#Like it's the box art guy. They had to put him in there SOMEWHERE you know?

[solradguy]

It drives me nuts that Sol doesn't have a canon birthday. Daisuke you tease

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 2

Part 2:

Tashi Duncan was a force. Everyone knew it. Everywhere Tashi went, a crowd of people gathered, seeking some form of contact with her. A brief conversation about her day, their day, the fucking weather. Just so they could say they talked to the Tashi Duncan. Liana hated her. She didn't hate her personally; she hated the fact that even at Stanford, everything revolved around tennis, and accordingly, everything revolved around Art Donaldson and his blonde curls. Art, who showed up at her dorm at unreasonable hours with a box of fries he didn't even eat but knew she liked, Art, who was at every party she attended, Art, who wouldn't stop babbling about Tashi Duncan. "Look, I just think she's not the right girl for him..." Right now, Art was lying on her bed, bouncing a ball while she was trying to finish a paper for her Intro to Economics class. "I don't understand why you're here..." she mumbled in response. Somewhere in the second week at Stanford, she had stopped fighting his presence. He refused to let go. Every scowl she sent his way only encouraged him to do stupid things like waiting for her after class to walk her to the cafeteria or calling her mom and casually asking if she knew why Liana stopped coming to his open practices (she never attended his practices anyway, the little shit was an unbearable liar who made her mom talk for half an hour about how you can't neglect friendships like the imaginary one between her and Art). "Because you didn't come to practice today. Again." He looked at her. "Are you back with James?" he asked casually. "You know his name is Jake," she rolled her eyes, realizing she'd been reading the same line for fifteen minutes and deciding to close her laptop. "Are you sure?" he asked with a half-smile, pleased that for the first time that evening, he had her attention. "Why do you care that Patrick and Tashi are together?" she asked. "I don't care. I just know Patrick, and you know Patrick-" "Do I?" she cut him off, causing him to squint for a second. "You know Patrick well enough to know how he treats girls. He doesn't take them seriously, and now he's with Tashi. He's going to mess her up and ruin her season." He shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing anyone had ever thought about his best friend. "Aren't you supposed to worry about Patrick's season, Art? Like the good friend you are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Everything felt too charged with tension she couldn't figure out. "You didn't answer me about James. Are you back with him? He's kind of a loser," he changed the subject, not taking his eyes off her. "You're kind of a loser. Sitting in my room and whining about your best friend dating the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Get over your crush and move on. Use your blonde hair to find a hookup instead of bothering me while I'm studying." She turned her back to him and opened her laptop again. "And no, I'm not back with Jake," she concluded the topic, not wanting to reopen the wound of that relationship. Certainly not with Art Donaldson, who had started moving towards the door, finally getting the hint.

Liana put Patrick on speaker while she searched for her earrings. She had promised Daria (the only friend she had managed to find so far) that she would go out with her to the bar across from the university, and they would try out their fake IDs. Liana was sure no one would believe she was 21, no matter how revealing the dress Daria forced her to wear, how much makeup she put on, or how high the heels she wore were. No one with eyes would believe she was old enough to buy alcohol. "The referee kept making mistakes. I think Marcus paid him off. His dad probably promised the guy a new Aston Martin if I lost." Patrick, who had been complaining for the last ten minutes about the terrible game he had today, continued talking while she tried to apply lipstick as straight as possible. "I don't know much about tennis, but that sounds exaggerated, Pat." Liana didn't know what to say to cheer him up. The truth was that since the season started and Patrick decided he was pursuing professional tennis, Liana didn't know how to support him. "I'm telling you, something was off there." He spoke, maybe to her, maybe trying to convince himself. "I think you should call Tashi or Art. they would understand better than me what went wrong..." she said, wiping off the lipstick, the bright color felt too much. Like she was trying too hard to draw attention to herself to show everyone she was pretending to be an adult. "Oh, if you think Tashi hasn't already called me and told me everything I did wrong in that game while reminding me of all the mistakes from the previous game, you're wrong." He answered. She recognized the bitterness in his voice. "That sounds like a healthy relationship. you should write a book." She tried to lighten the mood, again not knowing how to help him. She didn't know Tashi, only heard stories about her, and currently, they weren't great. "Art will just keep saying I should have taken the Stanford scholarship like him and be with you guys in the beautiful college bubble, drinking beer from a keg." He continued, ignoring the jab about his relationship. "Imagine how much fun you could have had with me at Stanford, Pat. I'm on my way to use my fake ID at a bar. In heels and everything." Liana tried to do everything she could to steer the conversation away from tennis. "Whoa, Liana Levi, breaking the law. Who would have believed we'd reach this moment? What's your fake name?" he laughed, which made Liana smile. Something about hearing Patrick so broken felt wrong to her. It didn't fit the curly-haired boy who always tried to make her laugh and include her in everything he did when she was around. "Amanda Jacobs," she replied. Silence fell on the line. "Amanda Jacobs like Amanda James who went to boarding school with me and Art?" Patrick asked, and she could hear the octaves in his voice change. She already knew he wouldn't let this go. "I had to come up with something on the spot. I panicked," she defended herself as his laughter slowly became the only thing she could hear. He couldn't see her right now, but it made her smile even more, even though it was at her expense. "Alright, Amanda, don't drink and drive. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He said after he calmed down. "Okay, Dad." She rolled her eyes. "You know I love it when you call me-" he couldn't finish the sentence because she hung up.

Art was sitting on her bed when she came back from the bar. Not only had her fake ID worked, but the bartender had also been hitting on Daria all night, so he kept pouring them free shots. It was safe to say Liana had never drunk that much alcohol in her life. "Am I imagining you?" she asked with utter seriousness. "What? No. I was waiting for you." He looked confused. "Are you drunk?" he asked the obvious while Liana tried to take off one of her heels and almost fell, causing Art to quickly get up and stand next to her so she could lean on him. "How did you get in here, Arthur?" she put her hands on her hips, causing him to look at her and flash his most charming smile. The kind that made all the girls melt. "Your dad gave me a key for emergencies," he said, without taking his eyes off her as he sat back on the bed and she approached him with clumsy steps, a little disappointed that taking off the heels didn't help her stability much. "Do you want to sit?" his tone was amused. He had never seen Liana so drunk. Almost every summer, they managed to sneak a few beers when Patrick came to visit. But it was never serious. "My dad gave you a key? You realize that's not normal, right? We need to talk about boundaries, Donaldson," she turned her head to him while he was already looking at her, just inches separating them as they sat next to each other on the bed. "Patrick told me you were going to a bar, something about a fake ID? wanted to see if you're ok" he said, not moving. A little afraid she'll be the one who suddenly moves away. He couldn't remember the last time Liana was this close to him. He didn't think she would ever get this close to him again. "Patrick is a snitch, and I'm not telling him anything anymore," she sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically, spreading her arms, causing Art to do the same and land on her arm, closer than she would tolerate any other day. "I can't believe you didn't invite me. I'm disappointed," he tried to sound amused, but he was genuinely disappointed. By this point, he was sure she understood they were friends, that they were connected by such a strong bond that he sometimes doubted if he could ever unravel it. If he even wanted to unravel it. He just didn't understand how, while he saw her so clearly, she didn't see him at all. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew his name. Then he would see her in the crowd at one of his games, and the world calmed down; he always won when she was there. "You don't drink anyway," she noted quietly. The fatigue started to overcome her, and Liana's eyes closed on their own. "Hey, I do drink," he defended himself, even though they both knew he was lying. He tried to maintain his diet as correctly as possible, as fitting as possible for his athletic lifestyle. "I think Patrick is sad," she suddenly said, and Art felt his heart beating quickly. "How do you know?" he asked in a quiet, almost defeated voice. "Because when I talk to him, I'm sad too."

sooo, here's the second part. I think we're getting somewhere, but it's going to be a slow burn, so stick with me, I guess. I'm kinda clueless as to if you like it or not, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking ❤️

[starlightsearches]

track 8 with eddie!

all i ask is that it’s sub!eddie 🤞

Brat

So I lied earlier about deleting all of the requests for the mixtape milestone 😬 i did get rid of the some of the requests i hadn't started, but i couldn't let go of the ones i drafted, which is good news, because inspiration struck for this one!

Ex-boyfriend! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, pussy eating, bratty eddie but he gets put in his place super quick, bondage, not a happy ending if you want them to get back together, language, and i think that's it!

You never thought you'd be back on Eddie Munson's doorstep.

Hands hanging heavy at your sides, a little taste of a summer breeze teasing at the hem of your skirt. You'd been full of a strange mixture of righteous fury and sick anticipation on the drive over but it's all gone now, a choking feeling in your throat when you lift up your hand to knock.

And you still can't do it.

Your eyes rake over his completely uninteresting door (are there even interesting doors?)— pockmarked with random dents and dings and sticky residue from long gone flyers—but you study it like it's the Mona Lisa, like it's got the meaning of life hidden somewhere in its peeling paint.

Fuck that. You didn't come here for the meaning of life.

Your knuckles meet the cool metal, once, then twice. The door flies open before you get a chance to drop your hand.

Eddie was waiting for you on the other side.

Heat floods through your entire body—and not the good kind—the oily feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck. Had he been watching you through the peep hole?

He leans casually up in the door frame, arm stretched long above his mess of curls. The smile on his lips is so familiar it makes you ache.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Eddie looks good. Better than the last time you saw him—a little over a month ago, although not much as changed. Kind of stubbly, kind of toned. Still very, very hot.

There's no need to feel guilty for thinking it, but that doesn't stop your stomach from sinking as you drag your eyes down the white t-shirt he wears, band logo faded and the sleeves cut off, knees poking out of the rips in his jeans.

It should be ridiculous—a fucking caricature of a cool guy with his artful rips and the tats littering his arms. A Halloween costume on anybody else. But not on Eddie.

You push past him, like you push past the thought about how tight he wears his jeans. "Don't call me that."

He follows you into the living room of his shitty little apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. "What can I call you, then? Sugar tits?"

He doesn't even pretend to whither under your stare, although you feel like you cut glass with the look you give him.

"I thought I told you not to call me at all. Where is it?"

He's standing too close, looming over you with a little smirk. You can feel how hot his skin is. Feel the warm puff of breath from his nose on your cheeks. "Where's what, gorgeous?"

He never called stuff like that when you were together. Baby was his favorite. Princess when he was feeling sassy. Honey, but only on the rarest occasions, the sweetest mornings. That one always made you weak at the knees.

"The box of my stuff," —you're mad at him, at this, and it hits you hard, has you jamming a finger into his sternum, feeling the wiry muscle of his chest underneath the tee—"the one you left me three desperate messages about."

That humbles him a little bit. A very little bit, but enough to make Eddie shut his mouth for once. He points down the hall behind you.

"Bedroom."

You know the way, but let him lead. It's colder in his apartment than it was outside, the hair on your arms standing up, and you hold yourself a little tighter, cussing yourself out for leaving your jacket in the car.

"You look good," he calls back without turning in your direction, eyes on the clutter covering every inch of the floor, maybe hoping you won't notice the edge in his voice, “going out tonight?"

That was the plan—before this. "Yeah."

"Who with?"

Eddie doesn't even have enough shame in him to look embarrassed about asking, staring at you openly, like he has any right to know anything about your life now that he's not in it.

"You don't know them," you answer, and he laughs.

"Come on, sweetheart. Your friends are my friends."

And yeah, that used to be the case. Robin still called you up some weekends, inviting you out to girls' nights in a sad little tone. You made up excuses every time, but she still called.

Whatever. They were Eddie's friends first.

"Well, I made new ones."

Eddie runs his tongue over his bottom lip, crossing his arms across his chest.

“What’re their names?”

Jesus, he's such an ass.

"Just a bunch of guys I met outside a liquor store. Said they'd buy me shots tonight if I let them motorboat me in the parking lot."

"Har-har," Eddie rolls his eyes, but you didn't miss the look. His concern for you makes you itch. "Seriously, princess, just wanna know if you're keeping good company."

"Well, I'm not. Can I get my stuff now?"

And maybe you feel kind of bad for lying to him, but you can't let him know the truth—that it'll just be you and a couple girls from work. A few glasses of wine and some gossip. Hell, you'll probably be in bed before midnight.

Eddie digs around at the bottom of his closet, producing a cardboard box littered with garbage—a stack of magazines, some stupid teddy bear he won for you at an arcade, and a couple of bras you'd never be able to wear anymore with the way Eddie's spit is probably permanently fused in the fabric.

A wasted trip.

You try to take the box from him, but Eddie's grip doesn't budge.

"I can carry it out to your car, sweetheart," he says, standing up tall, "unless those biker guys are out there waitin' for you."

"I never said they were bikers," you respond, adjusting your grip on the box, pulling it tighter to your chest. It just has Eddie taking another step closer, big, warm hands sliding over yours.

"Good, 'cause I don't think bikers are your type."

He's whispering a little, lowering his voice all sexy in the way that always used to get you into bed with him.

Not this time.

"Oh fuck you, Eddie. What would you know about my type?"

"Uh, at least a little, honey," he laughs, smiling wide and boyish—so confident, self-assured.

"Don't—" you snatch the box out of his hands, "call me honey."

That's the landmine he's been waiting for you to step on. Eddie looks at you, ready to mash all your buttons until he figures out which ones will have you on him. You wish he wasn't so close to the right combination.

He stalks closer, trapping you up against the closet door, both hands planted above your head. You can't feel anything below your knees.

Voice low, breath wet up against your ear, Eddie says, "what are you gonna do about it, honey?"

The box falls with a whump, spilling all your shit across Eddie's bedroom floor. It's nothing compared sound of your body slammed against the door when your lips finally meet his.

You don't know who started it—whether it was your hands tangled up in his hair or him pinning you in place with his hips. You just know you don't want it to stop.

Eddie's running hot—hot hands at your waist and stubbly skin scratching up your jaw and his whole, hot body pressing up against you, moving just the way you like.

Liked.

You push his hands away with both of yours, trapping them against his sides, but it's not enough to stop him, his mouth at your neck.

"Come on, honey," he whispers, "I said I was sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Eddie."

He tries again, fingertips just brushing against your hips. He looks at you, eyes a little sad, a little too honest.

"Then what can I do to get you back?"

Fuck him. You didn't come here for that either. There's only one thing you want from Eddie Munson, and it's not a box full of bras.

"Get on your knees."

You're surprised his bones don't break with the speed he falls to the floor, thumping against the carpet. Hands already pushing up the hem of your skirt, face pressed low against your stomach. Maybe he's missed this as much as you.

"God, baby," he whispers against your thighs, fingers snaking under the hip of your lacy underwear, "knew you couldn't stay away."

Your knee juts out against his sternum, pushing him back.

"Stop that."

The look on his face is a little stupid, jaw dropped open and his brows furrowed. You were never like this when you were together, always deferring to him in one way or another. But you’re not together anymore.

You crouch down to his level, tracing the tips of your nails over the distended veins in his neck. Eddie's lids flutter, and then fall closed when your lips run over the same path, hand stroking faintly down his arm.

"You don't get to touch me, Eddie," you tell him, and he starts to nod, until his eyes flicker open again and he gets a good look at you, zeroed in on your tits and the low-cut of your dress.

"I- I don't, I mean . . . how?"

You slip the black bandana from his back pocket, give his ass a little squeeze. "Don't worry, honey, I'll help you out."

Eddie doesn't fight you when you push his wrists together, wrapping the cloth around them. He just stares, like he's trying to make sure this isn't a dream, his throat trembling when you pull the knot tight, letting the coarse fabric bite into his skin. You can almost hear a moan on his lips. But maybe you just imagined that.

Besides, you're not worried about what he likes right now.

Back on your feet, you rest your shoulders against the door, jutting your hips out toward him. Eddie looks up at you, big eyes wider than you've ever seen them, wiggling his wrists a little to see if there's any give.

You raise a brow, nudging at the ripped knee of his jeans with your bare toes. "Well?"

Whatever doubts Eddie may have had, they're out the window the second he sees you lifting up your skirt, revealing more and more of the soft skin of your thighs, the black lace you're wearing underneath it.

"Jesus, honey," he shuffles forward until his face is sandwiched between your thighs again, "you wear these for me?"

There's a little laugh on your lips, if only to cover up the way your breath hitches at the way he kisses at your skin, squeezing you between his teeth.

Even without his hands, Eddie Munson is dangerous.

You shift your legs wider so he can fit better, plant a hand in his hair and pull him closer to where you want him.

"Not a chance, Munson. You think the next guy will like them?"

Eddie can't answer. Not vocally at least. His mouth is busy, tongue splitting your lips, before he stops to rub slow circles over your clit through the fabric. Like he's trying to tell you that there's not gonna be a next guy.

Fuck. You thought you were stronger than that, but maybe he's right.

Because, for all his faults, Eddie really knows how to eat pussy. Even without the use of his hands he's got you shaking—better than the feel of his fingers splitting you open, maybe even better than when he'd rip your underwear off you and dive in, nothing to separate you from the pleasure Eddie loved to give.

Your underwear are soaked, and not just from his spit, the sloppy way Eddie devours you, big eyes dark, looking up at you past the bunched up hem of your skirt. He's got you dripping, a little desperate.

Or more than a little.

Eddie's whispering when he pulls back enough he can speak, and you're shocked you can even hear him with the way he's talking directly into your pussy, and through the buzzing in your ears.

"Come on, princess. Let me taste you."

You snake your free hand down—because you want to, not because he asked, pulling the sticky wet fabric to the side. Eddie whistles low and soft when he sees your glistening cunt, the breeze sending a shiver up your spine when it meets your feverish skin.

He moves back in, slower this time, savoring the taste of you, his tongue peeking into your dripping hole and circling the edges, collecting your cum, drinking you up.

You press tighter against him to improve the angle, one leg coming up to rest on his broad shoulder. Eddie groans and the vibrations go straight to your clit.

Fuck, you're close. Close in a way you haven't been since you slammed the door to this apartment all those weeks ago—the kind of close you'd been looking for with your hand between your legs ever since, losing the feeling every time you were reminded that you should be thinking about anyone but Eddie.

But how could you manage? Head like this was hard to find.

Eddie knows that, the fucker, lips circled around your clit, sucking at you like his life depends on it. Your vision goes dark, eyes rolling back of their own accord. The only thing louder than your moans is the sound of Eddie's sloppy mouth working at your core.

You grind your hips down against his face, riding his mouth when the feeling overtakes you, body buzzing as those little uh uh uhs spill from your lips. Shock waves like fireworks traveling through you with each stroke of his tongue.

Fuck.

Eddie doesn't slow down, still abusing your poor clit, sucking at your puffy lips, trying to drain you of all those moans from you until you've got to drag him away by his hair or else he's gonna make you cum again.

And then you'll never want to leave.

Eddie looks up at you, face shiny, and he smiles.

"How was that?"

And it's almost as thrilling as that orgasm, the way his brain so clearly shuts down and stalls when you shift your clothes back to where they were, unphased, patting his cheek with a patronizing little look.

"Passable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have plans."

Eddie doesn't have quite enough balance to get back on his feet with his wrists still tied, so he shuffles after you on his knees, tripping on clutter and knocking shit over.

"Wait a second, what about me?"

He waves his hands in front of his face, like you might have forgotten that you tied him up, like it wasn’t the highlight of your day.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, princess."

You don't even bother to look back, and the satisfaction that washes over you probably feels better than heroin.

You're in the living room before you hear Eddie call out again.

"Hey! You forgot all your stuff!"

He doesn't get a response to that one, either. The last Eddie hears from you is the slamming of his front door.

[formulaforza]

furniture-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 750 a/n: thank u dani for snapping my writers block. art imitates life fr fr here

Are you busy? You texted him, tossed your phone onto the ground next to you and assessed the situation in front of you for the hundredth time. Pieces of wood everywhere, harware everywhere, a cordless drill your dad had given you when you moved out years ago–one he didn’t show you how to use. 

What had started as a simple Friday evening project, rearranging your apartment living room, had transformed into an all-consuming weekend of furniture and clutter shopping. The Ikea box–boxes–sit torn apart on the floor and the instruction pamphlet is disheveled amongst the mess somewhere. 

Never for you, he replies, you roll your eyes. 

You reach for your phone, quickly type out your response. Come over? You text, and immediately follow it up. Not for the reason you think.

He’s knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later, three knocks, pause, and then another. Just like always. You try to manuver your way out of the maze of wooden boards and dowels and hardware and the dreadful drill to get to the door. He’s on his phone when you open it, quickly shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket and smiles at you like an idiot. “Hi.”

“Help.” You say, straight-faced and serious because you’re in so over your head it’s not even funny. He laughs, you swing open the door nad mumble out a preemptive apology. 

He chokes your name out through a laugh as soon as he sees the mess. “What have you done?” 

“Can you help me?” You say over his shoulder, over his shaking head. Disbelief, amazement, fear, probably all of the above because you’ve truly created a monster.

“Cherie, what am I looking at, even?” He scratches the back of his head, his neck, just inside the collar of his t-shirt. 

“Entertainment center.”

He tries not to laugh. Fails miserably. “Are you sure?”

“I think.”

“Oh, mamma mia.” He shakes his head, looks at you and reflects your pout. “You’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to help me, or not?” You are so far beyond help, mon amour, he sighed, told you to get something to drink and that he would figure out how to undo whatever you’d done and build the furniture the way it was originally intended to be built. “You don’t want my help?”

“I am scared of your help.” You would be offended if everything you’d managed to put together looked even a little bit like what the end goal was, but, he was probably right to be scared by what you could do. You were a little scared by how badly you’d managed to screw it up. It felt like maybe someone should take away your rights to adult if you couldn’t built a simple peice of furniture. “If I teach you, you won’t have to ask for my help next time.”

“This is truly an enlightening experience,” you say, pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Dinner and a show.” Who knew watching your guy-who-isn’t-your-guy play with high stakes Swedish legos could be so attractive. It’s just furniture, you’d try to remind yourself, and then he'd use your drill like his dad taught him how to use one instead of just giving him one as a gift. 

“Who gave this to you?” He asked about the drill the first time he picked it up. “I don’t think they liked you much.”

You laughed. He laughed at your laugh. “My dad,” you answered, and he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t confirm or deny his previous claim. You don’t know if he plays it safe because you’ve told him too much–or too little–information.

Despite a few of the screws angled just a bit awkwardly, the only real victim of the entertainment center debacle of 2023 is a single wooden dowel that snapped clean in half. “Do you have super glue?” He asked when the two of you finally stopped laughing about it. I have nail glue, you told him, and only time will tell if the cosmetic solution actually worked. 

“My hero!” You joked, stood up on your tip-toes to throw an arm around him, admired your–his–work now that the console had been set in it’s forever home. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You would’ve figured it out.” He says, smiles down at you like he isn’t a liar. “It just would have been…”

“A disaster?”

He chuckles. “Abstract.”

“Oh.” You laugh, kiss him because how can you not? “You’re sweet.”

[sentientfunfetti]

dollhouse wally/reader headcanons !

(dollhouse wally is made by @/itskorrychang on twitter + instagram. i’m unsure if they have a tumblr. go support them!)

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !

CW// YANDERE/POSSESSIVE THEMES !!!

-

-

-

i’m pretty sure this is canon but when i first saw it i had to expand on it more. he would call you things like: pretty thing, beautiful/beauty, gorgeous. nice words like that. he wouldn’t use ‘vulgar’ words like ‘hot or sexy’ to describe you. too unimaginative.

loves the feeling of your skin on his. you’re so warm and soft against him and he loves it. doesn’t even mind if you have body hair, even if that would be a bit weird to other people. it just adds onto you and he would find it immature if someone else complained. touch starved as well. being alone for so long does that to people. he just loves physical contact with you in general.

would definitely do things the old fashioned way. he would mail you a love letter and hope you get it with baited breath. if you say yes then expect him to stumble over his words all while trying to keep his composure. if you ask him who delivered it to your mail box, he would say eddie.

he would brag to barnaby about you. since he believes that the dolls hes made of his dear neighbors are real and listening he would sit barnaby down while you’re away and brag to him about you. sometimes barnaby responds. maybe one day he’d allow you and him to meet?

definitely possessive. doesn’t like to see his pretty thing wander far from him. even of he has to keep you in the dollhouse himself, he’ll do it if he needs to. he’d hate to see you get hurt, and the world is harsh and cruel out there. it would be best for you to stay with him…completely…forever. where you’re safe.

sometimes spends moments of you two spending time together just…staring at you. he loves the way you look. your hair, your eyes, the way your face crinkles up when you smile. it all makes him lightheaded and fuzzy. if he made a doll of you he would show you with pride and point out all the fine details that he captured of you, even the ones you haven’t noticed.

doesn’t like it when you see his ‘cracks’ or flaws. he would like to appear to you as flawless as fresh porcelain, but unfortunately sometimes you make him just a tad too emotional and he starts to show his true colors. he just hopes you don’t hate him or think bad of him. you’re the first visitor he’s had since the others abandoned him…he really would love for you two to be together for as long as possible.

makes you small gifts all the time. really is an arts and crafts kind of guy. he loves seeing your face light up when he gives you dolls or other things he’s made by hand. he also does embroidery and makes doilies. tends to do it when you’re away to pass the time until you come back. he would try and teach you how to do it too.

on the flip side, if you gave him a gift— well he’d just melt. he wouldn’t know what to do. even the smallest gift would send him into a flurry of “oh neighbors” and “i love you”s. he would tear up a bit and immediately put it somewhere where he can see it anytime he wants to. it would be precious to him, no matter how well made.

isolation breed abandonment issues. he wouldn’t like you leaving his side that much, and if you do he would wait patiently until you get back. he isn’t the kind of guy to set a curfew, as you’re your own person and an adult but he would definitely expect you to be back before nightfall at least.

would allow you to call him ‘dolly’, simply because it amuses him.

doesn’t sleep that well and has trouble sleeping, he usually spends that time alone but when you’re around he likes to watch you sleep. he stands over you with his arms folded behind his back, or sits on your bed and watches over you as you snooze along. he’d brush your hair out of your face, or whisper to you as you sleep. things he would probably never say to you if you were awake. he’d also take that time to study your face more closely for his doll of you. more time to look at you the better. you look so peaceful and it brings his heart joy to know you’re here with him, and safe. if you’d allow him, he would love to cuddle you while you sleep and would do the same either way.

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

these were just silly little ideas i brewed up! i’ve been having real bad brainrot of dollhouse ever since i saw him and i haven’t really seen that much content of him around and that’s a shame because his design is absolutely incredible.

i’d also like to take this time to mention that my requests are open! as long as you follow my guidelines, we should get along just fine. i can’t guarantee i will get to every one but i can try! hope to see you soon, neighbor.

[vickyvicarious]

ooooh, I love Patrick Hennessey's voice!

Renfield getting possessive over Dracula... or possibly just recognizing that the boxes being taken away means Dracula might leave too, and he wants to prevent that.

kfjsldf Renfield is so good at managing the staff here. politely gaslighting them to believe he's oblivious to his own actions then escaping

OHkay the dull thuds were quite awful when he's slamming the guy's head into the ground

"you know I'm no lightweight" between this and Seward knocking Renfield off with one punch I now find myself imagining them like. wrestling each other for fun or something at least once. (jack would have gotten very bisexual about it and then refused to look dr. hennessey in the face for days probably)

"'I'll frustrate them! They shan't rob me! they shan't murder me by inches! I'll fight for my Lord and Master!'" I love how rough his voice sounds here, so different from usual. Also the murder me by inches is such a vivid and bleak way to describe being deprived of the chance at supernatural life.

sorry for your finger, Hardy

YES, the first of the very thirsty men who are suddenly more relaxed when given a drink. it's so funny

but really, Hennessey managed that very well. his quick smoothing over and attention to detail could be really helpful if anyone decided to sue them or something over this.

the phonograph noises at the beginning of Jack's entry at first made me think they were at the end of Hennessey's report, and it would be very funny if Jack insisted on getting his report in phonograph form. That, or Hennessey just wanted to take the chance to see what all the fuss was about.

...and then Jack started speaking and all amusement was lost. God, he's wrecked.

the stop and scoff before "too miserable" GODDDD

"the flapping of the wings of the angel of death" yeah he's been flapping a lot the bastard

but really, the way Jack lists them off, so bitterly, damn it's horrible

is he drinking? or trying to keep from crying? I mean he's definitely doing that either way but

the shake on "we must not all break down"

van Helsing speaking SO GENTLY to Arthur, auuugh

"You shall lie on one, and I on the other, and our sympathy will be comfort to each other, even though we do not speak, and even if we sleep." this is so sweet, I can't believe I'd forgotten about it

"in this room, as in the other," of course, it makes sense not to keep Lucy in her own bedroom, where the windows are shattered and where her mother died... but I wonder where she is. Did I miss a line about it somewhere? A part of me imagines Mrs. Westenra's room, which would mean they both die in one another's beds. :(

NOT THE TEETH

"Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer... and sharper than they had been in the morning. In particular - by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked... longer... and sharper than the rest." he repeats 'longer and sharper' twice, and especially the second time sounds so... nearly fascinated. It reminds me of Jonathan describing Dracula.

"there came a sort of dull flapping or buffeting at the window" there he is, the flappy asshole. angel of death himself.

"It struck me as curious that the moment she became conscious she pressed the garlic flowers close to her. It was certainly odd that whenever she got into that lethargic state, with the stertorous breathing, she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close." SHE'S TRYING. GOD I WANNA CRY

van Helsing's fear and despair is so well conveyed. and when he spends several minutes staring at her and then sounds so calm - he is determined.

"I went to the dining-room and waked him." the way Jack says this line is just. brutal.

I CAN'T LISTEN TO ART BREAK DOWN THIS IS GONNA DESTROY ME

the saddest "my dear old fellow" in the world

brushing Lucy's hair... I love that this makes Jack cry, because it makes me cry too.

ffffuck her shaky greeting to Arthur.

so I was talking a little bit ago about how Jack seems to distance himself unconsciously and start referring to Lucy as a thing whenever she is in more vampiric mode, and I love to hear it reflected in his voice here too. He goes from being so choked up with emotion to sounding almost cold as he says "the mouth opened,"

and he sounds so disturbed when he calls her eyes "dull" and her voice "voluptuous"

oh no oh no that "oh my love " is SO DAMN SINISTER art don't do it don't do it. like damn, I can't even make a joke about van helsing playing chaperone I'm just thankful that he's there!

it's not like being a vampire is transferrable through saliva or anything anyway but. she sounded so scary there.

Jack's delivery about van Helsing pulling Arthur back from the kiss was so funny. He sounds so incredulous: "dragged him back with a fury of strength which I never thought he could have possessed," van Helsing may joke about him being bitchless but Jack was here thinking he was a frail old man so who's laughing now. (van Helsing. definitely still van Helsing.)

van Helsing's panting!

art, bless him, choosing not to get into a fight over his fiance's deathbed. (the way Jack's voice gets rough on "and the occasion" uggggh)

god, Lucy's voice makes me so sad. that final "and give me peace"......

"Their eyes met instead of their lips; and so they parted." THIS LINE.

nooooooo don't make me listen to Art cry fuck it's breaking me

the music while Jack is talking about there being peace for Lucy is so ominous!!! also I love the way he is so clearly trying so hard to stay composed and say something nice and look on the bright side if only a little... and then van Helsing has to be mysterious and ominous and ruin that for him too

van Helsing Barbie strikes again

"only some letters and a few memoranda, and a diary new begun." those last few words are so sad. She never got to do more than just begin her diary. She never got to even begin her new life before it was taken away from her.

"we both started at the beauty before us," Beautiful Corpse Jumpscare

"He had not loved her as I had, and there was no need for tears in his eyes." I get how you feel but that's pretty dang rude, Jack. He's told you that he loves her and wanted to save her. He already cried for her once.

kjdsfljksdf THE DELIVERY of "I want to cut off her head and take out her heart." and. no DUH he's shocked, vH! don't go acting like this is typical surgeon behavior/reaction. omg.

and then that sigh and 'kind' concession that 'all you have to do is help me cut off her head that's all'

I fucking love the delivery of "no good to her, to us, to science, to human knowledge"

"I may err—I am but man; but I believe in all I do." the way his voice almost wavers on the word 'believe'. Not out of doubt, but emotion.

"and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me?" the way he says this line... he was so affected by her trust in him and her final request. he feels honored and burdened both.

Jack being so emotional about the maid grieving for Lucy... and me sitting there knowing that she's in there to steal from Lucy. (or at least, she does even if it's not why she went in)

mr. marquand! you are a decent guy, thank you for trying to look out for Lucy's interests. anyone who tries to give her agency is good in my book. even if your rejoicing is in. rather poor taste. (Jack's laugh at that is great!)

Art bringing Jack in with him is so sweet, god, god, his crying.... THE WAY HE SAYS JACK'S NAME. THE WAY HE SAYS THERE'S NOTHING TO LIVE FOR

Jack's line about men only needing "a grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison," was already ridiculous but the way says it like he's trying so hard to convince himself

I hit the bulletpoint character limit. Wow.

Anyways the delivery is so stiff-upper-lip-this-is-fine, it's great. especially as the further into the line he gets the more you can hear him trying not to sob as well.

THE SADDEST SMOOCH NOISES

the way Art reacts to being called 'Lord'. ""No, no, not that, for God's sake! not yet at any rate." he sounds so desperate, the POOR MAN

and the way he is taking deep breaths while talking to van Helsing. He is working so fucking hard to be kind and try and make things easier and get through this without lashing out at anyone. I love him so much.

and van Helsing immediately follows up with "I stole your dead girlfriend's letters, can I keep them?" I KNOW he feels bad about it and he feels it is necessary and everything but. damn okay.

NOT A LULLABY NOOOOOOOOOO

GOD THAT'S SO SAD. DO NOT COME INTO THE NIGHT DO NOT GO TO SLEEP MY DEAR :( :( oh how dare you with that line about eternal life/shine so bright" AND TAKE MY BITE NOOOOOOO

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Now Loading...

Some more supplementary material for the Frat Boy! Au, this time starring blorbo of the hour: Kento Nanami

Because he’s been heavy on my mind. Starting with his basic info!

Nanami grew up very middle class, not as poor as Suguru or Ryomen, but nowhere near as well off as Satoru.

He’s a business major not because he wants to, but because he feels he has too. If he had it his way, he would be a culinary student. But according to his father, there's no money in being a line cook, so accounting it is. 

Still, he hopes to use his degree to open his own restaurant one day. His father would never approve of a line cook for a son, but maybe Nanami could sell him on a business owner for a son. 

He says the main reason he joined the ABO frat was to try and make business connections, he knew that some people would hire one applicant over another just because they were alumni of the same fraternity. In reality though, he’d have more room in the frat and unlimited access to the kitchen. 

His room is full of plants. Plants of all kinds everywhere, including some herbs. It used to kinda annoy Ryomen (his roommate) but, he’s grown to actually kinda appreciate it. It makes the room feel less dead. 

Phenomenal cook who can not bake to save his life. Cooking is an art but baking is a science and somewhere along the way he fucks it up every time. Be it mixing the batter too much or too little, not letting it sit long enough or letting it sit too long- he doesn't know. He can handle box cake mix that’s about it. 

Now if you want a steak cooked to perfection with perfectly roasted veggies and the creamiest mashed potatoes you've ever put in your mouth on the side he’s you’re guy. If you want an authentic lasagna with homemade everything including the noodles and sauce, he can do that for you. Do not ask him to make bread. 

He’s also insanely good at fighting games. Every version of Nanami in my heart is a God when it comes to fighting games, there is not a universe in which Nanami exists where he doesn’t dominate at Tekken, argue with the wall if you don’t agree.

Adding to that, he’s also in love with D&D. He’s a forever DM that spends hours of time planning campaigns, hours he should be spending on his school work but shhhh. If you really want to make him swoon, offer to let him be a player in a campaign. He’d pull out a ring on the spot. 

That being said, I think it’s time to get into some relationship headcanons ;)

HE’S A TSUNDERE! Look at that man, he has such big Tsundere energy.

Out of all his frat brothers, Nanami is probably the one that gets laid the least. Not from a lack of opportunity, nay nay, women (and men) throw themselves at him all the time. He’s just picky and not a fan of being touched by stragers. 

You though? You’re different (of course you are, you’re the main character!) The two of you really started to click after you had to work on a pretty big project together. Little things you did softened his heart for you.

Small things like asking him more about his D&D campaign plans, excitedly showing him pictures of the plants that you kept in your dorm, and offering to help him out in the kitchen. Little moments of quality time and tenderness while you were working on this project together nurtured his small crush into full blown butterflies when you were around.

He finally admitted to himself he was in love with you when you beat him in Street Fighter. He wasn’t used to losing at fighting games. You bragged about using his tips against him (you listened to what he said) and laughed about the weeks you spent training to destroy him (otherwise known as taking a genuine interest in his hobbies.) 

He asked you out on a date that night and you were taken completely off guard! You had no idea the fool even liked you! He was cold on the best of days, spending more time scowling at his notebooks than listening to what you said (or so you thought.) He never contacted you unless it was in regards to your project, and most of the time you spent hanging out outside of it was just because you had become friends with his frat brothers and happened to be at the house. You mean he liked you?! 

Of course you said yes, if for no other reason than to see where the hell this goes. You were 40% sure it was a prank, but hey- a free meal was a free meal. It helped he was hot as hell, what was the harm in one date?

You saw a whole new side of Kento Nanami that night. He was warm and attentive, and fucking hilarious when he wasn’t just keeping all of his jokes to himself. 

It was a simple date. A moonlit picnic in the nearby park, one where he brought his laptop and used his phone hotspot so the two of you could watch movies together. 

That was the night when you found out Kento Nanami considered himself to be a hopeless romantic. 

When he took you back to your dorm, he walked you to the door and actually asked if he could kiss you goodnight. 

And now you’re both smitten! 

Once you’re officially his girlfriend, You’re gonna find out he’s genuinely pretty chill. Happy to give you your space and recognize you’re a person outside of your relationship. That being said, let some asshole start getting a little too comfortable with you at a part and he’s quick to throw hands.

You would think nerdy little Nanami wasn’t that good in a fight, but nay nay, he was forced to play football in highschool and will leave a bastard concussed. 

He says he’s not a cuddler, but every time you sleep in his bed you wake up with him cuddled close to you. 

Nanami loves kisses, and is always planting them on you when you’re in kissing range. Your lips, cheeks, forehead, everything is fair game. 

You’re the only person in the world other than like, his parents that can call him Kento. He’s always gone by his last name, to the point that his first name makes him feel like he’s in trouble. Only authority figures use it when they’re pissed off at him. But it hits him different when it comes from your lips. When you say it, it feels tender and intimate. It’s the closest he gets to liking his name.

He always tries to make time for you and your relationship. Even if that sometimes means that your date nights are just study dates, he always strives to make you feel like a priority. 

He’s a soft guy that falls in love easily. You may not know it yet, but he has full intentions to marry you after graduation. A fact his frat brothers are quick to tease him about, while also making him promise to make them groomsmen. 

[diazguzman]

Part 4

24/06/16 He said, Ella dijo podcast. (I'm so sorry about the thumbnail YouTube choose for the video 🙈 YouTube said 😬)

Such a wonderful interview, here Ryan talks about parenthood, his martial arts training since he was a child, his modeling career and start as an actor, how dancing was easy to him due his upbringing as Mexican-American because there were many parties to attend Ryan also said that fighting and dancing are very similar. He opened up about his struggles with mental health and past suicide attempt then he talked about his new movie "the present".

Full transcript.

24/06/18 Interview for KTLA (Ryan talks about parenthood, his movie and mentions buddie unprompted 🙂‍↕️)

Gif from ayo-edebiri

Clip of Ryan talking about buddie. Whole interview.

24/06/18 Interview for CBS news, Ryan talks about "the present"

24/06/18 The Jess Cagle Show

Here Ryan talks about "the present" and how he took the role in the movie because the plot of " kids trying to keep their parents together" resonated with him. He talks about parenthood and his 2 children and how one of his kids thought he was a real firefighter because they saw an episode of 911. He talks about 911 and what happened to Eddie in the season finale and how Eddie has lost all foundation and footing and the new season will be about Eddie starting on a new landscape and what this new landscape will offer to him. He is making sure he is super fit to play Eddie, he believes Eddie will be working out more as a coping mechanism. He talked about the boy next door and working with JLO and how he didn't really call himself an actor until 3 years ago. Kenneth helped him to understand he had to put in the works to be an actor, to study and take acting seriously. When his last fight as a MMA fighter didn't end up being what he wanted he left Sacramento to pursue a modeling career in LA where he had to share a small apartment with five more guys. He then started acting because he was very competitive (he was like "if my roommates want to try acting so can I" 🫡).

24/06/21 Ryan with Mario López

He talks about his movie "the present", Ryan also talked about how Eddie lost his kid and had to say goodbye to his late wife for the billion time (😅) so in season 8 Eddie will be finding himself all over again in a new landscape and he thinks Eddie will want to escape somewhere, he finding a healthy or unhealthy coping mechanism is yet to be seen.

Ryan also talked about his art and how art to him is more like story telling. Ryan said he is doing mostly boxing training right now and at the end he talked about his children and trying to get his kids into sports.

24/06/21 Oliver's interview for men's health *

Oliver was on a road trip, during his interview he talked about mental health and how when he's not doing well he tends to withdraw, how he struggled with making friends and how during his trip he met a lot of great people thanks to his dogs ❤️. Oliver talked about acting, how it was difficult for him when a previous girlfriend had more auditions than him back then and how he's really grateful for the opportunity to work on 911. Oliver also talked about the complications due the use of social media, where you don't always find positive things.

He talked about Buck's coming out arc, he's really honored of getting to play a bi character. He also talked about how curating his online experience is very important to him, mentioned having another twitter account that was mostly about sports, he has previously found people sharing negative opinions about him and that's why he refrains from looking about things about himself online. He also talks about how much he loves nature.

24/06/23 Whine down with Jana Kramer The boy next door with Ryan Guzmán 

He talked about how he started acting, he hated modeling. He got into debt thanks to the modelig agencies. What he likes about acting is that acting connects with the human side of things. Ryan also talked about his art and his experience while working with JLO, he talked about "the present" also mentioned he is currently a single father and why he keeps his children out the public eye and how much he misses them when they are not with him. He's not looking for someone to date right now.

24/06/26 Ryan being interviewed for people en Español

Ryan talked about the challenges of playing Eddie and mentioned the parallels between him and Eddie. He talked about his role in "the present" and his costars. Ryan also talked about the Latino community, and the need of more than stereotypical representation and diversity in media he talked about being Latino actor while playing a character and how when he's off set he's still a Latino person even if most of the time people will think he's white 💔

[packingpest]

Making this post from the hearts of me and my friends and their friends who like Rhythm Heaven here on Tumblr and Instagram

TANGOTRONIC FANS SHUT UP.

NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THEM.

I HAVE TALKED TO A LOT OF RHYTHM HEAVEN FANS IN MY TIME, SOME GREAT AND SOME QUESTIONABLE. BUT YOU TANGOTRONIC FANS.

NEED TO BE PUT.

ON A LEASH.

I WAS FRIENDS WITH ONE ON INSTAGRAM. All they ever dmed me?

"YOU WANNA SEE THIS TANGOTRONIC ART?"

"*SENDS RANDOM FANARTS ANYWAY*"

"WANNA SEE THIS TANGOTRONIC STORY?"

"WANNA HEAR ABOUT TANGOTRONIC?"

NO WE DON'T.

IT WAS GREAT THE FIRST WEEK. OKAY THE NEXT. THEN I GOT TIRED. AND NOW I SEE MY FRIENDS GETTING BOTHERED TO HELL? WE ARE TIRED OF IT. If it was just me I could live but the fact it's not just this one person to me, it's multiple people to everyone.

I like Tangotronic3000 as much as the next guy, but YOU PEOPLE ARE TOO INCONSIDERATE. YOU SPAM THE FEEDS AND DMS WITH SO MUCH. I COULD BE HAVING THE WORST DAY EVER AND I CHECK MY ONLY DM TO SEE "HEY LOOK AT THIS TANGOTRONIC HEADCANON" SHUT. UP. AND STOP SPAMMING THE FUCKING ASK BOXES WITH IT.

IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF TANGOTRONIC EITHER, ITS JUST THAT EVERY TIME ANY OF YALL SPEAK ITS ABOUT TANGOTRONIC. NOT A HI, NOT A HELLO, FUCK, I BET YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW MY NAME OTHER THAN PACKINGPESTS. IT'S NICE IN MODERATION, BUT NOT EVERY FIVE SECONDS.

I leave them on read so many times for so long to no avail. I wake up to a tangotronic message. STOP IT. PLEASE. ALMOST EVERY RHYTHM HEAVEN MUTUAL OF MINE I'M CLOSE WITH IS SOMEWHERE BOTHERED (I have about 8, some ive actively had rant to me about them and a few ive just seen mention it once so far [Across a few platforms]). I have some that are just like, "Ehh, yeah it's annoying, but let them do what they want," then on the other side I have someone sending me "GOD FUCKING DAMNIT ALL MY FEED IS IS STOLEN TANGOTRONIC ART." Me personally I am at a 7 out of 10 on the annoyed scale.

Stop making everything about your niche game. I love talking about manzai birds or packing pests or munchy monk, but I don't make it a life style, and I especially wouldn't make it a lifestyle 1 to 1. An account about it? Sure, whatever, but god please make a group chat for y'all, you have each other to talk to who actually want to 24/7 eat sleep breathe tangotronic, some of us don't. Some of us don't have the heart to tell you, but thank God that ain't me. I've already blocked a few, but some remain, so if you see this, take fucking note.

CALM. THE FUCK. DOWN.

This was posted as of them being rabid and off the leash, if they are now, then hallelujah

This post is made up of 80% the rage of my friend Curtis who is at like a 11/10 in Tangotronic hatred and I didn't want him to feel like the only one so if you got a problem with it you fight me not him I love arguing

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — dave’s night off.

DECEMBER 14, 1985, 7:46 PM

“Okay, McFly, focus. You got this.”

Marty’s staring at the pristine living room wall, hands drumming his thighs. The familiar motions help him to think, be calm.

“Nobody knows what happened to the boat that Grandpa Artie gave Mom and Dad,” he begins, like he’s studying for a history test in the garage, “but that doesn’t mean it’s gone, it’s just… in storage… somewhere. Uh… Grandma Sylvia’s crochet blanket is in your room. It smells like her perfume, not popcorn, and that’s okay, ‘cause you miss her anyway and you need to call her soon. Nobody knows what the hell happened to Grandpa Sam’s scratchy plaid couch with the busted up cushions and Grandma Stella’s quilt’s in Mom’s hope chest… she thinks.”

“The weird modern art thing Mom and Dad picked up on… their honeymoon?...” He smacks his forehead, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, no, not their honeymoon, it was their anniversary, their tenth anniversary. Dad replaces the flowers in the vase with fresh ones every week for Mom. There’s a million throw pillows on the couch so I guess nobody sits there anymore?…”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh… kitchen. Right. We got the good chips and the good cereal, not the store brand, but... only one box ‘cause I’m the only one that still eats that junk. Everybody else has… bran and muesli and shit.”

He sighs.

“Photos…” Marty picks up an immaculate frame. “This is from Dave’s tenth birthday trip to Disneyland but you were five so it’s okay you don’t remember anything.” He stares at the family in the photo; a happy mom, a charming dad, three beautiful kids, the littlest one with a grin that looks like it’s about to break his tiny face in half. He thumbs over the glass. “I’m sorry, kid. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I hope you’re okay… whenever you are.” He sets the photo back down.

“We’ve been to Knott’s Berry Farm, Florida, New York…” They keep asking him where he wants to go after graduation and he’s beginning to run out of ways to stall.

“At least Long Beach still happened,” Marty continues. “Jen remembers, so do the guys. And you got the album and the poster and the t-shirt to prove it, so—“

“What the hell?”

“Jesus Christ!” Marty jumps, whirling around to meet his older brother’s eyes. “Dave, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doin’ home? It’s Saturday! You’re supposed to be out with the guys from the office!”

He’d had it all planned: Dave was supposed to be out, Linda was working late and then had a date, and his parents were off at the Baxters’ Christmas party. He thought it was safe.

“Oh, I scared the shit out of you?” Dave retaliates. “And yeah, it’s Saturday, but it’s the week before Christmas, genius! Maybe I’m supposed to, I don’t know, hang out with my kid brother!”

“I-I’m sorry, Dave,” Marty sighs, deflating, hanging his head and sticking his hands in his pockets. “I just…”

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” Dave asks, putting his hands on his shoulders. Even without looking up, Marty can feel his brother’s eyes on him, searching.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“‘At least Long Beach still happened?’” Dave prompts. “Of course it happened! That stupid concert was all you talked about for months!”

Marty manages a smile, before it falls.

“You ever feel like you’re goin’ crazy, Dave?” he ventures. “Or maybe… like the world is? I-I know it doesn’t make sense, but…”

“Of course it makes sense,” Dave cuts him off with a sigh. “I was seventeen too, y’know.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Marty laughs, “you were kinda the worst.”

“Sure I was, I was a pain in the ass,” Dave agrees. He tilts Marty’s head up with his finger like their mom used to and gives him a smile. “You’re not crazy, Marty. I’ll tell you what’s happening. Senior year is makin’ you screwy and I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I-I haven’t,” Marty admits.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna order pizza, you’re gonna kick my ass at Nintendo while we wait, and then we’re gonna watch a movie. Okay?”

“…Pepperoni with extra cheese?”

“Duh. What am I, a monster?”

“Okay.” Marty smiles as Dave ducks into the kitchen to order. “Hey, Dave…?”

“Yeah?” He sticks his head out, receiver already up to his ear.

“…Thanks.”

Dave winks.

“Anytime, Marty. Anytime.”

DECEMBER 14, 1985, 11:29 PM

Dave turns the volume on the TV down, opting to watch the rest of the VHS on as close to mute as possible. He sets the remote down, turning his attention to his sleeping brother, curled into his side like a little kid. He ruffles his hair, sighing.

Normally, he’d tease Marty when he’d wake up about how he took photos or something stupid like that, or he’d just carry him up to bed, but things hadn’t been normal for months now. Something happened, he didn’t know what, and at least if he was right here he could watch him and make sure he was okay.

The front door opens and he recognizes his sister’s footsteps, the way she slips off her heels and the jingle of her keys and handbag as she sets them on the counter. She walks into the living room, about to say something, but Dave raises his free hand to his lips in a shushing motion.

Linda takes in the scene, then sits down on Dave’s other side. She grabs the remote, starts rewinding White Christmas, then leans her head on Dave’s shoulder as the movie starts to play.

[q-gorgeous]

Today Was the Day

hi @dashing-through-ecto :D i was your vce gifter i had so much fun thinking up this concept and i hope you like it kjbhvgc the fic sprung from the art xD

@valentines-core-exchange

uncensored art is in the fic where that particular scene happens. warning for a hole in dannys chest. its nothing super graphic, in the style of the show but i wanted to put a warning. i will not be putting the art in the fic on ao3 tho in case anyone doesnt wanna see it

ao3

ffn

this is not beta read ahhh its 4:30 am kjbhgv

Today was the day. 

Today he was going to tell Danny Fenton he was in love with him. 

It had taken him a while to figure that out. It had also taken them a while to get to where they were now. Dash used to bully Danny every day of their freshman year, but now as seniors they were friends. They hung out all the time. He was even friends with Danny’s friends. 

And today he was going to tell Danny how he felt. He was pretty sure Danny felt the same way, but neither of them had confessed to the other. There were only lingering touches and lovestruck looks. Nothing concrete. But Dash had to tell him. Even on the off chance that Danny didn’t feel the same. 

They were in between classes right now and Dash saw Danny standing at his locker with Sam and Tucker exchanging textbooks. Dash smiled and walked up to them, waving at Sam and Tucker from behind Danny’s back.

“Hey, Danny. Do you want to go to the Nasty Burger with me tonight? My treat.” Dash asked, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to Danny’s open one. 

Tucker let out a whooping sound. “Collect my rsvp! I’m always down for free food.” 

Sam elbowed him and whispered his name, shooting Tucker a look. 

Tucker glanced between Danny and Dash and back again. “Oh wait. I forgot. Me and Sam have that thing tonight. Sorry, can’t go.”

Dash could practically feel Danny’s eyes as he rolled them at Tucker. “Yeah sure that thing that you guys totally have.” He turned to look at Dash and smiled at him. “I’d be down for that Dash. What time?”

“I’ve got practice after school today. How about seven? Meet you there?” 

Danny turned back to his locker and closed it. “It’s a date.” 

Butterflies erupted in Dash’s stomach. A date.

Sam snickered and Dash’s gaze flickered to her. Her and Tucker were watching them, trying to, but not very hard, stifle their laughter.

“Yeah! Cool.” Dash smiled at him. 

“Okay you kids, let’s get to class.” Sam waved them after her as she started walking away. Dash fell into step beside Danny, their shoulders brushing as they walked down the hallway. 

qqqqqq

Dash ran his hands through his hair a couple more times in the mirror before spraying a spritz of cologne on himself. He was nervous but also kind of excited. He was finally gonna tell Danny how he felt 

He grabbed the bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates that he had bought on his way home from practice today. He looked at Danny’s name, scrawled out in his handwriting on both items. He hoped that Danny liked flowers. He knew he liked chocolate. 

He headed downstairs and out the door. He knew the Nasty Burger wasn’t the fanciest place in town, but it was somewhere familiar and they both liked it. 

As he was heading down the street, he could hear some commotion coming up. 

Coincidentally it seemed to be following the same path as him. As he got closer he could finally see what it was. 

Phantom was fighting that hunter ghost again. They were both flying back and forth around each other. Phantom landed a shot on the ghost and was growled at in response. 

“I’ve got some place to be! Come back a different time!” 

Phantom definitely seemed to be in a rush today. He was getting sloppy, trying to capture the ghost as soon as possible. 

“Hey, Phantom!” Dash called, walking towards the commotion with a big smile on his face. Phantom was his hero. He loved him. He didn’t get many chances to talk to him. “Kick his ass, Phan-”

Dash stopped in the middle of the street, his voice dying in his throat. In front of him, Phantom stood shell shocked, a hole blasted through his chest by the hunter ghost. Dash could see the ghost through Phantom’s chest. He bellowed out a deep laugh. 

As the other ghost started talking to Phantom, a pair of rings appeared around his waist. Dash had never seen this power before. He didn’t know what this would do. 

It split from his middle and separated, traveling around his body. Dash’s heart began to sink into his stomach when a familiar t-shirt appeared underneath the rings. Dash’s eyes widened and his heart stopped after the rings revealed a pair of blue jeans and a head of black hair. 

Standing there in the middle of the street bleeding out was Danny Fenton. 

Dash dropped the bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates he held in his hands. 

The green ectoplasm that Phantom had been bleeding soaked into Danny’s shirt and steadily turned to red. 

Dash could no longer hear the ghost that was still talking to Danny. His ears were ringing so loud he couldn’t make out anything happening in the street anymore. His chest was rising and falling quicker and quicker. 

Danny finally fell down to the ground, landing on his knees and holding himself up with his hands. That was Dash’s breaking point. 

The bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates fell out of his shaking hands and hit the ground. Balling his hands up into fists, he turned around and bolted down the street as fast as he could. 

He had to get as far away as he could. He’s never seen anything like this before. He knew ghosts were dangerous, but he didn’t really think they were this dangerous. He didn’t know what they were really capable of. He was used to the idea of ghosts that he grew up watching on tv. The ones that couldn’t really interact with the living world. What could ghosts do if they weren’t even tangible?

But these ghosts were very tangible. They could interact with the living world and cause a lot of damage. Apparently Phantom couldn’t even stop them. 

And Danny Phantom was Danny Fenton. 

Dash skidded to a stop and looked back behind him, his chest heaving and out of breath from running.

What was he doing? He was running away from Danny, his friend. His hero. The boy he loved. What was he doing running away? Why didn’t he do something to help him? 

Was there anything he could’ve really done? 

Against his better judgment, Dash turned around and started running back the way he came. 

Even if he couldn’t help Danny, maybe he could still tell him what he was going to tell him today. He needed him to hear it. 

Dash turned around the corner onto the street where the fight was. But when he looked around, he didn’t see Danny or the ghost he was fighting. 

His stomach rolled. That ghost must’ve gotten him. There wasn’t anything Dash could do. Nothing left for him to say. 

He turned back around and slowly made his way home. 

qqqqqqqqq

Dash trudged his way into school the next day. All he wanted to do last night after getting home was sleep what he had seen away. But he had a sleepless night instead. 

He yawned as he pushed the front door open. As he cracked open an eye, he choked on the air he was breathing in as his gaze landed on somebody that was waiting by his locker. 

Danny leaned against Dash’s locker. He was laughing at something that Sam and Tucker were saying. His bright and lively eyes opened and met Dash’s gaze. 

How was he here? What happened? Was that not Danny? Did Phantom have some kind of shape shifting abilities? Did he imagine the whole thing?

Dash watched as Danny said something to Sam and Tucker and started walking towards him. Dash couldn’t move a muscle. His entire being was focused on the boy walking across the hall to him. The other students walking around him faded from his mind the closer Danny got. 

“Hey.” Danny said when he made his way to Dash’s side.

All Dash managed to get out was a squeaking sound. 

Danny looked around them and grabbed Dash by the arm. Danny pulled Dash behind him and soon they came to a janitor’s closet and he was dragged inside. 

Once the door shut Danny turned the light on and all Dash could do was stare at Danny’s face. He was alive. His eyes shone, he breathed, and most importantly, he didn’t have a hole in his chest. 

“What…” Dash started, but he found that he still didn’t have the words. 

Danny pulled his backpack to the front and opened it. He pulled the crumpled flowers and chocolates that both had his name on it that Dash had dropped in the street the night before. 

“I…” Danny started and then took a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone besides Sam and Tucker about any of this before. But I found these in the street yesterday and I needed to check in with you.” He looked up at Dash. “How much did you see?”

Dash was still staring at Danny’s face but then it dropped down to his chest.

“I was about to call your name when the ghost shot you.” He tapped the spot on Danny’s chest where the hole had been. “I saw you detransform and ran.” 

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit. That must’ve been pretty gruesome.”

Dash swallowed. “It was.” His gaze traveled back up to Danny’s face. “How are you here?”

“My ghost half gives me accelerated healing. It’s gotten stronger and stronger over the years. This is the worst thing I’ve ever had to come back from though.”

“But you’re still you? You’re not dead?”

Danny chuckled. “I might be sort of dead, but I’m not any more dead than I was two days ago.” 

Dash took a deep breath and leaned forward resting his forehead on Danny’s shoulder. Dash didn’t realize he was shaking until Danny’s arms wrapped around his neck. His heart skipped a beat and he wrapped his own arms around Danny’s waist and took another deep breath. 

“I thought you were dead yesterday.” He said softly. “I was on my way to the Nasty Burger when I saw the ghost fight. I was going to tell you… And then… I thought I’d never get a chance.”

“I’m sorry.” Danny whispered. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. When I saw the flowers and chocolates on the ground I thought you’d think I was some sort of freak. That maybe you didn’t stay because you thought I was a monster.” 

Dash pulled away and shook his head. “No. I was scared out of my mind. I didn’t know what I was doing running away. I came back to tell you I loved you before you died but you had already disappeared.”

Danny’s eyes widened. “You still love me? Even seeing what I am?”

Dash nodded. “Of course I do. Phantom does so much for all of us everyday. How could I not?”

Danny smiled and pulled Dash into another hug. “Thanks. And for the record, I love you too.”

He pulled a card out of his backpack. “I was gonna give this to you yesterday too.”

Dash took the card. On the front was a picture of a red landscape. You’re like a martian sunrise. He opened the card and inside was a drawing of space with heart shaped stars.

Out of this world.

A tear slipped from his eye and Dash snorted out a small laugh.

“You dork.” 

Danny turned and bumped his shoulder against Dash’s. “Yeah, but you love this dork. You said so yourself.”

“Yeah. I do.” 

[astrofae]

Currugated ask game: 🤕🌶️🚀🪞🔎🎳💺🛋️🧱🧰

🤕-Which boss is the hardest?

The Swansong is the bane of my existence. I've got over 700 hours in the game and I've... never actually beaten it. To be fair that's largely because I never really bothered doing mech stuff until recently (my achievement hunter brain craves Parasprite and Cosmic Intruder figurines) but hell, even the dungeon is hard. I can usually just blaze through all the dungeons, but even with endgame gear I die fairly often in the Dantalion!

🌶️-What do you think is your most unpopular Starbound opinion?

I don't care for Frackin Universe and similar overhaul mods. I just genuinely enjoy the vanilla experience! (Well, I call it Vanilla+ since I've got a ton of little QOL/bugfix/cosmetic mods. One of them literally just makes Snuggets glow)

I dabbled in Frackin once with friends, and it didn't interest me enough to start my own playthrough. It's certainly not a bad mod, just not my thing. I might do a heavily modded playthrough with Frackin and the whole nine yards someday, but I don't have any actual plans to do so.

🚀-Which ship design is the best?

They've all got their charm, but I quite like the Hylotl and Apex ships! I haven't actually gotten a fully upgraded ship with either of them, but I do like the futuristic designs. The Hylotl one is probably my favorite out of the two, though. The patchwork look of the Floran ship is also excellent.

🪞-Which starbound oc made you discover something about yourself, or inspired you to try something new?

I've been taking art seriously (as a hobby) for over six years now, but I never really bothered to draw people until I got invested in my Starbound OCs! I was a Wings of Fire kid so I started out drawing dragons(and I still do, just different dragons lol), but I've even gotten into gesture drawing lately just to draw my SB characters better.

🔎-What's a small, easy-to-miss detail that you just love?

I honestly really like the bug catching! It was absolutely a pain to get all of them for the achievement, but they make lovely lil decorations. The wild bugs add excellent ambience when wandering around on planets, too.

Also, all the little lore snippets from scanning stuff and talking to NPCs are excellent.

🎳-Funnest toy?

I must admit I never really bothered to do much with the toys! I kind of forget they exist most of the time. If I ever stumble across them I do have fun chucking them around my ship for a minute before they get banished into a miscellaneous storage box somewhere. I should do more with them

💺-What is your favorite furniture set? What is your favorite standalone furniture item? Do they go together?

I'm quite fond of the Astro set! One of my favorite things about SB is the sci-fi setting, and I love all the cool space props available. I like to mix and match them for individual builds, but Astro is my favorite whole set just because it's orange lol

My favorite individual piece has got to be the Symbiote in a Jar. I like to put them in my ship as a friend. Just look at him. Little guy

🛋️-Top 3 furniture mods?

I don't actually use any! At least not any elaborate ones; I have a few for little things like gravity field generators, ceiling-mounted sprinklers, and craftable plants and coral. Also more colors of string lights and neon lights, because shiny glowy things are a necessity.

Letheia Expanded does look very cool, though! I love mods that build on the existing lore like that.

🧱-Favorite block(s)?

The good old Ornate Wood and Classic Baseboards are some of my go-to blocks for regular house builds. Heavy Pipes, too! They make great extra details.

I also love a bunch of the super niche blocks. There's not exactly a lot of regular building uses for a block of eyeballs, but if you ever need some weird stuff for a science lab or whatnot then there's that!

🧰-What huge, super ambitious mod would you make if you had the time/energy/skills?

CHARACTER CREATION OVERHAUL. I utterly despise the little arrows for selecting everything. It's already a pain in vanilla, but when you start adding in things like Colorbound and new hairstyles it is absolute agony. I've never even tried modding and I've heard that the current BS system is hardcoded in, but I long for reasonable character creation. NPCspawner's creation menu is excellent (it uses lists of colors/hairs to pick from rather than the wretched arrows) and I wish vanilla had something similar.

[gwen-chanaeo]

Mr. Twitchy

—In which, an axe-wielding maniac tries to blend in, in the home of a taxidermist. Only for his tics to ruin his cover.

warning(s) : Tourettes, Dark themes, Canon-typical violence and blo0d.

The ambience of the quiet home was eery to say the least. Even for a heartless killer like him.

Standing in the empty master's bedroom. Little small taxidermied critters decorating the room's shelves and walls.

His head twitches to the side as he readjusts his grip on his hatchets warily, his senses caught faint jazz music coming from somewhere else in the house.

Meanwhile, in another room, filled with a larger taxidermies..in size and quantity as well.

A figure hummed along the jazz tunes as they readjusted their glasses, hunched over their desk as careful fingers positioned the beatle's limbs for display.

Glancing at the box of pins to the side of their desk, as they took one to pin the insect's limb in place.

A satisfied smile forming on their lips as they deliberately stared at their work. Only for their eyes to darken and their smile dropping into a wary frown as they hear shuffling inside the room.

Delicately setting the small platform down as they slowly turned around with narrowed eyes.

Eyes scanning the room as they stood up from their chair warily.

Hand grabbing a tool from their dissection kit, twirling the goldman-fox scissors in their hand.

Slowly their grip tightened around the pair of scissors, scanning the room intently, passing each taxidermy that crowded the room as a strange sight caught their eye. Causing them to double-take.

A man. Standing perfectly still as if..

They glanced at the paper stuffed in their hood. Glaring at the figure as they roughly tapped the figure's shoulder.

Frowning, unable to determine whether this guy was a fake or just a packed robber. Scoffing as they glanced at the man's hatchets.

"You're not supposed to be here.." their voice lowered to intimidate before their hand abruptly moved towards the man's eye.

Stopping with the scissors just an inch away from his goggle-covered eyes.

He didn't even flinch. Eyes stared forward, lifeless and still.

"You're not one of my works.." They glowered. Glancing at the paper in his hood and reaching for it.

'Your works?..' A thought crossed his mind.

"Mister..Twitchy?.." Sounding bewildered, they glanced back up at the man that was supposedly a taxidermy as well.

"What kind of low-life artist name's their art Mister Twitchy.." They grumbled as they crumpled the paper in hand and threw it at the 'taxidermy man'

"Who put you here.." They seemed to think deeply as they looked away to seemingly wrack their brain.

The man felt himself tremble, struggling on the task of simply not moving, blinking just before you turned back to him.

Raising a brow at the movement in their peripheral. Looking at the man closely.

Before smirking as they reached out the scissors in their hands once more. The sharp edge pressing against his neck.

Lips twisting into a cheshire grin as they remained in that position almost tauntingly.

"My art doesn't bleed, Mr. Twitchy..But i wonder if you will?.." they jeered at his impressive act of a taxidermy.

With how long the silence dragged on, he remained still. They almost believed it. Almost.

As they watched the man start to tremble. Not out of fear. But the struggle to keep himself still as his head jerked to the side, eyes snapping on theirs with a blood-crazed tint that matched theirs.

Pouncing on them like a wild animal and tried pinning them to the ground before flinching back, realizing his knuckles were bleeding from a cut.

Hatchets abandoned on the floor and looking down at them whom had a sadistic grin, holding the bloodied scissors close to their face before they pounced back.

Both fought with fierceness. Yet somehow he found himself losing as his head involuntarily jerked to the right, causing him to miss the opportunity to dodge their slash.

Hand gripping his now bleeding abdomen. He scowled.

He couldn't feel the pain. But he knew losing too much blood would be dangerous with someone like them in the same room.

They straightened their posture as they cracked their knuckles. Giggling in sickening glee as they watched him bleed heavily.

He glared at them fiercely as he retrieved his hatchets. Lunging at them swiftly, only for them to smirk.

Watching as his eyes rolled back, hands coming loose around his hatchets. Once again his weapons were discarded as his sight goes black.

His unconscious body slumped against their torso. Being held up by their capable arms.

"Don't worry..You'll soon be a piece of art.."

The last words he heard, fingers running through his matted hair being the last sensation before he was out.

[thessalian]

Thess vs MCM Comic Con, Day 3

So before I start with the rundown of today, I will say this:

It was worth it.

I may not entirely believe that now, when everything fucking hurts and the stress and frustration of that level of people and noise and exertion and pain is still pretty much flattening me? But I know it was. The memory of how worth it this was will stay fresh long, long after the pain of the actual doing of it is gone.

So. Anyway. Day 3. Starting from after I made sandwiches and prepped to get an exchange on my d20-less gold sparkly dice.

We managed to get there in good time for the Critical Role panel. Now, obviously not in good time to get a seat in the main stage area where they were actually doing the panel, but giving it some thought, we didn't really want to be there anyway. We'd already been up close and personal with the Critical Role crew; we didn't need more than that. Plus the noise would have been way, way too much. So instead, we went over to one of the stages that was streaming the panel on their big screen. Which was better because the camera crew zoomed in when a question was directed at a particular person so we actually got to see them. And the panel was really good. It was so endearing when an audience member asked how they managed the whole thing with being business partners and friends and they talked about how Matt insists that they all hang out just as friends outside of the game space and the business space, and how Travis is this really supportive protective Big Poppa Bear of a CEO, and how it's easier with a group of friends than it is with a two-person partnership or trio because you've got people who can step in and mediate when tempers run a bit high ... and most of all when Ashley said she literally didn't know what she'd do without them (and then had to hand off the mic because she was about to start crying) and Sam said how he really just wanted them to be doing this - being the friends and family they'd become - for the rest of their lives ... and to wear a T-shirt with Matt's face on it at Matt's funeral. I honestly have zero worries about Critical Role LLC and its potential effects on their friendship. Seems like they're doing just fine.

There were no problems with taking my dice back. Thankfully, I got the same guy who sold them to me in the first place, though given the ambient noise and low light levels in the area, it was a bit of a struggle to get him to understand the problem. When he finally understood, he did go the extra mile finding me a replacement set. I repaid that kindness by stopping him when he went to put the dice set I was returning back into the box of merchandise for display / sale. Didn't want him to go through that again, y'know?

(Side note: turns out that the little golden shinies in my Alisaie-themed dice set are, in fact, small golden capital As. That's serendipity on a ridiculous level, right there.)

After that ... I admit it all caught up to me and on top of the body aches, spasms, and migraine, I remembered just how difficult it is to wander a convention hall with someone whose interests in terms of art and entertainment kind of vary from yours. So I suggested to Marion that we split up for an hour and a half, and meet up somewhere to devour lunch and see where we were going from there. I browsed a bit, but mostly I just found a place to sit down and watch the cosplay go by. I mean, I did make an attempt to go outside, partly for a smoke but mostly for someplace where I could be more than two feet away from any human being ... but it had started to rain and so I still ended up crammed under the awnings with my fellows who also wanted fresh air and/or nicotine.

By the time I met up with Marion again, I was getting to that "I am struggling to form coherent sentences" level of migraine, holding it at bay with some co-codamol that I took with the first can of A&W root beer I've had in years, and it was just what I needed, thank you. So we scarfed down lunch. I was honestly ready to leave right then, but Marion wanted one last turn-around to look for a couple of things she hadn't spotted in her first trip. I couldn't really deny her that no matter how much I wanted to go home, so we agreed to meet up in about an hour at the "Reset Room" (they had a room especially designed for people who just needed to decompress; probably the most useful thing they actually did in terms of accommodations, I have to say).

In that time, I caved and bought a copy of Flavours of the Multiverse - a D&D themed cookbook. It wasn't my only purchase of the day, mind you. I also got three pin-badges - one "That's How I Roll" one, one "Shiny Math Rocks" one ... and one that just reads "They/She". That and a "They/Them" nonbinary flag-coloured lanyard. At least there, I could wear those things without being too afraid. Anyway, after my few purchases and another trip outside (where, thankfully, it had stopped raining), I read my new cookbook until Marion rejoined me and we headed home. Unfortunately, on top of all the stairs at London Bridge and Elephant and Castle stations, there were a surprising number of people cramming themselves on the 363 at 5pm on a Sunday. So my Time of Squishening unfortunately got a little bit extended. Still, I am now home and have had coffee and more painkillers and I feel a bit better.

That was probably my last MCM Comic Con. It's definitely the last one I go to for all three days. The accommodations were insufficient (though in all fairness, that's entirely down to the organisers - the stewards were so nice and tried so hard to make things work when it was clear that the original organisational scheme was a shit-show), and the attendees ... well, most of them were really nice but I cannot count how many people I had to nearly throw myself at a wall to avoid because they were walking through a crowded convention hall while looking at their phones. Or just anywhere but straight in front of themselves. And public transport ... well, some of that "step-free access" is only on a technicality, put it that way, and it's actually easier to just struggle with the stairs if you can. I think the worst part of this has been that it's basically opened a window on another part of how hard my life is going to be now.

But never mind. I'm going to decompress a bit. I am going to make breakfast-for-dinner in the form of French toast and bacon, I am going to sit Marion down through the rest of Arcane, and I am going to enjoy my last evening with my houseguest. And at some point I am going to look into the work of the Hire A Bard guy I saw at the convention, who will set your character and/or campaign to music for a fee. This might be worth considering as a Christmas gift (however delayed) for the Cupcake Coterie.

Anyway. Yeah. I hurt. I am very much not at my best. But it was worth it.

[echantedtoon]

Dragon's Treasure Ch1 Not Cannon. Please Go To Ch2

(EDIT: THIS CHAPTER IS NO LONGER CANNON TO THE STORY AND THE REAL CHAPTER ONE IS AFTER THIS. PLEASE GO ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTER TO BEGIN THE REAL STORY.)

You never cared. Why would you? I mean you had better things to worry about and you were just so tired of hearing about it over and over again. What was that power you ask? Why the gym challenge of course! ...Well not specifically the gym challenge or the league in general. Oh no, no, no. They were fine. However it was one Gym specifically. One Gym LEADER specifically. Growing up in a town just a few miles away from Hammerlocke you heard AAALLLLL about the famous dragon type gym and it's gym leader as a child. In fact...it was ALL everyone ever talked about.

"Did you hear what the gym leader of Hammerlocke did!?" "He defeated an entire rampaging dragonite!! BY HIMSELF!!" "Did you know the gym leader's renovating the gym? I wonder if it's to fit more people into the stadium!" "The gym leader's retiring after all this time did you hear? I hope whoever the guy gets to replace him isn't some wimp like the Turrfield stadium leader."

And so on and so forth. Don't get me wrong. Nothing ever happened in your small town with just a couple stores and a small school and nothing major meant that people were bound to turn their attention towards somewhere to pass the time. And being a town near Hammerlocke it was only natural that the residents clung onto that. Every single bit of news whether good or bad was like a parade went through the town and gossip ran rapid. You didn't mind of course..At least for a while you didn't. As a young child you were excited whenever the league or anything involving them was brought up whether by your friends or parents but after a while it got...predictable. It seemed like every other conversation was something involving Hammerlocke, the gym, or league. You understood that it was a real important part of Galar and your town but every time you even tried to talk about something else it would ALWAYS somehow round back to those things. So much after a while it got so annoying so you just..ignored it. Going as far to not pay attention really much at all to the news besides hearing what people said. Oh? The old Hammerlocke gym leader retired and got a replacement around the time you were sixteen? Ok. His name was Rai bread or something like that. You didn't know. You blocked it out after someone mentioned him for the HUNDRETH time that very hour. All you just wanted was to graduate school and go on your merry way. Which was exactly what you did. Your parents were hoping to maybe send you to Hammerlocke for a job or maybe even put you as a canidate for the next gym challenge but you shot down every attempt they brought up. Even when they surprised you with a rare shiny ponyta hoping to encourage you to battle more. All you wanted to have a peaceful quiet life AWAY from all the Hammerlocke talk. So you worked hard, got good grades to graduate early, and by the time you were twenty owned a small house out of town and in the woods and began your own business of art and selling the berries from the multiple fruit trees that grew around your house to the local supermarket. Didn't make a whole lot of money but it was enough to get you buy and paid your bills so you couldn't complain. You even found your calling. Once and a while you'd look through your town's pokemon center and go through the abandoned rotomi boxes sometimes finding a shiny. So you'd rescue them. You've always hated the thought of someone just buying and trading these poor creatures like figurines. You couldn't bare to think of what would happen if someone did that to Cotten so you did what you could. It was small but it still made a difference for these little guys. The only problem was....That you were living RIGHT outside Hammerlocke. Literally. All you had to do was trudge up the giant hill just up the road from the woods and you could see the city from the top. But you were far away enough to not be bothered by it so it was fine. A couple people in town knew you as the shiny collector but that was fine. In fact..That's how it all started. When one day you received a phone call from an old friend. You were just cooking breakfast with your little babies excitedly hoping around your feet staring at the stove top where your made oran berry panckes, when your phone rang. So naturally using one hand you reached over and grabbed your phone using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you spoke.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/n! It's so good to hear your voice!", came a young woman's voice on the other side of the line.

"...I'm sorry. Who is this?"

"Y/n. It's me. Lillian?" Your brows rose in instant realization. "Look I realize this is all sudden but there's a reason I called."

The realization made you recognize the voice. Lillian! One of your childhood friends from highschool! You hadn't seen her since she moved to Hammerlocke Junior year. Last you heard she got engaged last year. Wonder why she was calling now? Maybe she wanted to give you an invite to the wedding.

"Lillian!," you happily said smiling while also gently pushing Lagoon back with your foot as he tugged on your pants leg, "Hey, Girl! I haven't heard from you in forever! How are you?"

There was a pause from the other side of the line before she sighed. "Not good I'm afraid." Her next sentence sent you for a loop. "I broke up with my fiance."

You paused for a long moment processing what she had said. "...What!? Why?! What happened?!"

"Turns out he was going on dates with his EX behind my back!," she spat angrily, "UGH!! I can't believe I spent three years with this guy!! Can you believe it!?"

"Oh Arceus. Lilly, I-I'm-..I'm so sorry."

Lillian sighed over the phone. "No. It's fine. Not your fault. I'm just still salty over this entire thing I guess."

"Well that makes sense, but why did you call me then?"

"Hm? Oh! Right! I called you because I have something you might be interested in." Your brow rose further and Lillian took your silence as a cue to continue. "My EX gave me something I don't want anymore. I can't look at it without it reminding me of him!"

"And you thought I'd want it or something?"

"EXACTLY!!"

"....Why?"

"It's a Goodra." Your brows shot up and your mouth opened- "I know, I know! It's a big surprise. But hear me out m'kay? It's like...totally gross and slimey and he knew I didn't like it anyways but I thought it was sweet of him....When he first got it for me at least." You opened your mouth again- "Like..The thing isn't mean. Goodra's are the friendliest dragon types and it's true. She's really friendly and she behaves fine and does what I tell her. The only problem really is that I can't stand anything slimey! Eck! You know what it's like, right?" You rose a brow more. "Right! So since I dumped my ex I figured you'd be the perfect one to take care of her!"

"Why would you think I would be the one to take a Goodra of all things off your hands? Do you know how big they get?"

"I know but you collect shinies right?" That made you pause. This thing was a SHINY Goodra? "And you have all that space in the woods! PPPLLEEEAAASSSEE Y/N!!" She begged. "I don't know what else to do with it or who else to turn to and my dunderheaded ex won't take her back! At least I know if I hand it over to you she'll be safe and have a good home. Can you come to Hammerlocke and get her please?"

You stood there over the hot stove and pancakes smelling delicious....and gave a sigh. Man. What a way to spend a perfectly good Thursday morning.

"Fine. I have some free time this weekend. If you give me an address I can meet up with you there."

[notesapp-neurotic]

What is Narcissism?

nar·cis·sism

/ˈnärsəˌsiz(ə)m/

noun

excessive interest in or admiration of oneself and one's physical appearance.

selfishness, involving a sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, and a need for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

PSYCHOANALYSISself-centeredness arising from failure to distinguish the self from external objects, either in very young babies or as a feature of mental disorder.

The word also derives from the Greek myth of Narcissus. A God whose standard was far too high for anyone to reach… that is, besides himself, of course. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses tale of Narcissus, a nymph named Echo fell tragically in love with Narcissus. When she advanced him, Narcissus did not comply. Heartbroken, Echo ran away into the woods, and for years her crying was  heard from acres  throughout the land, all until that was the only thing left of her. Echo's home-girl Nemesis(the goddess of reputation) heard of this, and cursed Narcissus to fall in love with his own reflection, ..since that was the only thing he ever paid attention to anyway. When Narcicuss was at the lake, flirting with his reflection, truth daunted on him that he could never actually have a physical relationship with himself… so he committed suicide… the big guy felt big lows.

Widely used as an insult on some of the most atrocious people. Perhaps even used to describe some of the people in your own life. Narcissism has been looked down on by society, and even deemed a mental illness for hundreds of years… and no one is safe. It has spread to the brains of every influencer who is obsessed over their looks. It could be your ex’s, or friends. Parents, relatives… it is noted as a horrible, and toxic connotation of selfishness and greed. For thousands of years, our communities have depended on each other to help one another improve as a whole . If you did not serve in your community, you were looked down upon, or even ignored completely. Even  people who just thought differently were considered narcissists, all because they didn't help the community improve in the way the “officials”  knew how.  Soon, individual thinking became a rebellion because it was so taboo, and Individuality won free rein over the people. The era of supermodels, artists, and inventors were at the summit. Unfortunately, there was a plateau somewhere because the narcissists who branched out, and created a new world, soon created the narcissists who use “self care” and sexuality to earn more money for their already multi million dollar businesses. The ones who thought outside the box, not only paved the way for the dreamers, but also the manipulators who memorized the exact script  used to get their way. They thought outside the mob, and observed for their own interest, without empathy. Now, notice how I used the word ‘narcissist’  both as a negative adjective, and a positive adjective… 

I had a teacher tell me that “Narcissism is neither good, nor bad. It just depends on what you do with it.” Highly influential artists like Andy Warhol, Cleopatra, Eartha Kitt, and Davie Bowie  were all considered narcissists, but look at how each of them created a new world for everyone who came after.  They trusted their inner intuitive instincts, and removed themselves from the crowd for the better. They expressed themselves over, and over in deep interest in themselves, in order to learn about other people. Andy Warhol's art was for him to explore his own sexuality, which inspired many to explore, and to express their sexuality  in their own way. Eartha Kitt was simply a confident woman who knew who she was, and what she wanted, and she was described as a narcissist. Cleopatra, highly  intelligent,  had an image she showed to her people in order to gain respect. David Bowie put on an image to make way  for the free spirited.  Each of these major, iconic historical figures thought selfishly, to believe selflessly. 

Then there is the negative narcissist. The righteous one. The one with the mind of an artist and free soul,  but with the sacral chakra of a dictator. The taker, the manipulator. The apathetic. This narcissist is smart, and aggressive, and a little bit of a sociopath. They use their image to control others, and to always grab the attention, and validation from any poor soul who happens to get near them. The fallen angels. The demons. The ones God said “no, no” about. This narcissist is empty, and although always filled with new, and fantastic ideas…each one is for the success of one party, but at a huge expense for another. The obsessed, the ones with temporary confidence, until they actually become who they boast about.  A fraud.  These remind me of politicians.. Some… some. 

Now the  teacher who taught my class and I about Narcissism, was our teacher who taught us about the cultural balinese performance of masks called Topeng,  a tradition that dates back from 896 AD. Topeng tells stories that are hundreds of years old, played by the same characters, by the same people for decades. These actors are dedicated to their characters for life, as well as their own.  It is an incredibly honored art, used in healing retreats across Indonesia to help unblock the subconsious. When the actor puts on a mask or tapel, they transform and  take on the spirit of the character within the mask. The tapel, is charged by intentions. First, the mask is carved by an expert, and then for months after the actors training, and after countless mediations and ceremonies, they are allowed to put on the mask. When you  start to move with the mask on,  naturally, your body and psychology  will adapt to the mask's spirit. You will see the world through the eyes of the character, even if  you do not agree with them.

My first wild experience with the  mask was a surprise. Our teacher handed us a velvet bag, each with our own archetypal mask inside. We were asked to stare at our bag, and to send the mask our energy and then to imagine that it was sending it back. Next, we were told to not look at the masks when taking it out, and to keep it face down when putting it over our face. None of us knew which mask we had on. We moved for an hour in the room, all crawling or jumping, or strutting. Yelling, or laughing, growling, or snarling.. Hey! It's an acting school, what do you expect? 

Suddenly, I started to feel very strange.  I looked around at everyone, and expected them all to be as well, but none were. Everyone was fighting, and the ones who were  laughing, were the ones who pitted everyone else against each other. I noticed that two of my peers were pushing one another, arguing in babble. (You don't use words in masks when you interact with other characters.)

 I approached them in distress, as if I were a stressed out mother wanting her sons to stop competing with one another. If you don't know this about me, I am naturally very timid due to my wretched anxiety. I tried to stop my peers from hurting one another, but I was too afraid to get in between. I became overwhelmed with all the hate around me, and I couldn't understand why there was so much of it. I didn't have the strength to stop it.The idea of any evil in this world began to frustrate me, and at that moment I couldn't understand why it even existed. I ran from one person to the other, yelling at them to wake up. To wake up, and to see how beautiful life is supposed to be, and how they need to enjoy it before it is too late. That all the battles they have now, don't matter nor have they ever , and nor will they ever, but no one was listening. I already don't feel like I'm listened to in my everyday life, and being in a position where I felt like I could help but with no one listening, and with my lack of confidence, I gave up. I  broke down.  I cried, with drool pouring out onto the floor.   My teacher came behind me, and rubbed my back harshly to activate my spine, which activated the chakras, and activated the  character even more.  I was screaming in agony and in pain. 

At the end of class each of us discussed our own experiences. When it got to me,  I told everyone. My teacher responded and said, “You went to each character and felt like a mom. Your two peers who were fighting had the King and the Warrior mask. Those two always come at eachother's throats, just like brothers. You felt like a mom to them, and does a mom have a higher rank over her kids?” he asked. I nodded. My teacher continued, “Back when these archetypes were created, the king had a higher rank over the warrior, but God was above them both.” He smiled, "the mask you  have… is the Priest.”

 The reason why I was crying was because there was something in me that refused to surface. Again, like in my first entry, movement releases trauma in the body. Moving the body unlocks the physical traumas, the mask unlocks the mental ones. Forever,  I thought I resisted the mask  because I was being cleansed of some sort of demon, or because my grandfather was a preacher, and I had some sort of religious guilt, but really,... it was because I wasn’t courageous enough.

(Working with the masks also helps an actor unblock their subconscious so they can find  a part of themself that relates to the character that they are playing, who happens to be the complete opposite of who the actor was actually brought up as.  I say” brought up as”, and not “who they are” because our “self” mostly consists of words, judgments or beliefs passed down from family.)

After the experience, it left me in even more awe over energy, intentions, performing, and the use of oneself. It also made me highly interested in the concept of narcissism, and how narcissistic I was, and how the world is now. How, before this class,  I was stuck to only one way of thinking, or how with other things, I changed my way of thinking in order to please someone. Both examples of narcissism.

1.  I refused to connect with others, 

and 2. because I wanted someone to like me. 

I made it a personal goal of mine to break my narcissism and ego . Narcissism, to be made clear, is who you think you are. Who you portray yourself as, the one dimensional you. Ego is what you believe you can do. Everyday I’d do something that I was normally afraid to do. Mind you, I've jumped 14,000 ft out of a plane,and I  perform in front of people everyday, but for some reason introducing myself to strangers one on one makes me want to die on the spot. So I started small, like going to the movies by myself,  going first in class, taking myself out on a date. Anyway I did it. I wore all  black for a while before too, so I started to wear clothes that made me stand out again. I also stopped fixing my hair right away after movement class, and stopped worrying about my makeup spreading. When I have an in depth, heartbreaking scene in class, my mascara always runs. Now I've just stopped fixing it.  I don’t  care when my mascara is all over the place, it means I did well. It meant I fucking gave it my all, and now I wear my smudged mascara as a badge of pride. With movement… I have very long hair, and I sweat a lot too. After movement, people would say ”your hair!” in amusement because it would look as if  a tiger had given me a bath. Again, I didn't care. I was giving it my all, and I didn't think a lot of it.   When I stopped, I noticed that a lot more people cared about the way I looked than I did. There were little things, but I found it funny that people even cared to audibly state stuff like that.. like..I know what I look like… I choose to look like this lol.

I'm not blind , I'm working.  

I began to find it a very funny observation from people, considering we all had the same classes, and learned about  the same topics on how to stop giving a fuck.  It was every class too…Its funny how long we take to normalize things. 

What really stuck with me .. were those comments from others. Harmless words that in truth don't affect me in an offensive way, but a in a peculiar confusing way. It brings me back in time to when I supposed to care, but had to pretend I didnt.  Those who had trapped me into one way of thinking for such a long time. In grade and middle school, or in mine anyway, because it was a super small uniform school…  if you stood out you were pretty much harassed… being the top student, being the dumbass, ect, ect (and also the first 10 years of anyone's life becomes the setup for the rest of it, i went to that school since I was three)   I took what others said as negatives, because others looked at it as negatives. I fixed myself up because thats what they liked. I genuinely thought that that is what i was supposed to do.

 I let other people's narcissism affect mine. I realized… fuck, I actually do care alot  about how people see me, or how they thought of me.. Only because they care! And the people before them! I started to catch myself judging others because I, MYSELF, would NEVER be caught DEAD acting or dressing, or whatever like them. That I was the righteous narcissist.  I realized that even the most genuine people could be narcissists too, but again,  that's not even a bad thing! But they acted like bad people because that is  how they received the word!  That was what was expected of them. 

What's bad is ignoring the truth about yourself, and continuing to hold yourself up to an imaginary pedestal simply because you do not  understand the other person's point of view. This goes with EVERY topic. Serious, or not. Heart wrenching, or not. Good and Evil, Evil or Good.  If you refuse to look at the intentions on both sides you are resisting evolution. Continuing to judge one another, continuing to belittle their hunting abilities in a world where it's most important, leaves them with nothing to eat. No, it does not mean to AGREE, or even to allow specific situations to keep happening like abuse, or wars, or chaos in general, but to find what it is that's good. Find what is good, and build off of it. Law of humility. Find the essence, find what, or how to transform their violence into passion, and their evilness into creativity, expression, and to where it harms no one but opinions.  If manifesting is real, which it has been proven to be, why aren't we  collectively manifesting actual peace? 

Imagine there was a church, that wasn't actually a “church”, but a temple or something where everyone, no matter your religious ,spiritual, or political beliefs, could go and come together to just meditate?

“Sitting around the campfire, singing kumbaya isn't going to do shit!”

Well fuck, I mean, if it takes months of ceremonies and mediations to CREATE AN ACTUAL SPIRIT, then do any of us really understand energy? Are we really being taught the extensiveness of science? And why the hell is spirituality not being taught hand in hand with it??? Those "you'll be in my prayers" might actually mean something. Meditating together,  as well as action might actually help… just a little bit. Fuck… why  cant we all just get over ourselves?  Why can't we all get over our narcissism and really try and understand each other. Understand the world deeper, the universe deeper. You are not one way of thinking, and believe it or not, a person could be the most stubborn person on the planet, but who knows who they would be in an unexpected situation. Think...who would you be if this happened? Or that? Who would you be in this family or in this life? How would you imagine yourself in any, and every situation you come across?.How would you honestly handle it? Who would you truly be? Instead of hiding from the dark,  light a goddamn candle. 

Be so full of yourself that you see yourself in everyone, and they in you.