#I just love Tucker discovering that he actually IS hot shit and it's not just him hyping himself up

[anjanahalo]

My fave dpxdc Tucker trope is he's a big fish in a small pond and knows it. Yeah, of course he's the premiere hacker in Amity Park. He has zero competition besides Technus, and that guy is good but also has some wires crossed. Tucker, out of necessity, mostly works to be better than the Fentons (who are great mechanical and bio engineers but not computer engineers), the GIW (they weren't well funded enough to have a competent IT department so he had backdoors built into their virtual servers that worked even as they gained a larger budget and more skilled agents), and, of course, Technus, who constantly pushed him to greater skill levels. But Tucker, despite his self-hype, is also aware enough to know he's a tech god in a small Illinois city, but he doesn't compare to the big dogs out there like Oracle. This lasts until he actually goes toe to toe (my fave is without realizing) against Oracle or JL's security and wins either an offensive or defensive cyberwar. He doesn't think much of it until he ends up being scouted more directly after they find nontech ways to track him down. Someone who can modify a PDA to have that much computing power by just testing and tinkering is an asset anyone would prefer to work with the JL rather than against them.

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

Hey! I just discovered your blog and I was wondering if you'd be okay doing a Lance tucker x reader where they get in an argument but it has a fluffy ending where they're closer than they were before? Maybe they confess their feelings to each other? I totally understand if you're not able or comfortable to write this.

Merry Christmas! 🎄🤶🎅🌲🎁

Authors Notes: Hey! I hope this is something similar to what you were looking for. They’re expressing their feelings in some way, just maybe not the way you’d think. I hope you like it!

Lance Tucker x Reader

Warnings: Arguing, swearing, insinuation of possible cheating, and some downright shitty friends.

Word Count: 3K

Trouble in Paradise

(Not my gif)

_______________________________________________

It was New Year’s Eve. The year had been stressful to say the least but even worse, Lance’s buddies were coming over for a party. It’s not that you didn’t like his friends. Well, it was that. You didn’t like them. Ever since you and Lance got together three years ago, they have done nothing but try to convince him to date hotter women. “Date” being a loose term.

Overheard conversations during football games and dart/pool games and the basement went something like this.

“Oh, come on Lance you saw the chicks you used to pull. They were smokin’. Why don’t you just live again? Or better yet, you don’t even have to break up with her! Just, you know, tell her you got competitions and when she doesn’t suspect it, book a couple hotel rooms. What’s the harm?”

“Lance, buddy, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you don’t exactly have a trophy wife. Aren’t you the one with the gold medal? Shouldn’t you be looking for a gold medal wife instead of a bronze one?”

“I like her Lance, I really do, but remember that Victoria’s Secret model you hooked up with regularly like 5 years ago? What was her name... uh... Serenity! Yeah, why don’t you give her a call. You guys seemed to really click.”

The worst part of it all was they never really got to know you. They brushed past you while you cooked some food for them in the kitchen. You and Lance took turns cooking but somehow you always found that you were cooking when his friends were coming over. You had never really put much thought into it, until tonight.

“Honey! I’m home from the gym!”

You were making taco dip, guacamole, homemade Mac and cheese, and Buffalo chicken dip for the big party. You ordered pizzas, subs, and other sides to top it off. You never knew how much 8 men could eat, until you started cooking for 8 men.

Lance came up behind you and gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “How’s my pretty girl doing?”

“Fine, I guess.”

You both knew you weren’t fine.

Lance sighs loudly. “Angel, what is wrong? You know I just want to help you.”

“We can talk about it later. Right now, I just want to get in my cooking zone and not think about anything.”

Lance puts his hands on his hips and stares at you authoritatively.

“Well, I’m gonna go quick grab a shower and come back down to help you finish cooking before the boys come.”

“Sounds good” you said with a half-smile. You were dreading tonight.

_______________________________________________

True to his word, Lance came down and helped you finish cooking the rest of the food. It remained quiet for most of the time you spent together. Lance could feel the tension in the air but didn’t want to ask again if anything was wrong before the party. It was New Year’s Eve, he was supposed to be celebrating with his friends, not trying to start a fight with you.

You were infuriated Lance didn’t bother to ask you why you were so upset. You always felt second to his friends, why is that? The first year you were dating it wasn’t like that. You were the center of attention in all regards, you didn’t want to be, but he treated you like the only girl in the world. Now?

“Hey babe I’m going out with the guys I’ll see you tomorrow.” You knew full well he would drunkenly slip under the covers at 3AM. Why was he out so late? What was he doing?

“Sweetheart the guys are coming over to play pool do you mind ordering us some pizzas?” Why couldn’t he do it himself?

You really did not mind that Lance had friends. You encouraged him to hang out with them even though they said horrible things about you, but enough was enough. There’s hanging out with your friends, and there’s being with your friends 24/7, leaving your girlfriend to stay home and watch movies by herself.

After you finished cooking you went upstairs to the bedroom to watch a movie. By yourself.

Surprise, surprise.

You heard the front door open for the first time tonight. You wondered if any of the guys would bring over their girlfriends or “hot dates.” You didn’t know if that would relieve your stress or infuriate you even more. If they did bring someone, they wouldn’t be so focused on it being a “boys’ night.” However, if they did bring someone, why couldn’t you come downstairs to hang out with them?

You heard a slap of hands exchanged and what you assumed to be a half hug after it.

The men continued to pile in around 8PM. Some of them brought a date, but others didn’t. However, you noticed one of the guys brought two girls. Why would he do that?

You decided to put on some nice clothes to go downstairs. Other men were bringing their dates, and this was your house. You deserve to celebrate too.

You worked your way down to the basement, wanting to spend time with your definitely above average looking boyfriend. You were so happy to call him yours, even though he frustrated you to no end sometimes. From what you overhear, he never sticks up for you.

You strutted over him and placed your hand on his back gently. He quickly turns around, angry almost and begins to say something “I told you I don’t want.... oh, hi baby.”

You looked at him confused. What was that about?

“Hi... what’s uh, what’s going on?”

“Oh nothin’. Just Evan and I got into it earlier about something and I thought he was coming to bother me about it again. But then I turn around to see your pretty face and that doesn’t even matter.”

He brings you in for a tight hug and rests his chin on your head. You loved him. You loved him so much.

Out of nowhere Evan comes up behind you, noticeably drunk, the scent of liquor oozing off of him. There’s a girl attached to his right arm. She’s tall, slender, and blonde. You thought she was too attractive for Evan, until he started to speak.

“Lance, meet my girl Lindsay here. She’s really interested in you and wants to talk to you about your gold medal.”

You can’t say this never happened. You were used to women throwing themselves at Lance. You were always so proud to call Lance yours, but other women wanted that opportunity as well. It got so bad to the point where women would send random lewd photos to his work email to gain his attention. It never worked thank god. Every time you saw pictures like that you got suspicious, but every message read “don’t you want to see what you’re missing out on?” or something to that degree. Lance was always patient and kind with you about it, knowing you were easily frustrated and cautious of him because you knew what he was like before. However, you knew he wouldn’t cheat on you, and he always has an explanation if he thought you were ever worried.

“Excuse me?” You said looking at Evan.

“Come on Y/N. Let the man have a little fun.” Evan retorted.

“This isn’t letting him have ‘a little fun.’ Letting him have ‘a little fun’ is hosting this party, not you trying to actively encourage him to cheat on me, right in front of me no less.”

Lindsay sneers at you. “Who are you? Get in line sister. Evan told me I would get to talk to him.”

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

“I don’t know if I have to spell it out for you, if you can even spell, but I’m his girlfriend.”

“Y/N come on baby it’s not that big of a deal. She just wants to talk to me about my gold medal that’s all.”

“The gold medal you won in the Olympics or the one tattooed around your dick Lance?”

“I’ll only talk to her about the one I won in the Olympics and you know that.”

You had had it. You were so incredibly tired of Lance never sticking up for you when it came to situations like this. You never threw a fit when his friends would make stupid remarks, but this was the last straw.

“I don’t care anymore Lance! Talk to her about your dick tattoo. Hell, let her even see your dick tattoo close up while she’s sucking you off. I’m done.”

Without giving him a second glance. you turned on your heel and walked upstairs to grab your car keys.

Lance sprinted up the stairs after you, shouting your name. You didn’t care. You ran to the garage and hit the button to open the door. Lance thought you went to your room, so he sprinted to the third floor thinking you were there. He finally realized you were actually leaving when he heard the start of your car. He saw you back out of the driveway like a bat out of hell, and all he could do was watch from the window.

_______________________________________________

You drove to the nearest diner, hoping they would be open even though it was New Year’s Eve. Thankfully, they were. You always comforted yourself with food when shit like this happened. Who doesn’t love food? You can’t say that entirely though. You also tended to starve yourself in situations like this as well. Neither coping mechanism was healthy, but it got you through it.

You ordered a breakfast meal, quickly glancing at your phone to see if anyone had texted you.

24 missed calls from Lance❤️🥇

You knew he was worried about you, but you weren’t ready to call him back yet. You knew he couldn’t come searching for you either, all of his friends still being inside, waiting for the ball to drop. This was going to be the first year you and Lance wouldn’t kiss at midnight, all because of his stupid friends who hate you for no reason.

You ate your meal as you saw Ryan Seacrest introduce one artist after another on the television.

The clock was nearing midnight. You didn’t seem to care. You contemplated going to your friend’s house, knowing they would gladly accept you and support you, especially when they knew how much of an ass Lance’s friends could be. You decided against it, not wanting to bother anyone.

You glanced at your phone again.

28 missed calls from Lance❤️🥇

Not only that, but it had looked like he texted you as well.

“Where are you going???”

“Y/N???”

“Baby come back here please I’m very upset and I want to talk”

“Baby please come back and talk to me.”

And about 15 other messages similar to those.

You were heartbroken. You wanted to go home, but you knew you needed to stand your ground.

As the many thousands of people in NYC count down to the New Year you sat and ate your bacon and pancakes.

Lance saw all of his buddies laughing and having a good time. He couldn’t have a good time until he knew you were safe and that he would have everything fixed. He knew he fucked up big time, but he thought you were overreacting to the extreme. Was it really that bad you needed to leave right away?

His annoyance throughout the night grew as Lindsay began to pester him about his interests.

“Lindsay, I don’t know how to tell you this in a nice way, so I won’t. I have a girlfriend. She’s the sexiest, smartest, and sweetest woman on this planet, and that’s all that matters to me. Now please, go bother Johnny or somethin’.”

Lindsay didn’t like that. So much so, she dumped her whole glass of whiskey on his brand-new Nike shoes. He didn’t care she was upset. All he cared about was you.

Evan came back up to Lance for the last time of the night.

“Heyyuh pal. I didn’t mean to make your lady run out on ya.”

“But you did Evan. You fucking idiot, you stupid fucking fucker. You ruined this night for not only me, but my girl who is probably out sobbing to her friends about how much of a shit boyfriend I am. And you know what? I don’t blame her. I deserve it.”

“C’mon man don’t be so *burp* hard on yourself. Hey, at least you can go have fun with Lindsay eh?” He says while wiggling his eyebrows.

Lance was fuming. “Evan if you don’t get the fuck out of my face, I’m going to floor you in about 6 seconds.”

Evan held up his hands and backed away, finally getting the hint he was becoming a nuisance to not only Lance, but the party itself.

He listened to all of his friends count down to the new year in a drunken haze. He slouched over the home bar, drinking himself into a stupor with his seventh gin and tonic. He didn’t care about any of the calories he was consuming. He didn’t care about anything. He knew he wouldn’t have his Angel to hold and kiss into the new year. He wanted nothing more for this night to just end.

_______________________________________________

You snuck back into the house around 4AM, hoping Lance wasn’t awake. You drove around for hours after the ball dropped, the diner closing at 1AM anyways. You listened to 80’s music, calming yourself down. Music always helped you meditate.

As you slowly closed the door you saw Lance sitting miserably in his recliner. He was no longer drunk. Just incredibly depressed.

He turned to look at the door, hoping that the door opening and closing wasn’t just some sleep induced hallucination. As soon as he realized it was you, he jolted up and ran to give you a hug. You stuck your arm out before he could reach you.

He looked devastated.

“I want to talk Lance. I-”

“No, no I fucked up. Let me do this. I have been shit. I have been absolute and utter fucking garbage to you when it comes to my friends. I let them talk to me like I’m still a bachelor. I know you overhear the things they say, and it hurts you. And I let them do that. I don’t know why. I have no reason. It was so fucking stupid of me. You have to know I don’t want any other woman on this planet. You’re my day and my night. I would be lost in this depressing ass place of a world if it wasn’t for you my sweet Angel. My beacon of light.” He stopped his rant briefly to cup your face and stare into your eyes lovingly.

“It all stops here. No more stupid guy shit. You’re my number one and you deserve to be treated that way. If any of my friends continues to disrespect my baby, they’re out. I don’t care who they are and how long they’ve been around. You’re my baby. You’re the only thing that matters.

It felt like a weight had just been lifted off of your chest. You loved him. You really did.

He pulled you in for the tightest hug that he could have possibly ever given. He kisses the top of your forehead for what seems like a hundred times.

You look up to him while he’s still embracing you.

“I like Johnny. Johnny can stay.” You say with a smile.

“Keeping Storm it is, got it.” He returned with a smile.

A lightbulb goes on in Lance’s head. “Oh! Come here, come here, come here. I saved this for you.”

You follow him into the living room, your hand wrapped in his. He flicks through the TV menu, clicking to find the recording from earlier.

It was the ball drop.

“I recorded this for us. I didn’t want to miss kissing my baby into the new year.” He said with a smile.

“Lance Tucker, you are the sweetest man alive, do you know that?”

“C’mon, you know I’m still an asshole. I just have my moments.” He says with an eyeroll.

You slapped his chest playfully as you both slightly laughed.

As the seconds ticked down to midnight for the second time of the night, Lance stared into your eyes with the most love you have ever felt from a person.

“10!”

“Where did you even go anyways?”

“9!”

“Our spot.”

“8!”

I’m gonna take you on the best date there ever was. Just you wait.”

“7!”

“I’ll be counting on that Tucker. A promise is a promise.”

“6!”

“I’m really good at keeping promises.”

“5!”

“Oh really? Just like that time you promised to give me a castle made out of gold?”

“4!”

“You’re still getting that y’know.”

“3!”

“What other promises have you kept huh?”

“2!”

“I promised to love you forever. And I always will.”

“1!”

“I love you too, Lance.”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

He kissed you with a ferocity you didn’t know existed. He took your bottom lip into his mouth and held it there for what seemed like forever. Forever was okay though, as long as you were with him.

Lance finally broke the kiss, pulling away softly and cupping your face in his left hand. He whispered.

“Check your cardigan pocket.”

You looked confused. He knew you would be. You felt a tiny box in you right hand pocket. It was covered in felt. You slowly pulled it out to see that it was a ring box. You opened it and it had a ring pop inside.

“Ha-ha. Very funny Tuc-”

You looked down to see Lance on one knee. Holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen in your life.

“I’m going to love you forever, Y/N. Will you marry me?”

You were stunned.

“...Yes.... oh my god, YES!”

He smiled, standing up and wrapping his arms around you as fast as he could.

“I’ll love you forever too, Lance.”

[gkingoffez]

2020 RvB Valentines Exchange uwu

@rvbgiftexchange

My partner was MentalMaterial but I think they’ve changed their name to @linklebard ?

Anyway, here’s ur Tuckington mutual pining bed sharing as requested. Enjoy!

Words: 1833

Pairing: Tuckington

~~~

Tucker was fucked. He had to be- fucked in the head or the heart or the mostly healed stab wound in his side from that fucker Felix. Something had to be wrong, despite the fortified walls of Armonia around him, the Chorus truce, the energy sword in his bag and especially the ex-Freelancer standing beside him in the confined corridor who he hadn’t expected to be there.

“I’m sorry, sirs!” squeaked the young woman in front of them, a civilian wearing a military lanyard, pulling at her frazzled hair with one hand and frantically scrolling on her data-pad with the other. “There must have been a glitch in the program- you should have been assigned your own private rooms. I’m so sorry, our equipment is so outdated and it does stuff like this sometimes-”

“Please stop apologising, it’s not your fault,” Wash insisted gently. “We understand that this was just a mistake, but we’re tired and just want to go to bed?”

“Are you sure there’s no more spare rooms on this floor? A secret penthouse with a jacuzzi maybe? I’ll take it if there is.” asked Tucker.

The woman shook her head, frowning and tapping away. “I’m sor- I mean, no, not here, in fact there’s nothing else on this floor. “This hotel was only converted into officer accommodation a few days ago, and Locus was confirmed to have stayed here while in the city,” she explained.

“There are empty rooms further along that way, but we haven’t had time to do the same level of security sweeps on them.”

The woman gestured at the plain black door behind her, completely identical to the myriad of other ones lining the narrow corridor.

“This room does have a queen bed, sirs. The easiest solution might be that you can share it for the night and one of you can move tomorrow? I know it’s not ideal, but it’s better than a possible security risk.”

“What?” spluttered Tucker. “Why aren’t there enough rooms? And What happened to all of us getting private-?”

“Thank you, that’ll do us fine for tonight,” interjected Wash loudly, glaring at him. “We don’t want to cause too much fuss this late in the evening, and definitely don’t want to stay somewhere that’s not secure. Don’t you agree, Captain Tucker.”

Tucker gaped, words escaping him under Wash’s gaze.

He was fucked. Because once the adrenaline had worn off discovering a manufactured civil war, transmitting that info globally, being betrayed and stabbed by Felix, confronting Hargrove and whatever else happened in the less than a week since he’d snuck off the New Republic base, Tucker suddenly had time and space for… thoughts.

Thoughts like how much he’d truly missed the man standing beside him.

Wash, who’d been a hardass in the canyon like he was being fucking paid for it, who’d kept them all fed and alive and together, and then he’d gone and done the heroic sacrifice play, like an idiot, and suddenly he was gone. It felt like all Tucker had thought about for the last several months was whether Wash was okay, whether he was in pain or alone or dead. At points he’d almost wished they’d swapped places, that he was taking the (in hindsight, non-existent) punishment from the Federal Army, and Wash was the one training the Lieutenants.

Then out of the blue, Wash was back. Wash was fine. Everyone was fine, and like a circle, the whirlwind of betrayal, civil war, stabbing yada-yada unfolded. Tucker had only just caught his breath again and was looking forward to actually relaxing for once, only to end up in this corridor, standing awkwardly in front of a room they’d both been assigned to.

Wash was staring pointedly at him with those stupid clear blue eyes that made Tucker’s heart jump, and it was clear something must have been wrong, because that wasn’t right. It was physical and mental exhaustion, not love. He wasn’t some hormonal teenager, he was a grown man who wanted to go to fucking bed and not have to deal with his fucking feelings.

“Yeah, whatever, let’s just go then,” Tucker said offhandedly, adjusting his sack over his shoulder and stomping into the room without another word.

It was small but glamourous compared to normal military quarters- the hiss of the sliding door muffled against thick looking carpet, one door presumably leading to a bathroom, a single kitchen cabinet with a sink and a lowboy with a television mounted to the wall above it.

The bed took up the bulk of the space in the far end of the room. Behind it hung thick mustard coloured curtains, although Tucker knew even without having to move them that they’d been covered barred with a bullet proof covering as part of the security sweep. What was the point of being a heroes of Chorus, after all, if a well-placed sniper could take them out through a hotel window?

“Home sweet home, I guess,” Tucker shrugged, ignoring his jumping heart as he unceremoniously dumped his stuff on the ground near the kitchen space.

“Thank you for stopping to help us. We’ll be fine.” Wash was saying as he backed into the room. “Good night.”

“Good night sirs!” the woman said, “And again, I’m so-!”

The door hissed shut, Wash’s hand on the button.

“What the fuck, dude,” cried Tucker, rounding on him. “You didn’t have to immediately say yes. I could have pawned Caboose onto someone else and taken his room or something.”

“Oh don’t bother Caboose, he’s probably already asleep and you’ll never wake him. It’s late. All we need is a bed and everything will be else sorted in the morning. One night in the same bed won’t kill us.”

Wash crossed the room and carefully deposited his own knapsack on the lowboy.

“Besides, I wanted us to stay together a little bit longer. To be safe, you know,” he added quietly, glancing Tucker’s way.

Now, of course, Tucker’s eyes had also joined the ‘fucked party’. Was it a trick of the LED lights, or was that a blush on Wash’s cheeks? There was no way to double check, as Wash quickly turned his back on him.

Tucker crossed his arms haughtily, huffing and shaking his head to reset it.“Whatever. I’ll take the right side.”

“Fine by me,” replied Wash, unzipping his bag and rustling around in it, still turned away. “I’m going to change in the bathroom. Oh, and Tucker?”

“Yes?”

“I swear to god if you sleep naked, I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

“Not if I suffocate you first, asshole.”

Maybe ten minutes of bathroom time, brushing teeth and other general night activities later (Tucker was fully clothed in loose borrowed sweats), they were both lying in bed back to back in the queen bed.

“Well,” said Wash. “Good night.”

“Yeah, night.”

As soon as the light turned off, Tucker’s brain switched on like a fucking Christmas tree.

He was not in love with Wash. Love was for girls and people who hadn’t spent literal years on the shittiest military posting ever, then got knocked up, then spent years in the desert, then got dragged on a mission to kill the Freelancer Director, then crashed landed on a planet- well, anyone would get the point. Sure, he acted like a stud and a lady’s man, but truthfully, it had been a long, long time since he’d really loved anyone like that.

Wash had been a fucking Freelancer. Caboose and the Reds talked about him like he was the most capable, badass guy around (barring the time he’d apparently gone evil and shot Donut, of course). Not to mention, he was kinda hot. Sandy hair with streaks of grey, blue eyes, even the criss-cross of scars across his pale skin did things for Tucker. Like he was this put-together, experienced and handsome man next to Tucker’s immaturity and recklessness.

The sheets were feeling too tight and stuffy for his brain, and the slow pattern of Wash’s breathing next to him was not helping. He flipped over onto his back, pulling and rearranging them, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.

“Hey Wash, you asleep yet?” he asked quietly

There was a beat.

“If I was, how would you expect me to answer that?” came the annoyed reply

“I dunno. Snoring?”

Wash snorted. “Just go to sleep, Tucker.”

They were in the same bed. They were in the same bed. Wash was inches away, the kind of distance where Tucker could touch him and then easily brush it off as an accident of movement. Wash’s hand was right there, he’d only need to reach- but no. He couldn’t do that, it wasn’t right.

When Caboose first suggested putting the ex-Freelancer in Church’s empty armour, it hadn’t really mattered to Tucker that much. He was just a guy who’d been an asshole but switched sides in time to help them take out the Meta, may as help him not go back to jail after all. Months in the crash had changed that, and all that time of training and bickering and surviving together had made them friends. He’d bitched and bitched and then watchedWash sacrifice himself as a rockfall separated them had been devastating, throwing into perspective just how goddamn much he cared about all of them despite the fact that they were a bunch of Red and Blue idiots.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder or however the shit went. And Tucker had spent months wishing Wash was ok, wishing he was there, wishing a lot of things.

Maybe he had fallen in love with the man in that time. Maybe it wasn’t as fucked up as he was making it out to be, he’d always been pretty dramatic, after all. Dudes fell in love with dudes all the time, especially when they’d been through a lot together.

Oh for fuck’s sake, none of this matters! There’s no way in hell that he likes me too. Just go to sleep, idiot.

Tomorrow, Tucker could wake up and blame it all on stress, exhaustion and the computer system that had fucked up room assignments. For that moment, however, he felt himself drift off, eyelids heavy and breath evening out.

They had work to do tomorrow rebuilding Chorus and tracking down mercenaries, and the more sleep he got, the better.

The last thing he registered that night was the vibration and rustling sound of Wash twisting in place. However, he must have dreamed about the gentle, tender touch he felt on his face as he was just on the precipice of sleep.

That couldn’t be right.

~~~

A snapshot of the future- tangled limbs in a queen bed, dark on pale and scattered scars. A data-pad hanging limply in a man’s hand, the other gazing at him with an adoring expression. The first glances at the rapture in his lover’s face, and snorts.

“You’re fucked,” he says, jokingly.

“No, you fucked me,” replies Tucker. They laugh.

~~~

Ya’ll let me tell you about the absolute stress rollercoaster I’ve had these past few months. So first up, I completely forgot I’d signed up for this exchange, and was surprised when I got the message. Then I proceeded to have a family death, my birthday and the stress of having to search for a new place to live and start packing up my stuff, all while working my shitty full time job and being exhausted from it.

So to my exchange partner, I’m sorry for not reaching out at all, but my anxiety levels are pretty high these days. This was written pretty quickly, at the last minute and after not writing for probably a year, but I hope you enjoy.

I might have another editing run through it before posting elsewhere but it’s done somewhat on time so I’m happy (Valentine’s was actually yesterday for me and I have to leave for work in like five minutes.)

Anyway, happy love and bed sharing and mutual pining guys. Love ya.

[whumpiary]

whumptober 2020 | day 1: let’s hang out sometime

[content warning: discussed past self harm, referenced past abuse, mild dissociation/depersonalisation, intimate whumper]

-

There's something harrowing — gut-wrenching — about seeing a grown man cry. It's almost painful. Just watching someone with utter poise and dignity let it slide and crash because they don't care anymore who sees them crumble.

It's enough to make the one watching crumble a little, too. Just a little. It doesn't even matter what it is that they're crying over. A loved one in a hospital bed. A job that came to an end too quickly. A lost pet. Some spilled milk.

A boy strung up in the middle of their parlour, hands high above his head, barely standing where he's chained.

Christopher sobs silently, one hand clamped over his mouth as the other grips the edge of the desk he’s leaning against like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He had started tearing up as soon as he’d started taking away Cass’ clothing: a soft little gasp as he caught sight of the first scar, and then growing grief as more skin was exposed.

The first sob took the man over as the last scrap of clothing fell away and he’s been braced against the desk since. Shoulders softly shaking, eyes squeezed shut. As though he can barely stand to look at the boy in front of him without being overcome.

Cassius is cold. He registers it dimly. Distantly. This body, right now, isn’t his own. His senses seem to know that, relaying everything from a distance. Like hearing the radio from someone else’s car. Like watching the TV in the reflection of a window. 

The cuffs around his wrists cut in and his calves are starting to burn and his lungs ache from breathing against stretched out ribs and he also doesn’t care about any of it. He’s back here again. A whole new cycle that he always knew, not so far below the surface. And every scar across his body is a road map of a world that Cass already feels like he never escaped to to begin with.

Christopher  brings his hand to Cassius’ cheek and as though on muscle memory, Cass leans into it.

“My darling boy,” the older man whispers. His eyes are tear-filled still, searching Cass’ own desperately, as though for some sort of answer. Cass has none. “My darling, darling boy. What have they done to you?”

Cass holds Christopher’s gaze and for a moment wants to share with the man the entire history of the last few years. Every secret. Every truth. Give them up. Give them over. Undo. But he feels muzzled. Gagged. Like his lips are sewn shut.

There’s nothing to say. There’s everything to tell. 

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher says. His hand skirts over the scar near his shoulder, the one down his arm, the one at his ribs. Like a fucked up dot to dot. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… My god, darling boy, if I had known…”

Cass nearly laughs at that. He would have what? Bought the company just to win his contract back? Stolen him away? Killed Tucker with his bare hands? Or would he have shaken the man’s hand and given him a bonus? Asked to sit in for the next blood letting?

Christopher starts with the obvious.

“This one,” he says, pads of his fingers tracing the gnarled, raised scar along Cassius’ ribs. “Tell me about this one.”

“Got stabbed,” Cass mumbles. His mouth feels full of cotton wool. “Job went wrong. About a year in. Maybe later. Can't remember. Had to have surgery.”

Christopher sucks in a breath, deep and shuddering, covering his mouth on the exhale as another silent tear slides down his cheek. He brushes his cheek dry again with his knuckles and takes another breath to calm himself, lowering his head. For a moment, his hand sits heavy on Cassius’ hip, as though he needed it to steady himself. Cass rocks back on the balls of his feet just barely and the man’s grip seems to tighten in kind, keeping him still and close. 

They stay just like that for a moment until Christopher manages to collect himself, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, drying his eyes with a sniff. He drops his hand from his face to trace the scar again, breath stuttering. Cass feels seasick with the the touch. A dragging back of forth over scar-tissue he can’t quite feel properly.

“The scarring is terrible,” Christopher says.

Cass closes his eyes for a moment. If he imagines enough, the cool, dry hands are warm and steady instead. They’re firm and sure instead of claiming and caressing. They’re pulling him back together, stitch by stitch. The memory is such a sacred indulgence, he has to shake his head a little to clear it again.

“Yeah, they... fucked the stitches,” he says, voice croaked. “Had to get it redone.”

Another shaking breath. Another sniff. Cass keeps his eyes lowered. He doesn’t need to see the grief.

“Well that surgeon deserves to be fired.”

They go on like that. Christopher touching each scar, having him name and catalogue them, one after the other.

The thin one over his bottom lip. “Bar fight.”

The short thick one at his collarbone. “Lab test.”

The nick up by his brow. “Beat down.”

The curving long one down his arm. “Don’t remember.”

There are a few like that. More than he’d have expected. The burn on his arm. The glossy skin on his knuckles. The twisted one at his knee. Don’t remember. Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

And Christopher in between, mourning each one. Touching them, pressing his hand to them as though he could will the scars healed with his grief. Christopher has to keeping taking breaks for more tears and sobs. Like over, and over again he’s realising what he’s lost. Of what he once had. What he’ll never have back.

“My God, what have they done to you, darling boy?” He whispers it over and over again and over again. “You were so beautiful. So perfect. What have they done to you? What have they done?”

It takes them a while to retrace every new mark on him since Christopher has seen him last. The man is methodical and thorough. Scrupulous. Cass is almost startled by how many he finds. More than Cass would’ve discovered on his own, he’s sure. By the time they get to the last few, Cass can’t feel his hands. 

“I’m so sorry, my love, I know you’re tired,” Christopher says with a kiss to the cheek, a hand cupping his jaw. His eyes are filled with sympathy and apology. As though he isn’t the one who’s doing this. As though this is some necessary procedure instead of his own predilection. “We’re nearly done. Last ones.”

Christopher holds Cassius’ gaze as his hand drifts low, skirting a decent gathering of little scars at his hip, over his thigh. They’re smaller, these ones. Harder to see. Only a shade or so lighter than his skin these days but piece by piece, bit by bit, they stack up, start to look noticeable. Little fine nicks and cross hatches, some raised, some flat, all faded.

“These ones here. The lab again?”

Cass drops his eyes. He stares at them for a beat, stares at what he can see beneath the man’s hand anyway, before looking back to Christopher.

“No,” he says. He feels a thrill to say it. “Me.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Excuse me?”

“I did those ones myself.”

A beat. “I thought we broke you of that little habit.”

And they had. For a while. – You’ll be hurt on my terms or not at all. – But Christopher should’ve known it would be one of the first things to resurface once he was out of reach. Why shouldn’t it be?

Cass smiles at the older man, eyes dead. “If it helps, I thought of you every fucking time.”

Which isn’t true entirely but shit does it feel good to say it.

The slap that flies hard and brutal across his cheek feels good too.

“Don’t you do that to me,” Christopher says, after a moment. His voice is soft and quiet and sad. Shaking with what was maybe a little anger. Funny. It was rare to see Christopher show that card. “I’m hurting badly enough today, I don’t need your cruelty on top of it.”

Cass keeps his head turned, staring at the arm of the leather rancher’s sofa beside him. His cheek burns, hot and tingling with the blood rush, as Christopher’s hand trails up and to his shoulder. As the man steps behind him, both palms pressing at his shoulder blades. At his back.

“And these?” he says. Cass’ eyes shutter closed, breath all at once catching high in his chest. Christopher’s been saving these, he knows. The crosses and lines on his back. One after the other after the other after the other.

Cass can’t answer to these. He can’t say. Can’t bear to. And, by some virtue of generosity, by some kind of twisted, fucked up grace, Christopher doesn’t make him. “He gave these to you?”

It takes him another minute. A long, hard minute of trying to breathe. Christopher allows him the mercy of the hesitation. And then, shakily, he nods his head.

Christopher sucks in a shaky breath as his palm presses to the scarring and Cass can tell he’s crying all over again. The sob shakes down Christopher’s arm, into his hand and hits like a jolt of electricity through Cass’ spine. It feels like it shakes his

“My God. This is cruelty. This is… this is cruelty.”

And Cass could laugh at that. He really could. After everything, everything this man has done. After everything he’s put his head through and his heart through and his body. This is cruelty, is it? Finally, this is cruelty.

Nah, it’s not cruelty. He wants to say. Penance.

He’s glad the words don’t actually make it past his lips.

Christopher’s hand runs across them over and over, again and again, and the feeling is so strange, so tender, so violating that Cass finds himself pressing his face against his arm and screwing his eyes shut, as though to hide. Skin then scar then skin then scar. Numbed then felt. Hot then cold.

Every trace of the crosses feel like he’s being stripped bare. As though with every caress, Christopher is peeling away a layer of numbness, a layer of armour, an exoskeleton. The world is like a burning thing without it all.

Cass hangs his head, arms still stretched up and aching, and he sobs, voice pulling out of him in a broken whisper. “Please stop.”

The plea seems to bring Christopher to the surface of whatever grief laden fascination he’s lost in and the man circles in front of him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb catching the tear that slides down it. Christopher’s tears mirror Cassius’ own as the man presses their foreheads together and Cass is sure they look a lovely picture of grief.

Shared martyrdom. Saint and saviour.

Maybe the man should have crucified him instead.

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher whispers again, and Cass cringes and cries and keeps his eyes shut. “If I had known… I promise you, if I had known…”

It’s a mercy beyond measure that the man never finishes the sentence.

[rowxngreen]

18 years old from tucker, atlanta and has lived in atlanta for 18 years . currently working as a computer repair person/staff at his family’s store in marietta [ kit , 25 , mst ] | @atlanta-rpg​

tw: self harm, depression, sexual assault, substance use

Age: 18

Gender: Transmasculine, he/him

[Boxcar - Jawbreakers] - “Uhhh, shit, I guess if I had to pick a theme song it’d be Boxcar. I like the whole vibe of it, like, calling out punk purists. Punk should have no room for purism. If you say you’re a punk and you’re not a nazi, cause in the words of Dead Kennedys ‘nazi punks fuck off,’ you’re welcome. That’s what the whole point of punk was, dude. It’s the ultimate counter culture movement ‘cause it welcomes fucking everyone unlike mainstream culture.”

D.O.B: February 14, 2001

“Why the name Rowan?”

“So, like, originally I was named Hannah. Which is totally a bullshit name and when I met my forever family I decided to give myself a new name and I wanted it to be all nature-y because they all had nature names. They like helped me look and I found Rowan and read this folklore about how a rowan tree was where the devil hanged his mother and I knew right then. That was my name.”

Ethnicity: Half white, half mestizo

Enneagram: 8

Relationship Status: single - “Single and definitely not ready to mingle. If it happens it happens but I sure as hell ain’t seeking it out and I don’t think it’s gonna happen anyways so it don’t fucking matter.”

Sexual Orientation: Unsure  “Yeah, I don’t really wanna think about sexy shit. I was raped as a kid, I’m not especially into remembering it. And all this sexual orientation shit makes me remember it.”

Appearance:

Height: 5’0

Build: Smaller than he looks from far away. He’s actually really tiny. And he hates it.

If he wasn’t so intimidating he could be cute. With a small stature, high cheekbones, a cocky swagger and big brown eyes he is definitely attractive. But the scowl that takes over his features whenever he’s around someone he doesn’t trust and the aggression that seems to exude from every pore disguises that attractiveness pretty well.

Ripped flannels paired with crop tops and t-shirts layered with fishnets are among Rowan’s signature looks. There’s something decidedly sexual about how he dresses but he doesn’t seem to register that. He just wears what he likes and hopes will scare people. He displays his self harm scars like a badge of honor – or insanity. They seem to warn: I AM UNSTABLE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME.

Look at Rowan the wrong way and at the very least he’ll gnash his teeth at you. At the most he’ll pull a knife on you and threaten to gouge out your eyes if you ever look at him again. He claims he tried to once but that’s unlikely. He would be in jail if that was the case. …right? Better not to risk it.

History:

Rowan was born to a teenage mother in an abusive household.

When Melissa Webber got pregnant at only age 15 she knew she would be in trouble. Her father, Frank, wouldn’t approve. Melissa kept it from the man as long as she could. Eventually, of course, he found out. Frank was livid. Melissa was banned from leaving their little trailer, she was banned from seeing her friends, and she was even banned from seeing her boyfriend of just over a year and the father of her baby.  She was to be homeschooled for the rest of her high school career so, in the words of Frank, she could no longer “be a slut.”

Her baby was born on Valentine’s Day in a house with no love left. Melissa’s mother had died when Melissa was only 11, and it often felt like she took any warmth and care that had been lingering in the corners of rooms, hidden among the shadows with her. How funny then that Rowan, initially named Hannah Jane, was born on Valentine’s day.

Frank’s anger and the isolation he forced on Melissa eventually pushed the girl to run away. Rowan was only 6 months old. She initially swore she would be back for her baby when she had a safe place to stay. She never came back. Before Melissa left, Rowan had been largely ignored by Frank. Now, however, he became the scapegoat. Melissa hadn’t left because she was isolated from the world. Nor, apparently, had she left because of the intense abuse she faced. Instead, according to Frank, she had left because the baby had ruined her life.

Frank turned this rage on the baby. Rowan’s earliest memories involve him being tied onto a tiny children’s chair for hours because Frank didn’t want him to make a mess in the house; Frank coming into the bedroom at night to ‘visit’ with him in a way that, to this day, has left Rowan extremely anxious about sex and sex repulsed; Frank holding his hand against a hot burner to 'teach [him] a lesson’ (Rowan was never told what the lesson was); having his face pushed under water in the bath to stop him from crying; and other acts that could only be described as torture. Rowan lead an extremely isolated life for the first several years of his life. He was homeschooled, like his mother, and besides Frank and a handful of Frank’s friends he was largely alone. Most of his socialization came from the television. Frank justified this by saying school was how Melissa got pregnant so he wouldn’t “make the mistake of sending another one there to be a slut.” Instead rowan was kept inside the house during school hours.

It had been noted that Frank was capable of abuse and neglect when Melissa was little (she had spent several months in the system when she’d come to school with visible bruises as a child), however, for the first 7.5 years of Rowan’s life, overworked and under-competent social workers consistently overlooked the abuse in the Webber household. Eventually one of the social workers noticed and cared enough to go through the proper procedures to get Rowan out of that living situation. She reported it to her supervisor and a full scale investigation was launched. The abuse was soon discovered through talking to and examining Rowan and Rowan was removed from the situation. For the first time in his life, he was safe – though Rowan did not know what ‘safe’ meant or felt like yet.

Rowan was given a temporary placement in the Green household, because, at the time, the Greens were acting as an emergency house for children who had just been taken away from their parents. He was only supposed to be with them a week but the Green adults fell in love with the skittish, self reliant child they had taken in. They asked for him to stay with them and began the process of adopting him soon after.  It took a long time for Rowan to realize he was safe and he was loved. For months he put up with people touching him because he was afraid that if he spoke out he would face some sort of punishment. For months he distrusted everyone in the Green household despite how much they loved him. He was always wary, always waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to be hurt again. He was placed into therapy when he was young and has gone off and on since.

The Greens are a stereotypical homeschool family. Rowan was kid number 11, they own their own business and they bake their own bread. Mr. Green is a carpenter and Mrs. Green runs the little gift shop + bakery in Marietta. There were so many siblings that the older ones had to help care for the little ones when the younger ones were little. To this day the entire family is very close knit and the older siblings constantly rely on the younger ones to watch their children.

The Greens practice a form of schooling called unschooling. It is a child-led education where children get to decide what they study and when. Additionally, they’re what’s called whole-life unschoolers and the green parents take a stance on parenting where they don’t give their children orders. They talk to them and treat them as if they are capable of making their own choices and decisions, except when it is something that puts their health at risk.

Rowan thrives with that educational setting. He learned to read so he could use his brother’s computer, he learned math while cooking and found it fascinating so he learned it more in depth, he learned how to build robots and how to break into the coding of popular websites well enough that he even figured out how to monetize it when he was 12 (he tests websites for weaknesses and when he finds them he points it out and gets paid to do so). He learned how to play keyboard and guitar and began recording and publishing his music on Soundcloud and Youtube.

Within a few months of living with his new family, his new dad built him a beautiful, fully enclosed, treehouse in the large tree in their backyard. Rowan loved it so much he lived in it for almost a year only coming in to use the bathroom or on the most sweltering days when his family insisted he stay cool inside. He took his baths in the kiddie pool since he lived “outside in [his] own house now.”

Around this time he got a pirate costume and a knight costume. He changed his name to Rowan and began to trade off between wearing those two costumes. When he was in the knight costume he insisted on being called Brave Sir Rowan. When he was a pirate he insisted he was Cap’n Ro.

For a period of Rowan’s life you wouldn’t know he went through the abuse he went through. He seemed happy, healthy, well adjusted.

And then puberty hit.

With puberty came deep gender dysphoria. Suddenly his body was changing in ways he hated. He was developing curves and stopped growing. All the mental illness his family thought they had under control resurfaced along with a large new helping of self-loathing triggered by dysphoria.

Rowan began to self harm. It started small. He would lie in bed and fantasize about cutting off the parts of him that didn’t look right when he saw himself in the mirror. One night, he crawled out of bed and grabbed a kitchen knife and tried cutting his breasts just to see if it was possible. The scratch was so small it didn’t bleed. But, relief flooded through him. He was able to breathe and the crushing weight of dread had let up just a bit. He stopped crying and crawled back into bed and slept well for the first time in weeks.

Whenever he was upset he began to run to the sharp sting of a blade. He stole a pocket knife and a pack of razors and hid them in his treehouse. His family discovered the harm almost a year after he started. By then the little scratches had turned into proper injuries. He was immediately sent back to therapy and was diagnosed with gender dysphoria soon after. 

Rowan socially transitioned. It helped a little bit but pandora’s box was open. His brain had tasted self destruction and it was hooked.

The last several years have been a slow but steady spiral downwards. He made friends with other sad, breaking kids and they broke together. They began to experiment with alcohol and substance use young, Rowan would swear he’s fine but whenever you put alcohol in his hands he binge drinks to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Whenever there’s a chance for him to get high off something new he takes it, barring only the most stigmatized of drugs.

Somewhere during this spiral he realized the easiest way to make people leave him alone was to scare them. So he began dressing in ways he thought would scare them and carrying himself like at any moment he could snap.

Personality:

“Sometimes I wonder what his life could have been if he had come to us as a baby and if we had known about his gender. You should have seen him when he was little. He was such a cute kid and was so passionate about, well, everything. And he’s so smart it’s intimidating. But then he hit puberty and we all lost what little stability he had. Last time I talked to mom, I heard he set a trashcan in the park on fire while he was drunk or high or both and it breaks my heart because I know he’s a good kid underneath it all. He’s just a good kid who’s really struggling right now. I hate it because I can’t even trust him to be alone with my kids anymore. What if that comes out around them and he hurts my crew?” – Clay Green, older brother.

“Rowan likes to act like he’s tough shit but he’s not. He can’t sleep unless he has his favorite stuffed animal with him and once I saw him crying over the sounds sloths make. The tough guy act is just that. An act. I mean, look at his cat. He only has the thing because he saw it was scared and got gentle with it. And now he’s the only person that cat tolerates and he has it perched in his tree house half the time so you can’t even go up there if you’re not him. Which, like, not cool when your little brother is practically sprinting to a drug addicted future and you really should be making sure he doesn’t have the worst of it in your parents house.” – Rosemary Green, older sister.

At first interaction it’s easy to think Rowan is all rough and ready to fight. And that’s exactly what he wants you to think. His fighter persona is designed to scare anyone who would hurt him away. Give him some time and a little patience and it becomes obvious that Rowan is much more complex than that. Rowan is confusing. There are so many elements to him that it’s hard for any one person to get a full picture of him.

There’s his brash fighter side – the part of him that stabbed a child for being mean to his sister once. There’s the sweet side of him that takes lost animals and lost people under his wing and cares for them when they can’t seem to care for themselves.

There’s the engineer part of him that builds useless robots constantly just because he’s bored. There’s the witch part of him that has an altar in his bedroom and that celebrates every pagan holiday he knows about so none of the gods feel left out.

There’s still a childlike part of him that hangs out in the tree fort his dad made him as a kid and still holds conversations between his stuffed animals. There’s the teenage part of him that’s looking for any substance to numb the pain of becoming an adult coupled with the pain of his past.

There’s the creative part of him that comes up with bizarre ideas for robots, off the wall pranks (like leaving loaves of homemade bread all over someone’s living space) and interprets almost every song he likes into his own version. And then there’s the part of him that named his cat “Cat.”

Rowan is nothing if not complicated and confusing. He doesn’t mind that though. He’s used to being the smartest person in any room he’s in but he doesn’t make it a big deal. He just watches everyone else and works on mentally figuring out how to fix the coding of whatever website he’s working on at the moment.

He doesn’t love easily but when he loves he loves deeply and unconditionally. If you find yourself lucky enough to be one of Rowan’s chosen few know you will have him on your side for life. He’s ride or die with everyone he cares about.

Hobbies:

Robotics

Singing (he actually has a really good voice)

Collecting stuffed animals

Programming

Baking (he works at a bakery but he also just enjoys it)

Sloths. They’re his favorite thing in this world and he is almost obsessive in his quest to see sloths, collect sloth mementos, and learn sloth facts.

Trivia:

Rowan has a car named Bloody Mary. It’s an old fashioned VW Beetle he spray painted black and red. He got a beetle because he “wanted to inspire violence in children.”

He’s really good with anything that uses his hands. Baking, playing guitar, building robots, etc. If it’s a hands-on, kinesthetic task Rowan excels at it.

He is terrified of butterflies and giraffes.

He collects stuffed animals so intensely that it can be hard to walk in his bedroom because there are so many stuffed animals lying around. He sleeps with a build-a-bear every night who he’s named Floyd and a stuffed animal of the Peanuts character Woodstock (who he has named Oscar).

Health:

Rowan downplays how he’s feeling most of the time. The physical abuse and neglect he faced as a child left him with chronic pain. He doesn’t mention it very often. He doesn’t want to admit to any weaknesses. If you watch him closely enough you’ll notice him rubbing his joints or squirming in his seat. Those are his biggest tells with his pain.

At 7 he was diagnosed with dyslexia and he still struggles to read and code (coding is worth the struggle, reading is not). At 13 he was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. Besides changing his pronouns he doesn’t seem too interested in transitioning (he’ll tell you he doesn’t see a point but in reality he’s afraid of the medical procedures involved). At 15 he was diagnosed with mood disorder not otherwise specified. He was given medication that he promptly threw out but he still attends weekly therapy sessions to try and help.

He doesn’t think it’s doing anything but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with the things expected of you.

Connections:

Bandmates: Rowan can either be the lead singer, guitar or bass/keyboards but the band should definitely be punk/post-punk influenced. I’m super broad within that. Want a sound closer to Pale Waves? Cool, sounds good. You into The Smiths and want that dance depression? kk, you got it. you into old school punk and want melvins vibe? coolcoolcool, love to live hard dude

Friends: Rowan might be a little shit but he’s a little shit who has a handful of friends. Because he’s the youngest sibling in his household, he gets along with older people really well.

Mentors: This lost teen needs people to look up to. It takes a lot to break through to him but he needs someone who’ll try.

Adversaries: These are people who rowan Does Not get along with. This can be for personality reasons or just simply because they try to keep him out of trouble and he wants very much to be in trouble.

Biological Dad: I love the idea of Rowan’s dad watching from the sidelines and watching Rowan grow up but not being able to legally reach out until Rowan is an adult. NOTE: Rowan’s dad needs to be hispanic. Rowan himself is half hispanic and it’s not on his mom’s side bc I wasn’t about to make the brown people abusive and add to that stigma.

Reluctant Romance: Rowan doesn’t want to date. He really doesn’t. BUT! I love the idea of him falling for someone and someone falling for him. I’m even down for an uncomfortable age difference so long as that’s acknowledged in plot. ;)

[chinatea]

Tattoo/Christian, Superhero AU.

The one where Tattoo is a Superhero and Christian is a reporter who always ends up being saved by him.

(Tat is your generic superman - super strength, super vision, super speed, all that jazz.)

(A fun fact - I actually started writing this as Tattoo/Baby G, but ended up writing Christian, behavior-wise, so I changed the pairing to Tat/Chris. Although there is still a few Baby G-ish traits to him I decided not to edit out, cuz it’s just more fun that way, isn’t it.)

It’s Friday night and Jimin could think of a million ways how to spend it in style.

Like, having a hot bath with candles and a glass of Bordeaux. Classic. One could never go wrong with classic on a Friday night. And that was his plan for the day. Hell, he’s been looking towards it all week, but the plan has changed and that’s why Jimin is not currently soaking in himalayan salts, but instead soaking his ass in some dank-ass basement, all tied and gagged up like someone’s messed up idea of a Christmas present.

(Sadly, that wouldn’t even be the first time - the criminals around here lack both brains and originality, like, big time.)

Times like these, Jimin truly hates this city. Times like these, he swears as soon as he’s outta here, he will pack his shit and catch the first bus out of this hellhole, because he’s had enough of this bullshit.

Why him? Just...why?

A rhetorical question, mind you. He bloody knows why.

It all started with Mr. Titanium Glutes, or Tattoo, who spawned out of nowhere one day, like most superheros do, in his spanking new spandex briefs and has been stealing the front pages across editorials all over city ever since.

Meanwhile, Jimin was just a modest reporter (with awesome hair and scintillating smile) who did his job. And sometimes that job had him doing some footwork, sending him places no-sane-person-would-ever, putting his life at risk and other occupational hazards.

Running away from enraged crime mobs was nothing new to him. Little did he know, however, how much of a pesky menace Tattoo would become once they get to know each other a little better. Despite all Jimin’s attempts to minimize their contact as much as possible.

There is only so much he could do, however. He’s not a miracle worker, after all. His job is dangerous and dangerous spells Tattoo in big sparkling letters. The man would just turn up, whenever a shitstorm rolled in, to save those in need with his superhuman strength.

And yes, Jimin might have been a hair away from the imminent death, but was he in need? Hell no.

He never asked to be saved. Never asked to be held like he was made of glass. And he definitely didn’t ask Tattoo to look at him like a lovesick fool. (Must be the hair, dammit.) Naturally, it was exactly the moment when a million of stringers around the area chose to snap their best winning shot of the day - and ever since that day Jimin has gotten unfortunate notoriety and a new nickname...

Lois Fucking Lane.

Inevitably siccing every single villain who has beef with Tattoo on Jimin’s ass. Which is, like, the entirety of the criminal underworld by now.

Gee, thanks.

“Stupid rope,” Jimin mutters under his breath, struggling to loosen the knot holding his wrists together just enough to hopefully slip a hand out and undo the binds.

Whomever kidnapped him was stupid enough to leave him and his tiny hands unsupervised and is so going to suffer for it, because Jimin also has a superpower - in times of need, his tiny hands have the capacity to become even tinier. He’s a badass like that, obviously.

A few little huffs and puffs later, Jimin lets out a happy little squeal, wiggling his hands free and tackling the foot binds next. Followed by a nasty gag that smells like something Jimin doesn’t want to linger on too much to avoid a lifelong trauma.

Although free and unbounded, it still leaves him locked up inside a dimly lit basement, containing nothing but a rusty tankard left forgotten on a shoddy wooden chair in the corner.

Jimin has a mind to kick it in frustration when he makes out faint footsteps approaching from behind the door. In panic, he grabs the chair, the rusty tankard flying off with much racket.

Jimin cringes, cussing out loud, as he hurries to take point next to the door, readying the chair above his head. If he is to die tonight, at least he’ll take one of those motherfuckers with him.

He holds his breath as seconds stretch into long moments of waiting. Then, the door knob turns and Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, smashing the chair down on whomever glides right in.

The man doesn’t even flinch as the chair disintegrates into dust upon contact, raising a cloud of fine specks to float in the air. Jimin stumbles back by the sheer force of the impact, air caught in his lungs. He wheezes loudly, struggling to catch his breath. He feels a hundred years old, for some reason, utterly tuckered out. Who knew that holding that chair for two seconds could be so damn exhausting.

“W-what the hell are you doing here?” he finally stutters out, shooting a glower at Tattoo who just stands there, arms crossed over his massive chest, thoroughly amused by Jimin’s fumbling around.

“Oh c’mon, toots, you just jumped me with a chair. I don’t exactly expect a written apology, but a kiss would be nice, don’t you think?” Tattoo intones as he flicks away a few splinters off his bicep. “Besides, one would think you’d get the memo by now. Your knight in shining spandex has arrived. Now gimme my kiss.”

“Shut up,” Jimin grouses. “Where are the scumbags who kidnapped me?”

“Probably running for their lives now,” Tattoo shrugs. “I’ll deal with them later, don’t worry.”

“If you can find them, that is,” Jimin scoffs.

“Oh I will,” Tattoo adds smugly. “Just like I always find you, toots.”

It occurs to Jimin then that Tattoo indeed is infallible when it comes to tracking him down just in time before the heat. If only he hadn’t been too preoccupied being exasperated with the man half the time, he would have questioned it much sooner.

“Super hearing,” Tattoo explains then, tapping next to his ear, looking like he’s about to burst from smugness. “I always listen in if my toots is in trouble.”

“First, I’m not yours, second, excuse me??” Jimin seethes. “You can’t do that. This is violation of my privacy. I know my rights, dumbass.”

The look Tattoo gives him is far from remorseful. His unapologetic grin shines like a beacon of self-righteousness.

“Then go ahead and sue me, toots. I’d rather have you mad at me than hurt,” Tattoo says before adding in a voice that belongs in a bedroom with moody lighting. “Besides, I usually tune out for a while then you...ah, you know. Even if those are the prettiest little sounds I’ve ever heard anyone make with their mouth.”

Heat creeps onto Jimin’s cheeks as he gawks at Tattoo, feeling disarmed and stripped naked, metaphorically, of course.

“You didn’t...” he whispers.

Tattoo’s big stupid grin tells otherwise.

What a fucking sleazy bastard.

Mind gone black, Jimin turns on his heels and wobbles out of the creaky door and up the steep staircase, so steep in fact, he has to almost crawl up the steps, hating himself for choosing skintight jeans to wear today. As much as he loves how they hug his thighs, he hates the very idea of treating that douchebag to the dreamy panorama of his ass. He doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know that Tattoo is watching him go like a creep.

Because Tattoo is a creep, regardless of how many grannies he saves per day. And Jimin just happened to catch his fancy. Oh woe is him.

He pushes the heavy door and finds himself in a quiet back alley, heaps of trash bags and not a soul in the vicinity.

“Eh, toots?” Tattoo calls after him, hot on his heels, as always.

“I’m not talking to you. Ever.”

“Sure, but I think you’d still like to know that there is a huge damp spot on your ass that looks like you peed yourself, just saying,” Tattoo supplies helpfully. “Did you really pee yourself?”

Tattoo looks genuinely concerned for him while Jimin cranks his neck this way and that to access the damage done. His ass does feel wet to the touch.

“You know it’s okay if you did,” Tattoo continues, nodding to himself. “I won’t judge. We’ve all been there. Well, not me, obviously, but I still find you hot, don’t worry about th-”

“Jesus fuck, will you shut up?” Jimin barks at him. “I didn’t pee myself, you asshole. I sat in a fucking puddle for an hour, okay? And it’s all your damn fault.”

“I know.”

Tattoo sounds somber, for a change, all usual mirth gone, which makes Jimin eye him suspiciously. Did the bastard suddenly grow a conscience?

Then, Tattoo holds his hands out, squeezing the fingers in a grabbing motion, shamelessly lewd.

“Hop on,” he pipes, eyebrows wiggling. “C’mon, toots, you know the drill.”

(Or maybe not.)

A million curses later, Jimin finds himself successfully loaded into Tattoo’s arms. What choice does he have? Brave the streets with damp asscheeks? Hell no.

Arms wrapped around the bastard’s neck, Jimin tries to think happy thoughts - like choking Tattoo to death with his tiny hands which gradually translates into choking Tattoo with his thighs which ends up with Jimin power-riding Tattoo’s face, choking him with his ass.

His thoughts are weird, so what.

He just hopes that Tattoo doesn’t have a telepathic ability or anything of that sort, because…

(He’s totally fucked, isn’t he?)

Only the bastard doesn’t take him home as Jimin belatedly discovers. While in the air, Jimin keeps his eyes squeezed tight because Jimin and heights don’t mix well, so when he opens them, deeming it safe, what welcomes him is not his balcony with petunias from his mum.

“What in the frack is this?” he says, wobbly on his feet, soaking in the sight of a lonely tent on the roof of some apartment building. The inside of the tent, decorated with fairy lights, are layered cozily with blankets and throw pillows. Jimin spies a food basket and a bottle of wine, which leaves little room for misunderstanding - he knows what in the frack this is.

A romantic roof picnic set for two.

He faces Tattoo then, hands akimbo, and taps his foot impatiently, waiting for explanations.

“Well,” Tattoo starts. “I hope you like chicken, toots. It’s organic, I promise.”

“Did I ask you to do this for me?” Jimin asks, unamused.

“No, you didn’t,” Tattoo replies, looking too somber for comfort for the second time this night. His chest sinks with a sigh as he rubs the back of his neck, a touch sheepish. “Listen, I wanted to apologize. Better late than never, right? I’m sorry for making you a target even if it was not my intention, I just...I’ll be back in a second.”

Jimin has barely any time to blink as Tattoo flashes in and out of his sight, only this time, the spandex suit is gone and, in a way, Tattoo is gone, too. What Jimin sees in front of him is a guy in a hoodie, sweats and a pair of round glasses. What the..?

“My name is Jungkook,” the guy says. “Apart from doing, you know, superhero stuff, I’m an average student who majors in culinary arts with a minor in photography. I love video games and working out even though I break pretty much every gear I touch, so I don’t. I have a doting mum and a little brother. They’re normal, by the way, in case you wanted to know. I don’t know why I’m the way I am. My favorite color is yellow and hey, I’m single.” 

The guy, Jungkook, wraps his speech up with a stupid wink and even a stupider grin and the only reason why Jimin doesn’t shove him off the roof is because of the major cognitive dissonance he’s experiencing right now.

So he lets it slide, just this once.

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” he says, quiet, hugging himself from the chill of the night. “Why would you expose yourself like that. That’s stupid.”

“Because I think it’s only fair after all I’ve put you through, besides I know that you won’t tell anybody,” Jungkook smiles cheekily. “And I don’t know how about you, but I’m starving, all this superpower can’t sustain itself on air, you know.”

Jimin stares at him as he shakes his head to himself.

“Fine, but only because I’m hungry too, okay? Don’t get any ideas now, brat. This is not a date!”

“Sure, toots. Here, I’ve brought some spare sweats for you.”

“The fuck I’m gonna do with them? Wear them as a dress?” Jimin gripes as he grabs the sweatpants offered, five times his size from the looks of it.

He quickly strips out of his skinnies and tugs those parachutes on as Jungkook crouches over the basket, unloading its contents. Jimin’s stomach grumbles at the mouth-watering smell of food and he mentally wills it to shut the fuck up - he’s been through a lot today and doesn’t need Jungkook being even more smug than he already is.

A total husband material he may be, but Jimin won’t give in.

Not on their first date, anyhow.

“Scooch, or something,” he gripes, settling down next to Jungkook who only scooches closer, unapologetic, and even if Jimin scrunches up his nose at that he doesn’t complain or move away - it’s warmer that way, okay?

(Yep, totally fucked, he is.)

[hawkeyebabe]

Unpopular Opinion: FMA Live Action Was Not Good

Now wait a minute! I know you’re upset. It seems that most people on this site + in this fandom rather liked it. And that’s great! I do want people to enjoy it.

But let me tell you why I didn’t. Spoilers ahead.

———————

I work in LA as a freelance film editor and I love love love movies more than I love almost anything else in the world. Not that that matters, but I’m just saying I pay rent by working in video! So I’m not COMPLETELY speaking out of my ass, I’m just speaking as both a film lover and a FMA lover.

Buckle up we’re goin’ in.

There were things I liked!

Dean Fujioka as Colonel Mustang

I thought he was one of the best things about this movie. First of all I could stare at his physical face for hours like yikes, I think I’m in love with someone I don’t even know. And he’s an incredible actor! His delivery, his facial expressions, everything was great. I loved him. He was perfectly cast as Mustang. And fuck he’s so hot. I’m sorry. I love him.

Ryôsuke Yamada as Edward

Also pretty talented! He had the impulsiveness and brashness of Ed in the series, and he managed to pull off the fight choreography and emotional demands of the character. Which brings me to...

(Most of) The Fight Choreography!

It was impressive and almost always realistic, there weren’t too many cheesy punches (which are a common fault in adaptations or lower budget fight movies), and everyone involved totally pulled it off. 

The Photography Value

There were several sequences where I was like, dayum, that was a cool camera move. Some scenes were paint by numbers, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s just average. But there were some scenes that were pretty cool! And they definitely put effort into making things like visually interesting, so to me, it shows that they did care about the film! It wasn’t just a cash grab. I respect that.

Roy’s Fight With Lust

It was awesome. The fire looked amazing, Lust looked amazing, Dean looked amazing (fucking always good god), and the music and the EVERYTHING, it was intense and it was great. Not perfect, not revolutionary, but great.

Alexander

Good fucking dog

The Costumes

There wasn’t one single outfit that I hated. They did a great job with that, a really great job. The military uniforms were spot on, they didn’t look cheaply made whatsoever, Lust’s dress was beautiful and seductive, Envy’s get-up was perfect (although he looked/acted mildly too goth), and YUP. It was good. I also liked how they showed Riza in her classic black high-necked shirt. Even though it didn’t make cohesive sense for her to have taken off her jacket in that scene but anyway.

Fucking ROYAIIIIII

At least it was THERE, like, it wasn’t nearly enough for my shipping heart, but it was there and it was subtle and I loved that. I actually didn’t want a Royai kiss (I know, execute me) because it wouldn’t have felt true to their story. The way they interact in the series is so subtle and drawn back, that throwing a kiss into this one movie (that doesn’t expand on a ton of things) would have felt cheap and rushed. I like what they did, at face value. The characters weren’t expanded on at all, but for what they DID give us, and the fact that they included hints of Royai at all, I really appreciated that. Roy and Riza commonly communicate through glances and not words, and they showed that when Riza finds him at the end of the battle, and she looks at his wound then up at him, and he nods to ease her. Not one word was exchanged. Yes, A+.

See? I’m not a total asshole. There were good things. But man, there were bad things too.

I wanna precede this with something; I understand why people like this movie. It’s content! We are practically dying at this point for more content. And it’s two hours of content!! We will eat. That. Shit. Up.

But it’s kind of like reading a mediocre fanfiction story, isn’t it? At least it is to me. Like I see the potential and my thirsty ass is parched for something, anything, so I will read this mediocre story. I will watch this mediocre movie.

But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been great.

First of all, they BOOKED it through the story. There were WAY too many plot points. YES, I know that it’s a hard challenge to condense a whole series into one movie, but you know how you fix that? Don’t do that.  

There is a right way to introduce characters, introduce a world, a story, the good guys and the bad guys, and three full acts. You don’t have to cram a whole series into one movie. Pick a few plot points, one of them being a major one (for the final act), and focus on those. Leave the end hanging open, wrap it up, but don’t wrap it ALL up. Then, interwoven within those plot points should be character development, and THAT’S what should drive the story. Not a thousand episodes compacted into two hours, but the characters, the very interesting, very unique, very original, very entrancing characters. And you know what?

They did not focus on the characters.

In fact, Al had like, ZERO screen time?! This wasn’t Ed and Al’s movie, this was Ed’s movie. And that is absolutely not true in the series. The two of them are equally important, equally layered. I understand there wasn’t a very large budget to appropriately include Al in every scene with Ed, but they could have figured something out. To just push him off to the side is just kind of insulting and it made me a little angry. 

Ask any Hollywood producer, director, screenwriter, whatever, “What makes a good story?” Every single one of them will tell you the same thing:

The characters.

It doesn’t matter that each and every character had a full arc and fleshiness in the series, that doesn’t mean that that automatically translates to the movie, because it doesn’t. In the movie, they introduce what began this whole adventure as if it were first being introduced, which means the same should apply to the characters.

If you show this film to a first-time viewer, fresh eyes who’ve never seen FMAB, and ask them, “What can you tell me about Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye?”

They’ll say,

Who is Riza Hawkeye?

Because I’m pretty certain they never say her fucking name.

And then you’ll explain it’s the Lieutenant to Mustang, and they’ll say, “Oh! Well he’s the Flame Alchemist, he’s hot (or at least they should say that), and the Lieutenant seems to be his assistant or military partner, and I think they love each other.”

But that’s it. That’s all they can tell you about these two main characters. That whole sentence is ALL the movie tells you about these two. That is not what I consider character development, that’s called sloppiness. Yes, we the fandom understand there’s more to them, but this movie is supposed to be standing on it’s own, it’s not supposed to use the series as a crutch. 

When Ed and Al are suffering after discovering what Tucker had done? And Mustang gives them some tough love? You know what could have been so simple, so easily done, and gone miles in terms of character relations?

Hawkeye giving Ed her damn coat. That would have taken five seconds to show, and it would have shown Hawkeye’s compassion, Ed as a child even though he’s seen hell, Mustang watching her and showing a glimpse into their dynamic, LIKE. LITTLE THINGS, little CHARACTER MOMENTS are SO important! And they just didn’t include things like that because they just weren’t thinking about it.

I could go into every single character and explain how none of them were done justice, but I’ll save your time. Just understand that not one character was fleshed out, Ed was the closest that came to that and he was still not done well.

UGH, real quick: You know why we were all devastated by Hughes’ death in FMAB? Because we loved him. He was likable, he was charming, he was a good man, and Hiromu Arakawa made that happen. A first time viewer probably didn’t feel anything when Hughes’ died in this movie because his little story was shoved down our throats and then he was killed. Maybe that could have been the final plot point, or at least the turning point in the second act, in another world. Give us much more time with a character we’re supposed to care about before killing him. They didn’t make his death emotional at all, whereas it’s one of the most heart breaking scenes in FMAB. This was one of those scenes that was paint by the numbers to me, there was nothing special about it. And I’m frustrated about that.

They barely even mentioned Ishval.

It was absolutely an integral, emotional, severe part of the series that made it so fucking beautiful. This series wasn’t just fun, or action-y, or heart-warming, it was political, and real, and harsh.

Two of our protagonists, Roy and Riza, are deeply flawed and deeply haunted. They are not perfect beings. They did terrible, terrible things. VILLAINOUS things. This movie does nothing for them. There is no emotional arc, there is no showing how they change from the beginning of the movie to the end, there is nothing! Characters are supposed to change, in every movie.  They are SUPPOSED to have flaw, and we the audience are supposed to see that.

How do they differ, what do they learn, what happens to them to sway their judgement? I’m sorry, but the characters in this movie are two dimensional. None of them are flawed, none of them have depth except maybe Ed because they explain how much he cares about Al what he did to save his life, but that’s it. 

This movie did not show one iota of the complexity of these characters, and I’m bitter about it. That’s all I’ll say because I could go on for awhile.

Laboratory Five.

What an intense, crazy part of FMAB. For me, that was when I officially was like oh, this show means fucking business. That’s when they really dive into what the philosopher’s stone is, and it’s when basically every character is shown hell, it’s when so much happens, and it’s the catalyst to what eventually becomes The Promised Day. 

I could barely even tell that they were in the lab in this movie. They stripped every character of that event from them, and it sucks because it was literally written for the producers of this movie right there in the series how to pull this off correctly, and they didn’t! There was incredible potential for our live-action characters, potential for Roy to be almost killed by Lust (away from everyone else), for Riza to think he’s dead and for her to break her stoicism, Al to be shredded by Lust but still trying to protect Riza, like that scene alone was integral, integral, to the telling of those three (four including Lust, her complexity of almost wishing to experience humanity) characters and they didn’t even show it. I’m mad. 

Gluttony

I’ll say one thing: when he’s told to eat all those soldiers and he opens up the artificial gate of truth in his belly and he runs at them. Like that shit had me weak. 

I’m gonna say another thing, sorry, I’m a liar, I’m just fired up. 

Don’t have the budget to make something terrifying look terrifying? Do. Not. Show. It.

Jaws is a perfect example of this. They chalk up this terrifying monster of a predator, who devours human after human ruthlessly, and they barely show him. It was cinematic genius. Can you imagine each scene showing a terrible robotic shark gnawing on his victims? No, because it would be cheesy as hell! And that SCENE! IN THIS MOVIE? WAS SO BAD! Remember when I said I loved the costumes? That’s still true except for Gluttony, he was a mistake.

The Antagonists

The antagonists are equally as important as the protagonists. A good antagonist has depth, has reason, has lapses in judgement and is written as a protagonist who has different motives. Envy and Lust are both such COOL fucking antagonists in FMAB, and are both individually explained as separate entities. In this movie they served no other purpose than to exist as the bad guys. We get a peek into Lust when she’s killed, but that would have been more emotional and meaningful if she was given more depth prior to that. Why is she doing what she’s doing? Why IS she the bad guy? Why is she the way that she is? And the same questions apply to Envy. This movie doesn’t tell us. It just tells us, “Hey, these are the bad guys. Let’s hope our heroes defeat them!”

Riza Hawkeye

I didn’t hate her, but I didn’t love her. Riza is supposed to be this total badass, and a very complicated character. I don’t think the actress they cast was bad, so I’m not blaming her at all, but I don’t think she should have been Riza. Honestly she just looked too much like a porcelain doll. Riza isn’t supposed to look breakable. I’m probably being too picky on this specific point, but I’m just so fond of Hawkeye’s character and very protective of her and I don’t think she was done justice. 

The fight choreographers set her up to fail, also. They did a great job with Ed, but they probably did jack squat with her. The writers didn’t give her any fight scenes, fine. But they did give her scenes holding a gun. And I don’t know if they spent much time teaching the actress how to properly handle a gun.

Yeah she holds it alright, but she doesn’t handle it expertly. If I’m watching a movie about the military, I expect little things like that to be believable. It wasn’t that actress’ fault, of course not, why should she know how to handle a rifle believably, as though it was an extension of her body? It was the producers’, the director’s, fault for not having someone teach her. This may come off as nitpicky, but if you want to make a great film, you make shit like that happen. Don’t show me a character who is supposed to be a master chef if they chop vegetables unevenly or don’t tie up their hair. Big things are important, yes, but little things are even more so. It shows that the filmmakers are paying attention.

The film’s score

It wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t impressive. I LIVE for movie scores so this can be more of an opinion than a critique, but I’m gonna briefly talk about it anyway.

Some of it was nice, like in Lust’s death scene, but in other scenes, it just felt so unnecessary. Like it was way too big and didn’t match the scene that was happening. So, basically, I wasn’t impressed. 

Winry Rockbell

It’s a common practice in anime to make many female characters high-pitched and over-the-top, but that’s not really something that should be done in live action films because it doesn’t translate the same. To me, her character just came off as obnoxious most of the time. 

In the series, she’s strong and tough, but still feminine. She’s young and naive, but has the upmost potential and is sharp as hell. She didn’t serve as a purpose in this movie except as Ed’s damsel in distress and that’s not what she’s supposed to be.

And that wrench she used to knock against Al’s head? Totally the worst. It looked like a Halloween prop. That can be pulled off in an animated movie or show but not live action, it just makes it look ridiculous. Like what size of a wrench is that? What would that realistically be used for? Screwing on a propeller to a fucking fighter jet?! 

The absence of the Mustang Gang 

Mustang has a following. He’s what Amestris needs, he has a difficult goal, and few see his potential, but his team does, and they risk their lives day after day for him. That’s a big effing deal. And not only does it add depth to the series, it adds depth to Mustang as a character. The Mustang Gang gives him depth. And to go along with my previous point of the characters being two dimensional, part of it is because of stuff like this.

There was a way to introduce them, introduce what they mean to Mustang and what he means to them, how they interact with each other, giving insight to how the military might be in this world, they just had so much potential and I’m bitter that it wasn’t included.

OK I’m going to try and wrap this up, I could honestly write a dissertation on what went wrong.

TL;DR:

This was definitely not the worst live-action adaptation I’ve ever seen. But just because it IS an adaptation, and adaptations hold a reputation for being bad, doesn’t give this movie lenience for being one of the better ones. 

As an adaptation? It was alright! 

As a film? It was bad. It was a bad film.

They didn’t develop ANY of the characters, they ignored their budgets and showed bad CGI/costumes when they could have enacted clever tactics to avoid the cheese, they ignored many integral parts of the series, parts which made the series so damn good, and they stuffed and stuffed this movie so full of plot points and events until it became non-cohesive and unsteady. A good film is smooth, flowing, and engaging. 

One day, if I ever manage to make my dreams come true, I’ll write the best FMA movie you can imagine, I’ll make it, and I will slay the notion that adaptations will always be mediocre. There is a way to make it good, to make it great! There is a way to make a great live-action anime film!

Burn me at the stake if you disagree with me, but these are my thoughts and I had to write them out.

Again, I did not hate this movie! There were good things. But that doesn’t give it a pass for not being great.

[kisathemistress]

Some South Park Headcanons I have

(Because I’m falling for the series again!)

The four main characters:

Kyle Broflovski: 

His personality makes it almost impossible for him to let things go, if it means making someone (other than Cartman) upset or sad. He just want as many people as possible to be happy around him, because if they aren’t he feels like he has failed them. 

This comes from his strict upbringing his parents gave him and from studying/knowing everything (including religious various beliefs) thus he lives his life by the golden rule: “Do not do unto others, that you do not want done to you.”

He believes highly in karma as well, especially the Wiccan belief of karma. Where if you do something kind you will be rewarded with 3 times the kindness, but if you do something hurtful you will be punished with 3 times the misfortune.

Despite being Jewish and claiming his pride with the religion, Kyle doesn’t follow any of the practices most Jewish people do. He willingly eats pork and sometimes attends/helps the local Roman Catholic church (but this could be do to the town only having one church and most of his friends go there.)

Unlike Scott, Kyle’s diabetes isn’t as serious and he can get away with eating something with extra sugars in it without going into diabetic shock. Though he does carry emergency insulin just incase.

Kyle is aromantic and bisexual. He doesn’t know how to react to intimacy or pick up clues that someone likes him “in that way”, he just assumes all positive contact with him is platonic in nature. He has to be directly told that someone is in love with him for him to understand why they are being overly nice to him.

Since he is only an 9/10 year old, he isn’t aware full of his own sexuality, thus acts the way he thinks a “normal boy” should behave. Despite constantly giving away that he isn’t “normal” by his own definition.

Also he still has his pet Elephant, but it has been moved to a Zoo for a breeding program. He goes to visit it him occasionally and is a junior Zookeeper at the park. He’s going to be officially hired to work there part-time once he’s in high school.

Stan Marsh:

He still does drink, but not to the extent that his father does nor does he get blackout drunk anymore. He’s cut back a lot thanks to going to AA, but is struggling with the 12 step program do to his father leaving alcohol in his reach, and offering him alcohol. He’s also the kid that pulls drinks for his friends and for parties, as both his father and uncle Jimbo will buy it for him if he asks.

Stan tries his best to be vegetarian but has no problem with eating meat as long as he doesn’t witness the slaughter and preparation of the animal. (Including fish.) Blood makes him squeamish, and he becomes overly emotional when he sees an animal in distress.

Even though Stan is straight, when he’s drunk he’ll sleep with anybody. Drunk Stan also believes Kyle is his boyfriend and will run to him for comfort. This normally confuses Kyle, especially when Stan rejects everything when he is sober. It part of the reason Wendy decided that she is genderfluid and created Wendyl, thinking it will keep Stan from “wandering” away from her.

Stan is very proud of his gay dog Sparky. He willingly takes him to gay pride parades and events, and voices his support for his dog. 

He still owns that poodle he bought, which he found out was a toy poodle.

If his parents didn’t limit Stan to only 2 dogs, he would have a pack of at least 6, that he’d have follow him everywhere. He instantly can become friends with any dog he meets and feels heartbroken when he can’t take them home.

Stan knows different wolf howls and behaviors, he can almost instantly tell you what a wolf or a dog is trying to tell you. If he ever gets lost in the forest around town. he knows how to find the local wolf/coyote pack to keep himself company.

Out of all the boys, Stan would be the first to go feral if they were abandoned by their parents/society.

Kenny McCormick:

Is literally an Elder God, but only is aware of his immortality. He can’t remember what other powers he has or how to activate them. His real father is Cthulhu, and he hates him.

Kenny cares very deeply for his little sister Karen and older brother Kevin. When he has extra money, he will always buy them something nice. Like a new doll for Karen or powdered doughnuts from the convenience store to share with Kevin, because it’s their favorite treat.

Even though he will do nearly anything for money, he draws the line at eating Hot Rods. (Unless of course eating them would bring his family out of poverty or something...)

Kenny is genderfluid and pansexual. Mostly because he doesn’t care who he sleeps with, especially if their is money involved. Also wearing girl clothing occasionally was at first so he could had it down to Karen, but now he’d proudly admits he does like the look and feel of women’s clothing on him.

He has had pet rats, a pet possum, and raccoon. Currently he’s raising a baby flying squirrel he found abandoned in his yard, and nursing a robin who has a broken wing.

He wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up.

Eric Cartman:

Never thinks things through, and always pays for his schemes one way or another.

Still has a horde of stuffies he keeps in his room and sleeps with. Even having tea parties with them, when his “friends” don’t want to play.

Is an asshole towards Kyle, because he has unrequited feelings for him, but doesn’t want Kyle to know. Most of his plans fall through, because he really doesn’t want to hurt or push Kyle away.

Knows that he should watch his weight and eat better, but subconsciously wants to get diabetes from his obesity so he can be just like Kyle and Scott. He hates that they get special attention to their medical problems at school and thus don’t have to participate in certain exercises in gym.

Cartman is sex repulsed, but is secretly gay. He can’t stand the thought of actually having sex with anyone and believes all intimate contact is rape. 

He once broke up Craig and Tweek when he spotted them kissing at Stark’s Pond, then went on a rant of how Craig was taking advantage of his boyfriend, scaring Tweek into thinking he got all of the STDs.

Kyle has force Cartman to clean up “Zaron” all by himself before, after Cartman broke too many rules they came up with after the Stick of Truth was thrown in Stark’s Pond. Although, Cartman made Butters do it for him instead, when Kyle went home.

Four other boys:

Tweek Tweak:

Wasn’t aware his parent’s put meth and other drugs in his coffee to test the blends into being their customers addicted, until Craig discovered what Mr. Tweak was doing. Though Tweek is too scared to report his parents, Craig has used it as a threat to get Tweek expensive things, like videogames and new brand named clothes.

Tweek is a wonderful cook and baker. He wants to change the Tweak Bros. Coffee, into a restaurant kind of like Tim Hortons, where they serve both coffee and homemade food. Though he is too scared to ask his father to put in a proper kitchen in the back of the store, for him to use. Instead he has convinced his mother to sell his famous cupcakes, he bakes at home.

Even without the coffee and drugs, Tweek would still have his twitching tick. It only acts up when he is stressed out. When he is calm, it’s barely noticeable.

Before he bought Stripe #4 for Craig, he was terrified of rodents, after he fell in love with Guinea Pigs and occasionally will discuss proper rodent care with Kenny. 

Though now he fears that Craig might eat Stripe one day, do to Guinea Pigs being a delicacy in Peru and not knowing what happened to the other three Guinea Pigs Craig has had before Stripe #4. That’s why Stripe is kept over at his house on weekends and not a Craig’s 24/7.

Tweek has a parrot named “Coffee Crisp”, because it’s his favorite snack and the first words the parrot learned. His parent’s bought Tweek Coffee Crisp, to help keep his paranoia in check. 

Coffee Crisp will repeat goverment conspiracy theories do to that fact Tweek listens to them on the radio in his room at night. Coffee Crisp also knows the name of over 150 different types of coffee related products.

Craig gave Tweek a hand knitted Chullo and shall that matched his own, but in green, for his birthday. Tweek is afraid he will ruin them if he wears them, so he only wore the outfit for a day before permanently hanging it up in his closet.

Tweek was questioning his sexuality, but has always been gay. He was just too paranoid about other things to focus long enough to realize this.

Craig Tucker:

Although he behaves like he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything, he cares deeply on the inside for his friends. He believes showing emotion is weakness and prefers to internalize everything.

He has broken down in front of only two people ever in his life. The first being Clyde after Strip #2 had died, and the second being Tweek.

Craig is aware he is adopted and his native homeland is in Peru. He’s half white and half Peruvian native, and was sent to the US for adoption after people started trying to worship him as the Guinea God.

He’s also aware that he is a god and has god-like abilities. He just doesn’t like to use them and prefers to live a “normal” mortal life. He is aware of Kenny being an Elder God and his immortality. He’s willing to teach Kenny how to be responsible with his powers if he ever find out how to use them.

Craig has eaten Cavy and knows how to make traditional Peruvian dishes that use it, do to being a deity in his homeland. He likes it on occasion, but would never eat a Guinea Pig that he intends to keep as a pet and has buried his previous Guinea Pigs in the back garden of his home. He even had little funerals for them where his friends attended.

Craig likes to knit and will spend hours in his room listening to music and knitting. He hides this from his dad, because it’s not a “manly” hobby. Though every christmas he gives his family handmade sweaters, scarves, mittens, and socks, as gifts.

He doesn’t like coffee like Tweek, but his favorite drink is French Vanilla Cappuccinos. Which he has with whipped cream added, do to his sweet tooth.

Craig can’t dance, but tries to at parties and has fun regardless at his failed attempts. It makes Tweek laugh anyway.

Finally like Tweek’s twitching, flipping people off is a tick Craig had developed. Do to internalizing all of his thoughts and feelings, he automatically flips the bird when he feels upset or angry over someone or thing.

Clyde Donovan

Is just as pervy as Kenny, but is straight. 

He has problems with over expressing his emotions and is always crying about something. He uses Craig as his emotional support constantly, and sometimes will sit eating ice cream and watching romance movies alone.

He is embarrassed by his colostomy bag and only his friends (and Mr. Macky) know about it. He has one do to surviving rectal cancer when he was five.

He wants to own his own mexican themed restaurant when he is older or a Taco Bell. He was very disappointed when the government canceled building a giant Taco Bell during the events of the Stick of Truth.

His favorite Raisins girl is Lexus and always request her to be his host when he eats there. He wants to ask her out, but is too scared she will reject him.

When the kids play “The Kingdom of Zaron” now, Clyde remains as a separate third faction and the main “antagonist” of the game, when the humans and elves aren’t fighting each other. He rules over all the kids that want to be “monsters” or non-human or non-elf. Humans and elves can join his side if they proved to be “evil” enough.

Clyde has worn women's clothing for fun before. He likes flowy skirts and dresses. He wants to go to prom one day in a dress and maybe convince his future wife to let him wear the bride’s gown to their wedding.

Whenever he hears that Tweek is having a “backing meltdown” he gets excited, since Tweek makes too much and usually shares by giving him three boxes of baking. He hides this from his dad who want him to be careful of his weight.

Token Black:

Likes to buy expensive things for Nicole and his friends. He has no idea the value of money and genuinely gets confused when his friend say they or their parents can’t afford something.

Kenny McCormick creeps him out, and he thinks his family just chooses to live in a garbage dump. Though he does get along with Karen McCormick and had bought her lunch a few times, since he thinks it’s cruel for her parents to not give her money or food for school.

He is the second person Clyde will run to when he is upset, though unlike Craig, he dosen’t really know how to react or comfort Clyde. He normally just stands there with Clyde crying in his shoulder, awkwardly patting his back saying “there, there...” until Clyde feels better.

Contrary to belief (and Cartman) Token doesn’t like listening to Beyonce or hip hop type music. He actually likes listening to old folk music and polkas. 

Weird Al Yankovic is his favorite entertainer and “Just Eat it” is his favorite song by him.

Token sometimes says racist things against his white friends by accident. After which he profusely apologizes if he catches himself or someone calls him out on it.

He rather play chess than play football or basketball.

[booksummarieswithkatz]

Ribbed For Her Pleasure by Miranda Martin

Okay, terms to know can be found here. 

Now that that’s out of the way let’s get on with the story. Also I did not look up any of the characters’ names. So whatever. Also, so little happens of importance that this summary is hella short.

This book takes place in the present day, and begins with our leading lady, Female Stereotype, returning from generic Gamecon with her cat and getting ready to do a "just got back" vlog when she decides to check twitter. It turns out that some person who doesn't matter tweeted at her to take the "Celestial Mates Challenge" and get matched with her perfect alien dreamboat. Female decides that her extra "protective" fanboys would think this stunt is hilarious, and signs up. The only problem is that the app is actually a consent form created by a magical cherub who is abusing his power to timetravel for supposedly noble causes, and he needs her... for some reason?

So anyways she downloads the app and starts a vlog about how she's doing the challenge when SHABAM a tiny floating dwarf appears in her room... while she's changing. She's all like "WTF" and he's all like "no time to explain" and grabs her charizard plushie before saying "oh you are gonna love this," and poofs her away.

She appears in the air on a seemingly deserted planet. Directly above the ocean. After taking a nice bath in frigid seawater, she drags herself to shore only to see the tiny dwarf poof in again to drop a seven foot tall dragon man down into the water beside her. The dragon man is very confused, and in his strange lizard speak berates the dwarf. The dwarf just goes "ok love you bye" and vanishes, leaving two sopping wet people who don't speak the same language on an alien world with no supplies. Kind of a dick move.

So the dragon man freaks out because he's from a desert planet and the largest amount of water he's seen in one place before being dropped in the ocean was a punch bowl, and Female Stereotype freaks out because she's alone with an irritable dragon man, but they find a cave to dry off in and start a fire while trying to figure out how they were going to find any goddamn food. But it's okay, because the magic Peter Dinklage shows up like "oh shit I forgot" and throws a bunch of cocaine in their faces so they can understand each other. 

It turns out that the dragon guy's name is actually Ribbed Dick, and now that they aren't dying of hypothermia they realize that omg this person is H O T. So they start getting really weird and awkward because they're both really horny and Peter Dinklage, who is watching all of this, is like "no why aren't you fucking!?" So he decides to spice shit up with the justification of "gamers love adventure" and "dragons are generically strong and heroic" and "women like to fuck violent hypermasculine dragons, right?" and he summons a flock of velociraptors (the jurassic park kind, not the actually chicken-sized version) to attack them.

After a brief scuffle of Female Stereotype screaming and Ribbed Dick choking out dinosaurs like a boss, they realize that since they're probably going to die they actually love each other. Then they fuck. In that cave. Surrounded by dead velociraptors and viscera. As one does.

After discovering the delightful nature of Ribbed Dick’s two (yes two) ribbed dicks, the couple promptly shrivel up and attempt flaccid conversation in a feedback loop of “was it bad for him? Is that why he’s so quiet? Was it good for her? She keeps glancing at me nervously” until finally Tyrion Lannister shows up and says all of the shit that’s in their heads (cuz stalking wasn’t enough we had to add mind-reading voyeurism). Ribbed and Female realize that they are both idiots and decide that the best course of action is to just fuck again, but this time they find a beautiful nearby forest so they can have real scenic artsy sex like a high-budget porno. As one does.

So they tucker themselves out with the twin-dick tango and wake up - surprise - in Ribbed Dick’s bed, in Ribbed Dick’s house, on Ribbed Dick’s planet. Female Stereotype decides (logically for once) that Ribbed Dick may actually be in league with Tyrion Dinklage, though her presumption of  villainy is kinda farfetched. Ribbed Dick wins her over with the argument of “but we made such sweet love and I’m hot, and you’re hot, and this desert planet is hot, and really if you leave me you are going to be surrounded by dragon people who have never seen a human before and you’ll probably die because we’re actually a slave race and they’ll think you’re a spy.” Female realizes that he’s right, they are super in love, and sure her cat has been left alone for way too long and there’s like no water here on this godforsaken planet, but goddamn is the sex awesome and that’s what really matters here. LoveSex

So they resolve their differences with tonsil hockey and then Ribbed is just like “remember how I said that everyone would probably kill you as a spy, but let’s go for a walk and I’ll show you my home.” What a great fucking idea. Lo and behold, the other locals actually bring them before the council of elders to be judged as a traitor and a spy.

But everything is okay, because the grand matriach (who is just the oldest woman present) declares that they are in love and everyone can shove it up their asses.

Female Stereotype and Ribbed Dick then head home for a nice hide-the-sausage session, then Deter Pinklage shows up again and (for the fifth time in the book) goes “oh shit i forgot” and throws more cocaine in their faces, declaring that they are now biologically compatible. Somehow. The pair decides to celebrate with more sex, but Pinklage appears again just long enough to throw her cat at her. The End.

“But wait!” You say, “why did magic Tyrion need the two to get dirty anyways? Why was his time bullshit important? WHAT WAS THE FUCKING POINT?!” Well, fucking was the point but, if you insist,  it’s because apparently, in the future the entire dragon race is eliminated by a horrible plague, but introducing a single human (and forcing her to be biologically compatible with them) into the genepool at that exact moment with that exact dragon would disseminate an immunity to the entire population (or at least enough for the race to survive). So, I guess, bully for modern science?