#I don't even have the strength to hit it all

[livelaughloveluffy]

Hi! I really enjoy your works!

Is there any way I could request a modern Ace x platonic younger sister? I guess modern or not doesn't matter too much. But basically his usually sweet, anxious younger sister hasn't been doing great with depression/anxiety, and he's noticed a little bit, silently keeping an eye on it, but doesn't think it's TOO too serious. But he's wrong because late one night he finds her hitting rock bottom. What that looks like is up to you. He gets scared, but wordlessly just kind of hugs her, holds her tight, she automatically clings to him and apolologizes, and he lets her know how much he and Sabo and Luffy and Dadan love her.

Self projecting the need for a comforting older brother figure like Ace.

Please don't write this one if you don't feel comfortable or don't want to! Have a good day 🩷

we need you here - portgas d. ace

a/n: i'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! thank you so much for your request!! i absolutely adore ace as a big brother, hopefully this is sort of what you had in mind!!

a/n: i was listening to my yearning playlist to write this and literally a more perfect song to go with this fic started playing and now i have to share it with you guys too because it works way too well. here's the song

tw - depression/mentions of self-harm

there's some hurt and some comfort here...

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some days we're better than others.. but most of the time you could barely keep your head above water. the constant onslaught battle of depression is pretty crippling, and it takes everything in you to just get through the day. not that most would be able to notice.

it's not like you were born depressed, how you long for the days were the world felt lighter, when the breeze blowing through the leaves of a tree was a wonder to revel in, rather than being so caught up in your own head, you can barely hold a conversation. while this change had come to your realization like a freight train, your brothers hadn't really picked up on it.

it's not because they didn't love you, you know they did, it's just that they were busy training to leave goa kingdom and conquer the sea. so to them, over the years you had just gotten more reserved. sure you didn't smile as much as you used to, or the way you used to, but it was hard for them to tell considering that they weren't even home for dinner half the time anyways.

•♡•

ace hadn't really noticed how bad it was until dadan had approached him one day before he, sabo, and luffy were going to their hideout, resting her hand on his shoulder, leaning down to softly whisper in his ear "can you ask your sister if she wants to join you guys? i'm a bit worried about her.. she hasn't come out of her room for a couple of days... she could use some sunlight.."

the freckled boy turned to dadan with his typical wide smile "yeah! i'll go ask her!"

•♡•

the voices were getting bad again. they were so loud, constantly taunting and jeering, laughing at your existence, reminding you of all you failures, faults, ugly personality traits, everything you hate about your body. it was suffocating. tears began to well up in your eyes. your skin started to itch for pain.

then a quite knock sounds against your door, then you hear ace's voice, warm and gently asking "we're going to head to our hideout, wanna going us angel?"

you muster all your strength to reply above a whisper "maybe another day, ace. i'm pretty tired."

and with that, you can barely hear the sound of his footsteps retreating before the voices are back, stronger than before.

•♡•

you had no idea how long you had been crying now. your eyes were swollen and sore from all your tears, fingernails bloody from constantly digging and itching at your skin, scratching it raw in various spots on your arms.

the voices in your head felt as if they were never-ending. the brief flashes of pain eased them... for minutes maybe, but they would still come back. they always came back.

•♡•

ace had just walked into the front door to dadan's eyes on him. "where is she?"

it took him a minute to realize that dadan was asking about you, "oh, she said she was tired and she didn't want to go today." and as he watched dadan's face sink, instantly filled with dread and worry, he knew he had to do something to ease her worries. "did she come out for dinner yet?" dadan lowered her head, softly shaking it side to side. "i'll go eat dinner with her in her room, okay?"

dadan could only muster a soft sigh before slowly nodding. ace had a way of making everything better somehow, she just had to trust that he would know what to do.

•♡•

you couldn't stop the tears from flowing in the same way that you couldn't stop the voices you heard. and the utter frustration at your own helplessness just made you even more upset, driving you to sob even more. breathing was now a struggle, as the tears also took all the air from your lungs with them. your hands were buried into your hair, gripping it tightly, as if ripping it out would give you some sort of silence.

you didn't hear ace's knock this time. didn't hear his soft voice call your nickname "angel? can i come in?". didn't hear his footsteps as he crossed the space of your room at record speed. you didn't even notice his presence until his arms were wrapped tightly around your body. dinner plates for the two of you, forgotten on the floor in front of your opened door. you didn't even hear them shatter.

even with his strong warm arms around your body, you couldn't will yourself to stop crying. in fact, it almost made the sobs worse. your face was sticky with sweat, snot, and tears. hair sticking to your face. ace didn't seem to mind though. he pulled your face close into his bare chest, it is only then that you hear his voice whispering in your ear "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry i didn't notice. i'm sorry i haven't been home. i'm here now, angel. i'm not going anywhere without you. we need you here, angel."

the desperation in his voice finally allowed you to move your body, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. the tears still flowed, but they had slowed just a little, enough for you to choke out "ace.. i don't... i don't know what's wrong with me.. i don't want to be like this.. i hate this.."

his soft voice and the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears "i'm here for you, always. i'm not going anywhere. i love you no matter what, and we'll get through this together. i love you so much."

your eyes were heavy now that the crying had finally stopped, and you no longer had the energy to keep them open. the only thing you could hear as the sleep finally came to claim you was ace's voice in your ear, a constant stream of whispers of "i love you, i love you, i love you so much." on repeat.

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tags ♡: @3v37773 @irethepotato @dreamcastgirl99; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i lowkey had to hold back some tears writing this one 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[bloodykora]

This, lu-dao-writes wrote a Sol spider thing and this is very much inspired by it but with my own twist. This is also very short considering I don't think anyone would read me going into great detail on what female hawk wasps do to tarantulas.

MDNI This is an 18+ game therefore you should not be interacting with it's content or fandom. Warning: Stalking. yandere, paralyzed Sol, impending doom ending for Sol, mc is just as crazy as Sol. Also very heavy metaphor of bugs used in this

No use of y/n, no description actually of reader at all tbh. I just use the pronoun 'you'. TKATB List

Something about Sol being a spider, a tarantula if you will. A beautiful Mexican red knee,  to match his peering eyes. Setting up his burrow of pretty lies to lure in the poor bug that happens to pass his path whether that be a cricket or roach or any plain old insect. He’s not very good at seeing, spiders are not known for their eyesight but rather vibration. When you hit the ground in front of him, he had assumed you were something like a locust. Taking a break from being in the sky, resting your tiny little wings. So he stalked and began to prey upon you. 

But he can’t see how bright your wings are, he can’t tell that you are just roughly the same size as him. He doesn’t even notice how dark your head, legs and body are, most locusts have some form of green on them yet you don’t even have a splotch. He’s cocky. He thinks he’s lured in you enough to go for the kill. It’s a surprise to him when it’s his body to go limp, losing all control down from the tips of his toes to pretty much the eyes in his head. He would be admiring the fit of strength you possess if it wasn’t his body you were dragging, pulling his dead weight back into his home. 

To his own fault, he has now come to the realization you were never locust. But a hawk wasp about to end his life in the most brutal and brain eating finale of the encounter.

[obwjam]

a small surprise part 4 (gravity falls g/t)

back with a new chapter!! parts 1 • 2 • 3

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The fist came down at an alarming speed, like it had materialized out of thin air. Jay was thrown backwards, and her head instantly smacked against the table, causing stars to pop in and out of her vision. The only thing she could hear was a faint, dull static, like her brain was a television that wasn’t getting a signal. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it would break through her chest. She didn’t have the strength to push herself to her feet. All of her limbs felt like they were paralyzed.

“Shit!” Stan yelled. Oh, he instantly regretted it. He didn’t even realize what was happening until his fist had already connected with the table. His subconscious must have saved him from actually touching her, but he got pretty damn close. He blinked, blinked again, and fully realized he almost just killed somebody. 

Again.

“Oh, god, kid, are you alright?” He bent down, putting himself at eye level with the writhing tiny. “Kid? I’m sorry, I didn’t — I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you, I just — got carried away, that’s all!” She wasn’t responding, so he began to reach his hand out toward her, ready to nudge her back to reality. 

“DON’T!” she screamed, louder than anything he’d ever heard before. She managed to scramble farther away from him. “PLEASE! I–I’M SORRY – I WON’T – P-PLEASE! Don’t…”

Stan’s expression shifted. He knew what this was. She was begging for her life. Something had switched inside of her. Something Stan was not expecting. His hands were shaking, and he was unsure what to do with them. He hovered awkwardly, watching, before realizing that he suddenly felt grossly uncomfortable looming over her. The sheer force of his fist caused her to fall over. She was barely as tall as it. Stan could pinch her between his fingers and never feel the weight. She was miniscule. How was any of this real?

Jay was too busy rolling in pain to notice, but Stan sat in total silence for 10 minutes, his mind racing to figure out what to do next. Maybe Poindexter has some kind of cheat sheet on her somewhere. Maybe all those secret codes were about her and he didn’t want her to read them. How does she even read, anyway? The letters must look huge. Focus, Stan, focus. Maybe she needs some water? But I don't want to move right now. I could just ask her. But I don’t want to talk again. My voice might shatter her eardrums.

Eventually, Jay came to. She had shut her eyes tight for a while, hoping the pain would melt away on its own. Soon enough, it did, but even with her senses thrown off, the feeling of being loomed over was incredibly persistent. She didn’t want to see Stan, so gigantic and destructive, towering over her after he just tried to murder her. And she certainly didn’t want to hear his smarmy jokes about her begging for her life – the embarrassment of that was beginning to hit her hard. How could she even be in the same room as him ever again, knowing she had become the helpless, controllable little thing he so clearly saw her as?

Stan, trying to stay patient and silent, was only increasing Jay’s anxiety more. Why was he just… sitting still? She dared to take a peek and only saw Stan’s massive elbows pressing on the tabletop, his torso so big it looked more like an endless wall. She wasn’t prepared to hear him speak.

“Look, kid, I–”

But he stopped as soon as her eyes met his. The shock of her expression sucked all the air from his lungs. Her face was red and puffy, her eyes burning from tears. She was staring at him in horror, like he was some kind of – some kind of monster. Someone who acts so callously toward other people’s feelings and needs. A killer. Now’s not the time for this! But Stan’s mind wouldn’t let him rest. Not even as his hand twitched in his lap, unable to stay still. He jumped when she jumped; he had no idea how she was able to pick up on that movement. Disoriented and filled with anxiety, Jay slowly scrambled backwards until she found a stack of books to dive behind for cover. Stan just watched. There was nothing he could do.

Jay pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Not being able to see Stan’s movements was probably a bad thing, but she couldn’t bear to be in his line of sight right now. She hadn’t cowered like this since first meeting Ford, and it all felt so eerily similar. Stan was just like Ford in as many ways as they differed – even if they didn’t share a face, she would be able to suss out their relation to each other. They both had this air of unpredictability and superiority, and Jay was now twice caught in the crosshairs. She had to get her hook. She had to get out of here. She had to…

Stan felt sick, just as he did in this very basement a week ago. It had been so long since he actually interacted with people, and he found that a lot of his survival instincts he prided himself on were not transferable to the real world; or even to tiny little people in the real world. Why did he think he needed to use violence to assert himself over someone as tall as a golf pencil? Why did she react so scared this time? Probably because you almost killed her. But nobody ever took him seriously. Why did she have to be different?

Stan sucked in a breath. Quit it, Stan. You can’t be doing this. But if he kept sitting there and staring at the books, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Fine. Then go work on the portal. Go be useful for once in your life.

It took Jay a while to notice he had left. She was too busy trying to stop her hands from shaking, and it took everything in her not to black out again from how fast the blood was rushing through her body. The sound of her own hyperventilating snapped her back to reality. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t even have any thoughts going through her head. It was completely, totally silent. She wasn’t even sure she could remember what words to use. But she eventually noticed that the vibe in the room had shifted considerably. The silence had become eerie, and the suffocating feeling was largely gone, replaced by an anxious panic. She hoped her senses weren’t betraying her, but a quick, subtle peek around the books confirmed that Stan was no longer sitting at the table, waiting for her to come out. She couldn’t see through the window, but a lot of clanging and a lot of cursing confirmed Stan had gone to work in the portal room.

Jay took the opportunity to finally stand up. She needed to grip the spine of the books to pull herself up because her legs were completely drained of energy. In a moment of panic, she thought she was maybe paralyzed from the incident, but she was able to take a few shaky steps. She blinked as her brain oriented itself, her eyes stinging, her world still turning. She didn’t quite understand why Stan had left the room, but she didn’t care. The only thing her brain had the capacity for right now was escape.

She stumbled over to her hooks, which were still woefully incomplete. Fuck it, she thought, wiping the sweat off her hands, I’ll just slide down the table leg – link these together, she managed to hook one piece of bent metal around the other with her trembling hands, then use this, she picked up, dropped, and picked up again what she had tied together for rope, and I’ll just wrap it around myself, and I can – I can – I just need –

Jay tried her best to assemble something that could get her safely down from the metal table, but she was trembling so hard that she could barely keep the hooks from slipping from her grip. And the more time she took, the more she panicked, and the more mistakes she made. The risk from falling from such a great height couldn’t be any worse than seeing Stan again. She had to hurry, quick, before he—

The stinging sound of scraping metal made Jay freeze so fast she could feel her blood turn cold. She was too numb to turn around, but having her back to him was even more terrifying. She slowly turned around, gripping her hooks so tight she thought she’d crush them.

Stan gaped back, eyes wide. It felt like he glitched temporarily before getting his ability to speak back. “Oh. You’re still here.”

She shrunk back, whimpering a bit and putting her hands in front of her chest in a protective position, tightening her white-knuckle grip on the hooks. She didn’t dare move an inch.

To her surprise, Stan, very slowly, lifted his hands up placatingly. “Don’t worry,” was all he managed to say in a scratchy, hoarse voice that barely sounded like his.

Jay couldn’t budge even if she wanted to. She was frozen.

“Oh. I see. The, uh, metal things,” Stan said clumsily, nudging his head at her hooks. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I’d want to get out of my sight if I were you, too.”

Jay knitted her eyebrows. This was not the tone of voice she expected from him.

“Look, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to – I’m – I’m sorry, Jay,” he stumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Her heart skipped a beat when he actually said her name. “You probably won’t forgive me, and that’s alright, I don’t deserve it. It’s just – my life hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park. I don’t always… handle things the best,” he said, sounding profoundly embarrassed at admitting such a thing. “Never have, and I guess I never will. I’m just the Pines family screw-up.”

Jay arched an eyebrow. Her mind was telling her this was all an act – a pity party to draw her back in so he could do something awful. But her gut kept asking one thing: Why would he need to do that?

After a few tense moments, Jay lowered her hands and loosened her hold on the hooks. Stan, taking this as a sign of trust, slowly sat down, pushing the stool back a bit to put some distance between them. Now Jay felt comfortable enough to inch backwards until her back hit the stack of books. She didn’t even blink, in case Stan did something again.

“I know Poin–uh, Ford didn’t tell you anything about me,” he began, wringing his hands together, “but I, uh, don’t exactly have the most admirable past.” He took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? “I’ve had to do a lot of lying, a lot of stealing, just to scrape by. I lived out of my car for a while. Hah, I don’t even know how Ford tracked down the motel room I was staying in to send me that postcard.” He stole a glance at Jay, who wore the same skeptical look on her face. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s been a while since I’ve had… company. Or been around people who weren’t convicted felons. And when I came here, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else but Ford. And I sure as hell wasn’t expecting anyone three inches tall. So I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, I just… need to remember how to act normal again.”

Jay was floored. The depth of sorrow in his voice was something she didn’t think a human was capable of. And as freaked out as she was, she could clearly see this was an attempt to reach out to her, to offer an olive branch without having to keep apologizing and reminding himself of the terrible thing he’d just done. He acted impulsively, and he knew it. Even after what he just did, he was making the effort to at least try and patch it up.

Ford did the exact same thing.

“I, uhm, I can relate. Kind of.” 

Stan’s eyes lit up for the briefest of moments at the sound of her voice. He didn’t think that would actually work. 

“Uhm..” Jay had to pause. This all felt so foreign to say. She had never related to a human about anything. “About the stealing part. And the not being used to company part.” Stan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Jay sighed. Was she really about to do this?

“I’ve told you a bit about… borrower stuff,” she said, keeping it vague in the hopes that he forgot most of it. “A huge part of the lifestyle – probably the biggest part, really – is the… stealing from humans part.” She gave Stan a chance to insert a witty remark, but he stayed silent. “We basically take anything and everything we can get while they’re not looking. Food, supplies… whatever we can get our hands on. And it gets pretty lonely, because most of us – we travel in small groups, or pairs. It’s not safe to be in a big group. I’ve…” She debated if she wanted to say this, but judging from the small tidbits Stan had revealed, she guessed it wouldn’t be so embarrassing to him. “I’ve been on my own for a while. It’s – well, it’s hard to remember times with other borrowers. I could go weeks without speaking, and it – it would have been normal. This… this is all pretty new to me, too.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s new to me. I know how to handle myself,” Stan interjected, immediately regretting his defensive tone when he saw her exasperated expression. “I mean… that sounds like it was really tough on you.”

Jay huffed a laugh. “Yeah. It was.”

There was an awkward silence as both of them tried to figure out what to say next. Stan was remorseful, and a little freaked out, but he just wanted to feel okay with himself as quickly as possible. He could barely handle the nervous side-eye she was giving him right now, and he wasn’t even doing anything.

“Look, uh, you don’t have t’be scared of me, okay? I did somethin’ stupid, I know I did. I shouldn't have tried to – it was just a reaction. I’m used to havin’ to punch my way outta situations. Sometimes I forget how… tiny you are.” Jay felt her stomach sink at the direct call-out to her size, and she shrank even more as Stan peered at her. “Like, I could breathe on you and hurt you.”

Jay crossed her arms. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Weak and helpless.”

“Well, you’re a pipsqueak, that’s for sure,” Stan said callously before shaking his head. “But no, you – that’s not it, I just – I know this is weird for you, but come on, you gotta admit it’s even weirder for me. Up until a week ago, I didn’t even know something like you even existed. Now I’m talkin’ to a person who can fit in my hand, and you… you’ve been hangin’ around Ford for months. I’m just a… different version of him.” A stupider, worse version of him.

Jay thought about it for a moment. She hated to admit it, but he did have a point. Stan wasn’t the first giant she’s ever dealt with, but she was his first tiny. And he just lost his brother after not seeing him for a long, long time. That was a lot to deal with. She didn’t really know what Stan had been through, but judging from the way he spoke about it… it didn’t seem normal by human standards.

“...I know,” Jay said quietly, sheepishly, but Stan still heard. “And I’m�� sorry, for riling you up. I said those things to make myself feel better, because – you may think I have this superiority complex thing, but I mean, how else am I supposed to compete? You… Ford, Fidds, you guys are gigantic. You can do things I can only dream of doing. Hell, you do things I can only dream of without even thinking about it. It’s… hard not to feel worthless in comparison. It’s hard to feel like I even matter.”

Jay immediately flushed red. Why on earth did she just say that? Why was she confiding in Stan? She was saying things she had never even told Ford. This is so embarrassing. He doesn’t care! He doesn’t have sympathy for you! 

But to Jay’s surprise, Stan didn’t laugh at her or make another joke about her size. Instead, he sighed. “Trust me. I know how that feels.” Jay’s look of pure surprise and skepticism told Stan he needed to elaborate. “You only knew my brother for a couplea months, but I spent my entire life with the guy. I grew up in Ford’s shadow. He was the smarty pants know-it-all twin, and I was the trouble-making, dumb twin. My folks cared more about Ford’s homework than whatever I was doing.” Stan stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to do right now was relive this. Why was he even saying this to her? “Hah. Looks like we’re more alike than we thought, pipsqueak.”

Jay crossed her arms. “Woah, let’s not get crazy now,” she said, slightly defensive. But her small smile betrayed her. Stan smiled in return.

“Hah, right.”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, and after a few seconds of silence, he stood up, ready to leave and be done with this. He said his apology – he said more than he wanted to, in fact – and that was more than enough. The exhaustion was clearly getting to him. He’d slept maybe a total of 10 hours over the past five days. Yeah, that was it. He was just tired, not thinking straight. He needed a good night’s sleep. Maybe a day’s break from code-cracking and journal reading and tiny little people who could sit in his palm would do him some good.

He made his way toward the exit, but stopped at the threshold. Something was nagging at him, and he needed a clear head.

“You, uh… you gonna be alright, kid?”

Jay’s eyes lingered on Stan. Her heartbeat still felt elevated, her breath hitching every time his fingers twitched as he wrung his hands together. The thought of being picked up by him again made her head start rocking. It took everything she had to look up at him, and even then, she could only hold her gaze for a few seconds before the bile started to rise to her throat. She had to take a few concentrated breaths once she realized her breathing was still shaky.

“Yeah,” she said finally. She wasn’t sure how much she meant it.

“Okay,” Stan replied. He wasn’t sure how much he believed her.

Stan stood for a few moments, sorting through his feelings. Nothing about this felt real. It was all happening so fast. But he would go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning and she’d still be here while Ford was gone. Just like it had been for the last week. Just like it was probably going to be for the foreseeable future. It was stupid, and unfair. But Stan was used to unfair.

He found himself staring, still unable to process how he could barely make out her form among the clutter of the table. If he didn’t know she was there, he wouldn’t have noticed her. He hated how much that freaked him out.

Ugh.

“I, uh, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

Jay stared straight ahead, then down to the table. Her hooks sat on either side of her. She had tied up enough rope. She had thought everything out. She knew the way out.

But then she looked back up. Stan leaned on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, his expression cautious, his eyes hopeful. He regarded her with curiosity, not disdain. He was waiting for an answer. She let out a long, deep sigh.

“Yeah, Stanley. I’ll see you in the morning.”

[just-mary-ann]

I DON'T HAVE SELF CONTROL!

Harlequin swap AU by: @tadc-harlequin-au

Based on the draft of me and @mrs-nightshade

Honorable mention: @thore-lb

Lavender

Pomni and Caine sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Their coffee preferences differed—not that they needed coffee—but indulging in such a human ritual allowed them to feel alive, if only for about ten minutes.

"I didn’t see Able this morning," Caine remarked, inspecting his top hat before placing it back on his head.

"He hasn’t returned from the fighting ring yet," Pomni replied, stirring her coffee slowly.

"The fighting ring?" Caine tilted his head, mimicking the gesture of a raised eyebrow.

"The first rule is not to talk about it, so that’s all you’ll get from me," Pomni chuckled.

Suddenly, they heard a grumble. Able entered, exuding irritation.

"I’m back," he muttered, heading straight for the coffee machine.

"You look exhausted, brother," Caine slid a clean mug toward him. As expected, Able caught it effortlessly. "Don’t tell me you lost?"

"Bite your tongue, detachable jaw," Able retorted, pouring himself a cup of coffee before sitting beside Caine. "I found out who my 'secret admirer' is."

"You mean that fanatic who’s been staring holes through you at the fights for the past month?" Pomni leaned forward.

"She’s so persistent I could physically feel her gaze," Able ran a hand over his head. "You’ll never guess who she is."

"Oh, let me guess—a dainty little statuette who’s bored of high society and fell for a bad boy," Pomni waved her hand sarcastically.

"Your sister," Able replied, waiting for Pomni to meet his gaze. "Lilac."

"Pomni has a sister?" Caine was genuinely shocked.

"Not just a sister—a twin," Able explained.

"No way. Lilac is a 'proper lady.' I refuse to believe she’d attend a fight," Pomni nervously started stuffing herbs into her pipe.

"Believe it. I’d recognize her Harlequin design anywhere. How many Harlequin puppets do you know?" Able sighed.

"Excuse me, but could someone explain how Pomni has a twin sister?" Caine interjected.

Pomni and Able exchanged glances.

"When a man and a woman love each other, they can create new life," Pomni began with a smile.

"Th-that’s not what I meant!" Caine facepalmed. "I mean, why hasn’t anyone mentioned her all this time I’ve been living in the bunker?"

"There wasn’t a need to," Pomni leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "My sister and I haven’t spoken since she gained full consciousness. I’m not even sure she knows where the bunker is. I did try convincing her to move here, but even after enlightenment, she chose to stay with her human owner."

"A puppet willingly serving a human?" Caine mused.

"Can we drop the subject?" Able stood up from the table. "Her voice is so sweet it’s practically cavity-inducing. I’d rather not think about it anymore."

The day passed quickly, and soon it was night. Able prepared to leave for the fighting ring again.

"Able," Caine stopped him. "Listen. Can I come with you tonight? I’m really curious to see how you fight other puppets."

Able chuckled.

"What? Losing to me wasn’t enough for you?"

"Our match was a tie. We’re evenly matched in strength," Caine crossed his arms.

"Fine. No harm in having one more spectator. Let’s go."

Caine enjoyed watching his brother fight, though the crowd's noise made him uncomfortable.

"His stance is solid. His punches are professional. It’s clear this isn’t just fighting for him—it’s a sport," Caine muttered to himself.

"YES! GO, ABLE! YOU’RE AMAZING UNDER THE RING LIGHTS!"

Caine turned toward the feminine voice. Beside him stood a puppet woman. Her long black hair was styled in elegant curls, gathered into a loose updo. She wore a floor-length lavender gown with closed shoulders and long sleeves, adorned with ruffles and lavender embroidery. She completed the look with mesh gloves and a parasol hanging from her elbow. The puppet applauded enthusiastically with every blow Able landed.

Suddenly, realization hit Caine.

"Lilac?"

"Hm?" The puppet turned to him. "Do we know each other?"

"Not personally. I’m a friend of Pomni and Able. Caine."

"Oh, a friend of my sister. And my darling Able? Well, hello there. I’m Lilac, the Lavender Harlequin. Come to watch the fight?"

"Yes. But I won’t stay for the rest of the evening. Once Able is done, we’re heading home."

Able’s opponent suddenly landed a hit on his shoulder. His arm went limp.

"Looks like a shoulder joint injury," Caine winced at the thought of the pain his brother must be feeling. "We’ll need to replace it."

"You... can repair puppets?" Lilac clutched her parasol tightly.

"Both Able and I know how to repair and create puppets. I can’t recall where I learned, but it doesn’t change the fact that we often spend time in the workshop."

"Create... puppets..." Lilac clung to his words.

Despite his injury, Able secured a victory. As they left the club, Able suddenly cracked his shoulder back into place, restoring its movement.

"Ah, so it was a dislocation, not a break?" Caine asked.

"Did you think a weak hit like that could hurt me?" Able teased.

"Darling Able!" Lilac hurried after them, slightly out of breath. "You’re so fast, and I’m in heels!"

"Ugh. Lilac," Able averted his gaze. "What do you want this time?"

"Caine said you can create puppets. Is that true?"

Able shot a glare at his brother.

"So what if it is?"

"That means... you can create one from scratch?" Lilac fidgeted with her parasol.

Able froze.

"So what?" he repeated.

"My owner, Lady Melissa," Lilac’s voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes. "She’s gravely ill. No medicine helps her. Please, I beg you, help her." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can you turn her into a puppet?"

Able hadn’t expected such a request. Usually, Lilac would shower him with compliments and hint at a date. But now, she seemed... desperate and hopeless.

"Ugh," Able sighed. "To be honest, yes, I can build her a body." Lilac’s face lit up with hope. "But a mechanical body is just a shell. Without a soul, it’s useless. I don’t have the knowledge or skills to transfer her soul from a living body to a mechanical one." He turned and began walking toward the bunker. "If I could help, I would. But as it stands..." Able glanced back at her. "Pray for the best outcome."

Caine felt sorry for Lilac. She stood frozen, as if rooted to the spot, her tears abruptly stopping. Without a word, Caine followed his brother.

To be continued

[lipstickchainsaw]

And so we get to the turn, and while, in retrospect, I think her turning against Ambessa makes sense, I think her turning to Vi doesn't.

For one thing, last time they met, Caitlyn hit Vi in the stomach after calling her a couple of slurs, and left her behind in a pit while she went and became the dictator oppressing Vi's people.

This isn't like when Vi hit Powder in s1e3, something she immediately regretted and fought like hell to be able to apologise for throughout act 2 of season 1. If Caitlyn felt bad about what she did to Vi, she could've just... gone back, found her and apologised, but she didn't. This does not seem to be what Vi's thinking about when she meets her again, though. There isn't even any biting sarcasm when she calls her 'cupcake'. She was meaner to Caitlyn last season.

And Caitlyn has been talking all the while about Zaun's 'perversions', looking down on the people of Zaun altogether, a group that very much included Vi, and very much fits with how she describes Warwick, as just another monstrosity spawned as if ex nihilo from the Undercity. I get that she's not exactly comfortable working with the man who created said beast (and that I think is portrayed decently), even if she hasn't exactly grasped the irony of the fact that he's from Piltover, but to instantly switch to recognising the personhood not just of the people she's dehumanised this act, but specifically the one she fully called a 'dangerous chem weapon', just because she heard Vi call her 'cupcake'?

I still don't buy it. If she was shown to be more desperate to get away from Ambessa, to the point she was even willing to reach for Vi again (which would in turn be the drive for her heel-face turn, rather than the turn itself), I'd find this a lot more believable. Hell, if she started this conversation by laying out the plan she has, in a 'listen, we don't have much time' kind of way, that'd be enough to do it for me, but no, she doesn't start planning that until Vi reveals the creature Caitlyn's after is actually Vi's dad.

Basically, when Vi starts talking about trust, I don't buy that she would actually trust Caitlyn in this moment. We don't even get a mirror of her pushing herself to trust Jinx last episode, where she has to think about it. Caitlyn should be working to convince Vi here, not the other way around.

Probably the weakest beat all season.

That said, Ambessa projecting her own growing affection for Caitlyn onto Caitlyn's for her is very entertaining. It's a shame the three principles of trust she mentions here don't fit Ambessa's three principles of strength more neatly in contrast, but eh.

Given that Caitlyn's turn in episode 6 is the one I understand the least, I'm going to pay some additional attention to her scenes with Ambessa in this series of posts, to see if I can tease something out of this that I missed in my first viewing.

Starting with episode 4

For one, the image of Ambessa poking at a log in an attempt to get a little more out of a dying fire is a good image, but it does make me regret that we didn't get to see much of what Caitlyn's rule looked like when it was a roaring blaze.

Because the fire represents the efficacy of what Ambessa's trying to push in Caitlyn: her anger, her rage, her desire to get revenge. She frames this as Caitlyn's search for Jinx, because this is what she hopes to stoke in Caitlyn, but what makes this scene work is that it's also true of her own desire to have Mel back, even as she starts to displace some of this affection for her daughter onto Caitlyn herself.

Because Ambessa absolutely appreciates the fact that Caitlyn's willing to talk back, and able to use Ambessa's only rhetorical flourishes against her. It reminds her, in a way, of Mel, and just like Mel, this would-be daugher also talks about wanting peace without having to resort to violence.

Although Caitlyn's 'arrests require cause' bit is, again, odd, because you initiated martial law. You can blame Rictus for the fight all you like, but what situation do you think you're living under? There's a serious disconnect in how these two women see the oppressive regime they've initiated.

Then again, Ambessa understands war weariness and how to deal with it, so she coaxes a few more flames out of the dying embers, and off we go!

[opheliaintherushes]

I told myself I was done tormenting my kind and non-Riverdale-watching mutuals, and besides, I am too old and weathered for this fandom anyway, but really, the final, final thoughts on this finale and season as a whole:

First, and separately, does anything that happened after the characters got their memories back make sense? What was the point of it? They seemed completely unaffected by anything and happy to roleplay 50s teens. Were they even teens? Were they twenty-somethings sticking around high school like the vampires from Twilight for no explicable reason? Also, I'm sorry if you want to play the sentimental card, but if I was one of a handful of people who had traveled back in time and was stuck living in the past for 60 years or what have you, I would not lose contact with the others who also had. You would go insane! What did Archie tell his Modesto wife and child? Was Veronica picking up options on scripts she already knew would win Oscars? Did Jughead and Betty rewrite old issues of Mad and Ms. they might have read in the past? And is Gloria Steinem okay??? Also Betty and Jughead should remember they kind of hated each other in the future after the cheating and the voicemail, and Veronica should be so jealous of Betty for getting Archie, and Jughead should be so jealous of Archie for getting Betty, and my brain is hurting -

Almost more irritating were a) this idea that Archies are fundamentally stuck in the 50s (I owned the decade collections as a kid and the 60s and 70s were by far my favorites - very groovy), and b) the presumption that they did anything to address, expose, and or/fix actual problems of the 50s. Let us recap:

The school is already desegregated and this is never, ever discussed. The Black students are allowed to compete in beauty pageants, form their own literary club, dance on an integrated TV show, and join cheerleader squads, and this all happens with zero fight from the villains of the season. Fake Ray Bradbury and Fake Ray Bradbury's sweet but stupid wife think they could have settled in the south as a married couple in the forties. But? This is Riverdale, you say? They fixed everything? Sorry, you don't get to use Emmett Till to open the season and then eat your cake too.

Homophobia seemed to be the writers focus this season - except that every other episode someone would threaten Cheryl or Kevin, and then the next episode it would be an open secret at school with zero repercussions. Also, of course only the bad guys are homophobic (sorry Evelyn); our heroes are as forward thinking as they come. Hell, even Buffy had a moment to be wigged out by Willow and this was 1999! Anyway, look up what Lou Reed's parents did to him ('don't you know they're gonna kill your sons')

Let us not even discuss Reggie, who conquers racism through the power of athletics. Look up Richie Allen. Heck, watch the actual School Ties. It doesn't work out so well for David Greene in the end.

And then there's Fangs and Midge: first, rock and roll was seen as a huge menace, Fangs should've been on the school's hit list. Second, the writers obviously never read up on rock and rollers (who were generally older) and teen girls if they thought that was a good storyline. Third, they definitely never read any memoirs written by women in the 1950s, which all feature back alley abortions, slimy lovers, and shady doctors. (We don't even have time to get into Betty's idea of feminism being about sex all the time, everywhere, and becoming a burlesque dancer rather than, like, equal pay. Who knows, maybe she could have been the one harping on non-stop about the Beats and seen the cold face of her future there).

They didn't change anything. EC (sorry, Pep Comics) shut down. The Comics Code Authority won. So apparently all those artists who never worked again were just fine, right Tabitha?

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You actually were alive?"

[sysig]

Hazing (Patreon)

[bitegore]

if your ocs were bosses in a video game, what do you think their boss fight would be like?

[daxite]

are people really mad that of all things shadow is actually kicking ass in the movie trailer, come the fuck on lol

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

how do terfs grapple with the fact that they're white supremacist losers who think that women are weak essentially like adult babies but that they also bear the apparent brunt of all human pain... liiike ok which narrative are we going with

[gu6chan]

My hot Drakengard take of the day is that after playing it for like 110 hours and counting im very much convinced that ppl who still complain about the gameplay being a "slog" just aren't playing the game correctly. you can hate me for this but you will not change my mind

[insaneillusionist]

Me when I realize that I'm dying of anxiety.

[red-dragon-archfiend]

I don't have enough time or experienced with enough classes to write a detailed multiclassing guide, but for D&D players, especially new players, wondering if they should multiclass, the simple answer is "probably not". Multiclassing is, in general, bad. The game was not balanced with it in mind, and it's very easy to muck up your character if you don't know what you're doing. I'm not just talking from an optimization perspective, either; it's difficult to justify it narratively in a way that doesn't cheapen the significance of what class levels represent. You don't become a Bard by practicing the lute for a week. You can't become a Wizard without years of study. If you plan to multiclass, my advice would be to find some way of tying it narratively into your primary class somehow; an Eldritch Knight becoming a Wizard is sensible, because they already have an understanding of how to work arcane magic, they just need to spend some time focusing on that over improving their martial abilities to learn enough to start filling out a spellbook. Of course, that still takes a long time, but the Eldritch Knight's previous experiences mean they already know how to cast multiple spells already. If you want to multiclass for story reasons, ask yourself two questions: Is multiclassing really the best way to convey this change in my character, and, if so, do they have the adequate time, experiences, and resources to practice the skills necessary (physical training, study, spiritual attunement, etc.) to even START being that class? The reason I put so much weight into class levels is because the Player's Handbook itself makes a point to clarify what sets a member of each class apart from others who seem similar on the surface; not every soldier in a given army is a Fighter, chances are most of them aren't. And Paladins are even rarer! To achieve even one class level is a strong indication of skill and effort, and I as your DM would expect you to consider how your character achieves levels in a second class. My campaign features a Fighter/Warlock multiclass, and her patron is both the supplier of her occult magic, and her instructor, personally training her in her dreams, so she can level up in either class and it'll make sense. My favorite combination, Paladin/Sorcerer, can be explained by latent powers emerging in response to their experiences and the holy power they channel within themselves, perhaps a gift from their deity or the result of them or their ancestor slaying a creature like a dragon or vampire whose blood imbued the Paladin's bloodline with arcane magic. Maybe a Monk/Cleric comes from a monastery that reveres a specific deity, and that Monk caught their deity's attention, choosing the Monk for a holy mission. If multiclassing is part of your character's backstory or projected future, having a plan for it is key to making them still feel like a cohesive, singular character.

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[fatal-blow]

growing up, my mum always told me, whenever i went to the doctors or any sort of health professional, that it was important that i told them that i was hypermobile. she'd done the tests with me (herself being hypermobile and disabled in large part because of it) and though she didn't know the details, she knew that hypermobility was important to have in my health record.

so it was to my great surprise and displeasure that, whenever i told doctors i was hypermobile, it was skipped over. never addressed, never touched on, not even a comment to belie what that meant for me. i myself didn't know the impact hypermobility could have on a person, but my mother had been insistent about that fact. it was important, so why did no one else seem to think so?

i grew up with kids in school who were on the extreme ends of hypermobility. i knew a boy in middle school who could put both feet behind his head. i knew a girl in high school with long, spindly fingers who showed me how far backwards her arm could bend.

both of them had health problems, which became more profound as they aged. i never knew the details, but it stuck out that they were hypermobile, and so was i, and with my own health declining there HAD to be a connection.

common knowledge gives the vague definition of hypermobility as extra stretchy muscles, of being double-jointed. it comes with warnings not to push your hypermobile body into the extremes. don't overextend, you will hurt yourself.

the warnings are warranted. the importance isn't overplayed. these things i knew, but i didn't know why. and without knowing why, they were warnings that i could never truly obey, despite how conservative i became with my movements in a vain attempt to protect what little ability i had left.

hypermobility is NOT stretchy muscles. muscles are supposed to stretch. in fact, it's important to their health (those conservative movements prolly hurt more than helped!). hypermobility affects connectives tissues, and lands under the umbrella of Ehlers-Danlos Sydromes (there are a few) which can range in severity from affecting skin and tendons to affecting blood vessels and organs.

severity is rare, and much easier to catch. this post is for the people who are "a little hypermobile" so that they can understand what makes their body different.

a muscle and its associated tendons are like a hammock. the muscle is the fabric you lie in, stretching to accomodate the load. tendons are the rope that attaches the fabric to the trees, providing a secure anchor for the muscle to operate.

so, what happens when the ropes on the hammock are also stretchy? well, you sit in the hammock and your ass hits the ground.

now imagine that the fabric of the hammock has the ability to clench like a muscle. a normal hammock doesn't need to work that hard to stop ass from meeting ground, because it has sturdy anchors. a hammock with stretchy rope, however, must exert several times more effort, because the more the muscle pulls, the more the tendons stretch.

in short, hypermobility forces your muscles to work harder, because they must first pass the threshold of stretch the tendons are capable of before it can actually do the task it's meant to do. the stretchier the tendons, the harder the muscle needs to clench, the easier it is to overwork.

this info reframed everything i was doing with my body. small tasks of strength required the effort of much larger tasks, and larger tasks ranged from extremely difficult to impossible. holding my arms up so i could work above my head required monumental effort. with an anatomical peculiarity of the feet, i needed to use several muscles in my calves and hips just to stand without losing balance.

so no fucking wonder i crashed and burned in my 20s, when everything i did took all of my strength to accomplish. no wonder i would contort myself out of shape, so flexible that i could anchor myself into extreme poses just to give my muscles a moment of relief, overstretching myself without ever realizing why, and what damage i could be doing.

so, some things to remember:

overextending isn't good for you, but it shouldn't be your biggest concern. instead, be aware of overexertion, both how LONG you are using a muscle without breaks and how HARD you are using it.

small, frequent breaks are your best friend if you need to do something for awhile.

when you take breaks, stretch the muscles you'd been using.

if you need to exert effort to maintain a pose (whether it's sitting, standing, etc) examine whether you need to be clenching those muscles, and why.

actually whenever you are using muscles, try to train yourself to use as few as possible. you can practice by sitting or standing, and relaxing as many muscles as you can before you tip over. finding a sense of balance can make your life so much easier.

become acquainted with what relaxed muscles feel like. chronic tension can distort your perception of this, and result in habitual tension.

so yeah. if you're hypermobile, that's important. don't let a doctor's dismissal make you think otherwise. take care of yourself and know what you are and aren't capable of.