#I'm a sucker for seeing characters' notes and drawings

[back-in-2037]

Random things I've noticed in Meet the Robinsons that tell me I've watched this movie too many times (Part 3).

In the movie, we see that Lewis has a composition notebook full of sketches for potential inventions. When looked at up close, one can start noticing certain details about them.

For example, on the lower right corner, we can see what looks like a propeller hat, kind of like the one Laszlo is seen wearing in the film.

Another invention in Lewis' notebook is a "Brain Booster" which by its name and its look, seems like a reference to the Brain Augmentor from the original book the movie is based on. Since the helmet for it is also very similar to the Memory Scanner's it could be that Lewis repurposed some of the ideas he had for the Brain Booster for the Memory Scanner.

The sketch on the left, with the metal arms seemingly doing multiple tasks at the same time looks very reminiscent of the Helping Hat, AKA DOR15.

This flying car sketch, with its asymmetrically long wing, looks somewhat similar to the functional time machine prototype.

And on that note, this other sketch Lewis shows the Harringtons during his interview with them, of a flying car taking off into the sky, flying above a city with normal looking cars,

Looks a little bit like foreshadowing.

Overall, it is really neat to see how much detail was put into Lewis' notebook, as it helps to shows the audience more about what kind of inventor Lewis is, what his thought process is like, as well as what ideas for inventions he kept with him over the years and how they evolved across time.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

(only if you wanna--) can you do the outsiders characters × a reader that's, like, very soft? ghibli movie vibes as a person, the type of person to be elbows deep in diy projects and homemade recipes, very stereotypically domestic and grandparentcore-esque?

no idea if that makes sense. if it doesn't, disregard. lol. i'm just a sucker for fluffy domestic bs.

Summary: the outsiders w domestic!reader

Warnings: none

Author's Note: don't get me wrong I love my little Rollercoaster relationships but in the end I really want a domestic s/o too

PONYBOY CURTIS

he's not into very loud and obnoxious girls so your perfect for him

he confessed through a paper bouquet made from your favorite books and scrap paper that had meaning to you

Likes to read books with you and just chill on a weekend

If you bake pastries he's gonna eat them all.

SODAPOP CURTIS

He finds you so soothing, especially after his mother passed

You provide comfort that he forgot he could get, especially with Darry and Pony constantly fighting

Likes to help you do crafts because he's good with tools

Hung up the fairy lights in your room for you and even asked you to help him put fairy lights in Ponys room

JOHNNY CADE

He treats you as if you are glass because he's a greaser and to him you are so pure.

He likes to bake with you but his favorite part is eating it.

Every now and then you swap books and annotate with each other

If you make him an art piece or drawing, he's either folded it up and put it in his jacket or hung it on his bedroom wall.

STEVE RANDLE

Finds you a nice balance of greaser and soc because of your mild mannerisms. It's refreshing to him

Keeps the closest eye on you, ready to step in whenever there's trouble (whether or not you can or can't handle it)

Finds your hobbies insanely adorable and invites you to his place just to watch you do them

He has a need for constant reassurance that he's not a bad boyfriend because sometimes you guys don't see eye to eye.

TWO-BIT MATTHEWS

He is probably one of kindest greaser you'll meet.

He loves you so much and introduced you to his sister as soon as possible.

He learned knitting/crocheting from you along with his sister and

Gets you a scrapbook because he knows you like to dry the flowers he gets you.

DARRY CURTIS

most domestic of them all. Let's be real!!

He finds you so attractive because of how kind and caring you are.

He let's you serve the desserts you make after dinner and finds them to be the best things he's ever tried

really enjoys your presence and likes to just sit alone with you in silence for a little to 'recharge'

DALLAS WINSTON

where do I even start.

He is NOT domestic at all, and actually finds you a little annoying because you are.

You're like the comforting presence he never had and it's really hard for him to accept it

You treat him more like a child than anything, like scolding and lecturing him etc. He finds it really annoying but also can sometimes find it endearing. Idk it depends on his mood.

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[critterbitter]

Asks and responses under cut!

First to note! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THESE ASKS. I REALLY APPRECIATE YALL. That aside, lemme get cracking! @drakeling7413 AWE MAN THANK YOU! I just started playing B2 with a friend (we're... not doing a nuzlocke anymore because we both got full team wiped at Clay's gym. That exadrill's built different man.) But I'm glad to bring back some of that whimsey! @bluemimikyu As an eel defender I am VERY glad to hear that! Good luck with tynamo though, they evolve at a disgustingly high level and they're... well, I don't want to say weak but they're a bit difficult to use against anybody not water or flying, from personal experience. (I love eelektross though. Levitate my beloved...) @ashnesspokemon ADLSKJFLKSDJ THANK YOU!!! I have SO many thoughts about them. We've seen them as rat children. We've seen them as sad old men. Today, I offer you-- gangly teenagers interning at Gear Station and Scheming in the meantime. (Plus elesa! The more I draw her the more I love her, ah... I've always been a sucker for trios. ((looks dead eyed at botw and hollow knight))). I do intend to draw them older later on, but that's a timeline I will Not Nail Down anytime soon hehe. @64s-art-blog Emmet has eel rights, Ingo has lamp rights. (But you're right. He should have thrown eelekrik. The comedic apparel would have been incredible.) @aroacepokefan First of all (points at your user name) AYYY. (Points at this characterization of Ingo). AYYY??? Second of all, thank you I LOVE moles and drillbur's perfect. @asperanna Oh boY OH BOY OKAY SO. I am prrrrobably not gonna draw anymore conventional starters AU cause I have a lot of wips I have to handle of the current comics, BUT Ingo would have a unovan samurott. and then when he gets heebie jeebied into hisui, he would have a HISUIAN Samurrott. And then when the two samurotts meet, they would be like the spiderman pointing meme. But because this is also a sandbox, if you ever wanna run with the hisuian samurott idea please go for it! Free real estate, just remember to credit so I can sneak in and spectate the art. @submasfan SLJLDSFJSLDK TY!!!! I am definitely gonna have to slow down at somepoint so I can work on commissions again (ah... maybe I should open a patreon... to feed myself. hmm.) BUT I APPRECIATE THE EXCITEMENT. The submas brain is real. @magicfeatherbean4 (sweats) This is where I tell you they only appear for like... five lines. BUT YOU SHOULD PLAY BW! I miss the 2d pokemon aesthetic, and BW nails that in the head. ((Its okay we can sit on the sidelines and admire the muppet men do their daily commute within the depths of the train.)) @rudeboimonster I'm so glad you caught the stims! Character consistency is an important rule I hold close to my heart, so seeing people notice the little details I add makes me grin like a loon.

[daintev]

I'M BACK WITH MORE MTCPT!!!

I've lost track of time and can't remember the last time I posted mtcpt stuff, it's been nearly two weeks, maybe??

Anyway, I've seen a lot of people discovering the original version of My Two Cents Plus Tax so I wanted to draw their old designs again :D

Sanders, buddy, you're fantastic man but that old haircut....

Anyway, I've had this silly little head cannon that Jock & Sanders have this thing together of sharing and listening to music with each other. So, it was fun to think they've been doing that since the early days of working with each other.

I can't stop putting characters in sweet, nice and relaxed scenarios. I'm a sucker for feel-good stuff, so naturally, I keep putting my favourite characters in these blissful, quiet moments

There's no particular idea I had when drawing this, I kinda realised I've never drawn or at least not for a while, drawn someone holding a cat. It was fun thinking about how each of them would interact with a cat, I think Jock would be a big fan of cats: I think Jock wasn't close with a lot of people growing up so he'd probably befriend the local street cats.

I NEED YOU ALL TO HEAR ME OUT!! This was a very rushed sketch of an idea I had. Okay okay so the three-legged race chapter is the last chapter of the comic for those of you who don't know, and I was thinking about how it'd end.

To be honest I've got no clue how it'd end, HOWEVER! I'm betting near the end: we'll see Sanders smile. NOW it's VERY unlikely this could happen and this is just me making predictions for the hell of it, but it's just a fun idea I wanted to explore a little. Whether he smiles or it's a different expression, I just think it'd be super hype. AGAIN this is just for fun, I don't know if or entirely think it will befit the story. If it does then great! but this is me messing around for enjoyment :]

Ending it on a small note: just some random sketches :D

I'm still working on my mini mtcpt project, I've been putting it off for a while (procrastination strikes again!) and my first semester just finished so I've yet to get around to finishing it.

As always I appreciate the support shown to my art, it genuinely means the world to me as a silly teen artist drawing these silly little characters <3

[barb-l]

sorry if this comes off as weird, but I really, really appreciate the love and support and appreciation you give Vaggie. This really is my comfort blog. You actually see the depth her character has, you don’t just write her off as ‘bOrIng, ’ you say everything I think and feel about her, you actually appreciate ‘Whatever It Takes’ (Kimiko, too. 🤭). I don’t care if the whole damned fandom hates that beautiful angel - I love her and it’s so comforting to find others that love her, too, and don’t just jump to the overrated characters ( who happen to be men: Alastor, Adam, Vox, Lucifer, Angel. and I actually like Lucifer and Angel as characters. The other three can burn. 😁). Believe me when I say this: more Vaggie fans (and people in general) should find and see your blog.

You’re the real Vaggie MVP and I’m so happy to have found your blog. ❌💜

Whatever It Takes is suuuch a good song! I'm just such a sucker for ballad-y songs, and the lyrics in Vaggie's verse are just so damn sweet. I love how everytime it's her turn to sing the song turns even softer with a bit of music box notes in 'em. And yessss, love Kimiko even more for choosing it as her favorite

That's so sweet of you to say, I'm touched really! I usually hear compliments about my art or fics, so occasionally being thanked for this blog that shows the brunt of my unwell brainrot is kinda... reassuring? I'm sure my rambling can be a lil crazy sometimes.

It's come to my attention that apparently a lot of people aren't aware I write and draw too tho, so if you dont know about it yet maybe check out my chaggie fic and art too 😁

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Looks at Pep's profile on toyhouse:

Oooh, interesting stuff here! Also lots of sadness in the links! More thoughts below:

<"–and even being rescued himself in a few situations.">

<"- he and Porto helped me home when I was struggling to move, let alone keeping my form together -">

<"Porto, and Bello, found me when I wasn't in the best place, and very vulnerable">

My first thought was imagining Pep in 'Sopping Wet Creature' form being in either Porto or Bello's arms, but it's more likely him having a panic attack and both of them helping him get home.

<"but I realised what they needed, and I gave it to them - I still have that scar... I didn't even know I could get new scars...">

Wait, what do you mean new scars? And hmmm, clones don't really have blood (at least not like regular blood), but given what we currently know (or at least theorize) about Pep, perhaps he was the only one that could've helped Mirtillo.

(On a related note: Mirtillo being purple and considered to be Pep's baby. And a certain picture with a baby wearing purple. I'm not saying they're the same, just that maybe there's some subconscious connections here. Maybe the loss hits harder because he has lost his child before. It's twice now that he was taken away from his family.)

Also the dramatic irony of having an idea of what exactly happened to his family hurts! And every single one of Pep's links being one-sided thoughts! I'm over here making myself sadder theorizing that the last parts of each one are the exact thoughts he had while searching for them! That even though he was able to see the world outside the tower, he couldn't fully enjoy that freedom because in the back of his mind he's thinking that he failed them, that he was too weak and couldn't protect them–

He hopes that maybe, just maybe, he could find them. To be able to hug them again, hold them all in his arms and never let go. He would never ever lose them again.

Okay, I'm done for now.

On happier thoughts, Happy 1 year to this askblog! (It's March 1st where I am) Thank you for sharing this story with us! We appreciate all the love and care you bring with your designs and writing.

Always remember to take your time and have fun with it! Take care of yourself, Bean.

(Shy Theorist)

(AUGH, Shy Theorist Anon, must you sucker punch me right in the heart on this joyous occasion!!! (silly/lighthearted)

But you bring up various points! And I will provide context for others where applicable, like right now;

[Pep's updated reference on toyhou.se] and the [links where he shares his thoughts on his fambily members]

First point about [Porto] and [Bello] rescuing Pep I actually hope to touch on soon! Well, 'soon' as in 'within the next few story posts' - when they will actually be up is yet to be determined jfgksgd - but you're not too far off hehe

Second point about Pep getting a new scar - this is a little confusing since I don't draw scars in my cartoony style (for some reason that I do not remember) - unless it's like [Halloumi's] missing eye scar, which is just a big 'X' - but a lot of the characters do have visible scarring!

We just gotta hit them with the unsilly beam, like this;

And there they are! Although Pep's 'scars' are just markings to mimic Peppino's scars - except for one - while clones do not typically scar due to their healing/regeneration factor, it is possible

[Mirtillo] and [the baby in that 'certain' picture] both being purple babies might be intentional, or it might be bc I have a bias for purple, I'll never tell - but I do confirm they are not the same being, since Mirtillo has been depicted as a newborn clone (the 'gummy bear' stage) and clones made out of human cadavers do not have this stage

And yes!!! Pep doesn't know what happened to any of them, and he misses them all so much!!!

But they just might be closer than he thinks...

... Any way, thank you so much! Your kind words really mean a lot to me, and I always love hearing your thoughts and theories - even if I am a coy bastard about them sometimes, fkgfksdf

I know I keep saying that hopefully we get back to it, and I really mean it, but it in the meantime I just do what I can, and drop a few crumbs now and then hehe)

[hallowpen]

The plan was to start watching The Sign by divvying up the series into two episodes per day until I could finish. Well…that plan went completely out the window and I ended up binge watching the entire thing in one go. So, as I try to gather my thoughts, I wanted to sort of get my feelings out there on what I thought was an incredible show before I finally unfilter the tags (as to avoid any outside influence on my opinion).

Let me preface this by saying that this is going to be an incredibly bias opinion given my cultural upbringing and background (I'm half-Thai and I've spent almost half of my life living in Thailand), so please take that into account before reading any further. I metaphorically removed my western-lensed glasses while watching this series and preferred to watch as a Thai viewer, which probably made the more confusing or difficult parts of the show a lot easier to swallow. So, yes, I will admit that the show was not perfect by any means, but I was able to overlook a lot of its shortcomings given the parts that had been done so well and what this series could mean for Thai QL media going forward.

My goddess, where do I even start…

I'm a sucker for the reincarnated/fated lovers trope, so the show had me before it even started. What I absolutely loved the most about the romance and the A+ chemistry was that it didn't dominate or singularly drive the story, which was refreshing to see. It gave room to explore the fantasy/mythological elements of the show, the investigatory plotlines (which we'll get to later), and the relationships of the characters surrounding the "main leads".

Episode 3, my beloved, was what solidified my trust in this series and served as the foundation for the personalized experience I curated in my continued viewing. First off (and a bit of a side note), seeing Yoshi show up as Sand just made my heart super happy. I've been following her off and on since 2018, and she was one of the only things I actually liked about หมอ มือ ใหม่… but I digress. Behind the main story (and maybe even because of it), this episode was, for all intents and purposes, a love letter to Thai culture and its religious mythology. Which, when you consider how much international draw a BL series can hold, is truly momentous. International viewers got to experience the Bang Fai Phayanak (the naga fireball festival) that occurs every Wan Ok Phansa (the last day of what is considered Buddhist Lent) and the significance it holds over Thai history and culture. Using this as the stepping stone to establish the importance of the series' reliance on naga folklore…brilliant! The episode was also the viewers' introduction to the Buddhist idea of the cyclical intermingling of karmic fates. How the implications of an interdependence on one fate more than the others would later define the relationship between Phaya, Tharn, and Chalothorn…genius! All of this!? In one episode…of a BL!? I was overwhelmed by a sense of cultural gratitude and pride, that I still can't quite shake. I think Saint knew exactly what he was doing when he chose to adapt this series and I love him even more for it.

Aside from the cultural dependency and relevance, the show delivered so much beyond that as well. The production quality sailed high above previous BL standards and, in turn, lent itself to beautiful visuals and cinematography.

The casting! Billy and Babe's chemistry was just so *chef's kiss*. I knew Billy would absolutely smash it in the role of Phaya, but I often forgot that this was Babe's first ever acting role. It was an undertaking, that you could tell, he did not take lightly. Heng!? Wow! What a performance! He's been a staple in every Idol Factory series thus far, but he really nailed the purely villainous role of Chalothorn. Gap as Yai? No notes. He was able to flesh out what could have been a very one-dimensional character. Tack and Poom as Khem and Thongtai were a welcome levity inbetween, what was otherwise, a more weighty plot.

If I had to address any gripes I had with the series, there were only two that really stood out:

1) I wish the moments/conversations between Tharn and Chalothorn that eventually led to Tharn's return hadn't happened off-screen. There was a lot left to be resolved that could have been explored in that instance. But using my own inference based on Tharn as a character, his relationship with Chalothorn, and the core of his personality, I could kind of piece together how that ending came to be.

2)The lesser intriguing elements of the investigation storylines were shaky, at best. (If you were looking for the show to have a firm western-influenced ACAB agenda, then I'm sorry to say you were setting yourself up for disappointment. As much as I selfishly wanted it to be, this series was never going to be that show, it's a Thai drama.) From a Thai perspective, it made sense that the "copaganda" aspect of the series focused on the incompetency and inefficiency of a police force where justice is often informed by wealth and greed. I got an idea of what the show's stance on the matter was supposed to be but the overall plot and its consistency got lost somewhere within the final execution.

Other than that, I was left feeling satisfyingly content with where the series landed and I will continue to highly recommend it. It's easily one on my top five favorite Thai BL dramas and just Thai dramas in general! And…

There is such a rich history of mythology and folklore left for the show to still sink its teeth into: the garuda of it all, the pre-existing feud between the naga and garuda and why that is… Aside from a few minor specificities that were missing from naga folklore (their exclusion didn't really detract from anything, but it could have served to benefit non-Thai viewers), all of that could be addressed in a second season. Which, at this point, seems pretty likely 🤞🏾🤞🏾🤞🏾 and would be HUGE in the BL world.

PLEASE, LET IT HAPPEN! 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

[daydreamwhumpinc]

My Favorite Whump Things in Comics/Animation (Visual) Medium

Okay, since I already posted things that I didn't enjoy in Whump I felt like I really need to balance it out with a few things that I love seeing in drawn format (might do something like this for written whump later, who knows). Enjoy and tell me what you like in the notes below😃💛 There will also be some pictures as a visual aide, so not much spoilers since I tried to choose the most obscure or out of context ones LMAO. Still, you are warned, I guess?/affectionate

No pupils/Hazy pupils eyes- You know that instance right before registering that they are hurt or right before passing out, the whumpee has these kind of glossed over eyes that are not focused on anything. Usually the pupuls become hazy (Gosh, I really need some visual aide, but I am too lazy to draw any right now 🥲😅). You instantly know what is going to happen next and I love that feeling. I guess something like this.......

Blood splatter fake out- One of my favorite whump tropes is "taking the bullet", and, although, you can usually tell when it is going to be used I am still a sucker for everything that comes after it. I just love the horror on the other character's face as the blood of their friend/family member/lover gets splashed all around as they are hurt protecting them. Their blood is the symbol of how far they will go to protect others even if the cost is too great for them. Not sure what is going on with Gojo in this scene (I haven't been keeping up with JK for a while🥲), but it has the right mood I guess.......

Whumpee sees their lood splatter on the floor/walls/etc- Kind of like the earlier point, but instead of a fake out, the Whumpee registers the their blood and (maybe) that they are hurt, but really can't believe it. That frame of them staring at the blood seeping out, not registering what is happening around them before collapsing to the floor. Bonus points if they see the blood and get concerned about their friends thinking that its their blood then looking down at themselves and seeing a bloody shirt.......

Bloody Hair- Okay, let me explain. I get major whumperflies when I see the Whumpee unconscious, on the floor, with a head wound or something and tangled, bloody hair. If the hair is light, then their friends can see it tanned with blood and it automaticlly conveys the urgency of the situation. With dark hair, the blood might not be as visible, but the mattedclumps of hair are surely saturated through with blood and when they brush against something, they leave bloody streaks. So, something like this, but with more blood in the hair, an unconscious character and I'm pretty sure I'm already on some kind of watch list with the things I've been googling to find pictures for this post........

CARETAKER CARRYING UNCONCIOUSS WHUMPEE BRIDAL STYLE- I am not normal about this. I just can't. Enjoy my world salad for this entry, because I can't. PEAK CONTENT IF THEY ARE BOTH MALE AND THE WHUMPEE IS LIKE A SIDE CHARACTER OR SOMETHING. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MOMENT AND THE CARETAKER IS SUPER PROTECTIVE, SQUEAL!!!!!!!) Ahem, It's all about the trust and the feeling of safety. It's al about the caretaker running to the medical tent, or something, with a limp and bloody Whumpee in their arms as they are both coated in the Whumpee's blood. You know the drill by know, this example is brought to you by from my most favorite Manga/Anime- One Piece!

Delirious/Feverish Whumpee's POV and Outsider POV- Honestly, I think fever is one of the most versatile whump tropes, because it can happen with a sickness, wound, exhausten etc, so you can add it as a bonus whump like some kind of twisted honey boba with a sprinkle of angst salted cheese (That shit is delicious, okay). I also think that there is so much ptential, visually, in how an artist/animator can represent a warped state of mind when the Whumpee is delirious and in pain. The half lidded eyes, heavy breething, vertigo........ Same thing for the Outsider POV, just looking at the Whumpee suffering and the other characters' reactions to their plight........ This one is from Komi can't Communicate (I watched the anime and it was so cute and heartwarming, might read the manga later).

Whumpee Falling Unconcious Bheind the other Characters- This one is an oldy, but a goody! Just the frame of the Whumpee crumbling to the floor (it usually happens as a cliffhanger) and everyone is screaming and rushing to them. I think this one needs no explanation.

I'm pretty sure that I have more, but right now I can only come up with this much LOL. Enjoy!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s1 episode 6 thoughts

this was definitely my favorite episode so far! i really enjoyed it. i thought the concept was compelling and well-executed. i'm a sucker for unsolved cases involving paranormal evidence as a trope.

now within the first 5 seconds our duo walked into the screen i once again noticed that mulder is physically incapable of keeping his hands off the small of scully's back. i am simply noting this fact and certainly drawing no conclusions from it!

he put on his glasses for a split second and it was a very good look. but then of course they were spy glasses! classic trickster. also loved his insistence he's not a liar but instead "a willful participant in a campaign of misinformation" very fox coded for a guy named... fox

he also did NOT have to pull her in like that for the fingerprint reveal on the glasses but. this is becoming a recurring motif. they Will be touching.

in referring to the idea of psychokinetic powers scully compares it to the book/movie carrie. we love a well read queen! she seems like she would read the book and THEN watch the movie and talk at length about the differences.

upon reaching the door of the potentially psychic girl, mulder displayed his bountiful social skills by asking if they could come in and then not waiting for an answer at all. i love a man who is off-putting.

(for those who have been around in this fandom longer than me: was mulder initially seen as a cool guy? because to me he is deeply nerd coded)

also when scully reached back for his hand while she was looking through the records...... yeah. side note i wish those contraptions were still easily accessible! it's become a pain to access microfilm. bring it back. and let them clasp hands.

mulder casually saying that only one man has faked his death and that man is elvis is not acknowledged at all so i want to acknowledge it here. he also did an elvis impression while saying this. again. did the kids think this man was cool.

when scully came in with the emotional play, telling the girl that she has to use the spectral evidence to take down the man that killed her loved one, i was shocked! even more so when she told mulder that it was more important to bring justice to the case than find evidence of paranormal activity. i'm team scully here. i like that they stepped away from making her just the Logic and Facts queen. give her some emotions as a bonus! we CAN write complex female characters if we set our minds to it!

mulder is soooo funny wanting to see the liberty bell after all of that... truly never beating the nerd allegations (i assume that he was paranormally influenced in this decision due to the repeating ben franklin quote shown as significant to the murdered man, but still. this is very funny. his Tourist Mode Activated)

and last but not least, the girl that was the guest star for the episode looked so much like my friend i was shocked. perhaps this contributed to my high ranking. that is Literally the power of friendship!

[frank-pricely-in-toyzone]

NPMD ACT 2 AND OVERALL THOUGHTS!!!!

AAAAA that was so good! I really really liked it, I don't really think my opinion changed from Act 1 all that much, but still.

Short, non spoilery review: 8/10 overall! Loved the songs and the serious parts, and all the characters were interesting, but the comedy didn't really hit for me. I had a few issues with the ending, but nothing terrible. Otherwise it was amazing!

Spoilery thoughts ahead!

Let's start story wise. As I said in my Act 1 notes, I didn't really enjoy the more comedic scenes. Not all of the comedy hit for me (some of it did, admittedly), but it felt like a very slow start and wasn't all that entertaining. I did like the fact that the miscommunication between Steph and Pete got sorted out really fast though, that was appreciated. I preferred Act 2's storytelling over Act 1's, absolutely. I really enjoyed the serious scenes.

Character wise, my favourite has to be Max. I knew from the trailer I'd really like him, I'm a sucker for 'vaguely sympathetic villains', especially since it was implied 1) Max could be kind if he wanted to be 2) He was being mentally affected. I just love his character, okay? And Branner did an excellent job of playing him. All the characters were well written, and I'll admit I didn't really like Ruth at first but Act 2 really humanised her (right before killing her, but that's typical of slashers). I also, while I'm not sure I like him, really want to see more of Solomon Lauter. I feel like there's a lot more to be explored with him.

Also, the Lords in Black were amazing. They were AMAZING. I wish they'd come on stage during the scene where Max is vanquished and dragged him off stage, I think that would've been a really potent visual, but I understand why that couldn't have been done. I think I might draw that as fan art! Maybe.

The songs were all pretty good along the board! I don't think my top 2 have changed from Act 1, Nerdy Prudes Must Die and Hatchet Town are still my favourites. But I think Literal Monster Part 2 and As Cool As I Am Reprise are tied for my 3rd favourite. There were some songs I didn't really love, but I think I liked all of them (except for one, but that was more for narrative reasons - more on that later.) I have to say though, I think the Barbeque Monologues has been the only 'show within a show' that has actually worked for me. Even if the song wasn't great, it worked really well to further Ruth's character, and is the reason I ended up liking her in the end. Oh, and it was actually funny.

I only really have 3 things I didn't really 'like', and the last one is just a minor thing that I can probably get answered anyway, so it's closer to 2 things.

Shapiro should've died or at least been seriously injured. I think the fact she lived lessened the impact of that scene, which showed just how powerful Max had become, and he shoved her head through the windshield!! Even if she was to live, she should've at least shown some injury, like a bandage around her head. I just didn't find it believable that she lived.

Grace shouldn't have reprised Nerdy Prudes Must Die / Dirty Dudes Must Die. Now don't get me wrong, I did like the fact that Grace was paralleling Max at the end, showing how she was the new Max, but I just felt like Dirty Dudes Must Die hammered that in too hard, especially since that was the song that established Max as genuinely Dangerous with a capital D. I would've probably preferred Literal Monster or maybe Highschool is Killing Me as the reprise (or hell, even Best Of You!). Honestly part of me thinks there shouldn't have even been a reprise of any song at all. Didn't really lessen the impact of the ending for me, but I just think it would've worked better. (also yay Jason lived, I liked Jason)

How did Ruth die. Max just gave her a wedgie. Did he tear off her back skin and suffocate her with her own skin, or like suffocate her with her underpants or something? But like she died before that so? How did she die

That's really it though. I loved the singing and the acting, it was all super well done! 8/10 overall for me!

[whumpty-dumpty-doo]

Whumpmas in July 2024 - Day 1: (Re) Introduce Yourself!

This post is part of my participation in the 2024 @whumpmasinjuly event!

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Howdy, folks! I'm Deedoo! I've been a whump enjoyer for as long as I can remember, though I didn't know there was a term or community for it until somewhere in mid-2023, when I somehow stumbled across a whump fic, found the terms and tags, and the rest was history.

I'm a professionally trained artist who almost never draws (woops), though I sure do like to think about it. I got bitten hard by the writing bug a few years back, and that's been my main creative outlet for a while. I write all kinds of things, and am currently working on a (non-whump) fantasy series that I daydream about potentially publishing one day.

In terms of whump content, I have a WIP whump fic called "We Are TroubleD"! Right now there are several entries up, but they're miscellaneous entries written for a previous whump event that may or may not eventually find their ways into the proper canon story. I'm just having fun with it for now while I write the main story!

Here's a little more about me for those who might be interested:

❤️ Name: Deedoo

💚 Pronouns: she/her

🤍 Favorite season: Fall probably... I love the leaves, the colors on the trees, and of course Halloween! ... But ahhh, spring is so good too because you can go outside after a long cold winter and the flowers are blooming... It's so hard to pick just one season!

❤️ Average amount of sleep: 8 hours hopefully! My sleep schedule is all kinds of goofed up though haha

💚 Dream Job: Something where I can make art (or something that makes me feel creatively fulfilled), pays me well, and doesn't drive me into the ground due to exhaustion and/or long hours (beyond what I can handle).

🤍 Blog established date: Nov 23rd, 2023! Or at least that's when I reblogged my first ever post on here. I'm not quite sure how to check when I actually made this blog!

❤️ Username/blog meaning: I originally wanted to call my self "Whumpty-Dumpty" like "Humpty Dumpty", but that name was already taken, so I went with "Whumpy-Dumpty-Doo" like "Scooby-Doo", and specifically the show "Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!"! That theme song frequently plays in my head because of this blog. That's also why the line in my profile asks "Who whumped you?". Now you can sing along with me!

💚 Hobbies: Drawing, crafting, writing, playing video games, watching youtube, and walking!

🤍 What you love about whump: The power dynamics, the struggles, the vulnerabilities, the comfort and care (I ultimately want the whumpees to have happy or at least neutral endings!), and the journey that the whumpees take to overcome, hold on, and survive their traumas. Things can get so emotional, and sometimes it's through the deepest and darkest horrors that you can see the brightest lights at the end of it all.

Plus, the community is so creative!! I love how so much of the whumpsphere is made up of original stories, characters, and art. So many people churn out consistently amazing stuff, and it blows me away.

... Also I'm a sucker for any character who is bound and gagged. It's a freaking weakness. Sue me lmao.

❤️ Anything else to add: I hope that everyone who reads this has a nice day!

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Please note that my blog is meant for an 18+ audience. There are things that I post and reblog that are mature in nature and can sometimes be NSFW and not suitable for minors.

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Tags: @whumpmasinjuly-archive

[writingonleaves]

like you were my closest friend - tyler seguin

pairing: tyler seguin x original female character

warnings: swearing, some angst, mostly fluff

word count: 4.1k

based on: "maroon" by taylor swift, title from that song as well

author's note: okay this isn't my favorite one because i think it's a bit rushed, but i thought i'd put it out anyways. would very much like to emphasize that this is fictional and i'm rooting for segs and his hot wife!! im a sucker for right person wrong time vibes and shit happening at weddings so here's a combo of that! also maroon is so seggy coded and you can't tell me otherwise

*****

Carmen Valez was 19 and stupid when she first met Tyler Seguin.

Working at a tattoo shop to make extra money while trying to put herself through college, she was cleaning up from her boss’s last scheduled appointment of the night when in came a group of rowdy guys. It wasn’t the first time a group of drunk guys came in looking for a tattoo. She had listened as her boss Ken came out and did his spiel and she heard laughter and some agreements so they couldn’t have been that drunk because her boss would’ve put up more of a fight.

When she first saw Tyler, she recognized him immediately. Growing up in Boston in a family of hockey lovers, how could she not recognize the rookie who had just won the Stanley Cup? As she turned the corner even more, she saw Brad Marchand and all she could think about was that she couldn't wait to tell her brothers and dad about this. 

Ken introduced her to the guys and asked her if she could set up some things. She waved in greeting and nodded, going in the back to gather the supplies needed. She tried to stifle a yawn as she re-sterilized the needles, but it didn’t work.

“Long night?”

She whipped around to see Tyler peeking in behind a curtain. “Are you looking for something?”

“The bathroom. But I think I found something much better.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Go to the end of the hall and it’s on your right.”

“Thanks,” he tilted his head to the side. “Are you the one who drew those flower designs that are hanging up in the hall?”

“I am. Ken asked me to draw some things so the shop wasn’t only filled with his designs.”

“You tattoo as well?”

“Oh, no way. That’s all Ken.” She shrugged. “I’ve designed some, but never physically tattooed them on someone. My hands are too shaky.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He hummed and then went on his way to the bathroom as she finished gathering the supplies and went outside with them. 

Ken became the guy Tyler kept coming back to for his tattoos so she got to know him and despite his reputation as a partier and womanizer, she found him endearing, often making conversation with him during his longer sessions while Ken was working on him on the table and she was doing schoolwork or doodling in the front. 

It was a weird friendship because Tyler was rarely stationary in Boston and Carmen was attending Northeastern University and they really didn’t mix in any of the same circles but they kept coming back to each other. Their friendship developed to the point where he would come by on his nights off to her off-campus apartment with takeout and they would flick on a movie. He told her about his insecurities of having such a fantastic rookie year and then never amounting to anything else and she told him about her confusions of what she actually wanted to do with her communications degree. He talked about how hooking up with girls was easier than seeing if someone was only using him for his image and she talked about her view on relationships and how long distance never works. 

He would invite her to games and she’d come along sometimes, dragging her best friend along with her to TD Garden. She knew all about his lifestyle and how he’d hook up with girls left and right but when she was with him, she always only saw a 20 something year old boy who was thrust into stardom really quickly and who was fucking up like anybody else his age but being overly criticized for it because of his job. She didn’t really see him as anything more than a friend, truly. She could admit easily that he was objectively attractive and probably too charming for his own good, but she saw him as one of her dearest friends more than anything. 

(Even if she had the slightest feeling that she wanted to be more during those years, heart fluttering when he texted her to make sure she got home safe after late nights or winking at her and throwing her a puck at one of his games, causing her to grin like a middle school girl with a crush, she always pushed it away)

So when she was in the Cape celebrating the Fourth and news broke out that the Bruins had traded him to Dallas, she felt her heart drop. She ventured to a quieter area away from the celebrations and dialed his number. She wasn’t sure if he’d want to talk, but she couldn’t not call him to see if he was okay. 

From the sniffling on his end, despite what he said, she knew he wasn’t okay, and told him that when she was back in the city, she’d come around to his place with food, wine and hugs. 

The next week, when he opened the door, she dropped everything and just embraced him, holding him for several minutes as she tried to keep her tears in. She pulled away and just apologized for bringing some cheap rose that her roommate left at her apartment a couple of months ago instead of an actual nice bottle and he just laughed. She set up food from their favorite takeout place and they automatically went through all of these motions but with a sad feeling in the air. This night was going to be the last one of these, before he went back home the following weekend to Canada to spend the rest of his off season there and then head to Dallas. His apartment was already bare, having gotten started on moving out as soon as he had gotten the call.

She tried so, so hard not to cry as they put on Great British Bake Off and talked and somehow they started reflecting on numerous random moments and memories they had shared the last three years and they were both laughing as he complained about her almost spilling her wine like usual and she just threw her napkin at him. For the first time, he’s the one who splashed his wine on her t-shirt and he hiccuped and apologized and offered a shirt for her to change into and she waved him off, a blush on her cheeks either from the alcohol or from his proximity or both.

At one point, they ended up on the floor cuddling with his dogs and he asked how they even ended up there and she snorted, referencing the two bottles of rose they had downed and he had snorted and flashed her a stunning smile and her heart cracked a bit more. 

They were both dozing off on the couch — his arm thrown over her as she cuddled into his chest because they both had always been touchy when they were drunk — when he said something that would forever plague her memory. 

“I should’ve asked you to be mine.”

She blinked and shot up, looking down at him. “What?”

“I-I should’ve just asked you on a date. You could’ve been mine this whole time.”

“Tyler. You can’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean it, Car?” He shot back, sitting up. “I know I’m drunk and I know I’m about to leave this city and maybe never see you again but of course I mean it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as the tears fell. “Tyler.”

“I don’t regret a single moment of our friendship. I just regret that I never told you how I felt until it was too late.”

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Stop trying to discount my words because I’m drunk,” he said sternly. “I love you as a friend, of course, but I-I love you as more too. For awhile now, I think. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same and again, I’m the dumbest guy alive for bringing this up tonight of all nights but I just…I had to tell you before I left.”

She put her head in her heads and started crying softly. “I love you too,” she admitted through her tears. “I-I just never said anything because I didn’t think you were looking for more. Jesus, I literally know two of the girls you’ve hooked up with the past year. Do you know how annoying and gross it is to hear about your performance in bed while I’m trying to cram last minute for an exam?”

He chuckled and she looked at him again and saw that there were tears running down his cheeks as well. “We’re both stupid, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

He looked up at the ceiling with quivering lips. “I’m not going to ask you for more, no matter how much I want to.”

She nodded vehemently and cupped his face with both her hands, wanting so bad to kiss his lips and using every part of her strength not to. “You’re going to be amazing in Dallas.” She brushed a falling tear and tried to give him a reassuring smile as his top lip quivered. “You’re going to become a lover of the heat and look amazing in green and start liking country music and I’m going to make fun of you for all of it.”

“But you’re not gonna be there.”

She swallowed with a small shrug. “Who knows? Maybe a job in Dallas will open up after I graduate.”

“You wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t let you. Your heart belongs to the Northeast.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she weakly protested, slapping his arm and making him chuckle.

But he was right. And she hated that he was right.

She watched his eyes flit to her lips and she hoped that he was also fighting the urge as he placed a kiss on her forehead, which somehow was probably worse than if he had just kissed her. 

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He said, voice cracking at the edges. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, not being able to say it back because she didn’t want to completely break down. “Let’s get some sleep.”

That last night, they fell asleep on the couch like they had done numerous times before and he sent her off in the morning like he had done numerous times before, except this time she held onto him as tight as she could. Maybe if she kept hugging him, he wouldn’t have to go. 

But he had to. And he did. 

Carmen Valez was 22 when she saw Tyler Seguin again. 

After graduation, she had gotten a job in New York, and he was in town playing the Rangers. They had gone out to dinner and then to a bar for drinks and things fell back into place as they leaned in close to each other the whole night and she kissed him, bringing him back to her apartment. She woke up with marks on her collarbone and memories of his lips all over her body and cursed herself as she watched him peacefully sleep next to her because she was still in love with him. 

He had woken up with a soft but sad smile. “Has your view on long distance relationships changed?”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault you’re the easiest person to fall in love with. Can I ask one thing though?”

“Of course.”

“If your view does change, give me a call?”

“Tyler-”

“I’m serious. Whether it’s 10 days or 10 years from now, call me.”

A tear had slipped out from her eyes when he pulled her into his chest, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

Carmen Valez was 27 when she realized her view on long distance changed. And the first person she thought of was Tyler Seguin. 

They had kept in touch very sporadically throughout the years over text and had tried to meet up everytime he came to New York to play, but the contact became less and less as the years went on. She tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. She had no right to be hurt. He could live his life however he wanted.

She was going down to Dallas for one of her coworker’s weddings and was tempted to call Tyler to see if he was around — for the first time, she’d be where he was instead of the other way around — but she didn’t bother because it was the off season and she figured he was home in Canada. 

As she walked into the venue, she was shocked to see Tyler speaking to the bride’s grandma. She couldn’t help but smile at how gentle he was, soft smile on his face as he tucked the grandma’s hand into the crook of his elbow while leading her to her seat. He looked so handsome in his gray suit.

Gosh, he’s changed since they met in that tattoo parlor in Boston. They both have. But something about his smile makes her realize that almost nothing has changed at all.

When he sees her, she swears he lights up and her stomach flutters. She notices quickly that he’s a groomsman, if his matching suit with a couple of the other ushers indicates anything. He strolls up to her with his signature charming smile and she can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“Funny seeing you here.”

She scoffs, before stepping forward and hugging him tightly. “Hey Ty.”

“Hi Car.” He turns to her coworker with a stunning smile. “And hello Car’s friend. I’m Tyler. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Samantha. How do you two know each other?”

She exchanges a look with him, because it’s a long story. But she settles with, “Ran into him when he played in Boston and I went to college there, and he didn’t leave me alone.” The three of them laugh. 

“I’m assuming you both are here for the bride?”

“We are.”

He offers an arm to the both of them. “Follow me, ladies.” Carmen can tell Samantha is charmed as she rolls her eyes but grabs the crook of his elbow anyways.

After he escorts them to their seats, he has to bolt and just bids them farewell with a kiss on Carmen’s cheek and a promise to save her a dance later before ducking out of the church, presumably to help out with some behind the scenes stuff. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Samantha gives her a skeptical look. “We’ve been working together for two years and you failed to tell me that you know Tyler Seguin? You know I grew up a Stars fan.”

“It’s never come up.”

“Fair.” She blinks, looking for something in her coworker’s face. “You love him, don’t you?”

“What? No, of course-”

“Nice try. If your heart eyes hadn’t given you away, it was your response just now. You’ve always been a bad liar. What’s the story between you two?”

She sighs, staring at the front of the church at nothing in particular. “We met when I worked at a tattoo parlor in college and he came in and we became really good friends. He got traded to Dallas and then told me loved me on his last night in the city. Knew I didn’t believe in long distance at the time so didn’t ask for more. We slept together around a year later. My stance on long distance hadn’t changed. We’ve seen each other sporadically when I’m free and he’s in New York for a game, but not much recently.”

Samantha whistles. “Sounds like a lot.”

Carmen just snorts. She has no idea. 

“So you still love him.” 

Carmen just sighs. 

“I think he still might love you too.”

Carmen snorts, smoothing down her dress. “How could you possibly know that? You met him for maybe two minutes.”

“Maybe it’s the fact that we’re at a wedding and this could be a scene from a Hallmark movie, but I’m also pretty sure he also had heart eyes when he saw you.”

Carmen just hums, and Samantha drops it, as they shift to other safer topics. 

The ceremony is stunning and the bride is gorgeous and the groom is beaming, yet besides when the bride walked down the aisle, she can’t tear her eyes away from Tyler, standing at the front with a constant happy look on his face. As he walked down with an accompanying bridesmaid on his arm, he caught her eye and shot her a sly wink and she knows she blushed and she didn’t even try to hide it. 

The next time she caught him was well into the reception, after dinner had been eaten and the dance floor was starting to open up. She had just finished her drink before she felt a tap on her shoulder, looking up to see Tyler with an outstretched hand. 

“Dance with me?”

Without giving a verbal answer, she takes his hand and lets him lead her to the dance floor. She wraps her arms around his neck as his hands settle on her waist.

“You didn’t reach out to tell me you were gonna be in town.”

“I figured you’d be in Canada for the off-season.”

He hums, but he doesn’t buy the excuse. To be fair, she doesn’t either. “It’s really good to see you, Car.” He says, and she might be imagining him pulling her closer. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you.” 

He smirks and she feels like she’s 19 again. “I look beautiful?”

She rolls her eyes. “You do.” She says softly. “How have you been?”

And then they start catching up, and it’s so damn easy, as the conversation flows from hockey to her advertising job to their memories in Boston to their mutual friends who just got married to their families and it feels like he’s still on the Bruins and she’s still at Northeastern. At some point, they migrate from the dance floor to the empty-ish open bar and they’re still talking and she realizes how much she’s missed having him in his life. 

When she voices that out loud, his beaming smile dims the slightest. “God, I’ve missed you so much. Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

“Don’t even start, Seguin.”

“What?”

“Blaming yourself or whatever you’re about to do. If we’re gonna blame someone, it’s all on me.”

Their first seconds of silence fall between them. “How has that been, by the way? You got a lucky guy back in New York waiting for you?”

She snorts. “Absolutely not. You? I hope I didn’t steal you away from a date or something.”

“Nah. No one for me.”

“Not at all?”

“None who have meant as much to me as you.”

She feels like her heart’s been sucker punched. Typical Tyler Seguin. Always going in for the kill. 

She switches topics. “I-I watched your Stanley Cup playoff run. You played really well. I’m sorry it wasn’t the result you guys wanted.”

“You watch my games?”

She swallows. Busted. “I try to whenever I can, even though I still feel like I’m betraying my Bruins when I do.”

He laughs, still a bit shocked. “I’m sure they’d forgive you. I was a Bruin, after all.”

She downs her drink and asks the bartender for a water. “I missed you,” she says quietly once the bartender is out of earshot. “And I always loved watching you play. Figured it was the next best thing.”

“You could’ve called. Or texted. I would’ve answered.”

She shakes her head. “That would’ve been unfair to you, especially with how I left things off.”

He chuckles, albeit sadly. “Carmen. I’m kinda weak when it comes to you. Always have been.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, a tear falling as she feels Tyler place a warm hand on her thigh over her maroon dress. “You give me way too much power.”

“I don’t think I could ever give you what you deserve, no matter how hard I try.”

Carmen wipes the tear away with a small smile. She pokes his chest. “How do you come up with this shit?”

He laughs, taking a sip of his beer, before his face settles into a more serious expression. “Can I ask you two questions, though? No bullshit. Just the truth.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you still love me?”

She nods at an embarrassingly fast pace.

He swallows. “Oh.”

She picks at her nails, suddenly unsure. “D-Do you still love me? It’s-it’s totally okay if you don’t. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s been years and we don’t really see each other much anymore and-”

“Of course I still love you.” She whips her head up to stare at him in shock. He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. 

She puts her hand over his that’s still resting on his thigh and interlaces their fingers together. “What’s your second question?”

“Do you still not believe in long distance?”

“I’ve been thinking…I think I’m open to trying it.”

His eyes flash in surprise as his lips turn up into a hopeful smile. “Really? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Since when have I ever lied to you, Ty?”

“Can I have a third question? And maybe a fourth?”

She rolls her eyes fondly, squealing a bit as he brings her stool even closer to him. “Was that it?”

“Smartass.” She nods at him to ask. “Would you want to try? With me?”

She swallows. “Yes.” She thinks he physically lights up, like a lightbulb with a new battery, but she holds a hand up. “But Tyler, things have changed. We’ve changed. Is this…is this really what you want? Am I really who you want?”

“I left Boston eight years ago in love with you. Here I am, eight years later in Dallas, still in love with you. Probably more in love with you, actually, which I didn’t think was possible.” He grabs her hands and lifts them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “When do you head back to New York?”

She blinks at the abrupt change of subject. “Um, I’m actually in Dallas for another week for a work conference. So not until next Sunday.”

He grins. “Stay at mine then. Please.”

“Tyler-”

“I’ll have to head back to Canada for a couple weeks for things I can’t reschedule, but then, if you let me, I’d love to come to New York and spend some time with you until I have to come back to Dallas for pre-season.”

“Tyler, that’s…how are you so confident and sure about all of this?”

“Because it’s you,” he says. “And I love you. I’m not wasting this chance that you’ve given me.”

She bites her lip, trying to take it all in. “I’m going to need to grab my stuff from the hotel tonight.”

“Deal. I’ve only had like, two beers in the last three hours anyways. I can drive you.”

“You know that I’m not just going to…drop everything to come to Dallas, right? My job and my life is all in New York.”

“I’d be a dumbass to expect that. Your heart belongs to the Northeast.”

She smiles, momentarily flashing back to the last time he said those exact same words and how similar and different they are now. She leans forward and kisses him sweetly, like he’s coming home from a game, like she’s in the middle of cooking dinner, like they’ve been doing this all their lives. She then pulls him up and drags him back to the dance floor. 

“Would you have called me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers into his chest, immediately knowing what he’s referencing. Eight years later and she still remembers that night like it was yesterday. “What if you were in a relationship or something? That would’ve been unfair to everyone.”

“I wouldn’t have been.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because I’ve always loved you. At this point, I’m pretty sure that I always will.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. And as he presses a loving kiss on her forehead, she hopes he understands what she’s trying to thank him for — for coming into that tattoo shop all those years ago, for all the nights and memories in Boston that involved takeout and Netflix and endless fits of laughter, for always believing in her, for waiting for her and being understanding even when she broke his heart. 

For loving her.

“By the way,” Tyler says as he twirls her around, hands immediately attaching to her waist once she’s facing him again. “I always loved you in maroon.”

[misc-obeyme]

there's always a thousand ideas rattling around in my brain, and my notes app is getting filled with one line prompts for mostly art ideas but could also turn into mini fics

I'm still hung up on boxer mammon and I think. I will pick up my sketchbook today after going grocery shopping. Drawing faces is what's holding me back, and the idea that I wouldn't do the characters justice is what holds me back from writing (have not written since my wattpad days). The closet thing I have is dialogue blurbs in my notes app.

mammon is always on the brain SORRY. but like, thinking about merchant/jeweler mammon and a royal mc. And Mammon has ridiculous prices or excuses for why he can't sell (thinking about aziraphele from good omens and his book shop) but mc visits his stall every day (possibly in disguise?? or with a guard), and one day manages to trade a royal jewel for something in his collection (i am such a sucker for royalty in general and knights and AAA)

or thinking about Solomon and mc making potions together for the first time, and Solomon encouraging random things to be added just to see the end result (my mc is naturally curious and shares a single braincell when paired with solomon)

OR mc their first year in the devildom and possibly going to barbatos for advice on ingredients to use, what's human safe, and easy dishes to experiment on so they don't poison themselves. which makes me wonder how much human stuff is readily available and if mc can go grocery shopping in the human world with barbatos (domestic activities), or if they had to send him with a list (like when there was a retreat at the demon lords castle and everyone got to make dishes from their home)

sorry for getting carried away, this was the longest ask ever akdjdj, was just hoping to share some ideas and maybe some things that could bring back the creative spark AAA SORRY BYE LOVE YOU AND YOUR BLOG 🤣🫶

- ✨ anon

Please do not worry about ask length, ✨ anon! My responses tend to be lengthy too lol! So don't apologize because I love it!!

Augh, I totally get what you mean about the ideas... I am plagued by them all the time lol. It's finding the time to actually use them for anything that's usually the issue.

I hope you did do some drawing in your sketchbook! I can't speak to difficulties with art, but when it comes to writing, you can't let yourself worry about doing the characters justice.

I used to care a lot about how I characterized everybody. I was always so nervous about writing for Mammon in particular that I just didn't a lot of the time. But the truth is, every writer will characterize them differently. And your interpretation of them is just as valid as anyone else's! If it's less about that and more than you're concerned about your skill level, well, unfortunately there's no way around it. You gotta write to get better at writing! You can always start with characters you're not as concerned about if you want, but I find it's usually best to follow the inspiration! I believe in you!

Also don't worry, I love Mammon, so I don't mind hearing about him lol! And OKAY I looove Good Omens! I read the book a long time ago and then re-read it several times before the show came out. And then the fandom exploded!! But it's been amazing. Er anyway, getting off topic here, which is that I love the idea of jeweler/merchant Mammon who can't bear to part with his merchandise alksdfjf- I also love knights, I have a whole medieval AU brewing in my brain meats that I would write if I had any kind of time. Royal!MC showing up like I bet I have something you can't resist... I'll get you to trade me something from your wares!! I also like the idea of MC trading a kiss for something of his and he agrees because he's surprised to find that he's willing to give up his expensive object for a chance to kiss MC tee hee~

Solomon being a menace is something I'm always up for! I like the idea that he would encourage MC to do that, but also knows enough about the ingredients himself to know that the things he's suggesting aren't dangerous. Like he doesn't know what adding this herb will do, but he does know that it won't explode in MC's face lol. Though I also like the idea of Solomon and MC just being chaotic potion gremlins and adding anything and everything just to see what would happen. Like when MC is powerful enough and Solomon feels confident that MC won't get hurt, then they're both going all in.

I kinda think ingredients from other worlds are not readily available, since it seems like Simeon and Luke kinda go through this thing where they're trying to learn to cook with Devildom ingredients. Which means that Barbatos likely has a way of procuring those ingredients when he needs them. I absolutely love the idea of going human world shopping with Barb. I'm just gonna put that in my own personal headcanon. Whenever MC says in the game that they're gonna cook some human world food or at the retreat and everything, that also means a shopping trip with Barbatos. I wish I understood why I would want to do that so bad, but I really do. Imagine taking him to a human world grocery store. Like if he said to me that I should take him wherever I normally go, it's like okay lemme take you to Aldi and Walmart lol. But then I'd be like listen, if we can go anywhere though, we should really go to Costco and Trader Joe's. I never go to Costco because I don't have a membership. Because I am shopping only for myself and I don't need fifty pounds of anything lol. And there is no Trader Joe's in my town, the nearest one is over an hour away.

ANYWAY I love all your ideas!! I hope you find the motivation and confidence to pick up drawing and/or writing again! I have no doubt that whatever you create will be amazing!

[whattraintracks]

5. Video Games - Multi

What's this? More Raphael angst? Why are we surprised.

So I was listening to Stay Down by boygenius while some prompts simmered in my brain, and when this one started boiling somewhere around verse two, I knew what I had to do.  

Would Raph even like this song? Who knows, but I sure do, so I am going to close-read the heck out of it and draw so many connections.

Video Games >> I'm just steering my life in a video game >> It's a half-life, it's a fallout 

before any of you wonder what this has got to do with the prompt, here it is! it's in the song. prompt satisfied

apparently, those are also references to video games

. . .

moving on

Fighting and Learned Behavior >> lean into the punch >> push me down >> hold me under >> stay down 

a.k.a. physical altercations as an allegory for Raphael’s life 

obsessed with the metaphor of him leaning into a punch

if he can’t avoid life's blows, he'll do what he can to make them hurt less

suffer the hit just to get it over with, or take it for someone else

on a less angsty note, I simply associate Raph with boxing 

he's a skilled ninja, but sometimes he wants to sucker-punch someone

cuz this boy really loves fighting, and that ain’t a bad thing 

>> wasn't a fighter 'til somebody told me I had better learn >> would you teach me I'm the villain

I think a lot about Raph and learned behavior 

when I tell you Rise and '03 Splinter altered my brain chemistry 

hiding their connection to the Foot/Hamato Clan

trying to spare their sons from anger, grief, trauma, vengeance, and wars that don't belong to them is fascinating to me 

but in every version, he teaches Raph how to fight 

and I've talked about how '87 Raphael still inherited those things from Splinter's

even the ones who don’t are still altered by growing up with him, looking at you M&M Raph 

it's not a coincidence '12 Splinter sees so much of himself in his son

Defense Mechanism and Love for Enemies >> lean into the punch so it don't hurt as bad when they leave 

Raph's anger often screams defense mechanism to me

if humans are going to hate him anyway, again he'll lean into it

be snarky and rude and scary and mean and give them something to really hate

sometimes, his anger is preemptive, but it's not always unfounded

I don't think even ten fingers are enough to count how many times a recurring character turned on the '87 turtles

Raphael should have been allowed to beat up Vernon as consolation

>> there you were, turning your cheek 

but wait! there's more! the Christian references in this song are not subtle

Luke 6:27,29 "Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you . . . if anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also"

I'm thinking about '87 Raphael's "Yeah, I'm with ya, but I'm bitter" and helping the guys protect a city that doesn't appreciate all they do

I'm thinking about '03 Raph, who is resolute it's not their problem that the city's at war but gets involved because Leo does 

I'm thinking about '07 Raph taking up the Nightwatcher mantle after Leo leaves New York 

Disconnection in Personal Relationships >> I look at you and you look at a screen 

this second verse, I think, is pretty open to interpretation, which works well given how many variations there are of Raph

linking "screen" to "video game" in the next line, I picture Raph reaching out and being ignored

like '03 Raph figuring his anger out on his own v. Leo getting sent away for serious/professional help

like '07 Raph missing Leo and hearing no word from him for years 

or I read "screen" with the connotation of concealment

like Rise Raph keeping it together for his little brothers until he can't

like their shock when he finally breaks down

the loneliness of Raph looking at his brothers and knowing them so well but feeling like they never really see him  

>> similar acts and a different name 

I am always struck by how similar Raph and his brothers are 

the little things they do the same because they were raised together

the ways they deliberately emulate each other  

it has to sting seeing so much of them in himself and himself in them and still be reduced to "the angry one"

especially when it's them thinking this way

(side note, Google has this lyric miswritten as "similar accent," which is hilarious in this context) 

Loss and Lack of Control >> I'm in the back seat of my body 

canon takes great pleasure in depriving Raph of control over his body 

how intensely all Raphaels experience their emotions 

off-screen and childhood trauma like “Savage Raph” in Rise 

on-screen trauma that must lead to dissociation, flashbacks, nightmares, etc. 

the two, at least that I know of, mind control events with ‘12 and Rise Raph

even ‘87 Raphael getting de-aged

you could also interpret this as gender dysphoria and I've seen a lot of good trans Raph headcanons

>> I'm just steering my life in a video game 

beyond losing control of his body, Raph never really has control of his life 

“turtle luck” and all that 

this often shows up when their stories shift

like ‘87 Raphael, who goes from a wise guy to a sarcastic grouch as his story drags on and takes a darker turn

as opposed to Rise Raph, who throughout the series, gets talked down from heroism and over-vigilance

but guess which behaviors get rewarded and reinforced during the Shredder arcs and Krang invasion

so as not to ignore the prompt any more than I already have, I do enjoy those episodes where “life in a video game” for Raphael is a little more on the nose

Combat Land (1987), Across the Universe (2003), Mazes and Mutants (2012) 

Literally Neurodivergent and a Minor 

(Shoutout to this art from @/20s-turtle-posting that inspired the name of this section) ((and, no, I did not realise this is an ironic meme and will be taking it seriously))

>> aren't I the one constantly repenting for a difficult mind? >> push me down into the water like a sinner, hold me under >> villain >> sinner >> half-life >> fallout 

I warned you about the religious imagery, but it's a little off in this verse

because repentance is about change as growth

but Raph feels like he has to change his "difficult mind" this ingrained part of himself

so he's stuck in a cycle of remorse and regret, unable to gain control

I think about running fast and far and anguished cries of “what is wrong with me?” (2003)

pushed into and held under, the waters of baptism are no longer cleansing and renewing but suppressing

it's the people closest to him saying “you are seriously twisted” (2012) and “you’ve got a rage problem” (M&M)

and having to decide between hiding those parts of himself or hoping they'll love him anyway

it's Raph feeling bad and broken, feeling like he's a danger and a poison to everyone around him

>> lean into the punch so it don't hurt as bad when they leave >> it takes so long for me to settle down and when I finally do, there's no one else around 

and I wonder if Raph's temper is ever tied to feeling unlovable, and one feeling sparks another in a vicious feedback loop 

a teenager testing the boundaries of care and affection, more defense mechanisms

how does he get himself to believe in their steadfast love even when he feels unworthy of it

to trust he's safe enough to feel all of his ugliest emotions when his life is so out of control

he forgets, his story doesn’t let him remember, that he’s still a kid 

he's got a lot of growing to do, and even if it takes a long time, he’ll settle down one day, find his balance 

his family’s gonna stick it out, and they’ll still be around when he finally gets there

tl;dr I will never be able to listen to this song without crying about Raphael now, so thanks, brain. 

[inkblot22]

I agree!! aftermaths are ALWAYS my favourite to read during forced pregnancy stories and I actually hate when it ends with the yandere impregnating darling like how do u know if she truly got pregnant? where’s the horror in finding out you’re carrying your rapist’s child(ren)? how does reader deal with that? how does the yandere react to that? (I’m sure he knows but finding out the news from you yourself would surely elicit different emotions) how does he react when you say you wanna get rid of it? how do they both cope as parents? sooo many possibilities!! I’m glad to know the story I requested will not end with epel just impregnating darling!! thank you sm for that <3

also seeing as how both you and the other anon rank epel low I hope to see he be ranked higher in the future >:3

- epel felmier anon 🍎💜

ALL the freaking possibilities! The machinations of the yandere's mind when the baby-trapping (consensual or not) isn't received well is bound to be endlessly fascinating. Idk, stories work well sometimes if you let the reader imagine the hopelessness of a situation, but they work even better if you showcase it.

I'm putting the other stuff under a cut because I'm about to go on a bit of a tangent. Also, I have not read book seven yet, if anyone spoils it, I will temporarily block you until after I have read it.

I ranked Epel a C the first time because I didn't know anything about him at the time, almost every character save for the ones I really loved the designs for were lower than I would put them today, and frankly some were higher. I've done another tier list, this is not the old one. I have a pretty high opinion of most of the characters regardless of their ranking, here's the maker I used.

Okay, so, I feel the need to specifically explain Crewel: I don't like being treated like a dog. Pet play is not my thing, and I do not understand the hype surrounding him whatsoever. Why would I want to hang out with someone who probably smells like a really strong, expensive cologne and refuses to call me anything other than "good boy"? No thanks, y'all can have him. Crowley is self-explanatory.

Riddle, Silver, and Lucius all have their good qualities, I will admit. But I'm the type of person who would avoid both of the people for varying reasons (Riddle is annoying, I don't like being bothered when I'm minding my own fucking business because I'm "breaking the rules" and I don't want to wake up Silver and I don't know enough about him,) and I would get irrationally mad at Lucius for always getting into fights with Grim.

C tier is somewhat similar to D for me. I'd very likely not go out of my way to interact with these guys, but they're either more approachable or less irritating than D tier. I'm sure you can see a trend with at least two of them, but most of these mfs are too high energy or too intense. Sebek is here because while I don't like petplay, I do like degradation and I think he would be excellent at that, given his usual temperament and opinion on humans. Deuce is there because I find him to be a very one-note character. Everyone in this game is well-written, but not everyone can be interesting. Trein is here because I know I'd be constantly getting in trouble in his class for drawing instead of paying attention. By the way, when did people who were 50 become old? Idk I consider old to be like 70+ but maybe that's just because of the people I grew up around.

B tier is characters that I am aware I am sleeping on, with the bonus of Vargas, who I actually like quite a bit. Not enough to put him in higher than B tier, though. Ortho and Idia are sort of a package deal, but I do like Ortho less than I like Idia. Azul pisses me off but I am a sucker for a pathetic man.

EPEL!!! THE ONE WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!! Epel is like Deuce, if Deuce had more of a twisted view of himself. Reading though his little dilemma in book 5 didn't make me sympathize, but it did endear him to me. I can understand getting upset because you are literally unable to express yourself in a way that you would like because of reasons outside of your control. Beyond that, I love it when characters have a secret rough side (sorry Deuce.) Two-faced characters are my favorite thing.

A tier is characters I would like to put in S but I am too scared of them to do so. While C and lower are characters I would avoid because they're annoying, A tier is literally just characters I would avoid because they're freaky. I think people forget that the first interaction we have with Leona is him threatening to beat the shit out of us because we accidentally tripped on his tail. While Trey is sweet, he's the absolute definition of a two-faced character and he's way too observant to be comfortable around. Idk, maybe that makes him boyfriend material. I feel like anyone who has been on this blog at this point already understands my viewpoint of Jade, Floyd, and Rook. They scare the mess out of me and I love them for that.

With S tier, I'm actually going to specify a couple things: Sam is up there because I know I'd constantly be in his shop, buying things with thaumarks I should save just because I know his shop would smell like home. I feel like where a lot of people see Sam and think "this man can FUCK," I see Sam and think "big brother material." The sibling that I am closest to is literally just barely a year younger than Sam. Also, to clarify, I'm Black with family from the south. Grim is also sibling material. He's like a little brother, and I love him for that even though he pisses me off.

Now back to the WHORE KNEE. I very desperately want to bring my personal Vil series to this blog. I think maybe someone else would enjoy it, because what's more lovely than a man who sees what he wants in a person that isn't what he wants but forces to be what he wants anyway? I love that shit. Lilia is prime fodder for coercion fics, and I'd love to see more of those because he's very wise (because he's old as hell) and he's had a lot of practice at being a sweet talker. I think with a gullible reader?? Oh my god??? I'm not shy about my opinion on Malleus, Jamil, and Idia, and I think I talk about Idia a bit too much. Jamil stole my heart from the minute he was all sweet and kind in book 4 because he is so obviously two-faced that only the overly trusting would fall for that. Also, Jafar was something of an awakening for me. Who cares about Aladdin? I want the old man. As for Malleus, I like that he fills out the gap moe trope, but not overly so. He absolutely strikes me as the type to assume he knows best for both parties involved, and if he doesn't assume, he decides for you.

Anyway, knowing me, this list will have switched all over the place in a month's time. Thanks for reading my garbled nonsense.