#why do I keep coming up with stupid little comic strip ideas they take so much time XD

[kizzycannon]

#aMusingWords Day 19: Petrichor

The pleasant smell that often accompanies rain after a long spell of hot, dry weather. These two out on a date or something get caught up in a sudden downpour and Yang manages to turn it to flirting haha

#my art #fanart #RWBY #bumbleby #Blake Belladonna #Yang Xiao Long #aMusingWords #Petrichor #comic #why do I keep coming up with stupid little comic strip ideas they take so much time XD #I'd like to think Blake has some nice perfume on or something lol

[maxwell-grant]

You have done an (excelent) post on how to reinvent Batman as a Pulp Hero. Do you think you could do one to Superman as well? Or do you think it is impossible to do this with the progenitor of the Super Hero genre without transforming him in a totaly diferent character?

Well, you saying it as impossible only makes it seem ever more tempting of a challenge, but yes, it is a bit harder. I'm gonna link my Batman post here as a reference point.

Partially because Batman's a franchise I've thought extensively about for a long time in regards to what I like about it or how I'd like to approach if given the opportunity, which is not something I can really say for Superman until more recently the Big Blue to start orbiting my brain. I don't have years worth of redesigns or fan concepts saved on my galleries and files to comb through to pick and choose here, and my experience with Superman as a character is considerably different, in some aspects more deeply personal, and not really something I'd like to go into in this blog, at least not now.

Part of the reason why it's harder is also because Batman and Superman have very different relationships with their pulp inspirations. Batman was, ostensibly, a pulp character adapted to comics, a dime-a-dozen Shadow knock-off who picked up and played up diverging traits from other characters and gradually ran with them to gradually forge a unique identity. Superman right from the start was rooted in a much stronger conceptual underpinning: the Sci-Fi Superman and Alien Menace who, instead of being a tragic monster or a tyrannical villain, becomes a costumed adventurer and social crusader. Even the name Super-Man was taken from an early story of Siegel and Shuster about a telepathic villain who ends the story lamenting that he should have used his powers for the good of mankind instead of selfishness. I hesitate to call what Siegel and Shuster were doing “subversive” because that term's picked up a real negative connotation, and it's not like Siegel and Shuster were out to upend their influences (they were pulp aficionados themselves), but rather putting a more positive, new spin on them.

Which is why it also becomes a bit harder to do what I did with Batman and align Superman with some of his pulp-esque inspirations, like John Carter, Flash Gordon or Hugo Danner, without just making it "Superman but he's John Carter", "Superman but it's Flash Gordon", and "Iron Munro / Superman but everything sucks" respectively. It's harder to create a character that wouldn't feel reduntant and derivative at best, and actively contradictory to Superman at worst.

I guess if I had to come up with a "Pulp Hero Superman" take I liked, well first of all I'd have to take steps to distance it from the likes of Tom Strong or Al Ewing's Doc Thunder, those two are as good as it gets in regards to Pulp Supermen. I stipulated for Batman a "No Guns, No Murder, No Service" policy partially to distance my takes on Batman from all the "Pulp Batmen" that just add guns and murder and take Batman back to the barest of basics. Likewise, I'm adding a "No Depowered Science Hero" rule here, which means it's a take that's likely going to veer off a lot more into fantasy and probably enough tampering with Clark's character that it does risk becoming a different character.

Frankly I don't think I'm gonna succeed at doing these without just making it a new character entirely, because with Batman you can get away with just upending the character's aesthetic and setting and even origin and still keep it recognizably Bruce Wayne (in fact Batman does that all the time), which isn't really the case with Superman, who needs those to remain recognizably Superman as he goes through internal changes and character shifts. I guess what I'm gonna do here is more taking the building blocks of Superman/Clark Kent and see a couple new ways I can rearrange them to create a Pulp Superman

Perhaps something we can do is to scale back or recontextualize the "superhero" parts without diminishing Superman's role as a superpowered fantasy character.

One way we can start is by picking on that connection between Superman and the sci-fi supermen/alien monsters of pulps I mentioned earlier and play it up further, to create a Superman who's deeply, deeply alien in a way that no mild-mannered disguise or colorful outfit can really disguise, something so dramatically powerful and alien, that instead you could get tales about the kinds of ensuing changes and ripple effects this has on the world upon the The Super-Man's arrival. And for that I'm gonna have to quote @davidmann95's concept for Joshua Viers' absolutely stunning Superman redesign on the left side of the image above

The red, the goldish-orange and white, the alienness, the angelic, sculpted feeling, the halo, that innocently curious expression: it’s genuinely beautiful. Superman as a redeeming science-angel from beyond our understanding, as much past the uncanny valley of limited human comprehension as a Lovecraftian monster but tuned to the opposite key - you could spend an endless procession of human lifetimes trying and failing to understand this being, but all you’ll ever know for sure is that it is beyond you, and it knows you, and it loves you.

Superdoomsday from Earth 45, healed and transformed into the savior it was originally envisioned as? Some descendant of his, or a future of the man himself? An alien who picked up on a broadcast of Superman from Earth, and so inspired reshaped itself in his image to spread his ‘gospel’ to the stars?

Alternatively, to come back to Earth a little, many, many pulp characters and series were built off the antics and personalities of real people, celebrities getting their own magazines or serials or fictionalized takes on them, so perhaps one way to make a "pulp" take on Superman would be to emphasize a bit more of Superman's real-world roots, trends that inspired his creation directly or indirectly at the time. The Jewish strongman Sigmund Breibart and Shuster's interest in fitness culture, Harold Lloyd's comic persona, the rising "strongman" film genre in the early 20th century, actors Clark Gable and Kent Taylor that supposedly named his secret identity, Clark Kent being a socially-awkward journalist based of Siegel's own school experiences.

Maybe one start to an authentic Pulp Superman, who would still be Superman, would be to just ask the question "What if Superman was a real person and/or a celebrity, and they started making pulp magazines and serials dedicated to him? What would those look like?". You wouldn't even have to restrict it to just a story set in the 1930s, in fact you could even play around with the rise of new mediums over the decades.

This third one is a little closer to some plans I have for my own take on a Superman character, not necessarily what I would do with Superman proper but one of my ideas for a Superman analogue. Superman's a character I'll always associate strongly with childhood and childhood fantasy, and to tap into that I would emphasize the other end of the fiction that influenced Siegel and Shuster: comic strips, in their case specifically Little Nemo and Popeye.

In my case I would bring additional influences from some of the comic strips I personally grew up reading like Monica's Gang and Calvin and Hobbes, and I already talked a bit about Captain Fray in terms of how he’s a Superman character despite being a villain. I guess you could call this one "What if Superman was a public domain comic strip character, stripped of the importance of being the founding figure of a super popular genre or extended universe, and also was kind of ugly?".

He's not "Sloth from the Goonies" ugly, I swear I didn't actually have Sloth in mind when typing out this idea, I've never watched that film nor did I know until now that he actually spends the film in a Superman shirt. That's not really what I'm going for. Visually I was thinking of modeling my take on Superman heavily after Hugo from Street Fighter and his inspiration Andre the Giant, to really emphasize the “circus strongman / freak wrestler” aspect of Superman’s inspiration, particularly in regards to how Hugo’s SFIII version strikes a really great balance in making Hugo ugly and both comedic and fearsome in battle, as well as lovable and even a little dopey (without being outright stupid, like his IV self) in his victory animations and endings.

He's still Superman, he still goes on fantastical adventures to help people, he's still a deeply loving and compassionate soul whose face beams with joy and affection and who's got wonderful eyes and a great smile. It's just that this smile has a couple of mismatched stick-out teeth or some missing ones, and he's got a crooked smile some people take as smug or malicious, he’s got a strongman’s gut instead of a bodybuilder’s abs, his nose is a little busted (maybe he’s had too many crash landings), and his hair is a little wild or greasy, and he doesn't exactly have very good people skills because of how others usually react to him and, y'know, he doesn't get the kind of publicity Superman would get despite doing ostensibly the same things. He’s not deformed, he’s incredibly intelligent and capable, but in comparison to how superheroes are usually allowed to look, he might as well be Bizarro in the public eye.

It becomes a running gag that people tend to assume some nearby fireman or cop was the one who rescued the hundred orphans out of a burning building single-handedly, meanwhile he's getting accosted off-panel by police officers who think he set the building on fire, or think they can bully this weird man dressed funny. He goes to rescue old people in peril and occasionally they yell at him that they don't have any money. He doesn't get asked to lead superhero meetings or teams even though many in the community advocate for just how much he does for the world, he gets censored out of tv broadcasts or group shots (even his face is sometimes pixelated when they do show him), people invite him on talk shows and don't really let him talk or assume they got the wrong guy. He goes to rescue a woman dangling off a building, and then he gets attacked by like three different superhero teams who assume he must have kidnapped the poor damsel. He was the first superhero, he is the strongest of them all still, but he never really gets credit for it, it nor does he even want to. None of this at all stops him or deters him, except for some occasionally funny reactions.

This never really changes for him, he doesn't really earn people's approval nor does he have to, instead the stories, outside of the gags and adventures you’d expect from a comic strip, veer more towards others learning to be less judgmental and him learning ways to better approach people. He isn't any lesser than Superman just because he doesn't look like most people would want him to look and he doesn't have to look like Superman. Really I think we could use more superheroes that don’t look all so uniformly pretty.

Again, probably not a take that would work for Clark proper, but it’s one way I would take a shot at doing Superman with my own

I have other stuff in the works for this character but I'd like to keep them to better work on them for now, but yeah, these are three of my shots at developing a Pulp Superman.

Alternatively here's a fourth idea that's more pulp than all of these: Join up Nicholas Cage with Panos Cosmatos again, or whatever weird indie director he decides to pair up with next, and let them do whatever the hell they want with Superman. Give us Mandy Superman. Superman vs The Color Out of Space. Superman vs Five Nights at Freddy's. Superman’s quest to find THE LAST PIG OF KRYPTON. Anything goes.

#replies tag #dc comics #superman #clark kent #superheroes #comic books #nicholas cage

[cosmicjoke]

Ah, chapters 113 & 114 of AoT, and I’ve only got one thing to say.

Zeke, am I supposed to be feel sorry for the bitch?  Well I DON’T.

No, seriously, fuck this guuuuuuuuy, I know I keep saying it again and again, but God damn, if these two chapters didn’t just solidify my hatred for the bastard.

First of all, he is just... the most whiny, delusional, self-pitying pathetic loser, just... he really is.  I feel like a character in a Peanuts comic strip every time he opens his mouth.  All I hear is “whaa, whaa, whaa”.  And his delusions of grandeur would almost be funny if they weren’t so pathetic.  

Here’s the thing, alright, and I’m sorry if I’m going to offend any Zeke fans with what I’m about to say, but too bad, I guess.  

Everything out of this shitheads mouth is a lie.  And just because he’s convinced himself of his own bullshit doesn’t make the lies coming out of his mouth any more true.

He turns Levi’s fellow soldiers into Titans.  He does this without remorse.  Don’t try to tell me Zeke felt bad about it.  He didn’t.  You know how I know he didn’t?  Because in his private moments in the immediate aftermath, he mocks Levi over having done it, gloating about his supposed master plan of using Levi’s compassion against him and utilizing it to ensure Levi’s own demise.  Zeke’s entire attitude here is sickeningly unbothered, unburdened, uncaring, and smug in the EXTREME.  He mocks Levi’s compassion, literally makes fun of it and lambasts it as a pathetic sign of weakness when he says “I know you’re a caring leader.  Your soldiers haven’t done anything wrong.  They’ve just grown a little bigger.  You wouldn’t, say, slice them to pieces over that, would you?”.  This is Zeke making fun of the fact, finding AMUSEMENT in the fact that he’s just murdered 30 people who have never done a single thing to him, and reveling in what he thinks is a victory that will lead to Levi’s own death, reveling in having taken advantage of and weaponizing a better man’s kindness and compassion.  Zeke is ENJOYING this moment.  Just like he enjoyed killing all those soldiers in Shinganshina.  And then, the kicker, and this is a particular point about Zeke that just makes me absolutely sick, he pretends to himself as if he didn’t want to do it.  He PLAYS at his own regret, saying, “I didn’t want do this either,” and yet in the very next breath, continues to treat what he’s done with grotesque flippancy, saying “Still, how sad... There wasn’t even a battle or skirmish.”  Gloating over how easily he’s bested Levi and his men, before going on to sink further into his insane delusions of grandeur, blaming their inability to trust one another on Levi’s inability to “understand”.  I’m sorry, Zeke, but no.  You didn’t even TRY to help Levi understand, too wrapped up in your own egotistical god-complex to consider it a possibility.  ‘Oh, only I could possibly understand, along with Eren, the great task we two special beings have been burdened with.  He makes assumptions about Levi’s life, about the kinds of things he’s seen and experienced, and convinces himself that they couldn’t be anything like what Zeke has (which, hilariously, is all wrong, since out of everyone, Levi knows better than anyone else in the SC what it’s like to be treated as a second class citizen).  Zeke just assumes Levi couldn’t possibly ever grasp the complexities of the outside world, and so that’s why Zeke didn’t even bother trying to talk to him.  Blah, blah, blah.  No, Zeke, you didn’t share your stupid ass plan because you wanted to continue to feel special, like you’re the chosen one who gets to decide the fate of an entire race of people.  The most hilarious part of this entire sequence is when Zeke is thinking Levi couldn’t ever understand the concept of all the world’s militaries bearing down on Paradis at once, and what that means, couldn’t grasp the urgency of the situation, as if ZEKE HIMSELF isn’t completely fucking responsible for that situation in the first place.  Zeke literally engineered it.  He created the problem, and now wants to position himself as the savior.  He’s just such a loser man.  The God damned definition.  

And as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when it turns out Zeke’s plan to take Levi out failed miserably, and Levi comes after his sorry ass like a bat out of hell, Zeke continues to mock Levi, to laugh at what Levi’s just had to do in order to survive and pursue Zeke.  He says “Where’d your adorable little men go!?  Don’t tell me you killed them all!  The poor things!”.  Are you fucking serious?  Zeke’s behavior here is one of the most sickening things in the entire story, bar none.  The way he laughs at Levi here for having to cut down 30 of his friends and comrades, the absolute display of sociopathic glee and disregard for the severe, horrific trauma he’s just caused this man, is honestly shocking.  Man, I’m sorry, but anyone who sympathizes with Zeke over Levi after this display maybe needs to reevaluate their moral compass, because it’s damned broken.  And just as an aside, Zeke���s cowardly fear of Levi is also pretty damned funny.  He’s just such a bitch./

We go from this perverse display of psychopathic megalomania into Zeke’s backstory, and again, I’m sorry if I’m gonna offend any Zeke fans here, but to all of that, I ask, so effing what?  Oh, boohoo, Zeke’s mommy and daddy didn’t shower him with praise or spend any time playing catch with him, and somehow, I guess, this is meant to excuse his attempts later in life to commit mass genocide.  Poor, poor Zeke.  Yes, his childhood was sad, he experienced neglect from his parents for two whole years, was used by them as a pawn for their idiotic plans, and ended up disappointing his father when it turned out he had no real talent.  And again I ask, so what?  This sort of experience isn’t exactly what one would call unique, or even extreme.  There are countless children in the world who go through the exact same thing in various forms.  Parents who put too much pressure on their kids to succeed, parents who try living vicariously through their children, parents who make their disappointment known and even punish their children for failing to live up to their expectations (something Zeke’s parents never did, by the way).  The point is, this isn’t even what one would classify as extreme hardship.  It’s a sad story of a child being neglected and not receiving enough love from his parents.  This isn’t to undermine the very real pain one experiences from those things.  Not at all.  That pain is real and legitimate.  But it’s also fairly common and pedestrian, as far as childhood trauma is concerned, and it doesn’t even remotely begin to justify the extreme lengths of megalomaniacal, sociopathic, genocidal tendencies he later displays.  Also, Zeke also had his grandparents, who did love him and spent lots of time with him.  He had Mr. Ksaver, who played with him and acted as a mentor to him.  It wasn’t like Zeke had no one and grew up with zero connections.  That’s BS.  

Levi calls this bitch on his shit later in chapter 114, as Zeke’s muttering away in his delusions about how he’s “saving everyone”.  He asks Zeke “That was your plan?  Mercy killings?”.  Levi’s asking Zeke here who the hell gave him the right to decide who lives and who dies?  Who gave him the right to decide who’s life is WORTH living?  When Levi says him getting to die by being eaten by a Titan is pretty merciful, considering he stole the lives of so many of his comrades, Zeke’s reply speaks volumes about just how warped and demented his thinking is, when he says “I stole nothing.  I... saved them.  Them and the children they would have... I saved them all... from this cruel world.”.  He’s literally justifying murdering countless people by trying to redefine that murder as “saving” them.  It’s not murder because it saved them from ever having to suffer again!  He’s absolving himself here of his sins by casting his actions in not just a favorable light, but trying to sell them as heroic and admirable.  He takes no, actual responsibility for what he’s done.  He removes himself from that responsibility by pretending he was doing a good thing, an honorable, noble thing, by murdering a whole bunch of people who’d never done jack shit to him.  Yippee for Zeke, I guess.  He’s the very definition of an ego-maniac, of someone suffering from a messiah complex.  He’s insane, and morally depraved.  The very fact that he’s the one who comes up with the idea of eradicating the Eldian race by rendering them infertile is only further proof of this.  What teenager comes up with a plan to exterminate an entire race of people and thinks it’s a good idea?

Right before he blows himself and Levi up, he screams “I’m hope you’re watching, Mr. Ksaver!”.  He’s indulging in his own, fanciful notions of himself as the “chosen one”, as a unique person who alone is capable of delivering humanity to salvation.  He’s showing off, asking Mr. Ksaver to watch him as he “saves the world”, because all he cares about, really, is making himself feel special, of fulfilling what he’s deluded himself into believing is his destiny, his right to decide the fate of the world. 

And then he almost kills Levi in the process.

I swear, I wish Levi had just chopped his shitty head off right then and there.  No one can blame Levi for chopping the bastards legs up like he did, for being so angry.  It wasn’t just that Zeke had killed so many of his fellow soldiers by turning them into Titans, or tried to kill Levi by turning them into Titans, it’s also how Zeke laughed about it, and laughed at the pain he’d caused Levi, treating all of it as if it was worth nothing, and then having the unmitigated gall to cast himself as the hero bestowing his benevolent mercy on all.  Give me a fucking break.

Fuck you Zeke.  I hope you rot in hell, you dumb shit.  

Also, fuck you to Floch too.  I hate that bastard almost as much.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #zeke yeager #snk 113 #snk 114 #meta #thoughts

[cloud9in]

You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable.  And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over.  A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

--------------------------------------------------------

End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

#poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy #a huge bug flew onto my screen during the writing process #gave me motivation to HURRY MY AAAAAAASSS UP

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Eleven

Link to Masterpost

Kind of filler-y, I guess, but we’re almost to some juicier chapters! Enjoy!

Today’s prompts:

Aelin stealing clothes from Rowan’s laundry

Rowan being scandalized by Aelin’s laundry- this one was actually a DM from @queen-of-glass, rather than an ask! I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS, DIDN’T YOU. WELL, I DIDN’T BECAUSE IT’S GOLD.

and

“It’s not mine, I swear!” / “How is it not yours?”

~*~*~

Aelin slipped down the stairs in sock-clad feet, basket of dirty laundry perched on her hip as the clothes dryer beeped. In the two weeks that had passed since Rowan’s nightmare, she had taken it upon herself to take over laundry for the both of them. It was the least she could do, as she had been summarily banned from the kitchen altogether after that incident.

Rowan had fussed at her a little when she’d first done it, insisting that he could take care of himself, but he’d eventually caved. She wasn’t sure how much of it was due to the lingering awkwardness of that one night she’d inadvertently spent in his bed, but if that’s what it took then she supposed at least one good thing had come out of it.

She genuinely hadn’t intended to fall asleep, only to stay long enough to make sure he had fallen asleep. But instead, she had awakened at the sound of his door quietly closing, wrapped around his pillow as though it were a lover. She had lingered there until she was positive he had left for the day before flying out of his bed and rushing to the safety of her own room.

Aelin sighed and shook her head before opening the door of the dryer, pulling all of the newly-dried clothing into a separate basket for clean clothes. Moving quickly so that she could fold the clothes while they were still warm and relatively free of wrinkles, she dumped the newly-washed clothes into the dryer and started it, then loaded her next load of laundry into the washing machine before moving away to the couch with the clean clothes.

She had soft music playing in the background, but even without that she would’ve found the repetitive motions soothing as she folded the shirts, smoothing the wrinkles out of each one before moving to the next. Before she knew it, she was left with two neat piles of clothing—one for herself, and one for Rowan. Perfect. She had time to sneak into the kitchen and see what she could swipe for a snack before the next round.

At least, it was perfect until she spilled the milk intended for her cookies down the front of her shirt instead.

“Shit,” she hissed, both at the embarrassment and at the cold wet sensation. At least Rowan hadn’t been here to see it; he would’ve mocked her endlessly for it. Not to mention, it would’ve been far more awkward to simply strip her shirt off had her roommate been around to see her parading about topless through the house.

Since she was already doing laundry, it was a simple task to toss the soiled shirt into the next pile. However, she would also need to find something else to wear, before Rowan got back in an hour.

A simple grey undershirt sat at the top of Rowan’s neatly-folded pile of laundry. She knew it would still be warm, and the material was impossibly soft. It was plain, with no designs, so it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that she had taken it from him. She could venture up to her room and grab one of her own shirts of course, but with such a tempting option right there…

What Rowan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

The shirt was exactly as soft as she’d known it would be, gently caressing her bare skin as she slid it over her head. It was perfect, really; she hadn’t intended to go put on a bra, and to know she wouldn’t need to in order to be comfortable was a relief. The hem fell to her mid-thigh, the garment almost comically large on her smaller frame, but that was okay. Shirts worn with leggings were supposed to be large enough and long enough to cover all the important places, anyway.

Carefully, she picked up the remainder of his pile of clothes and slipped into his room to set them at the foot of his bed alongside her previous rounds. Mission completed, she glanced at the pillows and bit her lip as her cheeks grew warm. What should have been an innocuous display of an immaculately-made bed was still bringing back memories of soft sheets and pine-scented pillows and fingers carefully entwined with her own.

She shook her head and left, and it took a surprising amount of effort not to slam the door behind her as she fled the scene.

Gods, whatever this was, she had it bad. She could practically hear Sam and Lysandra both laughing at her and telling her she needed to get laid. Maybe they were right; she hadn’t been with anyone since escaping Rifthold, and maybe this was just a symptom of how long it had been.

The front door opened before she could think about it any further, and she darted back down the stairs to gather her own laundry and greet her roommate.

His eyes immediately focused on her as she rounded the corner, before narrowing. “That’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

Damn. How on earth had he figured it out so quickly? “Why would you think that? Oversized shirts are normal to wear with leggings.”

Rowan smirked. “That might’ve worked if I hadn’t seen what you normally wear for ‘leggings as pants’ days.”

Shit. Well, it had been worth trying. “So familiar with my wardrobe,” she purred instead. “Someone might wonder how you know what clothing I have so… intimately.”

Damn, he didn’t even blush at the suggestion. “Aelin, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that we live together and therefore I’m pretty sure I’ve seen most of what you consider to be casual loungewear.”

Fine. “Just for that, I’m keeping it!”

He called after her as she headed up the stairs with her own laundry. “Don’t think I don’t know you still haven’t given me back those pajama pants, either! What could you possibly be hoarding my clothes for? They don’t even fit you.”

Shit. Better to pretend she hadn’t heard that, since she hadn’t even begun to prepare an answer for why she hadn’t given those back yet. Instead, she quietly retreated into her room, putting her clothes away before grabbing a book and sprawling onto her bed.

She wasn’t sure exactly how much time passed, but before long there was a soft knocking at her door. “I’d ask if you’re decent, but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.”

Aelin laughed and opened the door. “Never am. What’s up?”

A scrap of lace Aelin barely recognized as a crop top was dangling from the tips of Rowan’s fingers as though the material would burn him if any more of him came into contact with it. How had…? “That’s not mine, I swear,” she finally said.

“This ought to be good. Fine. How is it not yours?”

“It’s Lysandra’s,” Aelin admitted. “She encouraged me to borrow it, the last time we went out.”

Rowan snorted out a laugh. “So it’s not just me you’re hoarding clothes from.”

Aelin snatched the top out of his loose grip. “We’re not talking about this. Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” The tips of his ears went pink as he pulled out underwear that was definitely Aelin’s. “I’m presuming you didn’t steal these away from an unwitting friend.”

“Um. No.”

“They don’t have a back. Why do they not have a back?”

Aelin took the underwear back, carefully detangling the series of straps that made up the backside. “Rowan. You were married. To a woman.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

“It means I’m assuming you’ve seen women’s underwear before.”

“Nothing like that.”

“Hm, that’s a shame. They’re fun.” She smirked as she set them aside on her desk to put away later. “Maybe someday you’ll find someone willing to show you.”

“Are you assuming I’ve been celibate this whole time?”

Aelin turned to rearrange one of her drawers, hoping the motion hid the flush of her cheeks and the sudden trembling of her fingers. “I’m not assuming anything,” she lied. “Well, except that no one’s worn anything like that for you, since you seem so confused.”

“Hm.”

Gods, could they talk about literally anything else? This wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have. “Now. Is there anything else from your laundry that may or may not actually be mine?”

He shook his head, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. “Not this time.”

“Okay, good. You’re welcome, then.”

He frowned. “Welcome? For what?”

Aelin grinned. “For the free entertainment.”

As she had known would happen, he grumbled something she couldn’t quite hear and left. Once the door closed behind him, she flopped back onto her bed and groaned into a pillow.

Gods, the sight of him delicately handling her underthings was one she had not at all been prepared for, and even the memory of it was still doing things to her. Not to mention his voice; it was as though his deep and lilting accent had been made to talk about sex, and it had wrapped around her like his shirt had earlier.

Are you assuming I’ve been celibate this whole time?

Gods help her, she had been assuming exactly that, if only to preserve her own sanity. She had been carefully not thinking about Rowan and sex in the same sentence for so long, and now that he had absolutely shattered that with a single question she wasn’t sure what to do.

There likely wasn’t much of anything she could do. He’d made it so clear that he saw her as simply a roommate—one to which he had warmed up, if only begrudgingly, but barely a friend and certainly not a…

What did she even hope this would be, anyway?

Aelin sighed and shook her head. It was pointless to think about, and nearly impossible to believe. She needed to get this out of her head before she did something stupid like crawl into his bed again and never leave.

Decision made, she reached for her phone and sent a text to Lysandra. You were right.

Her friend’s reply was almost immediate. I’m always right. What am I right about now, exactly?

Maybe it’s time for me to try to put myself out there again.

That’s my girl. Got any ideas, or are Sam and I supposed to set you up?

Aelin snorted. You’re impossible. I don’t know yet.

Well, figure it out. I’ve gotta know how I’m supporting you here.

I don’t want to be all the way set up, but I guess I’m open to suggestions?

I GOT U BB. <3

Aelin smiled and tucked her phone away before swearing and snatching at it as her pretimed alarm went off. Laundry day waited for no roommate crisis, it seemed.

She supposed she should probably feel a bit lighter as she darted back down the stairs for the next round of laundry. Instead, though, she only felt nerves. Maybe she had been out of the game too long after all, and this change would only do her good.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer @livsdriverslicense @courtofjurdan @danibutterr @woollycat22 @rowaelinismyotp @sleeping-and-books @acciowests @stardelia

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Because of personal experiences, can I get some headcanons or a scenario of Abby with a gf that gets tired really easily? Also I just wanna get this out there, I am really glad your blog exists

Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot. I hope this is similar to what you imagined 💌 (I hope you like poetry!)

about 2k words of fluff and a little angst at the beginning. content warnings for language, ableism.

“This is it, Y/N. I’ve let this behavior slide too many times.”

Your heart dropped and your breath caught in your throat. Trying to fight back tears, you forced yourself to answer.

“I’m so sorry James, I can’t help it. My body just can’t work for hours without break, I’ve tried everything.”

You threw a soapy towel back into the washtub and took a step towards your supervisor.

“Please don’t throw me out, I don’t know where else I could do my part!”

“Well, you certainly aren’t doing your part here.”

He was speaking the truth; he had caught you way too often, crouching in the corner with your head between your knees or sitting on the floor against the wall half asleep. You couldn’t help it; this was your third job at the stadium and every time you had managed to get yourself fired. It had nothing to do with the laziness your previous bosses had accused you of or with simply not wanting to work. Your body just seemed to work against you.

After more than an hour of standing, there was no way for you to stay standing up and working at the washing station now, the hard bodily labor was just too much for you. You constantly felt like you were going to faint, no matter how much you ate, drank and slept. As soon as you were unsupervised, you’d have to sit down or take a break because you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore. It was becoming harder and harder to find acceptance from others and a place where you could work and contribute to the WLF while also taking care of yourself.

James rubbed the back of his shaved head and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I seriously don’t see how this is doing any of us any good. You should report in with task management tomorrow and see if they can give you a less physically straining job. I’m not sure how I feel about your little dizzy spells or whatever, but if you’re actually not fit enough for work, you should find something else.”

The rage that started boiling in your stomach sent hot tears down your cheeks. This wasn’t fair. You loosened the ties on your apron and tossed it on a table, then you left without another word.

The only person who didn’t constantly batter and scold you was Abby. She had met you in a stairway, sitting on the steps and leaning your head against the cold railing to stay conscious. The blonde had practically sprinted up the stairs toward you and asked if everything was okay; after you had explained, she had nodded and offered you her arm on your way back to your room. From that day on, she had checked in almost every day, bringing you snacks at work or dinner from the cafeteria when you were too exhausted to go yourself. She had believed you without hesitation and made it her purpose to help you out wherever she could.

Ignoring the surprised faces of the people you walked past, you stormed to your room. You were lucky to live alone, even though it was just a shoebox of a room. You had a bed, a locker, and a tiny window that you ripped open before throwing yourself on your bed.

You hated having to rely on others for support and you had spent the last year mostly on your own, hiding your condition and isolating yourself from others so they wouldn’t notice and judge you, even though the story of you falling asleep and taking too many unauthorized breaks at work had already made its rounds.

With Abby it was different. You knew she never wanted anything in return, she just liked to spend time with you and knew what it was like to be the odd one out, the one everyone had already heard about. In return, you liked to give her little drawings of her and her friends, short comic strips and poems you wrote when you had some time to yourself. She loved sitting on your couch and listening to you talk about poetry; although she was a big reader she had never really gotten into that genre.

She had gained your trust in no time and was the first person you really told everything that went on in your head. Well, almost. You hadn’t dared to tell her about how her presence made you feel like you were flying, how your heart sometimes started racing when she looked at you and how all you wanted sometimes was to fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

Your pillow was wet with tears and your head was pounding from crying for too long. Great. You reached under your bed and felt around for the water bottle you had accidentally kicked under there earlier. As you gulped down the lukewarm water, you finally felt the knot in your throat release its grasp from your airways.

Exhausted, you turned over your pillow and pulled your blanket up. This day was fucked anyway, you might as well declare it complete and hope to wake up in a better mood tomorrow.

It was dark when you awoke, disturbed by a quiet squeaking noise and the beam of light shining through a crack in the door. A big figure was squeezing through the gap and softly closing the door again. The light from under the door was just enough to see Abby tiptoeing toward you.

You couldn’t help but smile and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. She immediately froze in her tracks.

“Fuck, did I wake you? I just wanted to check on you and bring you some dinner.”

You switched on the lamp next to your bed and soft light illuminated the room. Abby had a burrito in one hand and an apple in the other. She looked genuinely sorry.

“It’s okay, I’ve been sleeping for hours. I just had a terrible day, that’s all.”

She immediately sat down next to you, putting the food down on the bedside table and brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a worried smile.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Her sweet concern brought back those stupid tears and you were too distraught to fight them. You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“No, I just got kicked out of work. Again. I honestly don’t know what to do. Maybe admin will just throw me out completely tomorrow.”

Abby squeezed your hand.

“Bullshit. I’ll talk to them. Why are they making you work these stupid hard labor jobs anyway? They could put you somewhere you can use your head instead, you’re the smartest person I know!”

She gently brushed her calloused thumb over your cheek.

“These assholes are not worth a single one of your tears, Y/N. James can honestly go fuck himself.”

You snorted and Abby beamed at you, happy to have gotten through to you.

“Hey, how much have you eaten today?”

You thought for a second, then you answered: “Some oatmeal for breakfast? I left work before lunch and came straight here.”

The wolf sighed and shook her head. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, you know that?” She handed you the burrito. “Here, it’s still warm.”

The first bite was delightful and you let out a moan without thinking. Blood shot into your face immediately as both of you stared at each other for a second, then Abby broke out in laughter.

“See? You’re practically starved. I should have gotten you two of those.”

She suddenly straightened up.

“Oh, I completely forgot!” She pulled out a small paperback from her back pocket. “Manny gave me this. Some fling of his gave it to him and he doesn’t know shit about poetry and never will. He remembered you liked poems so he said to give this to you.”

“You told him about me?” you asked in astonishment.

“Of course I did, we’ve been hanging out every day for the past few weeks! Do you have any idea how amazing you are? How much you’ve taught me?”

With your mouth full, all you could do was smack her shoulder and give her a doubtful look.

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into each other.

“I mean it, Y/N. I know you don’t think of yourself as very interesting or fun to be around, but you’ve made my life so much better just by spending time with me. Even if you’re always falling asleep on me,” she added and grinned.

You didn’t bother trying to be witty and grabbed the book instead. The title surprised you.

“Selected Poems by Sappho. Why the hell would that woman give this to Manny?”

Abby shot you a questioning look. “Why not?”

“Abby, Sappho is the OG lesbian. All her poems are just about yearning for the touch of a lady lover.”

“Oh.” Now it was the wolf’s turn to blush. “I had no idea.”

Sitting up, you turned so you could lean your back against the wall. You tapped on the bed right next to you.

“Come on, Abs. Let me tell you about Sappho, then.”

Hesitating only for a brief moment, Abby took off her boots and scooted closer to you.

You spent the next hour reading her poems and telling her stories about women and romance in Ancient Greece. The blonde listened attentively, asking a few questions here and there. After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavier and your concentration dwindling, as much as you tried to keep it together.

Abby gently laid a hand on your knee.

“You tired, babe?”

Your head flew around and you stared at her; had you heard that right? Abby gave you a shy smile.

“I can try to read some of these to you until you fall asleep. Only if you want me to, of course.” She shook her head as if trying to get rid of a thought. “I should just go. You need to get some rest.”

Before she could get up, you had already placed your hand on her underarm.

“I’d like that. I’m sorry for just drifting off like that all the time, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She cocked her head. “Don’t apologize for that. No one can just change the way they feel.”

You slid underneath the blanket and, following an impulse, rested your head on Abby’s thigh. You could feel the heat underneath the fabric and her muscles twitched involuntarily as the wolf took a deep breath and opened up the book again.

deathless aphrodite of the many colored throne,

daughter of zeus, weaver of spells, I entreat you.

do not with grief and anguish

tame my heart.

Drifting away into that wonderful state between waking and dreaming, you let the words of Sappho, spoken by the soft voice of your most trusted friend, the woman who took care of you and listened to you, the wolf that was tame only for you, sink in.

Do not with grief and anguish / tame my heart.

There were so many things in this world that made life harder and turned people bitter. You would not be one of them. You would not tame your heart. You would let it speak freely, you would let it burn for the woman cradling your head and protecting you from anything the world could throw at you. Tomorrow you would tell her. Tomorrow.

stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery

All your life, you had felt connected to the moon. Its unwavering beauty, its consistent waning away and returning in full shine, it had always assured you that no matter how bad things got, they would turn around for the better. It would be okay. You would be okay, more than okay with Abby by your side.

-

let me know what you thought (especially if you requested this!)

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson fanfiction #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby tlou2

[happyandticklish]

Don’t Ignore Me

Notes: For the ask by @dirtpie39, based off this comic. 

Summary: Izaya’s been avoiding Shizuo ever since the blond made a certain discovery about him, and chaos quickly ensues. 

Izaya was ignoring him.

It took Shizuo a couple fight-free days for him to realize it. After all, it wasn’t exactly like he was tracking the flea’s movements. Still, the city was small and drama was big, so it wasn’t unusual for the two to run into each other on a near daily basis. Usually this resulted in a full-blown fight or at the very least a round of petty insults and jabs. Now, though, whenever the two of them ran into each other, Izaya’s eyes would widen and he would bolt like a spooked deer.

For some reason, that pissed Shizuo off. Admittedly, most things pissed Shizuo off, but this especially. It wasn’t that he wanted the other to be constantly picking fights with him, but there was something comforting about the consistency of it. Now everything felt off-kilter, his days going by one after the other with not a grievance in sight.

He already had a pretty good idea why the other didn’t want to face him, too. The memory swirled in his mind, crystal clear despite a week having passed since then. He had been chasing Izaya as per usual (it was difficult to remember what specifically had pissed him off that day but he was sure he must have had a justified cause), when suddenly Izaya tripped on the pavement. Shizuo took the oppurtunity to grab him, but the second his hands made contact with his sides the other had let out an uncharacteristic squeak. Shizuo had been so shocked that he accidentally let the other get away.

Evidently, Izaya’s strategy was to simply avoid him until he forget all about the events of that day. Fat chance of that. The noise he had made then was already locked in Shizuo’s mind, the precursor to a round of new discoveries. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten a chance to see the other face to face since then and Shizuo was growing tired of it.

The next time he saw Izaya, he was turning a corner and nearly bumped into him. Their eyes locked. Izaya bolted. Unlike every other time, however, Shizuo grabbed the other’s wrist before he could scurry into a passing cab.

“Hey,” he growled, whirling Izaya around to face him. “What’s the big idea?”

Upon being faced with an angry Shizuo, Izaya’s first response was a dazzling grin and a noncommittal shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not illegal to take a taxi, now, is it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Shizuo insisted. He dragged the other towards an abandoned alleyway, a move that would have made most people nervous, but Izaya’s nerves were for an entirely different reason. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Izaya stiffened, shifting his gaze to the left of him. “I’ve hardly been avoiding you. We’re not exactly friends, you know. How could I possibly ignore someone I have no social obligation to?”

“You show up in Ikebukuro, my city, you cause chaos and disruption everywhere you go, you deliberately mess with the lives of everyone you meet, and somehow you drag me into every shitty situation you create.” Shizuo ticked each issue off on one hand. “So I think I have a right to be a bit confused when you suddenly start acting like I don’t exist.”

“Do you want me to ruin your life?” Izaya asked irritably. “You never seemed all that pleased about it before.”

“I want to know why you can’t look me in the eyes right now,” Shizuo corrected. “I’m giving you the chance to tell me, but I can take a guess if you’d like.”

Shizuo heard Izaya’s audible intake of breath. He tugged on his wrist but Shizuo’s grip was firm. His voice was tense as he answered, “Would you like to inform me then, if you’re so sure of the reason for my supposed avoidance?”

“I think,” Shizuo said, quickly snatching up the other wrist before Izaya could do anything and pulling both arms above his head and against the brick wall. “That you don’t want me to take advantage of a certain discovery I made last week.”

Izaya shrunk back instinctively against the wall as Shizuo transferred his hold to just one hand. He held his chin high with fake confidence as he asked, “Oh? And just what discovery was that?”

“That you—” Shizuo poked a finger suddenly into his ribs, causing the other to jump involuntarily—“are ticklish.”

Slowly, a flush began to overtake Izaya’s features, his ears glowing a bright crimson. Izaya glanced away, trying to cover up his obvious embarrassment with nonchalance. “Really Shizu-chan? What are we, children?”

“You’re not denying it,” Shizuo pointed out, taking a finger and gently dragging it up the length of his side. “Are you ticklish, I-za-ya?”

Izaya’s breath hitched at the drawn-out syllables, trying desperately not to squirm under his touch. “O-Of course I’m not ticklish. That would be ridiculous.”

“It would be,” Shizuo agreed, not letting up but not growing any more aggressive than his current pace. Just the slow, dragging pressure of his finger, skimming over the thin material of his shirt. “I mean, the famed info broker, one of the most dangerous men in all of Ikebukuro, ticklish? Almost enough to make you laugh.”

Izaya was trying his hardest to do the exact opposite of that. “R-Right. So there’s really no need for you to—ah!”

He bit his lip as fingers curled softly at the edge of his underarms. “I wonder what would happen,” Shizuo mused, tapping a rhythm against his skin. “If I tickled you ever so slowly…right…here...?” As he spoke, he wiggled fingers into the sensitive hollow, Izaya’s shirt doing very little to protect him. “What would you do, hmm?”

To be fair to him, Izaya really did try his hardest not to give in. He squeezed his eyes shut, tensing every muscle in his body in an attempt to hide how much the other was getting to him. In the end though, the soft persistence of it all was too much for him and he broke, musical giggles spilling from his lips.

“S-Shihihizuo!” he protested, writhing under his touch. “C-C’mohohon!”

Shizuo’s heart melted at the sight. Originally, his plan had been to come in and destroy Izaya with his newfound information, but now…. Looking at him now, flushed and giggling under such a gentle touch, Shizuo found that the only word he could describe him with was pretty. Though the thought was strange when applied to Izaya, his enemy, his nemesis, a man he had despised since the early days of high school, he found that he didn’t care in that moment.

So instead of digging in, Shizuo continued to administer the light touches currently driving Izaya up the wall and producing those heart stopping giggles that Shizuo was quickly becoming addicted to. “What’s wrong? Does it tickle?”

“F-Fuhuhuhuck yohou!” Izaya spat, the venom stripped from his words when matched with the stupid grin on his face. “A-Ahahaha, nohoho! Pffft, shihihihit!”

His legs gave out when Shizuo moved down suddenly, the feather-like touch dancing all over his hips. Shizuo swept a knee under him, his presence now the only thing keeping Izaya from collapsing on the ground. “You know, I think I enjoy you like this—all helpless and laughing. Maybe I’ll have to do this again whenever you decide to cause trouble in the city.”

Izaya’s eyes widened. Being held down and tickled like this daily was a thought that sent butterflies aflutter in his stomach. His struggling increased and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to distract himself from the situation. “Stahahahap ihihihit, yohohou bruhuhute! J-Juhuhust Nahahahat thehehere!”

“Not here?” Shizuo questioned innocently, continuing to torment his hips. “Why? Is it a bad spot?”

“Yehehes—Ihihihi mehehehean nohoho—I mehehehean—shihihihit!”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

For the next couple of minutes Shizuo persisted with his gentle assault on his nerves, driving Izaya out of his mind with the overload of sensation. It took a while for Izaya to genuinely plead, as he continued to insult and jab at him all the while until Shizuo discovered that fluttering fingers under his chin made him positively shriek and the man’s sanity quickly dissolved from there.

“Ohohohokay, ohohohohokay, I’m tihihicklish, n-now stahahahap!” Izaya scrunched up his shoulders, frantically trying to catch the other man’s hands between them. “Plehehease!”

Shizuo did stop, eventually. What he did next, however, was lean down and quickly press his lips against the other’s, claiming his leftover giggles in his mouth. He couldn’t have said what possessed him to do it, only that when Izaya had uttered “Please” through laughter-filled lips he found that there was nothing else he could have done. The kiss lasted for a mere two seconds before he realized what he was doing and quickly stepped back, releasing the other.

Izaya was staring at him wide-eyed as he slowly regained his footing. Shizuo’s hand covered his mouth, his fingers brushing against the place on his mouth where Izaya’s lips had just been. A similar red hue colored both their faces as they each tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

“Shizu-chan—” Izaya started, narrowing his eyes, but the sound of the familiar nickname was too much and Shizuo quickly fled before the other could get a chance to ask him any questions. Heart racing, the bartender quickly returned home and tried to figure out what had prompted him to kiss the flea and why he sort of wanted to try it again.

That week, it was Shizuo’s turn to avoid him.

#tickle fic #shizaya #izaya orihara #shizuo heiwajima #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #fic request #requests #durarara #durarara!!

[sonicringnoise]

Have a Jak 3 rant

Okay, I need to talk about Jak 3 and just...how absolutely janky the plot is. 

This rant is extremely long, so I put it under the cut.

First of all, I just want to point out, I love this game. I love it so much, and it’s my favorite out of the trilogy. But it just...it could have been so much better, guh.

And I know that development of this game was rushed (hell, it only came out a year after Jak 2), but I’m still going to rant about it!

It starts out just fine, with the Wasteland and Spargus and the arena, but it gets so weird as it goes on. Just...really disjointed.

We never really find out why Jak keeps going after eco crystals. Seriously, he gets a dark eco crystal from the Dark Maker at the beginning of the game, a light eco crystal from Seem, and just...starts collecting them, for some reason? Like, was he going to make a necklace? Start a rock collection? It’s never explained.

But whatever, it turns out those are needed later in the game to save the world. Fine.

After some Spargus-y missions, we then go...to the Monk Temple. You know, the temple. That’s never been mentioned before, and we didn’t even know existed, but we just went up there to explore and stuff and...

Like, how hard would it have been to have a line where Seem says, “We monks live far to the north, in a temple in the mountains.”

Then we’d at least have a reason to go there. But no, instead we just show up there and start poking around. 

This is one of my biggest issues with the game. In Jak 2, there are cutscenes that set up these missions, or even communications in gameplay that tell us where to go. In Jak 3, there’s just...a lot of that missing.

But, fine. Whatever, Jak has, like, ESPN or something.

At the volcano, Jak gets a dark power of invisibility, I guess. But only when he touches certain statues, and it’s only ever really used to get past a few traps and then never again.

Oddly enough, this was something that...made sense? I mean, invisibility is actually a power that dark eco has. Remember in Jak 2, there were metal heads who could turn invisible. 

But it’s never used! And that complaint holds true for almost every power Jak gets. You basically use the powers when a prompt comes on screen to get through a one-time obstacle, and then never again. 

Then we find out Veger is talking to the monks, but no one ever really expands on why? Or how? Like, for a city hidden in the Wasteland and forgotten, a lot of fucking people know it exists! 

Speaking of which...

We meet Ashelin in the desert and she begs us to come back to Haven City. Jak asks her how she knows Damas and she answers, “It doesn’t matter now.”

Excuse me??

It totally does matter! If Ashelin knows Damas, it begs the question: does she know that Jak is his son? Does she know the Kid is his son? Does she even know about the Kid? 

I mean, Ashelin would almost have to know that Jak is Damas’ son: during this scene, she gives him his seal back and says, “Don’t you remember who you are?”

Whatever. Add that to the list of things that are never mentioned again.

Jak says he’s not coming back to the city, because he’s an angry teenager and he likes hanging around with his Sand Dad. 

This is immediately followed by Jak returning to Haven City.

We head to the Monk Temple, again for no reason. This time, we open up some doors and Pecker leads us back to the city. 

There is no explanation as to why Jak has a change of heart. I actually think that the scene where Damas and Jak had a heart-to-heart and he mentions his lost son should be here: it leads perfectly into Jak deciding that the Greater Good is more important than his feelings.

Instead, we get nothing. Nada. Zilch. Just Jak heading back to Haven City because it’s The Thing To Do.

We reach Haven City after a boss battle and meet with Samos and Keira. Samos sucks, but that’s in character. Keira has no lines in this scene, and only makes goofy faces. Seriously, look: 

That’s it, that’s the character. 

Like, what’s happening in this scene? What’s going on with you, Keira? Are you okay? Are you making bedroom eyes at Jak? Are you confused? Did you smoke some of your father’s funny herbs again?

(Again, I know Keira’s role got cut down a lot because they changed voice actors, but it’s...so...jarring for a normally prominent character to suddenly get shoved into the background.)

We do some missions for Torn and eventually find out that Erol is the bad guy. Never explained how Erol survived slamming his Zoomer into dark eco and exploding in front of a huge crowd, but at this point, it’s whatever. 

We continue on our journey: Tess is a furry, Samos is useless, Torn is...Torn. 

We get a scene with Sig where Jak and Daxter ask him about Damas and his job as a spy and all that stuff. Fine, well and good, except the following exchange happens:

Jak: You’re playing with people’s lives!

Sig: Why not? They played with mine.

I’m sorry??

There’s a story there, and I’d like to know! What the hell happened to Sig? Why is nothing ever explained??!!

We get some Dadmas feelings, then we head over to have a chat with Kleiver. And this happens:

Jak: Kleiver, I need to find some very special Precursor artifacts, but I’m running out of time.

...Are you?? Has that been established?

So, in one of the previous missions, Samos mentions over the communicator (during gameplay, not in a cutscene) that to activate some ruins in Haven Forest, you’ll need some artifacts. But all he says is this:

Samos: Mar wrote that there was some ancient ruins to the west that were activated by five special artifacts and revealed wondrous truths. I'll see what I can find out.

That’s it! There’s never a cutscene where Samos says you need to find the Holo Cube, the Quantum Reflector, the Beam Generator, the Prism, and...by the way, there is no 5th artifact. Samos, you’re full of shit.

(Unless the Eco Sphere you get from Seem towards the end counts, but it’s very unclear.)

And, by the way, I had to Google those artifact names. The artifacts are never actually named until you acquired them in-game. Jak just finds random artifacts and is like, “Welp, this’ll do it! How convenient!”

Sigh.

Once we get all these artifacts no one told us about, we’re told to go take a cab down to the center of the earth. We don’t do that, and instead blow some shit up to visit our friends in person again. 

(Quarantine mood, really.)

And, again, I can’t get over how much of a non-character Keira is. Seriously, she just stands there and claps like a 3-year-old.

And we also come to my own personal pet peeve: the scene where Ashelin strips Veger of his title.

I can’t with this shit.

The biggest issue I have with this game, from a story standpoint, is how quickly the inciting incident is resolved. Like, Jak being banished is the whole reason we have a Jak 3. The city turned against him; his anti-hero choices in Jak 2 led to him being blamed for the war in Jak 3. It made sense.

But Ashelin decides, 75% through the game, to just be like, “Naw, Veger, fuck you. Get out of my face, buh bye.”

It just pisses me off, because if Ashelin had that power, why didn’t she use it before Jak was banished??

And why is Jak okay with this? Why is Moody McAngerface not even a little annoyed that she didn’t care enough to do this when he was dying of heatstroke in the desert?

Uuuuuuggggghhhhh guys I don’t understand.

So we see Vin again, blow some more stuff up, fight Erol, and get some tentacle wings. Seem acts all nice to us and gives us a present we didn’t know we needed. More Dadmas ensues, we see the Dark Maker ship for some reason, blow even more stuff up.

Finally, it’s time to head to the catacombs. We get into some trouble with Dark Makers (even though there’s only, like, three of them), and Damas busts through the goddamn wall in a car.

No idea how he got here, considering the Wasteland appears to be an island, but whatever, it’s a badass scene.

Then, because Jak can’t have anything nice, they get hit and crash the car all over Damas’ legs.

Seriously, dude, I get that you might be dying from blood loss, but why are you coughing, your lungs are fine.

So Damas dies, Jak is his long-lost son, it’s very sad, and Veger you piece of shit.

I will forever be salty that Veger, who was an overall excellent villain, was sidelined for Erol of all people. Admittedly, Jak 2 did the same thing with Praxis, but Kor was a much better Big Bad than Erol.

Regardless, we then get the Worst Plot Twist Ever, when we find out the Precursors are ottsels.

k.

Moving on from that tragedy, we then get to fight Erol. The fight sucks, it’s boring and I hate driving the stupid Wasteland buggies.

And then the end comes, and my blood pressure skyrockets. Somewhere, my PCP senses a disturbance.

The Precursors being ottsels is stupid, but Jak telling them to call him “Mar” is even stupider. First of all, Jak does not seem like the kind of person to get sentimental over his birth name. It’s weird, and I don’t like it.

Second of all, the ottsel leader calls him Mar once, directly after that. And then never again. 

Seriously, 90 seconds after Jak says he wants to be known as Mar, this happens:

I’m sorry, what’s that?

Why would you add that line in about Jak wanting to be called by his birth name, and then ignore it a minute and half later??!!

It just infuriates me. There’s a lot of stuff in Jak 3 that does this: it’s touched on once, then it’s gone forever.

And let’s talk about Daxter’s wish. I actually find this particular decision - where Daxter chooses to wish for pants instead of being human again - totally believable. 

Despite how much Daxter is regarded as the comic relief idiot of the duo, he’s actually shown to be pretty sharp. He’s definitely observant. And at this point, remember that he’s already seen the Precursors at work: he saw them turn Veger into an ottsel.

So Daxter probably realized that these guys were on some monkey paw, be-careful-what-you-wish-for bullshit and decided to wish for the most innocuous thing he could. Who knows what would happen if he actually asked to become human again? Might come out lookin’ like Samos.

And he’s right, by the way! Look at what those assholes did to my baby Tess. They could’ve just got her a size 6 pair of Levi’s and been like, “Here, boom, pants.” 

But nooo, they turned her into an ottsel, too, because why not why the fuck not nothing matters ahhhhHHHHHHHHH

...

...

Anyway, like I said, Jak 3 is my favorite in the series. It had such potential. It’s like a puzzle that’s missing pieces. I like it more for what it could have been, rather than the absolute mess it actually is.

#jak and daxter #rant #jak 3 #i shouldn't be allowed to talk about video games #but it's just such bullshit

[strawberrymilkloadingscreen]

Giving Up the Ghost Chapter 1 (Rise TMNT) (Donnie x Black&Female! Reader)

“Holy shit they’re turtle demons.”

You hadn’t believed April when she said that the demons and ghosts you were obsessed with lived in her tiny apartment. Every time you’d gone over in the last year and a half there hadn’t been that sort of itchy energy that you associated with demons, or the more groggy and cold one that came with ghosts. In fact, she didn’t live in a building considered a hot haunting zone online, her entire block was ghost free, and even the little sub place she was working at didn’t have a lick of phantom energy.  

April O’Neil was as normal as could be.

However, there wasn’t anything you could say to refute the very clear evidence in front of you. Four gigantic turtles with weapons were crowded in your friend’s living room, yellow paint splattered on them, April, and the walls.

April scratched her head and ended up smearing hazard yellow paint through her cherry red curls. “Heeeey. What’re you doing here?”

“Me? Can we start talking about them?”

“Them? Psht! They’re just-“

A turtle in blue set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, April. Talking about secret hobbies is embarrassing, but coming clean will do the body good. Like milk.”

“Leo…”

“The truth is that we’re… cosplaying.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “Seriously? That’s the best thing you can come up with? Even without my token I can practically see the energy coming from you.”

“Human girl say what?”

“She probably means the trace bits of mutagen from the oozsquitos in our blood.” A purple one muttered. “Which, I mean, is fair and accurate. Better question is how she can see anything since looking at her she’s obviously a normal everyday human.”

“WHOOOA!” You leaned back as an orange clad turtle got eye level with your chest. You weren’t sure when he got there, and that part concerned you more than a little. “What’s that!”

“What’s… Oh.” You plucked up the gem that had a perfect hole in the middle of it. “It’s the token. It lets me see ghosts, demons, but not 5’3 turtles dressed in neon orange.”

“It’s a great color. Is that violet or lavender?”

“I dunno? What are you?”

“Well I’m a warm shade of green with-“

The largest turtle plucked the smaller orange one up with one hand, and easily set him with all the others. “We’re mutants that are turtles… And ninjas. So don’t say a thing or we’ll make you disappear.”

“Isn’t that Hypno’s thing?” The one in blue wondered.

“Leo I’m trying to keep her from spilling our secret, annnd she’s fainting.”

You were in fact fainting into a pile of pure excitement and worry onto April’s paint splattered floor. The last thing you saw was April’s baseball bat, and four flinching turtles trying to get out her glitter encrusted door…

_______________________________________________________________

You ended up waking up on your front porch with a bottle of vodka tucked under your arm. You weren’t sure if it was April’s way to say sorry, or if it was to give your landlord and other passerby the idea that you passed out drunk. Either way the booze was welcome as you made your way out of the muggy summer heat and into the ice cold of your apartment. Your roommate’s cat, Xena, meowed at your return and followed you about as you took off your boots at the door. You went to the counter and pushed aside empty Chinese takeout boxes and mail to make room for the vodka.

With that task completed you quickly stripped, and tossed out the paint encrusted clothes in the trash, before cramming yourself in the shower and scrubbing hard. “How was I not robbed and murdered?”

Probably because you looked crazy. A Ouija board shirt and some booze was enough to make a handful of people back away from you; a wonderful lesson that college parties and your small town had taught you. The wet paint was probably another great deterrent. Whatever the case you were thankful enough not to get mad at the splotches that wouldn’t scrub off your dark skin. You quickly hopped out and towel dried before pulling on some comfy clothes and going back into the kitchen.

You paused beside a large tank sitting on top of some stacked books. With a groan you popped down on your knees and peered inside, a soft smile curling on your lips as you watched the turtle sitting on a pastel rock. “Hey Venus. Comfy?”

“Awe, are you talking to your turtle?” Your skin jumped and you quickly stood rod straight. “Hey don’t get jumpy on me now. Just me.”

“I mean it’s normal to get jumpy when around a walking talking garbage disposal.”

“I’d be offended if it wasn’t true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bottle of vodka. “What are you even doing here, Ricky? Jessie won’t be back for another week.”

“Forgot my phone charger here last night.” He waved the blue device around. “Oh, by the way, there was another haunting out at my Ma’s. Said she saw the pots moving. Think you could take a look?”

Ghosts… Wait, that was why you went to go see April. You’d seen some new ghost documentary on a streaming service, and you’d made plans with her to see it. When you got there…

Turtles.

Well, the red one said they were also ninja. That sounded utterly ridiculous, but you weren’t inclined to argue with demons or ghosts. Not that you had met that many, four in total including the ones today, but you’d read enough materials to know that it would be stupid to do so! Old ladies out in China Town though…

“Sorry Ricky, but I’ve got my plate full. Can you tell her I’ll try to make it some other time?”

“No prob. Pretty sure she’s just lonely and making up stuff to get some visitors. Should really go out there and scrapbook with her again now that I think about it.” He slicked back his blue hair. “Anyway, I’m heading out. If Jessie calls tell them I want some nudes”

“…No.”

“How about ‘I love you’.”

“Better.”

You waited until you heard the soft click of the door and snap of the lock before you went over to the cabinet and popped open a soda. You took a good swig before adding a splash of the vodka, and going back to the living room. Xena decided to take over your legs, but you couldn’t complain as you grabbed your laptop and began to do what you did best. Blogs were examined, newspaper articles scanned, and plenty of folklore was cracked open between sips of your boozy treat.

There were plenty of things for ninja that would come up for New York City. Everything from comic-cons, movie sets, and even a few historical events for museums. You were getting something similar for turtles as well. A new friend donated to the zoo, a fundraiser for conservation, and plenty of art meant to beautify the city.

However, when you entered the terms for humanoid turtles that’s when things were getting sketchy. Strange photos out outlines in a fish and ladder market, far more convincing ones during the hippo turtle meme a few years back, and a shaky video of black blobs ziplining down to a rooftop pool.

The more that you saw them the less you were convinced these things were demons or ghosts. Some type of cryptid maybe? Aliens? However, the term ninja made you lean more towards monsters, to be more specific kappa. Turtles that would drown their victims, rip orbs out of asses, and had a strange love for cucumber. You ended up falling asleep with Xena asleep on your keyboard and the new knowledge armed in your brain.

That was why you found yourself standing outside April’s, now non glittery, door the next morning. You had a basket hanging off your arm, and your cellphone fisted in your free hand. You kicked at the door, and only moments later it was ripped open by a still yellow streaked April.

“Oh it’s you…”

“Don’t get all excited to see me.”

The two of you stood in silence for a long moment, nervous smiles on both your faces and the air thick with tension. You took a deep breath and held out the basket full of sake and kappa.

“Here!”

“What is it?”

You looked away, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip until it stung. “Well, you had kappa in your house, and I wanted to give that as a peace offering. I dunno how you managed to meet kappa of all things in NYC, but I’m not gonna judge… Or tell. Especially that last one.”

April stared at the basket for a long moment, before looking at you with an equally bewildered look. She held up a single finger, before pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapped something out on it. “Wha-? You think they’re monsters from Japanese folklore? Girl, you really went all out with that vodka, huh?”

“I dunno what they were. One minute I was in your house, and the next it’s a mess and you have huge ass turtles in there. Isn’t that just the most interesting thing to ever happen!”

“Ahhhh not really?”

“Well, I guess you’re used to it. That’s fair.”

April gave a soft sigh before opening her door up all the way, and gesturing for you to come inside. “Look, I think the two of us are gonna have to have a long talk. Want some coffee?”

“Only if you’ve got whipped creamer.”

“Don’t you know it.”

You followed her into the apartment and your nervousness melted away. "So how'd you meet them?" "Well it all started when I was a kid thanks to a sad sad trolling attempt..."

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #TMNT #Teenage mutant ninja turtles #TMNT fanfic #donatello x reader #Donnie x reader #enemies to friends to lovers #rottmnt april #rotmnt leo #rotmnt raph #rotmnt mikey #rotmnt donnie #TMNT 2k18 #2018 tmnt #mutant x reade #Monster x human #black reader #female reader #poc representation #michealangelo #tmnt leonardo #raphael #donatello

[aahsokaatano]

King I would love that essay about Changing Channels

Fjdjshjdhdjd thanks for reading my tags Jesse you're the real VIP here.

Okay SO "Changing Channels" is the 8th episode of the 5th season of Supernatural. I give this information bc it's important in looking at the context of the episode - now I've complained a LOT about how SPN is terrible at giving us canonical timeframes within the episodes (y'all i was SHOCKED to discover the first season is supposed to cover a little over a year's worth of time, I thought it was like... 4 or 5 months) so I can't say for sure how long before and after the other episodes happen in-universe around "Changing Channels" BUT

The episode before is "The Curious Case of Dean Winchester" where Dean and Bobby bet years of their lives in a game of poker with a witch. The episode after is "The Real Ghostbusters" where Sam and Dean end up at a fan convention for the in-universe Supernatural novels.

Why am I pointing this out? Because it's important, please, no audience participation, this is like a Brian David Gilbert panel.

[under a cut bc this got...... STUPID long. Who knew I still had this many opinions about SPN in 2020?]

Okay first of all I wanna talk about the cinnamon topography of this episode - I love the way the first 5 seasons are shot because you really feel the americana gothic horror aesthetic they were going for (I have a whole ‘nother rant about the first 5 seasons vs the last 10 but thats for another time). Everything is a little washed out and grey-toned, the camera angles generally serve to make Sam and Dean appear even taller than they actually are (larger than life - again, another post for another time), and there’s honestly a LOT of shots from the ‘monster’s’ perspective, which is really neat! I’ve said it before (on another blog - YES i have a dedicated spn rant blog, don’t @ me hdjfhfjfh) but the episode that really got me hooked on spn back in the day was the second one, about the w*ndigo. Yes, it’s a racist, culturally appropriating shitstorm, but the way its SHOT is fantastic. I’m honestly not a horror fan, but that episode could have easily relied on jumpscares and they DIDN’T and it was scary as all fucking hell and just - fuck okay getting off topic. 

In “Changing Channels” we get that distinctive grey-washed tone in the beginning and the very end of the episode, but the middle? When they’re in TV Land? Everything is bright. Almost comically so, I mean - okay look at these two shots of Sam (apologies about the crappy phone pics, netflix won't let me screenshot)

This one is from the start of the episode, in the "real" police station

And this is from a little later in the "TV" hospital

Ignoring that my phone is washing him out a lot in both pics, you can still see the warmer tones in the hospital shot as compared to the cold greyness in the police station one

Okay, now look at this picture

Dean inside the Impala, and those warm tones are back. Why? Because even though Sam and Dean believe that they’re back in the “real” world, they aren’t - so instead of the grey-washed shots that we’re used to, its the bright and warm shots that we see in “TV Land”! So the viewers pick up, even if its just subconsciously, that the boys aren’t out of the woods yet - everything is still too bright to be the in-universe reality we’ve come to expect from SPN by season 5

Which is also why i love this shift so much

These shots are literally SECONDS apart. The first is in "TV Land" and the second is in the "real" world. I have some red strip lights behind my bed, which are reflecting off my laptop screen - notice how much brighter they seem in the second picture? That’s because literally all of the warm colors have been drained out of the shot. As soon as Gabriel snaps them all back into “reality,” things get so much colder.

Okay, so the second thing I want to talk about is some of the very pointed dialogue choices within the “shows” the Winchesters take part in. Not between Sam and Dan and Gabriel, but from the, for lack of a better term, NPCs within the shows.

In the hospital, Dr. Piccolo tells Sam that he is “the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your table; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.” Standard cheesy soap opera dialogue - but lemme just swap some words here and - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your hunt; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.”

Or even - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So Jessica and Mary died above you; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault [but Azazel’s]. Sometimes people just die.”

Keeping in mind that the NPCs are basically Gabriel’s mouthpieces, its easy to see why so many people ship Sabriel. I’d actually love to see a fic that explores them talking about this moment in particular later on and the kind of gentle forgiveness that Gabriel can give Sam... getting off topic again.

In an abrupt about-face, the herpes commercial (much meme’d within the fandom) is straight up Gabriel shaming Sam. Because if you replace “genital herpes” with “demon blood” it’s.... dark. And very intentional.

So that’s what I did! (I combined all spoken lines to make the message easier to read, rather than splitting them up across 3 speakers as in the episode)

“I’ve drank demon blood. I tried to be responsible... did I try. But now, after being forcibly detoxed, I fight my addiction every day to reduce the chances of passing back into that toxic mindset. Ask your loved ones about a demon blood intervention today. [...] I am doing all I can to slightly lessen the chance of drinking demon blood again. And that’s a good thing.”

Like... the subtext throughout this episode sure is. Something.

Okay this is getting ridiculously long so I wanna wrap up by talking about The Best Scene In The Whole Goddamn Show

I’m talking, of course, about Gabriel’s Confession

“Max,” you might be saying, “there are so many better scenes out there, even within the first five seasons!” and to that i say, again, no audience participation, please. Also, you’re WRONG and here’s why!

Gabriel’s confession hits every goddamn emotional chord that the fandom begged for on this show - fear, rage, grief, pain, guilt, and even, yes, absolution. 

Okay, here’s the scene again for those of you who don’t think about it at least once a week like me

Now this video is missing some of the conversation, but most of it is there, enough for you to see what I’m talking about. Gabriel up to this point has been, essentially, a nameless antagonist - this is the third episode he appeared in, and before this, we didn’t even know he was going by Loki. He was just referred to as ‘The Trickster’. But here, not only do we get a name (a real name at that), but we also get a glimpse of his backstory and a hell of a lot of character development in less than 5 minutes. I mean, Sam didn’t get this much character development throughout the entirety of season 1! There’s a good reason Gabriel has been a fan-favorite for a very long time, and I think a big part of it is this particular scene.

Because here, we get to see Gabriel being vulnerable. And we even see Dean show a little vulnerability, as he can empathize being the third party to explosive arguments between the two people who mean everything to him.

I mean... okay, it will never see the light of day, but I wrote a little bit of a Reverse ‘Verse fic (because I’m a sucker for Reverse ‘Verse) and this was the scene I started with. Not s1e1, not even the resurrection in s4e1, but this scene. Because this scene, more than any other, is critical to the way not only Gabriel’s (first) arc plays out, but also to how Sam and Dean conduct themselves for the rest of the season (and maybe a bit beyond, it’s been a hot minute since I watched s6 and later). Dean is angry but determined, he has a point to make, he is going to save Sammy and if he can’t do that, then he’s going to damn well die trying. But Sam... it’s after this episode that we start really seeing how bone-achingly tired Sam is. It’s after this conversation - where one of the other archangels, one of the few beings who can truly understand how powerful Michael and Lucifer are - says that there’s no other way around this that Sam seems to start inching towards giving in. Saying yes.

Sure, in the actual episode, he seems outraged by the idea, practically scoffs at it - “you want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” - but it’s after this where Sam really seems run down.

I mean, look at the episodes before and after (HAH you thought I forgot about that first point I made at the very beginning of this post! I did, briefly, but I’ve circled back to it, thanks for being understanding). In “The Curious Case of Dean Winchester,” Sam behaves much as he did since the start of s4, which is to say, ‘annoying little know-it-all brother tossed into the middle of the apocalypse and just trying his best’ and it works well for the mad scramble for any scrap of information that’s happening in s4/early s5.

But in “The Real Ghostbusters” it’s different. This is another funny meta episode - except, while Sam and Dean are technically aware of the joke, they aren’t as amused by it as the audience is. And it’s not because of the ghosts. It’s because they’re just... done. Especially Sam. Dean has that nice little moment with the cosplayers at the end of the episode, but Sam... threatens to shoot Chuck. Sam ‘goes darkside’ more often than pretty much any other character in the show, but that moment is different. It’s a flat promise, not a threat. He’s not being an asshole, like he is after losing his soul. He’s just... done. And it’s obvious to see.

Gabriel’s confession is the turning point for Sam in s5, and it informs a lot of his behavior through the rest of s5, and possibly beyond! Like I said, I haven’t watched past s5 in a very long time, so I don’t feel confident enough to analyze that specific sort of character line, but I feel confident in saying that hearing one of the most powerful beings in the universe basically say “it doesn’t matter what you do - your destiny is unavoidable” and then he’s proven right (Sam says yes to Lucifer, and Dean eventually does say yes to Michael down the line!)... like, that’s really gotta fuck up your world view that was built on free will and throwing off the shackles of fate. Sam managed to avoid his ‘destiny’ in s2... but then it turns out that that wasn’t ever his destiny. Lucifer was his destiny.

Talk about an obscured view of the inner self.

#thebisexualmandalorian #jesse #max answers #spn #naturally super #changing channels #im having some THOUGHTS yall

[pacoc-a]

Half In Love 

Rating: T

Characters: Five/Vanya

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Five never leaves, Vanya doesn’t have powers, Fluff and Angst, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Pining, Other Additional Tags to be Added 

Five is not Vanya's soulmate.

[Read on Ao3]

One day a fever comes over Five’s arm . He thinks it's a rash. He picks and scratches the itch on his wrist until his skin is raw. By the end of the week, his skin has peeled off in scabs.

It was then that he realised this might be his soulmate mark.

The mark settles itself permanently over the umbrella academy tattoo. It coils over it like a dark, ugly ‘s’ snaking a trail from his wrist down the middle of his forearm.  It’s red and bumpy and stings like a brand.

It’s hideous, he thinks.

‘Looks like a snake.’ Klaus says, peering over his shoulder.

Five scowls and chases him off.

——

When Vanya learns she is happy for him.

Even when her arm is nothing but bare she is happy for him.

‘Someone out there is going to love you with their whole heart.’  She places her fingers on his wrist. ‘Someone with this mark. And you better let me meet them when you do.’

Her fingertips are rough from the violin, but her touch is soft. He wants to kiss them. Feel the calluses on his lips. Five swallows.

‘I don’t think that would be necessary.’ He pulls his wrist away.

The truth is, he could care less about soulmates. The very idea of a ‘predestined’ other half was bogus, designed to put a make-believe ‘constant’ in an ever-evolving state. It was like throwing a screwdriver at a network of cogs that are constantly changing shape.  

But Five cares about Vanya and she cares about this,  so he says nothing. Instead, he watches her look at the empty space of skin on her wrist. He already knows exactly what she’s thinking about.

‘It’ll appear.’ He says, ‘Klaus doesn’t have his yet either. Probably comes in faster for others.’

She nods, ‘I hope so. I can’t wait to see it.’

There is so much hope in her eyes. A part of him hurts because it’s not for him.

He wonders if she’s hurting too, that a piece of him has been marked by someone thats not her.

She smiles to herself and he hopes in the cruelest, darkest part of his mind that she is.

——

‘Did you know Luther got Allison.’ Ben tells them one day between pushups. ‘Diego got his too.’

Klaus is on the floor with Ben, while Five works a sweat on the treadmill. They are the only three in one of Reginald’s endurance training sessions, Five, Six and Four. With the Monocle himself preoccupied with overseeing a mission led by the other three, Pogo is tasked with keeping them on course with the session. It means a blissful couple of hours without Reginald’s iron-clad glare scanning over the rest of the mansion like a hawk.

‘Don’t you mean Allison got Luther. Don’t be sexist Ben.' Klaus says. He is laying on the floor on his belly, his legs and arms sprawled out around him like a starfish. He spots Pogo passing by and he quickly lifts himself up and counts his pushups to two hundred and seven.

‘You know, this training session will pass by much more quickly without your inane rambling.’ Five says. They’ve been at it for the better part of the session. It's irritating. He knows the sooner he can finish this session, the sooner he can spend his free time however he wants. But he can't concentrate without these two morons distracting him every two seconds.

‘Oh lighten up Dad , we’re just talking.’

He glares at him.

‘I got mine too.’ Ben adds. He looks over his shoulder, decides the coast is clear and quickly raises his shirt to reveal a tiny scar near his belly button. It’s still raw, but the mark is clearly formed to the shape of a tiny squid.

‘Nice.’

‘What do you think it means?’

Klaus shrugs.

‘It means you two need to shut the hell up or Pogo’s gonna come and give us all double the work again.’

They shut up.

There’s a couple of minutes of blissful silence where the only sound is Five’s sneakers stomping on the treadmill.

‘I hope she’s hot.’ Ben says finally.

He thinks about Vanya in her room and wonders how in the hell he got stuck with the two biggest idiots in the Academy.

‘What if she’s a hag. Would you still kiss her?’ Klaus looks over to him.

Ben shrugs, ‘Probably. If she’s got a nice personality.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Or a nice butt.’

‘That’s enlightening . Really.’

Klaus flips over his belly and looks over at Five, ‘Well what about you. You’ve got yours too. What do you think yours will look like?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’  

‘Why not? Aren’t you curious.’

Five stops and turns to face him. They are both lounging across their training mats, flopped over to their bellies. He scoffs, ‘Because this whole thing is bullshit. It’s just a mark. Most people don’t even meet their soulmates till they’re 50, if they even meet them.’

‘So?’

‘ So .’ He sneers, ‘It means it doesn’t matter. We’re not destined for shit. People choose to drink a cup of coffee one day when they could’ve had tea. Life is just one big, impossible equation because the numbers keep changing. It’s chaos. It’s stupid. It’s just— life. This mark’s not gonna change anything about it. ‘

They stare at him.

‘Vanya still hasn’t gotten hers.’ Ben says.

This time, the silence is from him.

Klaus lets out a small sound. ‘That’s too bad huh. Poor Vanya.’

Ben nods, then turns to Five knowingly. ‘At least she’s got you. Stupid life, huh?’

——

Five hates the noise of the Academy. They're loud and arrogant, and they make a point to grate on his nerves on a daily basis.

But they're the only family he's got so he tolerates them.

Vanya is different.

He likes their quiet. The kind that keeps you warm without saying. He likes the way her hair would fall across her eyes when she reads. He likes her even without the Academy and he'd like her still even if their father never brought them together.

But most of all, he likes that Vanya is kind.

When he limps over, and she grabs the bandages, she winces every time she sees the pain on his arm and tries her best to apply the medicine as gently as she can.

'Are you okay?' She asks him. It's a question that leaves him reeling.

He's never sure what to do with her kindness, with that honest, open way of hers that leaves him bare.

In a house like this she's the only one who ever felt real.

‘It's nothing.’ He tells her.

'It looks really bad…' She frowns, 'If you need anything else…. I can make you coffee or...?'

'I'm fine. Thanks.'

He watches while she works. When they were 10, Vanya caught a fever that kept her bed-ridden for a week.

It was the longest week of his life.

Most of it was a blur. He can recall her pale skin and the sweat that's stuck on her bed sheets like grime. He can remember the dreadful, swirling pit in his stomach as he holds her hands inside his fists and thinks that if they’d ever let her die then he will never forgive them.

Now, he watches the way the sunlight streaks through her hair like quiet gold. There’s a warmth in his belly when they’re sitting like this, sharing in each other’s quiet.

Vanya is different. Even in the Academy. Even with the mark burning on his skin like a brand.

——

Vanya waits a long time for her soulmate mark to appear.

It never does.

By the time she turns 18 she stops waiting.

It was unusual for one to never have a mark, but not impossible. For Vanya Hargreeves it's just another sign of the universe’s divine plan to constantly screw her over.

‘Figures the only thing special about me is that I’ll never be special to someone else.’ She laughs bitterly.

——

Adulthood brings in change the way a tide sweeps over a dusty shore. After Ben’s death, the halls of the Academy become hollow, the umbrella academy stripped down to what it truly was, an old man’s paranoia and a lifetime of servitude to a ‘father’ that never really cared about them past what he could use.

The organisation, restless and jaded after so many years, pulls away one by one, guided by their own compass and a healthy dose of misdirection.

Five and Vanya separate. His work is his life now. He's built a sort of prestige when he was in the Academy and he figures it's time to cash in, now that he's out and Reginald's constant disapproval matters as much as the gum on his boot when he steps out on the way to MIT.

He’s a sort of teacher, occasionally organising lectures for those brain-dead kids at university, but his real work is his research and it's thrilling to be recognised like this, to have colleagues who could keep up with him intellectually. His research grant makes life easy and Five drowns himself in work and in his papers. He doesn't think about his past life in the Academy. He doesn't talk to any of his siblings.

The only exception is Vanya.

He sets aside time in his busy schedule for her weekly calls. He'll lose his mind if he doesn't. He tells her as much over the phone while he's nursing a large mug of dark coffee. His paperwork is piled up to his head, it’s almost comically grim the amount of work he needs to do. Vanya would’ve teased him about it if she was here.

'That moron, Bill is hanging around again.' He twirls his pen, agitated. 'He keeps hanging around outside the door, asking me if I want to have lunch with the others.’

‘Maybe he just wants to be friends?’

Five scoffs, ‘Well, I’m about five minutes away from stabbing a pencil through his skull.

She chuckles to herself. The sound is a raspy, jumpy static behind the line and it calms him a little though he can’t understand what she finds so utterly hilarious with the situation.

‘Well, I can’t talk long. I’ve got to take care of this… thing, I’m doing.’

There’s a large pop and Vanya’s resounding shit! that echoes behind the line.

He frowns, 'Are you cooking?'.

‘Uh, yeah, sorry about that, I was just um— shit… I’m trying out the cookbook you sent me.’

‘Well, how’s that working out for you.’ He says. He lays back on his seat, feeling the soft leather pressing on his back.

‘Horribly.’ She sighs, ‘God. I think I’m just gonna stick to um, noodles or something. Not sure if this is going to work out.’

‘You know, you have to make sure you don’t turn it up too high or it’s gonna go everywhere. I can help you, just keep me on the phone.’

‘No you don’t have to, honestly, you’re probably really busy, and I don’t want to impose or anything.’

He’s irritated, ‘You’re not imposing if I’m offering.’

‘It’s fine, Five. Really.’ She says, though he can hear the smile behind her voice, ‘I’ll figure this out. Thanks, though. I’ll just whip something up for when you get here.’

He sighs. It’s frustrating that he can’t be there for her in times like these. Now, they’re no longer kids, and the distance that separates them is an hour plane ride away, instead of just a couple of metres walk down a hallway.

But what could he do? He wanted to pursue his career and she wanted to stay in the same city.

‘I’ll see you tonight then?’

‘Course.’ He says. ‘See you.’

He waits before she hangs up and the dial closes and leaves behind its familiar tone.

That’s when Bill comes in and promptly gets kicked out along with his tray of christmas cupcakes.

——

Five makes up for the distance by spending his holidays with her. Thats why, tonight, he is flying over for Christmas so they can enjoy hot cocoa and cheap whiskey in her shitty apartment, and then talk about the past month and everything else in between. She hates Jonathan, that cellist in her orchestra. And Mr. Kowalski’s cat that leaves cat poop near the sill. The stink always wafts inside during a windy day and makes the apartment smell like cat poop.

He tells her about Bill from the office and his incessant need to ask about his day, like it’s the most interesting topic he’s ever heard.

Vanya is the only one who he celebrates these holidays with. She’s never flown to his and that’s fine, he prefers her apartment anyway. It’s bright and sunny in the afternoon in a way that doesn’t make his head ache. The couch isn’t hard on his back, and her scent lingers on the blankets and it feels at home here, more than he’s ever felt anywhere else.

Tonight though, they leave the empty wine glasses on the table, and then they drag her mattress on the living room together. She takes a couple of spare blankets and her pillows, and he pitches up the blankets with some pegs on a coat rack and a couple of lamps until the living room is transformed into their own pillow fortress.

Vanya lays flat on the mattress, ‘I think this is the best pillow fortress ever made.’ She says, matter-of-fact.

Her cheeks and nose are flushed from the wine, and her eyes glassy. Vanya could never handle her alcohol very well. The sight of it makes his stomach twist tight though, and he doesn’t want to think about that now when she’s only a couple of inches away from him and the alcohol is making everything swim like a dream.

Vanya rolls over and he looks at him with a silly grin that makes it hard to repress his own, so he doesn’t.

‘Not that you’re wrong, but care to explain how you came to that conclusion?’

‘Cause we made it.’ She grins, smug.

He grins too.

‘And cause you’re here.’ Her eyes don't leave his, ‘I’m glad you came over. You always do.’

‘Why would I want to miss this?’ The wine is making his head spin, but her hair is splayed out around her head, and the dim light makes her eyes shine like two pairs of chocolate stars. She’s beautiful, even when she’s drunk and she’s trying her best to get under his skin.

‘Go to sleep.’ He says.

She giggles.

Five sighs, and pulls the blankets over her, ‘Go to sleep, Vanya.’

‘I don’t want to.’ But he watches as she buries herself under the covers anyway.

‘Goodnight.’ He says.

‘Yeah, yeah.’

He laughs.  

‘I hope you meet your soulmate and they take good care of you.’ Vanya yawns, and turns over, ‘You deserve to be happy, Five.’

Her voice is barely comprehensible under the sheets. But it’s like time has stopped for him. He looks at her, and his heart is beating loud behind his eardrums. He thinks about what he feels about her, and how much he wants to say.

And he thinks about her laugh, her red, drunken nose and the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing and falls just a little bit more in love with her than before.

‘I’m happy now.’  Five mumbles against the kiss he plants on her forehead. He knows this, even when the feeling in his chest is twisting, and the words are sinking down his throat like a stone.

And maybe if he said it long enough he can start to believe it.

#fiveya #five x vanya #its actually more hopeful than what it seems rn lol #I promise this would all make sense in the end! #happy valentines day!

[aclosetfan]

Lmaooo some of you already know i live for tough girl Buttercup. I love love love how people have developed her into someone who kicks ass, takes names, and looks good doing it. She’s a one-liner queen 👸, doesn’t take lip, and make a sailor blush!! There’s no way she’d ever be soft! No way!!!!

Except, SIKE, you already know I don’t mess around with that one dimensional bs because every tough girl’s a little soft in the middle

Don’t get me wrong, Buttercup’s tough, but that just a defense mechanism. she cares a little too much about what other people think of her, so she tries to build walls. Can’t blame her, last time she easily allowed people in, she was chased to a meteor. That does shit to a kid.

On one hand, she really likes the superhero gig. On the other, she’s so eager for people to threat her like a normal person that when she was little, in an effort to fit in, she ended up bullying pasty little Elmer, but we all know how that worked out 🤷‍♀️ the guilt still eats her up alive, so she ends up being president of the Bully Patrol Squad at her elementary/middle/and high school. It’s her self-imposed, never ending penance.

When she grows up and fully matures, she’s overly apologetic about everything. It’s the “I use to be an aggressive kid” instinct. She may not come out and say it all the time, but you know when Buttercup’s feeling sorry. Don’t believe me on this one? Watch the movie (after she lands the first punch on the gorilla) AND anytime she has to apologize to Bubbles/Blossom in the show.

She still has a bad habit of acting cool in front of new people (it those defense mechanisms dude). In reality, though, out of the three sisters, Buttercup’s actually the shy one. Bubbles and Blossom were given their names for a reason. They’re the outgoing mouth pieces, not her. But cool kids don’t have to say much to be cool, so people tend not to notice

Take a moment to get to know her though, and Buttercup’s dorky personality really shines through. She’s that one kid who knows too much about pro-wrestling, religiously keeps a fantasy football team, and still watches Saturday morning cartoons.

“We’re not keeping that stinky fleabag.” She pauses, looking down at the kitten as it plays with her yo-yo, and the sour expression on her face softens, “Because I’m gonna end up feeding it, and cleaning it, and loving it.” REAL dialogue people!!! REAL dialogue from the show that should persuade you that it is not Blossom or Bubbles who is the Mom Friend(tm) but in fact one Buttercup Utonium!!!!! (fact check me, I dare you)

She may be the “tomboy” of the trio, but Buttercup can’t stand bugs and that doesn’t go away as she gets older. Spiders are public enemy number uno. She screams like a baby if she ever accidentally walks through a spider web and an actual encounter with the bug? Oof she books it out of the city.

Happy and gigglely when drunk and it scares everyone but her sisters (they have no idea why people think she’s so intimidating otherwise, BC’s always happy and gigglely to them). The real her really comes out when she switches off hero mode and allows herself to have fun

Daddy’s girl for life

Every birthday Professor gives her a bouquet of buttercups. Every birthday she rolls her eyes and sighs, but when no one’s looking she stuffs her face in the bouquet, takes a deep breath, and keeps the damn things alive for as long as possible

So, sue her. She likes buttercups. It’s still a stupid name. It spawns a horrible amount of cheesy nicknames and really impedes on her tough-girl persona!!! You can’t be tough and be named after a flower!! Everyone knows that! Anyway, buttercups are pretty and she’s not very pretty, but sometimes she likes to think that maybe someday, maybe, someone will think she’s pretty like the flowers too

The idea makes her giggle. In fact, any romantic thought or feeling makes her giggle. If she giggles at something you’ve said? Watch out friend, she’s got it bad for you. Her sisters tease her relentlessly for this “character flaw”

Yes. Obviously, physical touch and quality time are her love languages. Yes. Obviously, the idea of physical touch and quality time embarrass her to no end. And NO play fighting with someone is not “basically the same thing,” stfu Bubbles.

But whose to say playful shoulder punches cannot be innately intimate? Not her

She likes hair ribbons! Based on the show and cute comic strips, when she can, she steals Blossom’s bow to wear it. How damn cute would it be if she just really likes them, but knows it was Blossom’s thing so she just admires them from afar.

Speaking of arbitrary pieces of fabric, she still has her childhood blankie. It’s folded neatly underneath her pillow at all times. She’d be damned if she ever lost it again.

Finally, she’s loyal to the max and doesn’t give up easily, so once she lets you in, you’re in for life.

#thought you saw the last of me huh?? #let tough girls be soft! #idk headcanons? #ppg buttercup #really debated posting this it’s kind of lame #I think I like Bubbles better b/c hers was funny but everyone already does funny headcanons for buttercup #trying to focus on the OTHER side of the characters you don’t see often portrayed and I think for BC that’s being sweet so opposite of Bubs #does this count as a character study? #eh I may try again later if people are like nahhh

[besidemethewholedamntime]

only you

A request from the lovely @larariannons that asked if I could write Fitzsimmons + ‘I don’t like talking to people, but I do like talking to you’ which came from a really cute comic strip. I hope you like it! 

{Read on Ao3}

or read it below :)

“Fitz?”

Simmons’ voice calls beckoningly from inside, but Fitz doesn’t look up, doesn’t call back from where he’s deposited himself underneath the back library staircase. It’s a place where nobody even goes to get between floors, never mind sit underneath, back against the wall, half in shadow. He’s fairly confident she won’t find him, and he doesn’t know whether that makes him happy or sad.

“Fitz?”

Her voice calls again, louder this time. A door swings open from the floor above and then footsteps make their descent. They’re quick, almost frantic, and the rapid beating of his heart lets him know that he has around two seconds before he’s discovered.

“Fitz?”

Two seconds later, Simmons’ face peeps around the corner, one hand still on the banister. There’s a worried look on her face, but as soon as her eyes adjust to the dim it melts away and she smiles softly. “There you are.”

Here he is. He should really have known better. She’s found him. She always does.

He says nothing, just watches, and slowly but decisively she comes closer, taking a seat next to him. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she leans back against the wall, head tipping all the way back.

“I can see why you ran off here,” she comments. “It’s a lovely spot.”

It’s quiet and dark and smells like carpet and books and the faint tears of students, but it’s alright. Fitz knows she’s just trying to get a reaction from him.

“Fitz,” she says again, softer this time, lower. She puts her hand on his knee, and the spot begins to tingle underneath it. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, wishing that his voice sounded stronger and more believable. It’s shame and embarrassment that keeps the word in. The shame for running off, the embarrassment that she’s had to come and find him like this, sulking in the corner.

“Your designs were brilliant, you know.” She gives him a smile. “They shouldn’t have said what they did.”

“Maybe they were right.” He bites his lip, looking around for an escape. “Maybe I was just stupid thinking that they would work. What would I know? I’ve never been in the field.”

“And neither have they,” Simmons says firmly. “You know what Operations are like. Anything beyond basic addition and it just goes straight over their head.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, looking down at his lap. He does know. What they said was nothing he hadn’t heard before. That’s exactly the problem.

Simmons knows. Of course she does. He’d had to tell her, there had been no way for him to go on pretending that what had happened in his life before wasn’t affecting his life here now. At the time she’d listened attentively and then said a very few choice words, but since then has said nothing at all, something for which he’s really quite grateful.

“I shouldn’t have made you do it.” It sounds like she isn’t talking to him anymore. “I know you don’t like talking to people I – well I suppose I just got so excited by your designs and the way you described them to me that I thought if anyone could inspire those two to actually commit to the project it would be you.” I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to speak to me again.” She sighs heavily, patting his knee. “I’m sorry, Fitz.”

His breath catches in his throat. For a moment there’s just the sound of Jemma’s breathing reverberating through the small space. “I don’t like talking to people,” he begins, but Simmons cuts him off.

“I know you don’t and I’m sorry, Fitz. I really am.”

“I don’t like talking to people,” he repeats, “but I like talking to you.”

“Oh.” At the surprise in her voice he manages to look into her eyes. For a moment he’s afraid he’ll see pity, but instead there’s only something that as time goes on he will come to realise as love. She blinks at him. “I like talking to you, too.”

He smiles, cheeks burning for some unknown reason. He’s glad it’s dark so she can’t see. “I suppose we should, uh, be getting back to them, right?”

She bites her lip but not out of indecision. Something else. “No.”

“Simmons?” He wonders where his partner has gone. “We’ve still got the report to finish.”

“No, they have the report to finish. We’ve done our part.”

“Simmons-”

“No, Fitz.” She shakes her head. “We’re not going to go up there and do their work for them when they couldn’t even have the decency to listen to your ideas. So we’re going to leave them to figure out, and they can see how funny their little jokes are then.”

“They won’t know-”

“They’ll just have to learn,” she says decisively. She squeezes his knee gently and stands up, brushing off her jeans. “I’m suddenly starving. How about we go and get some lunch?”

He’s lucky to have her. To leave the fate of the project in the hands of those two… it must be eating her up inside. “We can go back up if you want. I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t be. I’m hungry.” She holds out a hand. “What do you say?”

He grins, taking her offered hand. “Lead the way.”

#aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fic #fanfic by moi #olesya #thank you oh so much for requesting this! #it was so light and definitely a good way to procrastinate! #i'm so sorry it took me so long but you know what it's like #i like how i've managed to post two things this week and then probably won't have time to for ages #well i'm hoping i will but it's so hard right now #we shall see though! #anyways #hope you like it you wonderful bean <3

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Charles Schulz vs Andrew Dobson: What a Blockhead!

There are certain things about Dobson’s behavior and particularly his approach at being a nerd and presenting himself as someone who enjoys the art of storytelling that I have issues with. Issues I want to tackle on in more detail within later entries quite a bit.

One such tendency is, that he mocks directly or indirectly the work and accomplishments of others.

See, if Dobson doesn’t like you as a content creator because he does not like something you work on, he will try to show it. He will make stupid assumptions of you (like how he accused Kojima of being a sexist creep because of Quiet and how he deals with “male gaze” in MGS compared to Death Stranding), half heartedly mock you (look at anything he makes about Ethan Van Sciver) or he will call a piece of work boring and dull based on a minor element instead of overarching problems (calling Batman the character a white supremacist based on the dumb work of only one author).

By doing that he also tries indirectly to insinuate that he is better in some manner, though most of the time it really just shows his own ego and that his pet peeves are rather petty compared to the overall quality of the work he criticizes as well as its flaws.

One such sight of ego boosting while mocking the work of his better is in my opinion to be found in this comic he uploaded sometimes around 2016/17 randomly online.

This comic in my opinion is both laughable and insulting. Why? I will explain soon.

First however I want to clarify that I get that this comic is supposed to be a joke mostly. The old “What others expect, what I expect” thing, where the punchline is supposed to be the discrepancy between the two fractions and what they expect, mostly by making one of the expectations come off as worse than the other. However, I find the punchline to be Charlie Brown (and as such what Dobson seems to see as something he does not want to be favorable compared too) quite insulting. Why, as I said, will be elaborated on sooner.

First, let me just get on the part I find laughable: The fact that Dobson in his own head seems to believe he can be even remotely compared to people like Paul Dinni, Bruce Timm, Greg Weismann, Justin Roiland, Miyazaki, Shigeru Miyamoto and all the other character creators and animators whose creations we see in the first panel.

 Dobson, don’t make me laugh. Putting aside the fact that those people are animators more than cartoonists, what makes you even believe in your wildest dreams you are on the same level as them? The fact you too are an animator, seeing how you graduated from an art school with a degree in that field? I have seen your contributions to the field and honestly, I would expect a bit more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0tdWNCrIxo

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ps6PfiUCxHQ

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PyonOqClf8

 I give you credit, you can animate. Which is more than I can say for myself when it comes to the arts. But when you look what other freelance animators can do online, some of them younger than you and NOT with a degree in animation…

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=64&v=FmkAcGz1BJk&feature=emb_title

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97IfPfjSaDg

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eEUoxQ4qSfs

 Viviepop’s demo reels alone are just gorgeous to look at and more fluid than what I have seen of you. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFlha-KOKCc

 And it is not just the technical quality, Dobson. It is also just the overall “originality” of your work. Cause this is the thing with those animators hinted on in the first pic and even many, many freelancers/fanartists as well as webcomic creators online: They have a spark of originality in presentation and storytelling that you lack. I will one day go more into detail for that, but here is the most brutal thing I can say at the moment: I know shitty porn fanfictions, that have more plot development and character growth than all of Alex ze Pirate.

Your characters and stories tend to be derivative and you barely take any risks in telling a story. Neither in your fanbased work (like the Miraculous comics) nor your original content (mostly because you take comfort in four panel strips anyway)  and when you have an idea for something on which the basis idea actually sounds good, you screw it up by a lackluster execution. One example I want to give for that, would be this fanart of yours in regard to Steven Universe.  

(I apologize for not getting one in better quality) This pic was something Dobson created around 2015 for Steven Universe. The picture is supposed to show Lapis, trapped under the ocean following the events of the season 1 finale of the show. A very emotional situation if you are aware of why Lapis sacrificed herself and was “banned” to the ocean floor. Short explanation: Fused with Jasper and then took primarily control of the fused being they became (Malachite) by using her water powers to bond it with heavy water chains on the ocean floor, so that Jasper would not hurt Steven anymore.

 How much of that was even an emotional strain on her and her psyche was in one episode of season 2 even a theme, as seen here.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK3l8mGNhMg

 I am not even a fan of the show and I get the emotional weight and impact of Lapis actions.

So… why is that not conveyed in the artwork? If you are so talented Dobson, why is none of the strain and despair on the character? The idea of a pic showing Lapis under water, longingly looking up, even in despair is a good basis for a fanart. But the execution lacks any emotional detail. You want to know how I would execute the thing if I had the artistic talent? Make the picture a huge horizontal pic, where we slowly decent from water surface down the ocean. The light getting dimmer. Blue turning into dark. The silhouette of a hand and an arm similar to Malachite’s in the background, trying to travel up, the fingertips barely touching the surface. Heavy chains around the flesh. Symbolic of the fusion trying to break free and cause havoc. And down on the dark bottom, beaten and exhausted Lapis with tears in her eyes and chains all over her body like she is Jacob Marley, desperately trying to keep Malachite at bay for the sake of the only being on earth who ever showed just a little bit of kindness towards her.

 Why can’t we have something like this here, Dobson? If you were even remotely as original as the creators you want to be compared with, I think you could come up with something like that and perhaps even draw it.

But you know, his delusions of being as good as them is one thing. It is even funny.

Pissing over the Peanuts is another. Dobson, what are you trying to hint at?

That people comparing you to Charles Schulz and his creation is in your eyes automatically a sort of insult? That it is something that should at best only be a mockable punchline in a comparison?

Just to clarify a few things: I am NOT much of a fan of Charlie Brown and the Peanuts as a property. As a child, I was just not very entertained by them. Yes, I saw animated movies, episodes and specials of them here and there and my grandparents gave me volumes of them to read, but as a whole I never thought them quite as entertaining than other comics or cartoons I watched. Some parts of Peanuts animation felt to me often times like just dead air (especially parts of Snooby dancing with Woodstuck, as they had no function to move the plots forward) and I really could not stand how some characters treat Charles on a regular basis. I mean, we all agree that Lucy is one of the worst female characters in fiction and that even while we hate Family Guy, this clip likely gave some of us some sort of satisfaction, right?

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZkJAx8FycI

 But before the Peanuts fan out there go and want my head on a silver platter, let me make one thing clear: I may not like the Peanuts franchise… but I respect it and the man behind it.

 Charles Schulz drew the comic strip from October 1950 till late 1999 (the final strip being finished months before it would be published on February 13 of 2000, one day after he died of colon cancer) , creating a total amount of 17,897 Peanuts’ strips. His work marks a major impact in the nature of newspaper comic strips and inspired many people out there, including Bill Watterson, to create comics or be in the field of animation. His achievements include among other things, that he created what many people consider the first animated Christmas special ever. The names of his creations became nicknames for the Apollo 10 command module and its’ lunar modul. Four of the five Peanuts movies in existence (animated made for tv specials not withstanding now) were written by him. And the fifth was only not by him, because that one came out in 2015, a decade and a half after he died.

And speaking of things Schulz wrote for the Peanuts, let me mention two things. Two things that though I am not a fan of the Peanuts, I have mad respect for existing in the realm of animation. Two animated specials that stuck with me ever since I was eight.

 “What have we learnt, Charlie Brown?” from 1983 and “Why, Charlie Brown, Why?” from 1990.

 In the first special, which functions as a semi sequel to the fourth Peanuts’ movie “Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown”, the characters actually travel across France and after ending up on Omaha Beach and Ypres the special turns into a tribute to the soldiers who fought in World War 1 and 2, elaborating on the sacrifices made during the war by showing actual footage of fights, recordings of Eisenhower and reciting the poem “In Flanders Fields” among other things. Do you know how impactful it is to learn about the world wars as a small kid, by being reminded of the actual sacrifices others made in order for your own grandparents to survive?

 And speaking of grandparents, I lost my grandmother as a child by cancer. So when I saw the second special I mentioned, you can bet it stuck with me. After all, of all the things in the world, the Peanuts addressing the seriousness of cancer by having a story where a friend of Linus is diagnosed with leukemia and we follow the emotional impact it has on Linus and the girl? Again, I may not like the franchise, but I am not ashamed to admit I think the special treats the subject with a lot of respect and dignity while telling a good story. You bet your ass I get a bit teary eyed when the little girl survives her leukemia treatment and finally gets on that swing again. Those two specials alone are more mature than ¾ of the shit Dobson likes to gosh about, including his oh so precious gay space rocks. And just for those things existing I have respect for Schulz, his creation and the impact it had on so many people. As such, Dobson “belittling” the Peanuts, at least for me, is a freaking insult. The only way Dobson could have been even more insulting is if he called Schulz something derogative.  Dobson should be glad if his life’s work in total could even amount to 10% of what Schulz has done and achieved.

 Cause Dobson, you are NOT a Charles Schulz. Schulz served during the second world war on the front, fighting actual Nazis instead of calling idiots on the internet fascists for not liking Star Wars. He had integrity and work ethics that drove him to draw and write over 17.000 strips, while you can not even finish one FREAKING story. He knew how to tackle a mature subject, while you make shitty shipping jokes involving Ladybug and Cat Noir and claim Steven Universe knows how to be about psychological trauma, when it just romanticizes abuse. He may have drawn simplistically, but at least he could tell a joke instead of constantly berating others for not sharing his opinion. He did all of that and more without having graduated from college.

 And what have you done, Andrew Dobson?

If Dobson reads this, there is one thing in my opinion he should take away from more than anything else: That if people compare him to Charles Schulz’s work, that it means a) he should not be ashamed of it and b) they overestimate him.

#adobsonartworks #andrew dobson #so you are a cartoonist #syac #sjw #peanuts #charles chulz #charlie brown #snoopy #fuck you #animation #steven universe #disney #cartoons #cartoonist #adobsonartwork

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Four

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

July 4th, 1998

Emile watched the scene unfold in front of him in slow motion. Faith had told one of the bullies that she wasn’t going to take anything else they wanted to dish out, and the guy pushed her backwards. She stumbled back a step, but rushed forward, pushing back just as hard, and the bully staggered backwards two steps. He turned red, bringing his fist back to swing.

Faith reacted quickly, bringing her shin up to the guy’s crotch. Emile couldn’t even step in to try and break it up, he was in so much shock. He felt so utterly powerless. Not only to help, but to stop the fight from happening in the first place.

  May 26th, 2001

Emile felt completely powerless. There he was, five feet away from his boyfriend who was in the middle of a panic attack, and Remy’s mother, the bitch, was trying to get Remy to come with her. Emile wanted to move forward, to comfort Remy, to change his mind, but his feet felt glued to the asphalt he was standing on. He felt like he might cry, or like his heart might shatter and he would never recover.

Remy was looking at his mom with a mix of fear and hope, like she could somehow save him or wave away all his trauma. The blood roared in Emile’s ears as slowly Remy stood on shaky legs, and hugged his mother. She walked over to Emile, and Emile just stood there, looking her over. She frowned at him. “I need to get Remington’s things,” she informed him.

“And clearly I need to get off this bad acid trip,” Emile said. “Because I’ve never known Remy to hug people he’s afraid of before. Ever.”

“Remy isn’t afraid of me,” Remy’s mother scoffed. “If anything, he’s learning where he fits in the family. It took him long enough, but he’s coming around.”

It was Emile’s turn to scoff. “Right. Because he would clearly tell you how he feels about you if it was anything remotely negative. Of course. There would be no backlash for that, I’m sure.”

“Of course not, I encourage all my kids to be honest with me,” Remy’s mother said.

“Bullshit,” Emile growled. “I bet the second they come to you with a problem you either make it their fault for not doing what you wanted them to do, or you guilt trip them into taking whatever they said back. Remy, how close am I?”

Remy was shaking and glaring at Emile. “Let it go, Emile,” Remy warned.

“You know me, Rem. I never let anything go until I feel like it’s been fixed. And this is not a solution. At best, it’s a band-aid over a bullet wound,” Emile said.

Remy’s mother tried to forcibly move Emile to the side, but Emile just stood in place, a smile slowly growing on his face. “You’re not getting Remy’s things, not if I have a say in it,” Emile said.

“You don’t have a say in it,” Remy’s mother snarled.

“Don’t I?” Emile asked.

“You don’t,” Remy said, voice sharp and angry. “Let it go, Emile. Let me go.”

“No,” Emile said. “Even if you leave with your mother, I will never stop thinking about you. I’ll never stop trying to write, to find you, to show you that I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world, Rem. And whether or not we’re just friends, or something more, we’ll always have a certain connection between us. And I, for one, am not willing to give that up.”

Remy’s mother sneered at him. “You’re going to burn in Hell,” she informed him.

“Hell will be fabulous, covered in glitter, and I’ll have any guy I could possibly want,” Emile replied without missing a beat. “Although, considering I’m Catholic, you know, I might actually be going to Heaven. I don’t think just being gay will land you in Hell. Purgatory, maybe. Maybe I’ll spend a little longer in Purgatory than I would have otherwise, but you know what? That’s completely worth it.”

“Emile,” Remy said. “Please, stop.”

“Why should I?” Emile challenged.

“Because I asked you to,” Remy said. “I’m not comfortable in this situation. I’m calling it.”

Remy’s mother turned to Remy. “Since when do you talk about your feelings?” she asked. “That sort of thing is completely unnecessary.”

“Wow, I see where he gets that from,” Emile muttered.

“What?” Remy’s mother asked, turning back to Emile. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Emile said with a wave of his hand. “After all, I’ll respect Remy’s decision to not want to talk about it.”

“You’ll tell me what that meant, right now!” Remy’s mother demanded.

An idea formed in Emile’s mind and he widened his eyes with false innocence. “But ma’am, if I did that, I’d be considering you more important than Remy.”

“Remington answers to me,” Remy’s mother spat. “He listens to what I and his father have to say, and he can make his own choices once he’s listened to what we want him to do. He’s free to do whatever he wants, so long as it’s within our plans for him.”

“And there it is,” Emile said, feeling completely vindicated. “Remy is a second-class citizen in your eyes. You come first, and he comes second. Maybe third, or fourth, depending on what his siblings say, isn’t that right?”

“Children are to listen to their parents,” Remy’s mother growled.

“Yeah, when they’re twelve,” Emile said. “Remy is, to use his own words, a ‘grown-ass man.’ He’s old enough to make his own choices about his life, and you’re stripping that right from him. Children have to listen to their parents when they are still children, because their parents generally keep them from doing something stupid that would hurt the kids. But once that child is eighteen, they’re a legal adult, and they’re allowed—no, they’re encouraged to make their own decisions. If Remy makes the choice to go back to you, that’s his choice. But if you strip him of his ability to make his own choices, then you are the one in the wrong.”

“And yet you were trying to take away my choice earlier by saying I couldn’t go back to my mom and dad,” Remy said. “You’re a hypocrite.”

“Yeah? Well, at least I’ll admit to my mistakes, unlike someone in this parking lot,” Emile said, glowering at Remy’s mother.

“When did you admit you were wrong?” Remy scoffed.

Emile looked at Remy. “Every time I’ve yelled, or moved too fast, or made a sudden noise that scared you. When I tried to figure out the logistics of getting a giant sofa into the apartment and you informed me it would never fit through the door.”

“But not when it comes to my family,” Remy said. “You never say you’re wrong when it comes to my family.”

“I’m...not wrong when it comes to your family,” Emile said.

Remy made an offended noise. “You’re not even open to constructive criticism when it comes to your opinions on...virtually anything. Especially cartoons and my family, though.”

“Well, you hardly give evidence to support your claim that your family isn’t as bad as you claim, and you just get mean when you insult cartoons,” Emile said, crossing his arms. “And no, providing you with food and shelter doesn’t mean that your parents were good. That’s a requirement of being a parent. Not something optional you get when you behave, or because your parents feel ‘generous.’”

Remy’s mother snarled, “Move out of the way so I can get my son’s things and we can leave!”

Emile stared down his nose at Remy’s mother. “Ma’am, I say this with as much respect as I can muster, but go to Hell.”

“Emile!” Mom snapped at him. “You can’t say that to anyone!”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?!” Emile asked. “Should I give her a customer service smile and let her hurt Remy?!”

“Once again, you’re hurting me more than she ever has!” Remy exclaimed.

Remy’s mother turned, shocked, to Remy. “You don’t genuinely believe I’ve hurt you?”

“Wha—no! That’s the point!” Remy said, but Emile could see Remy’s tells, and he was definitely lying. And his surprise meant that he wasn’t doing it as well as he usually did. “You haven’t hurt me at all, and he’s hurt me plenty of times!”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, Remington?” Remy’s mother said. “You’ve always had the exact same face when you lie, from back when you were four years old to now.”

“Okay, so maybe you’ve made me feel bad once or twice, but—”

“When?!” his mother asked. “When have I hurt you?!”

Remy looked like a deer in headlights. “At the coffee shop?” he said. “You scared me out of my wits. And at Thanksgiving, trying to get me to change my major—”

His mother cut him off again. “I was helping you!”

“No, mom. You weren’t,” Remy said, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

His mother was eerily still, and Emile knew that whatever happened next was going to get ugly. “Oh, I see,” she said. “I’m the villain, here. After all these years, you’re still ungrateful for everything I’ve done for you. I made sure you were happy, and that you would fit in with others your age! All those times you were upset when I might take some childish thing away from you, it only took you the next day to recover and it was like nothing ever happened! Do you want to be like your ‘friend’ here and be stuck in the past, watching children’s shows for the rest of your life? I was so relieved when you outgrew your comics phase. You would never have had friends if you had kept that up.”

Emile was ready to strangle Remy’s mother. Not even over insulting his love of cartoons, but for her blatant disregard of Remy’s feelings. It was completely unfair and cruel. Remy removed his hand from his mouth, but his eyes were glassy.

His mother scoffed. “Crocodile tears don’t work on me, Remington, and besides, no one likes a crybaby. They’ll train that out of you in the military.”

Remy was shaking all over, and he muttered, “So that’s where I am. A rock and a hard place. Fantastic.”

“Why are you even entertaining these people?” his mother asked. “We can get you new clothes, you don’t need anything in that suitcase of yours, anyway. Let’s go.”

Remy didn’t move.

“Remington,” his mother prompted. “We’re leaving.”

“I thought...” Remy cleared his throat. “I thought you said you’d be proud of me. Well, I’m doing what you wanted. Why are you still treating me the same as always?”

His mother scoffed. “You don’t get special treatment over your brother or sister. This is the way your father and I treat them, and so it’s how we treat you. Just because you make us proud doesn’t mean your place in this family moves.”

Remy blinked repeatedly. “But...but you always treated me like I was a problem child. If I listen to you, I’m not a problem anymore. I get my own spot at the table when we make decisions.”

“Remy, you clearly don’t know what’s best for you on your own. I’m glad you came to your senses and decided to listen to me, but you can’t be trusted to know what’s best for you. Toby and Vanessa barely know what’s best for themselves, after all these years. They get their opinions considered, but you have to work a while before you get to that point,” his mother explained.

Emile stayed silent, and didn’t move, even though he wanted nothing more than to kill Remy’s mom then and there. Remy was staring at her with hurt, and shock, and betrayal. “Even if you’re proud of me...you get the final say in my life? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes, you’re finally beginning to understand!” Remy’s mother exclaimed.

Remy looked down, before looking back up, saying, “No, Mom, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you get the final say in my life.”

“Because I know you best!” his mother exclaimed.

Remy laughed. “Mom, you don’t even know that I can cook. You set me in front of the stove and said I was old enough to make my own food, and I found I had a knack for making meals, but you never once thought to ask how it was going. If you ever saw me eating something I made you accused me of ordering take-out, because there was no way I’d be able to make something like that, of course. You don’t know me. At all, I’d say. Why should you get to control my life when you don’t even know me?”

“Remington, don’t you dare backtalk,” his mother said.

Remy bit his tongue, pulling a face. “Yeah. No,” he said. “Misses Thomas, I’m sorry for having you drive me all the way out here. Clearly, this was a mistake.”

Emile’s heart soared with hope. “Does this mean you’re staying with us?”

“It means we’ll be having a very. Long. Talk,” Remy warned. “But if I’m not going to be respected at home, then I’m not going home. Sorry, Mom.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

[blue-shadows-in-the-night]

Here’s a long story from when I started playing real Multiplayer games

When I was in my Sven-Coop phase on my teen years I met a guy named Sagas who I kind of befriended because he seemed chill and also because he had a Gmod server and I wanted to play Gmod but my internet was super trashy and wouldn’t let me join most of the servers available at the time, but for whatever reason his server would work fine (less than 150ms so it was still usable) so I was like “Okay cool now I can play Gmod with someone” and everything seemed fine. We did a bunch of silly stuff at first, just killing each other and building stuff and whatnot and I even invited a friend of mine to join us and we played together for a while.

But then Sagas started to get... weird. He would randomly kill us from afar even while we were not on PvP mode. We attributed that to just random trolling. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then, when we started trying to do Roleplays, he would get all creepy and try to lure us to places where he would randomly pull out a gun and kill us and then pretend to hide the bodies. Keep in mind we were all 13-16 at the time. Whenever we tried to hide and just do our thing he would eventually show up and creep us out by staring or moving stuff for no reason and stay silent whenever interacted with. Those things made my friend not want to play with the guy anymore and actually insulted him repeatedly for being a creepy jerk.

So Sagas apologized but my friend didn’t buy it because it wasn’t the first time but I was on my phase of “Gotta give lots of chances to people because a few are not enough, especially at our age” so I fell for the scam and bought it. Then some time later Sagas opened the Gmod server again and we would build random stuff like robots made out of crates and such (his creepy behavior would continue however, but only limited to staring at me silently, very occasionally breaking something I had on my construction and pretending it wasn’t him) so I just kept on going enjoying Gmod on gm_construct like any good kid should.

Then one day Sagas told me he had found a cool new map we could use to roleplay stores and houses and he started talking about how he wanted to make comic strips by taking pictures of the place while it had props and ragdolls and stuff. I told him I wanted to find a nice place and make a gun store in it, because we had a lot of weapons and gun models downloaded that I just wanted to make displays for and the idea of the server going public was in our minds at the time so I just wanted to roleplay as a gun store owner because yeah why not.

I started building my little gun store while he did his own stuff by himself. But he did something I wasn’t aware of. He downloaded a nuclear bomb pack. And he would “accidentally” set them off often. The thing about those nuclear bombs is that the explosion would linger for many seconds, making it so you had to wait if you wanted to respawn. And the most annoying part of it all: The explosion moved ALL props and ragdolls, even the ones nailed or frozen by the physics gun. So he would consistently fuck up my store whenever I was close to finishing it. He did this around 3 times before I told him that I would leave if he did it again (Yeah I had a lot of patience back then) and he told me he wouldn’t do it again. So I just kept on building my store again, but Sagas kept interrupting me just asking me to come out of the store to follow him places. I told him if he was gonna pull the “Shoot you in the head on an alley and then hide the body” bullshit I was leaving and he told me he wasn’t. That he wanted to roleplay.

And roleplay he did. He pretended to be teaching me about parkour, just jumping around on ledges, from roof to roof, etc... and then when I would get bored and go back to my store building he would pretend to deliver packages to me. And all the packages were empty cardboard boxes that he wanted me to open only to find out they were empty. After I would open them he would “apologize” and tell me to follow him to get the “real package” since he had “delivered the wrong package”, and I did follow him a few times to see what the hell he had in mind, but it was always the same “Let me show you about parkour” thing going on and on again. This doesn’t sound like very fun roleplay. Because it wasn’t. And I told him this. He apologized, told me he would let me finish what I was doing, and said he wanted to go build something too.

So then came the last straw.

After I had finished my store, I proudly showed it to him, and he didn’t say much about it other than that it was really well done. He then told me to follow him since he had a “Package for me” and I went with him because I was in a good mood after finally finishing my store. The whole trip was just him parkouring around stuff that was easily walkable around or through, considerably delaying an easily short trip. With me staring in silence because I had nothing to say to that obnoxious display. So he told me to enter a house with him and follow him to the roof. There he had a table set up with yet another cardboard box. He told me this one was the one he wanted to show me all along. “The one with the real package inside”. I asked him what was inside, and he told me “That is part of the test.”

“What test?” I asked him, now expecting the worst. He then proceeded to explain to me the point of all the parkouring and killings and stuff. He had been roleplaying as “An elite assassin working for a very secretive organization that has caught an interest on me and wants to put me to the test to see if I am good material for them” and that this was the last part of the test to see if I was worthy of joining. I obviously told him this was stupid and that he could have just told me he wanted to roleplay a weirdo from the beginning, making it less creepy for me. To that he responded with “You needed to be kept in the dark or else you wouldn’t have done things naturally.”

So I asked him what this last test was about. And he told me that all I had to do was open the box.

I told him I didn’t want to open it. He pulled out a revolver and pointed it at me. Told me to open it, told me to “Demonstrate loyalty.” I told him to fuck off, and he then shot the box with the revolver.

And my suspicions were confirmed. It was another fucking nuclear bomb.

Which meant my store was destroyed once more.

He told me I had failed the test.

I again told him to go fuck himself and disconnected.

He DM’d me to explain that he was just having fun and thought I was having fun too. I told him he was a psychopath. He said “Yes. I kind of am xD”. I blocked the shit out of him and never saw him again.

I played online Gmod a few more times in the future, but only with people I knew were actually chill, and not someone I had just met.

#long post #longpost #half life #half-life #story #gmod #garry's mod #i was bored so i just wanted to share a weird story i randomly remembered