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literaila · 2 years

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magnetic attraction

part one.

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary: after a bad interaction with peter, your interaction with spider-man could not be any more chaotic.

warnings: ha. angst/fluff. and then. so much banter. too much banter.

a/n: to bob, who put on her spider-man mask and pretended to roleplay with me (also i don’t hate john green. the fault in our stars is good.)

"hey, what's the answer to number seven?"

here's the thing.

despite any and all efforts made to introduce peter into your life as an ex--because you broke up. that's a thing--he is anything but.

simple solution, you know.

avoid him.

follow the rules of break-ups. write yourself a checklist and make sure that there aren't any empty boxes left at the end of the day. no spaces to fill, no void to think about.

channel the resentment. fuel the anger, make yourself even madder, make him a bad guy so that maybe you won't miss him this much. block his number, forget any important thing that you know about him.

simple. easy. breathing is hard in comparison.

and still, you can't do any of it.

because you don't hate him. you really, really can't.

and the thing, you and peter have always been magnets.

even before any of it, you were drawn to each other.

when he pushed, you pulled. when you pushed--he grabbed on so tight you were worried about blood circulation.

you met him in chemistry, and after that, you met him everywhere else.

the grocery store and on campus and walking home from places that peter really shouldn't have been.

you met him and that was that.

you have always been lab partners. and you're not speaking to him enough--at all, because there are rules--to fix the issue. to ask to sit somewhere else.

to break this foundation with a sledgehammer.

and if there's a tiny part of you that just can't let go--erase a checkmark--then you ignore it. you don't want his warmth. you don't want to feel him laughing right next to you. you don't want to even know peter at all.

you don't--

"what?" you don't look over at him. it's an unspoken rule.

"number seven."

"it's--" you breathe in, steal a look at his paper. completely blank. "can't you see it?"

"what?" peter's voice is so soft, so quiet and unrelenting that you can barely hear it.

it blares like a siren in your ear.

"my paper. can't you see it? i can see yours."

"why are you looking at my paper?"

this might've been a joke, four weeks ago.

"peter."

he doesn't respond. pretends to write something down even though you both know that he was sleeping the whole class--until the teacher came over and asked him if he needed to see the nurse and peter responded with a polite smile which you definitely didn't stare at.

it's too quiet.

"here," you slide it over to him, just slightly, looking straight ahead at a poster of a skeleton. mandible, clavicle, sternum.

you wait.

"why didn't you just look over?" you ask him, maybe just because you have no sensibility left.

"it's cheating if i steal it off of your sheet."

"you're opposed to cheating now?"

you can practically hear his teeth grinding together, as sure as a drill to a nail.

you breathe in. fire moves down your stomach and back up. it doesn't take a genius to know that no matter how many deep breaths you take, the feeling isn't going to go away.

radius, ulna.

"nevermind," peter slides the paper back to you. he's got bruised knuckles.

"you don't know how to do any of this," you say to him, pushing it back.

he pushes, you pull.

you look back up. sacrum, patella.

"i got it."

"peter."

he is completely silent.

there are only unspoken words between the two of you.

"i got it, okay?" his voice is soft, but it's a snap. it's a rubber band, hitting back.

you both know it.

and so, your fingertips brush the edge of your paper, because if he doesn't want your help then you don't need to help him, and if he doesn't want to talk to you then it's even easier to cross 'silent treatment' off of the list.

it only takes him a moment to stop you. "sorry," he whispers.

and it's enough. because you're feeble. because you know him, even four weeks later.

you scribble over the list.

"will you help me with this one?"

you know that he doesn't need help. you know that you probably do.

still, you lean a little bit closer--making sure to keep a foot of distance at all times. "okay."

peter looks at you, a small smile on his face, and you forget to look away.

you forget all of the ground rules and fall off the edge of the earth.

you trip and run directly into him.

and you swallow, tasting the bile before you can push it down. you feel the fire, anger, like you've been trying to throw away.

"what--" you swallow again, try to take a deep breath without it being too noticeable. "you've got another bruise."

and a cut. and a yellowing face. and circles under his eyes that can almost compare with yours.

immediately peter looks away. he hides again.

you want to feel ashamed, you want to be guilty. but even still--fear isn't something that goes away with him.

and love, no matter how much you beg it, won't burn itself to the ground.

"doesn't matter," peter mutters, scribbling on his paper again. "do i need to divide or multiply--"

"peter."

he looks towards you, but he's staring at the wall.

"what happened?"

"i thought you didn't want any more excuses."

"that doesn't mean that i don't care, peter," you whisper it, but the words come out of your mouth like an attack.

peter's eyes meet yours, and you see a flash of something almost unrecognizable.

"actually," he swallows. his frown sends sparks down your core, leaving burn marks in their wake. "i thought that you didn't want to talk to me at all."

you struggle for words, you try to reach out and grab them but they're too far.

this is much more than a worksheet.

"that's what you said, right? that you didn't want to talk to me until i--"

"this isn't--that's not--" you're too close to him.

you're far too close. he's leaned in enough.

you can feel him.

and this, god, this is breaking every ground rule. this is unspoken and broken promises and your throat feels dry and your hands are clammy.

you've never not known how to talk to him.

peter scoffs, in the silence, into the expanse of the world and directly in your face. he throws back more than you could ever catch.

and his eyes are completely serious when he says "just leave me alone, y/n."

the bell rings, and peter gets up.

he's better at this than you are.

and later that night, you're still angry.

you're still completely fed up with reality, with being alone, with having to sit there in class and just pretend that it's all fine.

you accuse peter of lying, but between the two of you, the scales are only balanced.

maybe that's why you're standing on the roof of your apartment building.

a bad day, a couple of bad weeks. feelings that wrap themselves so tight around your throat that they keep you from breathing.

peter, and his smiles, and his eyes--because you know his eyes.

and you can pretend all you want that you've given him no room to be angry; that he has no right.

but you'd just be lying.

a particular brand of hypocrisy.

so maybe it's self-pity that leads you up the stairs. maybe it's loneliness.

regret, never. yearning, absolutely not.

you lie to yourself again and again and imagine that it's all some joke. you'll laugh eventually.

you don't want peter to come back.

you don't want to be afraid to look in his eyes, at his face. you don't want to expect him to come home late at night and have blood dripping down his face. you don't want to presume that everything he says--all the stupid promises he makes you--are only lies.

you don't want precedents.

and you really don't want to be alone.

so, the roof. the tiny little things to help you escape from the ever imminent reality.

peter isn't coming back. you don't want him to.

and still, talking to him earlier that day, being angry at him, getting him to snap at you.

it felt like relief.

it felt like a gasp of air, like drowning yourself for years and then finally deciding to swim up the surface. it felt like scrubbing the infection from your skin, finally, and finding a new layer of yourself underneath.

it felt like peter.

and you miss peter. you're not stupid enough to deny that.

and the book you'd been reading--because the roof is a substitute room--is missing.

you look under another box. push some spare trash around, hoping that maybe you'd just misplaced it.

you're doing this when you hear a crash just a couple of feet behind you.

a quick casual earthquake almost making you trip over the nearest box.

and when you spin around, still trying to catch your balance, you realize that you aren't alone.

maybe it's the man that crashed onto your roof--because it is yours--almost tackling you as he came down. he is two feet away from you.

just maybe.

you're frozen in shock for a moment, fingers reaching out to touch him--just to make sure that he's alive--but never getting quite close enough.

luckily for you, spider-man jumps up before you feel around your pockets for some spare courage.

"jesus," he says as if he didn't just almost kill you. he looks away, up at the sky, like he's expecting it to laugh back.

and you stare at him. unsure what to say.

what to be doing in a situation where a superhero has fallen onto your roof and ended the possibility of any quiet time.

how to feel when the man turns to look at you, frozen. how to feel when, after a moment, he merely waves a hand at you like he's a celebrity.

"what are you doing here?" the words fly out of your mouth, stupid and slightly scared.

"i--" he shakes his head. tilts his head like he's trying to get water out of his ear.

your brow furrows. your heart stutters off the edge of your ribs. "are you hurt?"

"fit as a fiddle."

you blink, trying to comprehend the words at the speed they come out.

you stare at him, then look up, then back to him. he's whistling, completely casual.

"you just fell onto my roof," you say, eyes wide.

spider-man takes a step away from you, shakes out his foot. "was it that obvious?"

"you..." you stare at him. he's taller than you are. long. breathing too hard. "you're spider-man."

"pleasure," he pretends to tip a hat at you. you ignore that, for his own dignity.

you feel your heart climb out from your body, telling you that it's going to take a break.

"where did you come from?" you look around, expecting a camera and crew to jump out from behind a box.

"a building," he says, so simply. "was trying something new."

"it didn't work."

spider-man looks at you again, head tilted. "ha."

"aren't you, like--" you swallow. "supposed to be nice? and uh, good at what you do? isn't there a superhero code to... not scare unsuspecting strangers?"

"i'm nice," he defends. "i'm spider-man," he reaches his hand out as if to introduce himself.

you stare. blink. try to shove the shock away from your system.

it doesn't work.

"i already said that."

"you can shake my hand anyway. tell your friends."

you blink. "what?"

"did i hit you?" he asks, very serious now. maybe concerned. he tries to take a step closer, maybe to look at you, but you move back.

a bit perturbed by this man being an inch away from your face.

"i'm okay."

he tsks. "that's not an answer."

"i'm pretty sure you didn't hit me," you revise, continuing to step back every time he gets any closer.

but he is much faster than you.

"pretty sure?"

"positive."

"really?"

you nod your head, very seriously. you analyze every little twitch of his limbs.

"because you don't seem okay," he says. he taps his temple. "you might've hit your head."

"i didn't fall."

he pauses, movement stopping. "maybe i hit my head."

"that would explain a lot," you say, the words coming out before you can stop them.

spider-man is still staring at you. you're pretty sure that you hear him laugh--but you're also certifiably insane, so who really knows?

he waits a moment, like he's searching for something, and then bends down.

when he straightens, he's got something in his hands. "this yours?"

you swallow. squint and try to see it clearly. "yeah," you say, "that's-that's my book."

and in that brief moment, you begin to wonder if you're just imagining all of this.

spider-man turns it around in his hands, looking at it very closely. "the fault in our stars?"

you nod.

"you're reading this?"

you nod again.

"seriously?" his voice goes up with his words, a bit disbelieving.

you furrow your brows, cross your arms. "what's wrong with that?"

"it's just... oh, you know, the worst."

"you've read it?"

"no."

you wait for him to elaborate. he does not.

"then how would you know that it's bad?" you ask, not believing that you're actually having this conversation.

that spider-man is judging your book choices. and that he fell onto your roof and still hasn't apologized for almost killing you.

maybe you did die.

"do you get out a lot?" spider-man asks you like you're a weird little hermit bothering him on his night out. like he hasn't just made you question every single concrete thing you thought you knew.

"what does that have to do with anything?" minute by minute, your scowl gets harder.

spider-man doesn't answer, merely nods his head as if your response gave him everything he needed to know.

"what?" you demand, trying to grab the book from his hands.

spider-man laughs. it's a small chuckle amidst the wind. he's got a deep voice. "i think it's a part of my civic duty to keep this away from you."

"i've never heard about you being an asshole in the news," you mumble, trying again to grab the book from his hands.

"what was that?" spider-man asks, leaning his ear towards you comically.

you give up. stare at him for a moment.

any emotions you feel in this exact moment have no name.

"for a superhero," you tell him, face void of anything, "you're not very super."

"what a nice thing to say," he brings his hand to his chest, mock-appreciative.

you glare. "can i have my book back?"

"for a civilian," he says, sing-songing just enough to make it noticeable, "you're not very civil."

you almost, almost groan. you almost, almost laugh. "why are you here?" you demand, again, irritation climbing up your spine.

why you're his designated target is unclear.

"don't you have better things to be doing than annoying random girls on rooves?"

he pretends to consider it. "not really, no."

"there are no cats to save from trees?"

and really, you don't mean to joke. you don't mean to let the smile slip.

"you're funny," spider-man says, leaning back against the ledge of the roof. "why are you here?"

"i live here."

"pretty sure that door says 'do not enter.'"

"you can't see that far," you tell him, trying to look back. you, of course, already know what it says.

"i actually can."

you cross your arms again. raise a brow. "how?"

he taps his head like it's an answer.

you stare. insist on being as stubborn and unwelcoming as possible.

"you know, if you don't answer my question i might be forced to alert the authorities," spider-man pretends to look down at his nails--which, as far as you can see--are non-existent.

"really?" you deadpan. "a masked vigilante, threatening to call the cops on me? for sitting on a roof?"

spider-man waves a hand. his ankles are crossed. "please. they love me."

"i can't see how."

he raises his hands in defense. "wow. after all i've done for you..."

"like almost murdering me?"

"like saving you from a friday night alone."

you frown.

his words are a gentle reminder. a gentle push over the edge of this roof.

"can i have my book back?" you ask, serious now.

"are you going to answer the question?"

you imagine that he's blinking at you. you imagine pushing him off of the building.

"it was loud in my apartment. it's nice out here."

"your family?" he inquires.

you shake your head. "just... loud in my head, i guess. whatever. i needed a change of scenery."

"and to read the fault in our stars."

you glare at him.

"i'm honestly saving you," he says. "you should be thanking me."

you try to grab it from him again. "thank you for stealing my book?"

at that point, he sits on it. your jaw drops but he ignores it.

instead, he shrugs, so nonchalant. "just looking out for you."

you sigh. drop your head in your hands and then look back up. "yeah. okay. can i have it now?"

"how much did you spend on this?"

"what?"

spider-man tilts his head. it seems like he's teasing you but you honestly can't tell.

"i didn't. we had it."

spider-man clasps his hands together, a professional psychologist. "so you, before the concussion, just happened to spot this on a bookshelf and decided to read it?"

"i don't have a concussion," you stare at him, squinting. "and yes."

"are you an avid romance reader?"

you blink. tilt your head. "i don't understand the question."

he nods. "so, no. i mean, obviously. no person with any sort of knowledge, or sense would--"

"hey!"

he shrugs again. "i'm just saying."

"okay, then, spider-man," you cross your arms again. "what would you suggest?"

"maybe finding a real boyfriend. or girlfriend."

you scoff, a little bit shocked.

somehow, you've relaxed. adrenaline has brought you here and dropped you off, kissing you goodbye.

spider-man is an idiot. and a jerk.

"what are you implying?"

"that you don't have a significant other," he scratches his neck. "i thought that was obvious."

you glare at him. "and you do?"

he pauses. raises a finger in the air like he's got something to say. stutters. drops his hand.

you smile, smugly. "exactly."

"yeah, okay, but i get out," he copies your stance, staring.

"when you're crashing into buildings, maybe."

he rests his chin on his hand. "ever heard of a coffee shop?" he asks you. "great place to meet people. or the subway? an abandoned church? the park?"

"nope. don't recall," you respond, dryly.

"this is new york," he gestures around him like he's making a point. like he's got any point at all. "there are tons of people."

"and yet, you're still alone."

spider-man scoffs. "i have better things to do. responsibilities."

"then how come you've been sitting on my roof for half an hour?"

"i'm helping you, obviously."

"how do you know that i don't have better things to do, too?" you shrug. "maybe i'm a superhero."

"no superhero would read john green in their spare time. we have standards."

"i find that hard to believe," you look him up and down, making note of spandex.

he balks--or, at least, seems to. "you are not making me want to give it back."

"please," you flutter your eyelashes, smiling. "i'll even cancel my subscription to the daily bugle."

he scoffs again, beginning to say something when there's a crash from below the two of you.

another earthquake. another superhero falling onto a roof.

spider-man leans over the ledge, looking down at the city below. then back to you, posture changed. maybe a little bit tenser.

"just for that comment, i'm leaving," he says, but his voice is easygoing, calm.

you don't think you want to know what's going on under your feet.

you reach out to grab the book from him--to forget about this entire night, especially the possibility that it might have improved your mood. minimally.

but in the blink of an eye, he's gone.

and there's no evidence that he was ever there. not even a book.

you run towards the edge, worried that he fell, that he just stole your book, or that you really are going crazy.

and you see him, swinging away with one hand.

book in the other.

you turn around, groaning.

think about performing a citizen's arrest.

when you climb into bed that night, you try to ignore it.

realities. sitting on a roof in the cold of the night for no reason. feelings that have faded away, if only to leave a mark.

you try and try to forget about the entire day.

about peter and his resentment, his lies, his excuses, and how tired he looked.

spider-man, who despite all else, made you laugh. at least once.

that lingering feeling tucks you in.

concern and worry and fear all morphed into something else. something like doubt. something like you can't feel your own heart. like you have no idea whose skin this is.

a bug crawling on the ceiling, keeping you awake.

when you fall asleep, it's to that feeling.

part three.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #the amazing spider-man #The Amazing Spider Man #peter parker x you #andrew peter parker #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm fanfiction #Andrew!Spiderman #andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #peter parker series #peter parker smut #marvel

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neousfics · 2 months

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Bungo Stray Dogs Fic Recs (The Ties That Bind Edition)

If you liked my fic The Ties That Bind here's a bunch of other fics I think you'd love :)

dolls don't have emotions (so why am I so scared?) by DeviBlue

Words: 15,313

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Summary:

“You found me,” Dazai croaked.

She walked towards him and rested a deceivingly gentle hand on his cheek. He tried his best not to lean into it. Soft touches were rare, especially from her, and she used them to wrap him around her finger. Giving him the love he craved whenever he strayed too far. It was disgusting and humiliating that she still had that effect on him.

“Shuuji-kun, you know you can never hide from us,” she said, just like all those years ago.

Dazai's past comes back to destroy the life he's built for himself in the light.

Review: This is one of my absolute favorite BSD fics. The angst and horror in this concept are such a gut punch and I adore it. If you like the more raw, intense parts of The Ties That Bind, you'll love this fic

People-Pleasing and the Affects of Caring by Allegory_For_Hatred

Words: 4,565

Rating: Unrated but I would say M for violence

Status: Complete

Summary:

Dazai may have let himself be tortured to get information. It's not that big of a deal. You guys are just overreacting.

OR: the agency has a revelation about Dazai's... let's say "work ethic." Is it too late to fix what the Mafia has drilled into his head?

Review: A really solid exploration of the ADA reacting to how absolutely dreadful Dazai's mafia work-habits. I enjoyed the idea and characterization quite a bit

5 Times this, 1 Time that (but After that, Always) by gev_ao3

Words: 15,994

Rating: M

Status: Complete

Summary:

Just a quick 5+1:

Five times Chuuya thought there might be something… off about Mori and Dazai’s relationship, and one time he decided to do something about it. Can be read as a ship, but it doesn't have to be. The world is your oyster. (just, please, don't ship Dazai and Mori)

Review: If you like the Soukoku aspects of my fic/you're looking forward to the Chuuya confrontation, you'll enjoy this fic. It's well written and a good mix between indulgent and moderate

the bones are melting (the skeleton is ash) by FlowerCitti

Words: 2,879

Rating: T

Status: Complete

Summary:

When Dazai first joins the Agency, there is something inside of him that is waiting to mess up. Something inside of him that is almost craving it, if only to get it over with.

He gets his wish after only three months of working with the Agency.

Or, Fukuzawa Yukichi is not Mori Ougai.

Review: Honestly, I love this entire series. I think it captures the dread that is Mori Ougai very well, and the ADA provides a great contrast

Ruiner by gev_ao3

Words: 124,622

Rating: E

Status: Incomplete (Ch 13/14)

Summary:

from S2E9:

“Do you still wear the coat that I gave you?”

“I burned it.”

They’re the wrong words to say.

Mori’s abuse runs deep—deeper than anyone, including Dazai, had realized. And he’s doing it all over again.

[WARNING. *PLEASE* MIND THE TAGS.]

Review: Brutal psychological warfare, 10/10

Nivea's Mirror by Raiimil

Words: 42,077

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Summary:

Every night, a purple letter appears in his doorstep. Every night, the letter have different contents inside. Every night, Dazai breaks a little more. And this time, it might break him thoroughly.

Previously called: RAVAGE (Before I Break)

PLEASE, read the tags, PLEASE

Review: Also brutal psychological warfare, utilizes new ideas / characters in a way that doesn't feel self-indulgent or distracting from the plot. This one is very unsettling /pos

There's a few for now :) I will likely add more later

#bungo stray dogs #fic recs #fic rec #soukoku

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yourhoeshorses · 1 year

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Random things I think would be fun to have in SSO in order from how plausible i think that they would be incorporated into the game.

Having the NPC horses in the pastures, paddocks, and fields be the around your home stable be your horses you have set to be out in your pasture (if you have a lot, it would rotate which ones are visible in the field everyday/ every time you log on). I also think it would be cool if you could swap out for a horse in the field - the horse your riding would be set out in the to the pasture, and the horse you want would be activated and claim your previous horses stall in the barn. I reeeeally want this to be added to the game actually, i feel so bad looking at all my ponies sitting in their stalls all day :( i want to set them all out into a paddock and have to go out and catch them.

if your horse is in a perfect mood from being well cared for, you should be able to change the tempo of the walk-trot-canter. I think this would be so fun for doing dressage or pleasure riding!!! this way if your in a drill club its easier to keep speed with the other riders, you can show off your discipline in dressage by showing off different speeds in the trot, and FINALLY do a proper jog and lope for the western riders.

and lastly, the least plausible but man do i want it SO BAD - new animations you can buy for different riding disciplines. I could see how this may or may not be possible, due to possible conflicts of the skeleton in each horse model, but none the less i think it would be cool if you could do this with EVERY horse breed, and not be limited to only a couple breeds. I imagine we would go to a trainer and be able to purchase animation packs, and how things like dressage moves, reining, pleasure, and maybe even trick riding!

feel free to add on!!

#sso #star stable #star stable online

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princncess · 4 months

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Would you lock me in your basement for a few months to starve and torture me? I want to lose some weight but I don't think I can bring myself to count calories or exercise regularly unless someone puts a gun to my head, in return I'll let you use my body however you want

actually im gonna drill some proper attainable body standards into your head. youre gonna eat what i give you and youre gonna get exercise and youre gonna feel good about yourself more than if i just made a skeleton out of you. and you wont "let" me do anything.

only when youre properly healthy and happy about it will i starve you, erasing any muscle mass you may have gained or curves you were proud of. i like it when my torture actually hurts

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offscreenblogs · 9 months

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And well, here it is. for photography i decided to experiment with a desk lamp for lighting. personally, i don't think it's perfect but for getting the model in the lens for full body shots, it does it's job well. This model took about 3 weeks to the day to paint with several liberties taken in terms of painting it (I.E diverging from the intended colour scheme by GW in favour of a more Great-crusade magnus colour scheme for the Armor.) I don't want to get into all the colours i used to make it but the most common colours i had to use were the following: Ahkellion green, Ahriman/baharoth/thousand sons/talassar blue, Wazdaka red, pink horror, retributer Armor, Guillemin flesh and finally, skeleton horde. The only bad thing I can say that happened was breaking the staff then going through the process of acquiring a drill and paper clip and super gluing it back together. So yeah thats about it, my Biggest model to date that I've had to paint and build from the ground up. this also means that my thousand sons collection is finally complete and now, i feel my army could stand a chance in more 2k game oriented environments. i might even choose to take part in some tournaments idk. but in any case, im glad that 2 years of model painting has finally led to this, something that I never thought I'd get the chance to paint especially as it's my 2nd favourite traitor primarch and 3rd favourite primarch period. it may not be accurate but it's the way I wanted it to look and to me, that's all i could ever want from this. Anyways, hope you've all enjoyed this series. I don't know if I'll ever do something like this again (i hope not, my wallets already been through enough as is) but who knows. thank you all for watching and liking. I'll see you when i've got another model on the brain! :)

#warhammer 40k #art #miniature painting #miniature #thousand sons #warhammer #magnus did nothing wrong #magnus the red #oops looks like you decks weak to hand traps asshole LET-ME-IN!!#40k thousand sons #daemon primarch #primarch

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heckinconfusedparade · 2 years

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Part 1: Knuckles Goes Treasure Hunting

Knuckles wakes up. Today is the perfect day! Clear weather, nice temperature, yes!

He takes his treasure hunting hat off his nightstand and stands up and does a few big stretches. He’s been waiting for a weekend with 0 plans.

Knuckles joins the others upstairs for breakfast. Sonic raises an eyebrow “what’s with the hat?” “It is my treasure hunting hat.” Knuckles responds, slurping some nice warm coffee. “I think it’s cool!” Says Tails coming to sit next to him with his and Knuckles’ plate. Tom smiles at his son “snazzy hat, Indiana Jones.” “I do not know who that is, but I accept the compliment.

“Knux, are you going treasure hunting?” Maddie asks, finally sitting down, “yes. It is the perfect day to look for treasure. I have been waiting. I can sense that this will be a worthwhile journey.” Knuckles is quickly eating. Tails swallows what’s in his mouth “do ya need a metal detector? You can borrow mine!” “Thank you fox, that is very kind. But unfortunately I will have to decline your offer. I cannot hold something and dig without it slowing me down. I need maximum palm space. I can also simply sense when I get close, which is why I am always successful.” Knuckles finishes his breakfast and goes to put his shoes on.

“Be back for dinner, ok?” Maddie shouts. Knuckles shouts back “of course mother!” And he’s off.

He goes to the corner of the yard. He begins his hole and drills down. He senses something coming from the West, so he tunnels in that direction. It is there he finds his first treasure! Cleaning it off, he has found an old bottle cap. Neat! He puts it in his little pouch and carry’s on.

He digs deeper, following every signal he can. He acquires a bottle, an old coin dating back to 100 years ago. That’s a long time! He wonders if this coin is worth anything now..

At some point he picks up something strong. After a bit more digging, he falls into a cave. He picks himself up and looks around. He gathers some crystals and jewels while continuing down the cave.

Then he spots something.. less of a good sign. A skeleton. He feels himself tense a little, wondering if that person died getting trapped or something attacked them. He makes note of the location and continues forward. It gets colder. He begins hearing whispers.. whispers about turning around, and legends of old. He reaches an open room. In the middle stop a pile of sand is an open treasure chest full of jewels, jewelry, gold,… and a single golden dabloon. This is the strong signal he got. Just by looking at it he can tell it’s very very old, but in remarkable shape.

Knuckles hears a noise behind him and whips around. Then he hears something above him… a pair of glowing blue eyes stare back at him. “Hello? Who are you?” Knuckles points to the figure hanging from the ceiling. The figure drops down to the floor. She is a bat taller than he, dressed in a mixture of stealth clothes and flash. “What are you doin with those jewels, big shot~?” She speaks, stepping closer to him, triggering him to back away “I do not wish to fight you. Are you also a treasure hunter?” Knuckles stands in front of the chest. The bat chuckles darkly “something like that. Now, how about you share your findings with lil ol me, big guy?” she gets in position, expecting a fight. Knuckles blinks “well. I don’t need this jewelry. You can take some. If you made it here, you must be experienced in the art of looking for jewels, and I admire that.” Knuckles shows her the jewelry. The bat gasps and rushes over to it, gathering plenty “well aren’t you just the kindest soul~? Hello gorgeous!” She cuddles a Diamond necklace. The bat returns to Knuckles’ side and places a smooch on his cheek “thank you, stranger!” And flies off. Knuckles is frozen in place trying to process what just happened.

He checks what was left behind and finds a bracelet he thinks Maddie would like, and puts it in his bag with everything else. He decides to keep exploring the cave, and he does so until Knuckles senses something else. He gets the same feeling he did when he was near the master emerald.. but he hears some robotic movement.

Knuckles creeps around the corner of the cave, and peers to take a peak. He spots a robot that is definitely Robotniks. It appears to be searching for something. Another Badnik approaches it “Nothing over here.” “We must keep looking.”

The robots turn to face Knuckles who now stands in full sight, fists balled up “what are you looking for?” He says slowly. The robots prepare for battle. They do not respond, but they begin fire. Knuckles dodges the lasers, hiding behind boulders

He climbs up the wall of the cave onto the ceiling and drills downward into one of the robots, destroying it. The other robot tries to grab him, but he grabs the arm and swings around, landing one big punch into its eye socket. He throws the robot at the other one, causing them to explode. The explosion caused the cave to start rumbling “that’s my signal to leave.” Knuckles says to himself when he spots something glowing out of the corner of his eye. It’s a red emerald. He quickly stuffs it into his bag before tunnelling out of the cave.

He returns to the surface and shakes off the dirt. Knuckles reaches back into the bag and pulls out the emerald. This is it. This is what caused him to feel that way. Could this be one of the Chaos Emeralds? Here on Earth?

Knuckles remembers when Sonic turned back to normal from his Super Sonic form, some bright objects shot out of him and scattered across the sky. This confirms there are more of them, and that if all of them are brought together, they will nearly equal the power the master emerald holds.

He carefully places the emerald back in the bag. If his memory serves him correctly, there are more out there. Six more to be exact.. he will keep an eye out for the rest of them

He returns home just as Tom is setting the table for dinner. Tom pats his head “welcome back, buddy! Did you have fun?” “Yes, I did.” Tails comes running, and wraps his arms and tails around his brother in an embrace “hi!! I missed you!!” “I missed you too, Tails.”

Sonic emerges from where Tails came from. Knuckles smirks at him “did you miss me too, hedgehog?“ Sonic shakes his head “nope.” Tails speaks up “he did!” Knuckles laughs and gives the giggling fox a noogie. Sonic, offended by his baby brothers betrayal, decides he is going to be a good boy and join the table setting.

Maddie comes out of the kitchen and hugs her treasure hunter “looks like you found a bunch of stuff!” “I did. I will tell you all about my journey over dinner.”

Knuckles turns to his brothers “Sonic, Tails, there is something I would first like to discuss with you.” He leads them down into his room in the basement. He pulls out the emerald and places it on the floor in the middle of them.

Sonic gasps “woah.. what is that? It’s like.. a smaller master emerald?” he reaches to try and touch it, but Knuckles moves his hand away “it is a Chaos emerald. When you broke the Master Emerald, they must have materialized and been absorbed by you. When you changed back from your Super form, the emeralds shot up and scattered away in different directions. There are seven.. and we now have one.”

Tails thinks for a moment, then speaks “…so if we have all seven, we can use the power of the master emerald.. without the master emerald?” “Yes. But a single Chaos Emerald is still very powerful on its own.” “I’ll run some tests on it.. I’ll try to make a radar so the others will be easy to find. We cannot let anyone get these emeralds.”

The three brothers share an unbreakable promise fist bump.

They return to the dinner table, and Knuckles begins to tell his tale, from the coin, to the cave, to the whispers, to the chest, to the bat lady. Sonic and Tails look at eachother, then to Knuckles and go “ooooooo~!” When he mentions the bat. “What?” Knuckles asks, putting down his fork. Sonic laughs “you said she kissed you on the cheek, eh~?” Tails makes kissy faces to further the teasing. Knuckles blushes and rolls his eyes “it was merely an act of gratitude and nothing more. I don’t even know her, or her name.” Then he eats his feelings, while his brothers continue to tease him. Tom laughs while Maddie makes the two stop teasing their brother.

Then Knuckles explains his fight with the Badniks.

“..how? Why are Robotniks robots still active? Were they like Unit?” Tom asks. Unit has gone off to pursue poetry, they occasionally come back to visit Tails and Sonic to read poems.

Knuckles shakes his head “these robots appeared to follow strict programming. They had a task.”

Tails hums “maybe it’s possible that they were already given the task before we fought? Or..” his face drops “or someone else has access to Eggmans database.”

Sonic feels some blood leave his face “..or Eggman is still out there. And he knows about the Chaos Emeralds.”

It’s pretty silent for the rest of dinner.

Tom and Maddie discuss what to do while the boys head out to the shed.

It’s time for science stuff.

#do y’all want a part 2?#sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedghog movie #sonic 2 #knuckles the echidna #movie knuckles #knuckles #knuckles wachowski #tails the fox #movie tails #miles tails prower #tails wachowski #sonic #movie sonic #sonic wachowski #tom wachowski #maddie wachowski #rouge the bat

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adultswim2021 · 5 months

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Totally 4 Teens: “Pilot” | February 25, 2010 | Pilot Debuted on DVD on October 27, 2009 Aired on television January 19, 2011 @ 12:15AM

From the ~tWiStEd~ mind of Derrick Beckles, the creator of TV Carnage (a video series where he mashed up various clips from various videos to recontextualize them into ironic hilarity [I never did watch any of these aside from clips {but I do own one on DVD}]) comes this failed-but-it-has-its-fans pilot. It may have failed, but it did eventually yield not one but TWO TV series that were pretty similar. This is presented as a hyperkinetic teen-oriented youth program that teaches you about making good choices. We cut back and forth between various ideas, some are quick sight gags, some consist of found footage, some involve on-the-street interviews with presumably unsuspecting creeps, some are elaborate sketches with fairly clear ideas, etc. It’s a real kitchen-sink sorta thing, and it’s all tied together by an in-studio host (Beckles himself), whose questionable morals keep him from truly getting through to these kids to teach an actual valuable lesson.

The meatier ideas here include a troupe of bikini-clad teen beauty pageant contestants doing an educational sketch about using dangerous drugs, where the moral of the story is to combat bad drugs with good drugs. This includes them calling “Mooky”, a shady dealer of cleaner stuff, who also wears a bikini and a sash (as does his suspicious father). This sketch purports to be from 1991, and is *sorta* shot to match. (inhales deeply) See you can clearly tell they shot it in 16:9 with modern equipment and then ran it through a VCR a few times to make it look degraded, but that makes it look like an off-air recording and really they should’ve just shot it on betacam and presented it in 4:3, giving it an authentic older look while also looking like a professional production, which this obviously is supposed to be. This eventually segues into modern-looking footage anyway, so verisimilitude was already going to be compromised. Sad!

There’s a brief bit with a drill sergeant type guy who yells at kids until his yelling physically causes them to shape up. In what is presumably meant to be a regular segment of the show, we see him yelling at a pregnant teenager for being pregnant, and he yells at her to stop, which causes her baby bump to deflate like magic. She looks into the camera and stiffly delivers the line “what happened to my baby!” in a slightly whiny tone. My favorite joke in this segment is actually a very brief bit that basically plays in the background during the intro to the segment, where we see different screens showing past installments, including one where he yells at a kid so hard that he turns into a skeleton. This is literally my favorite joke in the entire episode.

The last non-short bit is one where a kid in the audience is about to light a cigarette. Derrick forces him to submit to a science-fiction scenario where he’s to spend the day with two versions of himself from the future: one that starts smoking and one that doesn’t. The smoker is a burly biker-type, and the other is a wet-looking dork wearing a sweater vest. “They both seem pretty cool!” the kid thinks to himself. He more-or-less falls in love with both of them, and doesn’t want to have to choose. Their relationship becomes borderline romantic. The show ends with the teen audience chomping into some sponsored pickles that have white cream inside.

I have… uh, mixed feelings about this pilot. A lot of this stuff resembles my sense of humor, and a lot of these jokes are pretty funny on paper. But this pilot leaves me wanting more of a, I don’t know… human touch? I don’t know if I can put my finger on it. It’s the same problem I have with Icelandic Ultra Blue, to some extent. A lot of these jokes are funny, but they are just motivated by a feeling of “we are being subversive” and nothing else. It’s just smirky nihilism. I’m not sure what it really boils down to. Why do I love Xavier, Tim and Eric, Eric Andre, Wonder Showzen, etc, but not this? Could it just be that I don’t really like Derrick Beckles?

I don’t NOT like Derrick Beckles, don’t get me wrong. I guess the other stuff I mentioned involves human beings that I find charismatic. There’s something sorta inhuman and TOO detached about this for me to enjoy it. I once said “this makes Tim and Eric look like it has a heart”. I’m not sure that’s totally accurate, but it comes within spitting distance of me figuring out my feelings for this and why I find it to be a difficult watch. Also: I think the way it’s edited just gives me a headache and there’s little to no grace in some of the absurd editing choices it makes. No grace!!

It has enough moments that I want to like this. The swimsuit beauty queen teen in the rasta wig, playing a Jamaican drug dealer, calling the other girl “ragamuffin”, is a moment that’s been in my head for a while. The on-the-street interview with the scumbags who urges the audience to not hang out with teens and do “wrong shit” with them is pretty great. I think they just needed to make it a tad more appealing in some way.

Actually, I think the “ragamuffin” thing is key. It’s not that funny, really just a bit of silliness, but it’s one of the few things in the show I’d call “pleasing” in that I actually have thought about this moment more than any other moment in the show. It just sounds musical, and is a little fun to try and imitate. Xavier was fairly user-unfriendly, being ugly and sometimes impenetrable with its relentless cascade of angular humor. But it’s so gosh darn fun to do Xavier’s voice. To say Xavier (the character) is likable is a big stretch, but he has a few traits that ARE likable. This just needed a TINY BIT more of that.

Also known as “The Best of Totally for Teens”. The library of congress listing shows this was originally the submitted title, but it was changed some time after to simply “Totally 4 Teens”. “The Best of Totally for Teens” is also the on-screen title. I’m guessing it’s a “best-of” to explain why they are showing the fake 1991 clip with the teen beauty pageant contestants, or why they are showing a real 1987 clip of Riff Raff singing about Disease.

This debuted on DVD as part of the Adult Swim Pilots disc that was released as part of the Adult Swim in a Box box set, as far as I can tell. IMDB says that it debuted on January 6, 2009, with no mention of where or how. I’m guessing if that date is accurate, it must’ve been shown to a crowd as part of a film festival or comedy show or something. I made a choice to ignore DVD release dates for this blog when selecting a proper chronology only because I didn’t like the idea of reviewing four racist episodes of Aqua Teen Hunger Force in a row (the ones that came out on the Volume 6 DVD before airing on television). The library of congress lists this date as its debut, as part of the Burger King Big Uber Network Sampler pilot contest. If anyone knows where the January 6, 2009 date comes from, let me know! I like knowing stupid bullshit like that.

The whole thing is on Adult Swim’s official YouTube for free! You should watch it because maybe you’ll like it more than me. But, somehow, I like this better than Duckworth.

Neon Knome > Snake ‘n’ Bacon > Totally 4 Teens > Duckworth > Southies > Yappy Broads > Cheyenne Cinnamon > Soul Quest Overdrive

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #totally 4 teens

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masked-marauder · 7 months

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FORWARD MARCH HARE (1952)

Director: Chuck Jones

Story: Michael Maltese

Animation: Ken Harris, Lloyd Vaughan, Ben Washam

Release Date: February 14, 1953

I've always found this cartoon to be extremely interesting, as it doesn't really follow the formula of your average Bugs Bunny. Instead of showing him outsmarting a foe, it's just him causing trouble unintentionally. It feels a lot more like something you'd find in a Mickey Mouse or Goofy cartoon. Not that I find that to be a bad thing, though. This cartoon is full of great, subtle gags that you'd have to rewatch to notice.

The cartoon begins with Bugs, doing his... morning workouts? This seems like somewhat of a one-off thing and it isn't really ever brought back up, but I find the sheer pointlessness of it funny. Anyway, while he's doing them, a letter accidentally slips into his hole for Bertram Bonny, or B. Bonny. Bugs notices this and mistakes it Bonny for him, believing that he has been drafted. I always wondered who Bertram Bonny was, and how he got stuck with such a stupid name.

Anyway, it cuts to him, in the induction center. This leads to a bunch of great little gags, like the man looking at him, turning to the screen and letting out a small snicker, and turning back.

Another great little gag comes with the doctor examining Bugs's skeleton, only to come to the conclusion that he doesn't get paid enough for this job.

My favorite out of all of these induction gags comes from him, doing the eye exam and passing it so well that he reads off the disclaimer at the bottom. I know that this gag is kind of reused from Hot Cross Bunny, but it's funny, so who cares?

We soon find Bugs, reporting for basic training. This sets up a lot of gags, such as him knocking over a bunch of the other privates like bowling pins.

Throughout the cartoon, there's this great running visual gag where every time Bugs messes up, the next time we see the drill sergeant, he has been demoted a rank.

Another great visual gag comes from Bugs, showering in the colonel's helmet. "Cleanliness is next to godliness", he states.

All of this culminates in one of, if not my favorite ammunition shell LT gags (trust me, there's a lot), where Bugs tries hammering a nail for a calendar WITH a shell. There's something charming about seeing Bugs with such a childlike sense of stupidity.

As the ammunition shell bursts out of the quarters, we get a neat little visual gag of the colonel, with his helmet having a huge chunk taken out of it due to the shell shooting it.

At this point, it finally becomes clear to the sergeant (who has been reduced to the rank of PRIVATE) that Bugs is NOT Bertram. Despite not being able to serve in the army due to being a, well, rabbit, Bugs, ever the patriot, still wants to do his part for his country. Luckily, there IS a way. This culminates in one of the most hilariously morbid endings for a Bugs Bunny cartoon ever. Bugs is shown hitting ammunition shells with a hammer on an assembly line, labelling the ones that don't explode as "DUDS". And just think, in 30 years he can retire!

All in all, despite its unusual setup, Forward March Hare is a wonderfully written cartoon, chockfull of great slapstick and visual gags. You can view it here!

And so, this marks my first full-on "cartoon review". It can only go down from here.

#cartoon review #bugs bunny #looney tunes #chuck jones #review #first blogpost

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lightworkscompendium · 7 months

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The more people change, adapt and evolve as a species, the more things irrevocably and ultimately stay the same. The sun always rises in the east and sets to the west. The moon always has its phases as it grows from darkness to light, and then back as it rests. Even as great gray walls are erected and cities are built to house humanity en masse, the very nature of being human has not once changed in the end.

Life begets more life. And death, well - death, ultimately, arrives eventually and oftentimes without any warning or explanation. The unforgiving, usually unwanted visitor that snatches our loved ones away when we least expect it. People, without question, will always succumb to this fate eventually, no matter how long and hard one seeks out the magical elixir of eternal life and youth. Though, humans surely can attempt, no? Whatever gives them solace and peace in their fleeting existence, attempting to defy reality.

Without a doubt, death remains a constant even when it inevitably also evolves with us and integrates as part of the society we’ve built around ourselves. I’ve met death once before, as you might garner from all of that. Our meeting wasn’t by chance, nor was it under a circumstance that I can find any pride in, yet I cannot say I regret it either. I’ll say in no uncertain terms though, we did meet on what I would describe as the darkest night of my life. As a result, I came to realize that everything I thought I knew about the world, life, death, and even God, wasn’t all that it seemed. Not even my view on humanity itself, and each face that passes by me on the sidewalk every day, was quite as I’d always believed. Everything I thought I knew - was wrong. I was never quite so happy to learn that I could be so utterly wrong about everything, either.

I’ll tell you the story now, of how Death doesn’t ride a horse, or row a boat to ferry you across the River Styx. Death wasn't quite glamorous, nor were they a macabre skeleton with a scythe held at my neck while reaping my soul. For me, Death drove a plain white bus in the dead of night, politely pulling up to the sidewalk where I waited without quite knowing just what I was waiting for.

–

I can't remember what was going through my head or even the circumstances that led up to it, in all honesty. I remember the dread in my stomach, the pain in my chest, the bruises and cuts all over my body - both self inflicted and otherwise. I can't remember the exact instance that finally sent me over the edge, but I do remember that it was a conglomeration of many things. Low self worth. No confidence. I was a doormat to everyone and everything because as far as I cared, I didn't matter. My feelings didn't matter. I was a failure of a person in every way, someone who could never please anyone, no matter how hard I tried to. These ideas had been drilled into me from a young age, as seems to be true for a good many people who suffer the same feelings.

I remember how tired I was of everything, of absolutely everything and how badly I wanted it all to end. To end, permanently. After all, if I was as worthless as I felt at that moment, as useless and pitiful as everyone made me feel, then it wasn't a loss to anyone. Much less myself, since I wouldn't be wasting space, consuming food, and otherwise being in everyone else's way. I'd finally stop feeling, finally stop being a burden, and everyone else would finally be rid of me at long last. It was a comforting thought, as horrific as it was. I knew it was horrifying. I also didn't care.

So, come the dead of night and somewhere between feeling that existential dread buried in the pit of my stomach, and feeling nothing but absolute numbness, I did it. I took my entire bottle of sleeping medication, choking down every single pill with a certain finality that set in only after I'd swallowed them. This would be freedom. This would be the release from pain I'd sought all along! I laid there in the darkness of my bedroom afterwards, waiting for the inevitable sluggishness of my brain shutting down, and the shallow breaths I could only imagine would soon join, until they ceased all together. Death would claim me that night, and I finally felt peace knowing it.

–I couldn't really explain why even if I tried, but I remember laying there in the dark, feeling my consciousness starting to slip after a bit. I was crying of all things. In spite of this being exactly what I wanted, I was crying like a damned fool and soaking my stupid, ugly old pillow with those tears. I'm sure I cried all the way until I finally lost consciousness all together, but I can't remember that much. By that point I wasn't even aware if my breathing ever did stop. Everything was pure darkness. Everything was also peaceful.

–Or maybe I'm interjecting that feeling, in hindsight. Maybe at that moment I didn't actually feel anything at all because I'd lost that capacity with the total shutdown of mental function. It sounds better to say I was at peace, though, doesn't it?

–And then, I woke up. Sort of.

I woke up in a place I didn't exactly recognize at first; like waking up somewhere you don't remember falling asleep and having to retrace your steps so you can remember exactly how you got there. Except, I couldn't retrace my steps, and when I ‘woke up’, I was just standing outside with the rain pouring down all around me. It took a while of me just standing there in the rain for the memory of the night to slowly come back to me, vivid snapshots of my own body laying there in that old, shitty bed I slept on every night.

The memories of taking my medication, purposely overdosing myself to end it all. Where I normally felt that horrid existential dread buried in my stomach like a bar of lead, I found that I felt nothing anymore. It wasn't the numbness of before, either - maybe peace is the best way I can describe it. Peace that soon held a bittersweet edge to it, a weird sense of finality that was dawning on me the longer I stood there in the rain. The rain, I didn't feel it after all. It was like teardrops from the sky, I thought - crying for me? That was a hard one to believe, but I felt it in my stomach somehow, where the dread of before had overshadowed everything else.

I started to walk, hands outstretched in front of myself as if to try and catch and feel that pouring rain all around me. Yet, I could feel nothing - as if the rain was unable to touch me anymore. As if I was simply there, and yet nowhere at the same time. Existing, but not. Alive in a sense, but I already knew the truth in that I had succeeded and this wasn't just some kind of deep dream. At that moment, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that I was dead and there was no going back from that.

It was a weird sense that I can't describe in a way that is easily understood unless you've felt a similar way - but the closest thing I can use to describe it must be intuition. It was a feeling that echoes outward from the stomach and creates a little voice in your head, or perhaps an automatic epiphany of some sort. As I walked alongside a long stretch of road, with the sun setting somewhere in the distant beyond that I couldn't see, I knew I'd squandered something invaluable. Something so precious in the world, that had slipped between my open hands like sand.

It certainly hadn't felt like it in the moment - it felt like the only way out of the personal hell I was living in. Maybe that had also been an excuse. An easy way out of dealing with it all alone, because I felt so damn powerless to deal with it all on my own. Or maybe it was believing in the lies others had told me about myself, believing that maybe they could see through me in ways I couldn't see myself. Whatever the reason was, whatever I had chosen and acted on, I didn't blame myself somehow. It didn't feel right to. It was bittersweet and terribly sad to have it all dawn on me with the weight finally off my shoulders, but I didn't immediately hate myself as I normally would have. I didn't spiral into a self-loathing mantra of all the ways I was a fucking idiot.

I just was. I was just a human. A human who had made a sad, but understandable mistake. What was done was done.

I didn't wander for very long, it seemed. It felt like it couldn't have been more than ten or twenty minutes at most, although the exact amount of time is still not known to me. Eventually, up ahead of me on the road, I saw a big white bus driving up - the first sign of any kind of ‘life’ I'd seen since I woke up. I waved, flailed, and held my hands out in hope that maybe they would see me and stop, even if the idea felt absurd given my epiphany of being dead. To my surprise, the bus slowed and pulled off to the side, before coming to a complete stop just feet away from where I stood. The mechanical doors opened up a moment later, inviting me in without a word. I remember standing there dumbly for a few minutes, as if processing that the bus was, in fact, stopping for me and that I was welcome there.

I remember being surprised by that. Despite all my flailing about on the side of a road like an absolute madman, I really hadn't expected it to stop for me. I hadn't even expected it to be able to see me - although in hindsight once more, a pure white bus on an otherwise empty and desolate road, is just a tiny bit abnormal, no? I know now that it was going to stop regardless of my flailing, but I did give the driver a bit of a laugh at least.

“Well? Waiting for something?” The driver said with what I'd call a charismatic smile and a melodious chuckle. I was dumbstruck just a moment more before I shook my head quickly and climbed aboard, taking the first seat that I could find at the front. A quick survey around the bus and I would realize I wasn't alone, with a number of people who were wrapped in warm blankets and clothing, sleeping peacefully, or whom huddled together closely as if it was the only thing that kept them from tears. The doors closed and the bus started up again, the sound of the windshield wipers and the quiet rumble of the engine being the only sounds on the bus.

Curiosity soon burned at my mind in ways it hadn't in a very long time. Was everyone on this bus dead? Had they all died in different ways? Where were we all going–? A million different questions bubbled forth from somewhere within me and I couldn't help but break the uncanny silence that permeated the air.

“...May I ask… Where exactly is this?” I started, nervously fiddling about with my hands. As soon as I spoke the words aloud, I found that the same intuition from before had already answered the question in some dull and loose sense. Not as a direct answer, but as something abstract, like knowing the symbolism behind a full moon versus a new moon. I knew exactly what it was, but I couldn't quite get the words to flow through my mind in a way that made sense. The driver glanced back at me halfway, seeming to ponder my question as he tilted his head to one side and then the other.

“Well, well, as you know - and you do already know - you're quite dead aren't you? This place is what you might call “Purgatory”, or as I sometimes call it, “The space in-between”. You'll know when your stop is.” The driver said somewhat cryptically, his attention fully focused on the road once more. Not a single person on the bus stirred or gave any indication of caring about the disruption to the silence. The driver was correct - I already knew that I was dead, yes; although the confirmation only set it firmly in stone for me. A sigh passed by my lips, a vaguely somber feeling edging into my stomach once more.

“... My apologies for interrupting your work…” I began, feeling that familiar overly polite demeanor of mine kicking into gear. Just, without the undertones of self loathing and resentment to color it with insincerity. “I would guess… Everyone here is also dead then, yes? And you… you must be…?”

I trailed off, leaving the implication open. As for the driver, I already knew intuitively who he was, as well, but I would have to say without a doubt that for such a figure, he wasn't a very imposing type. He had a soft, round looking face and gentle brown eyes. Atop his head, he had a black colored hat of some sort on - it reminded me just a little bit of the hats a train conductor would wear. Beneath it, fluffy and soft looking brownish hair peeked out and curled at the nape of his neck. He wore formal clothing, but his overall demeanor was relaxed and soothing somehow.

There was silence for just a little bit, and then a soft laugh came from the driver. “You're not mistaken.” He said in a playful manner that held a certain undertone of empathy. Or perhaps it was sadness? I couldn't tell you precisely, in truth, but it wasn't difficult to tell that while he took pride in his job, he felt genuinely for the souls aboard his bus. He understood their pain and suffering in ways that I could scarcely begin to imagine.

“I am death in most concepts of the word. Not quite the one who strikes a soul from their body to reap it - there is no such entity as that, you see? No such entity quite assigned to the natural breakdown of organic matter into decay, and to rot and then once more to the Earth from whence all was borne. Except for mushrooms, maybe. That's another tale, however!” He laughed in a boisterous way, as if finding his own musings to be quite funny. I cocked my head to the side, not sure what to make of it in the slightest. Although the more I quietly thought about what he'd said, I could find a certain humor in it. It was funny.

People were terrified of death, terrified of the unknown and the inevitable aspects of death, of the decay and the rot and the eventual return to Earth, but for what? Was it so terrifying to not know what becomes of us? Perhaps it was my own morbid sense of humor that had me lost on it, but death was a curious thing to me at most points during my life. In the blink of an eye we're here, and then gone again. From the Earth and then consumed as a nutrient for it once more, feeding the decay and the rot which gives way to a new extant form of life. I couldn't say I minded the idea of becoming a mushroom. The thought was funny to me in its own way.

As did the thought that we all struggle and fight tooth and nail to live and thrive and be ahead of the game, when we're all going to be buried the same and devoured by worms nonetheless. An unbreakable cycle by which our flesh would erode and leave behind a husk of bone and marrow. Rich, old, young, poor, it didn't matter our sex or race or anything besides being of mortal form, we would all go to the grave the same. We would all take the same bus to wherever our destination was next.

And as for myself, I had made a mistake of putting myself into an early grave. All because I didn't see value in the places where I was worth more than all the gold and diamonds in the world. Of course, I didn't quite understand all of that immediately - but it was something that I slowly began to grasp while I sat on the bus, hands gently clasped together as I glanced outside and into the rain. Without the weight in my stomach and all of the emotions I'd forced myself to choke down like those pills that sat dissolving in my stomach, I could think clearly. I could think concisely about how funny life was. Little epiphanies that seemed to come one after another after another.

Then, finally, “... Do you know how everyone on this bus died?” I asked, a touch of shame entering my voice. I felt at once like a child who was about to be scolded for stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, but considerably worse so.

Death sent a quick glance my way and then nodded with an apologetic kind of smile. It was as if he didn't want me to feel, for even just one moment, like he despised me or felt badly about the choice I'd made that night. Where I think many others would look my way and judge my every movement, my every question I'd asked thus far, and even my feelings themselves, I never felt such from Death himself. Death hadn't taken any jabs at me, hadn't demeaned me for being too weak to live. Death looked upon me with sympathy as he knew, he knew the feelings weighing upon my heart and how difficult they were.

And I, as I knew so inherently from the intuitive senses I seemed to more properly embody in this state, was not alone. I had always felt so very, horribly, awfully alone in all of my sufferings at that time, but at this moment I was filled with the sense and knowing that I had never been truly alone. I had merely been unable to see that everyone around me, for as brightly as they smiled and hid their pain, were also suffering and feeling the depths of loneliness. Many like me, also could not see a way out of it alone, or felt that their worth was nil compared to those who carried themselves like proud kings and queens amongst commoners.

Death spoke up in a soft tone, one filled with a certain kindness that was unlike that of any normal person I'd ever known, surely. “Upon this bus are the elderly and the tired. The martyrs and the shunned. Those who have had their lives stolen, their bodies used in terrible ways. There are peacemakers and peace takers, rich and poor, every manner of which results quite the same. Whether you were Hitler himself or one who was victim of his genocide, the end will not differ. That which is flesh and bone returns all the same.”

That was quite a thought, and one which caused a certain bitter resentment to bubble up within me for reasons I understood quite plainly. Why should those who made others suffer be allowed to simply be at rest, at peace, when they caused such suffering upon another? Why should they be allowed any kindness at all? Why should anyone so utterly debased and foul be allowed redemption of any form? I felt this rage bubble within me for several silent moments, and then just as quickly snuff itself out into oblivion.

My personal resentment aside, I seemed to inherently pick up on the subtle reality of that, too. The feelings we all felt while we were alive, the actions we took individually and even against one another, while inexcusable in every context, were prone to likewise decay. In the endless expansion of life and death and the universe itself, it mattered on a human level as to prevent such atrocities from taking place again. It mattered on a level of remembering the lives lost to tragic events, as each life lived was an irreplaceable one that could never again be seen to the same degree. However, on a level of decay and entropy amidst an ever swirling expanse of universe, it was as insubstantial as a child shoving the end of a hose into a nest of ants and drowning them all. Did ants mourn their fallen sisters as we mourn those lost to war and famine and ultimately decay?

“... Do you suppose they regret what they've done in the end?” I asked, knowing at least the answer that was true to myself. For myself. Seeing the world with eyes wide open and clearer than ever before, I knew what I had done and that it ultimately wasn't only me who would suffer. It hadn't mattered in the moment when I was pushed over the edge, who I hurt or how badly. The only thing that mattered was me, in that moment, who couldn't stand to go forward another single day with the knot of dread in my stomach and knowing there was no feasible end in sight.

Death smiled and pulled the bus to the side of the road, the back doors opening. I was suddenly hit with the sense that it was time to go - a strange thing, since I had only been on the bus for what felt like a very short time. Maybe a half an hour at most. As I rose to leave, Death called out one final time. “Maybe you can tell me the answer to that one. I've wondered for a long time, myself.”

I laughed quietly to myself and said, “Regret or not, what's done is done. That's finality,” and left the bus, finding that outside was nothing but a starkly bright light that I felt should have burned my eyes. I went forward into it, ready to embrace what came next.

…

And well, I woke up in the hospital hooked up to God knows how many things, but I was… Alive. Alive… and not exactly well, but that was fine for the moment. I was alive.

The rest is for another story all together.

#original writing #suicide #death and decay #drug usage #tw overdose

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incarnateirony · 2 years

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genuinely funny watching antis like Vinnie swirl the toilet on curious cat. "You don't think they'll pander to THOSE PEOPLE"

"No, I do not think they will pander to THOSE PEOPLE!"

well first of all, Vinnie, you just don't think. you never have. you compulsively hate-react.

so of course you're not going to suddenly apply the brain matter the universe gave you to recognize what's happening here.

you're right.

they're not going to pander to us.

The story is FOR us.

They might pander to YOU. Throw a bone or two on the way.

But it's not pandering to develop a series for your largest demographic, sorry sweetheart.

again. believe it or not is up to you. if you want to miserably scream all the way down the same hellhole when you denied the market testing and denied the confession was happening or denied the omissions or denied the original ending contents, or you and wiki even on PAYROLL fucking up about the script because mine was newer and you cried fake, we can repeat this fucking rodeo. like it never seems to click with you guys that when I say this shit, it's not because I want it, it's because it's what's happening or happened. Like there's some real object permanence issues with all of you guys.

just like 2p0 forgot he claimed this wasn't about dean's evolution learning from his parents only to jackassedly tweet that a blatantly named episode is about learning from your parents. No shit, sherlock?

Your previous covid butchered finale was never intended, never wanted, and is a mortal embarassment to the crew. It's not hard to take the skeleton it was and actually put substance on it. And that substance is what has you all shitting your pants, because you know, you just want to convince yourselves and each other that you still have a reason to be here. Because if you don't, everyone that's warned you for the last 5 years that you're money wasting hated cunts has been correct there, like about everything else.

But deep down you even know that. Because y'all celebrated and thanked covid for fucking the finale. You're just trying to neuralyze that out to feel enduringly relevant. Covid's over sweetie.(well, effectively. functional sets are working just fine, sparing a few weird exceptions that keep shutting down--) We're finishing it now. And this version gets a full series instead of an episode. Thanks for that, covid!

again. *you* might get pandering bones, but this show is *for* us, by us, get it through your thick heads. And while you're drilling through that titanium low volume shell, reach in there and plant in some acceptance that Jensen is included in Us.

Us includes the tarot and pagans you hate that are being hired and collaborating with set coordinators to design it to the exact alchemy on my blog for years; the graded lodge members arranging rare layouts you'll never understand, but we do. Us includes the gay rebels that are here to burn it down in rainbows, the creole people that are happy to piss off shrill white culture cunts while dancing in feathers, tits out if it offends you; Us includes the writers, Us includes the crew, the majority fandom, it's Us. Not you. You're not the people this is being given back to.

Catch a clue from jib and marketing and rainbow heads and whatever the fuck else, jackasses

they hate you, i'm not kidding, they literally hate you. the only thing they like you for is your money. this isn't fuckin parasocial, it's not a fucking assumption. It's not me playing connect the dots. It is me telling you to your face that they fucking hate you, whether you accept it or not.

"Hate" may be a bit strong, make you even feel like you have power. but it's an apathetic hatred. The kind you wad up and throw in the trash and move on. The kind you shove down your garbage disposal and move on from. you're the gnat infested fruit. so will you get it over with and go instead of swirling the drain and giving jensen even more fodder from your monitored feed to piss you off with?

this entire thing is even taking a highlighter over the cosmogenics that blows your bad soulmates interpretation out of the water, but you're not smart enough to figure out how yet. This. entire. thing. you're going to hate it 100x worse vinnie than you hated late Supernatural. I promise you.

honestly [checks notes] weird it's almost like this was written specifically to piss certain people off and destroy their bad talking points by closing canon in on them. wild. wonder who would do that or had enough thumbs in fandom to figure out what bad talking points needed sniped.

like. it's so wild. from where it's going with the grand big moments that will set Vinnie's head on fire to this just meticulously dismantling all the bad talking points in heller fandom i criticise. amazing. wild how that's working out. like where extreme cas and dean stans spun john around into headcanon extremes against each other, and weaponized that shit instead of acknowledging the generational trauma story echoing through cas and dean at the end--allllll those videos i had and all the hate i got from hellers too and here we are--... WOW!!! ...must have a lucky charm huh

Your lone hero is Robert Singer, the one motherfucker Jensen magically opted to NOT bring back. His retaliation against Dabb and Berens' method of using his own laziness and absence against him and overwriting him and Eugenie caught by covid managed to stamp it out under covid, but guess what. we have a different production house now, assholes. it's not his game and there's nobody to even appeal to above Jensen beyond the CEO. And everybody's pissed.

now sit down and enjoy your gay ass deep dish overwatched by DC execs like Glen Winter and Renee Reiff, head of the gay asses telling you to sit down at DC and Marvel before here.

y'all really think this man built this whole all powerful Out In Hollywood featured fuckin production company and build up all this shit even with open rainbow marketing accountable on main just to rug pull people, because you guys are such nasty incompetent people you would do something like that, but jensen isn't gonna career suicide to make a bunch of weirdos that might sexually exploit their own kids on a weird corner of twitter happy.

Checkmate, bitches.

i told you like a month ago

it's over. it's well past stopping. deal with it and

#had to add bc goddamn #do you guys get it yet #genuinely lmao #2p0 blease add it up #i told you this is above your paygrade #jules paygrade #buddy #you guys think this is just robbie's revenge?#oh boy

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headpainmigraine · 1 year

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Doing the Dysautonomia Awareness Challenge thing because I want to.

1. The type of dysautonomia you have

Pandysautonomia

2. Your diagnosis story

I noticed that I was getting lightheaded after standing for too long, and then I started feeling like I was going to faint. It was annoying but not awful, and I have my plate full with chronic migraine, so it got put on the back burner like every other issue I have that I should be dealing with but don't have the energy for.

And then I was so bad on the way to a family holiday in Malta that I needed a wheelchair to get through airport security. And then I had a fainting spell in the middle of a shop in Malta (luckily, sat down before I could fully pass out)

No idea what was going on, still having migraines, so ignored it. Brought it up with my neuro, 'hey, I've also been getting these dizzy spells?'

My current neuro, the fourth one I spoke to, is fantastic. They referred me over to every clinic imaginable because they suspected POTS, but also referred me to an ENT clinic, just in case.

ENT diagnosed me with vestibular migraine, and Persistent Postural-Perceptual Dizziness (PPPD) and gave me physio before discharging me.

Rheumatologist ruled out EDS and diagnosed fibro (the most tentative lacklustre diagnosis I've ever had)

The neurocardiologist really nailed it down though. I was supposed to have a TTT, but they did an active stand instead, and it wasn't clearly POTS, so that killed me.

THEN I had a battery of other tests (exercise test, ambulatory blood pressure, CT scan, heart scan, something else I can't remember) and my neurocardio confirmed pandysautonomia and POTS.

I challenged the diagnosis, because the active stand results had fucked with my head, and she reassured me that no, I definitely have ISSUES. The TTT is just one diagnostic tool, and the results of my other tests, plus my medical history, confirmed the diagnosis.

I also had a non-dipper profile for my BP, which is a little concerning, but I was having a 9-migraine at the time and didn't really sleep.

I'm still waiting for a gastro appointment, and to drill a little deeper on this pandysautonomia thing, but I feel like I had a pretty easy diagnosis journey comparatively (comparative to other people's journeys and my migraine journey)

My POTS is atypical because I have high blood pressure, not low - anyone else with the combination, hmu, I'd love to hear from you. It sucks having an atypical diagnosis in a 'common' illness.

3. How long it took you to get diagnosed

2-3 years, pretty quick

4. Your most bothersome symptom

The fucking TREMORS!

I can handle the fainting pretty well, I get the dizziness, it sucks that I can't get up and do things but I was dealing with that before the pandysautonomia got bad because of my constant refractive chronic migraines.

I went from being inactive to being inactive for more reasons, so there wasn't much difference re: impact in my life

but the TREMORS.

I can't handle them! I can't feed myself properly without weighted utensils, and even then I have to take frequent breaks while I eat because the constant shaking is tiring. It gets in the way of my typing, it makes it hard to do anything that needs even a modicum of steadiness, catching crickets for my tarantulas takes 10x longer and feels bad.

And that's just the ones in my hands! The ones in my legs make me feel like I'm wobbling about like an Ed, Edd and Eddy character. The constant shaking through my skeleton is so uncomfortable and irritating. I just sit there and shake and can't paint or draw or felt or anything. UGH.

end bitching.

#dysautonomia awareness month challenge

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juniperhillpatient · 2 years

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"The Southern Air Temple" re-watch takeaways :)

-First of all, I'm so right to make Zhao a serial killer & give him pedophile vibes in all my fics. Man has evil scary creeper vibes I'm just saying. He's definitely a fun character to watch onscreen & I was excited when he showed up 10/10 we love a good villain who's worse than our main antagonist to show that our main antagonist does have honor even if he's still a villain. I don't even watch that much anime but classic anime trope lol

-I feel so bad for Aang in this episode. I've already said in my other posts, I really enjoy Aang's persistent childishness in the face of war. He's a symbol of hope not just because of his power but because of the fresh innocence with which he views the world. But this episode shows that he's also naive in many ways - or at least in denial - & this can be negative. He hasn't really processed the information that his people are gone. How could he? Imagine being 12 & you're told your entire community & culture are gone...

-Sokka & Katara trying to make Aang feel better with games is really cute & sweet but also, Sokka is right, they can't shield Aang from the truth forever. Katara is incredibly kind to try - & it's so very Katara of her - but it's not realistic. And honestly, I think Aang himself is somewhat aware that he's in denial. The moment toward the beginning of the episode where he looks around & mentions that everything is different from what he remembers is really sad.

-I love the flashback with Gyatso & Aang throwing cakes at the other monks lol - it's a great moment that shows that Gyatso really was family to Aang, & let him enjoy his childhood while still training him to be the Avatar & it drills home the significance of Aang seeing Gyatso's skeleton later in the episode. Speaking of - OUCH. I feel like this is the episode where you realize OH this show is DARK.

-Seeing all the Avatar statues is neat. Mainly, what I have to say about that is that the show is so gorgeously animated & I loved when Aang went into the Avatar state & they all lit up.

-I really love the scene where Katara & Sokka calm Aang down by telling him that they're his family & will be there for him. Found family my beloved <3

-Loved Zuko beating Zhao's ass in the agni kai - also beating a master! I think Zuko can move beyond "basics" now, Iroh. Absolutely loved Iroh telling Zhao that Zuko is more honorable than him after Zhao attempts a dishonorable attack from behind. And TF is Zhao's problem - getting mad that Zuko didn't burn his face? Calm down dude lol

-In terms of character analysis my main takeaways are that 1. Sokka & Katara are incredibly good people & Aang is lucky to have met them. They both step up to watch out for him. Sokka is mostly trying to get food & it's mostly just funny but I'd also point out that prioritizing something practical like food is KINDA important for the group too. Katara is very much playing a protective role toward Aang here & I think moments like this are why I always viewed them as a sort of big sister & little brother. Also, again, I just feel awful for Aang in this episode. The moment when he sees Gyatso's bones & you can see the gravity of the situation hit him is DARK. I don't know what else to say about that other than that it's an incredibly painful moment & the way Aang has been repressing & denying the reality of his situation is very realistic & well done.

Anyway 2. My other important takeaways are of course about Iroh & Zuzu :) It's interesting the way that Iroh tends to divert to scolding Zuko & trying to keep him in line when Zuko becomes frustrated with Zhao. Yeah, he plays it chill but I think Iroh is getting frustrated with Zuko’s shit here. Also, the moment when Iroh asks Zuko if he remembers what happened last time he fought a master & Zuko says "I will never forget" - OUCH. I think that even Iroh's comments at the end, making jokes after sincerely complimenting Zuko, are telling. The royal family as we'll learn is all about mind games & never saying things flat out. This never worked for Zuko because he's a very literal & blunt person & I wonder what difference it would have made if he had an adult who would just bluntly spell things out for him? I'm not shitting on Iroh right now even, I think his more subtle approach with Zuko makes perfect sense for his character, I'm just discussing it. I think that the moment in the end when Zuko smiles, realizing that even if he won't repeat it, his uncle did mean the compliments, is really nice.

Alright last big takeaway - wow Zuko, was really willing to lie to Zhao about the Avatar's return to ensure that HE got to be the one to capture him. I considered whether this was a sign that Zuko doesn't actually care about the Fire Nation but only about pleasing his father, but I don't think that's it. We consistently see that the throne is something Zuko wants, & that he does care about the FN, but he's just self-centered enough to care MORE about restoring his honor & good standing with his father as well as getting to go home. This is not a condemnation of Zuko personally - literally what teenager in his position wouldn't have these admittedly selfish priorities? - but it is a note about where his character is at this point in the story.

Alright, that's that for that episode :)

#the southern air temple #atla #atla re watch

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