#GO WRITE MY EULOGIES GUYS FUCK!!!!
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the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up
#bert's dead dad tag#found out today the way my dad told mom he wanted a divorce?#he wrote her a letter and left it on the dining room table for her to find on the morning of her fortieth birthday#who the fuck does that dead father#like that is the sort of thing i would entirely make up if i needed everyone at the table to fuckin hate an npc#and at least one person would go 'you're laying it on a little bit heavy'#i know he did work to become a better person as he got older#which is good because BOY howdy was that man a piece of shit in the early 90s#and we are having Complicated feelings about it tonight and also for the last nine months#something something when i was writing his eulogy i came across an old article discussing something he did in the 90s#YDIP (your dad is problematic)#like yeah this is the sort of thing that would have been vaguely acceptable in the cultural context#but like. still objectively bad. potentially ruining several lives sort of bad.#learned this and then wrote the rest of his eulogy about how he was a great guy and how i'm lucky to have been his son#(which was rough enough on its own because i've never said 'i'm [dad's name]'s son' as many times as i did that trip home)#but like what else do you do? i sent off a message looking for more information#and that information if it comes is just gonna sit with me i guess#sure as hell not telling my sister and this whole thing i've been getting through without really having anyone here for me to talk to#(hence the big fuckoff tag rant. your problem now losers who like clicking the read more button)#so even if i get all the answers i want about this one thing it's not gonna do any good except putting an end to one question#but part of having a dead dad who's been out of the business of forming new memories since you came out is having more questions#answering this one's just gonna add even more questions to the pile#but. got fuckall else to do
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Video description and transcript:
A skit by sketch comedy group Montessori Boy.
Diego walks into the foyer. JT looks up at him from a notepad he’s reading at the kitchen counter.
JT: Are you writing my eulogy?
Diego looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head.
JT: [reading from the notepad] “We are here today to mourn our dear friend James Helen Tsuchiya. I don’t know if he’s in heaven or hell, but I hope he’s burning”? What the fuck?
Diego: You don’t go through my shit!
JT: You’re the one who left it on the coffee table!
Diego makes mocking “muh muh muh” noises over JT. Julia walks in from another room.
Julia: Oh, is that my eulogy?
JT: You wrote one too?!
Julia: Did you go through my shit on the coffee table?
Diego takes the notepad from JT.
Diego: Stop reading that! it’s my first draft, it’s not good. I got like ten drafts here, and you’re gonna freak out.
Diego begins flipping through the pages. Julia holds up another notepad.
Julia: If he’s gonna read it, I— I’ve got ten drafts too, and they’re really good.
Diego: Okay, let’s do a reading!
Julia: A JT eulogy reading.
Diego: JT eulogy reading, yeah!
Julia: Okay!
JT: [shaking head in resignation] Okay.
Diego jokingly smacks JT on the side of the head. A funeral bell tolls loudly three times. JT, now seated on the couch, buries his face in his hands. The camera cuts between closeups of Diego and Julia reading their eulogies and JT’s reactions. The military funeral song “Taps” plays in the background.
Diego: “JT was impish like a concubine, and had arms like Zaboomafoo.”
Julia: [pronouncing both countries with an exaggerated Spanish accent] “I don’t agree with what he did in Uruguay, or Paraguay, but I think we can all agree on this: JT loved to laugh.”
Diego: “Of course we all know JT by that nickname he hated: Asian Louis C.K.”
JT: [shaking his head] No.
Julia: “JT did insist on an open casket, but guys, just don’t fuckin’ barf.”
JT: No one’s gonna barf!
Diego: “He leaves behind his loving wife Tater Tot, and his son, Chris.”
Julia: “He had a chode—”
JT: [shaking head] No!
Julia: “and it stunk.”
JT: Stop.
Diego: [whispering to Julia] You’re a good writer.
Julia: [whispering back] Thanks.
Diego: [speaking rapidly in a strained, high-pitched voice] “You know, uh, the thing— the thing about JT at the end of the day, it’s like, y-you just talk to the guy and you’re like, uh, y’know, he’s just got this, like, uh, he just, you wanna— you talk to him, and you’re like, ‘okay, well—’”
JT: Don’t read it if it’s not done.
Diego turns his notepad around to reveal his exact statement written as it is above.
Diego: [normal voice] I— I got this whole thing written, I-I-I hadn't memorized this thing.
JT: …Okay.
Julia: “Honestly, I didn’t even really fuck with him.”
Diego: “Raise your hand if you think he was bisexual.” [raises eyebrows in surprise] Wow, all five hands!
JT: Have you guys ever been to a funeral?
Julia: “One time, JT and I were on this plane, in Paris—”
JT: Alright, stop right there. You’re doing the plot of Taken.
Julia: [shouting emphatically] That’s not Taken! I’m telling a story about my fucking friend, JT!
JT: [shouting over her] Yes, you’re going to do fucking Taken! You’re obsessed with Taken!
Julia: “And I got the call that my daughter… was taken.”
JT: That’s fucking Taken! I told you you’re gonna do Taken!
Julia: [shouting over him] No, it’s fucking not! It’s not Taken!
Their shouting becomes unintelligible. The camera turns to Diego, who is waving his arms and making chimpanzee noises.
JT: Stop! Why do you guys think I’m gonna die?
Diego and Julia, in unison: Because of the way you sleep!
The camera cuts to JT sleeping with his head propped up against the point of a large knife, cushioned with a stack of folded paper towels. He snores. Cut back to JT sitting on the couch.
JT: It clears my sinuses.
End transcript.
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Hey Bones, I saw your thing about a Bat family member becoming a ghost and it reminded me of a very heart breaking au a friend and I came up with a while back that I don't remember if I submitted or not. Either way, be prepared to have your heart broken.
Tim is dead. He's been dead for a while actually. But No one seems to have noticed. He looks and feels just as solid as he did before he died, even if he's got a lower body temperature and doesn't seem to get hurt on patrol beyond bumps and bruises. Never anything that would land him in med Bay, never anything that would make his family check on him.
No one has noticed the way he doesn't eat anymore, or the fact he doesn't sleep. He's extended his patrol hours and cut back on time at Wayne Enterprises. He's pretty sure not even Alfred noticed. He knows the Kryptonians aren't worried about him not having a heart beat and they have no reason to tell anyone. They know he has a special device that can hide him from their senses and tests it on Kon a lot to make him focus on spacial awareness beyond his hearing. He used it a lot before he died. They just think he hasn't turned it off in a while.
Tim remembers how he died. Not fully, but there are pieces. He remembers he was fighting someone on a bridge and he didn't call for back up because he thought he could handle it. He doesn't remember who he thought he could handle. He remembers something stinging his arm. A bug? No a bug couldn't bite through Kevlar, it was a needle. Then everything started going dark and he was stumbling back. His back hit something hard and he tiped over it. He thought he could land on the other side. He remembers wondering why his suit felt so damp and heavy as the world went black around him.
Tim's body is still at the bottom of the bay where it will likely stay forever with so, so many other bodies. It makes Tim wonder, why him? Why not everyone else who ended up down there? Why not everyone who has died in Gothem? Did he come back like Jason did, is it something to do with being a vigilante? Tim checks his own pulse again while he's alone. Yep. Still dead. He continues on his patrol and tries to shove those thoughts away.
So what if Tim's dead? He's still here and he still has work to do. His family is full of detectives. If they can't figure out that something as important as death has happened to one of their own? Well then Tim thinks they need to pay more attention. He ignores the pain that curls in the back of his mind at that thought.
It's been 6 months. Why hasn't anyone noticed? Tim can't help but wonder if they ever will.
Howdy its me @bonebrokebuddy answering. I'm Twone's (twin bones) twin who is helping answer asks because this fucker has like, over 100 of them in her ask box and I help her with making prompt ideas frequently so she trusts me to not horribly fuck up her account.
This is my first answer for her I've written because I had my screen on low brightness and on darkmode, so your profile jump scared the shit out of me when I scrolled past it. Therefore im answering this one first.
Anywho, from my chronic inability to write angst here goes: Tim died, came back and none of the Bats seemed to care. So what? It's not like his best friends hadn't done the same thing. And he was tired and sick of the Bats thinking his entire life revolved around them.
So he packed up his bags and headed to Kansas.
The Bats might not be worried but neither was Kon or Bart. They're actually thrilled after getting over their initial grief that Tim now has also personally experienced death and came back. The funeral was a rather small, breif, and quiet afar. Kon made sure to help locate Tim's corpse and Bart helped with the eulogy (surprisingly heartfelt and moved them all to tears.)
Sure, they're sad that Tim died but he's right in front of them, it's a little more difficult to morn when you've been laughing at said dead guy who got stuck halfway through phasing out of the wall. And now Tim can keep track with them!
Kon is a little pissed that Tim can now go intangible and escape his TTK so he can't take away Tim's coffee anymore. But it's kinda worth it. The first time he took Rob on his favorite flight path, he's never wanted anything else than to hear Tim's breathless laugh and see his frighteningly perfect smile again. They now often go on flights together, high above the clouds with no-one else but them for thousands of miles around. (it almost felt like a date)
Bart knew this would happen one day. He was from the future, of course he knew that Tim Drake, formerly Red Robin, died at age 19 and changed his alias to The Grey Ghost. It doesn't mean that Bart doesn't morn the passing of his friend. Tim means a lot to him and the brief guilt that he did not stop Tim's death also quickly passes. He can finally show Tim that hiding space in the walls that no one else can get to without phasing through the wall! One other thing. Bart is unsure if Kon has noticed yet, which he knows Kon isn't the most observant of the old young justice crew but he has to have noticed it by now. Ever since Tim left Gotham he's developed an insane appetite despite claiming that he didn't need to eat while in Gotham and also being dead so why does he need to eat? (Unknown to Bart, Kansas doesn't have as much ambient ectoplasm as Gotham and Tim is starting to experience the withdraw symptoms. If the trio don't realize how to fix Tim's worsening symptoms soon, Tim might actually die for good this time.)
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny phantom#seersnake#ones replies#twones replies#bones replies#dont worry ill make the tagging system confusing quICK#I POSTED IT BEFORE IT WAS DONE FUCK#okay fixed it.
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Things heard in the Land of Departure part 3:
1 | 2
Aqua: you have until the count of three, and then I’m wrapping you both in duct tape.
Xion: hypothetically, if I were to, say, illegally smuggle a certain blonde haired nobody with mysterious memory powers out of radiant gardens… how likely do you think it is that I’d be pursued by the law?
Terra: extremely… why?
Xion: you may want to be wilfully ignorant of the blonde girl in my bedroom then…
Roxas: *to riku* do you think your going grey because of excess stress? Or are you just naturally that ugly?
Sora: I would like to preface this by saying that I asked Terra, who said no. So, then I asked Aqua who… also said no. But then, I asked Riku and he also said no, but in that way that totally means yes.
Riku: I really didn’t…
Ven: I just gunna hot diggity dog my way out of here and hope for the best.
Riku: I am not often proud of my acts of violence, but there is something so funny about watching Roxas get knocked on his ass by a wind spell.
Sora: “expect the unexpected” I’d rather unexpect the expected to be honest. The unexpected is getting predictable.
Kairi: I told Ven about that time I jump scared Riku so bad he fell out of a tree, and he tried to reassure me that I wasn’t to blame. Like I wasn’t fucking proud of that shit!
Roxas: I could do that yes, but the thing is, I have my heart set on being a hinderance!
Isa: sometimes I come out here just to think… but mostly I come out here to rehash arguments that happened five years ago.
Xion: I’ve had enough! When you come to write my eulogy say “she was nice, but she was shit at executively functioning.”
Ven: Vanitas can be labeled as many things: my darkness, the evil twin… the strange creature under the bed you take pity on but absolutely would beat to death with a lead pipe if it were to venture father into the room. The list is endless really.
Terra: what’s nice about getting to work with Riku as an equal is that I don’t have to stress about fucking up, he does that all in his own!
Riku: hey!
Kairi: Do you ever think about how human life is so fragile, you could end it instantly and never feel a single thing?
Everyone else: *takes a huge fuck off step back*
Riku: Being someone’s most important person is exhausting. I could decimate whole planets sephiroth style and Sora would still be like “he’s just a little guy!”
Aqua: Do not tell Sora that! mainly because he's impressionable, but also he's dumb as a brick.
Terra: when arriving in a new world there are three things you must remember: 1. respect the world order; 2. always respect the authority of those you are lending a hand to; and 3. There is a certain financial limit we expect you to adhere to when atempting to bribe local law enforcment to 'forget' what they saw Kairi just do.
Lea: Isa is the ‘moon’ to my ‘sun’, the ‘sky’ to my ‘land’, the ‘irreversible fuck up’ to my ‘realised he was evil in the first week’, the ‘I can fix him’ to my ‘let me brake his face with this chair’!
Isa: I said I was SORRY!
Lea: *mumbling* yeah well, love you too.
Sora: I don’t cry, I leak occasionally, it’s a hazard.
Riku: please get help.
Roxas: we are literally begging you.
#kingdom hearts#kh1#kh3#kh2#things heard in the land of departure#kingdom hearts incorrect quotes#kh sora#kh riku#kh kairi#kh ventus#kh roxas#kh xion#KH Lea#KH Isa#kh terra#kh aqua#please someone book sora a therapy appointment#stop picking on riku guys#feral kairi is my whole soul
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I decided to write more of my first time reactions and thoughts to rvb Season 9!
This should (hopefully) be the third and final part for season 9.
Season 9 part 3:
Imagine showing up to your funeral, and they don’t even give you a respectable eulogy… They just talk shit about how you talked a lot…
Yeah I would kill all of them… Simmons is 10 times the man I’ll ever be.
Oh so Maine straight up stole the grenade launcher! Kinda like he did with AI units… history is a full circle once again
You know… I feel like the director should’ve given them equipment just in case the sarcophagus thing was heavy. Which it is. The Director is a really bad boss
Understatement of the century I know
Washington I’m 80% sure half the things you freelancers do is improvise… and honestly I’d be sick of it too
Oh yeah Carolina let’s just fucking kick out friends off of a SEVERAL STORIES TALL BUILDING. You’re lucky you have that armor.
The freelancers do heists the same way I played Payday 2: Five minutes of stealth before going “nah fuck this” and blasting the brains of some poor shmuck all over the walls
I think you SHOULD feel bad for the people down there, you tossed MAINE at them Carolina.
You chose to use the flamethrower… inside a building… no wonder the freelancers kick your guy’s asses on the reg… yall are fucking idiots
DONT YOU DISRESPECT THAT GUN IT SAVED OUR ASS IN REACH. Bouncy gun is fun
“That bit with the purple plane? That was just showing off,” well when your number one in Freelancer ranked mode you might as well act like it Wash
You know Carolina kinda acts like Tex a bit. No wonder they’re at odds. There’s only room for one dommy mommy bisexual badass in this show
Oh it’s not a bomb… it’s worse… it’s a big ass fucking lazer
AHSBBFMSM THE JPEG EXPLOSION is KILING ME
Yeah Carolina I bet it is karma… deserved Karma
NOT THE XYLOPHONE!
CAROLINA HITTING THE FUCKING Sonic Adventure 2 CITY ESCAPE “talk about low budget flights. No food or movies? I’m outta here!” ON THE SARCOPHAGUS
I’m surprised Project Freelancer wasn’t investigated and shut down earlier with how much property damage and civilians they endanger.
Tex being responsible about the about the team is a nice change of pace–oh she was paid…. makes sense.
Simmons can play the Banjo? When’s his new single dropping?
Grif be supportive of your Brofriend (Bro + Boyfriend = Brofriend)
Wow… imagine your best friend being closer with your ex/not-ex girlfriend than you.
Couldn’t be me Church… mainly cause I’m gay and don’t have a girlfriend
Sarge, the planet is quite literally breaking apart, and your plan is to blow it up… honestly I’m not even surprised.
It’s actually astounding how absolutely this heist went to shit… and quickly too.
“We had to learn to care for our equipment” Tex says. Cut to five minutes ago where she drove a motorcycle through a glass wall.
HOLY SHIT MAINE CAN TAKE SOME DAMAGE! I mean I know they’re wearing Spartan armor and all, but JEEZE.
I love how even the freelancers almost (emphasis on almost) fumble their stuff like the red and blue teams.
Like when Carolina juggles the briefcase in the air before getting a hold of it, and then immediately getting kicked back.
Damn… more Carolina and Tex beef.
How much do I wanna bet Grif’s plan is gonna backfire hilariously?
Yes it backfired horribly… because now Andy exists… again
Oh hey Delta was born! Great! Which means Alpha/Church was just tortured to the point that his mind split…. Not great…
“We’re the good guys? Right?” Oh… you’re concerned you’re not? What clued you in, the insane property damage, murder, or endangered civilians?
“I forget you…” AAAHHH WHAT THE FUCK THAT IS SO SAD YET SO GOOD.
And they brought him back… that’s actually really fucking funny.
THEYRE GONNA KILL THE DIRECTOR?! AWWW YES THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS IT COMING.
Conclusion: YES I CANT WAIT TO WATCH SEASON 10
#red vs blue#rvb#red versus blue#rvb caboose#rvb church#rvb sarge#rvb simmons#rvb tucker#rvb grif#project freelancer#rvb wash#rvb carolina#rvb tex#rvb delta#rvb season 9
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“Me? Joke? Never,” Reece said, shifting uneasily under Dante’s gaze—she could feel herself being studied, which was just about the exact converse of having a captive audience. Dante had this way of looking right through Reece when he wanted to, although he didn’t do it often—that was something she’d always liked about him. He respected the bit; he didn’t break it unless things seemed serious. And she knew he was going to ask again, go in at another angle, and she knew that he had to, so she tried not to blame him for it. “I was paintballing,” she offered, a quick lie, just bizarre enough, she hoped, to seem believable. “My boss has a backyard and a collection of janky old guns. No safety goggles, though,” Reece tried—a half-truth, more or less, although Steve was actually very stringent about eye safety, and she hadn’t been over there in months. Jack hadn’t liked Reece going over to another guy’s house so much. “Anyways,” she said, redirecting quickly, “wanna head in? We’ve got t-minus-two hours to get high before we have to get sad. And I’ve still gotta write my fucking eulogy, Jesus. Oh, shit. Anyone told you yet? About the little cabarete of foster kid eulogies? You’re expected to participate,” Reece said, putting on her best impression of Mrs. Tristan’s sharp soprano at the end.
it's too early for a drink, so dante instead prepared for a run. it was a distraction, but also an indulgence had he allowed it to become one. the vice of regimen: such inevitability had very easily become a drug. " yeah well, fuck you too. " he's got a mouthful of sharded glass, though there is no weight behind any of it. no intention to draw blood. everything hurts and still, something cheshire creeps upon visage. he allows her to hug him, brief stutter as if not yet realizing he wouldn't shatter her merely by hugging back. so he does, though he doesn't share her same intent to practically realign his spine. when they finally depart, dante allows himself to inspect her. it's like watching a fisherman inspect the daily batch of crab: he could not ignore the imperfections. though he does not say it, or so he thinks, he throws her a look that says: you might be givin' me a run for my money. " you're joking with me right⸺" brow raises, snide amusement playing across features. half of these people wouldn't know solidarity if it bit em' on the ass. hand finds her chin absently, turns her head so he could oggle her fading black eye. maybe they really were twins. " where'd you get this one from? "
#/// dante.#this thread is back in time bc im so slow but.#a little eulogy chat sesh could be fun tbh
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In Endgame it seemed like the producers wanted Tony dying to be the only way he could be at peace. Like Pepper literally tells him 'Rest now', as if sacrificing himself to destroy the enemy that's been haunting him since Avengers 1 is the only ending where he can be happy.
"Sorry meant to add this to my ask (about Tony's death in Endgame being portrayed as his only possible happy ending): The whole thing makes me want to cry. And scream. Your opinion on what was being portrayed there?"
.
Friend, I...think you're more invested in this than I am, at this point. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I have ranted at length about my feelings on everything related to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. [Note: those are only some of the highlights. There's plenty more— I'm not even including the whole "in an interview, the writers flat-out said they didn't like the characters" thing, even.]
Beyond that, the main thing you should know about me is the fact that I have very, very limited time and energy, and prefer to focus on things I enjoy over dwelling on things I know I'll hate. Because I've seen this road before, and it never ends well, and life's got enough bs without me piling on even more.
Am I going to be forever bitter about what went down? Yes. Am I never going to let go of the fact that the writers prioritized ticket sales over the age-old art of telling a good story and threw years' worth of effort down the drain in the process? Also yes. But I refuse to let it get to me.
The MCU lived in my head rent-free for a good chunk of my childhood and teenage years, and— yeah, I mourn for the potential it once had, but if I cling to the anger I feel about how the writers butchered everyone's character arcs and consistency for *drama*, I will never know rest.
If I let myself, I know I'm capable of being incandescent with rage over how they fridged the only woman in the original Avengers' Initiative, of the way they somehow managed to make Steve "I don't like bullies, also FUCK Nazis" Rogers into someone completely unrecognizable in the span of three movies, and—
I'm tired.
Look: you probably found this blog because of my most famous fic, The War is Far From Over Now. I started writing it because I needed at least one (1) world where Tony Stark got a happy ending for all the bs the MCU kept throwing at him [and only him], and if that meant making it myself, then so be it.
When I first started, I wasn't old enough to legally drink. Originally, it was supposed to be something short and sweet, something funny— but spite made it longer, and the readers' reception meant more inspiration to go into even more detail, and then it turned into a stress relief valve for all the shit that kept going down in my life.
[I try to keep personal life bs separate from my writing, but.
Shit went down.]
So, long story short: TWiFFON started out a fun thought exercise, but ended up becoming my love letter to what the MCU used to be— and later, a eulogy for the same.
Because over a decade of being invested in the world that turned my casual interest in the comics into something more concrete, only to watch as the audience was robbed of just about every sort of resolution there possibly could have been.
This isn't my first disappointment of this type, sure: Harry Potter was the book series I learned to read English with and I'd once thought the epilogue was as bad as things could get in that regard [...boy was I wrong], and Naruto and Bleach both managed to be incredibly ??? in their finales, but.
Of all of the things that made up so much of my childhood, my favorite character was Tony Stark.
The man who tried so, very hard to do his best, and kept getting beaten down for it time and time again. Who, by all rights, should have been the villain— either as the rich white guy who apparently can do nothing right [see: Iron Man 1 onwards], or simply because it makes no sense for him to be on the same side as the heroes who lied to his face and stabbed him in the neck or back time and time again [see: Iron Man 2 onwards, special mention for Avengers: Age of Ultron and Captain America: Civil War].
Who was both the Da Vinci and Cassandra of his generation, because for all his accomplishments, nobody ever took him seriously— and never even got an "I told you so", after shit hit the fan and everyone immediately turned to him for answers [see: Iron Man 3, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Infinity War, Endgame and need I go on?]
...I could go on for hours. But I won't.
If the writers won't give it this much thought, I won't either, not anymore.
Same way I refuse to watch another Marvel movie or tv show. I'd only barely been sticking around and gritting my teeth at the writing before Endgame, but that's the movie that made me ragequit the MCU entirely.
I've moved on, trying my hand at other fandoms and hobbies to occupy my brain when I'm not working or studying. At most, I have been poking at old cartoons and comics when I feel up to retreading old ground, but...right now, the main thing I feel when I think about the movies is disappointment.
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@floralflowerpower mentioned wanting to read an idea I had, soooo....
Alright, this is largely inspired by the M*A*S*H episode “Who Knew?” It’s a very bittersweet episode. It begins with the news that a nurse died the previous night when she wandered into a minefield. One of the main characters, Hawkeye, was the last one to see her alive. He offers to write her eulogy when no one else steps forward, though he barely knew her himself. He’s stymied by how little anyone can tell him about her, until the priest suggests he reads her diary. He learns who she was through her own words, the person she had hidden beneath a shy exterior that others interpreted as standoffish. She had true feelings for Hawkeye and he never knew. The last entry is how she can’t get Hawkeye out of her thoughts so she’s going to go for a walk.
As you might guess, my idea starts off with a bittersweet tale.
Jack and Maddie got the portal working without Danny needing to die, and for two years, Amity Park has been under threat from whatever ghost chooses to try their hand at conquering them. Jack and Maddie are the town’s main defense without Danny Phantom to protect them, and they’re not as skilled or as prompt as canon Danny was at catching ghosts. Sometimes a ghost slips through. Sometimes, people get hurt.
I don’t have the full details worked out, but in this case, a ghost attacked the school. Danny is almost killed. He’s the son of the town’s defenders, so perhaps he’s an easy, desirable target. One of his classmates saves him by sacrificing himself. He (I’ve been going with the name Alexander in my notes) later dies at the hospital, and Danny, suffering from survivor’s guilt and PTSD, blames himself. He didn’t know his classmate very well, he doesn’t even remember his name right away, he doesn’t understand why Alex saved him.
He tries to find out more about him, feeling like he owes him that much, but he discovers only superficial information. Alex was a foster of Amity Park; he had no family. No one but Danny is currently mourning him. He’s determined to get answers, though, and that causes him to clash with Dash and teachers when they say things like “Alex was a creep” or “he was a troublemaker; I heard he ran away from his last home.” Danny’s fights get him brought to Lancer’s attention, and it’s during that meeting that Danny is given Alex’s diary.
Eager but frightened, it takes Danny a long time to work up the courage to begin reading.
Meanwhile, “Phantom” begins to form in the Ghost Zone.
Alex hated himself enough that his self-image is dismissed from his spirit, and his last thoughts were of Danny, so when he forms, he takes on a ghostly impression of Danny. It’s an important detail because that’s what makes this pitch pearl, and it’s why Danny doesn’t recognize him.
He doesn’t have a clearly defined obsession, but he definitely feels a pull toward the human world. Johnny and Kitty help Phantom cross the portal, and that’s when he meets Danny for the first time. Idk why Danny came down to the lab yet, but I know he’s up because of PTSD nightmares/insomnia. Phantom feels his whole being focus on Danny, Danny freezes in place because he had just woken up from a nightmare of a ghost attack, and Johnny and Kitty look between Danny and Phantom, putting two and two together and reaching “Phantom’s purpose”
The three ghosts make a quick escape once protective parents Jack and Maddie come storming down the stairs, but first impressions were made, and now Phantom is determined to find out more about Danny and why his soul is crying out for him.
Unfortunately, Danny is entangled in Alex’s diary and his own grief. Every effort Phantom makes toward befriending Danny is rebuffed because 1) ghosts can’t be trusted, and 2) Phantom’s resemblance to Danny combined with his interest in him is fucking creepy. In his downward spiral, though, Danny is losing connection with his friends, his grades, his safety, and Phantom isn’t willing to let Danny fade like this. Circumstances change when Phantom saves Danny from a human threat (human crime, let’s goooo) and Danny starts to actually pay attention to him, enough to start letting down his walls at least.
And just in time for Danny to reach the point in the diary where Alex confesses he had a crush on Danny. Danny’s grief finally breaks, and Phantom comforts him through the loss. Phantom learns about Alex and Danny’s growing feelings for a boy that’s no longer within reach, and reluctantly pushes his own growing feelings for Danny aside. Danny is going through too much to deal with Phantom’s own failings. He needs time to mourn.
A real friendship starts to build.
With his feelings for Danny on hold but satisfied by their friendship, Phantom begins to explore who he is. He begins to take on a protector role, determined to save other humans from feeling the grief Danny is under. He focuses less on fighting and more on saving. A ghost will attack, and he’ll erect a shield around humans to deflect debris or catch someone who is falling or just comfort someone who got hurt. Jack and Maddie are still the ones that ultimately defeat the ghost, but Phantom’s actions begin to catch everyone’s attention.
He is exactly what they needed, and he begins to be hailed as a guardian.
Danny is happy for him, but something about Phantom’s focus with protection over fighting resonates with Alex’s thoughts in his diary. He begins piecing things together. He proposes his wild idea to Jazz one night, but she warns him not to try to “bring Alex back from the dead” for Danny’s own mental health.
Danny proposes the idea to Phantom, and at first Phantom thinks it’s nonsense, but Danny insists Phantom read the diary, so Phantom reluctantly (tho he doesn’t understand why he’s so reluctant) humors him. He can only get through five entries before he shoves the diary back into Danny’s hands and refuses to read anymore.
His self-hatred caused him to lose his identity in death, remember? He doesn’t want to remember, it’s painful. He tells Danny to forget about Alex. No one cared about him when he was alive, they won’t care who he was now. But Danny cares, and it tugs at Phantom’s feelings to meet Danny halfway, but does Danny like him because of Alex or because of Phantom, the person he is now?
I don’t have the full details worked out, but I know I want Danny to reveal Phantom’s past as Alex to Amity Park so that they can see their foster son has grown into their defender, savior, protector. He wasn’t loved when he was alive, but they must honor his past because it made him the hero he is now. Amity Park goes wild for the story. They love Phantom all the more, knowing who he was, how he died, and who he became.
A bittersweet beginning becoming an uplifting, hopeful note, maybe?
That’s all I have planned :P
I haven’t written anything for it yet because I haven’t figured out how to start. I’m terrible at action scenes, and I feel like I have to describe at least PART of Alex’s sacrifice. But ugh, ghost attack, ugh. Choreography, description, pacing, urgh, I hate action scenes, how do you guys WRITE those, it’s witchcraft I swear
(Side note for the name, Alexander means “defender of men”)
(And because I’m classy as a unripe grape, the story is titled Right Here (Departed) in my folder, which is actually a song by Brandy oiasjdlkfej I song titled it. omg. But listen, listen...it fits)
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“I deserve to rot.” “It never mattered anyway.” And “You’re supposed to be yelling at me! And… and hitting me! Why aren’t you doing that?!” (Platonic) With a happy ending for a young-teen slasher reader? Billy and Stu plz 👉👈 love your storys
Warnings: Angst, a little bit of violence, Word count: 2950 Notes: Sorry this took forever to write also it’s the longest prompt i’ve written
You sat down beside Billy on Sidney's bed and tried to hand him a glass of water which he refused, you sighed and set the cup down. You were never close with Sidney Prescott despite her being in your "friend group" but you wanted to be there for your best friend Billy since his girlfriend was just murdered by a lunatic in a cheap Halloween costume. The two of you had been hiding in his ex-girlfriend's room since the two of you arrived at the wake, Billy spent almost the entire time silent while you sat beside him just trying to keep him company while he grieved.
You knew that he blamed himself for Sidney's death and you didn't know if being here would be good for him but he wanted to be here, to see her room one last time. You watched as he stood up and walked over to her desk and fumbled with something on it before muttering something you nearly didn't hear. "I deserve to rot."
Your expression softened as you looked up at him. "Billy, no you don't-"
"Yes I do." He raised his voice and turned to face you. "I'm the reason she died, I- I could've saved her." He stopped once he realised what he'd just said and covered his mouth as his eyes glossed over with tears and you quickly stood up and pulled him in for a hug, he cried into your shoulder as you rubbed his back and said nothing, just letting him let out his emotions before the door opened and Stu walked in.
"I thought I'd find you guys in here." Stu spoke quietly, he came over and sat on Billy's right side. "How're you holding up?"
"Well, my girlfriend is dead, and you couldn't have arrived any later." He scratched his eye and stepped away from you, looking at the two of you. "We should get going, I just want to get this over with." Billy grabbed his coat that was hanging over the chair at the desk and didn't wait for the two of you as he walked out to his car. Stu looked at you.
"What is it?" Stu asked, sitting down on the bed.
"He still blames himself for her death, you know?"
"Yeah, Sid really meant a lot to him but he'll be fine."
"I don't know, Stu. I'm just worried that he's going to do something regrettable."
Stu shook his head, you swore he tried to hide a smile. "He'll be fine, trust me."
You just nodded in response and the two of you exited the house, finding Billy leaning against his car smoking. When he saw you he chucked his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it before getting into the car. The ride to the church was silent except for the sound of the radio playing quietly and Stu humming along in the backseat, the car slowed to a stop outside the church next to multiple news vans and other cars. People dressed in black filed into the church, Billy didn’t move. “Billy? We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”
“No I do it’s just that-” He ran a hand through his hair. “- I have to, I was her boyfriend. Uh, just, I’ll catch up with you guys, I’m just going to talk to daddy dearest.” He pointed at Mr. Loomis who was not so subtly eying the car, you and Stu stepped out of the car and began walking up to the church.
You turned your head to see Billy stepping out of the car and walking over to talk with his father before you and Stu entered the church and found a free row at the back and sat down, throwing your coat down in the space beside you for Billy. “I’ve never been to a funeral before.”
Stu looked at you. “Really? Well don't get too excited, someone just died." you rolled your eyes and scanned the room in the hopes you'd find someone who looked familiar but instead you just saw a bunch of your high school peers who you knew Sid never talked to, Stu caught onto this. "Yeah, I think about 10 people here actually knew Sid, the rest are just fans."
"Fans?"
"Yeah, a lot of these people are just here so they can say 'hey, I went to Sidney Prescott's funeral', and then there's mostly people who idolise the guy who killed her because they think he's a hunk underneath that costume. There are people out there who actually think the killer's hot. I mean, how messed up is that?" Stu laughed and a few seconds later Billy slid into the seat beside you and thanked you.
"What did your father want?"
"Oh he asked me if I had prepared that eulogy for the funeral. . .which I didn't." Billy ran a hand through his hair and looked around as Mr. Loomis walked in, making eye contact with him for a few seconds before finding his own seat. You turned to Billy and gently touched his arm, he looked down at you and you went to talk but the sound of feedback filled the room. You looked forward and saw a woman apologising and holding a microphone.
She introduced herself as Sidney's aunt and Neil's sister, she was the first of many people to give their speeches about Sidney. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a family member finished their eulogy about Sidney and stood in front of the podium. "Now I would like Billy Loomis - Sidney's boyfriend - to come up, Billy?" Billy stood up and awkwardly walked up to the front of the hall and got behind the podium, pulling out a folded piece of paper and unfolding it and looking at the crowd of people.
"Sidney. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney, where do I start with you?" Billy sighed. "Alright, I have to admit that this is just a blank piece of paper." Billy held the paper up and flipped both sides to the audience sitting below him as if he was a magician, an awkward silence filled the room. Billy awkwardly coughed and stuffed the paper into one of the pockets on his suit and apologised before continuing. "Sidney would've laughed. She was truly something, you know she didn't deserve this. I just wish I could go back to that night and save her. It just- it repeats in my head over and over and it haunts me. All I can see is her face and her voice- oh, her voice. I'd give so much just to hear her voice one more time or hold her. I just miss her so much." Billy bit his lip as his eyes began to water, he recomposed himself and continued his speech. "Sidney was such a beautiful person. I remember this one time when we were together. We were watching this horror movie together and there's this part where one of the characters gets possessed and he's just being thrown around the room, but she pauses it and turns to me and she starts talking about how she wants a future with me." Billy paused as scattered sobs filled the audience. "She didn't deserve any of this and I mean this with all due respect but whoever kill you, Sids, I'm going to fucking-"
“Okay that’s enough, Mr. Loomis.” The person who announced him pulled him away from the podium and Billy joined you and Stu again in the back of the church as one of Sidney’s relatives stood up to give her speech. Billy sat down looking surprisingly calm despite his short outburst, some people were still turning back to offer judging and amusing glances at him.
"You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" He looked forward for a few seconds then looked at you, speaking in a hushed voice. "Hey, wanna ditch this? Grab Stu and meet me outside." He didn't wait for a response before getting up and leaving. Stu looked really confused and was about to ask about what happened but you shut him up by grabbing his arm and pulling him up, practically dragging him out of the building.
You both caught up to Billy as he was getting into his car and you noticed that he was acting completely different from how his was this morning let alone just a few minutes ago, it was as if he'd forgotten what'd happened or maybe he didn't care. You and Stu got in and Billy turned the radio up as loud as he could and barely let you put on your seatbelt before driving.
To be honest you were worried and a bit too scared to ask him what was going on. You would've asked Stu but he was back to his old goofy self and encouraging Billy's reckless behaviour so you decided to keep quiet and let Billy take you guys to wherever pleased him. Eventually you guys just ended up at a 7/11 - you were expecting a cliff or maybe a ditch but you were glad that you were alive. The three of you got out and Billy threw his arms around yours and Stu's shoulders as the three of you walked in and got a few questioning looks from the other customers.
Stu broke apart from your little group and began hunting down snacks in the snack aisle while you and Billy went straight to the slushie machines. "Hey, Billy? What was all that before?"
"What'cha mean? Oh, Cola or Raspberry?"
"Raspberry. I mean, you were devastated and now we're here." he began filling up two plastic cups and waited until they were full before handing them both to you.
"Eh, it never mattered anyway. Hey, go hand this to Stu and make sure he's not being an idiot." you took them and went to find Stu who from over the shelves, looked like he was one wrong move away from dropping all the crap he was holding. Still you were very confused about Billy's reaction but you assumed he was just having a mood swing to cope with Sidney's death. You glanced back at him before walking into the snack aisle and laughing at how stupid Stu looked.
"A little help here?"
"Sorry, my hands are full." You held up the two slushies and Stu ended up dropping everything on the floor. "Jeez, let me put these on the counter then I'll come help you." You shook your head while biting back a smile and found the front counter and set the drinks down as Billy passed you holding another cup. "Stu's in trouble." You laughed as you followed him to see Stu trying to pick up all the stuff he dropped plus a few extra chocolate bars from the shelf.
"At least you didn't drop the soda. Fuck, the soda." Billy dumped all the stuff he was holding and went to grab a 24 pack of coca cola cans, Stu giving him an 'are you joking' look and rolling his eyes as he picked up the rest of the snacks.
You helped them clean up the mess and ended up only buying 3 bags of chips and 12 candy bars instead of 20 bags of chips and 17 candy bars like Stu had originally planned, paid for them all and left. You got into the car and threw all the bags of snacks into the back for Stu to 'guard' and took a sip of your drink as Stu and Billy stood outside and talked.
A few minutes later they both got into the car. "Y/N, do you want to stay over tonight"
"Yeah, sure." You nodded and noticed Billy and Stu grinning at each other through the rear view mirror, not thinking much of it as Billy started the car and pulled out of the gas station.
"Thanks for staying here tonight."
"Yeah it's good." You said as you caught a pillow Billy threw at you and dropped it on top of the spread out blankets on the couch. "Are you sure your dad's cool with me staying over?"
"Yeah, he's working late tonight anyways."
Stu dumped all the snacks on the coffee table and ran into the kitchen to grabbed 3 cans of cola and fell onto your makeshift bed. "Okay so what are we watching first? We got Day of the Dead, Re-animator, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, or The Funhouse." Billy threw you another pillow which you immediately whacked Stu with, causing him to fall off the couch, you dropped down onto the couch and grabbed a bag of chips but Stu grabbed it before you could open them. "These are for the movie marathon." He stuck a finger up at you to wave in your face but you just kicked in and grabbed the chips off him again and opened the bag.
Billy rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the movies off the table and stuck it into the tv and sat beside you as the movie loaded on screen while Stu pulled himself off the floor and grabbed one of the coca cola cans and popped it open, taking a sip.
About two movies into the marathon the three of you ended up passing out but you were the first to wake up. Checking the time it was only 10:31PM and you really needed to use the bathroom so you got up and jumped over Stu's body and walked upstairs and found the bathroom and did your business. You came out of the bathroom and was about to go back downstairs when you noticed that Billy's bedroom door was opened and your curiosity got the better of you as you peaked downstairs and saw that the two guys were still asleep and creeped into the bedroom.
Billy's room was exactly what you'd expected it to be, some band posters on the wall above his bed and a messy room. You don't know what you wanted to see, maybe a naughty magazine loosely hidden under his bed, maybe a bottle of alcohol. You shrugged and went to leave his room when you noticed something behind his door and opened it to see a small pile of black material.
You opened the door and stuck your head out again before closing it and picking up the material which you were certain was just a shirt he forgot to throw in with the rest of his dirty laundry, but instead a knife fell out. It made a semi-loud noise as it hit the hard wood floor and you covered your mouth and hoped that it didn't wake up Billy or Stu - Billy especially. You went to pick up the knife but then you felt something else hidden in the fabric and turned it over to see a white mask, this is a Father Death costume, the same one used in the Woodsboro murders.
This could mean one of two things, Billy was another one of those losers who terrorises random people for fun, or he actually killed Sidney, and you really hoped he was just a loser. You quickly dropped the costume on top of the knife and kicked it into the corner where you found it and exited the bedroom and you were about to go back downstairs but then you realised that you needed answers so you grabbed the costume and knife and hid it behind your back with one hand and headed downstairs.
Billy and Stu were still asleep. "Wake up." You half-yelled, Stu managed to wake up while Billy stayed still, lightly snoring. Stu rubbed his eyes and looked at you before realising that something was wrong. He tried to get up but you held your free hand up and he began hitting Billy's chest, waking him up after a few hits.
"What is time it?" The two of them were still trying to wake up when you bit your lip and held up the mess of black fabric and the knife and their faces both dropped and turned pale at the same time. You dropped the contents onto the floor and without skipping a beat you walked for the front door. You didn't get far before Billy grabbed you and forced you to look at him. "Y/N, I swear it's not what it looks like."
"You killed her." You said quietly, Billy let go of you but you didn't really react. He expected anything from screaming to attacking but you just stood there, confusing him.
"I don't understand, you’re supposed to be yelling at me! And… and hitting me! Why aren’t you doing that?”
"Well, I'm just trying to make this easy for you. If you want to kill me, then do it."
Now Stu had stood up and was watching the two of you, Billy bit the inside of his cheek. "We're not going to kill you, Y/N." He took a step closer to you and you took a step back. "Y/N, please. We have no reason to hurt you, think about that. I only killed Sid of her mother." He took another step towards you but this time you didn't move.
You didn't know what you wanted or if you could trust either of them. Billy got closer and gently pulled you in for a hug, slowly wrapping his arms around you and resting a hand in your hair and rubbing your back. "I don't know why but I trust you." You whispered just loud enough for him to hear and his grip on you slightly tightened - not in a claustrophobic way, but more comforting as you felt yourself melt into him. "Just don't kill me."
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I want to outline why I, personally, do not favour the “unreliable narrator” theory about The Silmarillion. I’ve heard two versions of it, one with the narration being biased against the Fëanorians, the other with it being biased against the Sindar (and specifically against Maeglin and Eöl).
The difficulty with the first theory is that the tone of the narration isn’t anti-Fëanor; in fact it’s very balanced. His story, and that of his sons, is described in the style of a tragedy, not a denunciation. The entire tone of it, culminating in the eulogy, “the mightiest of the Noldor, of whose deeds came both their greatest renown and their most grievous woe,” has a sense of tragically wasted potential for good, not of hostility towards the character. Even the Second and Third Kinslayings are written about in a tone more of tragedy than of pure condemnation - for such was the sorrow and confusion in the hearts of the Eldar in those days - and events that would have been known only to Fëanorians, such as Maedhros searching for Eluréd and Elurín, are included, though they could easily have been omitted by an actively hostile narrator. To the extent that the Fëanorians come across negatively, it is because they did terrible things, waging wars (well, battles) of aggression against other elves and against civilians and betraying their kin and friends.
There is a distinct difference between the tone the narrative takes of the Fëanorians and the tone it takes on Maeglin, with the former being more What tragically wasted potential and the latter being more just one of Fuck that guy. But the problem with attributing the account of Maeglin’s actions to narrative bias is that such doesn’t line up at all with the portrait of the Sindar generally. The Sindar are a major part of the two most complete Great Stories within The Silmarillion, the Lay of Leithian (Beren and Lúthien) and the Narn i Hîn Húrin (Tale of the Children of Húrin), and are portrayed positively in both - indeed, Lúthien is probably the single most unambiguously and impressively heroic character in the entire Silmarillion. (Thanks to the genuinely biased real-life storyteller, who loved his wife very much.) In the Narn i Hîn Húrin, Beleg and Thingol and Melian are all portrayed positively. So there’s no hostility to the Sindar here (though there is some cultural chauvinism).
Thus, to claim Maeglin was slandered, you have to theorize that the narrator had a very specific vendetta against only Eöl and Maeglin, and no one else, rather than them both being shown in negative terms because, like the Fëanorians, they did objectively terrible things. And the narrative includes statements (such as saying that Maeglin wasn’t a coward) that it would have no need to do if this was just a hit job. It acknowledges that elves taken captive by Morgoth can be controlled by him. It shows sympathy or pity for traitors under duress such as Gorlim (‘the Unhappy’) in the Leithian. And it specifically distinguishes Maeglin from this, as someone who chose to collaborate with Morgoth for evil ends. Maeglin’s actions in trying to take Idril captive at the sack of Gondolin are also actions in support of what Maeglin wants, not just Morgoth’s goals. Is he influenced? Yes; both Morgoth and Sauron show skill at corrupting others to evil ends. Is he controlled and brainwashed, and not to blame for his actions? No.
(There are other elements in places like Unfinished Tales that also support that this was Tolkien’s view of Maeglin. For example, in ‘Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin’, Maeglin is described as having made the Seventh Gate of Gondolin, the Gate of Steel, after the Nirnaeth. No negative or positive value is attached to this by the narration, but the symbolism is very clear and deliberate on Tolkien’s part. The first three gates - Wood, Stone, and Bronze - are geometric. The next three - Writhen Iron, Silver, and Gold - have symbols of the Valar: Thorondor, Telperion, and Laurelin. And the Seventh, specifically built late in Gondolin’s history, has Turgon’s crown, and unlike the others, does not have a gate: symbolically, putting Turgon above the Valar and indicating both his growing pride and shift to absolute isolationism, with Maeglin’s construction of it presenting him symbolically as an influence in both those things.)
Now sure, you can break things up and say “everything positive written about X character is true, and all the negative stuff is calumny by their detractors!” but that feels rather self-serving; and if you’re making assumptions like that, it elimates the point of discussing or analyzing the text as all, since anything can be claimed and no evidence is needed. At that point, you might as well write your own original story with the characters you want, rather than pretending they’re Tolkien’s.
Personally, I take the narration of the Silmarillion as being broadly omniscient when it’s convenient to Tolkien (characters’ thoughts are recorded even when they are unlikely to have confided them) and vague when he prefers to leave certain elements undefined (such as the fate of Eluréd and Elurín, though it’s possible that Tolkien just didn’t want to say outright “yes, these young children froze to death.” It was midwinter - they would have certainly have frozen before they starved, absent other rescue.)
In addition to the textual support for this view, I find it more personally interesting to play off of. I’m not generally drawn to rewrites or reinterpretations of stories that go with ‘actually the heroes did a bunch of bad stuff offscreen - and the villain did a bunch of good stuff that wasn’t recorded - and the villain had good reasons for all the evil stuff they did on-screen - so the villain is really the hero!’ (It’s why I didn’t watch Maleficent and am not especially interested in seeing Wicked.) And especially for The Silmarillion, where it’s theoretically possible for any of the Elven characters to return to life, I find it far more interesting to ask the question: “Starting from the basis that this character did do all the things depicted in The Silmarillion, could they come back (or be brought back) from that? What would redemption involve? What would it look like?” I’ve imagined redemption narratives for Maeglin, and for Maedhros and Maglor, starting from that premise (I tried one for Celegorm, but it doesn’t work, even in my head), and I far prefer fully grappling with and adressing the wrong they’ve done over attempting to rewrite, ignore, minimize, or justify it.
#tolkien#the silmarillion#noldor#sindar#fëanor#fëanorians#sons of fëanor#maedhros#maglor#eöl#maeglin
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Okay, if EVERY TIME I post something about Wurr, I'll have someone come to me saying "I used to love this comic. rip" or another guilt trip, it's way more likely gonna make me feel bad, which does not make me in any way excited to work on it again.
Like, guys. I've been trying to psyche myself up to get back to it, but every time I try, someone comes and trips me.
So heck it! I want to fucking konmari my brain.
As long as I'm trapped by the plague, I'm not going to waste my limited amount of energy with things that only make me feel bad. Does it spark joy? No? Then too bad!
I still like Wurr, I want to get back to working on it eventually, but it's WORK. Work I don't get paid for, or rewarded. With the dinosaur project thingy, if I do a quick sketchbook doodle, that's an entire thing in itself. I can snap a photo of it and shove it online and it's enough! With Wurr, I can spend days drawing a single page, and it's only 1/60 of a part of a thing (seeing as the books are on average 60ish pages long), and I can't put it online right away, because there's still four pages of buffer I left myself the last time I attempted to get back to it (only for my computer to crap out on me and breaking my streak). I can't even scan them yet, because my scanner is under my sofa, and I need to clean my apartment just to be able to reach it. Cleaning my apartment isn't fun.
Writing eulogies for the comic and sending them to me is. Not. Fun. Or encouraging.
Please. Don't hit me when I try.
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An akuma with reality powers, The Artist Family and the canon Art kids (maybe the other classmates too) meet each other
Their reaction? Chaos?
Another day, another Akuma for the Malevolent Miraculous team
This one is named Alterna, and they’re a scientist who got Akumatized because their alternate universe theory was rejected
They have the power to open portals to other dimensions
While fighting, Alterna grabbed Black Widower’s whip and used it to ensnare the team before flinging them into a portal
Once they land, they find themselves... In Paris? Only, something feels off, very off...
Since there doesn’t seem to be any danger, they detransform
They look around while getting weird looks from people. (Imagine the ‘Going into town’ scene form the Addams Family 2019 movie)
Nathaniel Artist: Everyone’s dressed so... Conformist. *Sees a magazine with Adrien on the cover* And what happened to Adrien’s new look?
Rose Artist: Is this one of the universes where his dad is a jerk?
Alix Artist scares off a few people by throwing a brick through a few car windows.
Marc Artist: Alix, don’t be rude. Let the others have their turns.
Manon approaches Marinette Artist and asks why she’s wearing dark colors
Marinette Artist: Manon, you know I despise all colors.
A few more minutes of walking, and they see Marinette Dupain-Cheng running to school
Marinette Artist: *Checks her watch* School has begun three minutes ago. She’s not very punctual, is she?
The Artist Family follow her to the alternate DuPont to see what’s going on, then they bump into Mme. Bustier, who was making her way to the teachers lounge.
Mme. Bustier: Marinette? But I just... I saw you, all of you in the classroom. And Marc, shouldn’t you also be in class?
The Artists rush to their respective classrooms and find their alternate sleeves, much to their shock
Nathaniel Kurtzberg: ... What the fuck?!
Nathaniel Artist: I could ask the same about your outfit. Must you insult my eyes with such a color combination?
Chloé: Ha! You just got burned by yourself, tomato head!
Marinette Artist: At least he doesn’t go out looking like a clown gave him a makeover.
Chloé: I’m telling daddy!
Marinette Artist: Yes, let your father get involved with petty teenage drama. That will get him more votes in the upcoming election. Now silence.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng: ... Thank you, me?
They explain what happened, (Leaving out the part about them being superheroes because this universe’s Lila will no doubt run her big mouth to Hawkmoth who they’re sure she’s working for), and the art club is not sure how to react
Alix Kudbel: So we’re basically the Addams Family?
Lila: Oh! You know, my great great grandfather actually inspired Chauncey Addams to create the Addams Family!
While the class eats it up, the art club and Artists just glare at her
Marinette Addams: It’s Charles Addams, idiot.
Lila: Oh, you guys hate me too? *Cue bitch crying*
Juleka Artist: *Waves a skull in front of Lila* Luxor, nexor, burst and burn!
Lila: What’s she doing?
Juleka Artist: Just a curse that will make your pants burst into flames every time you lie.
Lili: *Whining* Why are you all trying to hurt me?! I never lie! *Her pants bursts into flames and she runs out of the school before she’s left in only her underwear*
Alya: *To her Marinette* My sincerest apologies.
Suddenly, screams are heard, followed by Mme. Mendelive and her students running past the classroom. Marc Anciel and Artist walk into the classroom while being trailed by a clutter of spiders
Marc Artist: Well that was quite rude, wouldn’t you say?
Marc Anciel: In their defense, spiders are a little... Horripilante.
Nathaniel Artist just stands there, trying very hard not to kiss the alternate version of his boyfriend and wondering why his alternate self isn’t going kissing his Marc madly with passion
The Artists explain to the Art Club during lunch about their situation and tell them that they’re Miraculous holders in their world, much to Marinette’s shock since she’s never heard of the Malevolent Miraculous
The art club let their alternate selves stay with them until they can figure out a way to get back, but Nathaniel and Marc Artist insist that they stay together
Alix Kudbel and Artist volunteer to let them stay with them. (Cuz they ship ‘em!)
Marinette A is stunned to see her alternate parents, and when they welcome her with open arms since her own parents were always so distant.
Even when she shows her dark nature, they still treat her like family. She tries very hard not to show any emotion
When they’re alone, Tikki and Screech reveal themselves. Tikki explains that there are alternate realities with different Kwamis with similar powers to the Kwamis they’ve alternate versions of. Screech is her alternate self
Marinette A questions why Marinette DC’s Ladybug suit is so skintight and insists that she change her suit which Marinette DC doesn’t mind doing
Marinette A tells Marinette DC about her boyfriend, Damian, confusing DC a bit. What about Adrien?
Marinette A: Adrien wasn’t able to satisfy my needs. Yes, he’s quite attractive, but I needed someone who could keep up with me, worship me, be my love servant and follow me into the underworld.
Marinette DC: ... So who’s this Damian?
Nathaniel K insists that Nathaniel A spend some time away from his Marc so they can talk without them making out every five minutes
Nathaniel A: How is it that you have not gouged out your own eyes?! Your Marc is miles away from you, and you believe you have the right to live?!
Nathaniel K: ... We call each other.
Nathaniel K is starting to regret letting his alternate self live with him since he keeps starting fires! He had to hide all of the matches and anything flammable. And if that’s not bad, Chompp keep chewing on his sketchbooks
Once all of the fire causes were hidden, they bonded over their love for painting and sketching
Nathaniel K: So, your paintings are actually cursed?
Nathaniel A: Very much. One caused the mayor to stumble down the stairs and stay in intensive care.
Nathaniel K: *Thinking of all the ways he could torture Chloé and Lila with his art* ... Teach me.
Marc Anciel is trying not to scream every time one of Marc Artist’s spiders crawl on him, not wanting to seem rude
Marc Anciel: *Shudders* Oh, and that’s a black widow in my hair.
Marc Artist: They’re my favorite. It’s why I chose the name Black Widower.
To release some of the tension, Marc Anciel suggests they read each other’s writing... He will not be sleeping for a while after reading Marc’s Artist’s stories. He asks why his alternate self wrote eulogies for his Nathaniel
Marc Artist: I want others to know of the love we shared together before he’s put to rest. And who better to write my love’s eulogy than the one who knows him best? The one who has loved him, tangoed with him, stabbed his heart.
Marc Andiel ignores the last part and actually considers writing Nathaniel’s eulogy.
Alix K and Alix A are having an awesome time together
Alix A and Duuo throw grenades which Alix K dodges while skating until Alim tells them to do this away from the museum
They outrun the police, prank Kim by putting itching powder in the pool, and watch their Marcs and Nathaniels make out
It’s all fun and well until Alix A meets this universe’ Jalil. Her Jalil sold her out since there was a reward to turn her in, forcing her to run from the authorities and she’s never forgiven him
Jalil K assures her that he’d never do that and reminds her that family always comes first. Alix A is resisting the urge to cry and instead lights a firecracker in his jacket
Juleka A CANNOT stop staring at her alternate self’s Luka. She can actually see his face and body. And he can talk!
Luka: Hey, are Marinette and I a... Thing where you’re from?
Juleka A: She has two hands. Soon to be three when she takes Damian’s in marriage when they’re of age.
Juleka C and A bond over their love for the macabre and witch culture. She even teaches her a few spells to use against Chloé and Lila if she ever shows her face again
They work! Chloé broke out into a terrible rash, and all of Lila’s pants are on fire
Rabbid also may or may not have chewed up the rest of Lila’s clothes, forcing her to spend all of her money on new clothes
Rose A tries to get used to her alternate self’s love of bright colors and Disney movies, but it’s a struggle. So, she exposes her to the darker side of Disney.
Rose L is horrified but also a little excited.
They do a dark Disney marathon and watch all of the movies Disney tried to hide from audiences.
Rose A even changes up Rose L’s look so she looks like a badass punk Princess, which gives Juleka C a slight nosebleed
Rose L is still her bubbly self, but now also has a love for the darker things in life
The Artists stay in this universe for three more days, starting another goth trend in the alternate Paris by giving Adrien a makeover, introducing Marinette to Damian via pen pal program, teaching Nathaniel and Juleka how to curse their enemies, setting Lila’s clothes on fire a couple more times, introducing Marc to a more gothic style of or writing & Rose to a punk style of clothing, and teaching Alix all of the stunts she’s never even thought of doing that involve explosives
They also have a little fun with Nino and help him pursue his dream of traumatizing Gabriel Agreste
This involves chloroform, a coffin, and a walkee talkee. Gabriel is forced to listen to Nino’s voice for 12 whole hours, telling him to be a better dad to Adrien, fire Lila, and to give him $1000 dollars
Gabriel gives Adrien more freedom, fires Lila and burns all of the magazines with her face and name in them, and gives Nino $1000 dollars. Then he passes out
Nino: *Hugging the Artists* I... I love you guys so much. I don’t ever want you to leave. You have made me the happiest man alive!
Then Alterna shows up
Nino: NO! DON’T TAKE THEM! TAKE GABRIEL!
Adrien: Hey!
Nino: I’m just kidding... Not.
The Artists and Marinette transform. The Malevolent Miraculous team are shocked to see Chat Noir but are even more shocked when they immediately recognize him as Adrien
They’re able to defeat the Akuma even though Lila (Who’s being a brat because she got fired) keeps interfering by whining about her broken leg, this time in a skirt. (Loophole) And she keeps trying to snatch their Miraculous whenever she gets close to them
Jaws: *Uses power to make his teeth sharper* Keep crying and I’ll give you a real broken leg. *Lila shuts up and lets them work*
They defeat Alterna, and Ladybug and Nocturna use the Miracle/Malevolent cure to remove all of the portals opened by the Akuma and put people back in their respective dimensions
They start to disappear and head back to their dimension as the Bats and Ladybugs swarm around them
Nino: NO! TAKE ME WITH YOU! *They disappear* DAMNIT!
Alya: You have them. *Points to the Art Club*
Nino: Can they murder Gabriel or frame him for a crime?
Juleka: We can try. There’s six of us, one of him. Nathaniel and I now know how to curse people.
Nino: I’m in!
Alya: And while you go ruin Gabriel’s life, I’m gonna go kill Lila.
Back in the Artist’s Dimension!
Juleka Artist: Are we back? Is this our dimension?
Nino: Oh, thank God you’re back! Gabriel was starting to gain consciousness again and Adrien is becoming suspicious. I think he knows I’m keeping him in my basement.
Marinette Artist: *Sighs* Yep. This is our place.
#miraculous ladybug#marc x nathaniel#nathaniel kurtzberg#miraculous#marc anciel#akuma#au#marinette dupain cheng#alix kudbel#rose lavillant#juleka couffaine#the artist family#the addams family
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People who live in cold places DNI
IT IS 14 DEGREES. IT IS 14 FUCKING DEGREES AND FOR SOME REASON I HAD THE BRILLIANT IDEA TO TAKE A SHOWER AND MY WATER DIDN'T HEAT PROPERLY SO NOW I'M FUCKING FREEZING. IN 14 DEGREE WEATHER. I'M IN MY HOUSE WITH ALL THE DOORS AND WINDOWS SHUT AND I STILL FEEL LIKE I'M GONNA TURN INTO AN ICECUBE RIGHT HERE AND RIGHT NOW AND IF IT'S THAT COLD INDOORS I DON'T EVEN WANT TO IMAGINE WHAT IT'S LIKE OUTSIDE. AND ON TOP OF THAT I HAVE TO GO OUT FOR LUNCH IN ABOUT AN HOUR IN THAT COLD COLD AIR I'M GONNA DIE GUYS IF YOU DON'T SEE ME ONLINE AGAIN TODAY IT MEANS I HAVE BEEN CAPTAIN AMERICA-ED INTO THE FUTURE AND WILL NOT BE BACK AGAIN FOR THE NEXT 6 MONTHS UNTIL SUMMER SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE ME A EULOGY OKAY I'LL MISS YOU ALL BYE
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i love not being constrained by societal norms i created for dialogue :D
“How is this legal, and how is this not child labour, and when will this brutality change?”
“When one of us dies?” Symphora offered as she took out her laptop, quickly unlocking it and pulling out her chemistry answers.
“Thank you for your sacrifice, Donut.” Hilaria patted Donatus sympathetically. “I’m sure Janny will give a very touching eulogy.”
“Why do I have to die?”
“Why do I have to write the eulogy? Elliot, you do it.”
“Wow, okay, Janny, I see where we stand.”
“Yeah, well maybe you should’ve said good morning earlier.”
“Wait, Elliot, why don’t you wanna eulogize for me?”
“Nah, I nominate Burakgazi,” Symphora chimed in, well-aware that said boy had just entered. “It’s not good for the colonies to have so much hot air, Donut can live, and Janny won’t have to eulogize.”
Regulus Burakgazi glared at her, not that that’s anything new, and really, in a way, it was quite a shame he was always scowling and glaring, because even in her most biased and scathing opinion, he was quite pleasant to look at. “Oh, fuck off.”
“Well, don’t go giving yourself wrinkles like that. You’re gonna ruin your one good trait.”
He looked baffled for a moment, animosity disappearing before being replaced with annoyance once again. “If we’re picking people to kill, I nominate the dwarf.”
“Wow, so original, asshole.”
“At least I’m not vertically-challenged.”
“Go choke on your own ego.”
“Ooh, I’m quaking in my loafers.”
Like always, everyone else ignored their arguing, and returned to furiously finishing their chemistry homework. Well, everyone except Elliot, poor sweet Elliot, who just wanted everyone to get along, and mustered his best friendly smile at Regulus. “Hey, wanna join us, Regulus? We’re just going over the chemistry pack, and – “
“Nah, you guys are on your own,” he sneered, and almost like an afterthought, directed one last jab at her and added, “Have fun getting the wrong answers from that though.”
“Do us all a favour and kill yourself.”
Elliot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as Regulus stormed to his seat. “Why can’t you guys just act normal for once? Don’t you get tired of fighting all the time?”
“Oh, Elli, sweetie, they’ve been fighting since they first met.” Januaria didn’t even look up from typing on her laptop. “It’s just the natural order of things, y’know? Like water is wet, the sun is hot, Syma and Regulus will always be at each other’s throats, just a natural law of the universe.”
#personal writing catastrophe#he's a mess she's a mess their classmates are all a mess i love it#together there's maybe one braincell in this scene#i'm really tempted to make slang for this but i know if i do it's gonna take me forever lmao#worldbuilding is so much fun and it really is a problem because i spend so much time doing it lol#can i be a writer who just worldbuilds and doesn't actually write that's my dream right there#but yeah enjoy a snippet from my pwc i'm doing my best juggling four timelines bc i decided i don't like linear chronology
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Akio
CW: References to the death of a friend, grief, suicide, murder
Sequel to Found Out and this past flashback to Oliver Branch
The sound of thin, breaded pork cutlets frying in the big pan on the stove fills the air, and Akio breathes in the familiar smell where he lays on his back on his parents’ gigantic cream-colored sectional couch, stretched out across the whole length of it on one side. Not that he’s all that tall to take up all that much space, really, but what matters is that he would definitely have fallen asleep by now if it weren’t for holding his phone up over his face.
It fell on him, once, and he’s pretty sure no one noticed. Emi, his younger sister, hasn’t even looked up once from her own phone, except once to triumphantly announce that no one caught her and they all voted someone else off the ship. Then she looked back down and never looked back up.
Akio frowns, looking at his own screen, tapping his thumbs as he writes out an answer to the person messaging him. “Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?” His mother looks up from cooking, her eyes moving through the big open space right to him. They’d knocked down all the walls when they bought the house, open-concept-something-something. Akio didn’t care, but it was apparently deeply important to his parents. Something about family togetherness.
“You remember Tristan Higgs, right?”
Aimi pauses, tucks a bit of her short black hair behind one ear to get it out of her eyes as she flips the pork cutlets on by one, to get the other side nicely browned, too. The sizzling ratchets up in volume and then back down again. Next to her sits four bowls already filled with rice, and the table already has the vegetables ready to go. “Of course, honey. Oh, the anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it? I have an alarm set on my phone… did you want to go to the cemetery next week to see Ronnie and Paul?”
“Ew, no creepy graveyards for me, thanks,” Emi says, eyes still glued to her phone.
“We wouldn’t take you anyway,” Akio says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t even remember Tris or his parents.”
“I do, too. I was like seven. He was really nice. Mrs. Higgs was really nice, too. Mr. Higgs was weird.”
“Wow, what a stellar eulogy that was, Emi. I can see why you want to be a writer when you grow up. The description there was just incredible.”
“Oh, go drive into a lake,” Emi says, without any particular rancor in her voice.
“If you’re going to fight, I’m going to send you two upstairs so I at least don’t have to listen to it,” Aimi says, moving the cutlets to rest on a paper plate with paper towels lining it while she heats mirin, soy sauce, and… some other stuff in a different pan. Honestly, Akio has no idea exactly how katsudon happens, all he cares about is that it’s the perfect after-practice food and he is starving.
Except he keeps getting distracted by this guy on Insta. “Anyway, Mom, um, about Tris. So… yeah, I do want to go out and see his parents next week, yeah, but-... there’s this guy on Instagram who keeps asking about him. That’s… that’s weird, right?”
Aimi looks up, blinking. “Asking about Tristan? What is he asking?”
“Just like… he says he saw the video I put up on youtube, and he’s asking, like… what was his birthday, and did he like fried chicken, was he autistic, and… did he like musical soundtracks. This is weird stuff to ask a total stranger, right?”
“A little.” Aimi pauses while she watches the pan, and then pours a small bowl with beaten eggs into it, watching them spread and start to lighten to a puffy yellow as it cooked in the already-boiling liquid mixture. “Did you ask why he wants to know?”
“I did, but he just said he’s doing some research or something. But, like… research on what?” Akio taps on the guy’s little profile photo, bringing the profile itself up. “His username is benthebadmagician. Okay that’s-... that’s kind of cute.”
Aimi’s voice turns sly. “Is this Ben cute?”
“Ugh, gross, Mom. That’s not-... I mean he’s kind of-... that’s not important.”
“Ooooh, eyeballin’ the insta-hotties,” Emi singsongs. “Aki’s gettin’ desperate. Just get a freaking dating app like everyone else.”
“Already on it, Emi.”
“Then why exactly don’t you get any dates? Oh, right.” Emi sits forward and grins. “I forgot about your personality.”
Akio throws a throw pillow at her and the big orange poof misses by a mile. Emi laughs, getting to her feet and wandering over to the fridge, pulling a can of soda out and popping the top. “Aren’t you an athlete, how the hell did you miss that?”
“Language,” Aimi warns, waving a spoon at her daughter. She gently places the cutlets into the cooking eggs to finish up. “No swearing under my roof, young lady.”
“Aki swears all the time!”
“Aki is twenty-four years old,” Aimi says, almost primly. “And he doesn’t swear where I can hear him.”
“What, so it doesn’t count if you don’t hear him?”
“Of course it doesn’t, how do I know if I don’t hear him?”
Akio smiles, faintly, but he’s scrolling through the Ben guy’s instagram feed now. Just looking at the grid of squares, photos and videos. Lots of coffees and food, people laughing, photos of a girl with really pretty hair. Photos of Ben the Bad Magician himself. Nerd, Akio thinks, but cute nerd - definitely nose-in-a-book type. Nice brown hair, nice smile.
“Oh look at that face,” Emi says, eyebrows raised. “Ben the Insta-Weirdo actually is cute huh?”
“Go eat slugs.” Akio keeps scrolling down and down, not sure what he’s looking for. Autism awareness banners - he checks those to learn the Ben guy’s got an autistic little brother, and his friend Christopher is autistic. There’s a couple slides, and he swipes his finger to what he assumes is a photo of the Ben guy with the little brother, who looks almost exactly like him, just a whole bunch younger and looking, unsmiling, off to one side while Ben grins at the camera.
Akio doesn’t bother checking the last slide - it’s probably just whoever the Chris guy is. He backs back out to the grid of thumbnails. Maybe he just picked up on the stuff Tris always did when he was excited, and got curious? Maybe his little brother liked the video? Akio’s gotten a couple comments from people saying they liked seeing an autistic kid just be fucking happy in public without getting shit on for it, and that used to be a big deal for Mrs. Higgs, too...
The question about musicals keeps snagging at him. Tris loved musicals, went through cycles with them. He and Akio had a whole routine done to a song in Hairspray, just for fun, when Tris was obsessed with that for a while. And then they were going to do the Time Warp as a routine once...
Akio keeps scrolling, only vaguely aware of his sister and mother talking, and Emi leaving the room to go call their dad in for dinner.
Emi stops in the doorway and turns back. “Don’t forget to get his phone number, Aki. You can definitely trust strangers on the internet creepily interested in your dead best friend, right?”
Akio looks up, then, blinking at her. “Emi, that’s-...”
She seems to catch herself, and gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Aki. That got bitchy.”
“Language,” Aimi reminds her. “But I appreciate you apologizing. Does anyone even hear me say to use nice language any longer?”
“No,” Akio and Emi say in unison, and then Emi disappears down the hallway, bellowing for their father in her loudest voice even though she could easily walk up the stairs and not have to yell at all.
Akio looks at his mother and deadpans, “Your daughter is really weird.”
Aimi matches him tone for tone. “Your sister is weirder.”
She places the cutlets on top of the rice bowls with the egg just underneath the meat, carrying them one by one to the table, setting them each down in their place, and then grabs her glass of wine, patiently waiting for her while she cooked. She pads on bare feet across the hardwood floor over to the pale white rug, soft as down underfoot, and stands next to where Akio is laying down. “Are you looking at the profile?”
“I am, yeah. I don’t know what I’m looking for, really, just… hey, wait.” Akio stops at the thumbnail preview for a video, tapping to open it up. It starts with a blue-haired boy smiling, and his smile hits Akio all odd, makes his throat tighten and his heart start to race. The boy in the video puts up a finger and backs up, glances over his shoulder at a TV screen behind him playing the tango scene from Rent.
Akio blinks as the boy holds out a hand and a girl with really gorgeous long wavy hair takes it, the two of them moving effortlessly into a perfect mimicry of the dance on screen. The room they’re in is mostly empty, furniture shoved to the walls to turn what looks like some kind of lobby into a dancing space.
“Wow, that kid can really dance,” Akio murmurs, but the smile catches him, tugs at the back of his mind. The blue-haired boy can’t keep the grin off his face, it has to hurt to smile so big for so long, and the last person Akio thought that about was…
“You got this, Chris!” Someone calls from offscreen, and for a second Akio hears Tris and catches his breath, but no, no, they said Chris. Someone else claps for Mari - that must be the girl, maybe.
They continue to dance, and Akio can’t tear his eyes away. “Mom? Do you see this?”
Aimi looks up from straightening some magazines on the coffee table and leans over, sipping her wine absently. “See what, honey?”
“Look,” Akio whispers. His throat is closing up, he can’t manage anything more than that.
The two do a spin, and then burst out laughing, and the Chris boy stands back up straight, throwing his arms up like he’s just hit a perfect landing-
“Oh my god,” Aimi says next to him, her own voice strangled and choked, and Akio feels his mother’s hand suddenly clutch onto his shoulder. “Aki, is-”
“He’s dead,” Akio whispers. “He killed himself after his parents-... he’s dead, Mom.”
The Chris boy looks right at whoever was filming the video, shoots them a brilliant, shining smile, and then starts rocking, his hands moving through the air and twisting at the wrists, bouncing up and down on his toes.
Akio’s breath is shuddering in and out, and his heart pounds, trying to break out of his chest. “He’s-... Mom, he’s dead.”
“His aunt had him cremated,” Aimi says, but her lips are barely moving and the wineglass is loos in her fingers. “After they found him. She didn’t want a funeral.”
“He’s dead,” Akio repeats, thinking of the smile, the movements, the shy way he ducks his head at the end when people clap him on the back. He backs up to the wall again, keeps scrolling, looks for more pictures of the blue hair. He opens every single one he can find, searching for something, some sign that will tell him he’s not seeing what he knows he’s seeing. “His aunt took his phone away after like three months and then he was dead a month later, wasn’t he?”
There’s a pause.
“Mom? Mom, didn’t he kill himself like four months after they died? Didn’t he?” Akio’s voice sounds weak and is getting weaker. “Mom, please-... please answer me, didn’t he-”
“He left a note,” Aimi whispers. “His aunt-... she said he left a note, that he couldn’t live without them. It’s-... I never thought-... I never thought to question her, Aki, I never-... she was Ronnie’s family...”
He clicks another video.
“You’re a fucking mess, Christopher,” The girl from the dance video says, sitting in a tank tops and shorts on the edge of a bathtub. “Letting your roots grow out like that. But don’t you worry, Madam Mari is here to help!”
“Please don’t, don’t don’t-don’t call yourself Madam. Please?” A voice says, uneasily, and the blue-haired boy moves into the screen. “For, for, for me?”
“Yeah, no problem, Chris. Why’d you let it grow out so bad, anyway?”
His hair’s not blue in this one - or it is, but only about half of it. Pale and faded, but the top of his hair has grown back in for about three inches, and it’s coppery strawberry blond. He turns to the camera and gives a sheepish smile. “I, I got distracted and for, um, forgot.”
Aimi’s wineglass slips from her fingers, hits the floor, sprays wine like blood across the pristine white rug.
Neither of them notices.
“I… I cried for him for like a year straight,” Akio chokes out, and he finds more pictures, more videos, more more more. He opens them up and then backs out of them again, unable to stop himself. Every photo shows him some shard of the mirror reflection of a dead boy all grown up - a sparkle of green eyes, happy motions in the background of a video, more of that familiar sunny smile. “I kept-... I kept all the stuff he left in my room, I saved all h-his text messages from before he d, disappeared, I-”
“This can’t be him,” Aimi says in a fierce whisper. “It can’t be, Aki, it can’t.”
Akio taps on another video.
The boy ties his long blue hair back in it, glancing sidelong at the camera, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And, and, and you’ll, um, you’ll buy the, the, the-the-the nachos?”
“If you can still do it? Yeah, absolutely. Seeing that’s worth a plate of nachos to me. I’ll even buy you those fucking margaritas you like.”
“Chris just likes the sugar,” Someone else says, and Chris sticks his tongue out at them.
He takes a few steps back, rolling his shoulders, shaking out his arms.
Akio tells himself that if the Chris on the screen doesn’t nail this, it can’t be him, it can’t be him at all.
The boy puts his hands up, then down at his sides, back bowed briefly in a motion Akio knows too, too well, knows better than he knows breathing. The boy takes off across the grass without hesitation and-
Akio and Aimi both exhale.
-he jumps forward, dips at the waist, catches himself on his hands and does a perfect set of three backflips across a big grassy lawn, stumbling the landing but his feet pop right back into final position, and he throws his arms up with his chin lifted, and someone offscreen shouts, “Perfect Ten, Stanton!”
The boy laughs, shakes his head, says, “I’d be, be, be dinged for the, um, the landing, but-... but, but good, right? I did good? Laken?”
Someone with the coolest hair Akio has seen steps into the screen and they hug, kiss briefly, and then Chris apparently can’t handle the happy emotions because he backs away to start bouncing up and down, grinning.
He looks back at the camera. “Want to see me, me, me... me do it again?”
“He’s not dead,” Aimi says, and her voice sounds like someone closed their hands around her throat. “Oh, Ronnie-”
“What the fuck happened to Tristan fucking Higgs?” Akio’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the video starting over. “He’s… he’s not dead. He’s not dead, Mom, he’s not-... he’s not dead, Mom, he’s not dead and he’s right-... that the university, right? He’s not dead, and he’s, has he-... has he been here the whole fucking time?”
His mother doesn’t chide him for language this time. Her hand tightens on Akio’s shoulder as red wine soaks the rug beneath her feet and she whispers, “Give that Ben boy your number. Tell him to call you.”
Her fingernails ache where they dig into his skin through his shirt.
“Now.”
---
Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript
#chris the strawberry blond romantic#akio nakamura#hidden whumpee#found whumpee#trauma recovery#parental death mention#death mention#suicide mention#angst#bbu#box boy#box boy universe
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waiting for rain | Ethan x MC
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC
Warnings: language
Word count: 2,786
Summary: After the funeral, Sloane catches a ride. Post chapter 11.
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It’s a beautiful day.
The last week has been nothing but blue skies and balmy temperatures, with autumn peeking its head around the corner. The city is lovely anytime of year, but Boston thrives in the fall. The Common and adjacent gardens come alive in a spray of colors as the leaves change, the canopy dipped in orange and yellow and red.
It feels wrong, then, that the day is so nice and bright as they trudge along the rows of graves and back towards Bryce’s car. Glancing over her shoulder, Sloane frowns at the swath of black as Danny’s family gathers around the grave to watch the interment. Their labored breathing and soft cries carry over the open lawn and down to the road.
“What a shitty fucking day.” Jackie kicks at a pile of loose gravel along the pavement with her heel.
“At least the rain held off,” Sienna pipes up from where she’s slumped against the car. Clenched in her shaking hand is a gladiolus that Danny’s sister gave her from the casket spray. Noticing Sloane’s attention on the flower, Sienna traces a finger along the white petals with a wobbly smile. “I’m going to press it in my copy of The Secret of Ninradell.”
“Nerd,” Jackie mutters, coaxing a tremulous chuckle from Sienna.
Beside them, the doors unlock with a droning whir. The three of them pile into the back; Elijah and Bryce’s voices drift down as they approach.
“You know, all those parking tickets you keep getting are starting to make a lot more sense now.”
“These hands are for performing surgical miracles, not parallel parking on an incline.”
“A kid with a learner’s permit could parallel park this, dude. Your car is the Chevrolet equivalent of a sardine can.”
“We’re well aware of that,” Jackie chimes in from the center seat. “So can you two hurry it up?”
As Bryce helps Elijah into the passenger seat, Sloane catches sight of Ethan’s car tucked in along the other side of the access road. She caught a brief glance of him at the graveside service, but he disappeared into the crowd of mourners soon after her impromptu eulogy. The sun’s reflection on his windshield prevents her from seeing if he’s even inside. But then, a few cars down, Harper gives a little goodbye wave towards his car as she and Aurora reach her own vehicle.
Sloane throws open the door. Jackie frowns and reaches out for her as she slides out.
“Hey, what are you--”
“I’m going to catch a ride with Dr. Ramsey.” At the wave of worried expressions she receives, Sloane sighs. “I’m okay. I promise. You guys shouldn’t… I’ll see you at home.”
With that pithy attempt at reassurance, she shuts the door and crosses over to the S-Class. The driver’s side window rolls down before she reaches it, revealing Ethan in his customary black suit. His striking blue eyes are tinged red -- a sight Sloane has become accustomed to over the last week when catching herself in the bathroom mirror.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hello,” he returns. He glances down her figure, as if cataloging something, and then back up to meet her eyes. “Come on, then.”
“Thanks.”
She crosses to the passenger side and settles into the seat, avoiding his curious gaze by feigning a struggle with the seatbelt. Thankfully, he drops whatever question is plaguing him and starts the engine. Within a few minutes, they’re cruising south down the highway. The classical station finishes its latest piece and the suave-voiced host segways into a round of commercials. When the local news spot starts, both of them reach for the volume button, their fingers bumping clumsily. Ethan reaches it first and turns off the radio, then reaches down to capture Sloane’s hand with his. He links their fingers and squeezes, once, then again, before resting their clasped hands against the leather armrest. His thumb makes easy, gentle strokes along her skin.
Sloane eases back into her seat. The dull roar of the road isn’t enough to fill the aching silence inside her head. It makes her think of being back in that tented room, all alone, waiting to die.
“The service was lovely, as was your eulogy.”
“Sienna should’ve gotten to speak. She -- those were her words, all she could bear to write, but she asked… well, begged me at the last minute to say them for her.”
“That was kind of you to do.”
Her eyes clench tight at his praise. She focuses on the measured sweeps of his thumb, but all the bitterness in her chest keeps building and building until it bursts free.
“It should’ve been raining. Why was it… why did it have to be so sunny today? It should’ve rained. He deserved that much, at least. He was one of the only staff on my side when Landry was trying to sabotage me. He didn’t need proof or need to hear my friends vouch for me. He just believed me, straight up. And he was so sweet, and so kind, and so funny and now he’s dead, and I know we took Lasagna’s oath to not play God, but if I could, I would bring back Travis just to kill him for all the hurt he caused, and I know that goes against every--”
“Hey.” Ethan glances up from the road and over to meet her watery gaze. “It’s all right. You’re allowed to feel angry, and hurt.”
“I know,” she says, but it still feels dirty, somehow, to agree. She survived, didn’t she? Why should she get the privilege to fall apart at the seams when two people are dead and buried six feet under?
She keeps quiet for the rest of the drive. Unfortunately, it’s a rather short one, what with the cemetery being only twenty minutes north of the city. All too soon, they’re crossing the Tobin Bridge. The city skyline crowds the horizon, stacks of gray and glass forking up into the cloudless sky. Ethan takes the wide curve of an exit that crosses the Charles River and into the tunnel, down below the blue blood streets of Boston. As he prepares to merge over to take them towards her apartment, she squeezes his hand to grab his attention.
“Can I…?” she trails off, regretting how weak the request sounds. She bites back a relieved sigh when he pulls his focus away from the side mirror and over to her.
“Of course.”
They make their way through the ever-present downtown congestion before he turns down a side street and into his building’s garage. Neither speak as they exit the car. His hand finds hers once more as they step into the elevator. Jenner greets them at the door with her favorite stuffed duck, insisting on meeting her quota of belly rubs before allowing them entrance.
“Would you like a drink?” Ethan asks as he steps over the sprawled form of his dog with practiced ease.
“Yes, please.”
After a few more pats, Sloane wanders over into the kitchen. Ethan’s suit jacket lays slung across the island, a more telling sign of his mental state than anything visible on his face. His tie joins the pile as he pours them both several fingers of scotch. She takes the tumbler and knocks it back, ignoring the fierce burn at the back of her throat; she hands it back for a refill.
“Fine,” he sighs, “but this isn’t a jello shot at some tiki bar in Panama City Beach.”
“I wouldn’t know, seeing as I spent my spring breaks waiting tables,” she mutters against the rim of her glass, taking a small sip at his behest.
“I hated every second of it, if it’s any consolation.”
The murmured confession draws her up short.
“Wait -- you were a PCB spring-breaker? You? The man who can’t name a single artist on the top forty hits? The person whose idea of a good time is reading the green journal and annotating the margins with all the mistakes?”
“I don’t see how knowledge of Harry Mars’s discography would increase my enjoyment in life.”
Sloane’s face breaks into a grin at the name faux pas, prompting a scowl from him. “What? You said it yourself that I don’t know--”
“No, no, ignore me. Go on.” She rests her hip against the counter. “Please tell me about how you wound up in Florida for spring break.”
“It was Tobias’s idea, actually. He told me we were going to a medical conference in Atlanta. It wasn’t until we passed through Atlanta and he showed no sign of stopping that he told me where we were actually going. By that point, it was far too late to request he turn around. I was, in effect, doomed.”
“Doomed to spend a week at the beach. Poor you.” Rolling her eyes, she knocks her elbow into his side. “Did you at least have some fun?”
“I did. Well, after I went into a store and bought some more... appropriate clothing. Everything in my bag was pressed khakis and polos.”
Her mind immediately conjures up a younger Ethan, wearing board shorts and flip flops in whatever searing color the local beach shop sold.
“There has to be pictures, right? I’ve met Tobias, he’s too much of a snake not to have snapped a photo or two.”
“I’m sure he does,” Ethan agrees. “For blackmail purposes, of course.”
“And here I was hoping that our time in Miami was your most memorable trip to the Sunshine State.”
“It was.” The weak little smirk she wears disappears, folding under the intense scrutiny of his gaze as it rakes across her. “Why did you ride back with me?” he asks.
“Because Bryce’s car is ‘the Chevrolet equivalent to a sardine can,’ according to Elijah.”
He doesn’t acknowledge her lame attempt at brushing aside the question. When the silence grows too long between them, Sloane drags in a shaky breath and caves. “Because being around them, having them dote on me and worry about me, it’s… suffocating. And not because I don’t love them, or appreciate them, but I don’t… I don’t see the point. They should be able to grieve without me burdening them.”
“Sloane.” The way he says her name with all the care in the world drives that guilt deeper. She wants to shrug away his hold on her as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, but she doesn’t. She sinks into his embrace, breathing in the scent of his cologne, feeling the thud of his heart against her cheek. “You are not a burden.”
“Hearing that and knowing that are two different things,” she points out.
“Then I’ll repeat it a thousand more times until you get it through your thick head.”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m sad, and hurt, and angry about Danny. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, and neither did Bobby. And Rafael, he almost died, and-- and I almost died. And I’m sad, and hurt, and angry about that. But what gives me the right to feel that way, when I got to live, and they didn’t? Danny, he… he begged Travis to let us go, and all I did was stand there. I fucking stood there and let him kill my friend.”
She doesn’t notice the tears on her face, not until Ethan catches them and wipes them away. “And even after you came in, even after I was wheeled out and got to see Kyra, even after I was discharged, there’s been this crushing weight on my chest. I even wrote goodbye letters on my phone, but I can’t bring myself to delete them. Because what if we’re wrong? It’s like… like what if my body suddenly rejects the antidote and I’m back in that bubble? Like I’m going to wake up and be back in that room, as if this is all a last-ditch effort my brain has conjured up to help me cope with dying.”
Ethan makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. Gathering her impossibly closer, he presses his lips to her hair.
“This is real. You’re okay. You’re safe, Sloane. This is real.”
“But I don’t want it to be. I want it to all be some sick dream. They wouldn’t’ve even been there if it weren’t for me. If I hadn’t stolen the senator from Mass Kenmore, Danny and Bobby would still be alive. I just… I want to go back. I want to order them all out of that room before Travis ever gets his hand on that canister. If I could trade places with them, we wouldn’t be burying our friends.”
“You’re wrong,” he tells her. “If you were the only one in that room, we’d be burying you. And after coming close to such a thing, it isn’t a reality I’m ever willing to face.”
Sloane shakes her head as the tears come faster and faster, her body trembling against his. She feels as if she’s drowning, but her head’s above water.
“The responsibility for what happened lies solely with Travis,” he tries to assure her. “He’s the one who pulled the trigger. He’s the one who was determined to get his revenge, no matter who got caught in the crossfire. He admitted as much to me in his last moments without an ounce of regret.”
“Ethan, I…” her throat closes around the rest of her plea, but somehow, he hears the words.
His arms loop around her waist, holding her up as her knees buckle under the sudden weight of her grief. His words become nothing more than soft murmurings as he picks her up and carries her off down the hall.
In his bedroom, he sets her down on the bed. Kneeling before her, he picks up one foot and then the next, unbuckling the strappy heels she wears. Sloane leans forward and strokes against the grain of his stubble; she drags in a steadying breath when he leans into her touch. She reaches down for the hem of her dress, but he beats her to it. Raising her arms instead, she lets him slide the dark fabric over her head. He adds his own clothing to the floor, then joins her in his bed, his naked skin warm against hers.
Under the covers, Ethan tucks her there against his chest. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his fingers tracing along her bare skin. It reminds her of that last morning they shared together, after the trial. The heartache now is different, vicious in that way only death can be. Sloane burrows closer, wishing she could bottle this feeling of safety and drink from it on the darker days ahead.
“Yours was the longest,” she admits, her voice sounding small in the quiet room.
“Hmm?” he murmurs.
“Your letter.”
The line of him stiffens, his hand stilling its movement.
“Hand me your phone.”
She rolls over and digs through the pile of their clothing, retrieving her phone from the pocket of her dress and handing it off to him. He holds it between them so she can watch as he navigates to her notepad app. The letters are all there, just as she said, in alphabetical order. She doesn’t miss how his thumb hovers above Naveen’s.
“I asked him to look after you,” she explains, biting her lip against the rush of emotion at knowing the words hidden beneath the names.
“When did you write these?”
Ethan’s eyes move from the screen and over to hers, tears collecting in the cradle of his lower lid. Her gaze never waves from his as she answers.
“After you took Raf away. It… became real, after that. Not that it wasn’t real before, with Danny, but to see him fall into a coma right next to me was a wake-up call. I didn’t want that to happen to me. Not without being able to say goodbye to the people I loved.”
Leaning across, he kisses her temple, and then her cheek, and then her lips. Then, with a few, quick taps, he deletes the letters and returns her phone.
“Thank you,” he whispers. At her raised brow, he doubles down. “Not for-- that was for you. I’m saying thank you because you listened to me.”
She snuggles close once more when he curls his arm around her and flashes him a curious smile.
“Go on.”
“You didn’t give up,” he tells her, his voice gone thick with emotion.
Between the sheets, her hand finds his.
“You didn’t give up, either,” she reminds him.
“On you?” he hums, pulling their linked hands towards himself to press a kiss to her fingers. “Never.”
------
Author notes and what-have-yous:
So, I learned that only eleven percent of medical schools still recite the Hippocratic oath verbatim, and about thirty-three percent use Lasagna’s modern oath (which is why I included it instead).This is coming from a few articles I read, all seemingly based in the U.S., so it may not pertain to every school.
The ‘blue blood streets of Boston’ is pulled directly from a Bob Seger song, though there is a historical connotation behind it.
The green journal is another name for the American Journal of Medicine.
#open heart fic#ethan x mc#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart#Kaila writes things#f: waiting for rain
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