#I've been thinking about this a lot because Prowl is my favorite but I only have one story so far with him

[double-u-qed]

the beautiful thing about Transformers, to me, is how big and diverse the cast of characters is. i tend to fixate on maybe one or two characters to prioritize in writing ever because they're the most fascinating to me. with transformers? i have sooo many ideas centered on a whole array of them. there's just so much potential for every character that even though i have my favorites, im less inclined to play favoritism in creating.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

��Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

.

.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.  

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

.

.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

.

.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

.

.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over���slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like—

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

.

.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.  

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

.

.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

.

.

.

[TAG LIST]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: January 2024

as long as I'm talking about The Gargoyle's Captive, let's discuss what else I've been reading this month.

Maeve Fly (CJ Leede, 2023) - I really liked this slender debut novel, which follows the titular Maeve Fly as she prowls LA like a homicidal alien, playing an unnamed ice princess in a certain theme park by day and indulging her murderous tendencies by night. Maeve is in a downward spiral; she's 27 years old and is preparing to lose her grandmother to illness and her only friend to a blossoming acting career. she sees no future for herself beyond losing the only two people she cares about and has no further goals, contenting herself with alcohol and porn while she rereads the same books, rewatches the same videos, and listens over and over to her playlist of Halloween music. Maeve is, it must be said, an abysmal loser, and I like her terrible melodrama a lot. I do think some of the hype is perhaps overstating the feminist credentials of this book; it sort of reminds me of when a college friend told me their favorite feminist movie was Suicide Squad (2016) because Harley Quinn was in it. Maeve talks a lot of big game about how women are always expected to have some tragedy to be deranged serial killers, while men are allowed to just do it, but it hit me as a little tryhard. there are a lot of books trying to be "the female American Psycho" right now - Eliza Clark's 2020 novel Boy Parts is frequently described as such - but it feels a bit too on the nose when Maeve's ultimate climactic rampage is directly inspired by a glimpse of the American Psycho novel. it's not that deep, but it is a gross, captivating read told from a fascinatingly cracked POV. check out Maeve Fly.

Laziness Does Not Exist (Devon Price, 2021) - yeah Devon Price is still following me (though my days are numbered, I'm sure) so it's a massive relief to say that I did like this book. Price has sort of become my self-help ride or die, mainly because a.) he's so much more self-aware than the average self-help writer that it feels kind of insulting to call him one and b.) he's actually dealing with topics that are relevant or interesting and providing actionable advice. while LDNE didn't engross me quite as hard as Unmasking Autism (while I am, famously, not autistic, I do believe in their beliefs, by which I mean I'm the token allistic among my close friends and I vastly prefer autistic company) it hit me hard in several unexpected pressure points. I'll happily admit that I can't relate to Price's interviewees who willingly work 50+ hours a week for jobs that hate them and are destroying their minds and bodies, but I still struggle to escape the perpetual sensation that a moment at rest is a moment wasted. It probably didn't help that I was reading this book while on vacation at my mother's, where I visited the beach almost daily and was so work-averse that we didn't even bother going grocery shopping because I didn't want to cook. and yet, despite getting dummy chill in some aspects of my life, I am still constantly possessed by a malevolent ghost insisting that I'm wasting my time and have never actually done Enough. maybe Price's next book, Unlearning Shame, will finally fix me; it's out in four days and god knows I'll be getting my hands on it as soon as humanly possible.

Patternmaster (Octavia E. Butler, 1976) - y'all know I love a messy political fantasy, and this is just... god, the absolute messiest. I thought Mind of My Mind was bad, but it turns out Mary's descendants are going to full-on reinvent feudalism with psychic powers, treating non-psychics as chattel and causing technological advancement to regress since they refuse to handle their problems with anything but psychic powers. and it's even got two brothers duking it out for the throne that will give them power over every bitchy psychic on earth! you love to see it. if I can be 100% honest I do think it's straight up bananagrams that this was the first book released in the series even though it's chronologically last; I genuinely cannot imagine caring enough to figure out what the fuck these people were talking about if I didn't have the previous four books for context. and even "context" may be generous; Octavia still has absolutely 0 interest in explaining what's up with the fucking outer space werewolves who are the psychics' #1 enemy. if I could have brunch with any person living or dead I would summon Butler up in a heartbeat to explain what the fuck her thought process was in plotting out this series over some mimosas, and I would take extensive notes on every word she said. an absolute genius and the uncontested queen of freak shit forever.

Thirsty Mermaids (Kat Leyh, 2021) - I purchased this graphic novel in November 2023 at a conference where I bumped into Queer Comics Peddler, my very favorite queer midwestern pop-up. running into them is always a delight, and this time I came with a question: could they give me a recommendation? the very nice people working offered up Thirsty Mermaids, which was the PERFECT companion for a long airplane ride. it's cute without being overly sappy, and avoids the trap of sacrificing a plot for the sake of checking off as many representation boxes as possible. the story is simple: three mermaids use a spell to turn into humans and go ashore in search of booze, only to realize in the morning that they don't know how to turn back. taken in by a generous bartender, they're faced with the reality of having to make money for the first time in their lives. hijinks ensue, but also a very sweet and warmhearted story about the friends looking out for one another as they try to figure out exactly where they belong and what home even means. also the artwork is GORGEOUS, with the mermaids' extremely memorable character designs being a real standout. if you're a graphic novel enthusiast, definitely check this out 🧜‍♀️

Sugar, Baby (Celine Saintclare, 2023) - Sugar, Baby came to me in a very similar way as Thirsty Mermaids: while visiting a witchy little bookstore that I was immediately charmed by, I asked the cashier what they would recommend. they offered up Maeve Fly (fab) and this novel, a stack of which was on the counter advertising an upcoming event with the author. neither have disappointed, so shout out to that one employee with the great taste! Sugar, Baby sees a young cleaner named Agnes, one of the only biracial women in her unnamed English town, befriending the daughter of a wealthy client and getting whisked away to her new friend's London lifestyle: crashing in an apartment with fellow models, staying out all night to party, and making money by going on dates with extravagantly wealthy older men. Agnes starts out having a swell time, but the cracks pretty swiftly start to form as she realizes how much more dependent she is on these men than her wealthy new friends and she begins to wonder exactly how much she's willing to diminish herself to get the bag. it's not a perfect first novel but it is a compelling one, a perfect airplane page-turner that crashes from glitzy to ghoulish and back with breakneck speed.

The Gargoyle's Captive (Katee Robert, 2023) - my full review is over on patreon for my darling supporters who want me dead (and picked this book in the first place, damn them to hell), but suffice to say this is a fun book to read if you like the sensation of your brain melting out of your nose, if you're really turned on by baby's first bdsm, you are not particularly concerned with trifling matters like "plot coherence" or "character motivation" or "writing that is complex and artful," and/or you've ever wanted to have sex with a dude whose penis is so big that you feel genuinely fear. also, hey, I forgot to include this in my patreon write-up so fuck it: Robert REFUSES to tell us what kind of food the protagonists are eating, ever. whenever they have a meal it's just "the food was placed on the table" "I took a bite" etc. drop me a HINT, man, come on! is it a protein? grain? starches? the only thing I know for sure that they're consuming is wine and a single marshmallow, and god does it show. it's just a very weird and distracting omission and it's absolutely not the worst thing about this book but it is a hill I'm willing to die complaining on.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

"Why is Alola so hated?"

Someone asked this question on Reddit.

The original post:

"Other than too much dialogue what is the worst thing about Alola. Alola is my favorite Pokémon games and region for a multitude of reasons but all I hear about it is that it has too much dialogue. I can understand that but later titles have just as much dialogue especially in the beginning portions of the game. So why is such an issue in these games than any other in the series. Also you thought the GD games were dark, the Aether Family are very dark concept if you want to look into them. Anyways back on topic, why are Alola considered the worst games besides the dialogue of course"

I thought about this question and I ended up writing a lengthy reply, see below. For context I should mention that Sun and Moon were my favourite mainline stories:

"So everyone is mentioning USUM, but since I was around for the launch of the games, I may as well throw my hat into the ring and explain what went wrong:

Everyone was really excited for the games to come out, but there was generally something missing from them. Promotional material was overly vague.

When the original Sun and Moon came out they had the following issues:

The story was very handholdy. I am a GREAT FAN of the story mode, but I have never replayed these games because they are basically visual novels. If you were a Nuzlocker, someone who wanted to replay Pokemon games, or if you didn't like the story, then these versions would automatically become your least favourite because of how long it takes to reach each milestone. It's also easier than a lot of prior games, not as easy as Gen 6 or 8 but up there.

While the region is IMO one of the most cohesive, it's also one of the least expansive. The Alola Region is fucking tiny. There's not nearly as many side things to do as in generations 4 and 5, and the new things they put into the Alola games were a lot less fun gimmick-wise. I like that they abandon the grid system, it needed to go, but Pokemon team don't seem to work well in 3d.

The online multiplayer was total ass. Of course, the online only got WORSE From here on out. How you get worse than Festival Plaza is beyond me, but I think Gen 7 is definitely when Pokemon jumped from having the BEST multiplayer system on Nintendo systems in generation 6 to one of the worst. Personally I was also disappointed the Festival Plaza wasn't a bit more like the Wifi Plaza, which was already a broken terrible mess but at least had some minigames. It seemed to take the wrong inspiration from Wifi Plaza, and tragically Pokemon only went downhill with online compatibility after. Because while technically the online is more fun in gen 8 and 9, it doesn't work.

The games leaked before they came out. Everyone saw concept art of the starters' final evolutions and they were SO MAD that Litten became bipedal. But there were very few surprises in Sun and Moon for people who prowled the reddit, who also seemed to be the least excited about the games.

However, what I don't think you understand is how much LOVE they had. Of all the pokemon games I've been around for the release of, I think Sun and Moon were most unanimously loved. Everyone was talking about the story, and the incredible new designs of the alola pokemon, and yeah they were having a lot of trouble playing online, but people persisted.

When Ultra Sun and Moon came out, people were veeeeery disappointed for three key reasons:

This was a dual release "third version" instead of a sequel. Again, everyone LOVED the story of the original games, by this point it felt that the "third version" idea was dated, and people wanted a damn sequel with their favourite characters! I think BW2 set a very high bar for what the Pokemon team could offer, and unfortunately I don't think they ever met that bar again after they started making 3d games.

It was on the 3DS instead of the Switch. I was NEVER expecting USUM to be Switch games, I knew Pokemon team were not ready for Switch, but for some reason people expected Pokemon Stars to be a Switch game. Everyone was reaaaaally excited for Pokemon Switch after the console launched, but Pokemon has always belonged on the DS, and I felt it had more potential for growth on that console before moving up on the chain. Of course, after the negative reaction to USUM and the begging for Pokemon Switch, Game Freak HAD to start development on Let's Go and Sw/Sh.

The things they'd added into the game were not as impressive as the other Third Versions. Pokemon Emerald and Pokemon Platinum were objective improvements from the original, though I have some things to say about Emerald's pacing. I like the minigames from Ultra, I fell SO in love with the Camera mode!!! Spent so much time fucking around in it and still have a folder in my computer to this day. HOWEVER, the people still yearn for a Battle Frontier! The Battle Factory they put in USUM seems to be based on community, which was already a pain in the ass, and as you know, it's now impossible to play online with others, so RIP to that as well. I like the changes to the Battle Tree, I love Rainbow Rocket, but while Platinum and Emerald were NECESSARY IMPROVEMENTS from the ground up, USUM only improved some of the battles and held down everything else with more, worse cutscenes.

The story was much worse than the original, choosing to cut and change content instead of improve upon what was there. The story of Platinum and Emerald doesn't come across as worse than DP and RS, but EVERYONE thinks the story for USUM is a downgrade. The reason for this is because if Lillie was the true protagonist of the games originally, the Ultra versions tried to cut her down, but only for a couple of her most important scenes. She and Lusamine basically have every scene intact except for their most important, climactic moments. It's like if instead of BW2, they made Pokemon Grey but it was split in half, and instead of being an evil fucko gunning for world domination, Ghetsis was trying to use the power of the two Dragons to stop Kyurem from freezing the world, except he still abused pokemon, and he still abused N from childhood, and N never showed up to become champion and N never realised the truth of pokemon or turned against his father. How terrible would that be?

No remakes or anything special at the end of the gen. For the past few generations we'd either had remakes or sequels, but Gen 7 released USUM and Let's Go. It's debatable whether the Lets Go games are part of gen 7, but I wouldn't consider them remakes the same way that HGSS or ORAS are, and they are CERTAINLY not a favourite with a hardcore Pokemon audience. At least Gen 8/9 had decent DLC and Legends Arceus as a halfhearted apology note, but unfortunately there was no swan song at the end of Generation 7.

I think ultimately that's what made people go from "Gen 7 could be the best yet" to "Gen 7 bad". The launch was very strong, but the followup was the poorest out of almost any gen.

My personal opinion of USUM is it is one of the best pokemon games for general battles, I think it would be a lot more fun to nuzlocke than the original Sun and Moon, but there's a lot of better pokemon games to replay than USUM, especially if you're taking modded into account. I think sun and moon were the most immersive out of the games I've played, at the very least because it had improvements like trainer models in battles without the uncanny as hell stuff you got in the next two gens. I remember the games fondly, even if I do feel bitter about the story changes."

I thought this reply was worth sharing on this blog. I put a lot of effort into it.

[crimsonblackrose]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you. learn to know your mutuals and followers. <3

Omg how long has this been sitting in my inbox? I didn't see it. I'm so sorry, and thank you. I'm going to go with things back home that while I'm here that are bringing me some level of happiness.

1. The sound of the wind through the leaves of the trees, the buzz of the bees as they amble about the flowers that are in bloom and the smell of said flowers. I have to hike through a garden so full of life to go anywhere and it's bringing me so much joy. 2. Friendly cuddly animals. There's something about a giant st. Bernard that's excited to see you and demands cuddles even if it means getting totally slime-d, or a sweet calico cat that the shelter said was mean running towards you in excitement to ask for pets because she's just so happy, or to step out of a car and find a flock of chickens that have come running to say hi. 3. Food. My aunt grows a lot of her own food so every meal is a delight. She's made: eggplant lasagna, a cauliflower crust pizza bursting with veggies, she makes this delightful tea that she switches up with fresh herbs from her garden, the current iteration is basil and parsley, we had salmon patties and have made two pies a strawberry rhubarb and a blueberry and peach. We also went to the local ice cream shop that's only open part of the year and got the soft serve sherbet that has been my favorite since I was a kid. 4. The coops atmosphere. Honestly have never felt super comfortable sleeping at my aunt and uncle's house ever since I was a kid. It's generally full of people I don't know, souvenirs and gifts from my uncle's work with spooky stories generally attached, ghost stories and horror films and then just a vast emptiness that makes me feel a bit like courage the cowardly dog. I've been told countless times the house itself is haunted. And generally I'm put in the one room that no one has said is haunted. But it's summer and that room does not get AC so my aunt and uncle instead have put me in the coop. The coop used to be a chicken coop but then at some point my aunt and uncle refurbished it into a pool room and then decided it was nice enough there to sleep there during the summers because they put in AC. And the atmosphere is something. There is a big pool table, of course, a fire place, air conditioning, a bar, a ye olde fridge full of beer, old school bar art, more souvenirs and gifts from my uncles work which includes more wall space of masks,and because my eldest half-cousin refuses to ever sleep in the house and only sleeps in the coop when he visits the coop is full of all these horror b-movies and cult classics to watch. The atmosphere is fun, the bed is comfy, and it's remarkably spooky despite not being haunted, and I really do get why people like it. I just kinda wish I was sleeping in there alone. 🤣It's like a cool experience I want to share but also be like okay was that sound the wind or do you think something's prowling around out there? It's got wifi, it's got cable tv (I watched part of Clueless yesterday and it was great), it's got AC and a fridge, it's got games, it just really needs a bathroom. 5. The sky. I'm in rural farm country which means there big open spaces and just large swaths of sky without as much light pollution. It's not as much stars as I saw at the home I grew up in, or where I lived in South Korea, but there's still more than there are where I currently live. And during the days where I've been floating around in a pool I can stare up at the sky and watch the clouds just go by and birds soar past. And at dusk there's just so many fireflies/lightning bugs around.

[autobot-ratchet]

MTMTE 9-11

MTMTE 9

“You're telling me those eyebrows aren't secret recording devices?” Well, not his eyebrows lmAO

as annoying as it made the fandom, I do like how this comic doesn't just gloss over how the Decepticon movement started out with good intentions and solid points, they weren't cartoon villains who loved to kill and oppress because it's fun. They just ended up that way lmfAO

Rewind's out here making relationship charts

Rewind is so cute lmAO no wonder he was initially one of my faves when I first got into this comic

“Is this Prowl fellow going to be a recurring character? 'Cos if so he needs to be fleshed out a bit. I'm not feeling it” fucking womp womp lmfAO talk to Barber about it

ah, yes. The panel that gave birth to the headcanon that was the bane of my existence for the better part of a decade lmAO honestly it was never even the buymech headcanon in and of itself, it was how everyone who subscribed to it made Drift into a poor little meow meow who needed to be saved from himself, specifically and only through the power of getting dicked down but in the good and respectable way this time that drove me fucking insane lmAO like I get that he has issues, but not the kind that make him helpless, I assure you. Also cool job demonizing sex work as “the scary nasty profession that traumatizes you but is also shameful on your part and you only have the excuse of doing it if you have no other choice”

oh lol I forgot that the same decepticon generics that find Drift tripping in an alleyway are the ones that tried to help Pharma kill everyone on Delphi, including Drift lmAO these dudes just keep fucking with Drift by pure coincidence

love Drift purposefully agitating Ratchet lmAO get his ass. Also still love the little detail of Ratchet getting paint from his hands on Drift's face, it's such a tiny detail only there for one panel, but I cherish it so

nnnfghndf they both still think about it..... oops uh oh I still love Dratchet lmfAO

“These days all you get is state-sponsored scrap or froth like 'the top 10 Metroplex sightings'” god. Fucking. gOD LMFAO THE ABSOLUTE FUCKIN STATE OF IT ALL........

the thing about kinning Ratchet at a young age is that the older you get, the more like him you become. Which is even more fucky in this instance because that was a quote from young Ratchet lmfAO god

aw man I forgot about Red Alert's suicide attempt, poor guy. I remembered that he was out of commission for a while, but I didn't remember that he did it to himself

MTMTE 10

jdfsks love Chromedome using Rung's model ships to reenact a chase scene

oooghfj Prowl being genuinely nice to Chromedome in the past...

lmao get dunked on, Drift. It's still so funny watching him try to be a cool guy at Cyclonus

oooOOOUGFDHJ WHIRL HONEY........ you got done so dirty I'm so sorry

I remember seeing people criticize Rewind for getting on Chromedome's case about talking about his experiences with Prowl a little too much what with his quest to find Dominus, like “oh so YOU can talk about your ex,” but I think that it's less that Rewind is jealous or something and more that it's about Prowl lmAO like “do not evoke the name of that demon more than necessary.” Which still sucks (mostly bc I wanna hear more, I am so interested in how they almost could've made it work, LOVE that kind of doomed romance shit) but is understandable, Prowl has done too much

I also love this little “thwarting government conspiracies” arc, I like how the mystery has played out. I've been playing/watching a lot of mystery-solving media lately and while my favorite way to do it is in a way where the viewer (me) can piece it together before the grand reveal if they're smart enough, I also like how this has the characters figuring things out as they go along in a way that's not really possible to predict bc they put things together immediately after getting the necessary information, there's no “it's a surprise tool that will help us later,” which I think is fine for this one little arc, especially since it's working within the framework of the characters telling a story that they all know the details of already. But it also doesn't feel like I'm being info dumped upon, like we're getting the clues/information at a rate that lets you breathe a little before hitting you with a new piece of the puzzle. I just really love mystery-oriented media lmAO

MTMTE 11

I do love that the group that actually gets to tell a story on screen isn't the first group Rewind put together. Just casually dropping that a bunch of background characters that we never really get to see much of (save for Percy, Sunstreaker, and Blaster) are connected to each other

“he's like a historical constant” stares off into space........

oof Roddy feels responsible for Red Alert's suicide attempt, at least on some level... and he gets mad at Magnus for suggesting they not bring him back online, but honestly, I get it. Honestly, I understand both Roddy and Magnus on this one, as someone who constantly struggles with the whole “wanting to live” thing and yet continues to do so out of mostly spite and desperation. On the one hand, you gotta try to live no matter what, but on the other, god please just let me rest lmfAO granted, Magnus just wants to let him rest a bit and resuscitate him later but. Yknow. As a human that can't do that shit, etc, etc, you get it

this fucking ship's alarm goes “awooga” lmfAO looney tunes ass siren

god that fucking Shockwave namedrop, what a cool way to reveal that, what a cool backstory to give Shockwave aaaAAAAA

[elfdragon12]

So I've seen Pokemon and Transfomers fandoms both complain about their "G1" diehard fans...

But... I gotta say... They really don't hit the same. Maybe it might be that I've seen less gratuitous Transformers "geewunner" whining becoming a fan in 2021 than I've seen gratuitous Pokemon "genwunner" whining growing with that fandom. Probably because the TF geewunners are less likely to be on Twitter or Tumblr than Pokemon genwunners. I'm also the same age as the Pokemon genwunners, so I'm more inclined to roll my eyes.

On the flip side...

New Pokemon content doesn't change the old content. It just adds to it. If you're bellyaching about gen 5 because you love gen 1 so much, it's silly because gen 1 Pokemon and storylines will always be the same. Gen 5 just has a new set of characters/Pokemon and happens in a different location. And gen 1 has 2 different remakes, so, if you just want to play gen 1 on a new handheld with updated graphics, it will be there and almost entirely untouched outside of updated gameplay. (Also, genwunners are dumb because gen 2 is the superior gen.) Along with that, a lot of the complaints genwunners have about new gens typically apply to their beloved gen 1 ("Pokemon based on real animals" as if Geodude, Ditto, Magnemite, Koffing, Grimer, Onix, Clefairy, and Jigglypuff don't exist). And the TV show is the same one that's been going since I and my siblings turned on afterschool cartoons in the mid/late-90s. There's no reboot.

New Transformers content... Does change things. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Like, cartoons and comics don't age like video games do. If you can't bare with new content, your preferred adaptation will always be there and accessible. However, if you are open to new content, your most favorite character is likely going to be completely different... If they're even present. Like, Starscream is pretty much the only constant--largely the same in every version. Prowl from TFA is in no way, shape, or form the same character as he is in G1. Arcee is worlds different in TFP than G1. Optimus is totally different in G1, TFA, and TFP... And this isn't even going into the comics. Ironhide is not the same in the Bay movies or TFA or G1... Even outside of the original, I'm not a big fan of what TFA did with Beast Wars characters (I will loudly proclaim how Rattrap gets done dirty outside of his original iteration because it's like other writers don't even really understand who Rattrap was).

And I do think it's fair* if you were personally close to a story and excited to see a new take on it to feel upset when you find that most everything you love about it has been completely changed and is almost unrecognizable to what you've loved. (*To a certain extent. If you're screaming at kids because they like Cyberverse over G1, you gotta take a chill pill.) While there are Transformers geewunners that truly do carry it too far, I do hold sympathy for fans who just want something that genuinely reflects what they loved as a child. Acting like everyone who cares about/prefers G1 is just some geewunner whiner is disingenuous and in bad faith.

[sombrehysteria]

⊰#ThєSєvєηDєαđlySιηs.⊱

By Kαthєrιηє Pιєrcє.

Chαptєr oηє : #Prιđє.

[— You'rє just α pαtchєđ up đolls comιηg loosє αt thє sєαms. You'rє just α stιtchєđ up puppєt chαsιηg somєoηє єlsє's đrєαms. —]

[[The silver crust of the Moon and the twinkling stars paint my night with such a beautiful essence that it could almost make me forget about my rage — almost. A crow circles the house I've been observing for hours with an angel's patience. . . I wouldn't be surprised if its black feathers turned to skin, a skin still marked with each kiss and bite I was begged to offer. Damon Salvatore is mine and has been from the first moment he saw me. He didn't know back then that when his ocean hues met the characteristic brown of mine, he was doomed to throw his heart at my feet. . His brother, even though younger, was a tougher nut to crack. All he wanted and was looking for was love, the one thing I thought I'd never be capable of again. Somehow, when trying to push him down the trap, I fell with him — I fell [for] him. Each word that fell from his succulent and oh so deliciously fun to corrupt lips are anchored to my mind and heart — for always and forever.

Might be the reason I'm here, standing on the sidewalk with a cigarette in hand. Looking like someone else has always been something I've had a hard time dealing with. Being compared to Tatia, for example. But I could always comfort myself with the thought that she was dead and probably nothing but dust.

Elena Gilbert is alive, and not only does she look like me, but she also prowls around the Salvatore's like the Devil waiting to claim new souls. Elijah will sure soon be counted among her innocent-act victims. She's everything men would want me to be, but I don't know how such thing is even possible. We share the same face but her aura is so different from my own, so weak and pathetic. I know most men tend to love a damsel in distress, but there's a limit not to cross, else it becomes ridiculous. She's standing in [my] spotlight and if she has no problem doing so, she might enjoy to lay in my shadow as well. Her righteous place. She should be dead, holding hand with Tatia and all the others (the devil knows how many) who weren't not up to the challenge. Surviving through the centuries and walking over whoever dares to ever threaten our bloodline. I'd be fine being the only Petrova alive, for only

[I] possess the fire diverse creatures all talk about. Katherine Pierce is unique, a work of art.

Slow steps lead me to the front door, and thanks to sweet aunt Jenna's naivety nothing is easier than to get it. As a leather boot pushes the door open, sensitive hearing picks up all the noises in the house. Both idiots are sleeping upstairs, and the carbon copy is scratching words in her journal in the kitchen. Guess she had a lot to confide seeing she came back late, a hand on Stefan's arm. She doesn't even notice I'm watching her. . . (I know what you're thinking, what a dumb girl, right?) I'm not impressed by what I'm seeing. Her hair doesn't look near as good as mine and is as flat as her ass and chest, her lips are a dull tint of pink, and her clothes are cheap. . Can tell she doesn't know how to take advantage of the tantalizing body she's been given. Might be the clothes, but I can see a few differences between her and I. The clothes or my pride. Despite all my efforts at trying to understand, I can't find any reason as to why they would replace me with [that]. Right, I always forget about her little, irking smiles and her good heart. Ew. Not a single flame burning within her. She's more like water, or piss. A little warm but no spark, disgusting and forgettable once she's out your system. Bet Damon would forget her in a nanosecond if I walked back in his life. Stefan's romantic soul would be harder to persuade but then again, that's nothing I haven't been through before.

As I clear my throat for the little dove to look at me, her pen falls out her hand. "K-Katherine" she whispered under her breath, desperately trying to control her fear. "You can't be here, you weren't invited" she adds, getting up from her chair, her clumsiness almost making her fall to the ground.]] Don't fall now, you will have plenty of time to observe the ground from under once I'm done with you. [[A lone finger traces circles on the counter as I get dangerously closer to her. Her instinct is to snatch a knife from the sink, what doesn't fail to make me laugh. . . An evil laugh echoing through the room.]] You'd use my favorite weapon against me? Elena, Elena. Don't you know there's nothing you can do against me? If I want you dead, dead you will be. The sooner you accept it, the less painful it will be. [[Without warning, a lethal hand closes around the blade and even though she's pulling on it with all the strength she can gather and making me bleed in the process, I take it from her and shove it deep into her chest.]] Patience has never been my forte. . Can't even waste time torturing you although I've been thinking it through for a week. [[Juts my bottom lip into a faux pout "Katherine" Stefan's voice, the one I could recognize in a crowd. "What did you do?" Tears up his bright emeralds when I turn around, he's unable to move due to both the shock and pain.]] Not that I thought you could truly forget me, but a reminder is always nice, my love. I've told you we would be reunited, and here I am. [["You're delusional if you think I'm still under your spell, and there was no other reason to love you. Don't try and pretend you've done this to get me back. You've — he pauses for an instant because of the pain strangling him — killed her out of your fucking [#Prιđє]. . .]]

[lexi-bloom]

Age: 0 years

I was born a female in Tokyo, Japan. I was a planned pregnancy.

My birthday is August 30. I am a Virgo.

My name is Lexi Bloom.

My father is Ichiro Bloom, a real estate agent (age 40).

My mother is Yui Bloom, an Army enlistee (age 26).

Age: 1 year

I banged on a xylophone that I found in my crib.

Age: 2 years

My mother has been promoted to Staff Sergeant.

I threw a tantrum when my mother took me to the doctor's office to get vaccinated.

Age: 3 years

I'm starting to think that naptime is the worst time of the day.

I let another child play with my favorite toy.

Age: 4 years

My mother has been promoted to Sergeant First Class.

Residents of Uruguay have largely converted to hempseed-based protein as their main source of nutrients.

Age: 5 years

I went home with my head hung low after I peed myself in front of the other kids at the park.

Age: 6 years

My mother has been promoted to Master Sergeant.

I have been enrolled in elementary school at Yuki Kishimoto Elementary School.

I learned how to tie my shoes.

Age: 7 years

I was appreciative to my parents for taking me on a road trip to visit relatives in Kyoto, Japan.

Age: 8 years

I'm starting to think my dad may be a superhero.

I admitted to my parents that I broke their mailbox.

Age: 9 years

My classmate, Hideki, acted up in Mrs. Kaneko's class. I laughed at his antics.

I was sent to the headmaster's office for encouraging a misbehaving classmate.

I argued with the headmaster, Mr. Huang.

I received a warning from the headmaster.

Age: 10 years

My mother has been promoted to Sergeant Major.

I told some of the girls in my neighborhood I wasn't interested in going to see "Beam Me Up Ryuki" with them.

Age: 11 years

My classmate, Satoru, asked me out.

I am now going out with Satoru Fukuda.

Age: 12 years

Satoru started lower secondary school.

My mother and my father had a baby boy named Takeshi, my new brother. He was an accidental pregnancy.

I started lower secondary school at Hana Fujita Lower Secondary School.

Satoru broke up with me.

I lunged at Satoru!

I impaled his nose.

He lunged at me!

He busted my jugular.

Age: 13 years

I have stepped in gum 74 times this year and it's only April.

Age 13: l have stepped in gum 74 times this year and it's only April.

I have been diagnosed with depression.

I got my first period.

Age: 14 years

My mother and my father had a baby boy named Rento, my new brother. He was conceived after my father's condom broke.

My classmate, Akari, asked me to help her cheat in Mrs. Ikeda's class.

I visited the headmaster's office and reported my classmate, Akari, for for trying to get me to help her cheat.

The headmaster, Mr. Kato, said he would look into it.

Age: 15 years

I started upper secondary school at Yu Tanaka Upper Secondary School.

I decided to see what extracurricular activities were available at my new upper secondary school.

Age: 16 years

Iraq has enforced an asset freeze on Puerto Rico.

I am cured of depression.

I am heterosexual.

Age: 17 years

I think my teacher may be experiencing gas issues.

I was cut from the cross country team for performance reasons.

Age: 18 years

My little brother, Takeshi, started elementary school.

I graduated from upper secondary school.

I've been wondering how many people have actually had seizures watching "Stranger Things".

I applied to university and was accepted.

My parents refused to pay my university tuition.

My application for a scholarship to university was rejected.

I took out a student loan to pay for my university tuition.

I started a university program in music.

Age: 19 years

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it would be like if I had a doppelgänger out there somewhere, and also wondering what my hypothetical lookalike is doing right now.

I passed my driving test and got a driving license.

Age: 20 years

My little brother, Rento, started elementary school.

My ex-boyfriend, Satoru, asked to get back together with me. I agreed to get back together with him.

Age: 21 years

I witnessed a Soundcloud rapper drinking and driving. She saw me call the police!

The Soundcloud rapper charged me!

She grappled my mouth.

I ran away from her.

Age: 22 years

My father retired.

I graduated from university with an undergraduate degree in music.

I have to start paying back my student loan for university.

I think my neighbor may be distributing marijuana.

Age: 22 years

My father retired.

I graduated from university with an undergraduate degree in music.

I have to start paying back my student loan for university.

I think my neighbor may be distributing marijuana.

I applied to medical school but my application was rejected.

I applied to graduate school and was accepted.

My parents refused to pay my graduate school tuition.

My application for a scholarship to graduate school was rejected.

I took out a student loan to pay for my graduate school tuition.

I started graduate school.

Age: 23 years

I refused to skip school with my classmate, Prija.

Age: 24 years

My little brother, Takeshi, started lower secondary school.

I completed graduate school.

I have to start paying back my student loan for graduate school.

I got an interview at The City of Tokyo for their Archaeologist opening.

I was hired for the position of Archaeologist for The City of Tokyo with a salary of $28,704.

Age: 25 years

Religious feuds fester between Spain and Cuba.

I decided to have a one night stand with Haruma Nakajima.

I practiced safe sex.

Age: 26 years

My little brother, Rento, started lower secondary school.

I have been given a raise of 4.8%. My salary is now $30,074.

I refused to join social media.

I called Satoru the life of the party.

I made love to Satoru.

I'm pregnant with Satoru's baby!

Satoru did not feel like making love to me.

I called Satoru enlightened.

Age: 27 years

My little brother, Takeshi, started upper secondary school.

The City of Tokyo promoted me to Sr. Archaeologist with a salary of $36,231.

A woman approached me and told me if my forehead was any bigger it would be a "fivehead".

I gave birth to a baby girl! I named her Sayaka Bloom.

Satoru argued with me because I didn't use his surname for the baby. I promised him I wouldn't do it again.

Satoru broke up with me. I called him a lamebrain.

Age: 28 years

I've been thinking a lot lately about whose computer I would hack into if I could choose just one person.

I was feeling very tired one afternoon, so I drank a lot of water to rehydrate my body.

Age: 29 years

My little brother, Rento, started upper secondary

My little brother, Rento, started upper secondary school.

I finally got a new pair of running shoes.

I chose to vaccinate my daughter, Sayaka.

Age: 30 years

My little brother, Takeshi, graduated from upper secondary school.

While walking downtown, I noticed some creepy old guys checking me out with binoculars from an office in a nearby building.

My daughter, Sayaka, wrote on the walls with a permanent marker. I had a heart-to-heart talk with her about her behavior.

Age: 31 years

My little brother, Takeshi, enlisted in the Navy.

I fully paid off my student loan for university.

My baby daddy, Satoru, sent me a pic of a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a condom. I forwarded it to all of my friends.

Age: 32 years

My little brother, Takeshi, has fathered a girl named Reina Bloom. My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Seaman Apprentice.

My little brother, Rento, graduated from upper secondary school.

My parents tried to arrange a marriage between me and a Japanese guy named Takumi Takeuchi.

I agreed to marry him.

I married Takumi Takeuchi.

Following the wedding, I decided to keep my last name, Bloom.

Takumi decided to keep his name.

Age: 33 years

My daughter, Sayaka, started elementary school.

My little brother, Takeshi, married Haruka Yamashita, a 26-year old restaurant worker.

My little brother, Rento, started a new position as Receptionist for Peacock Systems.

I fully paid off my student loan for graduate school.

I spent some time relaxing by enjoying a sunrise.

Takumi didn't want to have a conversation with me.

I liked every photo that my baby daddy, Satoru, has ever posted on Instagram.

He confronted me! He begged me to leave him alone.

I made a fake Snapchat account and followed my ex-fling, Haruma.

Age: 34 years

My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Seaman.

I found a satchel full of cocaine. I turned it in.

I texted my baby daddy, Satoru, to ask him for a pair of his dirty underwear.

He confronted me! He begged me to leave him alone.

Takumi does not want to have a threesome.

I berated Takumi for not wanting to have a threesome.

I prowled the streets.

I stole a Toyota RAV4!

Age: 35 years

My daughter, Sayaka, loves riding around in my Toyota RAV4.

I secretly kept a large diamond I found while working at an excavation site.

Age: 36 years

My little brother, Takeshi, and his wife, Haruka, had a baby boy named Soma Bloom. My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Petty Officer Third Class.

My mother has retired from the Army.

I took Takumi to the theater to see "Who's Inside Me?".

Age: 37 years

My little brother, Takeshi, and his wife, Haruka, had a baby boy named Yusei Bloom.

My little brother, Rento, moved out.

I somehow managed to kill a desktop cactus.

I was released from my job as Sr. Archaeologist for The City of Tokyo.

I called my supervisor a douchelord on my way out.

Age: 38 years

My niece, Reina, started elementary school.

My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Petty Officer Second Class.

Takumi and I had a threesome with Gabriela Miura.

Takumi left me for Gabriela Miura.

The judge made me pay Takumi Takeuchi $17,247 to settle the divorce.

I had dark thoughts.

I electrocuted my ex's husband, Yuki, by throwing a toaster into his bath! He died.

I had dark thoughts.

I electrocuted my ex, Takumi, by throwing a toaster into his bath! He died.

I had dark thoughts.

I electrocuted my ex, Gabriela, by throwing a toaster into her bath! She died.

I had dark thoughts.

I electrocuted my ex, Haruma, by throwing a toaster into his bath! He died.

I had dark thoughts.

I hit my ex, Satoru, over his head with a stick that I found! He died.

I have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death by hanging!

They sent me to Tokyo Federal Penitentiary, a maximum security prison.

I hired Honda & Associates to appeal my sentence.

My sentence was overturned!

I have been freed from prison.

I had eyelid surgery performed by Dr. Taiga Yamazaki.

I had a nose job performed by Dr. Taiga Yamazaki.

I decided to have a one night stand with Manato Tanaka.

I practiced safe sex.

Age: 39 years

My daughter, Sayaka, started lower secondary school.

A friend of my friend offered to set me up with a job as Jr. Marine Biologist for Mr. Falcon.

I was hired for the position of Jr. Marine Biologist for Mr. Falcon with a salary of $21,226.

Age: 40 years

My little brother, Takeshi, and his wife, Haruka, had a baby boy named Yuma Bloom. My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Petty Officer First Class.

I said no to anabolic steroids.

Age: 41 years

I have been given a raise of 10.4%. My salary is now $23,425.

I looked at some butts.

I pickpocketed an old geezer! He had $56 in his wallet.

I decided to have a one night stand with Haruki Harada.

I changed my mind since there was no condom available.

I told my daughter, Sayaka, that she's the bee's knees.

I asked Keisuke Kobayashi on a date and he rejected me.

I am now dating Shinsuke Ikeda.

Age: 42 years

My daughter, Sayaka, started upper secondary school.

My nephew, Soma, started elementary school.

My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Chief Petty Officer.

Mr. Falcon promoted me to Marine Biologist with a salary of $33,324.

My boyfriend, Shinsuke, likes to drive my Toyota RAV4 even more than I do.

Age: 43 years

My nephew, Yusei, started elementary school.

Itook guitar lessons and learned how to play "Freebird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I called Shinsuke fascinating.

Shinsuke and I made love.

I'm pregnant with Shinsuke's baby!

I made a fake Facebook account and friend requested my ex-fling, Manato.

Age: 44 years

My niece, Reina, started lower secondary school.

My little brother, Takeshi, has been promoted to Senior Chief Petty Officer.

I have been given a raise of 6.6%. My salary is now $35,523.

My father died of complications from old age.

I paid my respects at his funeral.

I gave birth to a baby boy! I named him Riku Ikeda.

[jiveammunition]

Title: I’ve Got You in My Slice - Chapter 5 - The Reaper Comes for Your Rolls!! Pairing: Reaper76 Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Police, Bad Puns, Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn Chapter: 5/? Summary:

“Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull.

After 6 months of waiting, here’s an update for you all. Thank you guys for your patience! <3

Surprisingly, despite the impending barrage of holidays, not much had changed in Gabriel's day-to-day life. As usual, he made sure to go back visit his family the day after Halloween to celebrate Dia de los Muertos — bringing abuelo’s favorite brand of mezcal to drink and leave at the family altar, which he also helped with, and staying the night — as well as on Thanksgiving, when the only particular thing of interest that happened was the turkey exploding in the fryer because his brother-in-law — the husband of his oldest sister, Isabela — hadn't thawed it as completely as he originally thought. Thankfully no one had been injured, nothing had burned down, and his second-oldest sister, Carmen, had the forethought of making another turkey ‘just in case’. But nevertheless, the story was interesting and amusing enough to get a few laughs out of Jack when he told it, which made the Thanksgiving migraine worth it in the end, at least.

“What did you do for Thanksgiving? You spend it with your family too?” Gabriel asked when Jack returned to his table with a refill of coffee in his travel mug.

“Oh, no, it's too expensive and too much of a hassle for me to fly back to Indiana for Thanksgiving. Especially when I'm going to be flying back for Christmas anyway,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “I spent most of Thanksgiving at home with Reaper, before I came here to prep for the Black Friday rush.”

It made sense that Jack had the sense to prep and open the bakery to take advantage of Black Friday and all the people that were out getting their shopping on. If Gabriel remembered properly, Jack even had a sign outside the entire week before, announcing the bakery’s special hours on Thanksgiving and the day after. A part of him wondered how well it went, given the nightmare stories he'd heard from some of his fellow officers about needing to assist certain stores with crowd control — Gabriel himself was on patrol that night — and Jack had to change the store's hours to accommodate his morning rushes and allow for midday baking and restocking. How on earth did Jack manage to handle the floods of people no doubt prowling for early-morning munchies and coffee?

But as Jack hadn't looked all that much worse for the wear, and the store opened without incident the next day, Gabriel decided not to ask. He also wondered when Jack would finally get some help with the store, but also kept his mouth shut, knowing it was a rather touchy subject. As open-minded and keen experimenting with things — baking recipes and the like — Jack was surprisingly stubborn.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack curiously. “Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull. It was kind of spooky looking, to say the least, and though it certainly fit with Gabriel's aesthetics, for some reason the hairs on his neck stood on end and a shiver of something both strange and familiar ran up his spine.

He didn’t dwell on it for too long, and shook it off as much as he could before handing Jack back his phone. “It certainly looks the part, at least. And I should've known you'd name your cat something punny too, given how much you love your jokes. Don't tell me, it's spelled R-E-A-P-U-R-R?”

Jack merely laughed and shook his head. “As amazing as that spelling would be, no, it's not. I wasn't the one that named him.”

“Oh, you adopted him, then?”

“Something like that. You know how there are a lot of strays that like to hang out in the alley behind the store? Reaper showed up in the bunch one night — the day after Halloween, if I remember right — and just kinda… attached himself to me?” Jack shrugged. “I checked his collar to see if he had an owner, but he only had a nametag on him. I checked for a chip too, but he didn't have one of those, either.”

“Still... You sure it's such a good idea to just take in some random stray like that?” Gabriel asked, recalling some horror stories several years back about someone taking in a stray only to learn the hard way after it died suddenly that it also had rabies.

“Yeah! I took him to the vet to get a quick look at him and got him all up-to-date on shots,” Jack nodded, “Plus, Reaper is a really smart — if a little clingy — cat, he follows me to and from the store every day. Even knows how to use the toilet!”

Just as Gabriel was about to comment about how bizarre that last tidbit was, both his and Jack’s attention were drawn to the front door.

As if on cue, a loud but muffled meow was heard from outside, followed by a light scratching at one of the glass panels. Sure enough, there sat the spitting image of the cat from Jack’s picture, staring into the store as if demanding entrance. Its gaze settled onto Gabriel, and after several moments of staring without blinking — Gabriel could swear the cat was glaring at him or sizing him up — it meowed again and slapped a paw onto the glass. It turned its head towards Jack, and gave one last meow before dropping its paw and sat patiently waiting.

“Oh shit, Reaper!” Jack cursed slightly as he got up from his chair, “You’re not supposed to be out front like that!” He opened the door enough for himself to slip outside and not let the cat in, and picked it up when it appeared to meow at him again. It seemed to settle down in Jack’s arms, at least, and if the look on its face and swishing tail were any indication, it was likely purring like a motor as well.

As amusing as it was to watch from inside as Jack bounced slightly in place while petting the cat in his arms, and apparently scolding it, Gabriel couldn’t say no when Jack nodded at him from outside, beckoning him to go outside. Sighing, Gabriel stood up, taking his mug with him and hiding a few bills underneath the empty plate as payment for the food plus a small tip — something he resorted to doing after Jack kept refusing to accept more than half the normal price of his food due to his ‘guinea pig’ status — before going out to meet Jack’s new kinda-sorta-pet-slash-stalker.

“Reaper, say hi to my friend, Gabriel,” Jack said, turning slightly so the cat was facing him. Reaper gave Gabriel the same kind of soul-piercing stare as it did before, watching him silently until Jack gave it a nudging scratch behind the ear. It purred lowly until Jack’s coddling stopped. Almost reluctantly, it meowed in greeting at Gabriel. When Gabriel reached over to give it a pet, however, Reaper lept out of Jack’s arms and darted away, turning the corner to no doubt disappear into the alleyway.

“Guess he’s not a fan of me,” Gabriel shrugged.

“I wouldn't take it personally. He might just be a little catty around strangers,” Jack ribbed.

“You said he follows you around though, right?” Gabriel asked, pretending like Jack hadn't made any pun at all.

“Are you trying to say I'm strange?” Jack huffed, holding a hand to his chest as if Gabriel had hurt his feelings.

“I didn't say anything,” Gabriel snorted, smirking as he took a sip from his travel mug.

“You're hilarious,” Jack replied, crossing his arms. The look of amusement on his face did nothing to help sell how horribly Gabriel's barb had injured him.

“Anyway,” Gabriel began, looking at his watch, “My shift’s about to start. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He took a few steps forward before he felt a tugging on the back of his jacket.

“Sorry. Hold on a sec,” Jack said. He let go of Gabriel and began rummaging in his apron pocket before fishing out a worn, brown leather wallet and holding it out. “This belongs to Officer McCree. He left it here last night. I texted him to ask for his address so I could drop it off, but he told me to just hand it to you. He's on duty today too, right?”

“Yeah, he is,” Gabriel replied, taking the wallet, and opening it up. Sure enough, there was Jesse's ID, the grin on his portrait even goofier than how Gabriel remembered his last ID picture looked. He tucked the wallet in his breast pocket and began to walk off again before he stopped in his tracks. “Wait. Texted ? Why does McCree have your number?”

“He asked me for it?” Jack shrugged, “I told him I wasn't interested, and he's not my type, but he insisted. Said something about wanting it anyway in case I wanted another friend to hang out with that wasn't — and I quote — ‘a grump with a stick-up-his-ass.”

Gabriel tried to school his expression and keep it as neutral as possible, and surprised even himself when he somehow managed it. He let out a short, “Huh,” and took another sip of coffee to gather his thoughts. “I'll have a word with him later, then.”

Jack laughed, and waved his hand dismissively, “Don't tell him I told you he said that!”

“Oh, I'm not gonna talk to him about that,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. When Jack tilted his head in confusion, Gabriel simply shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said, giving Jack a quick wave before heading off to the station.

“Oh, okay…” Jack replied, still looking slightly confused as he waved back, “Have a nice day, then!”

Sure enough, when Gabriel got to the station, Jesse was at his desk, typing up something or another on his computer. Gabriel took the wallet from his pocket and tossed onto the desk in front of him, drawing Jesse's attention away from the screen when it thudded gently on the wooden surface between his forearms.

“Oh, hey! You got it! Thanks, boss!” Jesse laughed happily as he tucked the wallet back into his pocket. “Mornin’, by the way!”

“Morning,” Gabriel grunted. He folded his arms and frowned slightly. Unable to help himself, he went on to ask, “Mind telling me why you have Jack's number?”

The grin on Jesse's face grew even wider. “No reason! Just thought the guy could use another friend around these parts, what with him still being new-ish to the neighborhood and all!”

Gabriel tilted his head, expression still unimpressed and looking doubtful.

Jesse laughed, and held his hands up in surrender. “Honest ta god, boss. I was just bein’ friendly! You got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, anyhow. Said he wasn't interested when I first asked.”

Gabriel let out a quiet ‘harrumph’ before he went to his desk. Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down, still clearly displeased. He'd known Jack for several months now and he still didn't have his number. Granted, he stopped by the bakery at least three times a week — down from the four originally; didn't want to come off as a creep, after all — and there was no real need to have Jack's number when they met in person so often, but still...

He was briefly torn out of his foul mood when Lena walked over with a bridal magazine in hand, asking him what he thought about her fiancée’s, Emily’s, choice in wedding gown.

“Oxton, why the hell are you asking me?” Gabriel asked, after realizing he had spent the last several minutes looking over pictures of dresses.

“I figured you'd be able to help us narrow down what would look best with my dress, since you know fabrics and drapings and all,” Lena replied, looking at Gabriel with wide eyes as if the answer were obvious.

“Oxton, I make costumes as a hobby. I don't design dresses or work as a wedding planner! Didn't Emily hire someone to help you guys for this reason?” Gabriel frowned, gathering the various pictures strewn across his desk into a neat pile and handing it back to Lena.

“Yeah, but I also figured since you're the one that's gonna be actin’ as my dad durin’ the ceremony, it'd be nice to get your opinion, at least…” Lena answered in a quiet voice, looking slightly like a kicked puppy. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He never could stand up against that look.

Still frowning, he flipped through the stack of pictures in his hands again, reorganizing the pile after a bit of quiet deliberation, and holding it back out once again. “The top three would be the ones that flatter Emily's figure and complement your dress the best. Now get back to work before Amari catches me helping you pick out your wedding cake and yells at me for ‘slacking off’,” Gabriel turned to his computer and waved Lena off.

“Thank you!” she chirped happily. “And you don't need to worry about that! Emily and I already narrowed down what kind of cake we want.” She smiled, taking the stack of pictures, and turned to start heading back to her desk when she suddenly jolting in place.

“Oh! That reminds me! I need to text Jack and let him know what time Emily and I will be there for the taste-testing!” she exclaimed in realization, mostly to herself. With a renewed cheer, she quickly zipped off back to her desk, fishing out her phone and tapping away at it with a smile plastered to her face.

Gabriel's bad mood quickly sunk back in. Lena had Jack's number too? That was-!

He took a deep breath and shook his head. It would make sense that the Lena would have Jack’s number if he was to be the one making their wedding cake. Jack wasn't giving out his number to just anyone and everyone.

...everyone but Gabriel, that was.

Things came to a head near the end of his shift when Liao, of all people, offered to text Jack and see if he would be able to make a cake in time for the station's holiday party in two weeks. Why the heck did Liao have Jack's number?! If he recalled correctly, Liao had only ever been to Jack's bakery once, and that was with Gabriel after they had coincidentally run into each other on their day off and during their morning jog. Unless he went there again sometime after, and asked Jack for his number… which dredged up even more questions in Gabriel's already-preoccupied mind.

He left the station that night with the same contemplative frown he had that morning, internally grumbling at how it seemed everyone but him had Jack's number and struggling to figure out the best way to ask without seeming too desperate or forward. He enjoyed Jack's company, and didn't want to ruin their casual friendship just yet. Plus, if Jack were to reject him like he did with Jesse, Gabriel wasn't sure if he'd be able to set foot into For Goodness’ Cake ever again.

Surprisingly, his opportunity to get Jack's number came in a way he never would have expected. When he got home to his apartment, he was met with the sight of an all-too-familiar black-and-white cat lurking outside his window.

“Reaper?! What the heck?!” he scrambled to open the window, quickly and carefully as to not startle the cat to the point where it would fall of the rather small ledge and injure itself. With a tiny huff through its nose, the cat jumped from the opened window into his apartment and skittered off to curl up on his couch.

“Hey, Reaper, this isn't your home. Why are you even here? Why aren't you with Jack? He's gonna be worried sick about you,” Gabriel scolded, and tried to pick Reaper up. He got a hiss and furry slap across the face for his trouble — thankfully Reaper had the courtesy not to let out its claws — and quickly reeled back in shock.

“Shit!” he yelped, “What the hell, Reaper?! Did you come here just to make my day even worse?”

Reaper ignored him, and curled up the same way as it did before, closing its eyes and sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Gabriel couldn't tell, and to be frank, he couldn't be bothered. He growled under his breath and let the cat be, huffing as he left the living room to shower, make a quick dinner, and head to bed.

To his knowledge, Reaper stayed curled up and asleep on the couch until the very next morning, when it jolted right up at the sound of the apartment door unlocking. Without any sort of prompting, it darted out of the apartment as Gabriel held the door open, and even waited at the bottom of the stairs for him to catch up.

Jack was right, Reaper was a very smart cat. It was almost unsettling how smart it was. As if keenly aware of Gabriel's usual route, it led the way to the bakery, with Gabriel trailing behind it the entire time.

When they finally reached the bakery, sure enough, Jack was outside, as usual, setting up the sign of the day's special bakes. The expression on his face was more contemplative than usual, his brows furrowed and forming a rather obvious line on his forehead. Reaper meowed loudly as it approached Jack, and almost immediately, Jack seemed to cheer up at the sight of Reaper. His expression brightened up even more when his gaze landed on Gabriel, causing Gabriel's heart to skip a beat as it usually did whenever Jack looked at him like that.

Crouching down, Jack held out his arms for Reaper to leap into, catching the clever cat, and spoiling it with affectionate pets and scratches.

“How did this happen?” Jack asked, utterly bewildered. “Reaper didn't follow me home last night or to the bakery this morning, so I was worried sick something might have happened to him!” The way Jack's hands unconsciously continued to spoil the cat with affection didn't escape Gabriel's notice, and he couldn't help the small smile that crept its way onto his face at the look of contentment on Reaper’s face.

“I don't know why or how he even got there, but I found him hanging outside my window last night. Reaper didn't want to seem to want to budge from my couch at all, and I figured since it was so late and you'd already closed and I didn't have your number, I may as well let him stay the night and bring him back here in the morning,” Gabriel shrugged. Reaper opened its eyes to stare at him, as if fully aware of his white lie, and judging him, but Gabriel ignored it in favor of maintaining eye contact with Jack.

“Thank you for doing that. I really appreciate it,” Jack said appreciatively, relief written across his face as clear as day. “Like I said, I was really worried about this little guy. My apartment felt kinda empty without him around.”

“No problem,” Gabriel replied, feeling nervous about what he wanted to say next.

After a few moments, he swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered enough nerves to finally ask, “Um, in case this happens again, do you have any way for me to contact you? Like a phone number or something?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, terrified that Jack might jump to the conclusion he catnapped Reaper just to get the chance to ask for Jack’s number.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Jack beamed. “Let's head inside so I can get yours too!” He crouched back down to let Reaper down, and with a quiet meow, the cat dropped from his arms and scampered away, slapping Gabriel's leg with its tail as it passed. ‘ You owe me for this,’ it almost seemed to say, and Gabriel inwardly thanked the cat for the setup.

“Sure,” Gabriel replied, trying to control the grin beginning to form on his face, and fighting the urge to pump his fist in triumph. He was going to get Jack's number, and he managed to ask without making things awkward or a fool out of himself! The urge did overtake him before he was able to make it through the front door, and with a quiet, “Yes!”, Gabriel did a small fist pump when Jack disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands and likely dust off whatever cat hair Reaper shed on his clothes. Gabriel would later attempt to do the same to his couch when he returned home that night, only to be utterly surprised to find not a single cat hair anywhere in his apartment.

“Did you say something?” Jack asked as he exited the bathroom, tossing away the paper towel in his hands before the door swung closed behind him.

“No, nothing,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head.

Jack shot him a quick look of confused amusement before fetching his phone. He unlocked it and set it on the counter.

“I can never remember what my number is, so could you punch in yours and call yourself while I get this bread out of the oven? They're the prosciutto, cheese, and balsamic onion ones you tasted the last week and said you really liked. I figured I'd roll them out this week and see how popular they are.”

“Sure,” Gabriel answered, ignoring the pun completely. He focused his attention onto Jack’s phone, doing exactly what was asked of him as Jack disappeared behind the swinging steel door. He could almost feel his heart racing slightly when entering in his number, and when his own phone rang, it figuratively soared into the stratosphere.

Finally getting Jack's number put his spirit in such a good mood that day that he couldn't even find it in himself to get angry when he got to his desk and he discovered Jack snuck two extra rolls into his bag. Nor did he even bat an eye when Jesse approached him at his desk, and handed Gabriel $5. “Jack said you dropped this in his store yesterday. It's not like you to be so clumsy, boss,” Jesse scolded playfully before walking off.

Gabriel would just get Jack again next time.

[i-want-my-iwtv]

Hi, I'm doing this project thing for class on IWTV and basically I have to analyze and write essays about themes, characterization, symbols, etc. on a bunch of different passages from our chosen book. I've done a lot but I still have some left to do and kinda have run out of ideas for the last of them. Do you have any favorite scenes/lines/moments/passages/excerpts from the book or any that stand out/you find particularly deep and meaningful? Thanks for the help (:

Hmmm, this is a tough one! There are so many. I’m curious to know which you chose already!

It changes over time, but just skimming IWTV, these are some consistently favorite moments of mine. I think some of them are deep and meaningful, but what’s deep and meaningful to me may not be to you. We all sort of have a conversation with books, you bring your own experiences and tastes and see what matches up with the story you’re reading. Sometimes the story can expand your intellectual palette! It’s done that for me.

What makes a moment (scenes/lines/moments/passages/excerpts/etc.) a fave for me is the mixture of comedy and tragedy, so I’m drawn to parts where Lestat is insulting Louis, or they’re fighting with exquisite tension and clever dialogue, or bits of vampire physiology, or heartwrenching stuff. 

While I’m less interested in things like artful descriptions or didactic lessons from the author, each VC book is a mixture of many things, and I obviously love the series as a whole and in parts. Fave moments, for me, are like amazing desserts in which you can’t always figure out what the ingredients were, it’s just DELICIOUS and you gotta have MORE.

I was going through IWTV and selecting passages but I’m doing too many! Here’s the first few that come to mind, in no particular order, which is a very small fraction of all my fave moments:

Lestat telling Louis that he needs to grow up and quit pining for his mortal life: “’You do not know your vampire nature. You are like an adult who, looking back on his childhood, realizes that he never appreciated it. You cannot, as a man, go back to the nursery and play with your toys, asking for the love and care to be showered on you again simply because now you know their worth.’”

Louis grappling with Lestat over Lestat wanting to kill Freneire. Wrestling in the mud and the cold!

Louis appreciating Daniel’s tape recorder (“Marvelous contraption, really”) and doing/saying other little things that make him seem anachronistic (” “That is, how would you say today … bullshit?” “)

When Louis discovers mortal Claudia, he mentions that he hears a dog that he could take instead (”But there were alternatives: rats abounded in the streets, and somewhere very near a dog was howling hopelessly. I might have fled the room had I chosen and fed and gotten back easily.”), but he’s drawn to her. He’s been malnourished for some 4 yrs, the inner demon pulling him to a human victim is sick and tired of junk food, it wants AN ENTRÉE ffs!

Louis finding Lestat post-trial under TDV clutching Claudia’s yellow dress! ;A; Heartwrenching!

Armand showing Louis he really can climb a tower, just try it! So motivational.

Lestat’s blind dad in general, how they had to pretend to eat dinner to humor him, how Louis was so nice and gentle with him and put him out of his misery when the time came ;A;

Louis telling Lestat he had to leave the plantation bc there was going to be an uprising, and Lestat responds with such a perfect slew of insults that are actually surprisingly accurate: “ `You want me gone! You,’ he sneered. He was building a card palace on the dining room table with a pack of very fine French cards. `You whining coward of a vampire who prowls the night killing alley cats and rats and staring for hours at candles as if they were people and standing in the rain like a zombie until your clothes are drenched and you smell like old wardrobe trunks in attics and have the look of a baffled idiot at the zoo.‘” 

A few more under the cut* 

Anyone is welcome to reblog/comment with their own fave moments ;]

*From when I was starting at the beginning of the book and pulling faves but only got to p. 13 and had 4 already, so I had to stop doing that or I’d have more many than too many.

After Paul dies, Louis talking about his sister, how she felt like she had to act a certain way bc society expected it. This was one of the first things cluing me into the whole idea of disregarding societal expectations, bc what good did it do her to pretend?

“People in society asked my sister offensive questions about the whole incident, and she became an hysteric. She wasn’t really an hysteric. She simply thought she ought to react that way, so she did.”  

The first time Louis really describes Lestat:

He came in from the courtyard, opening the French doors without a sound, a tall fair-skinned man with a mass of blond hair and a graceful, almost feline quality to his movements. And gently, he draped a shawl over my sister’s eyes and lowered the wick of the lamp… His gray eyes burned with an incandescence, and the long white hands which hung by his sides were not those of a human being… the moment I saw him, saw his extraordinary aura and knew him to be no creature I’d ever known, I was reduced to nothing. 

When Lestat is about to turn Louis, it’s so endearing, and there’s comedy in here, as well as some dubious consent, it’s just excellent.

But there was no time for courage. Or shall I say, there was no time in Lestat’s plan for anything but his plan. `Now listen to me, Louis,’ he said, and he lay down beside me now on the steps, his movement so graceful and so personal that at once it made me think of a lover. I recoiled… 

…I wanted to struggle, but he pressed so hard with his fingers that he held my entire prone body in check; and as soon as I stopped my abortive attempt at rebellion, he sank his teeth into my neck.”

Omg, Lestat telling his dad to get off his back about his lifestyle is priceless:

“[Lestat] was in his father’s bedroom meantime, telling the old man good-bye, that he would return in the morning. ‘But where do you go, why must you live by such a schedule!’ the old man demanded, and Lestat became impatient.

… `I take care of you, don’t I? I’ve put a better roof over your head than you ever put over mine! If I want to sleep all day and drink all night, I’ll do it, damn you!’ The old man started to whine.”