#And would love to yammer with folks about it if they wanted

[belethlegwen]

You are so wonderful and I hope things smooth out for you sooner rather than later. Obviously you should prioritize yourself first (god knows we all have sooo much good fic of yours to reread), but it leads me to a question I’ve been too shy to ask 👉👈 how do you feel about recursive fic about your fics/characters? Would you be ok with us sharing it with you/others, crediting you for the creation of such good characters of course? I have serious Stranding/Rescue brainworms and it’s making me want to write drabble & fluff for the first time in a long time 💕 of course it’s fine if you’d be more comfortable with me not posting it — either way, thank you soooo much for sharing this lovely world & worldbuilding & all the characters within. I will be rotating them in my head for years no matter what 🙇

Hello and good morning! Or afternoon, I'm not sure. I'm drafting this answer over a late breakfast because I got a precious day of sleeping-in and I'm still thinking deeply about it.

Firstly: I want to hug you so tight (if you were down) because this is wildly sweet and flattering, thank you so so much for reaching out at all even just about the works, but the wishes that things smooth out are highly appreciated ;-; We're looking… solid? Right now? But there's still so much up in the air and hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I won't bore you with it, it's not the reason I'm drafting this out.

ABOUT RECURSIVE WORKS [very long, read under the cut, tl:dr summary at the end]:

I would love it. I would genuinely, honestly love it, with the caveats that you laid out that proper credit would be given (thank you so much you lovely beautiful soul), that it be clarified wherever it is shared that it's based on characters/settings/storylines of the current works, but truly importantly that it would clarify that the works are actively still being written at this time.

That's my biggest hesitation, if I'm being honest. The stories are both at this time unfinished (they are all unfinished, I am a creature with heavy need to process things through writing and, quelle surprise, I am never truly finished processing anything, new shit just needs to get processed, wheeeee) and being that they're unfinished, there's a chance that any recursive work could hit on a scene/plotpoint/moment that I've already got plotted out for the future. I'm not Neil Gaiman or anything, I'm not planning to make money off of this work, so it's not my concern that you or anyone else is gonna turn around and try to sue me for stealing something or whatever-- that's not the problem. I just don't want you or anyone to feel at that point that the effort you put into something was then copied and put in the main work or something.

It's an odd situation. The odds of it actually BEING a problem I know are astronomically low, but I didn't get to where I am today without chronically overthinking everything.

I love that you have a desire to create, and I do not know who you are-- I don't know if you already have projects and characters of your own and just want to branch out with something familiar-but-new, but I want to encourage you to use this energy and focus for writing all the same. If you can put it into your own works, hell yeah, but also: yes I would be flattered if you used my dorks and their silly little worlds. It's just the concern where I'm not finished with the stories yet. I just am, again, overthinking and overworrying, likely, but if I could stop doing those things then life would presumably be easier.

I would be absolutely down for like, experimental works I believe is the best term for what I'm looking for. Characters and stories based off of my works that are wholly new. Want to write a refracted AU about Melinda and Hank in Space? Fuck yeah, yes. Though I mentioned this to Zip and they immediately told me No, We're Doing That One and we laughed about it for a hot minute, so maybe not exactly those names hahaha

I guess another question here is, if you were to put in the effort and the focus and the pride of writing something based on my characters, of a scene you had in your head, and got through the beauty and pain of creation to get it down and then put it out there, how would you feel if something similar then happened in the main work? Not the same, not based on what you did, but that similarity still there and still noticeable at least to you. Like if someone had written (before I had posted them) something similar to Melanie being involved in a Naval battle, even though I have the receipts that that arc was written in November of 2022 and only finished posting in September 2023, I don't know how they would feel to still see that like, a similar idea had been there.

On one hand, personally, I love being in the G/t community and reading other people's works when I have the spoons and focus and time to do it, because I love that something as simple as "small person falls and big person catches them" permeates the ideas so often, and what that can mean to dozens of different creators. Refracting the same light through a diamond and watching the facets all scatter it differently, etc etc. It's beautiful. It makes me happy. But that's a personal thought, and I know how deep and personal writing can be. I know how much the process of creation can mean to the individual. I don't want you to go through that, to write something beautiful even if just for yourself, and then think in some possibility later that because I did something similar I was trying to do it 'better' or whatever. It's not the case, it's never the case.

So, after chatting about this with people I love in this community (I love you Zip and Kelly <3), I think the solution is: If you want to chat with me about the like, basic bare-bones of the ideas you might have just to give me a heads up, and I can let you know if it's something that'll be in the main works soon and if I'd rather you wait on something, or if I'd go 'oh fuck yeah, go ham', I would adore to chatter away with you about it all regardless. I'd love to chatter with you about writing in general! My characters, your characters, whatever. I'm down. Please feel free to hit me up and I'll get back to you whenever I can <3

Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for the sweet message and the ask!

Cheers,

~ Belle

[TL;DR]

When it comes to recursive works I'm interested and open to them provided they're not something major/heavy I'm planning to tackle too soon in the future canon, as the works are still being written and posted. I am always down to receive DMs about writing, and would prefer to get messages about the recursive fic ideas (as vague as you'd like them to be!) just so I can give a quick yes/no on if it's something I'd rather you wait on until I can get it out myself, or whathaveyou. I don't see this being a huge problem, and if you're good for chatting then I'm positive we'll have a good time with this <3

Writing recursive fics for my existing, in-progress works means agreeing to the caveats that credit be given to me and the existing works, and clarifying when posting that the fic is not canon and the works they're referencing/possibly based on are still in progress/being written. It also means accepting that there is a chance that things tackled in your fics may be similar to things that have not yet been posted for said works.

When it comes to experimental fiction based on my characters, settings, or plot: hell yeah go full 50 Shades if you want to. File the serial numbers off of it and/or write something New Enough. It's what I did to Jonathan Swift, please feel free to do it to me hahaha.

Shortest answer: Yes, just send me a quick message first <3

[imaginethezeldaverse]

May I request some headcanons fo Darunia? If you aren't too busy of course)

Oh you mean my dad? The Goron who raised me? The whole reason I love and appreciate the Goron people in the first place and is legit the OG Big Guy (that's not an exaggeration either, Gorons had their first appearance in Ocarina of Time - MY first Zelda game). Of course I've got headcanons for you!

His sense of duty and Goron pride is limitless. He's chief for a reason and he acts the part in every sense of the word. A Goron who is very much about taking care of his folks. From leading all of Goron City to prosperity however he's able to to even giving his own life to try and save every single one of his people from Volvagia.

Darunia owned a replica of the Megaton Hammer. Its visage and creation was a combined effort between himself and Biggoron. Darunia hatched the idea to have it made shortly after Young Link destroyed King Dodongo. Fearing that they would run into another situation where their food supply would be cut off, Darunia made sure to have a means to destroy obstacles that threatened Goron City - a myth from Goron legend that the chief saw fit to make a reality. Combined with Biggoron's master steel craftsmanship and a bit of magic that he had imbued into it, Darunia saw to it that no one would be able to wield the ‘Megaton Hammer’ save for himself and Biggoron. It isn't until he awakens as the Sage of Fire, after Link destroys Volvagia in the Fire Temple and ultimately returns the actual Megaton Hammer to the Gorons, that he is able to summon and wield the real thing.

He is a bit of a hard ass. He's not quick to accept help if he doesn't want it (as we saw in Ocarina of Time), mostly because he feels as chieftain of the Gorons, he's capable of doing whatever it is he needs to do on his own. Darunia is incredibly strong, he's aware of this, but that strength can make him stubborn, and it takes him an inane amount of time to admit his shortcomings on a personal level. Being a leader everyone looks up to makes it hard for him to show vulnerability. When he's in a good mood though, he can be a little impish. Loves to give noogies and bear hug at any given opportunity. Definitely need to watch out for those hearty head pats lest ones end up in the ground.

During his time as chief, he remained undefeated in the Goron track races. All that raw power he possesses showed when he was able to launch himself at speeds that left even the heads of other Gorons spinning. His son, Link, was very fond of watching his father race - it was an activity of interest that he shared with Darunia - and the two would roll on the track together quite often. When Darunia set off to the Fire Temple to try and save the kidnapped Goron citizens, his son curled up onto the racetrack in the city and rolled continuously (until actual Link's arrival), the action serving as a means of comfort for him knowing his father was potentially heading to his death.

Darunia can't help but dance to lively music due to the royal family! At first Darunia despised showing up for diplomatic meetings with other figureheads to yammer on about the ongoings of Hyrule, but the one year he happened to be at the castle town grounds during a festival. The blaring music with its up-tempo beats had him moving his feet in no time once he caught the rhythm. That's how people learned that Darunia was a pretty animated dancer, and how Darunia himself learned that was his favorite way to destress.

Has wrangled bulls for the farmers in Kakariko Village as well as Talon over in Lon Lon Ranch. Every once in a while they'll get loose, and seeing as how they have big horns and even bigger bodies, no Hylian in their right mind would dare try to round them up themselves. Often that becomes a task they call upon Darunia for, which he actually enjoys doing. There isn't too much on Death Mountain that challenges his strength so being able to go toe to toe with a beast that actually makes him work? He's all in. As soon as people hear the Goron chief pounding on his chest in a battle cry, they know that bull is as good as caught.

[harl3quinade]

writeblr... something?

so i see a lot of folks post wip intros (and i tried that a while back and felt kinda weird about it), but what about finished works?

i have a couple finished novels that i'm not sure i want to bother with trying to publish, self or otherwise. i'm hesitant to post them on ao3 or the like because i'm leery of rights policies and how that might affect any future decision to publish them.

i've shared them with folks close to me, which amounts to all of two people in the world, but i would sort of like to share them/more about them broadly?

ask/tag games kind of bum me out, though. y'all have such intricate and interesting concepts, and i'm over here with my guys set in a real place in the real world doing real things. and like, yeah, they fall in love and stuff, but i hesitate to call them romances. i've learned that the "romance audience" is not my audience.

i'm not sure if i have a point here, i'm just yammering with the vague hope that someone will raise their hand and be like, "yeah dude, totally get you."

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[favoredsouls]

Why'd you change your URL? Did you leave the Collective all of a sudden?

I left a bit ago. Probably a few months back. I just haven't been too in touch with the Collective for a while but still love this blog and wanted to keep it. I found a lot of good inspiration here. It felt like I got distant and didnt participate much with others anymore so figured i would open the space for others with more passion to take part.

Sorry I didn't make a post about it but I honestly didn't want the attention on it. I don't do well with spotlights even if I do love them a bit and I dont handle loud goodbyes well. I messaged Rogue explaining some of this, asked to keep it on the downlow, changed my url and took out the official Collective member part of my description. Really it just came down to "I don't follow the news or participate with the Collective on tumblr or discord anymore." I still follow a lot of them and will like posts and reblog the ones I really like. I haven't had much of a chance to talk to the ones I used to though but maybe ill have time and energy to reach out again. I just haven't been able to keep up with the community or any events that popped up. Which is okay. Just felt like I was doing a solo thing for a while and figured i'd just go and do that actually.

I know you didn't ask but I feel like yammering on a little. I miss it. The people were always so nice and supportive. But it wasn't something I felt the same connection to as before or after I joined. I got distant but thats on me. I changed and figured it wasn't a genuine passion like it used to be. So make space for folks who do have the passion to post more often and talk to people about their ideas and take part in the events and stuff. Thats what the Collective is about and I didn't feel, amongst other feelings and nonfeelings, that I was really engaging with that idea anymore.

Thanks for asking. Its been nice to talk about it a bit. I hope that explains things abit cause I know it must be confusing sometimes. Hope you have a good night!

[monsterfloofs]

Twirls wire, hiii so robots,

Jokes and my absolute love for Castor5 aside, you have another story about a robot having the reader help them after being damaged by reader’s apparent friends. Called reader songbird I think? Do you have anymore info about them? I’m curious about their situation and deeper reasons in the story. And just them in general! If not that’s a-ok! I like them anyways

8O !!!!! YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT V1C3!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!

Oh yeah! I can totally yammer about the behind the stuff for this one!

Before this account I had the idea for a distopian story that ran along the cliche of humans were seen as obselete and robot folk pretty much took over the role as the higher more important life forms.

Not to say humans didn't have a say or jobs, but the high importance ones like bankers, politicians, ceos anything with a huge amount of authority and power where controlled by mechanics.

Humans were unreliable, humans are too prideful, emotional, biased, immoral, ect. That kind of thinking, was what propelled to having Ai put into these ranks to begin with.

Also the fact that humans can pass away and stop working, while mechinical kind can just, keep getting new parts and upgrading.

So Vice, is one of those top dog mechanicals. They have a big umbrella company that controls quite a chunk of things. They gets what they want, essentially.

So they take a fancy in something, or someone, they get what they want.

The offers they can make are simply too good to refuse. Live in a lavish lifestyle your probably wouldn't be able to ever see? Your family is secured, your life is secured. They are security.

Now there is a group of humans that have gone rouge and trying to get a hand back into having a say and making important decisions.

And if someone was in trouble or held in one of their devil binds, the group would try their damndest to get you out of their deals.

Those were probably the friends.

Now Vice is very, aaaah they definately think highly of themself. And knowing KNOWING they didn't reciprocate in kind at being assulted, means that the role the character plays, (you as the protag in the story) means you have more power over them then they even knows.

Vice does not put up with stuff like that normally. They will try and stamp out any resistence under their heel.

So knowing they didn't mess, and they are a bot of their word. Means that them knowing you probably saved them from his wrath. SKSKSKSKSK

The thing I like about Vice is you are definately the shape of what would be their squishy heart. You can sway their choices and decisions if you don't like something that they do. They would absolutely pamper you within what they feels reasonable. Or what they feels won't put you at risk.

And, hang on, this next bit underneathe is a more nsfw topic. So I added a read more.

👁👁

When I mentioned spoiling and things, that also includes items for intimacy. 👀👀👀 Vice would, absolutely buy the top of the line adult extensions and add-ons give you the absolute best they can afford and offer.

All you need to do is ask. :3c

If that's what their songbird wants, their songbird gets the best.

I don't think they would have cared for that kind of thing before, possibly also seen it as somewhat disguisting because their mightier than thou complexe. 🙄 But they would certainly change their tune being romantic with someone they feels very close and protective of. Like I said, you're their heart! You are the squishy soft part of them, that gives their sleek steel and cold exterior life. Actual life.

And also they would rip that city apart if something happened to you. They're kinda intense. ://)c

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Bulwark

I did get that side quest I was yammering about yesterday. That was cool. So was the main quest bits that I got to, honestly.

Hi, Kotallo. ...Wow, you're bitter as shit. Then again, the way your society treats the disabled, can't say I blame you.

So Tekotteh's a bit of a shitlord, huh? Well, I've dealt with the type before. We'll get this; don't worry.

Yes, we could sneak around them. But this is faster. POONK. POONK. POONK. POONK.

ALL HEADSHOTS, ALL THE TIME, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Ah. Nice to meet you, Chekov's Debris.

It's nice that the narrative is handling so many parallels with Aloy's life as an outcast. Heh; if people think she's not all that personable now, they should take a good hard look at Kotallo and see how bitter she could have got, if she hadn't had Rost in her life.

So, yeah, why do I not have the option to flag up to him that I actually got into his precious sanctum of safety and impregnability by climbing a mountain and coming in from the air? Along with a PS of "THERE ARE FLYING MACHINES, YOU DIPSHIT, AND THESE FUCKERS ARE OVERRIDING DAMN NEAR EVERYTHING SO YOU COULD GET AN AIR SQUADRON OF FUCKING STORMWINGS ON YOUR ASSES!"

No, seriously, I WANT THE OPTION TO POINT OUT THE THING ABOUT AERIAL STRIKES. Hell, I could have taken out the entire Bulwark like I've done with every rebel camp I've ever come across; perch on a mountain out of sight and most people's range, and POONK from cover.

But no, we have to deal with Chekov's Debris. I go look at Chekov's Debris.

Yeah, apparently this is going to take more than my plasma arrows to blow up. Okay. Fine. If you're going to make me fire a cannon, you're going to make me fire a cannon. Whatever.

"...That was an unkind comparison" is sending me. Kotallo's a bit of a grumpy-puss but I do love him.

Aha. Helloooooooo Tremortusk. Yeah, Kotallo, you go get those jackasses. I'll take out that thing. Slow time aaaaaaaaaaaand ... POONK to the belly.

Well. That was easy. Buuut Kotallo's not exactly keeping rebel heat off me--

Smoke bomb.

SMOKE BOMB.

I PRESSED R; WHY ARE YOU NOT WORKING?!?

Oh, fuck this. WHAMWHAMSTAB.

Okay. Fine. I get Tremortusk cannon and--

Oh. Thanks, Kotallo. I guess taking out a Tremortusk in two shots and beating a couple of rebels to death earns me some respect.

Tekotteh? Dude? Yeah, your Bulwark is holding for right now, but you know what the best thing is? The best thing in the world is letting you do your smug monologue before we prove how much of an ass you are. Aaaaaaaaaaaand BOOM.

I think I speak for Hekarro and Kotallo and just about every Tenakth that thinks you've been a shithead for years when I say the following: *ahem* Womp-womp.

Yeah, I'll go check on the Sky Clan. Most of them don't deserve what they're getting just because their clan leader's a shitlord.

Oh, we get to call people back from "insubordination" punishment? Awesome!

Dude's climbing a mountain-- Ah! I've been there! On it!

Person grabbed by Stormbird. Iiiiiii ... can't do that yet but give me time. It's in the "For Later" pile.

Really getting the hang of glide-grab-grapple. It's a good thing.

A very good thing, given this quest. If I had to go all the way around, up, and down, this would take forever. Man, I hope we find that poor kid alive.

Fuck.

Oh, great, and now the others are getting attacked. GERONIMOOOOOOOOOO!

Okay, I see no more Glinthawks and yet we've still got the tense music and the quest has not moved ahead. Has it ... accidentally pegged that Shell-Walker convoy as part of this quest? Well, I have a very long-range bow; lemme find out. POONK.

Nope. Oh, come on-- Theeeeeeere you are. POONK.

Yeah, sorry. Thank you for the shiny. You go back to the Bulwark; I'll ... go cross this ravine again to get the bits from that Shell-Walker convoy I took out from ... well, I think "next post code over" might be an understatement.

Right. Climbing. Aaaand ... oh, hey. Folks that got stopped at the outset because ... because storm, apparently.

...Trans person. Not sure if definitely trans girl or trending to non-binary, because all they really say is "When I wanted to wear a woman's armour" (probably because they don't really have the terminology and they're discovering transgender from first principles, same as they have everything else), and there's not that much variation in hairstyles or face paint or anything else, and they haven't identified their gender one way or another, so I won't state for sure that this is a trans woman (even if the hairstyle does trend towards the feminine just on how it frames the face; that generally means little to nothing) ... trans person and it gives me life. I mean, it's interesting to see how it's handled in a world with no real term for it and certainly no way of medical transitioning.

(Side note: wonder what the Oseram would make of any trans people in their tribe. With most of the tribes, and the Tenakth in particular, there's not a huge difference in gender roles. If you can do the work, you do the work. But the Oseram seem to have by and large found sexism, which is why all the Oseram women who want to do basically anything are found outside the Claim, so I do have to wonder what their reaction would be to any trans person.)

Anyway, it's nice that Wekatta is using their experience to basically go, "Yeah, people think I'm weird too; I'm not going to give someone shit about societal norms". Even if it might stand to get Penttoh killed.

Oh. Hi, Rokko. ...Dude, I hope to hell Penttoh survives so you and he can be soldiers together. I'm really hoping this one's a "Aloy partners up with Penttoh and lets him get the flower" rather than a "Aloy saw his body at the very top.

And here's where I got stuck. Gliding--

Nope. Glidiiiiiing...

NOPE. GLIDING.

AAAAAAAARGH. ...*sigh* Gliding.

YES! Okay. And I will quickly scan for that data point I was after--

Aaaaaaand the focus picked up Penttoh fighting for his life; I'd better get moving--

And of course it had to be fucking Leaplashers!

Definitely leaning into parallels with Aloy's life as an outcast. Kotallo, Penttoh, Beta... There are worse things to base side-quests on.

Okay. Yes. Aloy as partner. Now, where's that climbing spot?

Right. Lemme see... Aha! Running jump and Pullcaster! There we go!

And kick over tree so we can both get to the next climbing point. Great. Good!

Aaaaand we made it. And ... I can glide down? All that way? Oooooooooh that's gonna be a viiiiiiiiew...

Hi, guys! No, Penttoh's coming. He just wanted to bask.

Oh, you little shit-- C'mon, narrative impetus says you have to hit him--

HEADBUTT! YES!

Aaaand I was right! Rokko and Penttoh as squadmates!

Erm ... Jekkah? Are you saying he's cute for you or for your brother? Please don't fight over Rokko, okay?

Okay. There's one last data point I want to get before I start prepping for D&D, so...

...That's ... a Tremortusk.

Doing the main quest has opened Tremortusk spawn points!

I CAN WAIT FOR NIGHTFALL AND GET APEX ONES! YEEEEEES!

But first I'm going to get this data point, and then hunt this guy.

POONK once to the stomach...

POONK once to the tusk...

POONK once to the back cannon. Aaaaand done.

Campfire nearby-ish, quick-save, and off I go. But I HAVE TREMORTUSK SIIIIIIIIIIIITES!

(I like hunting unfeasibly big things with precision strikes to weak spots. It's a thing.)

So yeah, depending on how I feel after D&D, I might play more tonight. Alternatively, it might be an all-day Monday thing. I would have started playing sooner, but last night I was kept awake until like 4am by my partying neighbours, and then I woke up at 6am for no apparent reason, and it took an hour to get back to sleep ... so I slept through most of the morning. I guess that's what weekends are for, but the ridiculous part is that I'm still tired. I guess "technically enough" sleep doesn't always count if it's broken sleep.

[let-it-show]

I used to be part of BEH.  I rather naively kept strong with the narrative of wanting Elsa back to Arendelle because, well, I do, and I thought that was the heart of what they wanted too. And to be fair a couple of the members that were around a couple years ago DID want that, I’m not sure where they went off to. The chat was fun sometimes because we would look at new merch and talk about it and I tried to bring positivity if I could but it did honestly get to the point where it was draining because it was so negative, owing at least to one loud mouth who shit herself in anger anytime Frozen...existed, ig. She still does when I come across her, it’s...bizarre. To be clear, I left the discord and did some unfollowing, when I found another member and I had too big of a difference to reconcile in rather huge rl issues. Guess I needed that to make me get out of the drain anyway. But sometimes, I did see their point, when things were not said in rage -  F2 does have problems, and sometimes it gets exhausting when folks also act like it doesn’t. Sending Elsa off does sound a lot like “you’re super different, instead of having a life among the people who love your magic is a beautiful part of every day life, you cannot exist outside of pure fantasy (in the sense of the Frozen Universe lol)”. And that’s so frustrating, because a huge part of Frozen other than the sisters is that Elsa has this magic, but she isn’t cast out, doesn’t have to isolate, doesn’t have to leave. It’s okay to be your much different self and comfortable. Now part of what drew me so powerfully to F2 was the adventure of the magic forest and all that, I won’t try to hide that. I was excited for what would be next. And...it’s just Elsa, separated from her family, AGAIN. She’s already been away from Anna. Watching them reunite and then spend time together after the first movie is so precious, that it flat out sucks that she isn’t there. Elsa and Anna are the entire draw of Frozen, the story is about them together, so it’s like...what? Now she’s not there anymore? And for what? Even with stuff we’ve gotten post F2 there really doesn’t seem like enough to expand on the reason why she is there. The Northuldra are sufficient to go on without her, they did before they were trapped and WHILE they were trapped. Sure, she could learn a lot of history from them, which would be really cool if we got it.  Even Ahtohallan is sort of under-utilized. I LOVED the usage of ice memories in Polar Nights, omg I love that book. That was a really nice story that focused on the sisters, used the mythology the movie was given, made me laugh (I will NEVER get over Kristoff being blown away by Olaf every 30 seconds or whatever), and while it was temporary, ended with everyone in the castle. That’s what I wanted from F2′s end. Go on adventure, learn, return home, then hey! Another adventure! In Arendelle or the forest!  Many people, and OP I’m not dissing you, this is just a widespread opinion, quote the idea of F2 being about learning to accept change in life and growing up and “letting go” a little and that’s great, but I guess that’s not what I found Frozen as a whole to be about. There is just as much value in learning to grow and change WITH the people around you, discovering how much they affect you, and letting the love from them give you strength and courage in the life you already have, not a new one far away (even if Elsa can...go between Arendelle and the forest so quickly on Nokk?) I feel like Frozen Fever and OFA showed this a lot, in various ways. Frozen didn’t feel like the franchise to send someone away on a spiritual journey, is what I guess I’m saying. Elsa’s role was never one I interpreted as absolutely having to have a huge purpose and the 5th spirit thing, even if sometimes I really like the idea, doesn’t make much sense either. She didn’t need that to grow her character.  So I guess to wrap this yammering of mine up...I don’t think F2 ruined the franchise - the pandemic did play kind of a HUGE ROLE, though Frozen is kinda what got me through it - but to say it didn’t kind of bring it down is a little disingenuous to me. The plot was messy, it really was, and people still want to see Elsa and Anna together. Like...general people, not us hardcore fans on tumblr LOL. When I’ve been dressed as Elsa I’ve had numerous kids want to know where Anna is. At my workplace we take cake orders, and there are several different Frozen 2 cakes available - they always want the images with both sisters, or the toy with both sisters. When I shop I always check Frozen merchandise because quite frankly I cannot stop myself, and there’s always a lot of Kristoff and Mattias left...one time poor Kristoff was even UPSIDE DOWN AND ALONE (up is down, he’s lost in the stoooooore).  People absolutely have a reason to dislike and be frustrated with Frozen 2, but seething and hating on it is also kind of yikes. Find a happy medium. When I watch it with my “Anna”, they insist we turn it off shortly after Show Yourself, lol.

I get frustrated whenever I see all those BringElsahome people hating in Frozen 2. I don’t think that Frozen 2 destroyed the franchise or ruined the messenge of the original Frozen.

I would recommend blocking them and their tags. They are incredibly vile towards Jen Lee and bully other fans, love to come up with conspiracy theories about the making of F2 or Jen Lee's personal life, and some users within that group have been proven to be racists. They have taken criticism of F2 beyond the realm of opinion and have made it a toxic lifestyle. They're not worth your time.

As for the opinion of F2 ruining the message of Frozen, I don't agree at all. I've heavily followed the creation of Frozen and Frozen 2, up to release. I don't see anything in F2 that warrants that criticism. It is still very much a story about sisters and their connection to each other. Elsa trying to find her purpose and Anna learning to accept change does not negate this.

As for destroying the franchise...there was literally a global pandemic. F2 sales were affected by that, and fans have been leaving because of a lack of content. The same thing happened to Frozen around 2016-2018, with fans leaving because of a dry period before F2 was in full advertisement swing. Not to mention the backlash Olaf's Frozen Adventure got. Did that film ruin the franchise too? Please. Frozen will be just fine.

[orcinus-veterinarius]

I need to preface that i genuinely dont want to be argumenative or come off as snarky or anything so i hope it doesnt seem that way, i know its easy to misidentify tone over the internet n such

Im just wondering if you're pro captive cetaceans entirely, or just pro "people are going to keep them Regardless so may as well advocate for the best we can for them"

I can't say i'm an expert on those animals in the slightest, but my personal surface understanding is with how large, intelligent, and complex they are, i would immediately venture to guess there's no way to totally ethically keep them in captivity. I could be totally wrong! I will openly admit i watched blackfish when i was younger and while it's stuck with me, i recognize now it's a lot of unnecessary fear mongering and a disgusting play by play of an innocent woman's death. I don't want to say my knowledge wholly comes from that "documentary" especially considering we briefly studied whales in school, but that could also be obscuring my view?

I'm just genuinely curious about your take since you're so passionate about these animals specifically. I can kinda find parallels considering i have a few small parrots, and knowing what i know now i can't agree with the breeding and sale of those animals for profit, but i do advocate existing parrots get the best care they possibly can in households fit for them seeing as you can't just throw them back in the wild.

Don't worry, you're not being snarky! I really appreciate your reaching out. I love to yammer on about whales!

At this time, I do believe it's possible to ethically keep certain cetacean species in human care (for example, bottlenose dolphins). As for others (namely orcas), I think it's a more complicated issue. Many of the facilities housing cetaceans, even ones I support and consider "good zoos," are not all they could be, and I hope to use my future position as a veterinarian to advocate for better, more enriching habitats and more natural social structures. I don't approve of capturing any animals, particularly cetaceans, from the wild, except in circumstances where the animal will die if not taken into human care (i.e. stranded dolphin calves, problem bears and sea lions, cull elephants) or for conservation purposes if a species is in imminent danger of extinction (as was the case with California condors and American red wolves). I think the original orca captures were undoubtedly wrong, but I also believe clamoring to "free" the few remaining wild-born whales and their descendents is very foolish. I do support breeding in accredited zoological institutions, not only for maintaing a viable population in human care, but also since reproductive and parental behavior are extremely important to cetacean welfare. Here's a link to Dr. Holly Muraco speaking informally on the topic.

However, for all the public awe and outrage dolphins inspire, very little actual scientific work has been done on captive cetacean welfare. Folks just seemed to jump straight to "let's release them into dubious sea pen 'sanctuaries' run by people without any practical marine mammal experience" rather than "how do we improve the situations the animals are currently in," the latter of which is a cause both "pro caps" and "anti caps" can and should unite on. Dr. Isabella Clegg is a PhD scientist who's already done a lot of fantastic research into dolphin welfare... you can look at her website here... and I hope future animal advocates follow her example.

Although I don't expect to, I'm always open to changing my mind as I gain more experience and new information becomes available, and I completely respect people who come to a well-informed conclusion against cetaceans in human care and are willing to accept my point of view as well. Thanks for the ask, and I hope this helps!

[thepointoftheneedle]

Paul Engle of the Writer’s Workshop

@sullypants was kind enough to point out that the Writer’s Workshop is the postgrad writing programme at the University of Iowa.  It seemed like an excuse to share this essay about poetry by Paul Engle who ran the course for years.  It is such a great piece about poetry and I thought some folks might like to read it.    It appeared originally in the NYTimes in 1957.

Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power

by PAUL ENGLE 

POETRY is the only one of the arts which comes literally from inside the body a thing secreted as well as made. It is not so much written as it is breathed onto the page. It is possible because in our mortal oddness, we have a jointed jaw which waggles the sounds of love and rage and gloom in the daily air.

Of course all arts come naturally into our life.  Painting is possible because our eyes find color and movement in the world, and our arms can swing through space in many motions.  Music is possible because we have marvelous curled ears that listen every day to multitudes of sounds and we can order them into harmony. Theatre is simply an extension of our yammering, arguing, gossiping, conflicts and love. 

But the materials of these other arts are artificial. Painting uses canvas, brushes, oils. Sculpture has its wood, stone, wires and welding helmet. Music has its manufactured strings, shaped wood and brass. But the materials of poetry are the same common words we use for buying food, complaining about the weather, talking on the telephone, asking our friends on the street, “have you heard this one?” These puffs of meaningful sound, warmed by our heart and lungs are shaped into moving utterances and we call it poetry. 300 years ago Michael Drayton said, “And innocence is closing up his eyes.” The recent English poet Wilfred Owen wrote of an innocent doomed soldier “for his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.” These words are the plain speech of men ordered into art.

The Frenchman in the play was astonished to find he had been speaking prose but he would've been more amazed to find that, like all of us, he had been speaking the materials of poetry. "It hit me like a ton of bricks,” says the startled boy using the manner of poetry. We all raise and lower our voices for emphasis and if that sound could be stained it would have a visible pattern in the air from which meter would come. In one of his energetic, pounding lines Marlowe wrote of Cassandra that the soldiers “Swung her howling through the empty air,” and Othello in his agony to express his hard life's lack of tears said that he was seldom in a “melting mood.” 

This ordinariness of its medium is crucial to the nature and intent of poetry which always wants to make emotion orderly and to make ideas flame. Poetry is hyacinths and biscuits said Carl Sandberg. It is imaginary gardens with real toads said Marianne Moore. The glory and the grit of life join together make poetry, and only language can join them. Not the heart alone. Not the brain alone, for the heart is not deep enough, and the brain is not lively enough. As TS Eliot argued the poet is more civilised as well as more primitive than his contemporaries. It is language which allows him to combine intellectual subtlety with the sensuous touch in the fingertips. "A green thought in a green shade,” wrote Andrew Marvell.  “Green I love you green,” cried the Spaniard Lorca. The great expression of the power that ordered language possesses to combine the extremes of human experience occurs in Wallace Stevens where he says of poetry that it is “an abstraction blooded.” Thought in poetry should beat like an artery a thumb feels in the neck. The poet has his original shock of experience but to tell another person about it he has only words tripping over a page. Yet those words must try to make the feet reader feel, by the intensity with which they are put together, the intensity of the living event. Hence the ruthless obscurity of some poetry, as the poet struggles to make poor words carry the weight of his lucid and complex meaning. Elliot has said that often poems will begin with no words at all but with an undefined rhythm in the mind to which gradually write words and true feelings come. The process is a tough one he writes for “words strain, crack and sometimes break under the burden. Under the tension, slip, slide, perish. Decay with imprecision, will not stay still.” Yet it is that feeble medium in which was written “Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young.” So language becomes illumination, the deep dredged motive quivers in the hard air as if “a Magic Lantern threw the nerves in patterns on the screen.”

Shakespeare candidly said “While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.” He did not call her pretty or blonde or willing although she may well have been all of these but used rather the blunt expressive word. So Sandberg called a woman in love a pot rassler, a 20th century Joan. Lady Macbeth described the men she stupefied with drink “spongy officers.” Hamlet cried out “that skull had a tongue in it and could sing once; now the knave jowls it to the ground.”

Archibald MacLeish called the ocean “that endless silence edged with unending sound” and Hart Crane spoke of it as “this great whisk of eternity.” At the news of the death of Yeats, wrote Auden “the mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.” The Queen appealed to Hamlet “cast thy knighted colour off.” Of Cicero a character commented that he “Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes" Thus language works its rugged way. Reading it one should feel as Dante did when he said to Virgil, “Hardly a drop of blood in my body does not shudder.” Here we are on the colourful Earth held in the rough arms of history jabbering under trees and roofs. Then we suddenly read what Bishop King wrote a long time ago “But heark! My pulse like a soft drum beats my approach tells thee I come,” and after that what e.e. cummings said a few years back “when skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man.” So it is that words become not an escape from life although some ecstatic moments will always be that but a force and nourishment which return is more deeply to the middle of life more aware of that rough and noble human scene of which poetry is a part. “I have wiped away moonlight like mud,” said Wallace Stevens proving again that poetry is ordinary language raised to the nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate tough skin of words.

[sp00kworm]

Aaa okay so I saw this on tiktok, where each time you get your heart broken a heart appears on your face/body, and if one appears on your lips you’re silenced until true love’s kiss. Would you mind writing smth about reader pining after 1A’s big three/Kirishima (you pick idc) and getting heartbroken since the boy goes on dates w other people and not them and eventually has the heart appear in their lips? Tysm I’m sorry 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

[Cont]:  Would Amajiki be okay? Or Fathum. I’m sure I’ll love it either way! Your writing style is just really nice. 🥰

A/N: And now my Boomer ways will be shown. Thank you for the compliment though anon! I hope this lives up to your expectations? Also it was hard to choose here to I went for Tamaki, but rest assured I will write Fatgum soon because I absolutely adore Fatgum. 

Pairing: Amajiki Tamaki/Suneater x Reader

---

Cupid’s Bow Lips

There was a common folklore all around the globe, one about heartbreak, and how the heart would appear on an individual’s skin, looking like odd freckles, small and perfectly formed until their soulmate broke their heart and sealed their lips with a blood red heart. Never had you believed in it, not until you met UA’s Big Three. The three top students in their final year of highschool. To see little Tamaki Amajiki as part of that trio was amazing in your eyes. His quirk was wonderful though. It was no wonder he was so highly ranked within the school. Yet the stark realism showed you that power and numbers would always be apart of your hero lives. Suneater. The hero to consume even the brightest of stars. You could not wait to see how great of a hero Tamaki would become once you all graduated. You’d known him since the first year, Mirio happily bounding over to introduce his recluse of a friend to everyone in the class, bubbly and extremely people fond. In contrast, Tamaki had stood and shivered, offering only a wave before he jumped and was dragged to the next desk with a friend group clustered around. You’d only spoken to him fully once when he needed to borrow a pencil and was too quiet to ask you without vaguely gesturing to your pencil in your own hand during mathematics.

 Mirio had poked his hand through the back of your chair to get you to even notice the floundering dark haired boy.

“C-Can I…borrow a pencil?” Mirio had given him a bright smile and a thumbs-up, ever supportive as you blinked for a moment.

“Oh..Uh…Sure.” You fumbled in your pencil case before offering him a cherry stamped pencil, “You can keep it.” You offered as you went back to following what Ectoplasm was chattering about on the chalk board.

Tamaki blushed at the girly red cherry pencil but nodded his head, “Thank you.” Before looking back at the board, feeling Mirio’s bright smile on his back before a foot poked him in the back. He shuddered in embarrassment, teeth clenched as he tried and failed to follow whatever the hell the equation was Ectoplasm was yammering about.

“FIRST TO THE ANSWER GETS TO LEAVE EARLY.” The pro-hero announced, flicking the chalk rubber in his hand as he settled behind the desk, satisfied with the complexity of the problem for his third years.

 It was easier talking after that. Amajiki wasn’t the most easy to get involved in a conversation, but it was very easy to get him to listen. His grades were good as well, so often you found yourself leaning over to ask him about Ectoplasm’s impossible equations. That was the start of you feeling something different for your classmate. Often Mirio would lean over and poke you in the back, fingers permeating your chair, scaring you half to death during class so Tamaki could ask you something. It got even scarier when Mirio popped his head through your door and invited you down to eat with them. Tamaki was a lot chattier in the company of Mirio and Nejire, two people he trusted completely, and you found yourself enamoured with their little group, although many did not like you tagging along with their famous trio. That became apparent the day you watched Tamaki get approached by a group of girls. Mirio was luckily there to disrupt the flow a little, talking loudly and brashly to let Amajiki hide a little behind his form, yet some were persistent, crowding the boy with requests of things.

 “Amajiki-senpai, how about you go out with Hiroko? She really wants to speak to you about your manifest quirk! She has a similar thing but with mushrooms and I think you would be adorable together.” The girl cheered next to him. You could see the boy shutting down, shivering behind Mirio like a cowering kitten.

The blond gasped and shook his friend, “Come on Tamaki! I think it would be great!” He cheered before nodding, “Of course he’ll go chat to her! His quirk control is amazing.” Dense as ever Mirio encouraged him until the boy nodded and rushed away, seeking anyone to find refuge with away from the screeching crowd of girls. You felt your heart ache as you saw his blushed face and panicked expression.

 Amajiki looked to your locker and panicked when you weren’t there, the door left open as though you had rushed away in a panic. Maybe the girls had gotten to you too? He looked down the corridor shyly, hiding behind the door of your locker before he peered inside. Your textbooks were there and practice uniform, even your school bag. He chewed his cheek as he looked at the pinned-up picture. It was his last birthday party. You were both passed out on top of Mirio’s stomach as he laughed. Nejire had taken the photo for you all before one of herself, peace signing with Mirio’s cheeky smile. Somehow, as he closed your locker door, your bag in hand, he felt like he had done something terribly wrong. Still, he needed to find you, to try and weasel his way out of whatever scary date Mirio had just accidentally set him up on.

 He scoured the school before returning to the dorms. You room was locked.

Cautiously, he knocked, “(Y/N)? You…You left your bag.” There was no reply, “I’ll leave it outside.” He uttered, barely audible behind the door. He considered wiggling a tentacle under the door and letting himself in before shaking and chickening out too quickly. Gently, he placed your backpack against your door and left, sighing and grumbling to himself nervously as he tried to think of a way to avoid going out on a very unwanted date. With a sniffle, you dared to look at the mirror again and the burning, blood red heart that covered your lips. It sealed your mouth shut, the skin hot to the touch and sore. The curves moved over your cupids bow and the tip sat underneath your bottom lip, the skin held tight whenever you tried to speak. You could open to breathe and to eat, but to speak, the skin burned as though stuck together with super glue. The folk tale was true, and you were stuck, cursed to never speak to someone again if Tamaki found his love in this girl. Your heart ached as you looked at the littering of heart shaped freckles over your skin. Your chest was laced with them. You felt tears burn in your eyes as you started to cry again, bawling silently into your pillow, the mirror tossed on the floor.

 You didn’t come to class the next day. Mirio frowned at your seat and at the gloomy looking Amajiki sat in front of him, hair flat and unbrushed as though he hadn’t slept.

“Are they unwell?” Mirio leaned over to ask him at lunch as they stood from their desks.

Tamaki shrugged but didn’t say a word, teeth gritted behind his quivering lips.

“Are you sure you want to go out with Hiroko, Tamaki?” Mirio asked, a large hand resting on his best friend’s shoulder.

In a sudden deep intake of breath, Amajiki span around to face him, “There’s nothing that would upset me more than having to go on a date with that girl.” He covered his mouth soon after and watched Mirio howl with laughter, the blond leaning back against his desk to try and steady himself as tears escaped his eyes.

“Oh…Oh my.” He wheezed, “That’s…Gosh. Here.” He pushed himself upright, “You go and check in on (Y/N), okay? I’ll go and make an excuse for you not to go out, deal?” Mirio smiled mischievously, but Tamaki nodded and fled the classroom faster than he ever had done before.

 The dorms were silent. Everyone was out at lunch. He knew you had to be in your dorm room on the third floor. Only your next-door neighbour has seen you last night. You’d snuck out for a shower very late. Tamaki stood outside your door with a grimace, his fist held close to the wood as he listened to your silent room.

“(Y/N)?” He asked softly, knocking quietly, looking at his feet, “Everyone thinks you’re ill…Are y-you okay?” There wasn’t a reply. He sucked in a breath and summoned the digesting Takoyaki, the octopus tentacle squirming to life on his finger before he reached to the bottom of the door and squirmed it underneath, groping upwards until he could find the lock and handle, flicking the lock open with a clunk before he recalled his finger and opened the door, peering inside nervously in case he saw something untoward, “(Y/N)?” He asked again, looking at the lump laid under the covers of your bed. He dared to come a little closer, hand clutching the covers, giving it a little tug, “Everyone i-is worried…”

Silence. You clutched the covers tight before a tentacle squirmed under the covers, suckers locking tight before Tamaki wrenched the covers away from your face.

 The sight scared him, so much so that he let out a squeak at the sight of your face, tear streaked and lips burning with a red love heart.

“Did…Did someone do this to you?” He asked with a shadow on his face as he dared to look at the sore skin again, fingers twitching as he reached for you before falling short.

You shook your head, a tear dripping down your cheek as Tamaki finally dared to cup your cheek and assess the damage.

His voice shook, “Is…This that… t-that myth about.” He gasped quietly before reaching his other hand to your other cheek, “Do you truly like me that way? I-I didn’t.” Too many thoughts swirled in his head, “I didn’t go out with Hiroko. I don’t like her…not like I like you.” He confessed, thumbs nervously stroking the apples of your cheeks before he took a breath, stealing his nerves before he leaned forwards quickly and kissed your lips, eyes closed tightly in case you should reject him.

 A shocked noise escaped you before you felt the soreness of your lips ease, the heart fading and your lips parting to let you push back against Tamaki. The man gasped when your fingers gripped his shoulders, tugging him closer. The kiss healed your lips. The soreness escaped and your lips were healed. You pulled away from the kiss with a smile and pushed your fingers against your lips.

“I love you.” You wrangled Tamaki close, nuzzling his hair as you clutched the pointed tips of his ears.

The blue haired male gasped before blushing, “Are you…b-better now?” He asked gently, hands clasping your face with concern, teeth gritted awkwardly.

“Better than ever…Thanks to you.” You confessed.

“Then…Would you like to come and get lunch?” Tamaki asked, fingers playing with your shirt.

“I would like nothing more.”

Tamaki stood before reaching for your hand, “I…I-I…” He took a breath, “I love you t-too.” He stuttered out before tugging you along behind him, face blushing red and hands quaking as you clutched him tighter and followed him for lunch.

[gerrycoco]

My entry for Shipwrecked Comedy's Headless Series Fic contest. I've always loved the Socially Awkward Poe video where Edgar and Lenore try to write out the invitation to announce the series. So I figure I'd give it a bit of a twist for Shipwrecked's latest project. I'm posting it here below but I've also uploaded it to my ao3 page.

Summary: Ichabod Crane is new in town (cue John Mulaney voice) and decides he wants to throw some sort of social gathering so he can get to know people that aren't his roommate, the infamous Headless Horseman.

Note: I have no clue how the Shipwrecked gang is actually going to be doing this aspect but it's my Headless headcanon (badum tss) that the Headless Horseman can't actually talk unless he has a head and therefore makes use of AAC (alternative/augmentative communication) in order to communicate with others. The speech language pathology student in me couldn't pass up this opportunity especially since we don't really get to see that kind of thing much in media.

Ichabod Crane’s game night VIP barbecue picnic for neighbors luncheon

Ichabod Crane had arrived in the quaint town of Sleepy Hollow only a few days ago. He was to begin as a science teacher at the highschool in a few weeks. Until then, he hoped to make some connections and possibly friendships with the townsfolk. As of yet this had not proved very successful, his only real connection beyond the most basic of acquaintances was his new roommate.

For lack of a better idea Ichabod decided that he could throw some sort of social gathering for the whole town in hopes of getting to better know the residents of Sleepy Hollow. Well okay, maybe one resident in particular more than others.

Ichabod settled himself at the kitchen table and opened up his laptop. He opened up a blank word document to start writing an invite.

"Greetings fellow Sleepy Hollow citizens...wait no… Sleepy Hollow folk...Sleepy Hollowans?" Ichabod muttered to himself as he typed away, erasing and composing increasingly worse attempts at a greeting.

"Oh my God you've been writing the first sentence for the past 15 minutes please for the love of everything unholy just move on."

Ichabod jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice coming from the living room. Well, not exactly his actual voice. Being the Headless Horseman, his roommate didn't exactly have a mouth to speak with. Instead he used the text to speech function on his phone or a specialized app to communicate verbally when he needed to. Ichabod still didn't understand how his roommate could hear him since he obviously also didn't have ears but he'd learned to stop asking questions. Despite being a man of science he had decided to let it go lest he go insane at the anatomical implications involved in his roommate's literal lack of a head.

"Sorry, I hadn't even realized you were here," Ichabod said, feeling rather flustered.

"Well I was trying to have a nap but who could with you yammering away forever," the Headless Horseman, or HH as Ichabod had started calling him, replied, audibly annoyed. "What are you even going on about anyway?"

"Oh, I'm trying to write up an invite for a party," Ichabod answered.

"You? Throw a party?" HH responded, followed by some sort of odd wheezing sound that might have possibly been a laugh.

“Well maybe not a party,” Ichabod conceded, though he didn’t appreciate his roommate’s tone. “I was thinking maybe more along the lines of a picnic. I hear the weather is supposed to be nice this weekend.”

“The weather is never nice in Sleepy Hollow,” HH stated. “And I hate to break it to you but the only place nice enough for that in this town is the cemetery.”

“A barbecue then?” Ichabod asked, scrambling for different ideas.

“You and what barbecue?” HH retorted. “Besides I wouldn’t trust you near an open flame.”

“Excuse you but I’m a science teacher!” Ichabod exclaimed, as if this explained everything. “I’ve used a Bunsen burner countless times. I can’t imagine it would be very different.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t own a barbecue,” HH reminded him.

The exchange went on for some time, Ichabod throwing out every possible type of social gathering he could think of, only for his roommate to shoot down every single one categorically.

“Well what about a game night? Or maybe even a murder mystery dinner party?” Ichabod said, seriously starting to run out of ideas.

“Dude no that’s totally lame. And before you say it, no Gatsby themed party either this isn’t a film noir or whatever,” HH added, finally coming into the kitchen and sitting down at the table across from Ichabod.

“Ugh you are absolutely impossible!” Ichabod cried out, thoroughly frustrated.

“Why are you even bothering making such a big deal over organizing something?” HH asked. “There’s already the annual bowling tournament that’s happening on Saturday.”

“Are you… are you kidding me right now,” Ichabod squeaked out, suddenly feeling his frustration reach a boiling point.

“Yeah the whole town is gonna be there,” HH explained, completely oblivious to Ichabod’s indignation. “Come to think of it, it's the perfect opportunity for you to properly meet everyone.”

“If you had a neck I swear I’d be strangling you right now,” Ichabod grumbled, slamming his laptop shut and storming off to his room.

Great, another new crazy person, just what this town needs, the Headless Horseman thought to himself before going back to the living room to continue his nap.

[musedblues]

How about a late night cooking session or a museum date with Joe? Either of them would be great! Ahhh I love you sweetie and thanks in advance 🥰💕

Mari! My sweet darling pal! I love you so, and I hope you love this museum centric blurb! 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You were so excited to land a job at the museum. To get to be around your favorite exhibits and be a part of the place that kept stories alive and preserved for all to see. 

But you spent most of your time at the front desk, handing out tickets for entry and directing folks toward the restrooms. It wasn’t the job you’d quite dreamed of, watching dozens of patrons shuffle in and only catching glimpses of an exhibit or two over your shoulder, five days a week. 

But you still got to linger about the museum after the close, and show up early to sit in on private exhibitions. But sometimes you had to miss out on those tours and talks too, to sit behind your desk and take crinkled old cash from strangers in exchange for a day’s pass around your favorite place.

“Are you alright?” A voice caught your attention, as you took a card from a stranger and waited for their information to pass through your computer screen. You were half going through the motions, and half straining to hear a presenter’s talking points going on one massive room away. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” You shrugged, handing the card back to the person across your counter. A man with big warm eyes and soft auburn hair was looking at you with a quirk in his brow. Whether you realized he didn’t believe your dismissal or you just felt swayed by his lingering gaze, you yammered on. 

“I’d just much rather be in there than out here.” You explained, nodding toward the entry of the museum. You reached for the freshly printed ticket and handed it to the man who smiled now, in some kind of understanding. 

“I’ll report all the talking points back to you, on my way out then, yeah?” He grinned while walking away. It was simple small talk, the kind of polite exchange you had a lot of times with a lot of people from behind your desk. You knew he wouldn’t be back round, whether he realized that the exit was out through the gift shop, or not. But something about the way the man smiled and looked you once over while he said it made your heart skip a beat. 

It was perhaps the most exciting part of your day, that minuscule exchange with that very pretty man. People came and went. A couple asked about the lost and found. And someone else asked for directions to another museum. And all the while you couldn’t stop thinking of the handsome stranger. 

The popup exhibit had come and gone, and the speakers wouldn’t be back till the next year, maybe not even then. You stayed behind your desk all the while and only wandered through the exhibits on your lunch break, rushing to see everything in under an hour, to tide you over till the next slim chance you could get. Everything stayed settled in its usual lackluster, until the next weekend.

“You’re still here!” 

Ah, you knew that voice. It was embarrassing actually, the way you’d logged it to memory. You looked up from your screen and smiled when you noticed the auburn-haired stranger already smiling at you. 

“And you’re back.” You noted, reaching out to take the card in his extended hand. 

“Well I told you I’d take notes for you on last week’s presentation, didn’t I?” He grinned. You only looked away from him to catch his name pop up in the corner of your screen. When you glanced back, you noticed a line of grumpy old men had queued up behind the guy you could have spent all day gawking at. Joe. They grumbled for him to get a move on, as you passed him a new ticket in what felt like slow motion. You swore his fingers purposefully brushed yours during the exchange. 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back.” He noted, after an old woman hurried him along by knocking her bag against Joe’s unmoving legs. He offered an apology to the ever growing line and scurried into the museum.

You spent another week wondering about him. Wondering if he’d really meant to graze his fingers against yours. If he meant what he said. Why he came around in the first place. You sat behind your desk with an eye out for Joe, and left for home more disappointed each day he hadn’t come around. 

By the next weekend, you let a couple of new workers man the front desk under your managers guidance, while you took an extra-long lunch break. When you’d finished your meal, you took your cup of tea to go, and sat in the exhibit you never got to see as much as you’d wanted. There were ancient plants, bugs frozen in yellow gunk, and a few collections of dinosaur bones set to mesmerizing scale. You’d never get tired of sitting around and reflecting over life once lived. 

“Do my eyes deceive me? You’re out from behind your favorite old desk, at last!” 

Joe was strolling in, a familiar ticket in his grasp, a sweet smile on his lips. You whipped your head to admire his slim form sauntering your way, and scooted ever closer to the edge of the bench in hopes he’d plop down next to you. 

“Fancy seeing you here. You must really like dinosaurs.” You grinned, taking a sip of your tea. 

“Who doesn’t?” Joe seemed to actually wonder with the slightest quirk of his perfect brow. 

“My kid cousin, actually.” You recalled the time the toddler came along with your family to visit you here at work, and how the kid was totally terrified by the pachycephalosaurus on display. You told Joe as much, rambling out of sheer nervousness of his lingering eye contact that had never lasted so long before.

And when you finished speaking, Joe’s smile remained, and his eye’s remained on yours as if he was waiting for you to say something more. 

“While I do understand his pain, these dead one can’t do much harm. I think they’re neat to hang around.” Joe finally said, watching you watch him, trying to hide the way your heart beat like a drum. 

“Three weekends in a row?” You mused. 

“Third times the charm.” Joe gestured to you. In an effort to hide your blush, you checked your watch and realized your extended time was nearing an end. 

“Well, I haven’t got my freedom much longer.” You moved to stand, careful not to upset your still hot tea. 

“Enough time to take a lap around here? I’ll escort you back to front desk prison, then.” Joe seemed decided, holding out his arm for you to take like some kind of knight. You grinned, despite all your nerves, and joined him. 

On your stroll through the place you’d both seen plenty of times, you chattered about the time creatures so wild roamed the world; and wondered through withheld chuckles what it would be like to interact with them in this century. 

“You seem pretty confident in your modern day dinosaur assumptions. What makes you the expert?” You jabbed after Joe insisted not even the plant-eating dinos could have been housetrained. He stepped in painfully slow time with you, closer to the desk you were meant to be behind by now. 

“Let me take you on a proper date and I promise to tell you so much more.” Joe smiled, speaking just to you. Strangers shuffled past, gasping at the exhibits maybe they were only just now getting the chance to marvel over. 

Joe wrote his number on the back of his latest ticket, handed it to you, and slipped into the gift shop after shooting you a wink. You tucked the paper in your pocket and dreamed of what next weekend might bring.

Almost 600 Celebration Blurbs

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Operation Sweet Surprise (2/3)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader (Romantic or Platonic)

Warnings: Cursing 

Inside the store, you began hunting down the items you needed with Lester in tow. He offered to hold the basket for you so you could focus on making sure you got exactly what you were after.

“Okay, Lester. We need: milk, pie crust, vanilla extract, cinnamon, brown sugar, baking powder, and eight apples. So, if you see anything and I don’t just toss it in the basket!” you told him as your eyes started scanning the shelves.

“Yes, ma’am!” Lester said with a playful salute. 

One by one, you found each ingredient, checking them off your mental list as you went. Throughout your expedition, you couldn’t help but notice other shoppers keeping their distance from you two. Of course, you knew exactly why they were acting this way. The smell of roadkill lingering on Lester’s raggedy exterior offended their delicate senses. The way some made a show of holding their breath or how their side eyes were more like dead on stares was not lost on you. It certainly wasn’t lost on Lester. With every murmur and scoff, he would offer an apologetic smile and a wave, but you could see his head sink lower and lower each time. This sort of thing didn’t always bother him, but sometimes it was hard to ignore. People always assumed he was oblivious to how his presence affected them, but he was more than aware. Frankly, he wished they would quit reminding him. Though every part of you wanted to snap at each shopper that passed you by, you elected to focus on lifting Lester’s spirits to distract him,

“Alright, all that’s left is to pick out some apples! C’mon and help me out!” you said with the biggest smile you could muster. You’d rather be glaring daggers, but you knew the other shoppers were hardly worth it. You took Lester’s hand and pulled him toward the small produce section “Which kind of apples do you think Bo would like best?”

“Not sure…” Lester said looking back and forth, checking to make sure no one was staring again, “Maybe I oughta wait in the truck. Don’t wanna bother no one else from their shopping.”

“No, don’t go! I need you!” you begged, “Besides, who cares what they think?”

“Well, I’m used to it. Just don’t want ‘em thinkin’ bad of ya, is all.” He said shyly

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that. I like spending time with you, Lester. I don’t give a shit about any of them. Who needs them?” You said, waving off his concern with a laugh “Now, help me pick out some apples.” The smile reached Lester’s eyes this time as he helped you pick out the best apples out of the bunch.

Once you had your apples picked, something caught your glance over Lester’s shoulder. It was an elderly woman, reaching for a box of cereal that was clearly too high on the shelf for her to get. Lester followed your eyes and immediately handed the basket over to you. He quickly made his way over to the lady. You followed close behind, catching the interaction,

“I can get that for ya, if ya like.” Lester offered sweetly with his signature grin. The woman staggered back, affronted at his proximity. She put a hand over her nose and mouth, her sour expression still apparent. Though she scowled at him, Lester kept smiling back at her. When she remained silent, he pointed to the box he thought she wanted, “This one? Good choice! Ya know, I hear this one’s good for the heart. Supposed to keep ya young and spry.” She didn’t reply, tapping her foot impatiently. He pulled the box down from the shelf and held it out to her, “There ya go. Need help with anythin’ else?”  

“No.” she said shortly, as she ripped the box from his hands and turned away.

“Alright…have a nice day, I guess.” Lester said, frustration showing through, “Just tryin’ to help ya.”

“Excuse me!” You piped in, “My friend just helped you, and I think you’re being incredibly rude to him.”

“Y/N, it’s alright-”

“No, it isn’t. You helped her and she treated you like garbage.” You said angrily. You were tired of watching people walk all over him. He might’ve been good enough to let it go, but you weren’t, “Who raised you? Didn’t anyone teach you anything about kindness?”

“How dare you speak to me like that? You should learn to respect your elders, young lady.” the old woman finally responded, “In my day, helping older folks was expected. Our generation didn’t need a pat on the back every time we did the bare minimum. What do you want? A reward?”

“Well, I grew up at least saying a ‘thank you’ when someone helped me. I don’t think that’s asking a lot. Just want you to treat my friend with a bit of decency.” You snapped, your knuckles turning white as you tightened your grip on your basket.

“Decency? I’ve shown plenty of decency by not demanding you both be thrown out of the store. I don’t usually tolerate uncivilized spoiled brats, like you two.” The woman stuck up her nose and pinched it, “You reek of squalor, so it seems to me you were the ones who are lacking an upbringing.”

“Uncivilized? Lady, you’re the one who doesn’t have any god damn manners! If anyone’s acting uncivilized here, it’s you!” you hissed venomously, taking a step toward the woman. Lester stopped you in your tracks, allowing the woman to turn and shamble away cursing you under her breath, both offended and threatened by you.

“Hey, hey, don’t pay any attention to her. She ain’t worth it.” Lester said, patting your shoulder.

“She shouldn’t be allowed to treat you like that.” You said still a bit heated.  

“It’s like ya said, ‘Who needs ‘em?’” Lester said surprisingly relaxed about the whole situation, “But let’s get goin’ ‘fore she gets us kicked out like she said.”

You started toward the register and got in line. There were quite a few people ahead of you as everyone was out getting their groceries for the week, no doubt. Lester took the basket back as you waited together. You were about to ask him about cleaning animal bones to lighten the mood before he chimed in first,

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“For what?” you asked with a tilt of your head.

“Stickin’ up for me ‘n all. It sure was somethin’.” He said with a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks, “I know I don’t smell too great, so bein’ with me ain’t always fun. But ya never treat me any worse for it, and it means a lot.”

“Aw, Lester, you don’t have to thank me for that. I enjoy spending time with you, it’s hardly a chore.” You said as you rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Still…I know I yammer on and I don’t know when to shut up. Most people can’t stand me, it ain’t a secret. Didn’t make too many friends growin’ up ‘cuz of it and it didn’t get any easier once I started workin’…” Lester explained, “I tried to keep the smell off, but it’s harder than it looks, ya know. And after a while, I figured if people don’t want anythin’ to do with me anyway, I might as well just leave it be.”

“Lester…” you said sympathetically, trying not to knock the basket out of his hands and wrap him up in a hug and protect him from the world.

“’Sides, I love my job. I really do. And if I smell, I can make like that’s the reason people don’t like me.” He added with a half-hearted laugh to take the edge off the truth of it all “Anyway, just wanted to thank ya for bein’ nice to me.”

Before you could respond, it was your turn to check out. Lester instantly starting chatting away with the cashier, going on about knives and the small items for sale at the register. You smiled to yourself, watching him. Even if others continued to put him down, Lester always got right back to it. You had no idea how he kept going sometimes. You attention was drawn away from him as the total came up on the screen.

“Shit.” You cursed quietly to yourself. You counted your money back, hoping maybe you had more than you thought, to no avail. You were five dollars short. You looked over your items trying decide what you could part with. All of them were necessary to the recipe so you not only could you not decide, you were embarrassed that you had underestimated how much you’d need to spend.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lester whispered as he leaned in, also looking at the groceries, “Missin’ somethin’?”

“I don’t have enough…” you trailed off, trying to work through a solution in the next two minutes, trying not to keep others waiting whilst also not drawing attention to your crisis

“Apples?” Lester suggested, “I’ll run on back and get some more, if ya need!”

“Money…I don’t have enough for everything.” You said, unable to stop your voice from shaking from the sudden tears that brimmed in your eyes. Lester snapped to attention at the tremble in your voice.

“Aw, please don’t cry! How much do ya need?” he asked as he scrambled to comfort you. He rubbed awkward circles into your back, moving you back and forth with his clumsy motions. Even in distress, you found his gesture to be sweet.

“Five dollars.” You confessed as your face went hot with anxiety.

“That ain’t so bad! I got it!” Lester said happily, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a crumpled bill. He might have said it like wasn’t a big deal, but you knew money was always tight for the Sinclairs. While Lester did make the most steady income out of all of them, he didn’t have a whole lot of money to throw around, “See, don’t need to panic!”

“You don’t have to do this! You work hard for your money, I can ditch something, I think. Don’t waste it on me.” You said in a panic. You’d already asked so much of him already; you couldn’t let him do this too.

“Well, I do work hard. So, I suppose that means I can spend my money how I want.” Lester said cheekily. He gathered up your money with his and handed it over, “And I wanna give it to ya. ‘Sides, I oughta pitch somethin’ in. It’s for my brothers after all.”

“Thank you, Lester…I really owe you.” you said as your apprehension drained from your posture and voice. You almost cried from his generosity, rather than humiliation.

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Lester said sweetly, nudging your shoulder to help you shake off the sadness that had almost overtaken you. He carried your groceries toward the door and back to the truck, “C’mon we gotta lotta bakin’ to do!”  

You were a bit distracted on the ride back. Lester was chattering on about skulls again, but your mind wandered back to what he said while you waited in line. You wouldn’t say you’d done anything extraordinary for him. All you did was talk to him and treat him like any human should be treated. Still, that was more than he’d ever received from anyone. You couldn’t help but stare at him. Beside you was a man who has always been treated like he wasn’t worth the time. No one cared about what he had to say or how he felt, and they told him so to his face. Despite all that, he still turned out to be incredibly generous, kind, helpful, and by far the most warmhearted person you knew.

And it wasn’t because the insults and the neglect went over his head. You knew he felt the sting of it all. It was because he kept moving along. You had no idea how he was able to let it all roll off his back, but you simply attributed it to Lester being remarkable. Sure, he got disappointed when others didn’t want to talk to him, but he never got too hung up on it for long. He was always able to find joy in other parts of his life. Not only that, he was capable of sharing that joy with others; at least, he was always willing. Lester had a heart of gold and it left a bitter taste knowing that if life had been fairer – or society more kind – he’d might have become something truly special. Not that you didn’t like him just as he was; you thought he was wonderful. It was just such a shame that he had so many wonderful things to offer and you were the only one who could see that. All because his chances were spoiled before he ever really got to living.

“Do you ever get mad, Lester?” you asked, accidentally cutting him off from his rant about knives.

“Sure, I do. Sometimes.” Lester said with a goofy grin still pulling as his face. His smile turned into curiosity and a bit of confusion as he thought over your question a second time, “Wait, mad ‘bout what?”

“I don’t know. Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Different how?”

“Like, do you ever think about what it might’ve been like if you were born somewhere else or into a different life entirely? Like all the what ifs and maybes? Just for fun?” you added

“Hmmm…” Lester thought out loud, “Nope.”

“Really? Never?” you asked in disbelief.

“Naw, I like what I got.” He said smiling once again, never more content, “And ‘sides, I got you now. Wouldn’t know ya if I was born someplace else. Don’t wanna go riskin’ that, do I?” you felt your heart skip a beat and blood rush to your cheeks.

“And they say Bo’s the one with all the charm.” You mumbled to yourself, catching a glimpse of Lester, oblivious and carefree as ever. He really had no clue how incredible he was.

[tropicalfreckles]

Friends Again CH 5

MASTER LIST found here

SUMMARY: A new dilemma has risen in Lydia that she takes to the only one she can talk to about it.

SOLIDARITY

B**TLEB*BES DNI

(TW mentions of J*no, mentions of murder(no murder tho), mentions of bullying, mentions of the wedding death scene)))

Another day of school, another day of Lydia having complex feelings bubble up in her stomach. This was getting borderline exhausting with all the thoughts she kept bottled up inside. Even though she had become more comfortable with her therapist, she still wasn't sure if she wanted to just spill her guts out about these thoughts. Closing the front door behind her, she swung her backpack off while exhaling a long groan. No one was home yet except for the Maitlands, of course. They were probably upstairs since she didn't see them after scanning the living room. Rummaging through her backpack on the table she pulled out things she needed for homework then sluggishly retreated upstairs. School wasn't engaging and often times left her yearning for more. The Maitlands had recently found a way to help make her learning more simulating through their ghostly powers. They were still learning themselves. They tried learning more from the Handbook for the Recently Deceased. However, as Adam put it, it 'read like radio instructions'. Lydia didn't have too much of a hard time understanding it personally. Though that probably was because she loved deciphering the nonsensical text.

Should she let the Maitlands know she's home?

She usually would announce herself. Yet, that feeling wasn't leaving her stomach. It dampening her mood. Lydia didn't want to bother the ghostly couple with her problem. Since she still didn't understand it entirely herself. It was days like these she wished her mom was still alive. Regret wove itself in her every once in a while for leaving the Netherworld. Missing her chance to reconnect with her mother again. She knew deep down it was for the best. She would've also liked it if Delia and her dad had waited for a while before getting wed. She understood though they felt the fleetingness of life and wanted to make the best of it as long as they both were breathing. That would be another can of worms for Lydia to tackle another day. Lydia tossed her things on her bed when she entered her room. Closing the door behind her then took off her shoes. Her nerves were starting to get the best of her when she walked over to her mirror and gazed at herself.

"Why are feelings stupid..." She muttered. Grabbing a hair tie off of her stand, she ran her fingers through the raven locks tying it up.

"That's because you breathers have too many feelings; It makes shit complicated." A gravely voice chimed in. Lydia flinched for a moment then turned to scowl at the older man.

"I told you that you couldn't come into the house yet!" She snarled at him. Lydia began rubbing the pads of her forefinger and middle in circles against the temple of her head. Beetlejuice snorted then crossed his arms.

"You ain't exactly the boss of me kid. I do what I want. Within reason of your dumb rules. Besides, I was bored waiting in the stupid cemetery. There weren't any breathers to mess with today so I couldn't get anyone else to say my name." Beetlejuice rambled on, giving Lydia a shrug. The young teen threw herself face first on her bed. She thought over for a moment how risky this was.

"You didn't let Barabara and Adam see you, right?" Lydia questioned, sitting up a little on her elbows. Beetlejuice hummed while pulling his eyes out from their sockets.

"Nope, not a peep!" He snickered while tossing them in the air like a pair of die. Lydia looked on unamused before rolling on her back to stare up at the ceiling. The demon popped his eyes back in.

"Oh boy, are you having one of those angsty teen moments again? Am I gonna have to leave while you recite goth poetry or some shit?" He floated up from the ground then whipped over to her. Lydia inhaled deeply before giving a loud groan.

"Go away if you're gonna be an ass." Lydia reached out for a pillow to grab. Beetlejuice tensed up as he knew it was meant for his face. He deflated a little when he saw her hug then bury herself against it. Just as the teen hated when he would get moody, he felt the same about her. Though it was strange, the past three months now that they've been hanging out he has started to feel something he never had before. Was it that gross thing called empathy? He sighed deeply while busying himself with picking at his nails. This was going to require some finesse.

"Alright, you twisted my arm Lyds. What's bugging ya? What can your ol' pal Mr. Betelboose do to, ugh, 'help'?" He peered from the corner of his eye to see if she'd budge. She did not. He did get a grunt in response. Some progress was a win for him. Lydia flailed her legs a little as a muffled groan rose from her. The demon patiently waited for her to speak.

"As bizarre as it is to say.." Lydia dug her fingernails into her pillow as she pulled it away from her face finally. Her features scrunched up, her lips pursed. Relaxing after a moment of what looked like deep contemplation from Beetlejuice's perspective she finally spoke. "I think you might be the only person I can talk to about this." Lydia softly spoke.

Now, this was interesting.

She was actually being vulnerable to him. He only saw her do that once and that was when she summoned him back from the Netherworld. That was because of everything that built up from before. This seemed to be a new dilemma on the young girl's mind. He waved his hand to let her know she could continue.

"Beej. When did you discover that you had feelings for guys, too?" Lydia drawled out while shiftily gazing around the room. Anywhere other than making eye contact. Beetlejuice stroked his scruffy chin while trying to figure out what she meant by that. Was there a boy she liked? Did his stoic bratty friend actually have sappy feelings as well?

Wait.

"You're asking how I knew I was into more than just women? Well, first off, there is one thing ya gotta know about the Netherworld. Most folks swing both if not all ways." Beetlejuice jokingly conjured up a baseball bat and took multiple swings in different directions with it. It earned him a snort which he grinned at before continuing.

"It kind of came as an easy realization for me. I know that the stupid shit you breathers go about here on the mortal plane carries off into the Netherworld sometimes. It doesn't stick for long cause who the hell are you gonna complain to? No one." He rolled his eyes remembering all of the bigoted folks that would come through and get their panties in a twist at how the rest of the Netherworld was. While he wasn't the biggest fan of staying there all the time it wasn't always horrible there. The world of the living was more of a party for him.

"How did you really know, though?" Lydia hugged the pillow closer to her while sitting up. Beetlejuice plopped himself onto the bed next to her. Lydia had a surprisingly smart melon in that goth head of hers. He was curious why she was doubting herself so much.

"Probably when I made out with that one famous painter." He picked at his teeth. Lydia arched a brow.

"Which one?"

"You know me, scarecrow, don't kiss and tell." He grinned at her. Lydia gently smacked his knee.

"Oh BS, you always name drop famous people." She snorted. Beetlejuice snickered, moving his hands behind him then slid back more on the bed.

"You're right, I just don't remember the guy's name right now. Listen. I guess I get it. I've been observing you breathers for almost a millennia. Feelings are gross. But I know when it comes to this stuff it can be hard. Especially for kids. If there's something ya gotta blab to me about." He tilted his head in her direction while making sure he had her attention. She gave a slow nod for him to continue, "Then I'm listening."

Lydia inhaled deeply. This was nerve-racking. She just didn't know how to even express herself.

"I... I might have." Lydia banged her head into the soft pillow and gave a small whine. "I might.. like a girl at school." She spoke barely above a whisper. Beetlejuice leaned over since he could barely hear her. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the smell yet allowed him to do so.

"What was that kid? Gotta speak up." He gave a coy smile. Lydia scowled at him then looked away.

"I said... That I might like a girl at school. I'm not repeating myself again." Her cheeks were heating up at how embarrassing this was. Not so much expressing her feelings. It was more talking about a damn school crush to her stupid demon friend she was starting to make amends with. She looked over to him after a moment of making sure he wasn't going to tease her then noticed him grinning wide.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said. HA. Of course, you're into girls! Look at you, you're tiny, snarky all the time and goth." Beetlejuice yammered on as he elbowed her side.

"Ha-ha, is this amusing to you or something? I just spilled my damn guts out." Lydia frowned, her cheeks flushed. Beetlejuice shook his head.

"Eh, maybe a little, I just find it funny that widdle Lydia has a crush. Always figured you were too feral and hated people too much for that." He pinched her cheek. She was close to snapping her teeth at his fingers. She opted for batting his hand away. Lydia wiped her cheek with her sleeve. He snickered in response then rested his elbows on his knees.

"Call me 'widdle' again and I'll throw you off the roof as I did before." She stuck her tongue out at him then took note of him smirking at her. "What?"

"Nuthin'. Just weird seeing you actually act like a teenager instead of your usual dry, deadpan self." He patted her hard on the back to which she grunted at him. "Good for you! Better to be your real self than locking that shit away. Dolores and Chuck'll probably be. I don't know, what's that word you breathers use now? 'Woke'? About this. I know the Maitlands will be. Ugh, they are just soooo supportive it's disgusting." He gagged at his last sentence to which Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I don't know if I'm going to tell anyone. At least not yet." Lydia softly spoke as she played with the pillow resting in her lap. Beej quirked a brow at her then snorted. He gave a soft bap on her head with his fist.

"Listen. I don't normally give pep talks that aren't about scaring, murder or crap. I guess I can try to understand. Daphne might be too intrusive about it. Chuck might just be super awkward about it and say something embarrassing. The other nerds are definitely gonna dote on you." Beetlejuice picked at his teeth. "Eh, take your time if you wanna. Just know that the Netherworld when ya shed your meat-sack body is gonna be fine with who or what yer into. Fuck what anyone else thinks." He let out a long yawn then stretched a little. "Trying to be nice makes me wanna take a nap or doing something nasty. Or hurl. Can't decide, this is gross."

Lydia looked over the demon while taking note of his words. She snickered at him dramatically pretending to upheave then shoved him.

"Stop being gross for five minutes." Lydia snorted then sat back on her bed finally letting go of her pillow. "Honestly.. My stomach is in a knot still. Part of me kind of wants to tell her however I don't want people to.." Midway through Lydia trailed off into a soft whisper. "I just don't want more of a reason for people to target me at school. I can handle myself for the most part. Just kind of hard when they gang up on me." She tugged at the edge of her school uniform. Without skipping a beat Beetlejuice responded.

"Want me to kill 'em for ya? I mean, if they're that big of lil assholes I'd probably be doing their parents a favor." Beetlejuice grinned while taking out a knife from his sleeve. "I'll 'cut' them down to size!" He cackled while swishing the knife around. Lydia ducked down then snorted.

"No. Murder isn't the answer to everything, BJ. Those girls are jerks but they aren't the root of the problem. Kids don't naturally act like bigoted brats. It's probably coming from their parents or something, to begin with." Lydia grabbed his arm to make him stop swinging the knife. Beetlejuice clicked his tongue then thought over what she said.

"Alright. Kill the parents and the brats. Two for two-plus no sad little orphans!" Beetlejuice hovered off the bed in glee while throwing his arms up into the air. "It'll be a real scream Lyds! Just let me loose on 'em! Come on! I haven't killed anyone since Juno!" He flexed his fingers while looking to her like an overjoyed child in a candy store. Lydia raised her hand up with a shake of her head.

"Didn't I just say murder wasn't the answer to everything?" She answered dryly while quirking a brow at him.

"I don't know, you murdered me pretty fast to try and kick my ass into the Netherworld," Beetlejuice muttered. Lydia inhaled deeply through her nostrils then slapped his thigh with her pillow.

"I'm serious. No murdering people on my behalf. I appreciate the enthusiasm but I don't want the cops on me. Making people suffer is more fun anyway." Lydia dropped the pillow then stretched her legs out. Beetlejuice floated back down to the bed then gave a little pout.

"Bah. Thought you were more fun than that, kid. Though torture also sounds like a blast." He stroked his scruffy chin. The goth teen kicked her feet against the edge of the bed.

"I was thinking more about pranking." She chuckled. "You know.. I might try talking to that girl. Just not yet." Lydia lulled her head against her shoulder to peer back at the demon. "I hate to stroke that big ego of yours. I wanna tell you that I kind of appreciate you talking to me about this. It's nice to talk to someone else who is attracted to the same gender." She took out her phone then opened the browser.

"Plus I see myself as more than one gender. Though that's a topic for another time, kid." He waved his hand as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lydia swung her head up to stare at him.

"Oh; does that mean you're genderfluid?"

"Gender what now?" Beetlejuice quizzically stared at her while scratching the top of his scalp. Lydia quickly brought something up on her phone then showed him.

"You identify as more than one gender. See?" Lydia began scrolling through a website about the LGBTQ+ community while Beetlejuice crossed his arms and tried reading over it.

"Huh. Well shit. Guess so? Then what's being attracted to more than one gender?" He quickly snatched the phone out of her hand to look over it more.

"Well, that is a broader category. You could be either Bisexual or Pansexual." She sat up on her knees as she pressed the pad of her forefinger into the screen. Slowly she scrolled back up on the browser and pointed out the two. Beetlejuice hummed then plopped the phone back into her lap.

"Learn something new every day!" Beetlejuice grinned. The two froze when they heard the familiar voice of a woman echoing through the house.

"Lydia?? Are you home? We can get started on your homework if you want!" Barbara's hand began phasing through the door. With that Beetlejuice flung himself out the window as Lydia swatted grave dirt he left behind on her bed.

"Coming Barbara!" Lydia called.

She couldn't keep hiding him forever.

[damienthepious]

fic commentary for childhood friends au mayhaps? maybe around the part in ch 3 when arum tells rilla to slow down? I love this au sm!!

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

🥺🥺🥺 aaaaa thank you!!! okay chapter 3, The Kids Start Bonding. Let’s cut in near the end of Rilla’s little ramble...

[There are people who can use both arms equally well, or- I mean, I guess some folks probably just train themselves to do so, and maybe it's not entirely an ingrained trait? I'm not sure about that one. Those people are called ambidextrous, which I guess would be okay to call you for a similar trait? Though, it means both sides, so I think a more accurate word would be omnidextrous, as in, all of your hands, though I don't know how many monsters have your limb configuration so it's hard to say how useful a word like that might-"] Lil nerd!!!! lil nerd infodumping!!!! she just has a lot of thoughts and she wants to Express Them!!!! and she likes to categorize things, meaning that calling Arum ambidexterous when he has four-and-not-two hands doesn’t sit right with her, so-

[Arum narrows his eyes, his frill pressing tight against his neck as she talks, but she doesn’t recognize his annoyance for what it is until he interrupts her in a stammering hiss.] ... “for what it is” okay. the thing is, it isn’t annoyance, exactly? He just literally can’t keep up. The consequence of two kids who are neurodivergent in different directions, y’know? i write Rilla with adhd, and I write Arum as pretty transparently autistic, i think (with a lot of my own traits thrown into both of them. all three, actually, when Damien is involved). Arum has some audio processing issues, especially young!Arum, and Rilla’s infodumping is just- more than he was expecting, in the moment

[“S-slow- will you stop- will you stop yammering on so quickly that only your own shadow can follow? It is infuriating.”] but! it’s Arum, who can’t just be honest about his own limitations. he gets embarrassed, gets angry to cover it, finds a way to make it something SHE is doing and not something that he’s not good at. at least for the moment.

[Rilla snaps her mouth shut. She's convinced that her cheeks are flushing dark with the combined anger and embarrassment that smacks through her. This is even worse than when the shopkeep in market square told her to just shut her squawking little mouth already when her father sent her to fetch supplies by herself for the first time. Worse, because she never actually liked that shopkeep very much, but Arum-] and here Rilla has a lil bit of me in her- there’s literally no worse feeling, no worse offset of the RSD than when someone sneers at your infodumping. It’s cutting. “but Arum-” she likes Arum. She wants Arum to like her. She doesn’t want Arum to think she’s obnoxious or- well. She just wants him to like her. She wants them to be friends! also fuck that shopkeep. asshole.

[“S-sorry,” she says, and her voice comes out quiet and blank and clipped. "I- sorry."] I always write Rilla as adhd, but baby!Rilla isn’t as good at masking it and doesn’t have the self-confidence to say hey fuck off quite yet. She’s learning, but she’s still young. She’s going quiet, here, as a self-defense mechanism. He won’t tell her to shut up again if she’s quiet to start with, right?

[Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout and looking away, and then after a moment he flicks his eyes back towards her. She swallows, her shoulders hunching, and after another odd little pause his brow furrows.] But Arum actually wants to know what she has to say. He was overwhelmed, but- that doesn’t mean he wasn’t interested, or wasn’t trying to keep up. He’s waiting for her to keep going, even though he just told her to stop. Because he is VERY BAD AT THIS. Conversation, I mean. And interacting with anyone besides his Keep.

["Well?"

She blinks. "W-well?"

He looks away again. "I did not think you were… finished with your explanation, little human."] They don’t.... know quite how to communicate with each other, yet. Rilla doesn’t know Arum enough to be able to tell embarrassed prickliness from genuine annoyance, and Arum doesn’t know Rilla well enough yet to know that he’s bitten her in a sore spot. But they’re working on it... Arum, without really intending to, but... he asked her to keep going. Which is a pretty big step, where he’s concerned. or- I said he ‘asked’, that’s not really accurate. Deflect deflect deflect. “you weren’t finished yet” MEANS “keep going”, but he doesn’t have to admit his own desires in any direct way.

["I- I wasn't, but-" she pauses, and Arum hazards another glance towards her, his expression wary. "I thought you- I thought you wanted me to shut up."] Rilla, on the other hand, is ENTIRELY direct! It’s just who she is. She doesn’t like a lack of clarity, so when she realizes that her assumption about what he wanted might not be correct, she tries to ferret out his actual intent. Here is what I took from your words. Confirm or correct this statement, please.

[Arum pulls his head back. "What? No, I simply-" his frill flutters at his neck, and then it rises to frame his face as the monster winces. "I- I could not- understand, while you spoke so- so quickly. I do not converse in this way very often."] And Arum is a big dumb little idiot who doesn’t know how to TALK. goober. And she manages to pull out the ACTUAL problem, because he might be embarrassed, but- no. He doesn’t want her to shut up, actually. Much to his own surprise.

anyway TuT thank youuuuuu <3<3<3

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (9)

Chapter 9: Dropping the A-Bomb

           I just stood there, having no idea what to say or do. It was like looking in a mirror at the grim, jaded hump of crap you know you’re going to be in ten years if the scholarship doesn’t work out. It was a sight that would bring most grown men to their knees, so considering I was a little kid at the time, it was a wonder I was even standing at all.

Yet somehow, I managed to spit words.

“T-the water.” I trembled, “g-give it back.”

He looked at the glowing plastic bottle in his hand. “Sorry kid, no can do. This here’s company property now. But if you want, I’m more than willing to sit down for an adult conversation.”

The way he said those last two words made my blood freeze, no small task when the ‘sun’ was shining so bright overhead. 

He gestured over to an area at the foot of the inflatable volcano, where two plastic chairs and a table rested. On top of the table were several Red Solo cups and a bottle of Crystal Springs Bottled Water.

“Like I said, its’ been awhile since I’ve had company. Besides the Wegmart Company, that is! Ha!”

My feeble ten year old mind struggled to grapple with the fact that someday I would find jokes like that funny. One of the most horrible experiences of my life.

But what could I do? Thanks to stories from my gangster days, I knew darn well what this A-Bomb was capable of, and I wasn’t really in a position to take chances. So I followed him to the tables, trying not to think about how Bokrug should have been here by now, despite his lumbering movements.

Naturally, I didn’t make a peep. If there’s one thing I learned from comic books, its’ best not to set these friendly-lookin’ types off.

When we did get to that table, first thing the guy did was offer me some of that crisp, refreshing, bottled water. Though the heat from the lava made it really tempting, I knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.

“Suit yourself, kiddo.” He said, pouring a cup of his own. “We aren’t that different, you know. In fact, you’re a lot like me when I was little…”

On the outside, I stared like the teacher was about to bring the whipping stick. On the inside, I wanted to scream, because long talks with my Dad had taught me where this was going.

                                                      .   .   .

“When I was your age, I also went to a Summer Camp, it was called Camp Salmon or something like that. Anyway, the counselors running the camp were mean. Like, really, really mean, so the second I could I dashed right on out of there and into the woods. Sound familiar?”

Naturally, I didn’t say a word. Throat was too parched, anyway. A-Bomb laughed.

“Oh who am I kidding?! Of course it does! I know because Wegmart has surveillance cameras everywhere!”

He pressed something under the table, and from the ground emerged a device made from a bunch of big screen T.V.s hastily duct taped together, several flashing images of my adventures over the summer. The rest showed the frozen foods aisle, where my feathered allies were getting ‘ahem’, ‘cleaned up’ in the most gruesome way possible.

“Like you, Watterson Tostig, I went into the underworld and escaped. I too, was inducted into a gang of dinosaurs. I, too, became God of Roadside America. But at the end of the day, guys like us have to settle down and face reality. Wegmart saved me, kid, and if you’re willing, it’ll save you too.”

All that time, I didn’t turn away from the screen. I couldn’t.

“I thought I could spend the rest of my life hiding in the produce aisle. But I was foolish back then, a rogue vagrant eating grapefruit peels. Until THEY rescued we. The founders of Wegmart took my withered ghost and showed me the way to love, happiness, and most importantly, low, low prices!”

Yeah, yeah. The low, low price of a human soul!

“I was weak at first, but the kind folks at Wegmart saw my talents as a brown bagger and before I knew it, I had my own private toothpick in the faculty room! After that, they put me into production.”

Here’s the thing about young me being stoic: even at the best of times, he was kinda bad at it. Sometimes I even wonder if he had some kind of attention deficit. Not saying little me cocked an eyebrow at the mention of ‘production’, but he looked at me like I did before he went on yammering again. 

“Oh yeah! You’re not in the know of company business. Right!  See, our store used to have a 3D printer they would use to take the employee of the month and just clone him until they had an entire staff of the perfect worker! And yours truly has held the position for ten years!”

Ever since I was young enough to confuse Wegmart with Disneyland, I’d always noticed how all the brown baggers looked the same. Suddenly, everything made terrible, terrible sense. But worse was the realization that, just like those cereal box sweepstakes, the empty, dotted line cutout of a man could have easily been me!

“Shame they recalled the printer. Something about lead based ink. Or the clones having higher than normal rates of cancer. Really, I just signed the paperwork. But enough of the sad stuff, Watters! Let’s talk future! Because I’ve seen you in action and man, you’re just the kind of spunk to breathe life into this company!”

Least, I think that’s what he said. Bokrug’s running tardy was really nerving me up.

“So join me, Watterson! And let us rule the Wegmart like manager and employee!”

“No.” I whispered.

“Eh?” A-Bomb cocked an eyebrow, like he’d never heard the word in years.

And with that, I could stay silent no longer. The anger, the one that’d been boiling so steadily I me like the giant volcano we sat at the foot of, went full Krakatoa!

“Are you deaf, poophead?! I said NO!. And you know why? Because all you did was make a giant self-pity sob story for yourself, because you think that if you can drag me down with you into this Megamart of Darkness, you’ll feel better about stealing water from a bunch of geese! I’m pretty sure you could have gotten some from Rite Aid if you were willing to play fair!”

“Rite Aid doesn’t sell-“

“My point is, you’re just jealous of me because I’m not a cog in the machine like you! And that ‘we’re so alike’ bullcrap wouldn’t work on a five year old! So no, I won’t join you, because I might have sold my soul to a Tako Shak, but even I have stinking standards, you self-pitying TURD!”

A-Bomb stared at me, mouth agape for a few seconds. “T-the T-word?...”

“You heard me right, TURD!, so you better let me go unless you want more of the same! I’ll even tell my Mom, and you really don’t want to see her when she’s angry!”

“No, no, I get it…” he pushed a button under the table.

Another hole opened in the ground, and from it emerged what I can only describe as a nuclear missile made entirely of fuzzy orange Shampows.

“Your friends and family are holding you back, little bro! So how about I sweeten the deal: you join me, and I don’t rain Shampow down on your entire neighborhood!”

I tried to move, only to find myself stuck to my seat. Literally. The son of a snitch must have superglued the thing beforehand!

“So, do we have a deal?”

I didn’t say a word.

“Do. We. Have. A. Deal?”

Now I might have been a bit of a turd back in the day, but darn it, I couldn’t let an entire neighborhood get wiped from existence! Especially when the neighbor hadn’t even returned out lawnmower yet!

“Okay! Okay! I’ll join you! I’ll be your whipping boy. I’ll even stock Barbie dolls if I have to! Just don’t press hat button!”

And you know what the prick did? He kept putting his finger closer and closer to the launch button!

“But I thought you said you wouldn’t do it if I joined!”

“Foolish Watt! Your petty loyalties to the neighborhood make you weak! We must purge this from your mind so you can know true Wegmart! Just like my manager did to my neighborhood!”

But you know what the worst part was? He said this using the most condescending, prickish voice I could imagine.

Still, one thing needed clearing up.

“Hey A-Bomb? What was your neighborhood?”

Guy didn’t say a word, but the way he shut up after that spoke plenty.

“… They called it New Jersey.” He whispered.

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well it might be the last time I ever express sarcasm. Of course!

Time slowed to a crawl as I waited on the imminent destruction of everything I ever gave a crap about. Oh, I tried to see things from the half full perspective, but not even the knowledge my douchebag brother was probably going to get caught dab smack in the middle of the detonation zone passed out on the couch watching teen drama reruns could compensate for everything. At least A-Bomb was taking his sweet time pressing, probably so he could rub it in more.

In fact, he was taking a lot of sweet time. (Granted five minutes is pretty long for a ten year old, but still!) Then I noticed he was pressing the detonation button multiple times, each time faster and more flustered. I looked up, wondering if the Lord himself had intervened on behalf of little old me, even after everything. 

In fact, my salvation had come in the form of a certain goose, who grinned triumphantly, a plug and wire in his beak, machine gun cradled in his wings.

“Bokrug!”

The noble bird spit out the plug, beaming with triumph despite being so plucked of feathers he was practically naked. A-Bomb was, on the other hand, for the first time since I saw him feeling something other than calm, collected, or several other words you find in yoga advertisements. His face turned so red I figured he’d explode any minute, just like his namesake.

“YOU!” he leapt up from his seat, facing down the glorious gander. ”I had ONE chance to find happiness! ONE chance to have somebody to share this miserable job! Years of planning, plotting, scheming, and with one bite you ruined it!” He unsheathed those golf clubs from his back. “Do you know what its’ like to run a store with only clones of yourself?! With everyone knowing exactly what you do?! Its’ so, so BOORIIINNGGG!”

“Then perhaps you should have found a happiness that did not require the suffering of another.” He bared his beak, bits of Wegmart technology still stuck in them. “Or technology easily damaged by the humblest of beaks.” like he was emphasizing the point, he cocked the machine gun, maing probably the world’s most satisfying click. 

“Who do you think you are, my Mom?!” He spun his golf clubs around, making a combination of kung-fu poses and noises that could only be described as either really stupid or really racist. Possibly both.

“Bokrug-kun! You have brought great dishonor upon my house. Prepare to die!” he cried in the phoniest Japanese accent I ever heard.

“I’m Egyptian, you a$$hole!”

With a guttural roar, the waterfowl from hell charged in kind, raining bullets like hellfire.

It was the awesomest f*cking thing I ever saw.