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sanchoyo · 3 years

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danny phantom season 2, ep 12-16 thoughts! these episodes, in comparison to the first 10 or so, felt way more laid back and low-stakes, which I appreciate sometimes. I didn't appreciate how lazy jack's halfa design was in masters of time, it made me so annoyed I redesigned it. 👎🏻 u_u

see prev episode thoughts in this tag <3

-'picking a fight with me and my upgraded form!' 'you upgraded to a mullet?' DANNNNY. YOU CANT SAY THAT TO TECHNUS. YOUVE HAD A MULLET TWICE NOW ('fun' split danny, and evil future danny BOTH HAD THEM). I HAVE THE RECEIPTS.

-danny seeing technus hurting valerie and yelling I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU IN HALF. SAMEEEE <3

-axion labs is now a part of vladco. FUCK YOU VLAD. hes not even really IN this episode, but just thought I'd throw out a nice fuck you anyway.

-'capable of blasting a single person into space in (2) minutes!' tucker. that would kill someone. i mean yeah they might get to space, but theres NO WAY THEY WOULDNT CATCH FIRE, OR THEIR ORGANS WOULDNT LIQUIFY BECAUSE OF THE STRAIN. THEY'D PROBABLY PASS OUT BEFORE THEN, BUT. ...no, okay, I get why vlad bought this company. this is RIGHT up his alley.

-danny KNOWS VAL DIDNT DO THIS, THAT SOMEONE STOLE THE SUIT. AND SPENDING ALL NIGHT CHATTING WITH HER. <3 and val is a 9TH DEGREE BLACKBELT?? danny's mom is, too!! omg and she hunts ghosts, his parents would love her. and her fav fruit is kumquat bc its a funny word. im so with danny val is amazing. I love her and I Do Not Want To Hear It From Sam.

-I knew danny wanted to be an astronaut, but the bowling tidbit is like. yes give me more useless info abt these characters, I love tiny details that make them feel more human, and im glad hes got hobbies aside from ghost stuff, we dont really see a lot of that!!! (I mean, we knew 'fun' danny from when he split himself in half liked bowling, so obv it makes sense he LIKES it, but hes very GOOD at it. so proud of him, bowling king) val calling him neil armstrong and them teasing each other. LOVE THAT.

-technus you are my favorite grandpa for setting this up. SAM WHY ARE YOU BEING SO CREEPY BE HAPPY FOR YOUR FRIEND!!! STOP SPYING ON THEM!!! who actually cares if technus did 'set them up' together, theyre having fun and enjoy each others company!!! 'you think the universe wants you two to be together?' 'i dunno, but maybe /I/ do!' EXACTLY DANNY!!! SOO TRUE.

-and valerie being happy sam said she wants to try and be happy for them and make room at the lunch table for them. and hugging sam over it. VAL NEEDS MORE FRIENDS.

-VAL GOING AFTER TECHNUS IN HER SUIT WITH (1) MILK, AND (1) TREE BRANCH AND KEYS!!!. I LOVE YOUUUU BEST GIRL. her new suit kicks ass

-dannys like 'HEY IM AN ASTRONAUT :D' AW. ...HES IN SPACE... the fact he's actually intending to give her the ring. with SAMS NAME ON IT?? IM CRINGING DANNY NO. YOU CANT DO THAT...thank god he didnt. thank god valerie cut it off and said they can just stay friends for now. tbh, they both have a lot on their plates!! they obv both still like each other...it can be a future thing!! when she knows about phantom! youre 14 theres no need to rush. I just want her to have friends and be happy :(

-...danny struggles to do (1) pull up. SAME. but all the ghost fighting in phantom form REALLY doesnt carry over at ALL? that sucks

-sam being as fit as she is, is not just a goth. shes a goth jock.

-honey I Shrank Our Kid, One of his Enemies, and his Bully: the episode

-dash's crush on phantom is So Obvious. fitness buddies :) watching them interact always makes me laugh. also, phantom, with PANTS. 'how many costume changes you gonna go through, what is this, vegas??' DASSH DJKSFHASKDF

-MADDIE GOING AFTER THE MOUSE WITH A BROOM, WHAT THE FUCK. AAAH. JUST BUY SOME KIND OF MOUSE TRAP.

-danny likes lime and vinegar chips. which sound very good.

-'our boy finally has the physical prowess of a 60 year old president!' ...poor danny LMAO

-'what's wrong with beauty pageants' oh tucker you sweet naïve child. what ISNT wrong with them. who approved this for a high school?? (I mean, yes. unfortunately child pageants exist, but...) also danny and tucker once again treating the pretty girls like objects. I need to meet the grown man who wrote this, I just want to talk...

-prince aragon's dragon form reminds me of maleficent (color scheme wise) which is always a bonus. considering the episode is called beauty marked, I feel like the sleeping beauty references are deliberate

-sam with the fake fangs. once again her accessories never miss. hate the 'not like other girls, girls who get sucked into this kind of thing are all shallow and all want to be carbon copies' bs tho.

-sam trying to be the Worst Bride, being rude as shit. DORA IS GOING TO GET KILLED. DID YOU MISS THE PART WHERE SHE SAID THE PRINCE WILL HAVE HER HEAD IF YOU ARENT THE IDEAL BRIDE. YOU /KNOW/ DANNY WILL COME SAVE YOU. JUST ACT CHILL UNTIL THEN. even if you were doing fine to get him to take off the crown, consider maybe not letting his poor sister get punished also?? sure, she could also take off the crown and has dragon powers, but did you know that for sure?? dora didnt even really realize it until you guys talked!! (or at least, she was scared to stand up to him. you had no guarantee she would...) but. good for dora. ANOTHER friendly ghost to add to the List :)

-tucker is so under appreciated in his time. if he was doing a tech-based campaign today he'd have a better shot. people in 2004 had NO IDEA how much tech would be a part of our day-to-day lives...altho. tbh if you're going to be running for student council president, maybe you should..focus on things to actually improve the school? since he's going for a tech angle, he could say like, he would be running fundraisers for the schools computers to be upgraded, etc? we've already SEEN he can be good at money-making entrepreneur type stuff!!

-oh my god wait. this episode is JUST YUGIOH?????! A REBORN PHAROH USING A TEENAGER AS A VESSEL?? YESSSSSS

-tucker using his new minion to feed him grapes and carry him. AND LOCUSTS ONTO THE BULLIES. I love how when he's possessed, he gains winged eyeliner.

-this episode is giving me big 'plankton makes everyone in bikini bottom his slaves and build monuments of him from the spongebob movie' vibes. and the pharaoh has a traitor who works for him? VERY big yugioh vibes. aknadin confirmed

-I like that danny is still completely exhausted after using ghostly wail. (still patiently waiting on him to get duplication)

-LOVE the fenton's 80s outfits. I get hes 14 and embarrassed by everything they do because theyre his parents, but. cmon, this is one objectively cool thing theyve done. love 80s fashion.

-...was vlad just standing on that streetlight waiting for danny to come out? how'd he know they'd be coming out the back? how long has he been up there???

-oh, wait, his ecto-acne has flareups? that SUCKS. danny was...well I dont want to say he was LUCKY HE HALF-DIED, but he was lucky his was pretty instant (I'm assuming that had to do with the power/scale of the portals being different?) I remember in the ep we met him, vlad made a point of saying he was stuck in a hospital for a long time, so. that really actually sucks and I feel bad. not that it excuses anything he's done...but like. it does suck.

-vlad being so sure danny wouldnt help him he made it somehow contagious to his friends to make sure he'd get help? danny is a nice boy, he wouldve helped if it was anyone else. the only reason he wouldn't have is because of the shit vlad did to him, on purpose. vlad 100% dug his own grave by being the biggest asshole, so it is very hard to feel bad for him.

-clockwork is back!!! and making danny learn lessons The Hard Way. Uhhh, okay. I kind of get Danny’s logic, that time traveling this far back would prevent vlad from becoming a halfa also, ergo no arch nemesis or ectoacne to worry about. But the fact that was basically the first solution Danny came up with to solve this problem is actually so funny. It’s so extreme

-APPRICIATION FOR THESE 80S LESBIAN BG CHARACTERS.

-vlad telling maddie in the lab (in the 80s) he has something he's wanted to tell her 'for a long time'...how long have they known each other? I assumed they met in college, since jack always calls vlad his college buddy/roommate, so jack and vlad for sure met in college, but did vlad know maddie longer? thats surprising if so. Tho we don’t know what year of college they’re in so they could mean they met as freshmen and a few years have past…speaking of maddie shes crushing the 80s look.

-vlad blames jack, but. maybe dont stick your face 2 inches from the portal??! THIS FEELS LIKE LAB SAFETY BASICS. IF SOMETHING HAS POTENTIAL TO BE DANGEROUS, DONT GET NEAR IT. WITH YOUR FACE UNPROTECTED IN ANY WAY. (altho jack didnt really give a Big Warning besides screaming BONZAI. so. also that, but cmon.) also, they need gloves, goggles, and to pull all of their hair back tbh. but fuck lab safety, I guess!

-cryyyyinnng at how lazy they were with jack's ghost form design, its just plasmius' design on jack!!! you couldve given him his own design!!

-there. I did that in about 10 minutes and its somehow less lazy than what made it into the show. embarrassing! better yet, I think the episode would've been better if maddie would've gotten the ectoacne. or maybe its just me, wanting to see her design! anyway. I'm sure people have already done redesigns of them both as halfas. I have to go look after I finish this watch through. Also mildly frustrated jacks resentment and bitterness is basically also a copy paste of vlads backstory. They’re different characters, I really don’t think jack would stew in bitterness and jealousy the same way vlad would!! I also don’t think he’d give up after one time of trying to hunt ghosts and getting laughed at. Our canon timeline says different…I dunno, I get it was for laughs, but I’m annoyed because the POTENTIAL this plot has…

-did vlad really wear a stupid cheese hat to his wedding. ok actually that kinda rules. and the cheese door knocker. the dairy-only buffet table. vlad still got rich, just on being the New Dairy King. (Assuming that means he owns a lot of dairy businesses?) ok! this actually is great. hope maddie isn't lactose intolerant!

-'no matter how hard I tried, I could never get rid of my ghost half, the half I knew Maddie could never accept' ohh, ouch, what a horrible thing to say to her HALF GHOST SON. 'YOUR MOM WILL NEVER ACCEPT YOU' BASICALLY.

-maddie strapping danny to the table with a lazer pointed at him in a secret lab she keeps from vlad that she makes a point of saying is sound proof so he can scream all he wants...CHRIST. DANNYS POOR PYSCHE.

-also, not to feel bad for alternate vlad (because, he did lie to maddie saying jack blames her and never wants to see her again...) but. being married to a woman 20+ years and she immediately goes back to jack? if she didnt love vlad and feels like she had to hide shit from him, and says she wasted her best years with him, WHY MARRY HIM. it feels like leading him on!!! cannot believe im feeling bad for vlad, but. this alternate timeline vlad is significantly Less Horrible than Our Vlad. did she not think she'd get funding for her ghost stuff? (which, fair assumption since they're considered 'ghost fanatics/nuts in canon...but...) why did she think jack or vlad would be her ONLY OPTIONS? be like your sister. be single. Actually, this au could’ve been really interesting if after the accident, vlad lied to her and said jack never wanted to see her again, but she stays single. Imagine how much that would bug vlad… like, in her mind, it was never a competition it was jack or no one type situation…

-danny being like 'leave him ALONE' this jack is a HOMEWRECKER, DANNY. let them go to court and settle this at the least. ...or just throw vlad into the portal. (100% human, defenseless vlad) CHRIST, MADDIE THATS BRUTAL. THATS MURDER.

-danny seeing his mom immediately accepting him and his dad being half ghosts in this universe, if I was him this would be a great sign that his universe's maddie would also.

-*maddie voice* "clockwork will help!" *2 seconds later, with clockwork* "I will Not Help." TOUGH LOVE KING. YES LET DANNY SEE THE SODA HIMSELF AND DEVOLP BETTER OBSERVATION SKILLS.

-when clockwork ""reset time to the way it was"" just before danny "meddled"" ...did he really erase a whole alternate timeline? ...damn. because maddie and danny both called it an alternate timeline by name, it splitting when the college incident went different, so it wouldnt have really mattered if he reset it, right. like because danny's timeline is on a different stream? why didnt clockwork just. show danny a replay and not Reset That Timeline. wh...I wonder how many people that Erased From Existence. Anyway! once again stating clockwork is casually terrifying!

#danny phantom #dp thoughts #sanchoyorambles

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rmlarson · 3 years

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Blood pacts work wonders...if you really know what you’re doing.

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Here is the redesign for SkeleKira. I decided to draw him in the srmthfg! female art style. I didn’t care for many of the elements in his first design (especially the antlers) so I changed them up. My goal was to mimic his original design since, let’s be honest with ourselves, it’s pretty damn tight and you think of it when you think of Skeleton King instead of his second design.

I gave him deer antlers because that was where my mind wandered to for the thought of antlers instead of the lightning bolts on the side of his skull. I hated the weird shawl/scarf he had so I turned it into a capelet and switched up his skirt a bit. But I think my favorite change has to be the torso.

We know Skeleton King has guts and so that got me thinking. This might not be canon but I believe his entire body is probably composed of mechanical clockwork and purple glass that varies in transparency. Why you can see his guts I have no clue. And SkeleKira is still technically a Chiro clone so there’s going to be some bones and organs in his body (at least the ones that Skeleton King didn’t rip out of the Chiro clone long ago but that’s a story for another time).

And so instead of it being his guts that show, I wanted his ribs and heart to be exposed in a glass torso. I changed the ribs from being weird 3d shapes on his chest to being normal human ribs inside the torso.

I got the idea for the gem from the red formless from the second Sun Riders episode. The gem technically brought life to the Chiro clone and kept her alive. And so now he is cursed with the gem.

He tried to remove it. Tried.

The staff is just a replica of his original since it’s in the remains of the Dark One Worm underground. He uses it as a walking stick for the most part but also as a weapon (and he will hit a bitch with it just for laughs).

#srmthfg #srmthfg!!!#super robot monkey team hyperforce go #skeleton king #sk #skelekira #original character #original design #formless chiro clone

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make-it-mavis · 4 years

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Warm Blooded

TURBUG AU 7420 words Characters: Make-it Mavis, Cybug-Turbo (my redesigned version) Content Warnings: Mild blood

Premise: Turbo lost his memory and most of his mind in the cybug transformation, and Mavis has been working tirelessly to bring it back. Taking a chance, she tries something new to jog his memory, but things don’t quite go as planned.

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The tunneling caverns under Sugar Rush were cold.

Not as cold as the Sundae Mountains, for sure, but the chill had just sharp enough teeth for Mavis to shiver where she curled. The sleeves of her smock were not as long as they once were, having been torn away in fierce encounters. What little bedding she had managed to save after being overthrown was meant for a warmer climate: A roll and light blanket, what she used to sleep on in the circus tents when she could not spend the night in the royal chambers with her royal partner. The king had been so invitingly warm without fail, and just the memory deepened the cold until it reached right into her yearning heart. Her mind relentlessly conjured up images of him lying against her on the hard butterscotch brittle earth. Although she had very little left to lose, she would have given it all just to have him there with her.

But, technically, he was.

A safe distance away, Turbo lightly slept. She had been watching him from where she lay for some time. The light may have been dim, provided only from a tight fissure in the roof of the tunnel, but she could see him perfectly. Him, and his massive size. His numerous legs. The long tendrils of his tail. The giant T-shaped horn. His long body curled around itself peacefully, as if he had never been anything but a giant insect.

Yes, he was there. It just did not quite feel that way. Not just yet. But she was not about to give up. She knew he was in there, and she would draw him out by any means necessary. There were just some nights where the grief of losing her old way of life would grip onto her and squeeze until it hurt. Oft times, this grief was what drove her to keep taming him. But she could only long for the old days so much. Even if she got him talking again, even if his memories returned, nothing would ever really be the same. Not in the way she wanted. Her heart would only continue to break if she did not learn to embrace reality.

Turbo was there. He would just never be her size again. Never be small enough to wrap her arms around. Never have a mouth small enough to kiss. Nevermind sleeping with him, which had to be physically impossible. None of this was ideal. But through it all, she had to remember to count her blessings.

He was alive. He was learning. He was improving. He was not a tragedy, he was a miracle.

So, she knew there was only one thing to do with her grief, no matter how hard it was. She had to go spend some time with him and remember that she was not truly alone, and that was wonderful.

Mavis pushed herself to her feet, sore from a day's worth of running around with her bug friend. Even with the blanket draped tightly around her shoulders, leaving the body heat she had amassed in her bed was harsh. Just another reason to be close to the heated cyborg creature.

She set her eyes on what might as well have been her husband, and she slowly crossed the tunnel to him. She did not bother to sneak, for his senses were too sharp, and just as well, she wanted to avoid all chance of startling him.

Thankfully, his great yellow eyes opened while she was still a modest distance away. She paused, searching his face. Turbo had not quite remembered normal facial expression yet, but Mavis was getting good at reading him anyway. His lids were not open wide enough to show his whole red, slit pupils, and he had not lifted his head from where it rested on his crossed, rake-like hands. Both were good signs, both signaled that he was calm and not threatened.

But she did not forget her manners. Even if she was the one teaching him, while she was in his space, he was definitely in charge. She could not let him believe she was challenging that. Turbo had enough power issues before he was a 40 ft. long monster with a throat full of saw blades.

So she crouched there in his sights, averting her gaze in a submissive display. Docile as he may have been that night, she still heard the quiet whir of his mechanical neck extending the short distance so he could check her out. She closed her eyes and felt the glowing proximity of his head, which was easily bigger than her, even without the horn. He sniffed her all over, which felt like hot, repetitive blasts from a hair dryer. Once he had deemed her fit to proceed, a nudge from his nose tipped her gently back onto her butt. When she opened her eyes, she saw him withdrawing his head to rest it right back where it had been before.

Mavis licked her dry lips. "Hi, T," she said lowly, smiling through her melancholy.

Turbo merely gave a brief, beastly chuff.

Taking that as another good sign, she rose to her feet and slowly approached until she stood just short of his tail that curled around him and its two long whiskers that twitched sensitively at her proximity. If she stepped over, she would officially be breaching the coiled circle that he had made of himself. And although he had given nothing but relaxed body language, she had trained enough dangerous animals in the circus to know to never push it. And he was, without a doubt, the most dangerous of all -- she had the scarred face and milky, blind eye to prove it.

So she looked at his face, reading just a hint of curiosity in his slightly widened eyes.

"I'm really cold," she told him. "Will you let me in and quit hoggin' all that body heat?"

Turbo, unsurprisingly, made no verbal reply. But he did offer her a slow, relaxed blink, which was permission enough for her. Freezing, but unafraid, she stepped over his tail and entered into the circle.

Immediately, she could feel the air around her warming up. His entire body radiated heat like a furnace, almost giving the impression of shelter. It drew her in effortlessly. The fact that she was surrounded by one huge temperamental monster who had quite nearly killed her once before was a decently loud fact in her head, but she was so cold, and so lonely, and he was the only company she had. Risks be damned.

Finding a comfortable place to sit with him was often a challenge, but she was not picky that night, and crossed over to just past his shoulder. His burgundy shell would have sported a sugary purple shimmer if the sunlight touched it, but in the dark, it looked almost black. It stripped away whatever sort of familiar candy appearance native to Sugar Rush he still had, and left no doubt of the cybug code he carried. Ignoring the awful memories the sight brought up, Mavis carefully lifted her hand and laid it flat against his shell.

As always, he was hot. Just shy of burning. And his new, mashed-together hulking mess of code made her feel overwhelmingly small. But she still felt him somewhere in there, and that much was a comfort. It meant her efforts would be worth it one day.

The rest of her body erupted in goosebumps in envy of the heat on her hand, so she turned and rested her blanketed shoulder against him. Exhaustion and dreariness weighed her muscles down until she sank to the ground and found herself in some sad, uncomfortable attempt to cuddle close to what was left of her partner.

From inside his body, she heard the same old chilling tale of Turbo's strange fate. Clicking, whirring, scraping, hissing, the music of a synthetic creature that was coded to kill like clockwork. But still, somehow, she also heard the great rush of lungs filling and shrinking, the motion of which rocked her gently with his breathing. She wondered just how much of him was still organic, and how it was still functioning around the machinery. As cool and as intriguing as that concept may have once been, it was upsetting to think about when it came to him. What if he was in pain? How long could a creature like that live?

There was one sound, however, that put a bittersweet pang in her chest. His heartbeat. Somehow, it sounded the same, like an idle engine rumbling away. Only now, it seemed multiplied tenfold. Maybe Turbo really lived to see his heart become an engine for real. What a concept.

In the dark of the cavern, his warmth blunting the bite of her chill, and that familiar, soothing heartbeat rumbling at a near aggressive volume… she shook. Her head bowed in the same vicious grief she had been battling since that dark day in November, the grief over the loss of their old lives. Looking at herself in this vain attempt to chase what she lost brought her almost to the brink of tears. She had to be brave. More than anything, she had to be brave.

But Devs, life had turned so bizarrely painful.

Mavis was jostled out of her morose trance when the massive body she leaned against shifted slightly and emitted a deep grunt. Oddly enough, she had almost forgotten about him. She looked to see Turbo's head lifted a bit off his hands and pointing curiously at her. He was not angry, but he seemed confused, bordering on uncomfortable. Their new relationship had not exactly crossed into regularly snuggling territory just yet.

But there was an easy way to help it along. To help herself along in the effort to enjoy the new normal.

Just talking to him.

Feebly, she smiled at his huge, questioning face. "I'm not used to sleeping anywhere so cold anymore," she told him calmly. "Not since the old, old days, before you n' I were even a thing. Then I got spoiled from sleeping with you. And, I mean, the castle was warm, and the circus was warm… but you were like my own personal heater. I guess you graduated into a furnace, huh?"

Turbo did not emote. He did not even blink. But that was not necessarily bad.

Her smile grew a bit more genuine. "You used to make fun of me, y'know. I get cold at a slight breeze. It probably has somethin' to do with my sparse code, but you'd pull the race card and say I was a warm-blooded human. Y'know, whereas you were hot-blooded. Demon, and all. You'd brag about how you'd never get cold, just one of the many weird things you bragged about. Then I'd tell you that not everyone had a space heater for a heart, and you'd call me racist."

Turbo finally blinked, and she chuckled.

"Then I'd say I was racerist, and you'd punch me in the arm. Remember that?"

His head tilted a bit. Of course, the only answer could have been 'no'.

She gave one soft, sad chuckle. "I figured. It's okay. You will eventually. I promise."

It was an irresponsible promise to make, but she had been making a whole lot of those ever since she found him. She was certain they meant nothing to him, but they meant everything to her. She would find a million ways a day to swear to herself that she could save him. It helped keep her optimistic, anyway.

Laying her cheek back against the hot metal of his shell, she became wistful over the sound of his heart again. Her gaze fell downcast in a mournful way, but a smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth. There was a warm nostalgia there, and she followed it as best as she could.

"Your heart sounds the same, you know," she muttered softly. "Just bigger… Almost as big as you thought yourself to be. I've always… well, I've always liked the sound. It was unique. I love unique. And… you're more unique than ever, now, aren't ya?"

Turbo lowed quietly. His face still showed no clear emotion, but it was nice to hear him responding.

"Exactly," she sighed in mock understanding. "I like you a lot, big guy."

His tail flicked once at the praise.

Sucking on her lip a bit, Mavis looked down at her anxiously twisting hands. Another bittersweet memory had surfaced, and it slowly fell from her mouth as a nearly pointless ramble. Just like the rest of her monologue.

"You'd usually make fun of my heartbeat, too… Say I sounded barely alive, heh," she paused. "But… there was one time, after too many drinks, when you passed out on me, and you mumbled, uh… that my heartbeat sounded like the whoosh of wings flapping. Like a little eagle in my chest, you said."

Turbo's head lifted a bit higher and his brow furrowed slightly. His tongue darted out a few times with audible slurps. He was really confused now, but he was clearly thinking -- an encouraging fact. It urged her on.

"I wouldn't expect you to remember that, even before… all this," she told him. "I never told you, either. I mean, it was just so corny. But… all the same, I've remembered it this long. It… I dunno, I liked it. I've always been a crazy free-flyin' bird at heart. I had my wings, and you had your engine… sorta two sides of the same coin, if you squint."

She gave him a small, rueful smile. "I wonder what you'd think of my heart now. It'd probably just sound real tasty, huh?"

That curiosity suddenly but softly possessed her. Maybe he would not understand… but maybe hearing it would remind him of their intimate moments and jog some memory deep in his subconscious. A long shot, perhaps. But there was a chance, and she was loathe to pass those up when they arose.

So, slowly, she stood. "Do… you want to hear it now?"

Turbo tilted his great, horned head and merely blinked at her. Not quite a yes, not quite a no. Not quite safe.

Regardless, she carefully stepped forward, putting her life on the line like she did every day. Her tools were still back where she had been curled in the cold, so if she were to misstep and set him off, she would be defenseless, and he would most likely kill her instantly. The danger was noted, but willfully ignored as she walked right up to his crossed, deadly claws.

The intimidating creature's gaze was fixed on her, his head hovering just a bit higher than hers. He was within reach, so she took a chance and slowly raised her hand. But, as expected, his eyes narrowed and he pulled back from her touch, his lip curling to flash a monstrous, curved golden fang. A low warning growl even rumbled from his throat. Still not a fan of having his face touched, unfortunately.

Promptly, she lowered her hand. "Okay, okay," she said, hushed. "I won't touch you. I promise. Look--" she dropped the blanket from her shoulders and crossed her arms behind her. "See?"

Turbo dropped his lip, but he did not drop his suspicious glare.

She smiled up at him, trying not to look too pleading. The whole idea was a long shot. She could not be disappointed if it failed. She reasoned, "All I'm askin' is that you listen to my chest for a sec. You can do that, can't ya?"

The suspicion in his eyes leaned a touch closer to perplexity, but her request apparently seemed doable. Curiously, he lowered his huge, monstrous head. Mavis focused on breathing evenly and remaining still, but she was unafraid, even as the beast encroached right into her space. For good measure, he took a moment to sniff her again, his nose just a hair away from her body as it searched her up and down, like he thought he could catch the scent of any ulterior motive she may have been hiding. Thankfully, he found none, and slowly began to turn his head.

Turbo had no real ears anymore, from what she could tell. Not in the traditional sense. His helmet had become fused to his head after the transformation, like just another plate of armor. But between the cords that ran along the side of his head, she could see very thin slits in the helmet, shallow divots that held fine metal mesh like a microphone. To say that his hearing was unnaturally sharp would have been all too true. She just hoped he could pick up the sound in her chest with it.

His head turned fully, and with unsure curiosity, he inched it closer and closer to her body, until he was quite nearly pressing against her. He waited, and Mavis could feel her heart pounding with anticipation. Her muscles were coiled, prepared to leap away if things went sour.

After a few moments that felt too long, he withdrew. Head lifted a bit higher, he looked away from her gaze, his eyes seemingly far away as he contemplated. Mavis held her breath.

His eyes twitched. His nose wrinkled. She jumped as he sneezed sharply and suddenly, the sound of which echoed through the caverns. He blinked hard and fast, as if there were sand in his eyes. Mavis wisely took a few steps back as he propped up squarely on his massive elbows. Things were definitely going sour. Turbo groaned harshly, slashing a clawed hand against his helmet with shrill, metallic scrapes and shaking his head in distress, causing some loose cords hanging from his neck to clatter.

Not good. Not good. Not good at all.

As carefully as possible, Mavis backed away from him, leaving her blanket behind. It was better to be cold than eaten or slashed to pieces. She just managed to step over his tail before it slapped against the ground angrily. However, she did not manage to make it out of the danger zone before her heel kicked up a loose piece of brittle, and his gaze snapped to her. She froze.

Then another sound began to echo down the cavern halls -- a deep, menacing growl, pointed right at her.

"...Okay," she breathed, slowly showing him her empty, raised hands.

It did nothing to help. His lips lifted to threaten her with jagged teeth and pincer-like fangs. Nodes lined along his sides began to dimly glow an electric yellow, and matching in color were two circles on his forehead, giving the chilling impression of a second set of eyes.

The cybug in him was less than pleased.

Her need to flee turning more and more urgent, Mavis resumed backing away, putting as much space between her and the angered beast as possible. But the beast was not keen on letting her get away.

She had barely a second to react, and the agile sprite took it. Narrowly escaping death, she leapt out of the way of a huge, bladed hand striking the ground where she stood. The sharp fingers curled and carved deep gashes into the ground as he pulled his hand back and stood on his four hefty insect legs. He remained low, hands down and back arched, poised for attack.

Here we go again, she thought with a sigh.

She could not run. His prey drive was too strong. All she could do was hold her ground, dodge, and attempt to reason.

"Turbo," she called out to him calmly but forcefully, "you don't wanna hurt me!"

A swift swipe of claws claimed otherwise, but Mavis managed to spring clear of the swing. Righting her footing, her hair thrown haphazardly over her face, she stared down the snarling monstrosity she was faced with. He truly was terrifying. He would have barely fit in the circus ring, and his growling was deeper and louder than her lion's ever was. He was a lab experiment gone horribly wrong, the severed head of her partner fused to cables and wires that piloted a mismatched body right out of any decent sprite's nightmares. The terrible sight stole moments of Mavis' breath and set painful coals alight in her chest. But it was not fear that he struck in her heart.

It was frustration. Anger. The very same that would arise in a heated argument that did not potentially endanger her life.

He was making things so hard for her. He had to be better than this.

"This isn't you, and you know it!" Mavis shouted boldly. "This is just that big, brainless parasite! You're letting it win again! You can't let anyone win! You're Turbo!"

The creature skirted closer to her in a flash, rearing up his front half and towering over her. Four gargantuan wings shot from the chutes in his back like glowing helicopter blades, and they only served to make him look bigger when he spread them out. His glow burned brighter, he brandished his claws, and he let out a piercing shriek that drove painfully into her brain. She clapped her hands over her ears, nearly crumbling with the sound. But when it was over, she straightened up and looked him right in the eye again.

Manners no longer had any place in that tunnel. He was big and scary, but he could not use that against her. In her look, she cast a challenge. She cast the resolute fact that she could not be intimidated.

"Yeah. Go on. Try again." She spit on the ground. "You don't scare me."

The huge, glowing, slitted eyes, filled with something urgent and primal, held unbroken contact with hers. His long body swelled and shrunk with heavy, hissing breaths. Mavis was fully prepared for him to continue his needless threat display, but his momentum seemed to rein in for a few beats. Snarling simmered down into growling. Wide eyes narrowed. His wings quivered in a hostile, frustrated sort of way, creating a low hum in the air, but he made no move to strike.

Mavis breathed deeply and licked her dry lips. This was, at least, a turn in the right direction. Maybe sinking to her knees and turning her eyes to the ground would have made it all end quicker. But no matter how tired she was, she could not roll over. That was not the Mavis he knew. Not the one he would remember.

So she merely nodded slightly at him, blinking against the light of his eyes. “Yeah. S’right. I know a hissy fit when I see one.”

Turbo’s growl deepened and sharpened, but he began to withdraw, lowering his body back down closer to the slinking position he mostly took. Mavis’ head began to swirl as her spiked adrenaline began to cautiously fall. She had expected more push back, especially from her snide comment, but he seemed to be backing off already. That had to be some manner of good sign, she assured herself. Maybe his memories of her had deepened just the tiniest bit, and held him back from harming her. Maybe. Even if his tense, restricted body language betrayed his temptation to.

“See?” she sighed, pushing her hair from her face, some strands sticking to her sweat. “You know you don’t wanna hurt me.”

If Turbo could have spoken, he may have made protest to her tone. Perhaps he would have told her that she could not tell him what he knew. Or, at the very least, cussed her out.

What the mute king actually did was furiously rake his hand through a tall stalagmite nearby, sending almond brittle shrapnel hurtling towards Mavis, whose guard was lowered just a touch too far. Failing to dodge in time, Mavis yelped and threw up an arm to protect her face. The barrage of impacts staggered her and sank her to the ground, where she painfully caught herself against the earth with her palm. It had all happened in a flash, but by the time it had passed, and the rolling rubble had fallen silent… Mavis understood his message clearly.

Unsteadily, she sank fully onto the ground, held up only by an elbow. For a moment, she remained there, her body rigid with pain while she pressed a hand firmly against her throbbing head. The hit she sustained there was not serious, she could tell that much, but its sting still made the corners of her eyes well up. So much that the image of Turbo was foggy when she dared to crack her eyes open and look.

The glow of his body had been extinguished, but his eyes were clear, and they were wide and round, further away than when she last looked. He was flitting about, scurrying and pausing, growling and huffing. Just when it seemed that he could not decide what to do with himself, he tore off down the tunnel, leaving only the echoes of his skittering legs in his wake.

Mavis was raw. Bruised in both body and mind. As much as she tried to shrug off the ache, she was deeply disheartened. She supposed she had only herself to blame for getting hurt, like any other animal attack. But therein laid the depressing truth -- he was still more animal than Turbo. Every attack only served as a reminder. He had come along way since he sliced the vision out of her eye, but he still had such a long way to go.

She would never give up. Ever. But there were times, especially when she lay alone with pain he inflicted, that the effort to save him felt unfathomably gargantuan. And at those times, she felt unfathomably small.

So that tiny Easter Egg remained there on the cavern floor, letting the sorrow pass through her until regret followed, along with reasoning, and resolve. The situation was mostly on her, but her wounds would heal, and she would carry on and do better. That mindset had carried her thus far, and she would not soon let it go.

Mavis rose to her feet, a sharp pain still shooting over her head. When she took her hand away from it, she found her palm smeared with blood. She sighed. That was just great. The wound was not any cause for concern, but the amount of blood from a scalp wound would have led one to think otherwise. She knew it would be some time before the bleeding stopped.

Briefly, she checked her body for any other blood drawn. There was a gash across her forearm that was trickling red -- that much would need attention. But apart from a few other shallow scrapes, she was fine. Worse had been done before. Worse was likely yet to come.

She looked around at the empty cavern. All was silent. Any sign of Turbo's presence had faded away, along with any reason she had to stay in the cold.

She could hardly bear another moment in that place anyway. Packing up her bed roll and bags, she set out for warmer air.

An amount of time passed that no one bothered to measure.

Mavis was almost asleep. Rest was so close, teasing her so painfully, but holding her just above the edge, in the territory where thoughts blurred and dreams made small talk. With her eyes closed and her brain bobbing as if in water, she could almost see the red, shining body of her licorice lion lounging close by. She was petting him, her hand running over the black fronds of his mane. His tail slapped gently against the ground, and he rumbled contentedly… What a good boy he was.

But his rumbling grew louder, until he was lowly bellowing, and the sound became far too real to sleep through. With a jolt, she shot fully awake.

The deep wild of the candy cane forest spread around her, where the trees grew thick and dense and towering. Their higher branches, the ones that stretched taller than the cliff she was nested under, glistened beautifully in the warm sunlight. Mavis was no longer cold, and the ambient sound of candy corn crows cawing in the distance brought back memories that warmed her further. But she was by no means comfortable. She was sitting on her roll, leaning against the unyielding rock candy cliff face. Her forearm was bandaged, but she was still holding gauze against her pulsing head. She must have been doing it for so long, she quite nearly fell asleep. Checking the gauze, she found it gruesome, but a quick dab on the clean side found the wound dry. Finally.

Another small shock jolted her system as the sound that woke her up returned. Restrained, tentative bellowing echoed out of the cave entrance next to her, the one that was more like a narrow crevice that only she could fit through.

Now, who could that have been?

Scooting over carefully, she peered into the crack, into the darkness. As the entrance passage was a bit twisted and uneven, it was hard to see him. But those eyes in the dark were unmistakable. They watched her from a little ways in, curious and adamant, as far as she could read. With a weary sigh, she leaned the good side of her head against the edge of the opening. Despite being irritated at losing her moment’s peace, she was undeniably relieved to see him calmed down.

“Well?” she spoke to him quietly, but she knew he could hear. “Have ya come to apologize, or what?”

She heard him click a few times, like steel clacking together. So far, she had not been able to quite translate those sounds, but his eyes were speaking a bit more clearly than they had been earlier. There was tightness in his lower lids, speaking to frustration or distress, presumably from the fact that he did not, and could not, fit through the hole to reach her. He did not understand why she was shutting him out, but he clearly wanted her to stop. He really was clingy for such a territorial creature.

“You hurt me again, y’know,” she said lowly, regretfully.

Turbo’s gaze fell just a little bit lower, surveying the rocks. It could have been nothing, but she still noted his choice not to look at her.

Idly, she herself looked down and began picking at nicks in the rock candy beneath her. She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I know I freaked you out. And… I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I can’t be sorry. If this is gonna go anywhere, both of us are gonna have to get real uncomfortable. I wish that wasn’t the case, but…”

Lifting her gaze, she still found his pointed away. “But you can’t freak out at me like that,” she said firmly. “You just can’t. You’ll kill me. I’m the only one who can save you. I know you don’t understand that right now, but, y’know, Devs forbid you figure that out after I’m already dead.”

Turbo chuffed, and then his long, sharp fingers jut into the passageway in attempt to reach her. They fell short of Mavis by a fair bit, only serving to scrape and clack against the rock candy and shave off fresh, fragrant powder. Mavis did not move at all, merely watching with what would have been interest if she was not feeling so blue. Turbo gave up with a frustrated trill.

Mavis folded her arms, letting her eyes follow a distant cinnamon squirrel as it scurried from branch to branch, expertly avoiding the double-stripes. Without looking at Turbo, she told the open air, “You were in love with me, once.”

She paused. There was only silence, apart from a distant caw.

“I know I’ve told you that before,” she continued. “I know it probably means nothing to you. It’s okay. It will someday. But I can tell you for sure… if I died, you’d miss me. You wouldn’t even know why.”

There was a quiet growl inside the cave, one that carried no hostility. She chanced a glance at him, and found inquisitive, but guarded eyes watching her.

“I bet you miss me already,” she said with one twitch of a smile. “Or… miss knowing who I was. Bet it’d be nice to remember why you haven’t eaten me yet, huh?”

Turbo huffed, his eyes narrowing in what might have been vague agreement. At least, maybe to the last sentence.

Mavis sighed again through her nose. Slowly, she slid her flat palm against the ground a little more into the cave, as if he were sitting right next to her and she could tentatively brush her fingers against his. But as it stood, even his huge claws could not reach that far.

“I miss you,” she muttered. “More than… everything. That’s why I push things too far. That’s why I do anything, I guess.”

Turbo’s eyes were trained on her. It was obvious enough that he did not understand, but if she squinted, she could see him trying to. He wanted to know, but just could not. That was nothing she could have held against him.

Clearing her throat, resolving to move on from the heavy, emotional nonsense she had been presenting him with, she pushed to her feet. Her head became fuzzy once upright, but she had suffered more than a few bonks to the head in her years, and just powered through as she gathered her things. With her bed roll under her arm and her bags over her shoulders, she snaked through the tight space in the rock. The transition into the Sugar Rush caverns would have felt not unlike stepping into a refrigerator, if not for the huge furnace waiting for her right at the entrance.

Turbo stood the moment she entered, but did not immediately stray from his spot. Mavis paused to look at him, and found herself standing there longer than intended. She just got caught up in studying his face and the way its contours were painted by what little sunlight managed to pour in from the split in the rock. As this was the tunnel’s only light source, the rest of his body was blanketed out of sight in the shadows. All she could see of him was the part that still looked like her partner.

Her heart bubbled over with boiling, toxic affection that spilled hotly into her guts.

“...Hi,” she breathed uselessly.

Her partner merely chuffed in reply. But the way he looked at her slowly stole her coherent thought, as it often did. This look did not come from the cybug, nor did it come from the Turbo she knew. It came from the Turbo that had been maturing since the day his memories were stolen away. The Turbo who had no idea who she was. What that Turbo thought of her exactly, she could not have been sure. But he looked at her as if she were an old riddle, one both intriguing and vexing, both charming and maddening. As if he were certain that he would figure her out one day, but stopped believing that day would come soon.

Like she was some soft obsession.

She swallowed, continuing to speak even as his eyes distracted her. “Uh… I’ll go find you some… cherries… tomorrow. We can call that my apology.”

Turbo’s head tilted, and she cleared her throat. Looking into the yawning darkness of the cave, she said, “It’s seriously bedtime now, though. I’m gonna delete if I don’t recharge.”

She had moved barely a few paces before Turbo gave a passing groan and crawled past her. His pointy legs clicked in a spidery way as he wandered around, scoping out the best place for him to situate himself. Those big eyes, glowing like low headlights, spread enough light in his search that Mavis was able to easily find a spot for herself before he was even done. He had always been the pickier one, anyway.

With all of her things laid out, she knelt on her bed roll and paused. She could just barely see Turbo’s body with the help of his glowing eyes and the faintest light from the crack, but she watched him finally pick a spot not all that far from her. He circled, scratching away any debris or sharp points. Then he circled again, and again, until he finally folded his legs and laid his body down. He yawned widely, and the harsh yellow light in his throat cast outlines over the surrounding lumpy floor before dropping it all back to darkness again.

Pondering how he still managed to be cute, Mavis laid down, preparing to fight the cold for a restful sleep again. The earth was hard and unforgiving, even under her bedding, but she was used to it by then. So much that she sighed with relief as she became horizontal. Joints popping as they settled, she blinked hard and realized that Turbo’s headlights were pointed her way.

She smiled sheepishly at him. “Goodnight, T,” she called tiredly.

Turbo grunted.

Thinking that was the end of it, she closed her eyes, but then Turbo groaned again, a bit more insistently.

“Uh huh,” she replied. “And sweet dreams.”

With that, she rolled over, ready to succumb to sleep. Her eyelids grew heavy, nearly glued shut. Almost immediately, she felt the world turning to jelly around her.

But it all snapped back into solid, unforgiving rock when Turbo's clicking startled her awake.

"Uuugh," she groaned without rolling over. "Turbo! Shut it!"

For a few moments, she heard nothing. Then came some shifting and shuffling, presumably as he made himself more comfortable.

That was when three metal claws wedged beneath her, and the ground swiftly sank away. Before she knew it, she was being carried, bed and all, cupped in both of Turbo's hands like a cramped cage.

"HEY!" she snapped. "WHAT GIVES?! PUT ME DOWN!"

Turbo did not obey, not immediately. In the dark, she could not see where he took her, but the skittery ride was short. It could only have been his own sleeping space. Then, just like that, he released her back onto the ground, where she tumbled like a dropped ball.

Exhausted, in pain, and confused, she was in no mood for Turbo's weird antics. Mavis sprang to her feet and pointed a stiff finger right at those glowing eyes.

"Don't do that!" she scolded. "Whaddaya think I am, some kinda doll? Y'gotta ask before--"

Her thought was cut short as Turbo crawled in a swift circle around her, paused, and circled again, before she just barely managed to see his body nestle down against the ground. The earth hissed and crackled as he made himself comfortable, and just like that, he was curled around her like a dragon protecting its egg.

A bit too tired to think clearly, she did not move at all. “Uh…” her eyes slowly shifted around, “what’s going on?”

Turbo’s eyes turned to her, his head still lifted off the ground. He seemed expectant, like he actually meant for her to sit down. Mavis was processing this when his Turbo-like impatience showed through, and two huge fingers pressed down on her shoulders hard enough to force her to kneel. Her knees landed on her bed roll, so she followed through with the motion and sat, tentatively picking up her blanket.

Mavis could not ignore the way her heart was racing. This was something entirely new in their strange, broken relationship. A level of trust not yet achieved. She knew that trusting him was still likely unwise, but if he trusted her, she absolutely had to return the favor. It was the only way progress could be made.

“You…” she muttered, “...you sure? I mean, I’ll stay if you want me to, but…”

Turbo’s reply came only in the action of him lowering his head to the ground, a fair bit closer to her than she expected. His eyes narrowed as he watched her, blinking slowly in a contented way.

“...Huh.”

He chuffed.

“...Okay,” she breathed, smiling a bit with an incredulous chuckle. She situated herself a bit more comfortably, and laid herself down again, parallel to his head. “Alright. As you wish, your majesty.”

In the darkness, his glowing eye peered at her sidelong, its fiery pupil a bit dilated and relaxed. Those slow blinks quickly became more frequent, until he closed his eyes and left Mavis in the dark, aware of his surrounding body only by the whoosh of his hefty breathing and the heat it emanated.

Yes. Yes, that heat. The longer she stayed there with him coiled around her, the less she felt the cold, black cavern surrounding them. He was like a heat lamp, filling her mind with images of hot baths and warm beaches and cozy bedrooms with the man she missed so dearly.

But he was there… and he was so close.

And amazingly enough, after the silence had carried on a while and Mavis felt sleep carefully knocking at her door again, that silence was broken by Turbo’s head shifting a bit nearby. The sound occurred again and again, growing closer each time, until the breath from his nose washed over the ground by her feet. Mavis could hear her own heart pounding… which made her realize just which part of his head he had chosen to move so close.

“Are you…” she whispered, her mouth twitching into a smile, “are you listening to my heart again?”

“Mmlah,” he put a bit of his deep, crackling voice into his vague protest.

Laughter left Mavis softly and carefully, the sound glowing like candlelight. The night had taken a turn she would not have dared to expect. Suddenly, all the stress and the bleeding really did seem worth it. Something must have gotten through to him. Bless the Devs.

“So, what do I sound like?” she asked, not expecting an answer, and not receiving one.

He was so close now. Even if she had two good eyes, she would not have been able to clearly see him, but by the sound of his breathing, she knew he was within arm’s reach. It was so tempting. It would be so easy to lift her hand and lay it against his helmet, or stroke the bristly ruff of silver fur that circled behind his head. To just touch him, even just somewhere close to his face. She reached her hand up…

...But lowered it to the cold ground. He was already showing so much trust for her. She could not rightly break that trust and push him again. Besides, even just lying so close to him put a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with his body heat.

With a wistful sigh, Mavis prepared to tell him what she tried to tell him once a day.

“I still love you, T.”

The barest sliver of his eye cracked open, lazily glancing her way.

“No matter what you look like. No matter what you remember. But I’ll never give up on you. At least remember that for me.”

Turbo’s eye closed again, and a breath that seemed a touch longer than usual blew out from his nose. Mavis was not sure how much of that he could understand, but she had a feeling it was enough.

“Goodnight, Turbo.”

At last, Mavis closed her eyes and surrendered to the pull of sleep. Tired as she was, it did not come swiftly. That was not so unusual. But that night, the scars on her old, battle-worn heart did not flare with the pain of bittersweet memory. After all, why would it? In the end, she had gotten what she had been kept awake longing for at the start of the evening -- the warmth of her partner sleeping soundly beside her.

Even after all that, there was one last noise that caught her attention. There was a stirring, as soft as a whisper. It was steady, it was rhythmic, and as faint as it was, it was close by. It was just confusing enough to keep her awake, searching her mind for what it could be.

It took a fair bit of contemplation before Mavis realized it was Turbo’s tail lightly twitching, and a fair bit more to realize its tempo matched the beat in her chest.

#fanfiction #make it mavis #turbo #turbug #turbug au #first fic in this au happens to be the first fic of the decade ayooooo #i'll start this au properly eventually but this came to me late at night and i ran with it

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Come Together 02

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Devrim Kay/Marc

Warnings: ridiculous romancing, eventual smut

“A young city planner set his eyes on an older militiaman. He was unkempt and terribly forward. The militiaman had class. He wasn’t interested.”

“Clearly,” Marc tells their friends. “That’s why they decided to get married.”

(A story told in bits and pieces.)

Chapters: 01

He enters the office with an impressive swagger come Monday morning. Manages not to piss off Devrim, passing him on his way in without so much as a direct look. Marc could absolutely feel that coldwater gaze on his back, though. Good, he thought.

Devrim meets him for lunch, arriving at noon like clockwork. Marc makes another concession, already having his usual meal sitting there, waiting for him when he sets down his pack.

“What, no aioli? You’ve only been trying to get me to put it on everything for nearly a week now.”

“Hello to you, too,” Marc chirps, pulling the extra from his take-away container and holding it out between his index and middle fingers. “Knew I’d convert you eventually. Artisanal food is my specialty.”

“I didn’t know the City employed food-tasters,” Devrim sasses him. “Is that what they do in the Planning Office now?”

“Oh, of course,” He agrees, treating Devrim to an eye-roll that’s been stolen from his own playbook. “Who needs infrastructure?”

“You’re a monster. Who needs infrastructure, indeed.” He grumbles.

His reply begins with a laugh. “I’m kidding. I love infrastructure,” Marc leans in, his eyes on Devrim’s lips before flicking up to meet his intent gaze. He hopes it’s as heavy as it feels, flirtatious but not overwhelming.

“Is that so?”

Marc’s eyes light up. “It is.”

“What do you do in the City Planner’s office?”

He shrugs. “I fool around until someone gives me something to work with.”

“Like what?”

“Like the redesign of the Market District, or the Plaza, or the Consensus Hall.” Devrim leans in as Marc leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, giving Devrim a peek of the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned collar. His hazel eyes flash as he grins. “I’m an architect.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, enunciating that final ‘t.’ “Lead architect, actually.”

Devrim shakes his head. “At your age?”

“Trust me,” His smile errs toward sheepish then, “My subordinates hate me.”

That earns him a laugh. No sarcasm, no irritated expressions. It’s glorious.

Marc cannot wait to get this man under him.

Devrim cancels their second ‘official’ date, that Thursday.

He’s managed to come down with a nasty cold, the bark of his cough making Marc wince as he sees him that morning. He receives a message on his tablet - having only just exchanging contact info on Tuesday.

>CO sent me home sick. Afraid we’ll have to reschedule.

Marc takes one look at the message and scoffs. Instead of going home to change into something a bit more date-worthy after work - well, now going home to mope over cancelled plans, technically - he heads to the market for supplies and directly to the address Devrim had scribbled on that napkin he definitely isn’t keeping in a box atop his dresser since he's already memorized it.

Of course the other man lives on the upper, but as luck would have it, Devrim's neighbor lets him in without him having to use the outside buzzer. For the best, since he wasn't really sure what he was working with and grabbed a little bit of everything.

He only sets one of the three heavy bags down outside the door, preferring to do so rather than bash his produce against the wall beside it. There's some rustling from inside the flat - thin walls, he catalogs for later - and then the door opens a crack.

Red eyes, feverish cheeks, pink nose… no doubt about it. Devrim is sick as a dog.

"Did I - I swore I sent you a message saying I had to cancel," Devrim says, his voice hoarse but no less rugged or handsome.

Marc turns on his most charming of smiles. "You did. Thought I'd come-"

"I'm not dressed."

The door closes immediately in his face.

Undeterred, Marc knocks again. More insistently than before.

Devrim throws the door open a little more, just in time for Marc to catch his attire.

"WHAT," He snips, irritated. Genuinely so.

"You're in pajamas. And a robe." Marc's eyes don't leave Devrim's face for once, and his smile fades into something less put-on and more genuine. Affection bleeds into his voice as he teases, "You're plenty decent. Let a man cook for you."

Whatever comes out of his mouth is more grumble than actual words, but he's allowed entry. Even if he knows it's mostly due to Devrim wanting to lay back down. Devrim waves him in the general direction of the kitchen - sparse, but expansive - and he sets the bags down before he returns to what's clearly a living room. Surely if it has been any other time and the other man not been sick, he'd have been given a tour.

But instead, Devrim is reclined on a chair, though it's clear he'd been laying on the sofa based on the blanket and box of tissues there.

He opts for transparency. "Figured you wouldn't be up anything crazy, so I'm making chicken soup. I'll force you into trying something new when you can actually taste it."

Devrim casts him a tired glance, as if silently willing him to get on with it.

"And lay on the couch, would you? I'm not about to make a pass at you while you're sick. I'm not that trashy."

"Is that so?" He coughs into his elbow, and cuts his momentum in half. He doesn't manage to spin it into an eloquent insult.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Marc says, pressing cool fingers against Devrim's forehead as he passes. He's burning up. Maybe he should have grabbed some cold medicine. "It'll take a bit, so let me know if you need anything."

He wakes in the middle of the night with a gasp. He's still on the couch, which explains why he's so stiff. Only the light over the kitchen stove is on, casting a sliver of light into the living room, enough to see the reflection of a glass of water he definitely did not set out for himself on the coffee table. He knows this because he would have used a coaster.

Beside it is a scrap of paper.

Soup in fridge. Feel better.

-M

He sags back against the cushions, listening carefully. He barely remembers Marc showing up, he'd been so out of it, but he remembers that the other man had brought groceries. After a moment of intense scrutiny he determines that unless his senses are failing, he's definitely alone in the apartment.

Groaning, he rises, taking the cup of water with him and drinking his fill before forcing himself to see what force of nature has wrecked his kitchen.

What he finds surprises him. Whatever dishes he'd used are sitting in the rack, his cutting board cleaned and replaced on the hook near the range. Even the garbage has been emptied. It's as if he'd never been there in the first place.

"Well I'll be," He marvels aloud. He opens the refrigerator to find a large stockpot of soup, proof that Devrim needs a better array of storage containers and that Marc was not joking.

He searches for a ladle in the drawers, only to discover it and a single place setting laid out on the counter beside the refrigerator. Shaking his head, the sick militiaman takes his time reheating the bowl.

It might be mean, but he's glad Marc is long gone when he tries it. He might be sick, and his sense of taste might be lacking, but the soup is out of this world.

Marc isn't surprised to see someone else standing at Devrim's post the next morning.

What he is surprised to see, however, is the lush bouquet of cream-colored roses delivered to his office while he's out at his ten o'clock meeting. He does not want to imagine what Devrim paid for same-day delivery. Assuming they're from Devrim.

At least, he really hopes they're from Devrim. Cream roses are a rather traditional flower of gratitude. Seems his style.

He waits until his nosy co-workers buzz off, slipping the card into his suit jacket to prevent them from asking. Which they do. Surprise flowers are the most exciting thing to happen in the planning office since his secretary adopted a dog. Which was cute, but the event has come and gone and Marc would be more invested if it was a cat and not some yappy little thing the woman keeps insisting upon bringing to the office.

When the anticipation feels like it’s literally killing him, he very covertly removes the small envelope and opens the card, which has an elegant scroll of ‘Thanks’ embossed on the front of it.

Inside, it’s blank.

It’s from Devrim alright.

His tablet buzzes around the time he’d go for lunch. Which, without anyone to meet, there’s no point, so he grabs another coffee and tries to get ahead on a proposal that has to go in front of the Consensus next week. It’s always extra brownie points if he gets it in early to Zavala.

Marc nearly forgets that he’s missed a message, he’s so in the zone. More than likely it’s from his secretary, who will insist on bringing him something to eat even though he’ll stop for something on the way home.

The reminder buzz interrupts his double check of a materials analysis.

>Take away? Assuming you and your new secret admirer don’t have plans.

Marc grins.

<I’ll see you in a few hours.

#destiny fanfiction #devrim kay #devrim x marc #devrim kay/marc #devrim's marc #destiny marc #i don't know how to tag him bungo can a girl get his last name please #making soup for a sick so #this fic is going to have so many tropes #i regret nothing

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adamarinayu · 5 years

Note

Now that we're on this hiatus, do you mind telling us what you thought of each episode?

Okay, I know I’m super late to answer this but here I am! I’m not gonna go too in depth on them, but I do want to talk about them.

Treasure of the Found Lamp!

This one was amusing, and I absolutely love what they did with Djinn. I’m so so so glad they changed his name, too, as “Dijon” always bothered me, even as a kid. Also, the story of the lamp was very heartwarming! And seeing Selene again was fun, especially as she had to run around and we find out she’s a terrible liar lol (so she definitely had nothing to do with Della’s disappearance, I think we can all finally put that theory to rest).

The wild goose chase aspect was funny, coming from both sides, and I still think the actress on Ma Beagle’s TV looked vaguely like a character from PKNA so. But Djinn did not pull punches and them Beagles at least got hurt XD

Also. It kinda has a “the greatest treasure is family” vibe to it.

The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!

As someone who loves Scrooge and loves Goldie, but is indifferent to Scroldie… I still loved this episode. It was great! It was also absolutely hilarious. And Gyro’s time traveling was amazing. Especially Scrooge’s sudden moment of realization when Gyro returned lol.

Louie’s gonna befriend Goldie! That makes me excited. I bet they’re gonna teach each other things that we haven’t even thought of (ie Louie values his family, while Goldie doesn’t even have a family. Maybe Goldie will officially join the Duck-McDuck family not through her strange but obviously antagonistically-romantic relationship with Scrooge, but through her friendship with and tutelage of Louie? Maybe he’s the one who shows her the importance of family and offers her a place in their family… it doesn’t mean giving up adventure, it just means always having somewhere she can call home, and people she can trust and rely on!).

I’m iffy about Jeeves’ redesign, and also his somewhat betrayal of Rockerduck, but I’ve never been like a hardcore fan of the two of them so it was easy for me to move on. I am curious, though, just how they’re gonna come back… guess Gyro’s not quite done with time travel shenanigans.

The only real gripe I have is Sheriff Marshal Cabrera. DON’T GET ME WRONG, I absolutely loved him. He’s a beautiful babby boy. But at the same time, he’s literally just. Fenton. I know he’s like. Fenton’s great grandfather (or maybe uncle, idk) or something. There should absolutely be similarities yes, but it felt like someone had taken the characters and placed them in an old west setting. That being said, I do love him, I just wish he’d been slightly more his own character. Like, maybe a little more like a mix of M’Ma and Fenton! Idk.

The 87 Cent Solution!

…….. You really want to know?

Okay, the episode was good. It was funny, and I enjoyed seeing Glomgold’s timestop shenanigans.

But the funeral scene? That wasn’t cool. I saw the “not really dead” twist coming, I think we all did, but no one thought to tell Donald? Donald thought that, so soon after finally making amends with his uncle, he had lost him for good.

And I get it. It’s meant to be a gag. It’s supposed to be funny. But it kinda really soured the rest of the episode for me. I hate to say that too, because it was a good and funny episode… I just… I can’t believe they did that to Donald. :(

The Golden Spear!

AGONY. Agony is how I feel about this one. Della made friends with the Lunarians! Actual friends! And then Penny made a bad choice, and Lunaris… damn you, Lunaris, you traitor.

All the things Della listed off, wanting to do with her kids and brother and uncle… they’re things the others have already done without her. That hit me in the feels.

AND THEN DONALD- AGH, I CAN’T EVEN. Poor Donald. He’s so stressed and his family loves him so much and just wanted him to have some peace. But alas, it was not to be. And now the fandom cries.

… Even if he really shouldn’t have climbed into that rocket but y’know. He didn’t MEAN to press buttons….

Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!

Della reunites with her boys and no one realizes Donald is gone. And we see Della trying to be a mom, and kinda failing miserably. But she’s trying, and she’s learning!

ALSO THEIR WOULD-BE NAMES HFBVSHKFCS

It really put to rest one of my biggest fears, that all of the triplets would accept her immediately (Louie showed serious hesitation through the entire episode, definitely coming from his place of insecurity that Dewey and Huey don’t share) and she’d be super-mom. She makes mistakes, and it’s acknowledged that she seems to be trying to be one of them rather than be their mother. It does feel awkward at times, and alien, like the boys are trying so hard to think she’s doing great when she’s really causing harm, but in the end when it comes down to it she’d do anything to protect them, and gives them the choice of letting her into their life. She doesn’t try and force her way in (as she kinda did at first, but came to realize this isn’t easy for them either).

Right now she feels kinda more like a cool aunt than a mom, but she’ll learn.

Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!

IS LUDWIG’S CONSCIOUS TRAPPED IN THE VAULT?! HE REACTED TO AND INTERACTED WITH THE PEOPLE OUTSIDE.

Anyway Scrooge and Glomgold’s parts were absolutely A+ hilarious. Della and Dewey bonding, they’re so much alike, but we see Dewey’s insecurity flare up- how he wants to impress Della, feeling like he has to earn her love. Even though she’s already loved them for ten years, even without ever knowing what they looked like.

Della has a moment of realization here, too. She looks down and realizes Dewey is in a dangerous situation. She realizes that Dewey is in danger. She questions if they’re doing something crazy, clearly thinking maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, but when Dewey quotes her “I’m your son, I can do anything!” she instead chooses to encourage him, not wanting to discourage him and possibly cause him to fall.

And then of course, her “exit strategy” thing. I honestly kinda feel like it’s a bit of an ass pull, but it at least makes a little sense. When you’re being hunted by a monster on the moon, you always want to have an escape route planned. Scrooge sees that, even if she’s the same ol’ Della she was before, she’s still changed. Ten years still changes you.

Friendship Hates Magic!

New Girl! New Girl! Violet’s pretty cool. At first she comes off as one of those “um, actually” people, but since I’m one of those “um, actually” people it’s pretty whatever to me lol. And Lena’s back! I’m super excited about that.

Lena gets a little jealous-possessive but who can blame her, Webby’s one of the few people who have always believed in her. And Webby spent so much time we never knew about trying to find ways to bring Lena back, to the point that it’s like clockwork.

The whole “being tormented by her own mind” thing was actually frightening in a way, and I’m just glad it all turned out alright. And now Webby isn’t just a fourth triplet, she’s the central member of her own trio. It’s great!

The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!

Admittedly another plotline to be seen from far away. A good episode full of secondhand embarrassment, but dang Huey’s LUNGS.

I love Gandra’s design and personality. It’s pretty durn great. I love it! I just have one gripe. Warning, this is a bit of a rant.

Why can’t we let characters be feminine? By this I mean traditionally feminine. Dresses, makeup, shopping, high heels, giggling, soft and compassion and gentle and things I’m not, pinks and lilacs, etc. Yes, Webby’s favourite colour is pink and she likes glitter and wears skirts, she is pretty feminine. But she’s the only one, besides Roxanne Featherby (Featherly? I don’t remember, and that’s only arguably because of her clothes), to be even slightly feminine, and even then it can be argued she’s not all that traditionally feminine because, well… she’s the bruiser of the group. Which there’s absolutely nothing wrong with! A feminine bruiser absolutely works, and I love it, but looking at it from certain angles…

Most of the (non-villain) females, besides Webby, show next to no traditionally feminine qualities- Goldie is the closest, when she dresses up for special events or for schemes. Which I don’t mind, per se, I don’t have many traditionally feminine qualities either, but you’d think at least a few would. The original Gandra Dee, who I am glad they changed mind you, was very feminine; she wore her hair long, wore dresses, enjoyed makeup and manicures, etc. She was traditionally feminine, AND smart. (even if I never liked how they drew her face (the eyes and beak look weird imho, DT17 pulled it off better), and I felt like she left much to be desired *cough*…)

There is nothing wrong with having traditionally feminine characters. There is nothing wrong with having characters who enjoy dressing up, or putting on makeup, or shopping, etc. The problem with traditionally feminine characters comes in when it’s done for sex appeal, or you have a woman running from dinosaurs in 6 inch heels (yeah I’m calling that out) or there’s a feminine character there only to be dragged on by the others for their feminine characteristics.

Anyway, rant about that over. I still love what they did with Gandra, but I’m just noticing this trend where female characters aren’t being allowed to like traditionally feminine things. Yeah, there are absolutely a lot of girls who don’t, but there’s probably an equal amount who do! And there’s nothing wrong with showing a competent, traditionally feminine character. :/

The Duck Knight Returns!

DARKWING DUCK DARKWING DUCK DARKWING DUCK NEGADUCK AAAAAAAA

Need I say more?

Okay, Launchpad is a sweetheart and let’s be honest, we knew the moment we saw him that the other guy at the signing was Drake Mallard.

I love that they kept the “Darkwing Duck inspires Drake Mallard to become Darkwing Duck” aspect of DW’s origin story, while twisting it around so that time travel and paradoxes don’t occur. Also! We still get Jim Cummings as Negaduck, while also getting a new VA for Drake Mallard/Darkwing Duck- someone who does a pretty good job at sounding like them, too. So now Negaduck, who is no longer Darkwing/Drake Mallard from an alternate universe, has his own distinguishable voice!

… And I still think Negs is gonna have an unhealthy obsession with Launchpad, thanks to the “my fan” comment. I figure that’s how we’ll get Nega Launchpad, but who knows! There’s so many possibilities!

Anyway Gosalyn, yesterday please. Gimme.

#Ask #DuckTales 2017 #Marina has Opinions #Sorry it's not in depth with screenshots and everything #It's a bit late and I'm tired from work #But I hope I conveyed my thoughts in an understandable way

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

The Bindings Of Time - Chapter 2. The Sands Of Time Embodied - PhannieMay - Day 11 Redesign and Day 22 Memories

Summary: Danny’s got some changes to make

(Multi-chapter fic, each chapter falls under the Memories prompt as well as another day’s prompt)

-return to the present-

Maddie’s returned home while Danny’s been lost in thought, she can tell too as he rubs at the little purple pinky ring he’s started wearing. Danny jerks his head up as he picks up on her presence and quickly chases down his melancholic expression. “You’re home early”.

“Sweetie, it’s five p.m.”, Danny turns his head to clock muttering, “Oh”. As Maddie walks over and ruffles up his hair, “you’re not ok, why? Can I help?”. Danny’s still not really up for explaining to anyone really. But his parents especially, they might have accepted Phantom and him being Phantom but they know nothing about ClockWork or that he was even close with any ghosts. He knows they don’t see him the same as other ghosts and that they view him as more of a hunter, like them, instead of socialising and protecting what’s his, like ghosts do. He still appreciates her concern though, “not really”, pausing for a bit with a little smirk, “it’s more of a time thing”. He knows Jazz would lecture him about using jokes as a coping mechanism but Danny thinks he’s damn well deserved it. Plus jokes are really a knee jerk reaction for him. “If you’re sure”, she continues talking after sitting down next to Danny, “you can talk to us, you know. I know your life is different and you deal with things I could have never imagined, but still. You’ve got us in your corner no matter what it is or what you need”. Danny can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as she kisses his hair before going to make supper. Danny can hear her come back out but she stops walking, waiting a beat before asking, “is there a reason you have a beat up thermos sitting on the table? You don’t usually leave them lying around”. Glaring at the thermos a bit before tilting his head backwards to her, “figuring out what to do with it. And before you ask, it’s not why I’m bummed out”. Pulling his head back forwards, he pokes the thermos cautiously, “in its confines is a powerful and very dangerous ghost. One whom I have full responsibility over now”. Maddie hands him a plate of crackers and a bowl of soup before glancing at the thermos warily, “well first, maybe put them in a thermos that doesn’t look partly destroyed. Second, why would you be responsible for a specific ghost? I know you view the ghost problem as your responsibility but this seems different”. Danny’s glad both his parents have stopped calling ghosts “it”, he was a bit surprised to find that it’s both because he’s part ghost and because their views have actually changed. Sighing, “he was another ghosts responsibility before, but he can’t do it anymore. And it’s my job now to do it”, continuing after shaking his head a little, “and transferring him into another thermos is too risky. He cannot be let out for any reason, ever”. Danny can’t know for sure but his gut says he’s right and he’s got a damn good gut. “So you have to make sure he stays in there? That’s this “job”? That seems a little extreme for any ghost and who are even giving you a “job”?”, Maddie frowns worriedly, “and why can’t this other person do it anymore? Is this dangerous?”. Danny can’t blame her for being worried, pretty much everything he does is dangerous and she wants him safe. “Keep him sealed away yeah, but also to deal with him if he escapes. The rest is complicated”, turning to his mom, “but trust me when I say this isn’t extreme, not for him. If any ghost is deserving of the titles “monster” and “evil”, it’s this one”. Pointing a soup-soaked cracker aggressively at the thermos, “jerk”. Maddie’s words don’t really match the mild humour previously in Danny’s voice, “sounds like you’ve dealt with him before and I really don’t like the sounds of that”. Danny eyes his mom before sighing, “yes and I guess he’s someone I really should tell you about. But it’s all tied to why I’m “not ok” as you put it. Because of who used to be responsible for him and why he’s mine now”. Danny’s sure his mom has jumped to some conclusion, normally he’d guess it was likely the right one, but he knows it’s not. As Danny rubs at the gear tattoo on his left collar bone getting lost in thought again.

—two days ago—

Danny can’t say he’s surprised when his ghost sense goes off and he can tell it’s an Observant, sighing and sitting up as the ghost floats up through his floor, “I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner. Maybe you understand human mourning more than you seem”. Danny’s not about to give them too much credit, he knows it wasn’t out of care for him; rather they just wanted to time things effectively. Clearly the Observant can tell Danny knows that, “the time wasn’t previously favourable, as you likely know. You are being summoned to the clock tower, we do not doubt that you know why”. The Observant is of course right, that’s likely the whole reason one gave him the new time medallion. Apprentice becomes the master sort of thing. Though he hadn’t really expected ClockWork to ever fade, being outside of time and all. “Of course”, smirking a bit before he continues, “you’ve said your peace, now care to observe the door”. Like always he can feel the Observant glaring at him before leaving, ClockWork nearly always dismissed them like that, as did Danny; no way he was ever going to stop either. Even if the words felt bittersweet now and it hurt knowing no one else was going to say them anymore. Getting up with a groan before walking downstairs, “Danny, it’s almost midnight. If there’s a ghost issue then just tell me and go back to bed”. Danny curses himself a bit for not being ok enough to have the for-thought for invisibility. Rubbing his neck awkwardly, “I’ve got to make a Zone trip, and no you can’t really help. Sorry?”. Danny knows his mom’s not really comfortable with him going into the Zone and he’s sure she’d probably try to stop him, if that were actually possible to do. Maddie’s frowning gives away that displeasure, “And it can’t wait? At least take the Speeder then”. Danny shakes his head and stops walking just in front of the lab door, turning his head to her, “this doesn’t call for that. The opposite actually, I’ll be back”. Danny’s not sure if she hears him mutter as he walks down, “eventually”. It doesn’t take him long to get to the clock tower, he knows the route exceptionally well. Really he knows the whole Zone well, though his parents don’t really understand that yet. Putting his hand mournfully on the door and rubbing it before pushing it open. Walking inside he’s a bit startled as the floor and everything else starts changing colours, in a manner similar to rippling waves as soon as his feet touch the floor. Walking forwards and spinning around a little, taking in the blacks, whites, blues and greens. The place is still heavily dark and atmospheric, with an old dusty book feel and smell. But it also somehow feels more lively, sliding his foot across the white with black veining floor, “should have seen that coming. I’m surprised it still feels like the same clock tower”. Danny promptly schools his expression as he knows at least two Observants just showed up. Fastening his cloak on as they approach, instantly cluing in that they’re the two highest ranking, “things must be actualised of course and it should be no surprise that we believe you to already be too powerful. However”, one of the Observants floats over to Danny and hands him a core fusion crystal, a time one to be specific, “this is not something he would choose unwisely nor to spite us”. Danny takes the crystal gingerly, knowing full well it’s a time one. Rolling it over as the other Observant floats over to where Dan’s thermos is, “as his powers are yours so too are his responsibilities”. Danny wants to glare but he knows full well that’s likely not a good idea, he knows they’re right. Both of them float in front of him now and he can feel their power in the air, “so do you, Danny Phantom, bind yourself to all the confines of time. To be bound to it though free from it. Will you keep guard over the time stream and all those with it. And stand guard against those outside of it, your future evil self and any others who may appear. Do you swear to know the gravity of this roll and that you can ensure, you take this knowing full well you can never relinquish it nor pass it on, due to the nature of your existence”. Thinking back, at first Danny had watched with childish amusement and wonder at all of ClockWork’s viewing screens, portals and all the things he had rein over. But it hadn’t taken long to see the burden of it, especially when it came to seeing and knowing all of the past, present and future constantly. It made it impossible to really be close to anyone and it made it so you knew everyone intimately well, to degrees others would find disturbing. It was a lonely and solitary thing but in a sense, Danny stood separate and alone already. It’s not like Vlad was a true halfa and the chances of there ever being another was pretty well none. He could be close with people, have friends and family, but no one could truly relate and everyone was inherently different. That’s why him and ClockWork got along so well, and that made losing him all the worse. And it’s not like Danny wasn’t already burdened, what’s another burden? Besides, he’s certain even the Observants know, no one else can do this. There is no ghost nor human, or hybrid for that matter, who viewed the two species on equal footing and placed his duties above his own self and desires. Like the role of hero and protector, keeper of time was a self-sacrificial role. Not just in body and mind, but social life as well. Nodding firmly at the two before him, “with absolute resolution I know, accept and bind. Core bared, I will stand objective and solitary in and out of all aspects of time. To keep time above all others and self. Time eternally to hold me and I it. Time eternally to exclude me but I never it”. The two Observants put a hand on either side of Danny’s head, “then with that we bless you keep and forever know all of time, for all of time”. One Observant leaves quickly but the other turns back to Danny, “you have your place here now. Time favours none and neither do you. We will be watching”. Danny smirks lazily, “it’s not like you could stop me, we all know that”, smirking even wider, “time favours plenty, else we’d all die or fade at the same age with the same life experiences. I may have cheated time and death itself, but everyone else is victim to its whim or mine”. Danny hears that Observant mutter as he leaves, “he’s already just as insufferable as ClockWork, if not more so. And he isn’t even omniscient, yet”. Danny knows full well he has to absorb the crystal himself and no way is he going through this around his family. From what he’s heard core fusion was one part pain and one part getting bombarded by new fully fleshed out abilities. Considering how much of an issue his ice core was, this was going to be a trip. Walking to the room he had here, though all of this was his room now. Sticking his head inside and raising his eyebrow at the long object wrapped in purple cloth. Unwrapping it gentility and if this had been in less gloomy times he’d have laughed heartily. Instead only smirking faintly as the head of the staff comes fully into view. Shaking his head as he places it on the pillow, the rest still wrapped. Knowing full well that he really shouldn’t touch it without having an actualised time core. Rolling the core fusion crystal a little as he sits on the bed, pushing the tip into his chest directly where his core is; before promptly bending over and squeezing his arms around his chest from sharp pain. He’s quite glad for his high pain tolerance and the seclusion of the clock tower. Gritting his teeth and whining, far less painful than his half death but definitely the second most painful thing he’s experienced. Involuntarily shaking as little pinpricks of something that feels like how cinnamon tastes but on fire, ripples around his chest. His breath coming out cold and ice forming thinly on his skin from his overactive core as new energy is introduced. Pushing his head into the bedsheets as a waving pulse of blueish purple energy shoots out from him and out across the entirety of the Ghost Zone. In an instant he can see everything, some feel his energies pulse and become confused, others like the Observants nod as they know they’re being watched. Wheezing and putting his hands on his head at the bombardment of sensory input. Promptly passing out as his mind gets halfway through cataloging how every ghost died, in detail.

It’s a full day before Danny wakes up, pitching forwards off the bed and onto the floor. Groaning as he rolls over blinking away the images of the eight other ways he could have reacted upon waking up. “Fuck ClockWork, better warning needed”, patting at his aching chest as he rights himself. Turning his head to the staff still lying innocently and temptingly on the pillows. Staring at it and wondering whether he should do that now or wait, the future doesn’t really seem to care on that one. So with a shrug he elects to unwrap it, chuckling as he normally would have been caught off guard by the little electrical shock of the staff bonding with his energy. Of course, he already knew that would happen, spinning the staff around lightly, “it is incredibly odd instantly knowing how to use literally every single new power, when it took over a year to get my ghost and ice core shit down”. Looking down at his chest and raising an eyebrow, “ice time core? Cold time core? Naw”, snickering, “time freeze core”. Sure it was ice first but the new time powers and “job” took precedence over everything. Plus his ice powers were just another ghostly power to him, but these time powers were a whole nother beast, a completely new aspect of himself. Tapping the staff on the ground and electing to test this out, pushing the button on the top, “time out”. Shaking his head as everything with exactly 28 feet of him just stops, “damn that is so accurate and it’s rather weird this power needs a vessel to channel it out of me, I get it but still”. Chuckling because of course he gets it, he’ll probably “get” everything now. Chuckling more, “it’s going to be impossible not to basically cheat at school, there’s literally nothing they could teach me that I wouldn’t automatically know. I’d just have to conjure up the knowledge”. Tilting his head as he says, “time in”, Danny’s not sure about how he feels more ok and comfortable with ClockWork being gone now. It simultaneously feels like it happen ages ago, today and years from now. Fully able to view his old mentor at any point in time. “Man, if I wanted his advice I could literally just view it”, Danny squints his eyes before facepalming as one of the scenes of past ClockWork, before Danny was even born, is clearly giving him advice, “welcome home, Daniel. I may be a phantom of times past but you’re the phantom of its future. Let your staff aid you well, we both know it will. I’d say not to worry about Dan, but you will. To protect is to worry. But now too must you guide and that spares little room for worry”. Shaking his head, “sneaky bastard, but thanks and I know. Still going to be a general mess of a halfa though”. Turning his head to one of the screens and making it show a reflection of himself, technically it’s not really a reflection just an angled view of the present but still. He already knows his eyes turn purple when using time powers but he literally has to see it now for his just recently past self to know it, “man this is somehow both messed up and seems utterly normal”. It’s easy to be used to something when it feels like you’ve had it forever because you can literally see and know those powers for eons past the current time. Calling another “time out” in front of the mirror just to make the point of seeing his eyes change to purple. He’ll admit it feels like a reminder of ClockWork and he knows the only reason ClockWork’s eyes didn’t change is cause he is, was, a full ghost. Giving himself a better look, the staff's body/neck is vertically pinstriped black and dark grey, with a white sphere at the bottom; easily taller than ClockWork’s. Which only makes sense as he’s quite a bit taller than him. Crowning the top of the staff is a black sideways capital D, making a dome shape. With an upright white capital P the spine of which is stabbing through the D, to connect with the body of the staff. The inside of the P holds a clock with the button resting on top. His outfit itself has changed only a little, there are hourglasses on the backs of his hands filled with black sand with purple sparkle. “Sam’s so gonna bug me about that”, but he’s going to say her exact words as she does just to bug her right back. Plus, as he tilts his hand to move around the sand, purple is ClockWork’s colour; so he’s got a little reminder even if he forgoes the cloak and staff. Next tracing his fingers over the little clocks lining his belt, all showing different times of course. Smirking as he summons a DP time medallion out of one, “convenient and stylish”. There’s no real humour in his words though as he sighs and rubs the gear clasp on his cloak, which is a little bigger, and he knows the cloak is truly part of him now. Though he could technically take it off, just like his jumpsuit. The only other difference in the cloak is that the hood comes to a long point and zig-zags like a lightning bolt. “Well it is a little odd having an actual tell on me of how I died, but I really should have had one already”, talking also makes him notice how his fangs are a bit longer, no doubt due to being more powerful. Checking his ears and yup, the points jut out further. “More ghostly but hey, no fire hair or blue skin”, Danny really means no offence to ClockWork but blue skin is something he’d prefer to avoid ever having. Calling “time in” and sighing as he can see his mom, clearly upset and sitting on his bed, “well it has been a full day”. Floating back into the main area while easily switching to his ghostly tail which wiggles about energetically, sighing a bit at the release of energy, “and no wonder why ClockWork sticks to his tail, it’s like the little release of built-up energy I get from my ghost sense”. At least the time part of his core he uses pretty well automatically just by thinking, so build ups not really a concern. But there’s a lot more of time than ice. Floating to be in front of Dan’s thermos and crossing his arms, knowing full well he can’t leave it here unguarded but otherwise he’s not sure what to do. Dan, and his thermos really, exists outside of time, he literally can’t see his/it’s future. Which is genuinely disturbing and feels so very wrong. “Dear Phantom, I really do feel like I’ve been this way for eternity”, he’s pretty well sure it’ll take longer to get used to this coming naturally to him rather than getting used to what is actually new but doesn’t feel like it is. Picking up the thermos cautiously he elects to go home.

Once home, he knows full well it’ll be a while before either of his parents are back. Having a ghost research meeting to go to in another state. Glaring down at the thermos, not really liking how it and Dan’s energy taints his room. Putting it down on his bed before changing back human, only to be promptly cut off from the complete awareness of well, all of time. “Figures, that'll keep me from coming off as completely weird and the break is nice”, this makes him sigh and feel a bit bad for ClockWork. But he can’t help but smile at his reflection, easily seeing the top of the new little gear tattoo; a mark of time. Pulling his collar down to get a proper look before patting at it gently. He knows he needs to see his chest too, his scar has changed some after all. Danny always found it amusing that his scar is more because of a forming core, a core that’s always there regardless of form, rather than the actual shock of the portal. Lifting the bottom of his shirt up and smirking at the fuzzy and glitchy looking circular white scar. Like a soft reflection of the moon over tightly rippling water. He does find it sad that he’s really the only one who will think of this scar fondly. Tucker and Sam just find it an unpleasant reminder of the accident, which was rather traumatising for everyone really. His parents had only caught glimpses off it but he knows they think it’s smaller then it is and won’t be happy about it when they do finally get a good look at it. Shaking his head and sighing at the thermos, it’s a lot easier to not be bothered by not being able to see its future when his heads not being constantly filled with all of time. Tilting his head as he checks up on time, he’s going to have to make a point to do this frequently while human; because therein lies the downside to this “break”. Time guarding wasn’t really something you can or should take a break from, so much can happen in seconds. Glancing at his phone before heading down to the living room, thermos in tow. He knows his friends are freaking out a bit, he’s been kind of hard to contact since ClockWork’s fading but they know what happened, so they’re giving him space and everything is giving him time. He’ll have a lot to tell them but for now, he’d really rather not. Especially because his human friends don’t really get his affection for ClockWork. End.

#Danny Phantom #phandom #Phanniemay #phanniemay19 #memories #redesign #clockwork #Maddie Fenton #observants #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick

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realbenchin-blog1 · 4 years

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Tinder Reviews 2020

Pondering which dating application will get you the best outcomes in the most brief measure of time?

In any case, since you're searching for Tinder audits, you've likely got a few inquiries. Is it only a hookup application? Am I unreasonably old for Tinder? Is moving up to Tinder Gold worth the expense? Is it any great in case I'm searching for a long haul relationship?

This Tinder survey has all that you have to choose in the event that you should jump on Tinder, or if an application like Bumble, Hinge or CoffeeMeetsBagel may be a superior fit for you.

Moment Bonus: Steal our 14 untouched BEST Tinder openers so ALL your matches in a split second feel a wild desire to react to you.

Tinder Pros and Cons

The reason is basic – swipe directly on a photograph in case you're intrigued, left in case you're definitely not. At the point when the two individuals swipe right, a match is made and you can begin trading messages. It's a typical "moment satisfaction" position for dating applications, yet Tinder has its own one of a kind upsides and downsides:

At the point when It Makes Sense To Upgrade

Visit explorers should consider redesigning. That way you can begin trading messages with nearby singles in your goal city, and have dates as of now on the books when you arrive.

It additionally bodes well to update in the event that you live in a uber city and continue coming up short on right swipes. Hanging tight 12 hours for more can get a bit of baffling…

In the event that you wind up with a huge amount of matches, moving up to Tinder Gold can spare you time by just taking a gander at profiles of individuals who have communicated enthusiasm for your profile as of now.

Avoid the overhaul in the event that you don't live in a zone with a great deal of different clients, particularly on the off chance that you would prefer not to drive a long separation for dates. It's likely not worth the month to month venture.

Tinder Q&A

In case you're not utilizing Tinder yet, you might be asking yourself one (or the majority) of these normal inquiries:

Am I Too Old For Tinder?

Potentially. 85% of Tinder clients are in the 18-34 age section, so in case you're in your mid 40s or past, you might not have the same number of clients in your general vicinity. In the event that you wind up with not many (or no) profiles to swipe through, think about widening your hunt criteria. You may likewise need to utilize Tinder related to progressively "genuine" dating applications, as Bumble or The League, where you're increasingly able to discover individuals 30+.

Is Tinder Just For Hook Ups?

At the point when it originally propelled, Tinder unquestionably had a notoriety for being a hookup application. That is changed fairly, as just 15% of ladies surveyed said they were searching for a one night stand.

pull in ladies on the web

Presently you'll discover clients searching for a whole range of connections, from easygoing experiences to marriage.

Does Tinder Post To Facebook?

Tinder doesn't post on your divider, or send warnings to your companions. There's no chance to get for anybody to know you're on Tinder except if they go over your profile while utilizing Tinder themselves. (In case you're stressed over that incident, move up to Tinder Plus so can constrain your profile's perceivability to just individuals whom you've just preferred.)

Yet, in case you're apprehensive about your Facebook and Tinder records being connected, you can restrain how a lot of the two interface.

You can *almost* use Tinder without Facebook by following these means:

Subsequent to pursuing Tinder, go to the "Settings" page on Facebook

Tap on "Applications", at that point tap on "Tinder"

Change "Application Visibility" to "Just Me"

Go to "Settings" on Tinder

Turn "Show Me On Tinder Social" off

Cutoff whichever data you don't need shared by tapping on the blue check marks

How Do I Post On Tinder Feed?

Tinder feed

At the point when you empower Tinder Feed, any progressions you make to your Tinder profile will naturally be noticeable to your matches on their Tinder Feeds. What's more, the other way around – any progressions they cause will to be unmistakable on yours.

Instances of what's shared incorporate transferring another photograph or changing your Spotify song of praise. Discover precisely how to utilize Tinder feed here.

How Do You Get Tinder Picks?

Tinder Picks

Tinder Picks are picked for you consequently by the application's AI-driven coordinating calculation. You can see your Top Picks by tapping on the gold precious stone, yet free clients can just look at one of the profiles. Tinder Gold clients can scrutinize every one of them, and by and large get somewhere in the range of 4 and 10 Top Picks each day.

It's a smart thought to check the application day by day – Top Picks revive like clockwork. To become familiar with how Tinder Picks work, click here.

What Is Tinder U?

Tinder U is an undergrad just branch of Tinder. To get Tinder U, you have to things:

An ".edu" email address

Being physically situated on a school grounds the first occasion when you sign in.

Something else, Tinder U is equivalent to normal Tinder. You can flip between a feed made exclusively out of understudies on your grounds just as close by schools, and your normal feed involved nearby singles who meet your pursuit criteria. To peruse increasingly about Tinder U, go here.

What Is Tinder's Festival Mode?

Tinder Festival Mode

Celebration Mode is a component that will show an exceptional identification on your profile that tells different uses you're intending to go to a forthcoming concert. It works by means of an organization with Live Nation and AEG Worldwide, so you'll have the option to choose up and coming celebrations in the US, UK, and Australia.

The more you swipe, the more Super Likable cards you'll likely get. They spring up arbitrarily as you swipe. They join a reward Super Like, which you'll have to utilize right at that point.

To discover increasingly about how this Tinder highlight functions, click here.

Does Tinder Let Users Specify Sexual Orientation And Gender Identity?

Indeed – Tinder has a variety of alternatives that enables you to determine both your sex personality and your sexual direction. You can likewise control whether that data is shown on your profile:

Direction and Gender Identity on Tinder

Beginning On Tinder: A Step By Step Guide

1. Download The App

googleplayitunes-application store-logo

Likewise with most dating applications, you'll need a Facebook record to utilize Tinder. A significant part of the data in your profile is auto-populated from your Facebook profile, so making a Tinder record is simple.

On the off chance that you would prefer not to sign in through Facebook each time you want to swipe, you can avoid that progression by confirming your Tinder account with your telephone number.

2. Pick Your Tinder Photos

You can utilize something like 6 photographs, which will be naturally chosen by Facebook from the outset. You can swap them out with different photographs from Facebook or your camera roll just by tapping on each numbered box.

Tinder savvy photograph include

Tinder's Smart Photos highlight monitors every photograph's fame and changes your lineup as needs be. On the off chance that you'd preferably have absolute control, you can without much of a stretch turn that element off by utilizing the switch found legitimately underneath your photograph show.

Photographs will represent the deciding moment you on Tinder, so make certain to look at these master Tinder photograph tips. In any case, for the time being, here are the 4 components the most alluring Tinder photographs all share for all intents and purpose, as indicated by science:

There's a high level of complexity among you and the foundation

You're the main individual noticeable in the edge

It shows the upper 2/3rds of your body

You're looking at the camera

3. Round Out The "About Me" Section

Numerous individuals try not to compose anything in this area, however don't commit that error. Tinder profiles with a bio rounded out get a greater number of matches than profiles without one, so why not stack the chances in support of you however much as could reasonably be expected?

You can pack an astonishing measure of innovativeness into a 500-character profile, and offering a couple of alluring goodies about you and your life assembles fascination and trust. That is fundamental if she will react to your message, or consent to meet face to face.

To accomplish most extreme fascination focuses, your Tinder bio ought to accomplish these 3 things:

Grab her eye

Summon an enthusiastic reaction, similar to a grin or a giggle

Establish a decent connection by featuring a couple of alluring attributes

Here's a case of a Tinder "About Me" for folks that hits quite a few notes:

Interesting Tinder profile model

For more motivation, look at these 4 Tinder profile models that are demonstrated to get results!

4. Connection Instagram And Spotify

Tinder enables you to associate your Instagram and Spotify records to your profile on the off chance that you need to flaunt more photographs or offer your preference for music. You can likewise pick one tune off Spotify to be your "Subterranean insect

trim," an example of which can be played right from your profile.

While this can be a decent method to associate with somebody, you ought to most likely do a little Instagram spring cleaning first. Ensure every one of your pics show you in an appealing, positive light. She doesn't have any acquaintance with you, so only one insane photograph could leave a terrible impression and brief her to proceed onward.

spotify on Tinder feed

Changes to Spotify, for example, changing your song of devotion, will be shared to Tinder Feed if the component is empowered. Changes to your Instagram won't show in Feed.

5. Set Your Search Criteria

Change your age and separation with Tinder PlusTinder search criteria is restricted to most extreme separation, sexual orientation, and age go, which can all be balanced in the "revelation settings".

You additionally have the alternative to shroud your profile in the event that you would prefer not to be unmistakable to other individuals.

6. Start Swiping!

Since your profile is set up, you're prepared for the fun part: swiping. To discover your matches, tap the fire symbol at the highest point of the screen.

Swipe right in the event that you like them, left on the off chance that you don't, and up in the event that you need to "SuperLike" them. Free clients just get one SuperLike every day, so use it astutely. You can likewise tap the green heart of the red X on the off chance that you would prefer not to really swipe. The yellow bolt will fix your last swipe on the off chance that you have Tinder Plus or Tinder Gold, and the blue star will "SuperLike" a profile.

Be that as it may, it doesn't need to be. With VIDA, Tinder is a tranquil, bother free experience.

#tinder dating brides

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storykravting · 5 years

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200 Years From Now

In the 19th century, a few people realized that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet.

During the 20th century, some more people looked into the idea that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. They confirmed its validity with research but didn't think it was really important, so they didn't do anything.

For most of the 21st century, people all over the world argued about whether we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. Some people still didn't think it was important, even though all kinds of research studies were confirming what people in the 20th century had said. By this point though, the effects of a changing climate were already starting to take place, and most of those people realized that the people in the 20th century were right.

The 22nd century is the result of people finally accepting and adapting to the fact that we (humans) can change the climate of our planet. Unfortunately, it took so long to come to this decision that a lot of cities were already underwater. Literally underwater—Atlantis isn't the only lost city anymore.

Plenty of things are different now in 2100, but the simplest to confer might be these two: The world got brighter and warmer, and sea level has risen quite a bit.

Miami, New Orleans, and San Francisco had to evacuate since underwater breathing isn't completely feasible yet. So did Alexandria, Mumbai, Osaka, Rio de Janeiro, Shanghai, parts of Singapore, and Australia's outer ring of coast. The Pacific Islands disappeared. And you can just imagine what happened in Venice with the canals.

A few ecosystems stopped working too—take the coastal wetlands for example. Most of the greenery in the Alps and Appalachians, and every other mountain range in the world, withered. Even under the water, all non-"supercorals" in the Great Barrier Reef were completely bleached by the beginning of the 22nd century.

For better or worse, disaster was the wake-up call needed to finally galvanize the human race into action.

While the natural world and select areas of civilization suffered the consequences of industrialization, a few places had been smart enough to innovate ahead of time. Neighborhoods in Rotterdam were floating and solar-powered, and as a result aesthetically pleasing as well as technological marvels. Scotland had already put wind turbines in the ocean. Over decades, places that had once been on the coastline slowly became habitable again.

Green technology disseminated across the globe in one of humanity's greatest works of collaboration. Solar cities popped up everywhere; urban planners had a heyday. Renewable energy became the number one priority, so they made photovoltaic everything—solar panels on top of roofs, in place of roofs, embedded in the sidewalks, inside the paint on buildings somehow. They stuck gardens and windmills everywhere too. And since green is the new black, gardening is government-subsidized.

Architects were just as busy too. Buildings are taller and nicer than they were a century ago. Photography and social media helped popularize a particular style revolving around clean lighting, open space, and an urban aesthetic. Interior design and city layout headed in the direction of bright and spacious and beautiful.

While those people installed huge sundials in plazas and guided vines down the sides of glass skyscrapers, other institutions also developed with the era. These days, it takes less time to get a general education. The new priority is on apprenticeships and applying knowledge in a changing world. Public schooling abandoned its jack-of-all-trades curriculum and established a new one: Programs for Environmentally Beneficial Innovations. PEBI for short.

Despite the naming convention, not every PEBI is centered on improving the future. Some of them, like floriography and sculpting, are just to make the present a nicer, prettier place.

So learning is more popular than it was before, maybe thanks to all the freedom the new system gives its users to stretch their wings. Almost everyone is immersed in their respective field. They’re proud of what they learn, and a lot of people embrace their PEBIs as part of their identity. Architecture, agriculture, art, their professions help define their place and contributions to the world.

And so of course, among the youth, talk about academics and work is just about as commonplace as entertainment. Long-distance communication facilitates a perpetual exchange; teens always seem to be in touch with each other, whether they're texting or talking, meeting in person or simulating it with 360° spherical cameras. Sending voicemail these days is as easy as tapping a wrist piece and speaking.

Possibly the most poignant change between today and the today of 200 years ago is sociocultural: in our relationships. What happened was, in a way of speaking, a shift toward the material. The popular thing these days, especially with so many young couples, is to commemorate special occasions with an equally special gift, something that will be remembered fondly by both the giver and the receiver.

The prevalence of social media in a time focused on the invention and communication of ideas is not to be understated. People are more creative these days; they have to be in order to keep pace with the world around them. As the bar for creativity in real-world innovation rose, the level of creativity that people put into their personal lives increased alongside it.

One artistic engineer made a heart-shaped, pocket-sized charm out of clockwork. One floriographer put together a stunningly beautiful bouquet specifically for a lucky person in their life. And of course, with social media, it only takes one nice picture and a blurb for everyone to hear about it.

Redesigns and novelty gift ideas started trending all over the internet, and they were all incredible. Clockwork charms modeled after hearts and stars and animals, unique bouquets with every type of flower imaginable, pretty accessories and the like. Even letters, which were outdated 200 years ago, are stylish thanks to the work of a few skilled calligraphers.

With so much knowledge and technology crackling at our fingertips, it’s easy to understand why everyone wants to pour themselves into something tangible they can give away as a present that will speak for itself. In fact, it’s almost expected that everyone come up with at least something to do that will stand out.

Obviously, there’s a lot of controversy over the emphasis so many people seem to place on just one facet of the human experience. It’s a persisting tradition for the older generation to express disapproval at whatever the youth are up to: in this case, a fixation on giving gifts and planning elaborate confessions.

But perhaps it's wrong to say modern relationships are artificial or excessively material. Maybe the key thing is not so much the gifts themselves, or even the feelings they're intended to evoke, but the willingness to put so much thought into a single gesture.

Sure, a pretty token can’t convey a person’s true feelings, just as a picture on social media can’t truly show what someone’s life is like. But it’s a truth that the people who give and receive those kinds of gifts are happy. It’s a truth that most of them are in great relationships and can overcome the difficulties that challenge them. The people behind the trends are undeniably talented, but they’re also just kind, thoughtful, caring people—people who show their love in ways that are only coincidentally “instagrammable.”

While the weight given to gifts may have been upped in the past century, while confessions and proposals may have gotten a dozen times more intricate, while we may be able to talk as if in person from a mile away, we still use words to let people know how we truly feel. After all, a gift can’t be given without a tag. A dance can’t happen without an invitation. We still surprise each other with what we like and don’t like. We still make time to meet up in person and grab coffee. We still struggle to tell the people we love that we love them, because our feelings are complicated, and we would never be able to summarize them with a simple present or a smile.

So in a way, the gifts and presents and performances are less the gift than the gift wrap. Giving things and celebrating, all that stuff is appetizers, there to accentuate the words we use to make our feelings clear.

A lot of us may want to be showmen and showwomen, to express our love in amazing ways that won’t ever be forgotten, but we haven’t yet lost what it means to connect with someone—to reveal ourselves, heart to bare heart. Past the shower of gifts and attention, when the only onlookers are the people involved, there remain those irreplaceable moments of self-disclosure. It’s then that we clear our throats, look our loved ones in the eye, part our lips, and give voice to the reasons that make us try so hard to impress.

“Thank you for everything.”

“You've changed my life.”

And of course—

“I love you.”

#short story #contest submission #no it didn't win #pretty convoluted

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dannyphantomrpg · 7 years

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Analysis: Ten Years Later

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Ten Years Later videos lately, and this analysis post just sort of happened~

To be fair, I did need to work it all out since I mildly referenced it in my Foley Fest drabble.

If I get any comic book info wrong, I'm so sorry. I don't know anything about Marvel aside what my husband knows about the 90's Spiderman cartoon.

Let's start off with Sam and Tucker, cause honestly? There's not much to go over with them.

Sam is sort of basic. Sort of dull. Butch says "leather" trench, but it's most likely pleather, or something more animal-friendly. Even (especially) ten years later, I don't see Sam giving up the good fight.

Her crop top, tho, seems to be a constant. I don't know if that's really her aesthetic, or if Butch just thinks all women like to show off their stomachs. Either way, the DP logo is something Sam would definitely sport.

Something I wanted to point out: in her first TYL sketch, Butch compares her to Black Widow. A quick Wiki skim later gives a bit more depth to the comic book ignorant like me. Black Widow's origin story is that of an orphan child being raised by the Russian government as a sort of Anti-Capitan America. She met up with Tony Stark by trying to assassinate someone in his company.

Sort of interesting to compare Sam with Black Widow, and then give her all those huge anti-ghost guns, hm~?

Tucker, I have a few issues with. Not his design (aside how he only got one sketch and then his final design - show your own characters some love, Butch!), but how Butch talks about him.

Specifically, that he's running for president. Quoting from Wikipedia:

“Article Two, Section 1 of the United States Constitution sets forth the eligibility requirements for serving as President of the United States:

No person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States.”

Tucker would only be twenty-four in TYL. He's still got 11 years to go before he can even think about running for president. So, like...

What happened to that little bit of legality?

Also of note, Tucker is the only redesign without the DP logo. Most likely, this is because he was the first and therefore before Butch had the idea, but he did give the majority of Sam's the logo.

Moving right along, we get into the meat of TYL. The Fentons.

A moment of silence for my baby Jazz.

How did "I want to go into psychology to help troubled teens" turn into "I'm essentially Tucker now"? Yes, she's the only one we've seen use the Fenton Peeler, but that doesn't really equate to getting "into the tech side of things."

Even in her sketch of just being in a jumpsuit with a "Maddie" haircut, Butch specifically gives her a piece of technology. He has her in a lab, leaning against a circuitry panel. Not a book in sight - not even one on ghost hunting!

And her final design? Oh, my sweet, smart child. There's just something so inhuman and terrifying about this image. Physically wired into Fenton Works? She "helps run all the gadgets"? She has control over traffic lights and automatic doors? Somehow, I feel like Tucker being up close and personal with his iPhone would be way more helpful than Jazz in a building on the other side of the city would be.

What happens the moment she runs into Technus? Heck, just send someone in to cut the power physically and she's completely vulnerable.

I guess Jack would be happy to be half robot? I mean, it seems like half his brain would be gone, so he can probably just be programmed to be excited about it anyway. I've never really seen Jack as the kind of guy to be upset about hygiene. If anything, I see him as a really clean person (until he gets completely distracted with an invention or something).

His second sketch is the one I really prefer - older, but still Jack. He’s big and buff and still a big old teddy bear. I can see this as a man who saw his son save the world and think "I'm slapping that logo on everything to show how proud of him I am".

Jack's finalized sketch is what really gave me pause in the first place. He's missing an eye. He's missing a leg. He has a prosthetic that, according to Butch, runs on ectoplasm. And, ok, I can see that happening. For God's sake, he turned his son and college best friend into halfas on accident because he wasn't paying attention - this man is not someone you really want in a lab setting.

But that's not what happened.

According to Butch, there is a possibility that people did this. That flesh and blood humans went after the Fentons and did them personal harm simply because of their connection to Danny. Jack lost a limb because a person decided to a) take out ghost-hunting competition, or b) cause Danny some kind of psychological harm, i.e. "If we can't get to you, we can get to your family".

And Maddie?

She was first and foremost a mother. Despite all the angst and family drama this fandom produces, Maddie loves her son above anything else. I feel, personally, if there was a choice between continuing her research and her children, she would give it all up in a heartbeat to make sure they're safe and happy.

That's all gone in her sketches.

Her very first image, she has a buzz cut, she has a huge weapon that's creating some sort of unmerciful death-ray, her goggles are down and she means business. There's nothing matronly about her in that image, no remnants of the mother that would look fondly on her son. No, she's murdering the F out of some ghost and does not care.

Again, in he second sketch, her hair is cut off and the goggles are down. There is something out there and she is going to destroy it. There is something out there that made Maddie leap "out of some sort of an airborne vehicle" with the ghost equivalent of the Little Boy and the Fat Man.

And, again, Butch is not helping.

"Well, I think maybe the Ghost Zone is in turmoil. I think that the ghosts need to live somewhere, and they’re trying to come here. So that’s why the Fentons get involved and that’s why there are so many weapons and why they’re up night and day, fighting off the ghosts."

First off - it's been established that the Ghost Zone and the Human World are connected. Anything that happens to one, will affect the other. So if the Ghost Zone has become so uninhabitable that the ghosts are coming here? How bad off is our world?

Second, Butch didn't say the ghosts were attacking. He said they wanted to live here. Yes, there are some ghost jerks out there *cough*Skulker*cough* but what about peaceful ones like Dora and Poindexter? The people of the Far Frozen? Shouldn't the Fentons know by now that not all ghosts are hostile? (Plus, this would have been an amazing use of Jazz's psychology to talk to some of these ghosts, to calm them down and learn from them.)

Maddie's final version manages to paint an even more bleak image for her. Butch mentions Mad Max and, a quick Wiki read later, that's, like, not good. Civilization is gone, lawlessness runs rampant, murder seems to be the only way to protect yourself. And Maddie is supposed to call forth that image?

Her hair is now essentially the shortest length Butch can give her without shaving her head. She's still wearing those goggles. We have yet to see this woman's eyes, she keeps them so hidden from the world. She has no guns to defend herself, only an ectoplasm-charged bat. She doesn't care about keeping her distance - oh no, she wants to be in the middle of the action.

And those BDSM ghosts? She keeps them on leashes short enough that they could touch her. She keeps them around to "help her sense other ghosts", nevermind the fact that, from what I recall, Danny is the only one with an actual ghost sense. Those ghosts look angry and not at all subdued.

And she's still wearing the DP logo. Somehow, even knowing her son is part ghost, she still has enough detachment/hatred of ghosts to demean them down to an animalistic level.

Vlad's designs are, whoo boy... Unique? Different? Each one portrays a completely different vision of the future that don't really mesh together. His first sketch is rather, uh, let's be completely honest here, Satanic. But other than that apparent dive into absolute evil, he looks more or less the same. Like no time has passed. I guess Clockwork could have yanked him out of space before too long?

By now everybody knows about the second sketch with fat!Vlad, tiger!Maddie, and perfect clone!Daniel. Heck, I knew about Daniel before I even knew there was a Ten Years Later video.

And let me just say this real quick: I love that, as soon as the words "He’s finally got himself a cloned child." were said we all, individually, came to the conclusion that: his name is Daniel Masters, he can be a spoiled jerk but isn't really evil, and he just wants someone to be friends with and play video games with. Like, I've yet to even see him in a TYL setting, he's more of a "Season 4" character.

My other thing I love about this image? Fat!Vlad. For a middle-aged man who kept in perfect shape, who fights with ghost teenagers every day, to suddenly put on weight? To me, in my experience, that means he's happy. He's found a way to be calm and relax and, yes, be settled enough to put on a few pounds. That's what happened to my husband. Before we got together she was an anxious, angry (precious) emo chick. And now she's calm, she's happy, she's adorably chubby~ (don't tell her I said this lol). Like, Vlad's so chill in this sketch that, whenever he finds out Daniel's been hanging out with Danny, he's not even mad! He's just like, "Be home by curfew, love you!" (My TYL Vlad is -absolutely- Maes Hughes. There isn't a single employee at Dalv Corp that hasn't seen a fold out wallet full of Daniel's pictures.)

(And just think, when Daniel brings home his boyfriend/girlfriend, Vlad brings out the baby book and Daniel's S/O is just like, "Why were your first steps when you were fourteen???")

Tiger!Maddie is great, if a little odd. Then again, Vlad's just living the dream of every five year old that just went to the zoo for the first time: "I wanna bring home the big kitty!"

And we get back to crazytown with the third sketch. Vlad wants to be king, what? When? Butch do you... do you know who Vlad is? You were so close with perfect clone!Daniel, and then you pull this. The only thing I can see this working as is some kind of Medieval AU with Dora and Aragon/pre-Sarcophagus Pariah Dark. Other than that, I can't see this sketch fitting in anywhere in DP.

But Vlad's final sketch returns us to the nightmare that is TYL. Vlad was abandoned in space, all human contact cut off, the only person that willingly called him a friend turned his back on him. He's probably ready to curl up and die at that point and then aliens come and kidnap him, forcing him to be a miner and then a coliseum fighter. I can't imagine the blow to his pride all that did.

I can accept that he would keep enough presence of mind to escape. Heck, I can almost believe that he would willingly keep the chain on his arm (though as less of a "reminder of where he came from" and more of a "I'm going to make these guys pay!"). But what really gets me is Butch saying, "he really, really wants to get Danny now".

That's not at all ominous. Not at all.

Like, what is that supposed to mean? I'm sure we're supposed to infer he's coming after Danny, but, would he? After all that time alone, after being broken down by some crazy Criminal Minds aliens? I'm sure that, in all that time Vlad was captured, he must have let it slip that he wasn't the only halfa. That this boy on Earth was more powerful that he had been in his prime. Could he be coming to warn Danny? Maybe the reason he escaped was because the aliens have their eye on a new "champion"?

Danielle is absolutely precious to me. My sweet little girl who only wants to live her own life. I love that her first sketch gives her a bit more of the Vlad influence (especially since I headcanon that she has his fire core and not Danny's ice core). The opposing black and white outfit, though, just looks like a bad Harley Quinn to me.

The second sketch is kind of cutsie, kind of bleh. There's something about Butch's femme designs that just... don't really hit the mark.

I'm adoring her third sketch. The overall feel of "ghost" really comes through with this design (and she finally has matching boots and gloves) and it feels really right with her. I've always loved the idea that she's more ghost than human, and this images hits it just right.

Her final design is ok. We go back to the alternating colors, which I don't like, but she also looks more like Danny, which I do like. Butch says she "likes to party" which I can kind of see. She's full of spunk, she has an adventurous side, she'd love to go out and see everything and get involved with as much as she can. The fact that she can shape ectoplasm into words seems like something she'd be into. Just imagine her floating outside of Vlad's window, cussing him out with floaty green writing.

Now, we finally get to Danny. His first sketch isn't too bad. He has a dedicated place for the Thermos - good idea on his part. A little simple, little plain. Loving the cargo pants, tho.

His second design looks a little more like a plain upgrade form his usual hazmat, but with more armor. Makes me think Sam and Tucker went to a sporting goods store and slapped all the knee/elbow pads they could on him to keep him from hurting himself so much.

I like the idea of the third design. When he embraces his ghost side, he gets more Dan-like qualities. I think something like this would take him a while to adjust to, but he would be better for it. This design feels like it would be the strongest one - delving into his ghost half and pulling power from it instead of fighting to keep it balanced with his human half.

Danny's final design, however, make me think. His hazmat has been replaced, or most likely upgraded, to include more Fenton gadgets - specifically trading the Thermos for a Glove. But the Glove, instead of just being a catch/release system, actually uses the caught ghost to power his suit. The green isn't just for design, it's the power he's taken from other ghosts he's captured. Does this mean he's just taking whatever the captured ghost's power is (like weather-control, or even power over boxes)? Or is it like the rest of Fenton tech where he's actually taking the ectoplasm from the captured ghost to power himself? How much is that hurting the other ghost?

As strong as Danny is, as strong as he keeps getting, why does he need to power a suit to keep fighting?

I've been thinking about this final design, thinking about the designs for all the other characters, especially the Fentons. I thought about how Danny would fight until his last breath to protect Amity Park, and, like...

Did he?

Did Danny die at some point prior to Ten Years Later?

Only once is Danny referred to as Danny Fenton, and that's during the sketch for Jack's original design. He's not even called Fenton in his own redesigns. He's had several sketches, but all of them were for Phantom. Heck, Vlad got a human drawing, even if it wasn't for his final design.

And the more I think about it, the more it seems to make sense.

Jazz gave up on psychology when her little brother died. She probably became depressed and couldn't leave the house. Wiring herself into Fenton Works seemed like the next logical step - at least this way she could help without having to face his friends who could go on without him.

Jack was probably grieving when he was attacked. He lost his son, his eye, and his leg.

Without having to reconcile her son's humanity with his ghostlyness, Maddie was free to revert back to a lifetime of thinking that all ghosts were nonsentient. She probably didn't get enough of a chance to being to change her views permanently, so she sees nothing wrong with how she's treating the leashed ghosts.

And Danny himself would even have an excuse for his suit. I've seen in the fandom that the reason Danny is such a strong ghost is because he's young, and he's still growing. That the more he ages, the stronger he becomes. When Danny died, he would have stopped growing in power. Heck, he might have even started -losing- power, and trying to revert to how strong he was when he first "died" in the accident. Having a suit that runs on other ghosts, using their power to replace his own, would actually make sense, especially if Maddie helped make it.

#Danny Phantom #Ten Years LAter #analysis post #danny fenton #sam manson #Tucker Foley #jazz fenton #Maddie Fenton #jack fenton #Vlad Masters #vlad plasmius #dani #perfect clone!daniel #tiger!maddie #honestly i kinda want to see a part three #just to see how far this trainwreck can go

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rayegunn · 4 years

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Marble Machine X

Just wanted to share one of my recent obsessions. Like most people I had seen the original Marble Machine video on Youtube, and was duly amazed. A few months ago, I stumbled across a video where I discovered that the machine had only ever played that one song, and then was retired, due to technical problems. Because the whole thing was improvised and cobbled together with little in the way of planning, and is like held together with rubber bands and shit, the ‘drums’ were literally made of coasters. Which was sad. But also learned that he’s making a new one! And has been making it for the past couple years. And has been documenting it every step of the way, new video every Wednesday.

I have now watched every video in the playlist, and it has been fascinating to see this contraption come together, and see him learn new techniques and get help to make it just a really intricate and precise clockwork machine in contrast to his cobbled together first attempt. the first machine was all wood, and was cut BY HAND, which is crazy, with all the gears and stuff. The new one he designed in CAD, and got a computerized CNC machine, and he’s incorporated metal working, so he’s had to learn welding and all this stuff along the way. He started out as an artist and musician wanting to make unique music and kind of morphed into an engineer along the way. But he’s still an artist at heart, adding stuff just for the cool factor and to create visual interest, which I totally get. But he’s attracted quite a few actual engineers who are more about utility than art, and he’s constantly frustrating them by adding what they see as extraneous extra clutter, which is there for artistic purposes. It serves a purpose, just not a purpose that they understand.

It’s also been nice to see lots of people stepping up and offering their help, components of the machine have been built by people all over the world just wanting to help him get this thing done, as well as a lot of people piching in to his patreon to help it come together.

He is a huge perfectionist, as a perfectionist myself, i can sympathize, and when you realize the first machine kinda failed (in that it could not tour as intended, and only ever played the one song) you can see why, of course he would not want to go to all this work for it to become another one hit wonder. But it has still led to the project ballooning and it taking a very long time to come together, as he has had some do-overs and new features added etc. but this past few weeks, he’s gotten the vibraphone attached, then taken off and redesigned/done over, and re-attached, and got it so that it can, you know, actually make some music, even though it s still missing some components, (most notably the string instruments, the bass and tremolo, are not yet added, along with the marble catch) and it feels like we’re getting close to completion, and we could have a brand new Marble Machine in maybe a few months, which should be cool.

Anyway, just wanted to let people know so they can check it out, and maybe be there when it’s finally completed and making a new song that hopefully goes even more viral than the last. Go watch. This first video is a pretty good overview of both where it began and where they thought it was heading in the beginning, and then the (as of the writing of this post) most recent video, to show where it actually ended up. And if you compare the two machines, you can really tell just how much more precise and intricate the new version is. But the whole playlist is great.

youtube

#marble machine #marble machine X #wintergatan #clockwork #music #contraption #youtube

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glittership · 5 years

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Episode #76 — "Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons" by Jennifer Lee Rossman

Direct download here.

And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Episode 76 is part of the Autumn 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons

By Jennifer Lee Rossman

They weren’t real, but they still took my breath away.

The model dinosaurs and other prehistoric beasties lived on and swam in the waters around three islands in Hyde Park. Enormous things, so big that I’d heard their designer had hosted a dinner party inside one, and so lifelike! If I stared long enough, I was sure I’d see one blink.

I turned to Samira and found her twirling her parasol, an act purposely designed to bely the rage burning in her eyes. She would never let it show, her pleasant smile practically painted on, but I’d spent enough time with her to recognize that fury boiling just beneath the surface.

Befuddled, I looked back at the dinosaurs, this time flipping down my telescopic goggles. The craftsmanship was immaculate, the color consistent all along the plesiosaur’s corkscrew neck, and the pudgy, horned iguanodons looked structurally sound, what with their bellies dragging on the ground.

Dinosaurs were Samira’s everything; how could seeing them practically coming to life not give her joy?

[Full story after the cut.]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 76 for June 24, 2019. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Today we have a GlitterShip original, which is available in the Autumn 2018 issue that you can pick up at GlitterShip.com/buy, on Gumroad at gum.co/gship08, or on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, and other ebook retailers.

If you’ve been waiting to pick up your copy of the Tiptree Award Honor Listed book, GlitterShip Year Two, there’s a great deal going on for Pride over at StoryBundle. GlitterShip Year Two is part of a Pride month LGBTQ fantasy fiction bundle. StoryBundle is a pay-what-you-want bundle site. For $5 or more, you can get four great books, and for $15 or more, you’ll get an additional five books, including GlitterShip Year Two, and a story game. That comes to as little as $1.50 per book or game. The StoryBundle also offers an option to give 10% of your purchase amount to charity. The charity for this bundle is Rainbow Railroad, a charity that helps queer folks get to a safe place if their country is no longer safe for them.

This is a great deal, so if you want to take advantage of it, go to Storybundle.com/pride soon! The deal only runs through June 27th, depending on your time zone.

Today’s story is “Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons” by Jennfer Lee Rossman, but first our poem, “Shortcake” by Jade Homa.

Jade Homa is an intersectional feminist, sapphic poet, lgbtq sensitivity reader, member of The Rainbow Alliance, and editor-in-chief of Blue Literary Magazine. Her poetry has been published in over 7 literary magazines, including BlazeVOX, A Tired Heroine, The Ocotillo Review, and Sinister Wisdom (in print). Jade’s work will be featured in an exhibit via Pen and Brush, a New York City based non profit that showcases emerging female artists, later this year, along with being featured in a special edition of Rattle which highlights dynamic Instagram poets. In her free time, Jade loves petting dogs, eating pasta, and daydreaming about girls.

Shortcake by Jade Homa

you called me your strawberry girl / and I wondered if it was / the wolf inside my jaw / or the red stained across my cheeks / or the way I said fuck / or that time I yanked your / hair / or every moment / you swallowed me whole

And now “Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons” by Jennifer Lee Rossman, read by April Grant.

Jennifer Lee Rossman is that autistic nerd who complains about inaccurate depictions of dinosaurs. Along with Jaylee James, she is the co-editor of Love & Bubbles, a queer anthology of underwater romance. Her debut novel, Jack Jetstark’s Intergalactic Freakshow, was published by World Weaver Press in 2018. She tweets about dinosaurs @JenLRossman

April Grant lives in the greater Boston area. Her backstory includes time as a sidewalk musician, real estate agent, public historian, dishwasher, and librarian. Among her hobbies are biking and singing.

Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons

By Jennifer Lee Rossman

They weren’t real, but they still took my breath away.

Dinosaurs were Samira’s everything; how could seeing them practically coming to life not give her joy?

“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly, so as not to disturb the crowds around us. Well, any more than our mere presence disturbed them by default.

(It wasn’t every day they saw a girl in a mechanical chair and her butch Indian crush who wore trousers with her best jewelry, and they did not particularly care for us. We didn’t particularly care what they thought, which really didn’t engender ourselves to them, but luckily polite society frowned on yelling at people for being gay, disabled, and/or nonwhite, so hooray for us.)

“It’s wrong.”

“What is?”

She gestured emphatically at the islands, growing visibly distressed. “It! Them! Everything! Everything is wrong!”

If Samira’s frustration had a pressure valve, the needle would have been edging toward the red. She needed to get out of the situation before she burst a pipe.

I knew better than to take her hand, as she didn’t always appreciate physical touch the way I did, so I gently tugged at the corner of her vest as I engaged my chair. The miniature steam engine behind me activated the pistons that turned my chrome wheels, and Samira held onto my velvet-padded armrest as we left the main viewing area and took refuge by one of the fountains in the Crystal Palace.

She sat on the marble edge, letting a hand trail in the shimmery water until she felt calm enough to speak.

“They did it all wrong, Tilly. They didn’t take any of my advice.” She rummaged through her many pockets, finally producing a scrap of paper with a dinosaur sketched on it. “This is what iguanodon looked like.”

Her drawing showed an entirely different creature than the park’s statue. While theirs looked sluggish and fat, kind of like a doofy dragon, Samira’s interpretation was nimble and intelligent, standing on four legs with a solid but agile tail held horizontally behind it. And its nose horn was completely absent, though it did have a large thumb spike, giving it the impression of perpetually congratulating someone on a job well done.

It certainly looked like a more realistic representation of a living creature, but these things lived, what, millions of years ago? Even someone as brilliant as Samira couldn’t possibly have known what they were really like.

But I couldn’t tell her that. Girlfriends are supposed to be supportive, and I needed to do everything I could to gain prospective girlfriend points before I asked her out.

“What evidence did you give them for your hypothesis?” I asked instead. “All we really have are fossils, right?”

Her face lit up at the invitation to delve into her favorite subject. “Right, and we don’t even have full skeletons yet of most of them. But we have limbs. Joints. And if we compare them to skeletons of things that exist now, they don’t resemble big, fat lizards that could hardly move around. That makes no biological sense, because predators could just waltz up and eat them. They had to be faster, more agile. They wouldn’t have survived otherwise.”

“So why wouldn’t they have listened to you?” I asked, perplexed.

“Because they don’t understand evolution,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Or they don’t want to be shown up by a girl. A lesbian girl with nonconforming hair and wardrobe who dares to be from a country they pretend to own.” She crossed her arms and stared at her boots. “Or both. But there’s no excuse for the plesiosaurs. No creature’s neck can bend like that.”

I wasn’t sure exactly how I was supposed to respond to that. Samira never complained about something just to commiserate; she expected answers, a solution. But I couldn’t very well make them redesign the statues, no matter how happy that would have made her.

So we just sat together quietly by the fountain, fuming at the ignorant men in charge of the park, and I schemed for a way to fix things for the girl that made my eyes light up the way dinosaurs lit hers.

Every problem had a solution, if you tinkered hard enough.

After my accident, I took a steam engine and wheels from a horseless wagon and stuck them on a chair. My mum hadn’t been amused to lose part of her dinette set, but it got me around town until I could build a proper wheelchair. (Around the flat parts of town, anyway. My latest blueprints involved extending legs that could climb stairs.)

And when Londoners complained about the airship mooring towers were ruining the skyline, who figured out a way to make them retractable? That would be me. The airship commissioner hadn’t responded to my proposal yet, but it totally worked in small scale on my dollhouse.

It was just a matter of finding the solution to Samira’s dinosaur problem.

I spent all night in my workshop, referring to her sketches and comparing them to promotional drawings of the park’s beasts. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider breaking in and altering the statues somehow, but the sheer amount that they had gotten wrong precluded that as a possibility. This wasn’t a mere paintjob or moving an iguanodon horn; they needed a complete overhaul.

I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration.

The day they announced that they were building realistic, life sized dinosaurs in Crystal Park was the day I fell for Samira.

I’d always thought she was pretty—tall, brilliant smile, didn’t conform to society’s expectations for women—but the pure joy radiating from her… It was like she’d turned on a giant electromagnet inside her, and the clockwork the doctors had installed to keep my heart beating was powerless against her magnetic field.

So I listened to her gush about the park, about how the statues would make everyone else see the amazing lost world she saw when she looked at a fossil. I didn’t understand a lot of it, but I understood her passion.

The grand opening was supposed to be the day I finally asked her out, but now it would have to be when I presented her with my grand gesture of grandness…

Whatever it was.

I woke abruptly to the chimes of my upcycled church organ doorbell and found a sprocket embedded in my face.

Groaning, I pushed myself off my worktable and into a sitting position. “Did you let me sleep out here all night?” I said into the mouthpiece of the two-way vibration communicator prototype that fed through the wall and into the kitchen.

A moment later, my mum picked up her end. “‘Mum,'” she said, imitating my voice, “‘I’m a professional tinkerer and nearly an adult. I can’t be having a bedtime!'”

“Point taken. Have I missed breakfast?”

The door in the wall opened to reveal a plate of pancakes.

“Thanks!” I tore a bite out of one as I wheeled over to the door. My crooked spine ached from sitting up all night.

Activating the pneumatic door opener, I found George about to ring the bell again.

George, my former boyfriend and current best friend. Chubby, handsome, super gay. We’d tried the whole hetero thing for two whole days before we realized it wasn’t for us, then pretended for another six months to keep his father from trying to matchmake him with one of the Clearwater sisters.

I wouldn’t have minded being with a man, necessarily, but ladies really sent my heart a-ticking, so it was no great loss when George told me he was a horticultural lad.

(You know, a pansy. A daisy. A… erm. Bougainvillea? I must confess, flowers didn’t excite me unless they were made of scrap metal.)

George raised an eyebrow. “I take it the declaration of love went well, then?” When I only frowned in confusion, he pointed to my face. “The sprocket-shaped dent in your cheek would suggest you spent the night with a woman.”

“Samira isn’t an automaton, George.”

“No, but she’s got the…” He mimed having a large chest. “And the, um… Scaffolding.”

“Do you think women’s undergarments are made of clockwork?” I asked, amused. I mean, mine were, but that was just so I could tighten the laces behind my back without assistance when I wore a corset.

Which wasn’t often. My favorite dresses were the color of grease stains and had a lot of pockets, so it should come as no surprise that I didn’t go anywhere fancy on a regular basis.

George blushed. “So… it did not go well, then?”

He came in and tinkered with me over pancakes while I told him about my predicament, making sympathetic noises at the appropriate times.

When I was done with my story, he sat quietly for a moment, thinking while he adjusted the spring mechanism in an old cuckoo clock. “And you can’t just go over with flowers and say, ‘Hey, gorgeous, wanna gay together?’ because…?”

“Have you met me? I don’t do romance. I make things for romantic people.” I gestured to the wind-up music boxes, mechanical roses that opened to reveal a love note, and clockwork pendants scattered about my workshop. All commissions from people who were better at love than I was.

“Then pretend you’re a clueless client like Reverend Paul. Remember what you did for him?”

The reverend had come in wanting to woo Widow Trefauny but didn’t know a thing about her except that she liked dogs and made his heart smile. I thought my solution was ingenious.

“I built a steam-powered puppy.”

George held his hands out, prompting. “So…”

Suddenly, it all clicked into place, like the last cog in a clock mechanism that makes everything tick.

“I need to build a steam-powered dinosaur for Samira.”

Dinosaurs, as it turned out, were huge. I mean, they looked big on the islands, sure, but that was so far away that I only truly got a sense of scale when I started measuring in my workshop.

Samira’s notes put iguanodon, my dino of choice, at around ten meters in length. Since a measuring tape required more free hands than I had, I tied a string around one of the spokes of my chair’s wheels, which had a one-point-eight meter circumference, and measured five and a half revolutions…

Which took me out of my cramped shop and into the street, forcing horses and their mechanical counterparts to divert around me.

“Don’t suppose it would do to detour traffic for a couple weeks, eh?” I asked a tophatted hansom cabbie, who had stopped his horseless machine to watch me in amusement.

“Reckon not, Miss Tilly,” he said with a laugh, stepping down from his perch at the front of the carriage. He pulled a lever, and the cab door opened with a hiss to reveal a pile of gleaming metal parts.

“Ooh!” I clapped my hands. “Are those for me?”

He nodded and began unloading them. My iguanodon was going to be much taller than me, and even though George had promised his assistance, I needed to make extendy arms to hold the heavy parts. “Is there somewhere else you could build him?”

I supposed this wouldn’t exactly be stealthy. I could stop Samira from going in my shop, but it would have been substantially more difficult to stop her from going down an entire street.

But where?

I got my answer a few days later, when the twice weekly zeppelin to Devon lifted off without Samira on board. She was usually the first in line, going not for the luxury holiday destinations that drew in an upper-class clientele, but for the fossils.

The coast of Devon was absolutely lousy with fossils. The concept of extinction had been proven there, Mary Anning herself found her first ichthyosaur there, and all the best scientists fought for the right to have their automata scan the coast with ground-penetrating radar.

Samira’s life revolved around trips to Devon and the buckets of new specimens she brought home every week.

“Why aren’t you on that zeppelin?” I asked as we sat in her room, sorting her fossilized ammonites. She’d originally had the little spiral-shelled mollusks organized by size, but now thought it more logical to sort by age. Me, I thought size was a fine method, but I didn’t know a thing about fossils and was happy to do it however she wanted.

She didn’t answer me, just kind of shrugged and ran her thumb over the spiral impression in the rock.

“Is it because you’re upset that they didn’t take your advice on the dinosaurs?” I knew it was, but I had to hear her say it.

“I don’t see the point of it if no one will care about what I find.” She sounded so utterly despondent. Joyless. The one thing that gave her life purpose had been taken away by careless men.

They probably only cared about whether the park was profitable, not if it was accurate.

I couldn’t make them change their statues, and I couldn’t make the public care that they were wrong. But I had to fix it for my best girl, because there was nothing sadder than seeing her like that.

“Can I hold your hand for a second?” I asked quietly. She gave the slightest of nods and I took her hand gently in mine, my clockwork heart ticking at double speed. “You’ve got a gift, Samira. Scientists have to study these bones for months just to make bad guesses about the animals they came from, but you can look at an ankle joint and figure that it was a quadruped or a biped, if it ate meat or plants, and what color its skin was.”

She gave me a look.

“Okay, I’m exaggerating, but only a little. I don’t agree with the way they’re portrayed, but this world is going to love dinosaurs because of the ones at Crystal Palace. People are going to dig for fossils even more, and they’re going to need someone amazing like you to teach them about the new things they unearth.” I tried to refrain from intertwining our fingers; just touching was a big enough step. “I need you to promise me something.”

Samira pulled away, and I had to remind myself that this didn’t necessarily mean anything more than her just being done holding hands. “What is it?”

“A week from today, be on the zeppelin to the coast.” The coast, with its ample space and no chance of Samira discovering my project before it was ready.

She made a face. “I don’t know.”

“Please?” I begged. “For me?”

After a long moment’s consideration, she nodded. “For you.”

George and I caught the midweek zeppelin. Lucky for us, most tourists went down for the weekend, so all of our metal parts didn’t weigh us down too much. We did share the cabin with a few fancy ladies, who stared in wordless shock at Iggy’s scrapmetal skull sitting on the chair beside us.

I’d named him Iggy. His head was almost a meter long. Mostly bronze and copper, but I’d done a few tin accents around the eyes to really make ’em pop.

When we arrived at the shore, we had to fight a couple paleontologists for space on the rocky coastline. Not physically fight, fun as that might have been. Once they realized we weren’t trying to steal their dig sites, they happily moved their little chugging machines to give us a flat stretch of beach.

Which just left us with three days to assemble Iggy, whose hundreds of parts I had not thought to label beforehand.

Another thing I neglected to do: inform George of the scope of this project.

“Matilda, I adore you and will always help you with anything you need,” he said, dragging a tail segment across the rocks with a horrific scraping. “But for future reference, the next time you invite me to Devon to build a life-sized steam-powered iguanodon? You might mention how abysmally enormous iguanodon were.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” I teased, my voice echoing metallically as I welded the neck together from the inside. I’d actually gotten out of my chair and lay down in the metal shell, figuring it would be easier to attach all the pneumatics and hydraulics that way.

I should have brought a pillow.

At night, because we were too poor to afford one of the fancy hotels in town, we slept on the beach beneath a blanket of stars, Iggy’s half-finished shape silhouetted against the sky.

“Samira’s a fancy lady,” I said to George as we lay in the sand. “She doesn’t wear them, but she has expensive dresses. All lacy and no stains. Her family has a lot of money. Could she ever really want to be with someone like me?”

He rolled over to face me. “What do you mean, someone like you?”

“Poor mechanic who can’t go up stairs, whose heart is being kept alive with the insides of a pocket watch that could stop at any time.”

I didn’t try to think about it a lot, but the fact was that the doctors had never done an operation like mine before. It ticked all right for now, but no one knew if my body would keep it wound or if I would just… stop one day.

The fear tried to stop me from doing things, tried to take away what little life I might have had left, but I couldn’t let it. I had to grab on as hard as I could and never let go. In an ideal world, Samira would be part of that.

But the world wasn’t ideal. Far from it.

Was I too much to put up with? Would she rather date someone who didn’t have to take the long way around because the back door didn’t have steps? Someone who could give her jewels and… fine cheeses and pet monkeys and whatever else rich people gave their girlfriends?

Someone she knew would be around to grow old with her?

Maybe that’s why I’d put off asking her to be my gal, because even though we got along better than the Queen’s guards and ridiculous hats, even though we both fancied ladies and wanted to marry one someday, I couldn’t stand to know she didn’t see me that way. I cherished her as a friend and didn’t see romance as being somehow more than friendship, but she smelled like cookies and I just really wanted to be in love with her.

“Hey,” George said softly, pulling me closer to him. “She loves you. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I guess,” I said into his shoulder. He smelled like grease. A nice, comforting smell, but too much like my own. At the end of the day, I wanted to curl up with someone like Samira.

“You guess. You’ve held her hand, Tilly. She’s made eye contact with you. That’s big for her. You don’t need a big gesture like this, but I know she’s going to love it because she loves you.”

I hoped he was right.

I saw the weekend zeppelin from London come in, lowering over the city where it was scheduled to moor. Samira would be here soon.

And Iggy wasn’t finished.

He towered over the beach, his metal skin gleaming in the sun, but something was wrong on the inside. The steam engine in his belly, which was supposed to puff steam out of his nose and make him turn his head, wouldn’t start up.

George saw me check my pocket watch for the umpteenth time and removed the wrench from my hand. “I’ll look into it. Go.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

My wheels skidded on the sand and rocks, but I reached the mooring station just as the passengers were disembarking. The sight of Samira standing there in her trademark trousers and parasol combo made my clockwork heart tick audibly. She came. I didn’t really doubt that she would, but still.

She flashed me a quick smile. “I don’t want to fossil hunt,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“That’s not why we’re here,” I promised. “But I do want to show you something on the beach, if that’s okay.”

She slipped a hand around my armrest and walked with me. When Iggy’s head poked up over the rocks, she broke into a run, forcing me to go full speed to keep up.

Laughing, she went right up to Iggy and ran her hands over his massive legs. “He’s so biologically accurate!”

But did he work? I looked to George, who gave his head a quick shake.

Blast.

Samira didn’t seem to mind, though, marveling at every detail of the dinosaur’s posture and shape. “And the thumb spikes that aren’t horns!” she exclaimed, her hands flapping in excitement.

And she wasn’t the only one who appreciated our work. A small group of pith-helmeted paleontologists had abandoned their digging and scanning in order to come and admire Iggy.

“It really is magnificent,” one scientist said. “The anatomy is nothing like what we’ve been assuming they looked like, and yet…”

“It’s so logical,” his colleague agreed. “Why should they be fat and slow? Look at elephants—heavy, but sturdy and not so sluggish as their size would suggest. There’s no reason these terrible lizards couldn’t have been similar.”

A third paleontologist turned to George. “My good man, might we pick your brain on the neck of the plesiosaur?”

George held up his hands. “I just did some riveting—the real geniuses are Matilda and her girlfriend Samira.”

“Mostly Samira,” I added, glancing at her. “And I’m not sure if she’s my girlfriend or not, but I’d like her to be.”

She beamed at me. “I would also like that.” To the men, she said, “I have a lot of thoughts on plesiosaur neck anatomy. I can show you my sketches, and I saw a layer of strata that could bear fossils over here…”

She led them away, chattering about prehistoric life with that pure joy that made her so amazing.

That girl took my breath away.

END

“Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons” is copyright Jennifer Lee Rossman 2019.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, leaving reviews on iTunes, or buying your own copy of the Autumn 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy. You can also support us by picking up a free audiobook at www.audibletrial.com/glittership.

Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford.

Episode #76 — “Of Clockwork Hearts and Metal Iguanodons” by Jennifer Lee Rossman was originally published on GlitterShip

#GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

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mysteryshelf · 6 years

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GUEST POST - Author Kevin Paul Shaw Broden about CLOCKWORK GENIE

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by the author, who is married to the site administrator. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

About the Book

CLOCKWORK GENIE: A PARANORMAL ROMANTIC MYSTERY

Cecilia Orchard lives alone.

She writes fantasy and mystery stories to escape a humdrum data entry job that barely pays for her apartment, food, and bus fare. Then a handsome police detective arrives with news that she is the prime suspect in the murder of her grandfather whom she never knew existed. If inheriting a fortune from a man she doesn’t know isn’t madness enough, Cecilia finds herself the owner of a powerful genie that could make all her dreams come true, but what are her dreams and is she willing to make the wish? And can she uncover who really killed her grandfather? Find out in this paranormal romantic mystery that is part of the CLOCKWORK GENIE MYSTERIES.

Purchase Links:

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Find out more about “The Cop that Wouldn’t Die,” a sequel short story to CLOCKWORK GENIE: A PARANORMAL ROMANTIC MYSTERY.

Guest Post from the Author

– You didn’t originally market CLOCKWORK GENIE as a mystery, even though it features a murder as central to its plot. How did you uncover that this should be marketed as a mystery novel?

When the first idea of CLOCKWORK GENIE struck me I was in the midst of writing a science fiction story and I was on a very short deadline. My focus was entirely on that story, but suddenly I had an idea of a fantasy tale about a girl that discovers she has inherited a magical pocket watch. That’s all I knew about the story, I wrote about a page worth of notes and put it away. Once I had the sci-fi story complete I pulled my fantasy take out of the drawer to see what I had. Over the next few years I wrote the novel, rewrote a lot of it, and made it more than what. Along with a fantasy tale about a girl and her genie I soon found a romantic element in the story. That fantasy romance was the heart of what I was writing, and at the time I was also reading a lot of ‘paranormal romance’ and I thought that was where this tale belonged. That’s how I promoted it.

However, though it may have had a heart of fantasy romance, the skeleton of the entire story was that of a murder mystery and I had all but missed that in marketing CLOCKWORK GENIE. Two of my main characters are Police Detectives and yet I hadn’t realized that with or without the genie’s magic what I had here was a murder mystery.

So now I would like you to know about my murder mystery CLOCKWORK GENIE.

– What elements did you add when redesigning the CLOCKWORK GENIE cover to better identify it as a mystery story as well as the paranormal romance you originally marketed it as?

It is said that an artist has to learn to put the art away when you declare it finished, because if you don’t then it will never be finished and there will always be one more brush stroke. In the artist eye it is never complete, never perfect.

Well, went I first painted the cover art for CLOCKWORK GENIE, I saw it as a fantasy romance and so painted the beautiful woman on the cover with the magic in hand and the setting in the background. Now that I have given myself further time to contemplate my work, I have what might be considered unforgivable and did some repainting of the cover. The figure wasn’t repainted extensively because she provides such a strong visual continuity between covers. So, instead, I focused on the background, creating a more real environment and placing a police car upon the cobblestone driveway that plays an important part of the tale.

– What did you enjoy most about writing CLOCKWORK GENIE?

After the first pass on the story, the different characters began to talk to me. It was more like following them through their lives and writing down what I saw them do instead of having to think up something that I wanted them to do. That rarely happens, but at the time the story just flows out from the events I witness in my characters.

– What are your plans for telling future stories with the CLOCKWORK GENIE characters?

Police Detective Whitney Manning has already told her story in “The Cop Who Wouldn’t Die” and the consequences of having a genie as a friend. Further stories are in the works to tell the tales of the other members of the genie’s family. The current one I’m working on is about Cecilia’s husband Police Detective Marcus Lambert.

Excerpt from CLOCKWORK GENIE: A PARANORMAL ROMANTIC MYSTERY

Cecilia Orchard surprised herself.

Detective Manning was past surprised and moving into shock. She still looked at her empty hand. The gun had been there, she could feel the weight, and then it wasn’t. No sensation of it being taken away; it was just gone.

“Maybe we could get away to Maui,” the Orchard woman was saying something and it drew Manning’s attention back to her. “Always wanted to go to Maui.”

The detective looked at Cecilia, who now sat on the couch. She was oddly leaning to one side and putting her arms out as if hugging someone sitting next to her. But there was no one there, and she was talking to no one.

Then Cecilia looked up at Manning, who still stood there stunned.

“Well, we’ve come this far. Might as well go the whole way. Let her see you, Genevieve.”

Just like that, someone else was sitting on the couch. Cecilia had her arms around the form of another young woman who had obviously been crying.

“You going to be okay?” Cecilia asked.

“I am sorry, Cecilia, I have failed you.”

“Nonsense! What did I say before; it’s okay to cry, you love him.”

Manning’s legs could no longer hold her and she sank to the floor.

“What’s going on here?” she asked after regaining her voice, “I’m hallucinating. You drugged me.”

“Oh, that’s so original. I’ve cut that idea out of three stories I’ve written recently. Drugs are a cheap out.”

“Then you’re…”

Manning was trying to rationalize what she had seen.

“You read fantasy, figure it out,” she heard Cecilia remind her.

When Manning thought she was drugged, it allowed her to not think about what was going on as real. If her mind wasn’t in control then she couldn’t believe anything she saw and she’d wake up someplace and deal with the consequences later. But if that wasn’t the case…

“Fantasy.”

She loved her fantasy novels. Had finished the latest one this morning. She knew every trope of the genre.

The two women were looking at her; Cecilia had a devilish smile.

“No, it’s not possible.”

She gasped out the words. The answer was coming to her but she refused to believe it.

“Everything is possible,” said Cecilia encouragingly, “just not probable.”

“M… magic.”

The word finally fell from Manning’s lips.

“Score one for the detective.”

About the Author

Kevin Paul Shaw Broden first fell in with the masks as a child while listening to old time radio and the adventures of Green Hornet, The Shadow, The Lone Ranger and many others. They were soon followed by the four-color heroes of comic books, not the heroes of the modern age, but those of the Golden Age. Roy Thomas’ run on All-Star Squadron introduced Kevin to heroes long past. It would be those heroes he would dream of and want to write about; all that led to his pursuit of a career in comic books. He took art courses throughout his education – and his first professional job was as a background artist in the early issues of SUPREME for Image Comics – only to discover that no matter the media, he was a storyteller at heart.

He would never be far from his first love, the masked heroes. For over fifteen years Kevin has been illustrating and co-writing (with Shannon Muir) the online comic book FLYING GLORY AND THE HOUNDS OF GLORY which can be found at http://www.flying-glory.com about the granddaughter of a golden age heroine known as Flying Glory. He has also written for television animation, including the Japanese series MIDNIGHT HORROR SCHOOL. He is a member of the Animation Writers Caucus of the Writers Guild of America. Kevin also digitally paints book covers, not only for his own books, but for other authors, including the cover art for Pro Se Productions’ NEWSHOUNDS. In 2015, he also contributed artwork for LEGENDS OF NEW PULP FICTION for Airship 27.

Kevin’s first novel, CLOCKWORK GENIE, was released in 2011 (later released with a subtitle and new cover in 2018), followed in 2012 by REVENGE OF THE MASKED GHOST, his homage to the golden age pulp heroes that got him started. In 2013, his work appeared in two anthologies from Pro Se Productions. In BLACK FEDORA, he wrote about the villainous Maestro Mechanic in “The Man Who Stole Manhattan”, and in NEWSHOUNDS printer’s ink mixes with blood in the tale “Stop The Presses!” He’s since followed this up releasing several short stories on his own, including “The Cop Who Wouldn’t Die” from the CLOCKWORK GENIE universe, “A Scarlet Spirit Tale: In the Clutches of Convicts” which expands the world of the MASKED GHOST, and the stand-alone stories “No Easy Way to Die” and “Murder on the Cosplay Express”.

CONNECT WITH THE AUTHOR

Site: http://www.clockworkgeniemysteries.com

Author Twitter: http://twitter.com/_MaskedGhost_

Facebook Author Site: http://www.facebook.com/FriendsOfTheMaskedGhost/

GUEST POST – Author Kevin Paul Shaw Broden about CLOCKWORK GENIE was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

#shannon muir #pulp and mystery shelf

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trigafy · 7 years

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New Post has been published on

New Post has been published on http://gogetthelook.com/2017/05/07/assessing-the-hiv-prevention-needs-of-gay-and-bisexual-men-of-color/

Assessing the HIV-Prevention Needs of Gay and Bisexual Men of Color

Product Description A 1993 report from the U.S. Conference of Mayors and the U.S. Conference of Local Health Officials on the subject matter. Includes statistics, demographics, assessment of needs and availability of local programs.

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Bi the way, we exist | Viet Vu | TEDxTerryTalks

youtube

In this TEDx talk, Viet speaks about the complexities of coming out as bisexual and the positive and negative reactions that he received from his family and friends. While focusing on a group that is rarely talked about in LGBTQ+ rights, Viet explains how anyone can have a tangible impact on someone’s life by choosing to care.

Viet is a fourth-year Economics student at the Vancouver School of Economics. He’s also a researcher at EqualDex, a database that maps the status of LGBTQ+ rights worldwide.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

If a mad scientist in a white coat came up to you and said he could make you a better woman with a few bits and pieces from the graveyard and the scrapyard, you’d be well within your rights to be a little concerned.

Of course, white coats are so last season, and we men love you just as you are, but if we could redesign you from scratch we can think of a few things that would make you even more amazing. In all fairness, you’d probably like to do the same to us, but for now, it’s our turn. Here are the modifications we’d choose to make if we had a say in creating Woman 2.0:

Behavior

The Current Model

Unless you’ve spent long, long periods studying her, she can be scarily unpredictable. Even if we had a time machine with which we could monitor her behavior, she’d still be unpredictable.

Sure, she goes to work and gym at the same time every day, SMSes her girlfriends like clockwork and calls her mother regularly, yet she surprises us with: Sally’s birthday party (‘Of course I told you we were going’); dinner at her parents’ house (‘You told my mother you couldn’t wait to see her again’), spontaneous tearfulness (‘I’m fine, leave me alone’) and, well, you know the rest.

The New Model

She’ll schedule everything, copy it to our PDA, and be perfectly flexible about moving things around if we need them to be moved. And everything includes everything –

18.15-18.35: complain about what a bitch that Angela from accounts is; 19.00-19.15: tell the story about yelling at that tramp at the gym who doesn’t wipe the equipment when she’s done; 20.00-20.10: express gratitude for being with such a fantastic listener; 20.10-00.00: demonstrate that gratitude with an intriguing new position. (Okay, that last one can be a surprise.)

Expectations

The Current Model

Despite how effortless we may make it look, it’s not that easy being a man. Women’s expectations of us range from easy (‘Come here and make sweet love to me’); to sigh-inducing (‘You promised to take my car to the car wash’); mildly difficult (‘Let’s go for a run’); tough (‘Must you go out with those loser friends of yours?’); and really tough (‘Why can’t you be more like [idiot ex-boyfriend’s name here]?’.

The New Model

As we have not yet mastered The Force (that’s the one where we wave our hand in our girlfriend’s direction and murmur something about wanting her to get us another beer), the next best thing is for her to be highly susceptible to hypnosis.

We’ll teach ourselves this ancient mystical art (there must be a DIY website, right?) and, with a click of our fingers and a few choice keywords, her expectations will be met.

Her: ‘Must you go out with those loser friends of yours tonight?’ Him: ‘You adore my friends. To you, they’re like the cutest puppies in the world. You love puppies. When I snap my fingers, you’ll be filled with happiness when I tell you I’m going out with my friends.’ Her (sighing): ‘I love puppies.’

Talking

The Current Model

She has so much to say, to so many people, so much of the time. She knows many, many words, and she’s not afraid to use her gigantic vocabulary. And when she’s not talking, she’s SMSing. Sometimes she’s talking and SMSing.

Like Dr Frasier Crane, we’re listening. Or, we’re supposed to be. You know how you sometimes tell your man, ‘You’re not listening to me’? He’ll disagree but you know you’re right. He’s not.

Often we’ll be contemplating really important things, such as the future of the global economy, the state of the nation, divisions in the ruling party, the elections, KFC or Nando’s, Lager or Lite, blondes or brunettes or redheads … suffice it to say, it’s a long and important list of manly concerns.

The New Model

She will be as chatty as the current model but she’ll have a highly evolved, telepathic awareness of when we’re mulling over the big issues. She’ll play a key role in addressing our dilemmas (‘Blondes, brunettes or redheads – why not all three? I’ll make some calls’) and quietly use her telepathic powers to time our chats when we’re not occupied with the big questions.

Dating

The Current Model

She’s bored silly with dull pick-up lines and flirting that involves our witty friends expressing their support and encouragement from the next table. She knows her vichyssoise from foie gras and her Pinot Noir from Pino Gris. (Foie gras is bad, apparently, but we try not to eat too many things we can’t pronounce.)

She expects us to know that Spur is not her idea of a fun night out and neither is Dros, regardless of what they claim in their ads. She spends more time than her best friend thinks we’re worth preparing for a night out with us. It’s nothing short of miraculous that humanity didn’t fade away eons ago, leaving talking dogs to run the planet.

The New Model

She’s like Mother Teresa (but alive, hot and sexually active) – she doesn’t discriminate. She’s watched enough bad movies to get those obscure but witty references with which we pepper our conversation; she’s mad about sports but will unhesitatingly defer to our learned, beer-fuelled opinion; her palate is refined but not so much that she doesn’t frequently crave something meaty cooked over open flames.

Fashion

The Current Model

The rent or the Blahniks? To a well-dressed woman, only a feeble-minded man would even consider that anything more than a rhetorical question.

To most men, more than three pairs of shoes is unnecessary (work, weekend and gym; sometimes the latter two are the same); the last suit we bought was for Michael’s wedding and we’ve worn it to work for the past two years, and the Levi’s we bought with our first pay cheque are still in pretty good shape, thanks for asking.

Even if the local Mall is her Manhattan, she firmly believes it’s her right, no, duty, to re-create herself in the image of Carrie Bradshaw, a fictional, middle-aged woman who dresses like a, uh, character from a TV show. (Jack Bauer, Braveheart and those guys from 300 didn’t worry about labels. Neither do we. Grrrr.)

The New Model

She still looks as pretty as a picture but has the good sense to pay the rent first and lust after Manolos later. (Seriously, babe, this is why we have to spend so much time contemplating that global economic crisis.)

Self-Image

The Current Model

Despite her fun, fearless ways, she occasionally manages to surprise us with her insecure and vulnerable side: ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ ‘It’s fant-ass-tic … come to daddy.’ At that point, insecurity is replaced by seething, uncontrollable rage, despite her prior insistence on our complete honesty, regardless of the circumstances.

Similarly, well-meaning and innocent compliments often go awry (‘That shirt makes your boobs look huge. Are you wearing a Wonderbra? Come to daddy’) without us even being aware of the potential for that rather un-sassy, seething, uncontrollable rage.

The New Model

She will utilize her telepathic powers to know that we’re rather fond of her bum/breasts/legs/arms/hair/bits and pieces, even if she’s convinced they’re too big/small/short/thin/fat/hairy/ hairless/dark/light/even/uneven.

Sex

The Current Model

Sassy, sexy and sometimes a little too cocksure, she knows what she likes and how she likes it – and she likes it with real orgasms. Which, hell, is rather a lot of pressure for us.

We’re all for showing a girl a good time. We read those get-fit/quit-smoking/be-the-world’s-greatest-lover articles in those men’s magazines with the pictures of Lee-Anne Liebenberg so we’re pretty good at trying new tricks and not tweaking, tugging, grabbing or groping when we should be stroking, fondling, teasing and tickling.

We’re not gynaecologists, however. We’ve mastered the G-spot but you’re on your own (or with your bi-curious friend from varsity) for the rest of those alphabetized spots we’re convinced the girls are making up to puzzle us.

The New Model

She’s every bit the confident hottie but, to her, our extensive bathroom reading has made us the greatest lover in the world, her bi-curious varsity friend often joins in without any of that post-threesome awkwardness and orgasms always come after just a few satisfying minutes of penetration.

Sandra Prior runs her own bodybuilding website at http://bodybuild.rr.nu.

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