; I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself as my stomach reeled. He took hold of my upper arms, clearly seeing I needed the help. “The cops are here!” He began to pull me away from the doorway and back down the hall.

“I know!” I whispered back, but he cocked his head in confusion. Before I could tell him about the officer, a shot rang out from the room. We both ducked reflexively, and my partner started pulling me back to the lobby. He’d already brought the gurney -- somehow I hadn’t heard him dragging in the heavy equipment, and I caught myself feeling bad I’d been too distracted to come and help him. When he shot me a concerned look, I realized I had let out a maddened giggle at the ridiculous thought.

Outside on the street, lights and sirens blared. The chaos of uniformed figures bustling to and fro beyond the glass doors lent a morbid sort of normalcy to this horrific night. But none of them rushed in to back up their comrade; more shots rang out from the back and I saw the gathered police ducking behind the vehicles pulled up out front. But my fear and confusion took a backseat to instinct as Roman began to pull the gurney further into the building, and I took position behind it, matching his hurried but careful pace.

A new scene of carnage greeted us in the back room. Several of the robed figures lay in spreading pools of blood, unmoving; but the one-armed man and the plain-clothes officer were nowhere to be seen. Maddox, still strapped to the chair, seemed to be fully seizing, lurching purposelessly in his restraints, the unsupported tube in his mouth hanging down and dragging his head forward.

We parked the gurney and Roman set about undoing the straps, while I assessed how best to safely remove the tubing from the boy’s throat. I gripped his chin and turned his head up, and I met his eyes -- terrified, suffering...and aware. Despite his body’s violent convulsions, he held my gaze. A gurgling whimper left his lips. I pulled as gently as I could on the tube, and felt none of the sort of rough resistance I expected; instead it felt as though it was dragging through thick mud. Liquid gore began to absolutely pour out of the boy’s mouth, and I was struck by a noxious, almost chemical smell.

“Oh fuck, Roman, I don’t -- ! Acid. I think it’s acid.”

“Just keep moving, Elke. We have to keep trying.” He was in full EMT mode, voice full of urgency but detached. I tried to push my panic down and let training take over. Roman had freed the boy’s limbs and was bundling up his legs. I pushed my arm under his shoulder and supported his head, preparing to move him to the gurney. “One, two, three, lift!”

We lay him down and his whines became a tortured keening; the boy squeezed his eyes shut and tears streamed down the sides of his face. I could feel the tube jerking in my hand as his body shuddered with sobs, but I couldn’t make much sense of the bottom of his face through all the blood. After a few more wracking coughs he seemed to run out of air, and drew in a long, rattling breath that started harsh and quickly became grotesquely wet, as though he was aspirating his own liquified throat. His eyes shot open and he shrieked; he began to claw at his chest and neck, arching up off the gurney in agony.

“Leave the tube, maybe we can get him some oxygen!” Roman was pulling the gurney now, heading back to the ambulance as though there were some miraculous treatment there, as though if we somehow got the kid to the hospital we’d be able to put his ravaged organs back together.

A wave of dizziness flowed over me from head to toes as I could feel myself giving up; but the boy was still looking at me, eyes bright and clear and desperate. So I just kept moving.

We burst out the front door and beelined for the back of the ambulance. The police outside went from barking at each other, to shouting questions at us -- but the few who came close enough to see the patient backed off quickly. Once the gurney was secure in the cabin, Roman hopped behind the wheel and flipped the siren back on. I pulled one of the rear doors closed; as I grabbed the other a hand shot out of the dark and held it open. I jumped back in surprise, and the plain-clothes cop from inside hoisted himself up into the ambulance.

“Hey! I’m sorry, but, you can’t --” He pulled the door shut behind him and slid onto the bench opposite me. I didn’t have time to argue. Maddox didn’t have time. “We’re clear!” I called to my partner, and he pulled out onto the thankfully empty nighttime streets.

I went for an oxygen bag and began peeling it from it’s sterile package, when I realized the officer was speaking. “Provoneaux got away, but not all is lost, yeah? There’s still time.” He wasn’t speaking to me; his eyes were fixed on Maddox’s. He stood up, hunched from the low clearance, and reached toward the boy’s face. Before I could register what he was doing, he took hold of the tracheal tube, and yanked.

Thick blood sprayed across the roof of the ambulance, spattering hot and sticky on my face and painting the man’s rumpled white shirt. Muffled whimpers became an agonized howl as what was left of the boy’s mouth was freed. The cop set his large hand against the Maddox’s gore-streaked chin, forcing his mouth shut and covering his nose. I grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to push him away, but he was slick with blood and freakishly strong. “Roman!” I cried out in a panic, unsure if I wanted him to stop and help, or just drive faster.

Instead, he yanked the wheel to the side, tossing us about and jostling the gurney. I felt the man’s grip falter, before he climbed fully over Maddox’s prone body, and pressed his whole weight down over the dying boy’s face. I shoved at him, punched his shoulder to no effect, then my eye lighted on an oxygen tank hooked to the wall. Pulling it down quickly, I put my whole weight into my swing, bashing it into the side of the man’s head. He tumbled to the floor, bringing up his arms to block any further blows.

“You don’t understand!” He was speaking to me for the first time, and I found myself hesitating. I held the oxygen tank ready for another swing, but I didn’t have an easy shot with Maddox between us. The man looked up at me over his raised arms. “If the sacrifice dies, the ritual will complete.”

“If...WHAT?” That was probably the last thing I’d expected to hear, and I simply could not imagine what I was supposed to say to that.

“He has to die some other way.” The man was panting with exertion, but his voice was strangely calm. “Do you really think you can save him? Do you?”

I looked down at the kid, whose eyes flicked back and forth between me and the officer, wide with fear and pain. His chest was hitching with short, failing breaths; what I could see of his face seemed to hold a pleading expression. A treasonous thought ran through my mind, that all I could do for him now was ease his suffering, but I would not give it voice. I would not tell him I was giving up on him.

I tossed the oxygen tank onto the man, and saw his eyes widen before he covered his head and ducked flat to the floor. I heard it connect, heard his grunt of pain, but I turned my attention to the manual oxygen bag I’d been opening. Tossing the packaging aside, I leaned over the boy and pressed the bag to his face. I tried in vain to force air into his destroyed body, but I could tell now he was making short, sharp exhales, not taking in any breaths. Helplessly clutching the apparatus, I reached my other hand up and brushed the boy’s dark, wavy hair from his forehead. “It’s ok, Maddox,” I lied. “Shh, it’ll be ok.” His shoulders settled back, and his gasps began to gentle. He held my gaze, and I watched as his eyes went still and dark.

I stood at his side for a moment, an eternity, choking down the sobs that wanted to claw up from my chest. The ambulance bounced over a rough patch of road and I slumped back on the bench, suddenly feeling weak and small as the adrenaline seemed to drain from me. I turned to the man now sitting on the floor opposite me; he looked as spent as I felt.

“Elke?” Roman called from the front. I could see his eyes in the rear-view mirror, probably trying to puzzle out just what on earth was happening back here.

“Roman, stop.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. I almost couldn’t hear it myself over that useless, pointless siren. “Stop it! Turn it off!” The shout hitched in my throat, but we coasted to a stop and I heard my partner open his door and climb out.

“You’re not a cop.” That one shout was all I’d had, my voice quiet again. I kept my gaze on the boy’s body, not wanting to look at the man, the would-be murderer. “Who are you?”

“I’m...Will.” He paused, the way that addicts do when they don’t want to tell the EMTs who they are or what they took.

“Sure. Will.”

“I’m with the Chambers Authority.” He laughed dryly. “Not that that...means anything. I’m the one who called you, but I was too late. No one is more sorry about that than me, I assure you.”

It was my turn to laugh. There was no humor in it.

The back doors swung open and Roman surveyed the scene with concern. “What did you do?” he asked, his tone strangely light.

“This psycho, I -- I tried to stop him, but -- !” I couldn’t sustain my anger for more than a few words. “I don’t think there’s anything that would have mattered.”

“No,” Roman replied, “what did you do?” How did you do it?”

I followed his gaze to the body of the young man on the stretcher. His chest was still, and he was deathly silent. But his hands were flexing, and his eyes began to blink. And then he sat up.

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dancing-with-dichotomies · 4 years

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“Mugi Must Die” A Short-ish and Unusual SOS: FOMT Script

The Farmer: *comes to church for the first time since accidentally thinking it was the clinic the first day and and never returning*

Carter: Hmm? What a surprise to see you here, Farmer ********! I don’t see you pass by here very often... I assumed you weren’t the religious type. Was I perhaps wrong?

The Farmer: ...A lot of people here are very, very wrong, Carter. Not at all what they seem. I was actually for the most part okay with that, because I am that way myself, most everyone has another side to them, in fact... But a certain fellow just showed a side of himself to me that I can’t forgive. For that, I have decided to enlist your help, Carter.

Carter: Oh my, how interesting! It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice, either. I wonder how or why that might be...? *serene but dangerous smile*

The Farmer: *smiles back the same* Nope. Because I figured out your little secret a long time ago. You’re welcome for choosing a time when all the worshippers were away to say this by the way... You’re not a holy man at all, Carter. You’re not even a real man. You’re a demon from Hell.

Carter: ...OhohoHOHO--*skin turns a deep ashy indigo and fangs grow* And so then you must be, how interesting! And I admit, you must be a stronger demon than I, if I didn’t notice your true nature first... Who are you really then, certainly not just a Farmer...?

The “Farmer”: *turns crimson red, with black hair instead of blonde* ...I am Satan’s top Succubus. More popular than any Whore... I am the Girl Next Door! The one so many of these little townsfolk and their eligible young children want... They all think only one lucky person will get to be chosen by me, but truthfully... I will choose them all, in different versions of this world, folded and pocketed away, collecting their hearts, virginities, and eventually their firstborn children, one by one until I have the whole town, and then I will sacrifice them all in masse to the Dark Lord...

Carter: WOW that’s REALLY EVIL! KUDOS! But then, why endanger this brilliant plan to execute one of these already damned mortals, oh Evilest of Sluts?

The Farmer: ...Carter. Do you know what Satan has promised to give me after my many years of service?

Carter: What’s that? I asked for a Rubber Duck that can be a normal squeaky toy one second and a giant demon man-eating monster the next, by the way. OhmanIcan’twait...!

The Farmer: Valid. But... I only asked... For a pony.

Carter: ...That’s it? Is it a flaming--?

The Farmer: No. Just a regular pony. When I was a regular little human girl, so many years ago... I always wanted a pony, but never got one... TO THINK... IF MUGI HAD JUST LET ME KEEP MY PONY... MAYBE I WOULD HAVE ABANDONED MY DESIRE TO ENTRAP EVERY DAMNED SOUL IN THIS TOWN, EVENTUALLY TORTURING THEM FOREVER AFTER A LIFE OF MARITAL BLISS...

Carter: ... *snorts* Seriously?

The Farmer: Nah. I’m fucking around. But I’m gonna kill that old fucking bastard anyways. Not tonight though. In a few years. After I’ve endeared myself to Mei, so that when her grandfather does mysteriously disappear someday soon, she’ll come to me. It’s not good enough to just torture and kill Mugi, after all, no no... I have to take something he loves from him too...

Carter: Splendid, just splendid~ Well then, just bring that body on by anytime! I and the spacious plot in the back of the “church” will be waiting~

The Farmer: Hmph. You’re welcome for the fertilizer~

#sos fomt #friends of mineral town #lmao #story of seasons #dark story

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kittyg67789 · 3 years

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do u have a good DND story?

warning: long af post bc i’m tired and what’s a formatting or coherent writing style i don’t know her lmao

HOooooo boy there’s maybe too many... Also depends on what kind you want lol. Like there’s the time we fought the Honkdra, aka a Goose Hydra, who was definitely way too strong and also the token the dm used was the goose from the untitled goose game. Then the sequel to that fight, which was of course the Quaken, aka sea monster in which the token was a giant rubber duck but like also there’s tentacles. It didn’t even murder our party, it basically just said fuck our boat and then left, so then we ended up stranded on the island we are currently on in game (we were looking for that island but STILL). Also there’s a clown cult on that island that were currently dealing with, chaotic squirrels, and we also fought the unicorns from the charlie video as a lowkey boss on this island earlier too. OH also we’ve fought the black knight from monty python multiple times.

If you want maybe less silly ones, There’s the time my pally lesbean cha ended up having to sacrifice themselves for the party. Basically what ended up happening was at a world council meeting thingy we were at to try and convince people to help us with some magic war bullshittery, we basically got suddenly attacked by the enemy. Which, happened to include my cha’s long lost love, who is the reason she set out on the journey in the first place bc basically her love and her sister fell through a portal and my cha had been searching for them ever since. Here’s the thing tho, Love interest happens to basically be possessed/undead and forced to do the bidding of the Bad guy, while being in pain and also being basically conscious the whole time. So uh you can imagine that fight of her pleas for desperation as she kicked the parties ass, and basically my cha ended up staying behind shouting at everyone else to run for it. Meanwhile keeping focus on the love interest, and getting them into a duel, because ya know. Problem is love interest is uh, strong as fuck, and easily downs my cha. Basically dooming my cha to the same fate as her, until the party can someday defeat and revive them. Her last words to my cha as she killed her were literally “Now we can be together forever...” so like. there’s THAT. Oh and uh it gets deeper too, my backup cha was actually the Older sister. Who had been searching for the other two the entire time as well, and of course, as she makes it to the town where she’s heard my cha is, she runs into the party in the next session and the first thing she finds out is that YES my cha was here, but also they literally JUST died. Oh also that their little sister was an undead puppet, and now they are becoming one too so like have fun with that. Game ended pretty soon after that though so unfortunately no resolution for their lovestory : (

Also was the time my oneshot cha basically stopped the BBEG by making a wish before they could on this weird fountain thing that was in like the dream world. The Dream/Real world were at odds, and the Door guard along with another cha basically were going to wish for the dream world to become the default world and therefore for the guard to become “real”. There was a cycle repeating, in which magic was being drained/removed from the real world, nad it was basically a Dream VS real world thing going on. So my cha, instead of wishing for the real world to succeed and to return and continue the cycle (and also say fuck the dream people), they wished for both worlds and ended the cycle. Problem is, this specific fountain, required a door guard. And the original one, cursed someone else into it so they werent the guard anymore, who we had to kill to get in. Meaning there was no guard for the wish fountain. We had also killed the original guard, although we spared the BBEG that had teamed up with them. But, instead of cursing the BBEG to become the new door guard and therefore risking the possibility that they too would get up to some fuckery like the original door guard. My cha made themselves become the door guard for all eternity instead, while the other party members took the BBEG with them and went back to the real world where magic had been restored.

Ok that was a lot of vague dnd dumping,,, there is always more,,, like for example, one of my current characters is an actual catgirl so ya know. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the DND dumping of information <3

(Also in case you’re interested in more dnd stuff, i have a dnd blog where i put my chas when i remember to draw them, and just other rando stuff @this-is-where-dnd-stuff-goes I haven’t finished drawing any of them in a long time, mostly just sketches, but ya kno they exist on there)

#thoughts #oni talks #oni answers #dnd #oni plays dnd #bc I lowkey be making lots of dnd posts altho I think I had a different dnd tag but I don’t remember it #anon #anon asks #anonymous asks #anonymous questions #asks #also I’m so sorry this ended up way too long and incoherent and also messy #words and stuff hard :(#also I’m tired and formatting is also hard :(#I can always rephrase or give y’all more context/names/etc if you want #also dnd is a v important part of my life so I have many words #fun fact I’m actually moving in with someone I met through dnd #he dmed basically all the sessions mentioned except for one which he was a player in lol #every game except for like the first one that I’ve played I’ve played with him lol #the 2nd actual game I ever joined he ended up joining later #and then he invited me to his game and then to more games and so on and so forth #He’s a very good human who we stan and i care about very much he’s a very good bean #lowkey dnd has been part of my life only for about a year or two #but it’s been so ridiculously important to my life and growth that it’s kind of insane #idk where I’d be in life if I never challenged myself and put myself out there to try it #2 of my closest friends are people I met through dnd and they’ve honestly changed my life for the better in basically every way #and IVE changed my life for the better through and because of dnd #like so much of what I’ve been working on and doing rn wouldn’t hve happened or been possible without it #even a year ago I wouldn’t have even dreamed my life could be so be this hopeful or good I love dnd very much #it’s still hard for me sometimes but i will forever keep it close to my heart

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joeys-piano · 4 years

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Tagged by @space--cowboys // Hello, I believe this is the first time we’re interacting

Rules: Answer 10 questions, write your own 10 questions, and tag 10 peeps

Tagging: @somuchanemoia & @feu-eau and anyone else who wants to do this. Seriously, if you want to answer my unconventional questions, go for it.

What would you recommend to a friend to read?

Being and Time by Martin Heidegger. If you’re interested in philosophy and understanding what it means to simply “be” and what it means to be human by how to be human, you might enjoy this one. English isn’t amy first language and much of the nuance of what’s happening is lost to me. However, Heideggr has a beautiful way of putting things together and I would describe his writing like sitting in an opera house and listening to the long, melodic notes from the singers in a 15+ hour opera rendition performance.

The text is nuanced, meaning it’s hard and very rough to read. It’s like playing a chess game with the author and trying to figure out what move he made while simultaneously trying to counter the next move he will make. It’s challenging, but it’s not boring. At the very least, it’s gonna clear the gray matter in your brain because you’ll be thinking very hard.

Also, this is like a hardcore philosphical book where you need to be pretty familair with and if not have general knowledge of philosophy, the history of philosophy, and the major philosphers of Western tradition + an understanding of Nietzsche and his works. I would recommend this to a very specific niche of friends, friends that I don’t have but other friends can say they do because I’m their friend!

Do I know philosophy like the back of my hand? No. I’m just willing to learn and see from a different perspective, even if it’s very difficult and I don’t entirely understand it. But in pursuing this and taking my time with chipping at it, it’s given me some interesting things to think about.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be and why?

I don’t have a specific place I want to live. Not Japan or Hawaii or major cities or capitals around the world. Actually, I think the best place for me would be the rural area. Slower-paced, I don’t have to interact with that many humans, and I can raise my own livestock and have a small garden to partially sustain myself with and have my chickens.

I’m a city-person that longs to live in the countryside. Remove me from civilization, from society, from having to see other people, and let me mingle out in nature with a strong internet connection so I can post fanfic and occasionally send pictures of chickens to my friends. Essentially, I want to be physically off the grid as much as possible, but still have a digital-connection to keep in touch with a very small group of people.

What’s your dream job/profession?

Although it would be sweet to be a writer for a living, I don’t think I could keep up with work-life and still be sane somewhere down the line.

I would want an economically-stable office job, preferably one where I don’t have to interact with very many people. The running theme here is that I like to avoid other humans because humans are unpredictable and their demands and presence, sometimes, really irk me.

What’s a song that always gets you into the mood to dance?

Anything from Lady Gaga. I love her.

If you had the power to control time, what would be the first thing you do?

Freeze time so I could write a 15-page screenplay for my creative writing class. Damn, you Prof. H.

What memory do you treasure the most and why?

Hearing the story of how my parents came to the United States during the 1980s. I was 9 at the time and I couldn’t understand how much they’ve gone through and the Hell it took to get here; but as I’ve gotten older, I look back at my 9 y.o. self and think about the story. I will never be able to understand the extent that my parents have been through, but I understand that it took more strength, resolve, sacrifice, and courage than I could ever imagine.

That memory sticks out to me a lot because I heard their story just before my older brother went to university. He and I sat down at the living room, and Mom and Dad told us their story. I think about that memory a lot, especially since I’m in university now and it feels...I feel a lot of things about it.

What’s your favorite season/time of the year and why?

10 p.m. , ‘tis the hour of my sleep.

What hobby are you really passionate about?

Writing and music.

How would you describe the style of clothes you wear/your wardrobe?

Simple. You slap it on and go.

What’s your favorite meme?

Galaxy brain.

Questions:

The most questionable thing you researched for fandom purposes

How would you rate your experience with Tumblr?

What is the function of a rubber duck?

Do you sleep your back turned towards a door or to a wall?

With the inevitability of death and how our clocks are slowly running out, how are you occupying your time?

Roast me, damn it.

If you had to erase your identity and assume a new one, who would you be?

Where is the best place to eat?

Where is the best place to sleep?

If cellphone towers went down and you had to communicate with someone that’s far away, how would you do it?

#tagged #tag game #Joey Speaks

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yanjuniverse · 5 years

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First Kiss - Fan Chengcheng/Huang Justin Imagine

Fan Chengcheng would like to get one thing straight before he starts things off: he is not a pervert. He doesn’t want anyone to listen to whatever the hell Justin Huang has to say - the kid probably still wets the bed. So what if he can’t peel his eyes away from the television screen during sex scenes or the out right whine he lets out when Ziyi skips through them. So what if he can’t help it if he pauses for a moment in the doorway when he catches his two bandmates in a steamy make out session on the couch (if they don’t want to be caught, they would’ve taken it somewhere else, right?).

He’s 19, dammit. Let him be curious.

It’s not his fault that he’s never laid his lips upon anyone else’s except maybe his little cousins who find the need to always leave snotty kisses on his face and the cute puppies that come in and out of his dorm. It’s not his fault that he spent the first half of his life in hiding and the second part training to be an idol. He’s just never found the time to go out and look for romance. He has an excuse to be the way he is.

So yeah, maybe he is a little jealous when he finds out his band leader Zhu Zhengting gets to mess around with the Cai Xukun. Maybe he is a little irritated when he sees Zhangjing sneak a kiss to Yanjun. But the one thing he will admit to being angry about is when Justin comes bounding into their room talking about how he had his first kiss when he was only ten years old.

Ten is a bit too young, Chengcheng thinks. Ten year olds should be worried about crayons and action figures and barbie dolls - not kissing. And the sudden outburst of information makes Zhengting, who is in their room for once and not with Xukun, all but choke on his drink.

“Why the sudden confession?” Zhengting asks.

“Because Linong told me that one of us in this room still hasn’t had their first kiss,” he smirks, eyes evilly pointed towards Chengcheng, who instantly feels his stomach fall out of his ass.

“Chengcheng?” Fuck, Chengcheng really hates when Zhengting uses that voice with him. Usually, he ends the conversation with pinched red cheeks and messy hair. “You’ve never had your first kiss?” Zhengting coos. “Aw, baby!”

“I’m not a baby!” he cries out. “And who the hell are you to be spreading my business like this?” he points his finger accusingly at Justin.

“You’re the one who always goes around calling me a virgin!” Justin fights back, once again causing Zhengting to squeal.

“Fan Chengcheng!” he gasps.

“Well he is!” Chengcheng rolls his eyes.

“He should be!” Zhengting snaps. Justin is only seventeen and the last thing Zhengting wants his seventeen year old son to be doing is sinning.

“At least I had my first kiss!” Justin teases again, sticking his tongue out.

Chengcheng decides that he’s had enough and jumps down from his top bunk on an actual mission to kill Justin (he means it this time. He can do prison time. Him and Linkai watched a Youtube video on how to make a knife out if a toothbrush last week and he’s sure he could use his status as Fan Bingbing’s little brother to his advantage in prison. He’s watched enough Orange is the New Black for this. He’s ready). But before he can, Justin is running down the hall screaming for Ziyi (the one person Chengcheng is sure could kick his ass and wouldn’t regret it) and Zhengting is high tailing it behind the rest of them to make sure his children don’t get blood on the carpets he just had deep cleaned at the beginning of the week.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where’s the fire?” Ziyi asks as Justin ducks behind him.

“Let me kill him! We could sacrifice him to the gods! He’s a fucking virgin and that has to go for something!” Chengcheng shouts from behind Xukun, who had also come out from his room to see what all the noise is about, as if it’s the most sane thing in the world to say.

“I’m a child of God!” Justin retorts. Chengcheng knows he’s not. Justin just wants to make the others feel bad for him. I mean, if a little church boy came screaming devil to you, who would you believe? “I’ve made a promise of abstinence! You haven’t even-“

“Shut up!” Chengcheng yells.

“What the hell is going on?!” Yanjun groans, eyes piercing as he opens the door of his and Zhangjing’s room. Chengcheng wants to scoff because Yanjun hasn’t been the least bit intimidating to him since he found out his favorite past time is singing Baby Shark to Zhengting’s dogs - what a fucking Virgo.

“Can’t we just put these two up for adoption already?” Zhangjing leans his head against the door. “I’m willing to pay the fee. We can easily drop them off in a box too at a church if it comes to it.”

“We are not putting my kids up for adoption,” Zhengting snaps. “If my kid goes, so does yours.”

“Like we’d give up Linong,” Zhangjing snorts, pulling the younger into his arms and rubbing his hair. “Right? We all love Nongnong!”

“Hello!” Justin is screaming again. “Are we all just going to ignore the fact that Chengcheng sits here and calls me a virgin all the time but he hasn’t even kissed somebody before!”

And, oh yeah, Chengcheng almost forgot that’s why they’re all having a meeting in the middle of the hallway.

His eyes immediately are set ablaze again. A look of realization crosses Linong’s face as Linkai all but crumbles to the ground in a fit of laughter.

“Two virgins,” he whispers. Two virgin sacrifices might just get him the Nintendo Switch he’s been begging Zhengting for for months.

Before he can jump, Zhengting and Xukun pull him back and shove them into the room all while Justin is laughing wickedly from the other side of the door.

“Cheng,” Zhengting sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s too young to be getting worry lines, he tells himself as Chengcheng throws himself onto Xukun’s bed. “You cannot threaten to sacrifice people.”

“Well why not?” he snipes. “You let Justin and Linong get away with everything! Just admit it,” he crosses his arms, “you like to pick favorites.”

“I don’t-“

“Yes you do,” Xukun replies as he falls onto Ziyi’s now unoccupied bed. “You pick Justin over Chengcheng all the time.”

Chengcheng gestures towards the boy wildly. “See! Told you!” he says.

Zhengting shuts his eyes. “Maybe it’s because they don’t threaten human sacrifice every time something doesn’t go their way, you Satanic spawn.”

“Have you even read up on Satanism? It’s not as scary as you think.”

Zhengting only blinks at him. For a second, he ponders going down this road and talking to Chengcheng about weird conspiracies that sometimes leave the younger one so shaken, he has to crawl into bed with him or else he’ll get nightmares. But Zhengting takes one glance at Xukun and remembers that he has to punish him for defying him (or tickle him until he screams mercy and deny him kisses until he’s on his knees before the older and kissing other-)

“Ge!” Zhengting shakes his head and looks back at Chengcheng. Ugh, why can’t these children just behave long enough for him to get some decent loving around here? Zhengting looks back and forth between the two before Chengcheng huffs, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “Are you seriously going to punish me? Justin was the one who told everyone my deepest darkest secret. I haven’t even told anyone about that one time we-“ Chengcheng stops suddenly as Zhengting gives him an expectant look.

“We?” he raises his eyebrows.

Chengcheng shakes his head before he tells Zhengting about the one time when he was seventeen and Justin was fifteen and they snuck into a nightclub. He may be mad but not mad enough to kill the captain of the ship as well. “Not the point. The point is that you’re yelling at me when we should be yelling at him!” he cries out, deflating against Xukun. “You’re my favorite parent now.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he grimaces, pushing Chengcheng away.

The youngest one pouts and stands up. “I hate this family. I’m going to tell Wenjun to take me back. Tell him I was lying when I said this new family is was better than the old one because we don’t have to deal with Zeren’s bullshit here.” Chengcheng turns on his feet, waiting for Zhengting to protest and call him dramatic. He stands at the door and wonders why he hasn’t said anything only to turn back and see Xukun crawling next to Zhengting in bed. Whores, he rolls his eyes before leaving.

Chengcheng decides then that he’s had enough embarrassment for the day. He’s not sure where Justin has gone but he does notice that his shoes are missing along with Ziyi’s when he passes the door on his way to the kitchen. He stalks up on some snacks and leaves back to his room, already thinking up ways to have Wenjun take him back in the Yuehua dorm (that he may or may not have gotten banned from after he set the microwave on fire - now that’s a whole other story for another day).

He settles down on his bunk and groans.

So what if he hasn’t had his first kiss? He thinks everyone should stop normalizing first kisses at such a young age.

He thinks about it a moment more then turns his head to the side to stare at the blank white wall, popping another chip into his mouth.

Maybe Xinchun is right - maybe Chengcheng is too picky.

He stays like that for a while, staring at the wall with crumbs littering his shirt and bed. He thinks about a lot of things while laying there - like the time he was in Korea for New Years and almost got to kiss Zhengting at the stroke of midnight just because the older was a little too tipsy. Or all the times he skipped out on playing spin the bottle and instead of kissing Zeren that one time, he popped him in the mouth with the rubber band on his wrist. He thinks about how many people have called him beautiful and told him they wanted more than a friendship and he chose not to pursue them.

He’s not sure what he’s scared of - he’s no stranger to heartbreak or rejection.

Somewhere around eight, Justin comes bounding into the room again. Chengcheng thinks for a moment - wonders if he should jump up and put him in a choke hold or throw him out the window. But instead, he sees the younger one dancing happily to the beat of his own drum and watches him grab some clothes and a towel before leaving again.

Rude, he thinks. Can’t you acknowledge your gege?

Chengcheng has known Justin since Justin was fourteen and he was sixteen. He remembers that he stayed in his family’s hotel a little before Justin left to Korea.

He still remembers meeting him in the arcade. The young boy with his natural dark hair was walking around the arcade when he stopped in front of where Chengcheng was playing basketball and laughed.

“Maybe you should stick to your day job,” he snickered as Chengcheng missed another shot.

“Shut up,” Chengcheng snorted just as the machine went off - his game is over. Chengcheng frowned, knowing his that was the last bit of his coins and sighed.

But, as if Justin could read his mind, he pulled a key out from his pocket and crouched down in front of the machine, opening the box where all the quarters would fall to and fished out a whole handful. “Here,” he smiled. Chengcheng remembers giving him a weird look before Justin said, “Don’t worry. My parents own all of this. I do it all the time.” He handed him the coins and then took a step back. “I’m Minghao but you can call me Justin.“

“Chengcheng,” he replied. “Fan Chengcheng.”

“Well Fan Chengcheng, let’s keep in touch. You owe me a favor now!” Justin said.

They had switched numbers and Chengcheng kept in touch. He rooted for Justin when Justin went to Korea, he comforted him when he came back to China, he joined his company when Justin suggested it and now, they’re in two bands together.

He thinks may he sees Justin too often. Maybe that’s what keeps him from actually killing the younger boy. Chengcheng still remembers how Justin would always call him an “angsty teenager” because all Chengcheng used to do was complain.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Your sister is Fan Bingbing, you’re rich, you’re not that bad to look at and you’re best friends with the one and only Huang Minghao,” he had told him somewhere in the beginning of their friendship.

He knows he shouldn’t complain. He has a life that many people dream of and yet, he can’t help but feel saddened by the fact that he’s never gotten the chance to experience a normal life.

Maybe I am an angsty teenager, he thinks as he sits up for the first time in hours, watching all of the crumbs from his shirt litter the bed. He’ll just sleep in Zhengting’s tonight then complain about it tomorrow when the older comes looking for clothes.

“You look so sad,” Justin chuckles from the doorway, shaking a towel on his wet hair.

“There are crumbs on my bed,” he says.

Justin blinks. “Okay?” Chengcheng just shrugs and stands up, staring at his sheets a while longer. Justin sighs and walks over, using his towel to swat the remnants onto the floor. “Better?” he asks.

“I was gonna make Zhengting to it-“

“Well,” Justin shrugs. They’re silent for another beat. It grows awkward until Justin groans. “What’s even wrong with you?”

Chengcheng isn’t sure how to respond. What is wrong with him? It’s not the first time Justin’s spilled a secret about him to his band mates. In fact, sometimes, it seems like it’s his life goal to embarrass his elder; like the time he told everyone he had a rash in the place where the sun don’t shine, or the time he leaked pictures of Chengcheng picking his nose to the groupchat. But there was this feeling in the pit of his stomach that made today’s confession a little different.

“What’s wrong with me?” Chengcheng asks, tone catching Justin off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you even talking about?” Justin frowns, taking a step back.

Chengcheng’s not sure what he’s talking about but words are rolling off his tongue anyways.

“I mean, who the hell even are you? To go around and spill my business like this?” Chengcheng jabs his finger accusingly into his chest.

“Dude, it was a joke,” Justin pouts. He keeps backing him until he feels his back hit the door and it click behind him. Chengcheng takes another step and they’re now flushed together. “Leave me alone,” Justin orders.

“Who the fuck cares if I haven’t had my first kiss?” Chengcheng growls at him.

“Nobody does!” Justin retorts. He knows nobody does. If anything, nobody is surprised because Chengcheng isn’t a very affectionate person. He hates when his personal space is intruded, hates when people touch him. He doesn’t give hugs or cuddle with his members. In fact, this is the closest Justin thinks they’ve been since they both debuted on Idol Producer.

“Well obviously you do if you went around telling everyone!” Chengcheng shouts.

“I was trying to annoy you!” Justin groans.

“But why?!” Chengcheng asks. “Why do you always have to be so damn annoying?! Why can’t you just let me breathe for once, huh?! Did it ever occur to you that I may be saving my kiss for someone special?!”

“What’s so special about a kiss?! It’s just a stupid kiss!” Justin is irritated. He doesn’t like when Chengcheng raises his voice at him and he knows Chengcheng has no right to. He knows Chengcheng can sit and talk things out with him. He knows his elder knows how to act. But Justin just wants to go to sleep but for that to happen, he’ll need Chengcheng to 1) get out of his face and 2) shut the hell up. “Everyone kisses! Nobody gives a damn who your first kiss is with! They only care about how well you do it and you’re fucking eighteen and probably kiss like a washing machine! I probably kiss way better than you!”

“And?!” Chengcheng’s ears are red now. He’s not sure where all this anger is coming from but he’s burning inside out.

“And that’s all you have to say,” Justin replies, a bit satisfied with himself to see that he’s won again. “So go away.” He tries to slip out between the door and Chengcheng but the older presses him back against the door. He groans, “Chengcheng, what?”

“You’re annoying as hell,” his voice is low. “Why aren’t you like this to everyone else?”

Justin crosses his arms, turning his head to the side. He knows Chengcheng is right. Justin may be annoying but the level he takes it with Chengcheng is enough to make anyone’s skin crawl with anger.

“You’re stupid, that’s why,” Justin mutters, trying again to walk away, only to be pressed back against the door.

“Minghao,” Chengcheng grits through his teeth. Justin rolls his eyes, something Chengcheng hates. He grabs his jaw and snaps the boy’s head so he can look him in the eyes. “Huang Minghao. Why the hell are you so annoying towards me and not everyone else?” he asks even lower.

“Because I don’t want to be everyone else’s first kiss,” Justin replies, catching Chengcheng off guard. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but being annoying is how I flirt around here. So either kiss me right now or let me go to bed and think about how fucking stupid you are because I’ve been wanting to be your first kiss since the day in the arcade but if you aren’t going to let me be your special person-“

Chengcheng hates how much Justin talks sometimes. So, he decides to shut him up like how they do in the movies, by kissing him. That way, Justin gets to be his first kiss, Chengcheng gets to have his first kiss and they’ll both get to go to sleep one kiss richer.

Justin is the first to pull away, a bit breathless but with a smirk on his face.

“Told you that you suck at kissing,” he smiles, pressing another quick one on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

“Who even taught you how to kiss?” Chengcheng pouts.

”Youtube,” he laughs. “You can find everything on there.”

“I sort of hate you.”

“You can’t hate me. We’re boyfriends now!” Justin frowns.

“Says who?”

“Do you want me to kiss you again or not,” Justin crosses his arms.

And Chengcheng realizes then that once again, Justin is wrong.

It’s not about your first kiss, or how well you kiss, or where you kiss. It’s about the person you’re kissing.

And Chengcheng is definitely ready to kiss Justin for a very long time.

#didnt even go in and see if everything was correct #not proof read #this is my comeback one shot and its trash omfg #pls dont kill me #yanjuniverse nine percent #chengstin #nine percent fan chengcheng #nine percent justin #nex7 justin #nex7 fan chengcheng #nine percent huang minghao #nex7 huang minghao #huang minghao #fan chengcheng #huang justin #chengstin imagine #i miss this ship

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visitlewis12-blog · 4 years

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Welcome to Lewis Farms!

Lewis Farms in New Era, MI is open from May to October and they have fun and exciting activities lined up for the whole family to enjoy. They have a variety of things to do like party pens, a petting zoo, a farm market and bakery, and so much more!

However, despite being a rural location, you don’t have to sacrifice modern amenities to visit. In fact, Lewis Farm is only a little over an hour away from Grand Rapids and half and hour to Muskegon, so the farm is definitely day-trip material!

The following are only some of the fun and fascinating things you can spend the summer with your family doing.

The Petting Zoo

The Petting Zoo at Lewis Farms has been described as magical, since that was the vision of Cindy Lewis, as she is an avid animal enthusiast. She had one of their older orchard areas transitioned from trees to barnyards, and now has a wide and varied range of unusual animals and birds. The petting zoo is kept clean so it is safe for children, and is open to people of all ages! Their aviary has the most colorful and social budgies you would have ever had the pleasure of meeting - and you might get lucky and get the chance to feed them, too!

The Corn Maze

Lewis Farms hosts an amazing corn maze that is over 6-acres. The challenge is made more interesting by having to find several clues at various points throughout the maze. Each season has a new design that makes it more fun to navigate! For an added challenge, try your hand at completing the maze in the nighttime. Not matter when in the day you attempt to beat the maze, it’s sure to be an exciting experience!

The Pumpkin Patch

The pumpkins we know and love actually come in various different types: the ones you might choose for carving, or the ones you might add to pies, or more infamously the ‘ghost’ pumpkins! Pick and choose the pumpkins you would like to take home from Lewis Farms’ vast pumpkin patch and be sure to take tons of photos with your gourd of choice. You’re sure to have a grand old time no matter which one you find in the patch.

Fun activities!

These are not the only things available at Lewis Farms, there are plenty of activities for the children to take part in like Ride Pedal Carts, Giant Jumping Pillows and Race Rubber Ducks! If your child is a bit on the sportier side, they can try out Lasso Wild Steers, SkeeBall, Swing the Ring and Black Hole Slides.

For your more curious kids, you can take them to the Observation HoneyBee Hive! For family inclusive fun, you can opt for the Bee Popper, BumpAlong Barrel Train, Redneck TicTacToe, Farming Rocks Mining Company and many more! Finally, they have the Cluckin’ Chicken Revue, Crawly Spider Web, Beached Boat Sandbox and HiStrikers - all of which are sure to keep the kids’ attention captive for a long period of time!

The Farm Market and Bakery

Finally, they have a market that sells fresh vegetables and fruits, straight from the farm! They not only sell their own crop, but also sell locally grown produce from their neighbors so your are sure to find the plumpest and ripest fruits and vegetables in the region. They also have a bakery that sells pies, sticky buns, cookies, donuts and cinnamon rolls. But let’s not forget the novelty items like apple fritters, specialty breads and more!

Don’t miss the chance to visit Lewis Farms next summer!

To Know more about petting zoo michigan

#petting zoo michigan

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princelydoe-blog · 5 years

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Wizarding Gentrification: Were the Snape family priced out of the Wizarding World?

Okay this may seem like a bit of an odd post, but I want to talk about wizarding vs muggle economics.

First and foremost, there are two wizarding (or half-blood wizarding) families that we are aware of that can be classified as poor: The Weasleys, and The Snapes. However despite both families being poor, there is a clear discrepancy between quality of life between the two households.

Before getting into the economic part, I’m going to quickly establish that a great part of this is due to the amount of love and affection in the families. Molly and Arthur Weasley are clearly incredibly in love, and absolutely love their children with all their hearts. Not only is there parent-child familial love, but all the siblings love each other a lot. This is the opposite of Eileen and Tobias Snape, who are strongly implied to have an abusive relationship, and canon neglect their son. Economics aside, a supportive household will improve quality of life incredibly.

Now that’s put to one side I want to look at the financial side only.

While the Weasley family are established as being ‘poor’, and we see the effect through small things in Ron’s behaviour. For example he gets frustrated that Harry can buy things he can’t, and has that spat with him over paying him back in leprechaun gold – and feeling offended when Harry didn’t mention that it would disappear and that he was happy to simply buy something for his friend.

However when we look at being poor and poverty and what that means, the Weasleys come across as quite well off. They own their own home in the middle of a big field – which doesn’t come cheap by any standards. They’ve also managed to support seven children, and were even happy to have Harry, Hermione, and other friends around the table. While they struggle, and while they do make sacrifices, they still seem to get along okay.

Arthur Weasley works in the Ministry, and the whole family rely on this income (at least until Bill gets a job and offers to help out – I can’t remember how accurate the part about Bill is so correct me if I’m wrong!).

Similarly it seems that Eileen Snape and Severus Snape both rely purely on Tobias’ income. We are given far less information, but it seems that the reader is to infer that Tobias Snape has a factory job – something which is notoriously undervalued and underpaid. That means that both families are poor and rely on one income (from the patriarch) in order to get by.

However, despite only one income, the Weasleys seem to be far richer than the Snapes could ever hope to be.

The Weasleys live as a poor, pureblood, wizarding family. The Snapes live in abject poverty.

While the Weasleys struggle, they manage to support their children. However Severus is horribly neglected. As a nine year old, he is described as being underfed, too thin, with hygiene problems and wearing his mother’s old clothes rather than clothing of his own.

We need to understand the extent of poverty in this case. Severus’ basic needs as a child and adolescent, washing, clothing, food, heating, none of these were taken care of.

It seems that this goes far beyond Arthur Weasley simply having a better job than Tobias Snape. The gap in wealth between the non-magic poor and the wizarding poor seems incredibly vast.

To put it into context, a student’s first year at Hogwarts would put them back £33.5k ($43k US), which is more than most people make in a year – let alone those in utter poverty. Quite frankly it’s a miracle that Severus managed to have a quality education (his financial status being something that Slughorn points out would have held him back a great deal).

If we think about the fact that £33.5k was the base rate for getting a child into Hogwarts, then we need to consider what is “poor” for wizards. Could the Weasleys have had a much easier life if they lived in a big house in a muggle neighbourhood? Would they have even been considered poor by muggle standards?

The Weasleys are pureblood, and live fully as wizards. There also seems to be a lot of ignorance when it comes to muggles and muggle culture – for example Arthur asks “what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?” when he works in the department of the ministry that deals with muggles. So it could be that integrating with muggle society was such a foreign concept for them that they wouldn’t have been able to even attempt to live in a muggle neighbourhood like many wizards do. So they are stuck in a bubble of being wizarding-poor rather than muggle-rich.

It also leads me to wonder if this is why there is a large amount of half-bloods, and why wizards/witches/magical folk seem to integrate with muggle communities after spending a great deal of their life being separate. Pureblood lines are dying out, and seem to rely on distant interbreeding in order to keep the blood line “pure”, yet with there being far more muggles than wizards, much more integration happens. “Me dad’s a muggle, me mam’s a witch – bit of a shock for him when he found out!”

So how did these couples meet? How are these wizards and witches meeting muggles so easily?

How did Eileen Prince meet and fall in love with Tobias Snape?

The lack of money, resources, opportunity and neglect that happened to their underfed, underdressed son isn’t the only effects of poverty. While it isn’t strictly canon (although I see it as canon), it is suggested that Eileen’s relationship with Tobias is abusive, which only furthers her financial dependence on him. I think there’s more evidence that Tobias was abusive rather than Eileen, given how close Severus felt to his mother. The fact that Severus wore her clothes rather than Tobias’ shows that she may have been trying to provide for him – even if Tobias was unable/unwilling.

They were living as muggles during the 60s and 70s when Severus was born which was during the second wave of feminism. During this time, it was painfully common for women to stay at home, and when they did work they were not given the same rights. As Tobias was abusive and neglectful in terms of the money he brought home, it seems there was little, if any financial independence for Eileen. This means that even if she did want to escape from the abusive life she had ended up in, there would be little opportunity in the wizarding world.

If Eileen had left, she had no work experience (if we go by the assumption she wasn’t working – which would have been likely given her relationship with Tobias), or if she did her experience would have been muggle based work only. Given that Tobias ‘didn’t like magic, much’, her talents would have been unused and unappreciated by all except for Severus.

When the Weasleys are a poor wizarding family, those that live have muggles poorly have little chance of getting on any form of wizarding financial ladder, especially when living in abject poverty.

#long post #snapedom #severus snape #c: snape #meta #my writing

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stalwartsandall · 5 years

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Still Pretty Podcast - Chosen

So, I watched Still Pretty's Chosen video and, in true nitpicky form, I'm not going to discuss any of the host's interesting and articulate insights... I'm just gonna latch onto the bits I disagree with and gnaw at them like a rabid dog. And so, a counterpoint in two whingy parts...

Part One - Presumption of Masculine Entitlement

Here's the section I disagreed with most strongly, it's Lani's reaction to Buffy's scenes with Angel and Spike:

The possessiveness and entitlement each them feels to Buffy is beneath both of them. Angel and Buffy are not together. Spike and Buffy are not together. Buffy has promised neither of them her heart nor her fidelity. They are entitled to neither from her, nor are they entitled to explanations or excuses. The presumptive male entitlement to female minds and body is a problem in our culture, so I wanna walk through this carefully.

You know what, it's a nice, tidy, patriarchy-punishing interpretation of the text. Lani's reading paints Buffy (our hero, our icon) as a woman dealing admirably with the immature, presuming bullshit of a couple of dudes, both of whom seem to think they deserve a piece of her. And Buffy's defiant refusal to cede to masculine entitlement would be a wonderful message for the show, especially in the finale.

But it's just not the reading I get. I don't see masculine entitlement; I see three people in confusing romantic circumstances. And, if I've got to pick sides, if I'm forced to call out anyone's bad behaviour here, I'm going to call out Buffy's. Buffy is the one who ducks and obfuscates with both guys. Buffy is the one who is physically intimate with both of them and then engages in semantic gymnastics to avoid discussing that intimacy.

Let's start with Angel. Here's the full exchange:

BUFFY - If I lose, if this thing gets past Sunnydale, then it's days—maybe hours—before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front, and I need you to run it.

ANGEL - OK... that's one reason. What's the other?

BUFFY - There is no other.

ANGEL - Is it Spike? You're not telling me something. And his scent, I remember it pretty well.

BUFFY - You vampires. Did anybody ever tell you the whole smelling people thing's a little gross?

ANGEL - Is he your boyfriend?

BUFFY - Is that your business?

ANGEL - You in love with him? OK, maybe I'm outta line, but this is kind of a curve ball for me. I mean, we are talking about Spike here.

BUFFY - It's different. He's different. He has a soul now.

ANGEL - Oh. Well.

BUFFY - What?

ANGEL - That's great. (mumbling to himself) Everyone's got a soul now.

BUFFY - He'll make a difference.

ANGEL - (mumbling) You know, I started it. The whole having a soul. Before it was all the cool new thing.

BUFFY - Oh, my God. Are you 12?

ANGEL - I'm getting the brush off for Captain Peroxide. It doesn't necessarily bring out the champion in me.

BUFFY - You're not getting the brush off. Are you just gonna come here and go all Dawson on me every time I have a boyfriend?

ANGEL - Aha! (points) Boyfriend!

BUFFY - He's not. But...he is in my heart.

ANGEL - That'll end well.

Gather readers, for this will not happen often; I'm going to defend Angel. Sure he's petty and snippy, but he's not overly pushy or controlling. He asks questions and calls Buffy on her second front lie. He's jealous and a bit childish but, when Buffy tells him to leave, he grumbles good-naturedly and he leaves.

It's not entitlement to voice an opinion about Buffy's choice of boyfriend. When people we love make decisions we think are dangerous or ill-advised—like say dating a creature we know to be an amoral mass murderer—it's perfectly reasonable to question them.

Angel displays jealousy, he wants something he doesn't have, but that's not the same as being possessive. He doesn't imply that he has a right to Buffy's mind or body. The closest he gets to expressing entitlement to Buffy is this line: I'm getting the brush off for Captain Peroxide. And, to be fair to him, that's exactly what's happening. His offer of help is being rejected because Buffy's involved with Spike.

Lastly, it is not possessive nor entitled for Angel to want to know Buffy's relationship status because... he and Buffy just kissed. A kiss is obviously not a declaration of commitment nor a promise of fidelity but it sure as shit means Angel's within his rights to ask about Buffy's relationship status. She doesn't have to answer but he's allowed to ask without being labelled possessive.

Ok, let's move on, to Spike...

So, as Lani points out, Buffy and Spike are not together. They are not in a relationship. They haven't promised fidelity.

But they are in the midst of something. It's ill-defined and non-binding but it's not platonic friendship. The previous night they shared a bed. They held each other and gazed into each other's eyes. Buffy has platonic friendships with Giles and Xander; she would not have asked either one of them to take her to bed and hold her in that way.

And Buffy acknowledges that it was not simple comfort and friendship. When Spike offers to gloss over the incident, offers to strip it of meaning and significance, Buffy chases after him and stops him. She demands that he declare himself and then she tells him she was there with him that night. And she ends their conversation by suggesting that, after the battle with the First, they might discuss/identify/pursue their relationship.

And then she walks out and kisses another man.

Does she cheat on Spike? - no. Is it messy and complicated? - yes. Is Spike's momentary annoyance and jealousy an example of unreasonable entitlement? - hell no!

What's interesting is reversing the sexes of the protagonists and reviewing the chain of events:

A man is depressed, defeated, alone and afraid.

A woman (a friend, an ex, a co-worker, an ally) seeks to comfort him. She tells him she's asking for nothing in return but wants him to know the depth of her admiration for him and how wholly and unwaveringly she loves him. The man cries, is touched and grateful.

He asks the woman to share his bed. No sex, he just wants her to hold him, to comfort him, to give him strength. She does. They lie in bed; holding, stroking, gazing.

The following night they see each other again and they're uncomfortable and unsure where they stand. The woman gives the man a clear out, tells him that emotions were running high and they can dismiss the night in bed together as simply comfort.

The man says no, says he wants the truth, not mixed messages. He demands that they don't ignore the significance of the night.

The woman reluctantly lays it all out: she's in love with him and feeling utterly vulnerable, terrified that she'll be hurt.

Man says: don't be afraid; the night was meaningful for me too.

Woman says: really, what does that mean, can we define what we have?

Man says: do we have to... there's so much going on right now, maybe later. The woman says ok.

The man leaves and, within hours, passionately kisses his ex.

Then he returns to the woman and tries to downplay the kiss as 'a hello'. He dismisses the woman's jealousy as 'crap' and makes a joke about how hot it would be if the two women wrestled in oil for him.

Then he asks if they can share a bed again.

The woman is jealous and demands that she not to be whacked back and forth like a rubber ball.

Does anyone think: Ugh! How entitled is that woman! What right has she got to question the man?

Part Two - A Flat Note

This one isn't so much a gripe as a 'wow, it's amazing how divergent interpretations can be!' This is Lani's comment on Spike's sacrifice on the Hellmouth:

My only regret, that he tells Buffy she doesn't love him, when clearly she does. Spike has grown a lot over season seven and some people hate it—I know, they want their bad boy back—but to deny him this moment of growth, where he can accept love that is given and return it through his sacrifice, is a flat note.

I actually had to listen to that a couple of times because it ran so contrary to my interpretation of the scene that I initially couldn't comprehend Lani's meaning.

The thing is... I don't think it's clear that Buffy loves Spike. In fact I think it's wildly unclear. Buffy's behaviour towards Spike has always been been hugely contradictory and changeable. Her actions in the immediate lead up to the battle in the Hellmouth are especially difficult to interpret. Most tellingly, her 'I love you' is nowhere near full-throated and is ambiguous as hell.

So, I didn't read Spike's gentle 'No, you don't' as lack of character growth. In fact, to me, it felt like the exact opposite. Spike is the character who spent seasons five and six demanding that Buffy admit her attraction to him and love for him. I think it's a sign of his growth that he can (a) recognise and calmly accept her lack of love and (b) continue to love her and be willing to sacrifice himself regardless.

I am an ardent Spuffy shipper. I wanted the finale to include declarations of undying love. I wanted them to fall into each others arms and make eleventy-billion Spuffy babies.

But—based on the episode that came before—what Whedon gave us was better. It was fitting. It was true to Buffy. It was true to Spike. It was a surprise that felt entirely natural and unforced. It managed to neatly and simultaneously fulfil two seemingly contradictory statements: Cassie's 'She'll tell you' prediction in Help and Spike's 'I know you'll never love me' prediction in The Gift. Mostly though, it's an example of Spike (Love's Eternal Bitch) kindly and gently accepting his fate. It is, in fact, the exact opposite of the masculine entitlement Lani was bemoaning at the top of the episode. It's melancholy and pretty at the same time. It's many things but it's definitely not a lack of character growth.

BTW - I’m consolidating content on Tumblr at the mo; apologies to anyone getting this (and few subsequent posts) a second time.

#buffy the vampire slayer #still pretty

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armaxlucis · 5 years

Text

Stuff The Arma Lucis Kids Says Sentence Starter

"I'm not stupid, i'm just not smart!"

"You gave me courage, picked me up when i fell, held my hands and didn't let go."

"There is no need to falter. All you need is me. I will make the path to true victory."

"If you need to choose whether to sacrifice a lamb or a goat, which will you choose?"

"If you don't want your life, then give it to me."

"I don't want to die, but i don't want to live."

"I'm scared on getting close to good people. Good people always die first. I don't want them to die."

"They're too pure for me. I'm tainted, and i fear i will taint them too if i get close."

"It doesn't matter how many times you run away, how many times you cut our ties. I'll always catch up to you and mend that broken string!"

"If you don't believe in yourself, then believe in me. Because I believe in you. So, believe in me who believes in you, okay?"

"A promise is too heavy to keep. But as long as you remember me, I'll be able to find my way back. Because you're the light that guides me back to where i belong."

"There is nothing wrong with two girls hugging one guy if that guy has no interest in woman."

"Do not underestimate the power of a girl in love."

"A guy can remember the names of his 100 rubber ducks but still cannot remember the multiplication table."

"I don't get why you're good at dancing. You're too dense to understand anything."

"Everyday can be a party as long as there's someone to light the party and someone else to pay for everything."

"Girls... are complicated. More complicated than Calculus level 2"

"Say it once again and I'll make you into frozen food."

"It's not roasting if there's no fire."

"I won't kill anyone, even if they deserve it. Because i have someone i desperately want to protect at all cost."

"I held myself back, boxed all my feelings, and then you came and shake me like a piggy bank."

#s t a r t e r s | this is the start of our future x;.#just kind of want to write their quotes or something #and feel free to guess who is who

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colubrina · 6 years

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Never have I ever... written a Hermione Riddle/Draco Malfoy fic!

I did once, but so many people said it didn’t work I pulled it. But I will copy at 2K words of it below the cut for you.

from never have I ever

Hermione did hate having to pretend.

She’d whinged to her father at first. “But why,” she’d said. “And if I can’t be your daughter why can’t I just be a half-blood. Why this?”

Her father had delivered one of his lectures on power and manipulation and pointed out how she’d learn far more about what people really thought if she watched them as a supposedly powerless outsider. “How people treat the weak, my darling, will let you see their characters. That will be useful to you when we,” he’d paused. “You know.”

She did.

It didn't mean she liked it.

As she got older, however, she realized he was right. People revealed things to her they'd never share with a pureblood, or even an established half-blood. Ron Weasley, her housemate and theoretical friend, had parents with a hilarious fascination with Muggles that masked bone deep prejudice and he was one of the supposed liberal faction, part of Albus Dumbledore little crusade of light. Her father laughed until tears ran down his cheeks when she acted our Arthur Weasley asking about rubber ducks. Theodore Nott sneered in a rather pro-forma way at her blood status and then, once her academic prowess became known, sat with her in the library if no one else was around.

"Pragmatic," her father said approvingly. She lent Theo notes, borrowed his, and never commented how he failed to notice her in public. She found his quiet competence restful and understood the constraints that kept him, son of a Death Eater, pureblood scion, and member of Slytherin from being friends with the Muggle-born Gryffindor. Those would change.

Draco Malfoy, however, was a different matter. He had no subtlety. He was rude and vulgar and a crude little show off. As they got older he started to eye her when he thought she wasn't looking and she looked back. He became pretty, so very pretty, and she began to fantasize about how he'd react when he found out who she was. She liked to picture him confessing long suppressed love and apologizing. "I just didn't know what to say," she imagined him muttering. "My father… you know. I thought he'd disown me if I… can we start again?"

She doubted that would happen, however. The idea of Draco Malfoy admitting he was wrong seemed unlikely, and she had no intention of humiliating herself to pursue him. No matter how much she liked his cheekbones, or the way his eyes flashed when he was being clever and cocky, he'd be unlikely to ever show up at her door with flowers in hand willingly, even when he did find out she was Tom Riddle's daughter.

Not that she'd want a boy who only wanted her for her heritage anyway.

She hated admitting her father was right.

And she hated that she wanted the smug bastard. Stupid Draco Malfoy with his biting wit and pointed laugh. She did, though. She wanted him a lot more than Ron Weasley, who she flirted with in order to disguise her growing fascination with Malfoy, and she wanted him more than Cormac McClaggan, who couldn't take a hint to go away, and she wanted him more than Harry Potter who, thank Merlin, was as uninterested in her as she was in him. She decided she'd have him, too, because she was the Darkest princess their world would ever know, the only child of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black, and if she wanted a boy she'd have him. Her father laughed and told her she was a minx but he was happy to give her any toy she wanted.

So she smiled at Malfoy, and every time he sneered “Granger” at her in his arrogant, nasal voice she smiled a little bit more.

When her father finally made his move and took over the Ministry, sending Harry Potter on a fool's errand with what appeared to be a toy from the late, unlamented Dumbledore, a used Snitch, and a book of fairy tales she looked forward to seeing Draco Malfoy's expression when her true identity was revealed. She beamed at her father as he presented her to his followers and their children at her eighteenth birthday party.

Theodore Nott looked like a mystery had finally been solved and smiled at her; you'd have to know him well to see the relief in his eyes when she smiled back but she saw it and enjoyed the confirmation of the sudden shift in her status. Greg Goyle just looked confused that Hermione Granger was someone else, someone important. Draco Malfoy, however, looked horrified. She could see him tallying up his sins in his brilliant mind and his pale face got paler still when he realized just how many there were. It was beautiful. It was everything she'd hoped for.

Lord Voldemort said, “My lovely daughter has sacrificed so much as I regained my strength. We needed to hide her from the likes of the Order of the Phoenix until the time was right but We could have hidden her as any number of things. Instead We decided to hide her as the lowest of the low so she could watch all your children and determine who was truly trustworthy.” He turned to Lucius Malfoy. “Don’t you agree, Lucius, that such a sacrifice on her part deserves recognition.”

Lucius Malfoy, properly nervous at being singled out mumbled that of course, that he hoped his family had never been seen as lacking in support. Voldemort had to wave his hand at the man in annoyance to get him to stop.

“She’s asked for one little gift for her birthday,” Voldemort said. He regarded her with delight. “A request that shows Us she is truly her mother’s daughter.”

Many of the assembled Death Eaters looked increasingly nervous at that proclamation. Even before Azkaban, Bellatrix had been unstable. Now she hadn't even been permitted to attend her daughter's party because of her insanity and unpredictable violence; the idea Hermione might take after her mother scared them all.

Hermione managed to avoid licking her lips as her father crooked his finger and beckoned Draco Malfoy forward. “Congratulations, Lucius,” he said. “You’ve just given your only son to Our daughter for her birthday.”

“My Lord,” Lucius whispered but someone next to him had the presence of mind to step on his foot and shut him up.

“Darling,” Voldemort said to Hermione. “Remember, don’t break your toys. It’s not like I can get you another one.”

“I promise,” she said as she smiled at Draco Malfoy, who looked like he was trying not to pass out. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what she said about the unicorn toy,” Voldemort said fondly. “Little hellion snapped it in half in three days.” The Death Eaters all laughed.

That was when Draco fainted.

. . . . . . . . . .

When he came to he kept his eyes squinched shut and tested his limbs and determined he didn't seem to be tied up in any way and he could even feel the familiar pressure of his wand against his hip. When he risked opening his eyes he was in a bland room and Hermione Granger - no, Hermione Riddle - was curled up in a large, beige chair with her nose in a book; she didn't seem to realize he'd regained consciousness. He studied her through the fringe of his hair.

She was as damnably beautiful as she'd been for years. Her dark hair sprang out around her face and, now that he was looking, he could see the similarity to his Aunt Bella's own locks, though Hermione's hair was more of a rich brown than the black of her mother's. He knew her eyes were dark, so dark he'd gotten caught in them a few times, always yanking himself away with a muttered slur. There were girls you dated, girls you married, and girls if you got caught with your mother burned you from the family tree while, quite possibly, your insane aunt tortured you to death. He'd known which category Hermione was in.

Or, well, he'd thought he'd known.

Fuck, he'd been wrong. So wrong. He couldn't have messed this up worse if he'd set out to ruin his life on purpose.

He considered knocking her out and making a run for it but dismissed the idea as that of an idiot. Where would he go? To the Order? He hated them anyway, and if he showed up on their doorstep telling them Harry Potter's Muggle-born friend was really Lord Voldemort's only child they'd laugh themselves sick before dumping him at St. Mungo's, where he'd sit, trapped, until Hermione felt like fetching him.

She turned a page.

"Do you plan to kill me?" he asked.

She looked up at that.

"Can't stand the thought of the filthy Mudblood not being quite what you thought?"

Draco thought he heard a little bitterness under that and thought with more than a little rancor that she didn't get to be the pissy one in this situation. She was the one with all the power, as she had just demonstrated by demanding he be handed over to her as a gift. "It seems like a reasonable question," he said. "Or hurt me? I'd like to get it over with if that's the plan."

Her jaw tightened and he was shocked to see she seemed upset. "I wasn't planning on it," she muttered.

"Do I get to ask what the plan is?"

She slouched lower in the big armchair until it seemed to swallow her and finally said, "I didn't really think past the part where I got to see you be shocked and horrified that I wasn't the nobody you thought I was."

Draco pulled himself upright and sat so he leaned against the headboard and looked at the girl who was huddled into the chair and looked more like a lost soul than the terrifying dark princess she'd been at the earlier celebration. "Did you like that part?" he asked, the words coming out more gently than he'd meant them to.

"Yes," she admitted. She looked up at him through lashes so long and dark he'd have thought they were enhanced magically if it weren't for the way he'd seen the woman wear cosmetics only once in all the years he'd known her. The lashes were real. "I liked that part quite a bit if we're being honest."

"I would have," he said. "If you'd been a shite to me for years and then you found out I was young Lord Voldemort? I would have reveled in that."

"I've fantasized about it for years," she admitted. "Every time you were an arse I thought, just wait. You'll see."

Draco bit the inside of his mouth and swallowed hard. She'd thought about him for years. She'd wanted him for years. "Why me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. "You could have had anyone. Could have anyone. I'm sure if you wanted half a dozen boys to wait on you, your father would hand them over."

"He's always spoiled me," she said. "When I was home, that is. I think… he wanted to make up for having to hide me with the Grangers."

"Why me?" he asked again.

The sun shone in through the sheer curtains and dust motes swirled around and he watched them sparkle for an eternity before she said, "I wanted… you're so… it's stupid and it's pathetic." She closed her book with an audible snap and stood up on her impossibly long legs. "Never mind. I've had my fun seeing you turn white and faint like that. You can go and tell your father I released you."

Drqco stood up and took a step toward the door and then stopped and looked at the way she stood, half-resigned, half-defensive.

"Go," she said again.

He'd always thought he'd known what category she fell in. It was the out of bounds category. It was the not-to-be-touched category. It might not have been fair, it might not have been right, but bravery and battling the world wasn't something he did, not even for a pair of dark eyes that glistened right now as the woman they belonged to folded her arms across her body.

"I'm a coward," he said, reaching one hand out to cup her chin.

"I do know that," she said. She sounded sullen. She had her lip thrust out in a classic gesture of sulky petulance he suddenly found unbearably adorable.

He lowered his mouth to that lip. "I am not, however, stupid," he said right before he kissed her.

#dramione #never have i ever #moonlightmasquerade

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howtohero · 6 years

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Tricky Magical Beings

The world is a magical place. Full of wizards and witches and ley lines and that reality altering groundhog. Superheroes would do well to acquaint themselves, at least a little bit, with the magicks and mystic energy that flows throughout the world. But be warned, not every magic wielder is friendly, some aren’t even apathetic (though most of them are) to the workings and walkings of the mundane world (for relative values of “mundane” what with the superheroes and blue monkeys and living rain forests). There are some magical beings that just love dealing with mortals and non-mages. In their experiences, people without access to magic make for the easiest marks. These beings might not be inherently evil, most of the time they skew closer to being colossally dangerous nuisances. Unfortunately for you, due to a clause written in invisible ink hidden in the weird factor, colossally dangerous magical nuisances are your problem.

Tricky magical beings can generally be divided into three categories: Fifth-Dimension imps, Genies, and Trickster gods. We’ll teach you how best to deal with each of them, should the need arise.

Fifth-Dimension imps So, it turns out that the “fifth dimension” is immense jerkitude. Who knew. But actually, these imps come from a dimension which is fueled entirely by chaos. As such, they’ve got a knack for causing it when they slip into other dimensions. You see, the fifth dimension exists outside of the spacetime most of you are familiar with. So, similar to the Tertrawallians, who exist even beyond the fifth-dimension, these imps can peer into our plane of existence and observe us. A few of them, viewing our dimension as a sort of blank canvas, occasionally enter our world and cause as much chaos as they can. Their reality warping abilities are nigh limitless and there casual disregard for life (human, or otherwise) is astounding in its audacity. They’ll play around with your favorite fundamental laws of physics. They’ll alter the shapes and properties of your favorite national monuments. They might even reshape the entire planet so it looks like their face (or a butt, once one of them turned the Earth into a giant butt. A challenge absurd enough to cause any hero to crack). So, you kind of need to get involved. But you need to be casual about it. If they catch wind that you’re going to try to stop them they’ll turn you into, like, a giant banana or something. Lucky for you, fifth-dimension imps thrive on chaos, which means that their weakness is, naturally, rules. When operating outside of their dimension, imps are bound by certain rules. They can only remain active in another dimension until something occurs which sends them back and bars them from returning for a predetermined amount of time. The things that will send the imps away though, are often fully dependent on them. Which means you have to turn their game around and trick them into performing the action that will banish them. The thing is though, until you defeat them once you have no idea what that thing is. On the bright side at least, once you beat them the first time, the next time they come to your dimension you’ll already know how to beat them. Until then though, you’ll need to try a few things. Get them to say their name backwards (Some quick ways to get this done, have a letter sent to them addressed to Mr. {their name backwards}. Tell them that there’s a word that drives humans completely bonkers and then when they eagerly ask what it is tell them their name backwards. Convince them that their name backwards is the name of the most delectable dish on a restaurant’s secret menu. Literally any of these will work. For some reason imps seem not to know what their name spelled backwards sounds like until they accidentally say it out loud and realize their mistake.) Trick them into eating something they’re not supposed to (chocolate is a popular one). Sometimes you need to trick them into breaking one of their own possessions (standing in front of it and ducking out of the way will generally do the trick). Once this simple action is done the imp will vanish from your dimension and probably start planning for their eventual return. Defeating a fifth-dimension imp for good requires an even more powerful magic or some kind of boredom-ray that you can blast them with so they tire of your dimension.

Genies Genies are immensely magical beings that are bound to a random dish or a piece of furniture or something until some shmoe comes along and temporarily frees them from their prison so that they can get some free sandwiches or an entirely new kingdom to rule over. Which is a major bummer for them. Because they so rarely get to use that immense power to do anything fun. Which might explain why so many of them use their very little free time to pull pranks on dumb humans. If you find yourself a tricky genie you need to be very careful about your wishes. Every genie is in possession of an advanced degree in linguistics for every language under the sun. They know every loophole and double-meaning in the books and they will use that knowledge to make you regret ever buying that metal detector that you found their lamp with. For example, if you wish for “one million sandwiches” they might give you one million acid-butter and plutonium sandwiches that you can’t even eat. Or they might conjure up one million sand witches. Which is just increasing your tricky magical being problem by a millionfold. Not ideal. You can try specifying what kind of sandwich you want of course, perhaps by saying “I would like a sandwich made with two slices of rye bread and some cheese.” But guess what! That’s three things. Say goodbye to your genie. And also all of the ingredients in your new sandwich are stale or spoiled. But genies are not inherently deceptive. It’s just something that they’re really good at. So when you unleash a genie you can just befriend them. They’re not going to trick the only friend they’ve had in ten thousand years. So take some time to get to know them. Wish up an activity that you guys can do together. Like a two-player video game or a tandem bicycle. And, most importantly, free them from their lamp forever. Then you’ve got a magical genie friend for life! But you need to make sure not to free them until they’ve turned their life around and stopped being so tricky. The last thing you want is an untethered genie running amuck and tricking everybody.

Trickster gods These are the tricky magical beings that are going to cause you the most trouble throughout your career. Unlike imps and genies, trickster gods generally don’t have any firm rules they have to obey or that you can exploit to get rid of them. They’ll pretty much just keep messing with you until they get bored or you can convince them to stop winning. Once again you’ll need to fight trickery with trickery. Tricksters respect tricksters. Trickster gods often find it endearing when mortals try to trick them. Sometimes convincing them to leave you alone is as simple as shouting “personwhoisgoingtoleaveimmediatelysaywhat!” in their face to get them to go away. Other times you’ll have to involve yourself in a prank war with an immortal being who honestly might have invented pranking even they don’t remember. A prank war with a trickster god is no ordinary prank war. For starters, their pranks are going to be very dangerous and you’re going to need to spend a lot of time rescuing people from them. Which doesn’t leave you with a lot of time to plan your own pranks. So I recommend taking some time now to plan a couple of really tricky tricks in case a trickster shows up to cause you trouble. If you want to be really proactive you can start pranking trickster gods before they even show up to bother you. [Are we sure that antagonizing beings that see themselves as gods, especially those who specialize in tricks and traps, is a smart idea.] We’re sure of everything we say here lawyer man! Place a whoopie cushion on their regal throne. Replace their sacrifices with rubber replicas. Do the classic “water bucket perched precariously on a door frame” on the pearly gates of wherever they’re from. That’ll be a hoot. With any luck they’ll view you as a worthy equal and never bother you! Or they’ll fill your house with locusts. Good luck!

In all of these cases, if all else fails, call in another magical being. Remember, these guys are spending their time tricking mortals because we usually can’t do anything about it. Which means other magical beings can. So call a friendly imp or genie or powerful being and just sit back and relax. Or you can always just wait until they get bored. As long as you’re content to accept the changes they’re going to make to reality before that happens. But hey, spider rain can’t be that bad can it?

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theabominableblogger · 6 years

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Rewatching “Batman Returns”

*zips up coat* Welp, it’s snowy out. It snows a lot in this movie. Might as well watch it cause Netflix put all the other Burton-Schumacher movies up.

*in best Han Solo voice* I got a bad feeling about this....

[Mr. Cobblepot stands in front of the window as his wife is giving birth in another room] *in best Pee Wee Herman voice* PEE WEE?!? What are you doing here?!?

YOU LOCKED THE BABY [Oswald] IN A CAGE?!?

I feel like this movie gets even more Tim Burton-y as it goes on.

*jams along to the Batman theme*

Yeah no way. That baby’s dead. End of movie.

Stan Winston!

So... the Batman opens with the creation of the Penguin.

*nods*

DC Comics *ding*

[Directed by Tim Burton] Yes, we know!

Matte painting!

“Man or Myth: Or is he?” Bum bum BUUUUUMMMMMM!!

Hey Alfred!

Is that Felix the Cat as the logo for Shreck?

Oh my Godddd, Christopher Walken....

“Frankly, I [Shreck] cringe, Mr. Mayor.” It needs more cowbell!

You can tell they tried to make Michelle Pfeiffer really frumpy before she put on the Catsuit

The dude who plays Schreck’s son is trying his darn best to replicate Christopher Walken’s accent

“Remind me [Shreck] to take it out on what’s-her-name.” You had her [Selina] as your secretary for God knows how long and you don’t know her name?

Ominous red lighting...

*The clown henchmen run out of the giant present* I SAW DOUG JONES!

I totally forgot that @actordougjones was in this movie! Holy crap!

Ohhhh that’s an awesome shot!

I wanna be that one random clown henchman just casually walking down the street on stilts and completely ignoring everything that’s going on.

“That was very brief. Just like all the men in my life.”

Of course there’s a graveyard in this movie.

Wait, isn’t that one sculpture the one thing that pops up in Beetlejuice?

Gotta admit, the makeup on Danny Devito looks awesome

“You [Shreck] and I [Oswald] are similar.” You both have hair.

“What, is that [umbrella] supposed to hypnotize me [Shreck]?” I literally just had that same thought.

Wait so if Penguin doesn’t know his human name, how do his henchmen address him? Do they just call him “Penguin-Man” all the time?

“Honey, I’m home! Oh, I forgot- I’m not married.” Gotta hammer it in that she’s single

I want that black cat like now

Why does Selina have a pair of tomatoes in the window?

WHY WOULD YOU GIVE YOUR CAT MILK?!?

Why would you [Selina] even open the protected files?

Worst. Secretary. Ever.

Green screen!

Yep, nope, she [Selina] dead. There should a puddle of blood around her.

Here’s a fun fact: cats will eat your dead body. No joke.

Those tights are covered in runs. Selina, were you even thinking while getting dressed this morning?

So is she [Shreck] just repeating the actions that she did before Shreck tried to kill her.

“... a candlelight staff meeting for two.” Holy crap, how did I never catch that?

WHY ARE YOU SHREDDING THE STUFFED ANIMALS?!? ESPECIALLY THE SOCK MONKEY?!?

Though in all seriousness, if she did shred them in the sink like this, she’d only get like half of one properly shredded. Pretty sure sink shredders don’t work like that.

Where did the random black spray paint come from?

Is that wire?

“I don’t know about you, Ms. Kitty, but I feel so much yummier.” Who wrote the script for this?

Hi Doug Jones!

So the Penguin is on this rising duck mechanism but then he’s able to pop fully out of the sewer in the sidewalk and step out? Did his seat have a rising platform as well?

For a Batman movie, I’m 35 minutes in, and there hasn’t been a lot of Batman.

If Penguin doesn’t know his birth name, how the heck is he gonna find his parents in the public records?

Snowwww... all the snow...

I’m digging the top hat Penguin has

Are those black roses Penguin’s putting on his parents’ grave? Of course they are.

“I was their number one son, and they treated me like number two...” Oh my God...

So how is Selina able to beat up dudes when she even says that this is her first time doing that?

Can’t Bruce just sit next to Shreck or something so that he doesn’t have to toss the report across the table?

Freaking Bruce’s mouth stays open the entire time Selina is in the room. Close it before a fly goes in!

So if Shreck were “the people’s man,” shouldn’t he have let Oswald finish eating the raw fish upstairs in his den before escorting him down to the surprise?

And why is Oswald’s hideout above a public workplace?

Why would you elect Oswald mayor anyway? Why would Gotham ever think that this was a good idea in the first place?!?

“I’d like to fill her void.” Noooooooooooooooo......

Did Shreck just reference the Reichstag fire? Buddy, no.....

Doggie!

Gotham looks so much smaller than it did in the first movie

*Batman programs the Batarang to hit all four people* Whaaaattt?

Most iconic shot of the whole movie.

Where’d she get the whip?

*Catwoman starts jump roping with the whip* I mean... same though.

Wilhelm Scream!

He [Batman] just killed that dude!

Why does the store have a functioning microwave out in the first place? At night time?

“Meow.” Fun story: so my dad and my sister I were watching this on FX and my dad refused to leave the hotel for supper until after this scene because he thought this part was hilarious.

It’s [the Penguin’s umbrella] actually a helicopter...

*instant Star Wars Rebels flashbacks*

Matte painting!

Is that actually eyeshadow Michael Keaton’s wearing underneath the cowl?

*actually turns off the volume when Oswald flirts with one of the younger voters*

“Just the pussy I’ve been looking for.” What was the age demographic for this movie again?

*Catwoman starts giving herself a bath* Eewwwww....

I want Selina’s coat like now.

“Who are you [Oswald]?” The dude’s running for mayor, and you don’t know him?

“Sickos don’t scare me. At least they’re committed.” “Well.. yeah...” I mean...

“I will relay the message.” Alfred is the best wingman imaginable.

Gotta get out the rubber cowl...

So how the heck was Penguin able to break into the Batmobile if he hadn’t even seen it before?

*The Ice Princess falls right on top of the fuse box* Yeah, no, she’s dead.

*quotes the mistletoe quote*

[Catwoman literally licks Batman across the mouth] *barely audible* Whyyyyy.....

“Let’s consummate this fiendish union.” Nooooooo....

Now that I think about it, this movie is basically 70% one-liners and sexual innuendos

Oh, now the Batmobile detects a foreign object?

There’s a poster in the crowd that says “Oswald Means Order”

“Security? Who let Vicki Vale into the Batcave?” He’s [Bruce] got a point there, Alfred.

[Frequency Jammed] Is it raspberry?

When the heck did Batman record Oswald during the Batmobile takeover?

OK guys, who brought the lettuce? Is there always a random farmer’s market who always hangs out at important speeches for that reason only?

“Why is there always someone who brings eggs and tomatoes to a speech?!?” Exactly!

“Did you miss me?” Andrew Scott said it better.

“I am not a human being! I am an animal!” Why you gotta try and reference “The Elephant Man” like that?

Did I just hear the opening notes for “Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer?

I like the dude in the background that has the the Leaning Tower of Pisa as part of his mask

Mask of the Red Death in the background! And on a staircase nonetheless!

*sings* WHY SO SILENT, GOOD MONSIEURS....

I want Selina’s dress. I don’t care that it’s probably gonna show off my scoliosis but that’s a super nice dress.

Batman even has his own customized stationary?

“Many of you won’t be coming back.” Some of you may die, but it’s a sacrifice... I am willing to make!

*jams out to the Batman theme once again*

Fun fact: they used actual penguins for this scene when they’re running around with firecrackers on their backs. But not actual firecrackers because hello, what’s wrong with you?

“Estimated casualties 100,000 people.” I think the most we’ve ever seen in this movie concerning the townspeople is like 50 or something.

Random question: how come we never see Penguin actually swim?

*The duck boat thing drives up the stairs* Would that even be possible?

Oh, so Batman comes out of the crash totally fine? Dude, your cowl is freaking rubber!

*Penguins sets off the firecrackers attached to the penguins* WHY?!?!? YOU KNEW THAT THEY WERE STANDING LIKE TWENTY FEET AWAY FROM YOU!

*The Arctic World sign collapses* No, not the polar bear!

*Bruce tears off the main part of his cowl*

So how does the whole actual nine lives left? Selina got shot in the shoulder and side, so those aren’t kill shots. So technically, she still has four lives left instead of two.

*Bruce finds Shreck’s electrocuted corpse* Wow, “Mars Attacks” looks horrible, you guys.

I’m pretty sure Oswald’s just spitting up green goo or something because that’s definitely not blood.

“I need a cold drink of ice water.” Those are terrible dying words

Netflix just captioned the mourning penguin noises as “Awk Awk”

Aaawww the cat!

Why do you have the front passenger window open, Alfred? Bruce is gonna be freezing sitting in the back.

*Catwoman looks up toward the Batsignal* There ya go

#batman returns #the blogger reacts #Michael Keaton #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #catwoman #selina kyle #michelle pfeiffer #christopher walken #Tim Burton #oswald copplepot #the penguin #Danny Devito #Stan Winston #Doug Jones

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literaphobe · 7 years

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and all we have, we lose

AKA a sad reason for why i think gina and rosa have been avoiding each other like the plague these past four episodes. takes place after Moo Moo, and there may be a part two depending on what happens in the finale

When Terry finally gets home from the precinct, he sees his baby twins laughing and running around with Gina and Rosa, who too are laughing and running around. They all wield small water pistols and appear to be engaged in some sort of all out war, as the mess in his living room suggests. Books and sofa cushions and scraps of paper are strewn across the room, and in the center of all the chaos are two chairs placed with their backs against each other, pink skipping rope gathered in a coil-like fashion around the chairs.

No one even notices him, they're all having too much fun. And frankly, it's a heartening scene for Terry to watch. His two coworkers who are basically family to him have transformed before his very eyes. The usually frowning Rosa Diaz who stares daggers into anyone that crosses her now looks so carefree as she abandons her water gun to hold up Cagney so that she has a better vantage point from which to attack Gina and Lacey. The ever so sardonic Gina Linetti on the other hand, who would be voted Most Likely To Save Her Phone Over A Person's Life any day of the week- is actually acting as some sort of human shield for Lacey, pretending to sacrifice herself so that Lacey can live.

But Terry's not one bit surprised. Okay, he didn't expect this, but he doesn't find this situation to be completely unexpected. Gina and Rosa were softies at heart, and if any two children could bring that side out of them they would be his baby girls.

He feels all the fatigue and ache from these daunting past few days seep away from his shoulders, contentment and bliss taking over instead, which is when he finally decides to make his presence known.

"Guess who's home?"

"Daddy!"

Like flies with honey, Cagney and Lacey drop their toys and run as fast as their tiny legs can carry them into Terry's arms as he effortlessly lifts them up in a big hug.

"Did you have fun playing with Aunt Gina and Aunt Rosa?" Terry asks as he directs grateful looks at the two, who seem to be straightening themselves up, futilely brushing water off their now rather drenched clothes.

"Yes!" Cagney and Lacey excitedly cheer in unison as they both stretch their arms out.

"That's great, girls. Now go get Mr Quack-Quack, it's bath time!"

Terry puts Cagney and Lacey down which sends them running to locate their favorite rubber duck. He looks up at Gina and Rosa again, who are now giving him incredulous looks.

"You call your rubber ducky Mr Quack-Quack?"

Rosa's grin broadens as Gina points this out, and Terry sighs because they wouldn't be Gina and Rosa if they didn't tease him about the names of his children's bath toys, would they?

"Cagney and Lacey call their rubber ducky Mr Quack-Quack. Terry doesn't have a rubber ducky, because Terry's an adult man."

"Whatever you say," Rosa replies. "Mr Quack-Quack."

Gina starts cracking up and soon the two women dissolve in uncontrollable laughter.

"But seriously you two," he interrupts because he can't spend all night watching them laugh, he has to get his daughters washed up and tucked into bed within the next two hours. And he also has to clean up the huge mess that appears to have been caused by a tornado striking his house, rather than two grown women and his twins. "Thank you so much for taking care of Cagney and Lacey."

Rosa shakes her head. "Nah, it's cool. We had nothing to do anyway."

"But we will be requesting a fee of five thousand dollars," Gina adds. "Seriously, your kids tied us up for half an hour- how are they so strong?"

Rosa seems to shudder at the memory.

"I'm not going to give you five thousand dollars," Terry clarifies, although he does sympathize with what they went through. Cagney and Lacey were already on their third babysitter. For that month. "But you have my gratitude, and I owe both of you one."

"That's sweet and all Terr-Bear, but gratitude don't pay the bills." Rosa rolls her eyes somewhat affectionately at Gina as she says this before she grabs her by the shoulder and starts moving her away.

"Yeah, we were just leaving. Bye Sarge."

The door slams shut just as Cagney and Lacey run back with Mr Quack-Quack. And Moo Moo. And President Long Neck, plus her twin sister who was also coincidentally named President Long Neck. Terry sighs as he begins another negotiation with the twins regarding how many toys they're allowed to bring into the tub.

He loses.

"So where to?" Gina asks as they walk away from Terry's house into the street. They've got their hands in their pockets because the night brings a chill that isn't helped by the fact that they were just soaked from head to toe in a no-holds-barred water pistol fight. But strangely, walking with her shoulders occasionally bumping against Rosa's as they take brisk steps towards Rosa's motorbike, Gina's never felt warmer.

"I'm taking you back home," Rosa says simply as she tightens the grip she has on her leather jacket, cursing herself for parking her bike so far away from Terry's house.

"Not the precinct? My car's still there."

"Just leave it there. I'll give you a ride to work tomorrow."

They had traveled to Terry's house together on Rosa's motorcycle in a hurry, because Cagney and Lacey's babysitter had a family emergency and couldn't wait for Terry to get home from work before leaving. But Gina didn't mind- riding on the back of Rosa's bike sent a rush through her as they sped down the streets of Brooklyn. And Gina had to admit she loved the experience of wrapping her arms around Rosa's waist, gripping tighter every time they turned a corner.

"That's nice and all, but why would you do that?" Gina asks as they finally spot Rosa's bike where they had hastily parked it before making their way to Terry's house. "You'd have to make the extra trip- are you in that much of a hurry to get home?"

Gina's worried that there's an 'Adrian Pimento'-sized reason why Rosa wants to hurry up and dump Gina at home. And that worry makes her stomach churn with jealousy; a feeling Gina's grown all too familiar with because of Rosa.

But then Rosa shakes her head. "It's fine. And I'm not in a hurry, I just don't want you going home by yourself this dark out. S'not safe." Rosa hands Gina her helmet, and she puts it on without question.

She kind of appreciates this protective side of Rosa. That jealousy of hers fades to dust, replaced with a nervous tingling that runs up and down her spine- plus something else hopeful and yearning, which Gina knows are dangerous feelings but she recklessly embraces them anyway. Because for once- they don't seem so stupid.

"You're such a cop, Rosie," Gina teases as they get on the sleek black motorbike. "Protecting innocent civilians like me."

She almost feels Rosa grin somehow, even though she can't see her face.

"Shut up," Rosa retorts almost as playfully as Gina had been, and then the engine hisses as they speed off into the night.

Fifteen minutes of a deafening roar as Rosa's bike rips down the roads to Gina's apartment go by before fading to nothingness when they grind to a halt. This had been accompanied with another round of Gina's hands gripping Rosa's waist, inhaling the sweet scent of tangerines along with a piercing mint belonging to Rosa's brilliant curls of hair as the wind combed through it in gusts of freezing air.

"Thanks for the ride," Gina remarks carefully as she removes her helmet and hands it to Rosa. How she plays out the next few moments will be vital, possibly a watershed in their relationship.

"Sure," Rosa shrugs, and her eyes dart to Gina's apartment building. "Come on, I'll walk you up."

"Of course you are, we wouldn't want anything to happen to me- Ginazon would be lost without my guidance."

Rosa lets out a small, subdued laugh and it's enough to make Gina's heart sing with unbridled joy. Things seem to be going according to- well, Gina wouldn't call it a plan, but. She knows what she wants, and she has a feeling she's going to get it. And by it Gina means her. And by her Gina means Rosa. Duh.

As they make their way to the elevator Gina can't help but dwell happily upon how Rosa offered not only to send her home but also to walk her all the way back up to her apartment. Crime was down in Brooklyn, it wasn't nearly late enough for Gina to be in any sort of danger (for real though, Gina's returned home way later than this and she had been alone then), and in the first place- Gina's neighborhood was completely safe, as it had always been when Jake's grandmother lived there.

So Rosa going to all this trouble- it had to mean something, right? She was doing it all of her own accord too, and as they stepped into the enclosed steel walls Gina gathered the courage to make Rosa an offer.

"Hey- you wanna stay for a drink or something? We went through an ordeal back there."

Rosa offers a tired smile and lightly jabs her thumb at the lift button for Gina's floor.

"Yeah, okay." She even yawns and stretches her arms in fatigue. "Though those kids weren't so bad, I'd feel less exhausted chasing down criminals all over the city."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Gina corrects as she secretly admires the way Rosa's body looks while she stretches. "Those twins are adorable and I want ten of them. The 'ordeal' I'm talking about is how the hell we both survived the past few hours without getting our drink on. We aren't usually sober this time of day."

"Damn, you're right." The elevator stops and a familiar ding coincides with the opening of the doors. Gina digs out her keys as they step out and frantically unlocks her door, Rosa snorting at her failed attempts.

Gina gets her front door open pretty quickly despite the initial setbacks, and Rosa steps in before her, stopping in place ten strides into the living room to take in the apartment that just screamed of Gina from every nook and cranny.

"Hey, so where do you keep-" Rosa's question is muffled as Gina slams her door shut and throws her keys on the counter, rushing forth to engulf her lips in a deep kiss.

Gina knows she's making a rather sudden move- but is it really so sudden? Rosa has been giving her signals all week, no, all month. A few months, at least.

She sees these looks Rosa shoots her when she thinks Gina's too busy looking at her phone to notice at work, and while that might be true, Gina is nothing if not a master of (secretly, when it comes to noticing Rosa) multitasking. She's half the reason the Nine-Nine runs as smoothly as it does- between all the shenanigans that are usually caused by Hitchcock and Scully, the occasional food accident Boyle will bring to the break room, or anything anyone else might've done that day- she's also helping Holt by being his assistant and the Civilian Administrator.

Damn, someone should give her a Nobel prize.

Anyway, point is- Gina can check her Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat simultaneously and still immediately realize whenever Rosa's looking at her. Sometimes it's official work reasons, like needing a case file, or needing to hand her an arrest report.

But other times, especially when Rosa has been running on just a few hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and suffering from the effects of working for over ten hours- Gina would catch Rosa looking up at her, and she'd try to do something to make Rosa laugh. Play a prank on someone, like Charles for instance, or make fun of someone. Gina realized over time that Rosa laughs rather easily. When it came to stuff she did.

And there were times when Gina had been in danger. Or close to danger. Or demanding to enter a situation where she would've been in danger. She'd see this fear flash across Rosa's face and suddenly, Rosa could totally do this dangerous thing Gina volunteered to do as well as whatever she’d been assigned with. Or- someone else was more suited for this task and maybe Gina should do this other thing that'd coincidentally keep her out of trouble.

Any other person and Gina would've felt offended and fought even harder for her way- but with Rosa, she craved the way she protected her, sometimes even volunteered to do risky stuff on purpose to see that look on Rosa's face. That look that would never fail to send sparks flying through Gina.

Gina feels herself melt into Rosa's arms and almost smiles when she feels Rosa kiss back. She's almost proud when she runs her hands down Rosa's back and she shivers ever so slightly. Somewhere in the back of Gina's head, the word finally echoes and burns, and a storm of emotion hits Gina.

It's all the more shocking when Gina feels Rosa stop kissing her abruptly and shove her away. She knows the hurt in her eyes are evident, she sees it reflected in Rosa's pupils and pain turns to confusion which turns into agony. Her heart just got stepped on by a pair of Rosa's boots, and for all of Gina's talents- in that moment she's plenty sure she forgets how to breathe.

"Don't look at me like that," Rosa practically spits this out and Gina's stomach twists, she feels so empty; and this can't be happening- it was going great, Gina had kissed Rosa and she had kissed back. She had kissed back.

"Look at you like what?" Gina's voice sounds very pained, even though she's going for cold and aggressive. Her eyes are also burning, but she can't afford tears of any kind right now.

"You-" Rosa gulps and her throat bobs shakily. She seems to be just as affected as Gina is. Good. Suffer. "You know I have a boyfriend."

Why did you kiss me? Is Rosa's underlying question, and it isn't so much a question as it is an accusation. Gina rolls her eyes, because she knows as well as Rosa that her words are utter bull.

Boyfriend? No one's seen Adrian Pimento in months- Gina's very sure of that, he hasn't dropped by the precinct or Shaw's or anywhere, really. Definitely not since Gina's accident. But, not like Gina was keeping score or anything.

And Rosa hasn't said a word about Pimento in ages. Not a peep. Like the psycho never even existed, which was a thing that made Gina happy, if she were being honest.

Boyfriend?

Where was Rosa's boyfriend when she chose to spend all those nights after work hanging out with Gina at Shaw's, only occasionally joined by other members of the squad or some of Gina's friends? How many nights had Rosa chose to spend drunk off her ass with Gina, playing pool whilst Gina mostly watched because watching Rosa bend ever so sultrily over a table beat holding a stick of her own any other day?

And no, she was no longer talking about pool.

But seriously, boyfriend? If that were really true, Rosa was the worst girlfriend ever because she spent all her time hanging out with some other girl and as far as anyone around her was concerned, this boyfriend didn't exist.

Gina tells her as such.

"Boyfriend? The way he never shows up, I'd have thought he was dead."

She knows it's a low blow, and Gina knows it hurt because Rosa fixes her with a sharp glare.

"Shut up," Rosa swallows her words however, and Gina huffs sharply- they both give away how much they're hurting with each passing second.

"You never talk about him," Gina tells Rosa, and the way she averts her eyes lets Gina know that she knows this, was probably aware about this at some point. Rosa's a private person, but when she cares about someone she tends to mention them in conversations.

"And I never see him hanging out with you, you're always with me." Gina emphasizes this almost angrily, because somehow she feels cheated. Like all her feelings and the signs she saw were for nothing. She was just seeing what she wanted to see, and Rosa wanting Gina just as she wanted her was all just a big hallucination on her end. Gina feels her first tear fall. She wills herself to not let there be a second.

"We're... we're friends, Gina." Rosa weakly throws this out. "Friends hang out."

It's a flimsy excuse, and they both know it.

"Sure, but not like we do. Not as much as we do. You- you clearly prefer me over him."

"Don't say that." Rosa shakes her head, and that only makes what Gina said more true.

"What do you want me to say? That- that I'm sorry for kissing you? That I should've asked if you wanted to dump your boyfriend- who no one even sees these days- for me?"

Rosa gives up on the conversation, turns around to leave, but freezes when Gina grabs her by the hand. It's a desperate attempt but it appears to have worked.

Gina goes for an even more desperate, hinging on risky, move.

"Why'd you kiss back?"

And then Rosa Diaz bolts out of Gina's apartment like it had just caught fire and she needed to evacuate the building.

Gina's heart feels like it's on fire. And it’s not one that can be extinguished by the endless tears falling down her face right now as her knees give way and she leans with her back against the door; bawling so hard and so shrilling that Rosa would be able to hear if she was still close by. Gina hopes Rosa hears, and in the thousand imaginary scenarios she creates in her head, Rosa comes back and apologizes, kissing Gina and promising to break up with Pimento.

Rosa doesn’t come back, and Gina keeps sobbing her heart that she had laid out on the line, only to get it ripped to shreds.

She doesn't sleep that night, neither of them do.

As if by some unspoken arrangement after that, Gina and Rosa start treating each other like ghosts at the precinct.

They stop talking. Hanging out. They don't so much as look each other in the eye.

No one questions this of course, because most of their hang outs had been secret, and if anyone noticed something had changed between the two of them, they were too afraid to ask.

Gina wishes someone would ask.

Weeks fly by, and they keep ignoring each other. Gina takes to hanging out with Amy- in her head she's doing Amy a service- if Holt was Amy's work mentor, Gina feels like she's Amy's life mentor.

Rosa takes to hanging out with Jake, or working cases with Jake, and well, strangely, it worked in helping them keep apart.

They just make sure they back off when Jake decides he wants to look for Amy or Amy wants to talk to Jake, and it's the perfect set up to avoid each other.

In group situations, Gina makes sure never to respond to anything Rosa says, and as much as it hurts, she feels Rosa doing the same thing.

They're pulling away from each other.

During the party at Cop Con, they both get way too drunk and some of these rules slip away; Gina recalls flashes of a broken memory, dancing against the girl of her dreams as they do shot after shot and get more handsy while the night bleeds into day.

It's a good thing Gina wakes up first the next morning- sees her legs tangled with Rosa's. As tempting as it was to keep things that way she removes herself from Rosa's tight embrace and finds another bed in another room.

They stop laughing at each other's jokes and antics, maintaining either neutral expressions or downright scowling.

It's one of the hardest things Gina Linetti's ever had to do, and she got hit by a bus.

So far, this feels worse than that.

#text #dianetti #brooklyn nine nine #rosa diaz #gina linetti #if u hate me for this im sorry #BUT THE SHOW HURT ME FIRST

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