#No wonder why carl became my favorite

[blogblogartstuffuhh]

I HAD BEEN WATCHING JOHNNY BRAVO FOR THE FIRST TIME THESE DAYS AND SOMETHING CLICKED

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 24 thoughts

season FINALE!!! whew, it has been an emotional time these last few months, let me tell you that. i’m wondering how or if this will be wrapped up. 

the episode description makes no mention of scully’s illness, just more aliens. we always end the seasons with aliens. i imagine that this will also be a cliffhanger, so i’m trying to brace myself for that now.

(author's note: there was nothing short of reaching enlightenment that could have prepared me for this, and even if i had ascended to nirvana, i might have been ripped back out by the sheer tragedy of this storyline)

but damn, with a title like gethsemane, i’m expecting even more tears than usual. 

(author's note: yeah)

let us no longer delay. 

we begin with some videos from 1972, including carl sagan! what’s he doing here? well, he’s doing alien things. are you surprised?

the man on the screen is speaking about the probability of contacting aliens. he says it is very high.

and then cut to scully in some very yellow lighting, politely trying to get to a crime scene to do some FBI business!

wait. is that mulder’s couch???

she just needed to make an ID on a body and BRO WHAT. DID SHE FIND MULDER DEAD??? IN HIS OWN APARTMENT?????

HELLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOO???!!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

now she’s in a meeting room with a lot of important people…. 

she’s explaining how she was assigned to the x files four years ago…. and she’s explaining the mulder lore.

“i come here today, four years later, to report on the illegitimacy of agent mulder’s work” <- WOAH WHAT??? betrayal?????

“it is my scientific opinion that he became over the course of these years a victim- a victim of his own false hopes, and in his belief in the biggest of lies” <- that is so sad????!?!??

HELLO??? WHAT??? hey. what’s going on. is that really scully? or is it an alien?

well. they’ve gotten me both hooked and worried. 

is she lying to save him?? is he dead?? is she preserving his reputation in death?? because she said that stuff in the past tense… or maybe he was killed and she will be next if she doesn’t renounce everything???

WHAT IS AFOOT HERE.

scully i just publicly declared you my favorite, you can’t make me take that back…

(author's note: i should have never doubted her <3)

ohhhh fancy, the intro says “believe the lie”

helicopter over the yukon in canada. some guys say the stuff at camp is unbelievable. that's quite a jump in tone from before.

and now they’re marching up the hill, saying they’re very excited etc etc. it looks to be exhausting work. the score is very suspenseful.

they arrive in a cave and shake hands as the newcomers are introduced. and what is in there but…. a frozen alien???

i was hoping it would be a perfectly preserved mammoth :( but okay… whatever… (sadly kicks dirt around)

back to the meeting room with scully!!! she says there have been recent developments on the assumption that aliens exist… mulder was contacted by a man whose “pursuit of this evidence seemed to coincide with his own”, and she says he was duped!!!! fooled by scientific slight of hand!!! 

and she’s here to expose this lie… and to expose his work for what it is….

GIRL, WHAT WENT DOWN???

now a cut to some sort of scully family event!! she’s telling a story about her brother bill. will we finally get to see him!? yes!! here he is!!! like their father, he is also in the navy, and seems to be pretty decorated. 

and he says he sent her a birthday card, to which she says “thanks for remembering this year” LMAOOO get him again for me!!

(why does no one remember her birthday!!! i will cry!!!)

the priest arrives… and scully’s face falls…. why is she sad to see him? and why did he get invited??? i’m stressed. 

father mccue is talking to her about drifting from the church and feeling awkward, but her mom asked him to come tonight. he says turning back to faith is essential in times like this. she says she hasn’t felt a need to draw on faith for strength, that she has some. and she won’t coming running back now.

huh, i wonder if she thinks that “running back” to the church will be admitting defeat. she says she’d be lying to herself and to him if she did that.

maybe she has only lightly been dabbling in god-related affairs since revelations, but not enough to want to return to mass.

but a phone rings… it’s mulder!!!

he says he’s sorry to interrupt her dinner, (so at least there’s some self awareness there) but someone named arlinsky at the smithsonian contacted him about a mountain in canada.

he says she needs to meet him RIGHT AWAY. BRO???????? she looks SO sad when he said that. 

she would do ANYTHING for him. and tbh i see why she wants to expose him now. fuck that. 

she’s assuring him that it’s okay, and he’s trying to apologize, but i’m still mad at him, and scully should be too. and who the hell is this arlinsky guy? apparently he was involved in a ufo photo faking?? but he claims he’s innocent?? THAT is what disrupted her dinner??

he says he won’t tell her what she’s about to see….

he has pictures of an alien frozen in the mountain and she looks deeply unimpressed. girl me too! 

apparently the alien has been in the ice for 200 years. and babcock (arlinsky's colleague) was part of the team that found it.

arlinsky says it’s a very remote location for it to be a hoax, to which mulder once again displays some self awareness with his “well if you’re gonna go, why not go all the way?” but again, not enough to prevent himself from getting in this situation in the first place

arlinsky pulls out the ice core samples from each side of the body, and says he sincerely believes they have a full corpse of an alien. 

but family dinner. i care about that more.

mulder says no one will believe him, and the same people that hid the truth will be asked to authenticate it, so there will be no confirmation either. which is why arlinsky wants him to go and get the body, because he knows it means everything to mulder

ohhhh scully says she has no opinion… “this is your holy grail, mulder, not mine” <- i am glad she is admitting she has no horse in this race

OHHH “proving the existence of alien life is not my last dying wish” <-yeah remind him that you’re literally dying and you can’t waste time because he SEEMS TO HAVE FORGOTTEN!!!!

“this is not some selfish pet project of mine, scully” <- well if it’s for the sake of your sister, but you’re hurting the people around you for it, that is still selfish actually 

woah woah woah i had to write this next part out...

“you already believe, mulder, what difference will it make? i mean, what will proof change for you?”

“if someone could prove to you the existence of god, would it change you?”

“only if it has been disproven”

“then you accept the possibility that belief in god is a lie?” (where are you going with this…? this is a sensitive subject for her!)

“i don’t think about it, actually. and i don’t think it can be proven”

“but what if it could be? wouldn’t that knowledge be worth seeking? or is it easier to go on believing the lie?”

this exchange made me feel frustrated. i wish he would be less ahab-like all of the time. yes, it is a huge deal that someone found an alien. but i see no reason why he couldn't have gone to that meeting by himself. and bringing god into this when he knows that's something very personal to her is a low blow. i get the point he was trying to make about believing the lie and all that, but c'mon man.

mulder honey, i get that this is a big deal to you, but time and place.

she tells him that she cannot go with him, but then he says, well can you just look at the ice core samples please. and she nods her head reluctantly. 

cut back to the big meeting room with scully and other very important people

“what i couldn’t tell agent mulder, what i had only just learned myself, was that the cancer which had been diagnosed in me several months earlier had metastasized. and the doctors told me, short of a miracle, it would continue to aggressively invade my body, advancing faster each day towards the inevitable” <- OH MY GOD??? oh my god. 

but why wouldn't she tell him... did she think that telling him then would interrupt his alien quest?? and she didn't want to do that because she knows how important it is to him? or did she not want him to worry?

because i would have told him!!! i would have said it right then and there!! but she is very different from me...

the fact that she is aware that she has so little time left and STILL left her dinner to go deal with his nonsense… scully, i fear you give too much and need to do things for yourself, please please

back on the mountain, they’re cutting the ice with a chainsaw. feels a bit unscientific, but i mean i guess that’s how you get that stuff done.

one guy is loading a pistol??? saying he doesn’t know the men well. that’s suspicious. i don’t care for it. 

there’s something in the ice. maybe a bubble. or a casting hole!! of liquid poured!! could this be a fake?? but the angle wouldn’t make sense, says one guy. hmm... i'm not sure what to think.

did they put a fake alien all the way up here…? and why is gun guy looking around all shady like…?

back to the core samples in DC. the scientist says he found some hybrid cells in there, not plants nor animals, but chimera, and he wants to get them under a microscope. hmm… can we clone da alien :3

someone walks into the cave in the yukon with a shotgun!!! and kills all of the men!!!!! what the hell!!! is this a real alien then?????

this happens just as others begin the hike up the mountain, including the smithsonian guy arlinsky. and mulder!! i didn’t even recognize him under all those baggy coats and sunglasses. wow. i feel like a fake fan.

someone was supposed to meet them and guide them up the mountain, but there’s no one there, and all the supplies are frozen over. so they begin the hike on their own, following the tracks from the others.

oh! the find someone keeled over in the snow, to which mulder remarks “funny place to take a nap”. again with the inappropriate jokes as a coping mechanism. it’s the guide that was supposed to meet them!! and he was shot and killed!!!

well, the alien is starting to look more authentic as the bodies pile up. 

back at the lab, scully is looking for the scientist, but she doesn’t find him. what she does find is a guy stealing the core sample???

he shoves her down the stairs?????? what the HELL!!!!

see, i thought the alien was a lie at first, but now it’s starting to appear compelling.

mulder and smithsonian guy arlinsky have arrived at the cave, and he pulls out his gun. they find all of the bodies from the crew, and no alien!!! it has been carved out!!!

mulder hypothesizes that perhaps someone was listening to their radio comms and came to hide their alien knowledge, but they hear some groans. and babcock is still alive!!

he says that the alien body wasn’t taken, but that he buried it!! and sure enough, they find it beneath their feet. mulder looks at it with amazement. big moment for a guy like him.

but scully!!! her face is bruised and her pristine lab coat is covered in blood! bill comes in with a change of clothes. and he didn’t tell their mom what happened. 

“i was knocked down a flight of stairs… but i’m okay, luckily”

“you’re not okay, dana” <- OHHHH BILL. please tread carefully.

he says he knows about her cancer and she says mom wasn’t supposed to tell him!!!

she says she doesn’t want sympathy, and he accuses her of thinking she can cure herself. which feels like a terribly low blow.

OHHHH MY GOD. wait hold on. hold on.

“what are you doing at work getting knocked down and beaten up? what are you trying to prove? that you’re gonna go out fighting?”

“oh now, come on, bill”

“do you know what mom is going through? why do you think i didn’t tell her when they called?”

“what should i be doing?” (said with great frustration)

“we have a responsibility, not just to ourselves, but to the people in our lives”

“hey, look, just-just because i haven’t bared my soul to you or to father mccue or to god, it doesn’t mean that i’m not responsible to what’s important to me” (this was very defensive and exasperated in tone)

“to what? to who? this guy mulder? well, where is he, dana? where is he through all this?”

well…. i want to defend mulder, to say he doesn’t know, but just because he doesn’t know that her cancer is getting worse doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have been more sensitive. he actually has been very conscientious, which makes this whole alien thing all the more sudden and infuriating!!!

she is stunned into silence as bill looks at her with fury. and she doesn’t say anything more to him beyond “thank you for coming” <-god, what was she supposed to even say?? i get trying to shake her back to reality, but who did that cruelty help??

bill, i get what you were trying to do, but you pissed me off in the way that you did it. do you always show the people you care for that you love them by screaming at them? because if so. not a very effective tactic.

mulder is unboxing the alien, which is now in DC, and he’s trying to thaw it with the smithsonian guy arlinsky and babcock! who is doing better! despite taking a shotgun bullet.

babcock asks if it were a hoax, why would there be 6 men dead over it, which is a good question. 

ewwww, the alien looks so gross….

with the help of another FBI agent, she finds the guy who hurt her!!!! and he’s working for the government!!!! in the pentagon‘s research facility!!! his name is kritschgau. they should not hire people in the government who assault women in stairwells.

mulder and crew are getting x rays and scans of the alien. mulder is wearing a sweater, but i’m still mad at him so i will NOT make note of how cute it is. 

the alien body is gross as hell. they’re filming an autopsy. ohhh he’s cutting the eye membrane off. EWWWW. EWWW.

now the ribs…… ewww ewww ewwww EWW IT CRUNCHES. NASTY. he takes the ribs out and starts looking at the heart and lungs and some other white stuff in the chest. gag.

meanwhile, scully’s casing the joint looking for the dude kritschgau who assaulted her, and she finds him, tracks him down, and nearly hits him with her car!!! she has her gun and is going after him!!!! he is under arrest!!! 

she is NOT messing around. we see a level of scully fury here that is incredibly potent and shown to us infrequently. i enjoy it, but it also makes me sad, because it shows how much stress she is under.

it appears he has slipped away, but she catches him!!!!! yes ma'am!!!!

kritschgau says that if he gets arrested, they’ll kill him. “they” being the same people that gave her cancer!!! how tf does he know about that???”

meanwhile, the alien organs are being weighed.

then cutscene back to the big meeting with scully!!! she’s telling them about how they smuggled the corpse back, saying mulder was ready to believe it was an alien.

but kritschgau convinced her it was otherwise, and not a true alien… he explained how mulder and her had been deceived and used, and that it was part of their plan that led to missy’s death and her illness.

god, how she must have felt hearing that… that everything that had happened to her was a waste, that the only point in her suffering was to advance corruption... it must have been devastating

as mulder leaves the warehouse where the autopsy was occurring, it seems he’s being watched by a guy with a shotgun??? is the shotgun guy going from before after the alien people????

it IS shotgun guy from before!!!! he knows babcock?? and he kills smithsonian guy arlinsky!!!

now who tf is this babcock fellow?!?!?!?!?!?

kritschgau is now sitting in mulder's apartment, explaining the "everything is a lie" story to him. mulder asks why he'd do this now- a fair question- and kritschgau says he came to him because his son is very sick after serving in the gulf war. i suppose if in this universe that is also something that has been covered up by the government, it could spark some disillusionment in the whole process once it impacts him personally.

he says "they" invented mulder, the regression hypnosis, the story of his sister and what they told his dad, and that the alien body was made carefully in a lab. and it would never be carbon dated, it was only for him to see so he would go public with the news and discredit himself.

mulder declares kritschgau to be a liar, but he says the body is already long gone, so he leaves to check. and sure enough, when he goes back to the warehouse, it isn’t there, but arlinsky is dead, as is shotgun guy!!!

again, WHO TF IS BABCOCK??!?!?

the cellular materials were an exact match to what kritschgau described. 

and this brings us to scully and mulder really fighting, really really fighting

“after all i’ve seen and experienced, i refuse to believe it’s not true” “because it’s easier to believe the lie, isn’t it?” <- ohh callback to earlier....

and she reveals that he said she was given this sickness to make him believe… oh my god, if that’s true, and her life is just a prop in their sick game… 

he storms out. 

back to the video from the 70’s we began with. 

mulder is watching it and crying. oh no… the beginning is clicking into place for me…… oh no, i see what is coming…. 

back to the meeting room. she says she went to his apartment that morning to identify a body, and that mulder died of a self-inflicted gunshot 

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?????????????????

thus concludes the episode

she’s crying, she’s crying, all i can think about is her crying, what the hell, what the hell….

so he killed himself because he realized he was being used as a pawn and it was his fault scully was dying…

normally i would have more to say. but i’m not gonna lie to you, i don’t. this is just so fucking sad. i don’t even have the words. never in a million years did i see this happening. what the hell???? what the hell?

do i believe this kritschgau guy??? i think he’s probably telling 30% of the truth. but not the whole thing. why would all those men die for a fake alien? i think he’s being deployed as a cover story as mulder gets too close. and i think some of this is engineered, but not as much as he claims.

and i'm willing to bet that "believing the lie" actually refers to scully believing his cover story!!!

man. i’m sorry but i’m just so sad. i have been so sad this whole season!!!! 

mulder…… it was rude of you to interrupt her dinner…… but this was not the answer… 

how is sneaky mulder going to get out of the situation THIS time??? and how is scully going to get out of the hole she's dug by reporting all of their work as fraud?? is bill going to be happy now?? lowkey fuck bill, btw.

wow... this is just painful. and i don't even have to wait months to find out what happens next. had i seen this when it aired live i probably would have entered a state of mourning.

so that's the end, huh? of the season, i mean. just sucker punch after sucker punch. i hope this isn't the tone of everything else moving forward. can i get uhhhh one order of whimsy please. with a side of mutual pining. and a small hurt/comfort, emphasis on the comfort. thank you.

after waiting 24 hours from watching the episode initially, i am still torn between how to proceed next. part of me wants to compile all of my favorite moments from the season like always, but the other part of me wants to begin the next episode right away, just so i can move on from such horrible mental imagery as mulder dead from a self-inflicted gunshot. what a terrible thing i wouldn't even have expected from fanfiction!

but, i can also see that the next episode is a two parter, and to be left on ANOTHER cliffhanger would be horrible- but probably LESS horrible than being left with the sadness of dead mulder, right? i don't know what to do! i am filled with indecision!!!!

:(

at least i can take away some fascinating analysis regarding scully's relationship to catholicism, and her idea that depending on any force outside of herself- be it family, friends, or god- is a sign of weakness. i mean, that is pretty telling about her character. and the fact that she believes this so strongly she tried to hide her cancer getting worse from her brother and succeeded in hiding it from mulder!!! to even voice the truth would make it real. maybe that's why she can't tell them, can't go to mass- because it would mean that the end is really near if she did so. i think it's about both the perceived ideas of weakness ingrained in her by her hardass parents and a refusal to let the situation she has found herself in be registered as real in her own mind. she knows it is. but maybe if she pushes it to the side, she can forget for a while.

wow. that sure is something to think over, and think it over i shall.

[askamydaily]

FINALLY ...

I don't have to care about gender reveal parties.

(The following column runs in newspapers across the country on May 24th, 2024)

Dear Readers: After 21 years writing the “Ask Amy” column, I’m announcing that I’m leaving this space. My final column will run at the end of June.

I’m healthy, happy, and 64-years-old. This is a decision I’ve been wrestling with for over a year.

When I was first hired by the Chicago Tribune to write an advice column after Ann Landers’ death, I was a middle-aged single mother. My daughter Emily and I moved from our long-time home in Washington DC and relocated to Chicago. 

[Emily and Amy, Freeville, NY. Photo by Chris Walker for the Chicago Tribune]

My welcome to Chicago was to deliver a solo performance of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in front of 35,000 baseball fans during the 7th inning stretch of a Cubs game at Wrigley Field.

This turned out to be a metaphor for my experience writing this column, which has been an exuberant and sometimes nerve-wracking effort of trying to hit the right notes before a huge audience. 

After several great years in Chicago, Emily left for college and I moved back to my tiny hometown of Freeville, NY (pop. 505), to spend time with my sisters, aunts and cousins, and to be with my mother at the end of her life. 

My experiences have mirrored those of many of my readers. For me, these last two decades have been about the intensity and consequences of both love and loss. 

After returning home, I promptly tumbled into a Hallmark Channel plotline, when I fell in love with and quickly married a man I’ve known since childhood (we grew up on neighboring dairy farms). My husband Bruno and I then blundered into the oftentimes awkward blending of our family of five daughters. 

[2008, Freeville, NY]

I became a stepmother, and then a grandmother, all before I believed I was ready. 

My mother and her three wonderful sisters are gone, now. A niece and nephew died, tragically, while in their teens. Much of my recent life has been absorbed by caregiving, mourning, and recovery.

Day in, day out -- over the last two decades – readers have generously shared their own vulnerabilities about many of our common experiences. I’m grateful that we’ve been able to help each other.

I’ve burned through eight laptops, opened bushels of postal mail, written columns in the car, on board planes, in hospital waiting rooms, on my honeymoon, and at my mother’s bedside. During this time, I’ve also written two books, a screenplay, and scores of essays. 

Doing this work has sent me into therapy. It has inspired me to explore the teachings of world religions, and to seek the insight of thinkers like Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung. I’ve quoted the wisdom of Maya Angelou, Joni Mitchell and Fred Rogers -- as well as dozens of poets, social scientists and psychologists. 

I’ve made my share of mistakes, been well-pranked – at least twice (that I know of), and learned how to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and to forgive other people for their own mistakes. Inspired by readers’ dilemmas, I’ve also worked hard to mend fractured family relationships and to be a better friend.

My personal experiences are a reminder that we humans can’t really control what happened before or what happens next. Joy, like grief, comes at you in such unexpected ways. That’s why it is so important to pay attention. I’ve learned to do that.

Being an advice-giver has challenged me to be aware of cultural, social, and relationship trends -- and to appreciate the quirks of human behavior.

When readers get frustrated by my lengthy answers to sometimes petty problems, they will often suggest that I should just tell people to “get a life!,” but I think that wrestling with our questions – from the quotidian to the profound – is living.

For the next month, I’ll continue to publish fresh columns and rerun some favorites. After that, my fantasy is to drive an RV across the country, visiting people I’ve met through this work who have challenged me and tantalized readers with their anonymous requests for advice.

In my hometown, I’m opening a little lending library. You can find me on social media, through my Asking Amy newsletter, at amydickinson.com, or at the Freeville Literary Society on Main Street – talking books with kids and offering advice to anyone who asks.

Love,

Amy

[ducklooney]

Happy late 80th birthday, Grandma Duck! And happy 76th anniversary of Scrooge McDuck!

I haven't posted anything related to birthdays and anniversaries for a long time, but here I am posting this, even though I'm already more than a month late (because I've been away for a long time).

But, regardless, I'm publishing a special post for one of my favorite characters from Donald Duck comics and the Duckverse in general, as well as one of the best fictional parents, Grandma Duck (Elvira Coot).

It first appears in a short Donald Duck comic in a newspaper published on September 27, 1943. The comic was written by Bob Karp and drawn by Al Taliaferro and George Waiss, and Grandma Duck would later become one of the main characters in Donald Duck comics. Elvira Coot is the daughter of Clinton Coot (founder of the Junior Woodchucks) and Gertrude Gadwall and granddaughter of Cornelius Coot and sister of Casey Coot. Living for a long time on the farm, she learned to be an excellent gardener, cook and a good keeper and breeder of farm animals. And yes, she raised many children, her own, but also her grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well as her nephews and nieces from the side and became a role model for all important members of the Duck family. She especially influenced the life of Donald Duck and that is why she is the best parent in the Duck family. And she is the oldest living as well as among the oldest people in Duckburg.

It mostly gained popularity in comics, first in America, then in European comics. Unfortunately, she didn't appear much in the animation. She only appeared in the Wonderful World of Color episode "This is Your Life, Donald Duck" in 1960, as a cameo character in "Mickey's Christmas Carol", as a cameo character in Sport Goofy in Soccermania and as a cameo character in the original Ducktales episode "Horse Scents" and in two video games. However, in most of the comics, Grandma Duck appears with Gus Goose. Yes, she is helped by two mice from Cinderella, Jaq and Gus.

Also, although this post won't be as dedicated to it as Grandma Duck, let me say that on November 14, 1947, Scrooge McDuck first appeared in the comic "Christmas on Bear Mountain" by Carl Barks, and more about that here: https://ducklooney.tumblr.com/post/701216162745352192

So Happy Anniversary to both Grandma Duck and Scrooge McDuck! Yes, if anyone is asking, in the Marco Rota comics, Scrooge and Grandma are sibling, so maybe this is related. However, they are totally separate and only have connections through Scrooge's sister Hortense and Elvira's son Quackmore.

And now pictures of Grandma Duck from her first appearance until today. Happy belated birthday Grandma Duck and happy anniversary of Scrooge McDuck's first appearance. If you love these characters, feel free to like and reblog this!

[bunnysbrainrot]

Shameless Headcanons!

Ever wonder what your favorite characters would be like, especially when you hang out with them? Here are some ideas my silly brain came up with:

Fiona: Fi, with her life as busy as it is with her siblings, wants to make time for herself. Specifically when it comes to self care, her favorite thing to do is face masks and skin care. When you two hang out, you love experimenting with makeup, after a good smoke session in the backyard. (If you don’t smoke, Fi finds you a snack to munch on in the meantime.)

Frank: Needless to say, hanging out with Frank is chaotic… sat that’s the least of it. Expect yourself to get blasted drunk at a bar (several, actually), and probably run from the cops on foot. Can’t really think of much else. It’s Frank, and exactly what you would expect.

Kev and V: Honestly, the two of them would let you hang out at the bar all day, playing pool with V on occasion. They’re both busy with work, but still love spending time with you. Outside of work, you three spend time with the Gallaghers, hanging around in the living room, watching horror movies or playing video games.

Lip: With Lip, you’re usually the study buddy. At one point or another, he has tried to flirt with you, and makes the occasional jab at why you won’t just ‘bang one out’ already. He helps you with any sort of homework you have. Time spent with him is laid back and quiet, and the two of you could talk for hours about random subjects.

Ian: Time with Ian is productive. Being a more goal-driven man, Ian tends to stay at work or doing his activist work with the LGBTQ+ scene. With some free time, you two go to Boystown and find the best bars around, meeting new people and making new friends. Afterward, you always get some diner food and take the leftovers home.

Carl: We don’t see it a lot in the show, but Carl likes sharing stories about things he’s done. Petty crimes and vandalism, stories from his time locked up, how he became a cop and why. He asks you about yourself, and listens intently, comforting you if it gets bad. Afterward, hell even before, you would smoke when you went out for a walk around the neighborhood.

Debbie: Time with Debbie means time with Franny. She sees how much her daughter has bonded with you, and it makes her heart flutter. You and Debbie take Franny to the park and out on the town, and your favorite is the local pool, spending your time in the water and catching some sun. When it’s just you alone, Debbie likes to cook with you, and plan for friends to come over.

LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE SHEILA:

Bonus character, Sheila: She loves quality time with you. Whether it be baking, crafting, or watching television, Sheila makes sure that your time together is clam and fulfilling. When it’s been cold outside, she’ll show you how she makes an amazing herbal tea, and whip up a cozy meal.

[misguidedasgardian]

The course of nature (Negan x Fem!Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Negan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of Negan’s brutality, cursing, implied coercion and kidnapping, smut, breeding kink, Negan’s filthy mouth, implied reader x daryl, forced breeding, unprotected sex, mentons of polygamy, (c’mon guys, everything related to Negan in the Sanctuary) might miss some warnings. 

+18 MINORS DNI

TWD Era: Alexandria, Negan Era, (season 7) 

Notes: Seeing Negan saying, “Oh my, look at this little Angel!” and grabbing Judith from her crib did something to me, and here it is 

He took a long sigh as he watched Alexandria disappear in the rearview mirror. He didn’t know why, he didn’t understand it,  but Negan felt something bitter inside of him… he had a tangy flavor in his mouth even though he still had the taste of the lemonade that Olivia woman made for him. He contemplated the reason behind his bitterness… jealousy? And he came to the conclusion that under all the mockery that subdued Carl to… about killing him and Rick and moving into the suburbs, having his “summer home” there… There was some truth about it, a dark, deep desire.

The pretty house in the suburbs, drinking lemonade on the porch rocking in a comfortable chair, children laughing and running around… and a baby, his baby. For a second he let his mind wander, thinking it was his baby he was cuddling against his chest, dark locks, big chestnut eyes just like his looking up at him from the comfort of his chest… Oh my, it was a nice dream… a dream he could make happen he only needed to take care of Rick, Carl, and… well…

He had 6 wives, he had to replace some of them along the way, the last one he lost had to be replaced by you. Oh how much he enjoyed the look of desperation on Rick's face when he made clear that he would take everything and everyone he liked, and his gloved finger pointed at you. 

Especially Daryl, that deranged maniac, his future soldier, the way he leaped and came at him like a beast ready to rip his yugular, only stopping when he made Arat point a gun to your pretty little head. Oh how he enjoyed that. 

He wondered if you were the one that warmed his bed every night and warmed his cock every mornin’. He also wondered if that is what made it so easy for you to comply with him. 

“Become my wife or I’ll go back to that little town of yours and bash little Daryl’s head in and I’ll rub your face in his brains” It went something like that. You did shed a few tears the first time he had you, but oh how you squeezed him inside your tight walls when he made you cum again and again in his big fat cock. He made it up to you, he made sure of it. He took his time breaking you in until you were looking back at him not with fear or hate but with a complacent look on your beautiful eyes and a shy smile on your delicious lips. He had even disregarded his other wifes, sharing his bed only with you. Because when he was fucking you he was fucking with Prick-Rick, and with Shit-head-Daryl and because fucking the enemy had always been a huge turn on for him. 

With his wives he constantly used protection, or made sure that they took contraceptive drugs, or he used the old method of pulling out, it was actually a miracle that he hadn't knocked someone up yet. 

But now he found himself in the want for it… the desire… he couldn’t quite pinpointed it, it was a need so primal inside of him…

Having Judith in his arms changed something inside of him. And in his mind everything became clearer when he revived a conversation he had had with his sweet Lucille, a conversation they held about having kids… He wanted a kid with her so badly… But she was gone

He stood in the doorframe of the lounge, looking at his wives. He came in so silently they didn’t notice him standing there, so he watched every single one of them. Who could be the one to carry his litter? he wondered

Amber? God no, she would drown that poor babe in booze inside of her. Tanya? poor thing, she wasn’t his favorite, far from it, he only married her to make someone fall in line. Who was that dark haired one? He couldn't quite remember. 

He regretted Sherry to be gone, gods she was a beauty, his favorite, not very smart, but enough smart to survive in this world 

Frankie? perhaps? She was a good candidate. She was the only one who found him staring and gave him a sweet little smile. She was smoking hot 

But he kept walking, to reach the room you cornered yourself in. To his surprise it was open, he found you crossed legged on the bed, reading a book. You weren’t wearing any of the nice black dresses he lent you, no, you were insistent on wearing those run down jeans and flannel, the ones you were wearing the day he grabbed you. He had them washed and all, but still… 

“Killed any of my family members today?” you ask bitterly. Of course you noticed him without even looking, you were beyond comprehension for him 

“Not yet… but there's plenty of day left” he mocked, well he did kill that traitor, but he didn’t count, he thought, he did however take only 25% of what he said he was going to take from your group. Everything inside of his head today was you. That’s when you looked up to him with a frown on your beautiful face.

It was you

You were hot as hell, smart as his best man, and he has seen you taking walkers one by one with that ax so beautifully, almost like you were dancing. You got the looks, the brains, and the strength, bonus points for being part of Prick-Rick’s little possie

“I’m so stressed…” he whined with a smirk, “I need something, someone to relieve it…”, he knew you knew what that meant, and he chuckled when you raised your face to look at him with a tired look on your face but smiling widely

“You are a horndog” you mocked, and he nodded slowly, with smirk on his face 

Even if the beginning of your “relationship” had a rocky start, you enjoyed fucking him as much as he enjoyed fucking you. leaving behind the coercion this became like a treat, something enjoyable for the two of you. You weren’t afraid to ask things of him, and he wasn’t against trying new things, so you begun to have a strange friends with benefits kind of arrangement, where the sex became so fucking hot for the both of you, and the pillow talk afterwards became something as enjoyable as the multiple orgasms he took from you each round. 

“I can’t marry you” you answered, but before he could threaten you again you explain, “but I can be your mistress” you offered, at first he seemed offended by what you implied, but when he saw you were serious, his frown turned into an amused grin

“My mistress?”

“See, it’s like being your friend…” you explain, “you come to me, pamper me, I screw you good, you talk to me about your problems and then you leave” 

“So what’s the difference between becoming my wife?” he asked then

“Just the title” being someone’s wife meant something to you, it was too important, too permanent, so you hoped he indulged you, “you have wives, you don’t have mistresses” you turn this into making him think it was about some childish jealousy. So you felt relieved when he smiled wickedly

“Oh I see, you are looking for exclusivity” he teased, and you congratulated yourself for the sheepishly smile and the lower of your eyesight that made him believe he had nailed his suspicion

He let you guide him towards his room, you already knew he preferred to fuck you in his huge bed and silky sheets

Even if at first this man scared the living shit out of you, and you know he was perfectly capable of making good on his threats and killing your family… despite all of that… he was an amazing lover. He fucked you so good it made you shake on his hold, and in your head you justified it, “if you fuck him good he is going to take off the heat on your loved ones” he was going to leave them alone if you pleased him.

His greedy hands were on you in a second, the gloved one leaving goosebumps in your skin, he got rid of your flannel and then admired your chest clad in lingerie. He got rid of your jeans and shoes, to leave you only in underwear. With those out of the way he let you push him back into the bed. His signature bat was forgotten on the floor, just like his leather jacket, he was only in his simple cotton white t-shirt and jeans.. 

You managed to straddle him, loving the way he would fight you just enough for you to realize he was the one in control, but relenting after a little while, everything with Negan was like that. you moaned when you felt the roughness of his denim against the soft skin of the inside of your thighs, bucking your hips just a little bit to enjoy the friction. He grunted under you, with that big smiles of him, looking at you with big shiny eyes

“Fuck you are beautiful” he grunted, and you felt your cheeks heated, you accomodated yourself down his legs, so you’d have the space to remove his jeans just enough so you’d release his lenght, you leaned in, wanting to taste him, wanting to choke on his thick cock, but he stopped you

“Fuck I need to bury myself in that pussy” he demanded, grabbing you by the neck and make you rose yourself up until you were face to face. You only moaned, “you ready baby?” he asked teasingly. His hand sneaking down your body until his fingers teased your entrance, making you moan when he found you embarrassingly wet, dripping almost. He chuckled darkly, giving you that look again

“Fuck” he grunted, “you are soaking wet” he only moved the g tring he made you wear aside, an easy acces, he seemed to be in a hurry, he wanted you now, fast. 

“For you” you admitted, leaning down to catch his mouth on yours, you kissed him roughly, with need, and he answered just the same, wanting to devour you. He accommodated you on top of him and you let him adjust you and him until the tip of his cock was placed in your entrance, and you did the rest, lowering your hips, impaling yourself on him. 

The stretch still burned, but you would be lying if you say you didn’t just loved the way it felt, his thick length opening you up for him, it was always a tight fit

“Jeesus FUCK” he almost yelled, making you sneak a giggle between your wanting moans. He was so deep inside you you could feel him on your belly. It wasn't long before he playfully slapped your ass, encouraging you to ride him, and you started a soft but decisive sway, it was slow but determined, feeling every ridge and vein on his cock inside your tight walls. 

“Mmmm Negan”, you moaned, snapping your hips back and forth. His hands grabbed your tits, squeezing them over the transparent fabric of your bra

“Fuck I love it when you moan my name” he graoned, his hands firmly on your hips, helping you set the unforgiving pace, “You are so hot” it was unusual for him to compliment you that much, so you just ignored it, he probably didn’t mean it. He had six wives, so you didn’t tend to take anything he told you seriously. So you just enjoyed riding him, building your own orgasm, it came slowly, like strong waves crushing on the shore, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your hands grabbed the white t shirt he was wearing tightly, threatening to rip it off of him

“Damn girl” he grunted, “Are you using me to get off? that’s how it feels like” you only giggled, riding your climax slowly, feeling incredibly sensitive.

But that wasn’t in Negan's plans….

He grabbed you by the hips, leaning up so fast you didn’t know what was happening until your back touched the mattress, he had turned you over to regain his full control. You didn't have time to ponder, he started railing you rougher than before, the metal head of the bed banged against the concrete wall. Your hand traveled to his back,  your nails sinking into his skin, wanting to have something to hold on to. He slammed his hips into your roughly, hearing like he was applauding, his skin against yours.

“Negan,'' you called, slowing down on your climax, but he is still thrusting against you, grunting like a wounded animal. He didn’t pay attention to you, too focused on chasing his own release. You slapped his shoulder, like asking for a timeout, and just then he looked down at you, smirking

“What is it?” he asked

“You are not wearing a condom, you need to pull out” you whined. He only smirked, chuckling darkly in your ear making the little hairs at the back of your head stand up. He didn’t stop, in fact, he fucked you ever rougher, making you whine, your eyes rolling tot he back of your head at the hardness of his thrusts, and in a second, you forgot all about protection, you only cared to reach that second orgasm before he finished

“Oh fuck” you moaned, scratching his back with your nails, your legs chained around his hips, encouraging him. With one graze of the tip of his cock in your special spot did the trick, you cum, hard, your walls strangled his length, making him grunt, stilling deep inside of you, filling you up nicely with his cum. 

He dropped his weight on top of you, his heavy breathing on your neck, he hugged you tightly against him, still inside of you, you both regained your breaths slowly. You caressed his sweaty back and he seemed to purr in your ear

“Fuck you are so sweet baby” he murmured. One of the things you enjoyed most about him was that he was a cuddler, he loved the contact after sex. He dropped lazy kisses along your jaw and cheek,  nuzzling the skin with his nose

“Negan” you whispered, wanting to drift to sleep even though it was still a gray light outside

“You ok?” he asked against your ear, you just nodded, “That was intense” 

“It was amazing,” you whispered. He slowly took himself off of you. You winced when you felt his cock slip off of you, his cum trickling down your thighs. The sensation didn’t last long, he was there, grabbing you and encouraging you to sneak under the covers. He was still dressed, but that didn’t matter, he spooned you, making you feel safe and comfortable between his strong arms. He kissed the top of your head and led you to a dreamless sleep. 

“Negan…” he mumbled, oh how much he loved the fear he inspired in his… subjects

“Hey doc” he followed with his eyes the young woman that left the consult bowing her head in his direction. He waited until she completely left the medical room and closed the door behind her, “I’m glad you are finding yourself at home” he smiled at him

“I’m glad I’m here, you know I’m an obstetrician and this girls… need help”

“I’m happy to know saviors are reproducing” he said, genuinely pleased, “speaking of which” the doctor then eyed him suspiciously, “One of my wives, but she’ll tell you otherwise… is going to come here, asking you for a day-after pill” he said slowly and in a dangerous whisper, not losing for a second his intimidating eye contact

“Ok…” he muttered

“You are going to give her a fake” he said gravelly

“I don’t understand…she is going to ask for a contraceptive pill, and you want me to give her a placebo? a fake?”

“See, doc? you are smart” he chuckled, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing dangerously

“You want her to get pregnant?” Negan gave him a serious look, the one that made the doc shiver

“Do you get my meaning?” he asked then, he nodded

“Yes Sir” he then smiled, pleased

“If you give her the real deal, I will know” he muttered, swinging Lucille until she perched on his shoulder 

“Ok Sir” he mumbled, nodding

“We need to repopulate the earth” he said matter-of-factly, “That is the course of nature after all”

next part here

[fandcmwritings]

Until the very end| Part 3

a/n ok so im back! literally after a year and im so sorry! I hope you guys can forgive my hiatus and like this chapter! I'll try to update frequently again :)

word count: 1k+ 

Previous part

“Have you ever killed somebody that didn’t deserve it?” Carl asks after a long silence.

He looked over at you, eating the last few bites of the chocolate pudding you found together. You had a look on your face of pure comfort, almost reminiscing the old days. The chocolate pudding reminded you of home. Every weekend your dad would come home from work, with a bag full of groceries, it always contained a few small containers of pudding. It was your dads favorite, it wasn’t exactly yours but it became a tradition to eat it on Friday nights after dinner. Now that he was gone, the pudding made you think about him. Just the good things though, happy memories.

Carl’s question made you look up, a questioning look on your face, “What?”

The boy besides you sighs as he takes the now empty pudding container from your hands and lays it beside the two of you.

“It’s something that I've wondered. I mean I've killed someone before and everyday I think about it,” He looks up for a moment as if he’s thinking back to the moment. “I was blinded by hatred and I couldn’t tell the difference between bad and innocent anymore. Back at the prison, the one I told you about, there were kids our age too but they’ve never seemed to have done the things I have.” He trails off, not sure if he even knows what he’s getting at.

“I haven’t, I mean I don’t think so?” You look at Carl who’s looking at you curiously.

“I’ve killed two people besides my brother, they attacked me and my family so I think they deserved it? But they must’ve had people they cared about too, people to come back to with supplies they promised. So no, I don’t think I've killed people that didn’t deserve it, but others may disagree with that.” You continue.

A loud snarl from the zombie you guys trapped in the room behind you, or walker as Carl calls them, interrupts your thoughts for a moment. You sigh and grab your knife from the holster on your hip, it fits in your hands just right. You walk towards the walker and stab it through the head, silencing it forever.

You walk back to the railing of the roof next to Carl who watches you every move as you continue, “But Carl, don’t dwell on what happened. Some say it was someone innocent, but in this world, who can even tell the difference anymore?”

He smiles at your answer. Maybe it was the answer he was looking for. Whatever it was, you knew he appreciated it.

“Should we head back? I’ll convince my dad to let you stay with us if he’s back on his feet again.”

“Sure.”

***

The door opened with a small creak as Carl let the both of you in the house that he and his dad stayed at for the moment.

When you dropped the supplies the both of you found you grabbed your bag and told Carl you we’re going to try and clean yourself up a little. You found a bathroom that was somewhat clean and grabbed the water bottle you filled in the rain barrel outside the house. You tried your best at removing the dirty stains on your body as best as you could. After a little bit of struggling with your neck you looked yourself in the mirror. You looked somewhat better, still not the best but at least you didn’t look like you just murdered someone in cold blood anymore. You grabbed the bottle and put it back in your bag and made your way downstairs but the loud yelling of Carl made you stop in your tracks

“-Because of you!” Carl let out an angry sob and you heard him more clear now, “I’d be fine if you died”

You gasped. He was obviously talking about his dad but that was something you didn’t expect him to say. Why was he so angry at him? He seemed fine before.

You decided to walk down when he seemed to have walked away from his dad (who was still non responsive). You didn’t mention anything about hearing his outburst when you walk into the kitchen where he is.

“Hey”

He looks up at you and smiles a little, “Hey”

“You think he’ll wake up soon?” You ask Carl.

Carl looks back at his dad, sprawled out in the living room.

“I think so, nothing has killed him yet.” He replies a bit emotionless.

You frown at the change in demeanor and think of a way to change the subject.

“I appreciate it by the way, you trusting me.”

Carl looks back at you a small smirk now on his face.

“Who says I trust you?”

You roll your eyes and throw some of the dry cereal from his bowl at his face.

“You’re so funny.” You reply sarcastically. You stand up and walk back to the makeshift beds you made from old mattresses you found upstairs. You and Carl took them down so you could take turns taking watch.

“I think I’m going to sleep if that’s ok?” You ask him although you don’t want for him to answer. You drag one of the mattresses to the corner of the room and almost immediately fall asleep when your head meets the bed.

***

“I was wrong...” A soft voice trails off in agony, softly crying.

The cry of the boy startled you awake. You groaned as you got up from your place in the corner of the room and from your place you saw Carl crying over his dad. He seemed to have fallen of his place on the bed, maybe that was a good sign. He tried getting up and he’s now healing?

You watched Carl for a few more seconds, when nothing happened and the boy himself calmed down you decided to walk over to him.

“Hey,” You whispered as you approached the boy.”I’ll take watch now, you get some sleep.”

Maybe he was too tired to argue or maybe he trusted you, whatever it was, something in him that night didn't feel the need to argue with you and so took his place on the bed.

Now that both Rick and Carl laid down to sleep, one of them already far gone, the world got quiet for a second.  You slowly got up and removed the curtains by the window that was closest to the couch, only slightly to not draw any attention but enough to look outside. Right now the streets were empty, no snarl was heard and no zombie in sight. It was peaceful.

You really like looking outside when it gets quiet like that. It’s not like you suddenly get delusional and think everything is okay, but there’s a weird comfort in seeing the emptiness. There’s no danger in sight.

So that’s what you do, you look outside until the first sun beams hit your face and Carl wakes up, meaning it’s your turn to rest your eyes.

“Who is she?” 

“Dad calm down-” the voice cut out as the previous voice interrupted, even louder than before.

“Carl I’m being serious! Why would you let a stranger stay here?”

“Because she saved my life!” You fully came to your sense when the other persons voice became a little louder, the memories of yesterday came back to mind when you opened your eyes to see the scene in front of you enfold.

“She saved my life, okay dad?” Carl repeated to his father again, a bit calmer now. “And I know what you’re going to ask but I asked her the three questions.” He sighed annoyed.

Rick took in a deep breath and rubbed his head in irritation. “You still don’t know her.”

“I know we shouldn’t trust everyone we meet, I know that, but this is different okay? I know it.” Carl said, looking his father dead in the eye and walked off. He caught your look from the makeshift bed in the corner and ignored your gaze to walk straight to the kitchen, leaving you alone with his dad. 

You looked up in the direction of Rick and saw him already looking up at you skeptically. You know he was looking at you to identify anything suspicious, whether or not he could trust you. You knew because you were doing the same thing.

Rick suddenly walked up to you, a slight limp evident to his injuries although you saw that he was trying to not let it show. When he stood in front of you you realized you got up as well as if it was an instinct. He held his hand out in front of you, inviting you to take it.

You looked at him briefly for a moment and then took it, shaking his hand.

“The name is Rick Grimes.”

“I’m Y/n L/n.”

He gave you a small smile even though it looked more like a grimace, “I heard you saved Carl? Care to tell me what happened? He won’t tell me the details.”

You let out a small laugh at the way he said it, noticing the trouble the two had in communicating.

“Yea well I wouldn’t count on it either, it was pretty embarrassing for him.”

You heard footsteps coming back from the kitchen. Carl came back with a bowl of the leftover cereal you had and gave it to you in silence, he gave you a lopsided smile and sat down on the ground against the couch. 

You sighed and sat in front of him on a mattress while Rick sat next to Carl and the three of you fell into a somewhat comfortable silence.

“You know,” Rick said to break the silence, “you shouldn’t have risked it, going out there like that.” He looked at Carl and smiled a little. 

Carl looked up at him and smiled too, he looked at you briefly before replying. “I was careful.”

“Yea right.” You snickered at his statement.

They both looked at you, Carl had a playful look of irritation on his face while Rick just smiled. 

Carl rolled his eyes at you and sighed, “Alright I had help.”

“Next time just don’t trip over a log when zombies come for you yea?”

“Yea haha very funny, I’ll try.” Carl scoffed at you but you knew he wasn’t mad. You also knew you were never gonna live this down.

“It’s good that you guys found more food.” Rick pointed at the bag of food you and Carl collected the previous day.

“Yeah we found even more” You replied with a small smile.

“But we ate it.” Carl trailed off.

Rick looked at the both of you confused until he rested his eyes on his son. 

“What was it?”

“A 112 ounces of pudding.” You replied sheepishly.

You and Carl looked at each other for a moment before breaking down in a fit of laughter. Rick smiled fondly at the interaction, glad his son was smiling again. Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

[leossmoonn]

Dear Y/n

masterlist

pairing - carl gallagher x fem!reader

type - fluff

note  / request - “OMFG FINALLY SOMEONE WRITES FOR RECENT CARL GALLAGHER. Can we get one where the reader is Kev and V’s daughter so they grew up together. And maybe Carl is her secret admirer” so i made debbie and you seniors and carl a junior since he is technically a year younger than debbie. so let’s pretend that debbie stayed in school and carl never went to military school lol, just for the sake of this imagine. enjoy!

summary - you find a note in your locker from a secret admirer and try to figure it out who is your secret admirer

warnings - language

————

*gif isn't mine*

“Hey, girl!” Debbie exclaimed. You looked up from your phone, smiling as you spotted your friend. 

“Hey,” you smiled while walking up to her. Your attention when to Franny, who was sitting in her stroller. You crouched down and smiled at the baby. 

“Hi, baby. How are you? Do you like going to school with Mommy? You know, some day you’ll be going to school. I’ll be an adult and with kids, too!” You babbled to the baby. Franny squealed and held her hands up to you. You giggled, bopping her nose before going up back to talk to Debbie. 

“You’re really good with her,” Debbie complimented.  

“Thanks, kids kinda like me,” you giggled. 

Debbie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, we know. Anyways, can we hang at your house?” 

You two started walking to your guys’s lockers. “Sure. I have to babysit Jems and Ames, though. Mom and Dad don’t get off work until like, midnight.”

Debbie nodded. “Franny can play with them.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. You unlocked your locker, a piece of paper falling out. 

“What’s that?” Debbie asked.

“I don't know,” you muttered, furrowing your brows. You picked up the paper, unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw its contents. It read:

Dear Y/n,

I thought your outfit looked really good. Not that your outfits don’t always look good, but today’s my favorite. I really like your jeans and your red shirt. Red really looks good with your eyes. 

From,

Secret Admirer

Debbie read the note with you, laughing as she got to the end. “You have a secret admirer!”

You smiled, “Yeah. This is cute. I wonder who it’s from.”

“Maybe it’s from Dean Kepner,” Debbie said, nudging your shoulder teasingly. 

You rolled your eyes, “That is the funniest shit I have ever heard.”

“Well, what if it is! I noticed him staring at your shirt today,” Debbie said.

You scoffed, “Yeah, more like staring at my tits. This note said nothing about my  tits. It’s probably not him. Plus, I’m pretty sure Dean can’t make compound sentences. He’s worse at speaking than Ames and Jems, and they’re 3 years old.

Debbie chuckled, “True. Well, we should try to figure it out.”

“Eh. It's probably some jackass who wants to get in my head, and then embarrass me because I thought someone liked me,” you said. 

“Be more optimistic!” Debbie exclaimed. 

“Hm, I will if I get a second note. Let’s go, Jems and Ames are expecting me to pick them up from daycare,” you said. You grabbed a few textbooks and shut your locker. “Is Carl coming home with us?” You asked. 

“I think so,” Debbie said. “Alright. Where is he?” You asked. 

“Probably making out with some slut in the bathrooms,” Debbie said.

“Probably,” you snorted.

You and Debbie walked to the nearest bathroom, peeking behind the corner to see if you could hear any noise. Surprisingly, it was quiet. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

You both jumped, turning around and seeing a confused Carl behind you. 

Carl was Debbie’s little brother. They were both Gallagher’s. They were children of the alcoholic and drug addict Frank and Monica. They lived on the South Side of Chicago, which was where you also lived. 

You were Y/n Ball. Daughter of Veronica Fisher and Kevin Ball. You had lived next to the Gallagher’s all your life. You were their best friend. Well, their only best friend, really. Your mom and their older sister, Fiona, had been friends since forever. You had been born around the same time as Debbie, who was the third oldest out of the 6 Gallagher children, so you two have been basically best friends since birth. Carl was also one of the Gallagher kids you were also the close with, too, him being just a year younger than you. You three had basically grown up together, so being best friends was pretty natural. 

“We were seeing if you were fucking anyone,” Debbie answered. 

Carl scrunched his face up in disgust. “I don’t do that.”

You laughed, “Sure you don’t. C’mon, C-Dog, I gotta pick up the little missies.”

“Alright, Y/n/n,” Carl smiled at the nickname you had given him ever since you two had gotten closer. 

You two hadn’t always been close before. Debbie and you were by far the closest, with being in the same grade and all. You and Carl hung out a lot, but it wasn’t really until he started high school when you two actually hung out one-on-one. He had come to you for relationship advice when he was dating this one girl, Dominique, who turned out to be a horrible person. You two have since bonded about your past, failed relationships, and how shitty life is. 

Since getting closer with him, you had kind of developed a little crush on him. He had always been cute, but when puberty hit him, he became really hot, really quick. You never showed any other feelings for him than platonic, though. You didn’t want to deal with all the drama that it would bring between you and your families. 

“Stop eye-fucking each other, please,” Debbie groaned, walking away from you two.

You rolled your eyes, “Like you should talk. Every guy you meet you imagine sleeping with them.”

“Not true!” Debbie defended herself. 

“Yeah, right. That’s why you have a baby,” Carl joked. 

“You guys are so mean,” Debbie muttered. 

“That one was pretty mean, but at least it didn’t come from me,” you smiled. 

“Yeah, it came from the asshole who got circumcised for a girl,” Debbie laughed. 

You laughed with her, Carl rolling his eyes and blushing. He looked to you and noticed a piece of paper peeking out from your jeans. 

“What's that?” He asked and pointed.

“Oh, it’s a note that someone gave me,” you said. You took it out and gave it to Carl. He opened it and read it. 

“This is nice,” he said. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute,” you agreed. He handed you the note back. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m kind of thinking it’s a joke, so I wanna wait till I get another one,” you said, folding it back into your pocket. 

“I think it’s Dean Kepner,” Debbie stated.  You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, you're the only one.”

“Is that the popular football guy? In your grade?” Carl asked. 

“Yep. He’s so hot,” Debbie sighed dreamily. 

“I don’t think so,” you stated.

Carl looked at you and nodded. “Yeah, I heard he does hard drugs.”

“Yeah, another reason why I don’t fuck with him. I mean, I have a beer every other night, but never am I gonna do drugs. That shit messes you up,” you sighed. 

“Yeah, we know. We had Monica as our mother,” Debbie said. 

You chuckled, walking over to your car. You got in the driver seat, Carl sitting in the passengers. Debbie usually sat there, but since she has a baby, you told her it wasn’t safe to put Franny in the passenger seat, especially since if the even of an accident, the airbag goes off and hurts Franny. 

You drove to daycare, humming songs from the radio while doing so. While you were driving, Carl couldn’t help but stare between your face and the note in your pocket. You didn’t know, but the person who wrote you the note was him. 

Carl was usually pretty confident and outgoing. All of his family like that. You had to do that to survive the South Side. But when it came to you, he was like jello. He didn’t know how to act, speak, whether he could look at you two seconds longer than normal. You never noticed his behaviour change, though. To you, he was always quiet and low-key. He was thankful that he never questioned why he was so quiet around you, especially since he was a loud, annoying kid when he was younger. 

With these notes, he would be able to say what he was afraid to say to your face. He didn’t want to face rejection, especially by the pretty senior girl that had lived next to him since the day he was born. It would be awkward if you did reject him, so he just kept quiet until maybe he worked up the courage to ask you out depending on wether you liked the notes or not. 

You parked in a handicap parking spot. “Alright, one of you wanna go and help me get Ames and Jems?” You asked. 

“Carl, can you do it, I wanna stay with Franny,” Debbie said.

“Yeah, sure,” Carl nodded. He got out of the car with you, walking into the daycare. 

You walked up to front desk. “Hi, I’m here for Amy and Jemma Ball. I'm their older sister, Y/n,” you said.

“Alright, can I see ID?” The woman asked. 

You nodded and got your wallet out of your back pocket. You handed her your ID. She handed it back to you. 

“Alright, go ahead and head in,” she said.

“Thank you,” you smiled. 

She hummed a ‘you’re welcome’ as you and Carl went into the play room. 

“Why do you have to give her your ID?” Carl asked. 

“I think it’s because she’s new, and also I didn’t drop them off this morning. They wanna make sure no one kidnaps children,” you explained. 

Carl nodded. “Ah, makes sense.”

“Yeah, the usual woman here, Julie, moved to Florida. She always gave me and the girls a mint when we left, and never asked for my ID,” you said.

“Wow, she sounds cool,” Carl said. 

“Yep, she was,” you smiled. 

You walked into the room, spotting Jemma and Amy immediately. They spotted you two, smiling and running up to you. 

“Hi, babes!” You exclaimed, crouching down and catching them in your arms. 

“Hi, Y/n!” They both squealed. 

“Ready to go home?” You asked. 

They both nodded. 

“Alright. Let me go get your stuff, hang out with Uncle Carl for a few minutes, okay?” You said. 

“Okay,” Jemma said.

You walked over to their cubby, grabbing their baby bags. You went back over to Carl, taking a hold of both of the girls’s hands. 

“Let’s go, babes,” you said. 

“I’m hungry!” Amy exclaimed. 

“I’ll get you a snack when we get home, alright?” You asked. 

Amy nodded, smiling excitedly. You smiled at her, looking up to see Carl opening the door for you. 

“Thanks,” you smiled at him. 

“No problem,” he nodded and followed behind you. You put the girls in the backseat with Debbie, unloading their bags in the trunk. You got in the front seat, starting the car. 

“Do you want to be dropped off at your house or stay with us at my place?” You asked Carl. 

“I'll hang with you guys,” Carl said. 

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

You drove back home, parking the car on the side. You unlocked the front door, immediately dropping all the bags you had. You slumped on the couch, taking a breather. 

“Can we have a snack?” Jemma asked. 

“Oh, yeah, right,” you said, getting up. “You guys want some fruit snacks?” “Yeah!” Amy exclaimed. 

You nodded, going to the pantry and getting two packs of fruit snacks for each of them. You led them back to the couch, turning on the tv. 

“Watch TV with Franny, okay? Sissy has to do homework,” you said. 

The twins nodded, looking at Paw Patrol, which was what was playing. You went to the kitchen table, unloading your backpack. 

“You’re really good at taking care of them,” Carl said, sitting next to you. 

You smiled, “Thanks. Mom and Dad do a lot, but since they are a little older and so am I, they let me have more responsibility. They have to work and stuff to make sure we can afford everything. I’d like to say I’m an expert at taking care of Amy and Jemma.”

Carl chuckled, “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine taking care of a kid.”

“Well, you have been taking care of Liam since he was born, right?” You asked. 

Carl shrugged, “I guess.”

“Taking care of kids is easy if you like them,” you shrugged. 

“Makes sense,” he said.

You hummed. 

“So, are you waiting for another note?” Carl asked. 

“Hm, kind of, yeah. I would be lying if I didn’t say I hoped this will turn into some cute, romantic love story with someone,” you chuckled. 

Carl blushed a little, focusing on his own homework. “Yeah, that’d be nice. 

————

“Yeah, Mom, I got it. No problem, see you later,” you said, hanging up the call. You sighed, walking slowly to your locker. 

Your mom had just called you to come to the Alibi to help out since business was buzzing. Word was, Frank was up to one of his schemes again and got the Alibi full and drunk. You couldn’t wait to deal with perky, 50 year-old men catcalling you. You were wearing a sweatshirt, too, which you knew would make it worse since the men always would try to have you take it off, and never stopped pushing. Luckily, you had pepper spray with you at all times so if someone ever got too much, you wouldn’t hesitate to spray them. 

You opened your locker, putting away a few binders when you noticed another note. You grabbed it, unfolding it with a hint of excitement. You would be lying if you said you hadn't been looking forward to this all day. 

You opened the note, smiling widely as its contents. 

Dear Y/n,

Your makeup looks amazing today. You’re really talented with the eyeliner and stuff. Oh, and your lipstick matches really well with your outfit, too.

From,  Secret Admirer

“Another note, huh?” Debbie said, approaching you. 

You smiled and nodded. “Yep.”

“What's that?” Carl asked. 

“Another note from Y/n’s admirer,” Debbie smiled. 

Carl flushed a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I hope this is for real. I want to meet this person.”

“Maybe you will,” Carl said. You looked to him, a worried expression settling on your face. 

“You okay, C-Dog?” You asked. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna catch the bus. See you guys later,” he said, walking off quickly. 

You furrowed your brows. “What's got his dick in a twist?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he likes you,” Debbie smirked. 

Your heart fluttered a little at the thought of him liking you. Debbie knew you liked Carl, so maybe she was fucking with you, but you had to ask to be sure. 

“Does he?” 

“I think,” Debbie said. 

“Oh,” you muttered. “Cool,” you smiled. 

You weren’t going to confront him just yet, but you prayed to God your secret admirer was Carl. 

————

“Hey, there’s something for you in the mail,” Veronica said. 

You furrowed your brows. “Who’s it from?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Veronica said, hanging you an envelope. “It just has your name on it.”

“Huh,” you said, taking the envelope. You tore it open, your eyes widening as you saw another note it in. 

“What is it?” Kevin asked. 

“A note,” you said. “From my secret admirer.”

“You have a secret admirer! Wow,” Kevin said. 

“Yeah,” you chuckled. You sat on the couch, opening the note. 

Dear Y/n,

I thought you looked really pretty today. I hope you don’t find it weird I mailed this to your house, I actually live close to you, so I saw you crossing the street today. Anyways, I just thought I would let you know you look pretty. 

From, 

Secret Admirer

You found yourself giggling, setting the note down. Even though you were flattered, you found it a little weird this person knew where you lived, even if they supposedly lived near. You didn’t know why they couldn’t just tell you all these things in person. 

“What does it say?” Veronica asked.

“The note calls me pretty,” you said, putting it back in its envelope. 

“Hm, well, whoever this is isn’t wrong,” Veronica grinned. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

You sighed, “Nope. It says they live close to me, though.”

“Maybe it’s one of the Gallagher’s,” Kevin suggested. 

Your eyes went wide, remembering what Debbie had said to a few days ago when you got the second note. You shook your head, though. Carl was out with his friends right now, you had just left his house, too, and there was no sign of him. 

“Nah, no offence to them, none of them are this romantic or anything. Well, except Ian, but he’s gay,” you said. 

“Maybe ask about it, though? All of our other neighbours are old men, and that does not look like old man handwriting,” Veronica said. 

“Maybe I will. I mean, Debbie said Carl liked me, and when I got the second note, Carl was acting all weird and shit,” you said.

Veronica eyes widened. “Carl?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t care if it's him, though, it'd be kind of weird.”

Veronica sat down on the couch next to you. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Kind of,” you said sheepishly. 

“Well, I think you should ask him about it. If he says no, then don’t mention your feelings for him. If he says yes the notes are from him, then confess,” Veronica said.

“Should I do that?” You asked. 

“I think so, baby. Carl’s a good kid, especially with you around. I wouldn’t have a problem with you two dating.”

You smiled, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll go to his place tomorrow.”

“My baby is about to get a boyfriend!” Kevin whooped. “If he hurts you, I will kill him.”

You chuckled, “Thanks, Dad.”

————

You walked into the Gallagher’s house, spotting Fiona in the kitchen.

“Hey, Fi,” you smiled. 

“Hey, Y/n! Are you here fo Debbie? She went out,” Fiona said.

“No, actually. I’m here for Carl,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Well, he’s upstairs,” Fiona said.

“Thanks, Fi,” you smiled and made your way up to Carl’s room. You saw that the door was wide open.

You went in, not seeing Carl anywhere.

Where is he? You thought.

You went around his room, walking around the room. His room was ridiculously messy. Clothes everywhere, food and plates all over the dresser, weird liquid on the floor. You chuckled to yourself as you had to step over the puddle. 

“Boys are horrific,” you muttered to yourself. 

You went to the desk, sitting down in the desk chair. You looked around on the desk, seeing court date papers, old homework, and cigarette boxes. As you looked more to your right, something had caught your eye. There was a paper with your name on it on the back. 

You picked it up hesitantly, slowly unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw the words “Dear Y/n”. You knew you shouldn't, but you went ahead and read it anyways. You just wanted to make sure you were correct of your suspicions. 

Dear Y/n,

After these few weeks, I have decided to try and be brave and go up to ask you out. I think you’re really pretty and you’re so funny and nice. I’ve liked you since I started high school, and even if I get rejected, I know I would regret not trying to ask you out. So, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date?

From, 

Secret Admirer, aka Carl (Gallagher)

“Y/n?” You snapped your head back, seeing Carl in a towel. Your eyes quickly ran past his chest, seeing the toned muscles in his arms and stomach. You eyes went up to his face, lingering on his lips. You then went up to his eyes, seeing them wide and filled with wonder. 

“Sorry, I’ll, uh, go,” you muttered and stood up, leaving the note on the desk. 

“What?” Carl asked. He was beyond confused, but when he saw you and the note, he put the pieces together. As you went to walk out of his room, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back gently so you two were face-to-face.  

“Did read the note?” He asked.

You looked up at him sheepishly, “Yeah, I’m sorry for invading your privacy.”

Carl sighed, “It’s alright. I’m, uh, sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting or anything. I know I’m probably not the person you like or anything, but I just wanted to try and see if you liked me. Ian and Lip said that was a cute idea, the notes.”

Your eyes lit up with he voiced his concerns. Your lips upturned into a smile, your eyes staring into his. 

“Carl, I like you, too,” you said. 

Carl’s eyes widened. “Wha-what?”

You took his hands in yours. “It was a cute idea. And I’ve liked you for the last 3 years, too. I was hoping it was you, actually.”

Carl blushed, a big smile appearing on his face. “Really?” “Yep,” you nodded. 

“Awesome!” Carl chuckled. “So, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you smiled. 

“Cool,” he smiled. “Well, I need to get dressed. You can stay and watch if you want,” he smirked. 

You giggled at his words. “Don’t mind if I do.”

————

this was trash i am sorry

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@kaitieskidmore1​

[rk1kheadcanons]

Markus and Connor are secret dating b/c Connor doesn't wanna be out to the world yet. The Jericrew (-Connor) go drinking and Markus gets *drunk* and starts rambling about his boyf after he rebuffs an advance made by a lady at the bar super sappily, but no matter how hard the others press him, they just get "oh, his eyes are the color of warm chocolate..." answers as to who this boyf is

You would never know Markus was drunk.

He didn’t stutter or slur when he spoke, he didn’t sway or trip over his feet. He didn’t giggle goofily or speak overly loud. He was perfectly composed, as much the charismatic android sober as he was when he was intoxicated.

What he did do, however, was go on long monologues like a Shakespearian stage actor.

Which would be fine, if Markus’ favorite subject to wax poetic about wasn’t his mysterious boyfriend, whom he’d sworn not to reveal the identity of until they were ready. Which would also be fine, if that mysterious boyfriend wasn’t Connor, who was often sitting right next to him (and slowly but surely bluescreening his way into that big Windows XP wallpaper in the sky) as he sang and lathered compliment after compliment, steadily giving away clues that were so blatant that it was a miracle that no one had figured them out yet.

Markus never remembered what he’d done the next day, and whenever Connor mercilessly played back his memories, his poor lover was as embarrassed as he was apologetic. Connor could hardly begrudge him (frankly he didn’t know what sane person on this planet could ever begrudge Markus, but that was just Connor’s correct opinion). What could they even do about it? Should he demand Markus consciously control himself? It wasn’t like Connor was any better at it. Give the RK800 too many AMB’s (Adios Motherboards) and he would be on top of the nearest table and scream-singing his every professionally repressed emotion, regardless if it was a karaoke bar or not. Hence why he never imbibed more than he could handle when they were around their friends. The last thing he wanted to do was sloppily propose to Markus after a long and terrible rendition of K-Ci and JoJo.

And Connor wouldn’t dream of telling Markus to measure the contents of his drink like Connor did. Not when his breaks were so rare, and getting him to relax and let loose was like pulling teeth.

It was just in the cards that their big revelation as a couple would be in a random bar at 3AM, with Markus saying something along the lines of “my boyfriend’s name starts with a C and rhymes with Donner”, and Connor had made peace with that.

“Scarlet woman!” Markus cried, at some random bar at 3AM, surrounded by their drunken comrades. Ah, would this be the night? Connor thought, on the correct side of buzzed as he watched on from the table right next to them, a heady mix of dread and amusement running through his computer soul. “Jezebel! How d a r e you solicit my happily taken hand!”

The waitress, who looked like she regretted serving their table, let alone attempting to get the number from the happily taken hand, raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry,” she said peaceably and with the calm air of someone who dealt with drunks as a job choice, “just trying to shoot my shot, ya know?”

Markus nodded at her magnanimously, because he was a kind and forgiving man even as a drunken buffoon. “Fret not. I pardon you of this most heinous slight, for if you knew the one to own my heart, you would understand that no other could compare.”

“Sure thing dude,” she said goodnaturedly, packing up and replacing drinks around their tables expertly, and parting with a “have a good night Romeo.”

“But who can no other compare to? WHOMST??” asked North, throwing her torso onto the table and looking up at Markus pleadingly.

“We’ve ruled out Jerry #451, Claudia, Baris from accounting, and Jerry #36,” Simon rattled off. He was looking down at a napkin that he had scribbled the names of all of their potential suspects. “I’ve got it. It’s Baris.”

North rolled her eyes. “We already said it wasn’t Baris.”

“Ohhh. Right, right.” Simon nodded his head and continued to not cross off the names of the people they had decided against, as he had been doing all night.

“How about you describe them a little?” Josh put in, reasonable, and therefore slightly less wasted than everyone else. “Hair color? Height? Eyes? Something?”

“Nay, I must not speak thusly!” Markus declared, back of his hand over his forehead and everything. “For if I were to tread down that forbidden road, I would surely not be able to stop myself from breaking our sacred oath of secrecy!”

“Oh my goOOOOOOOd I hate this fucking oaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaath,” North threw her head back and cried to heavens, which, considering her positon, was probably going to be hell on her neck come morning. “Come on! Break your oath! Be like Thor and wield oathbreaker goddamnit!”

“You might be thinking of Stormbreaker,” Connor added, the need to try and reason with alcoholics apparently embedded in his programming.

North narrowed her eyes at him, or rather his torso, since her chin was very resolutely still resting on the table. “If you think I’m thinking right now then you are drunker than I am.”

Connor lifted his barely touched glass to her in a toast because how dare she be lucid enough to clap back so quickly. A well deserved rebuttal fucking cheers.

“Glasses!” Josh exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Do they wear glasses? That should narrow down some people.”

“That’s right! That’ll tell us if they’re an android or not. Androids don’t wear glasses! Our eyes are like...fucking...better and shit!”

“Unless….” Simon narrowed his eyes, pausing dramatically. “....they do.”

North gasped. Josh put his hands on either side of face, muttering; “holy fucking shit he’s right.”

Markus scoffed. “Their eyes do not hide behind paltry spectacles! His beautiful orbs, so soft and caring when his gaze lands upon my person, seeing into my very soul, are the warmest chocolate brown!”

‘Ah shit here we go,’ Connor thought, wishing not for the first time that he could just down his drink and join everyone else in blissful, idiotic cavorting. The soft, melodic piano and crooning words of All My Life playing over the speaker stayed his hand. Best not take any chances

“HE!” Simon burst out, tipping over in his chair. “He say he! Them is He!”

“Are we talkin’ Hershey’s or Dove?”

“Ghirardelli you fucking plebs!”

“Oi!” North banged her hand on the table so hard it left a handprint indented in the wood. It was one amongst many however, and not all of them left by their party. Such was the price for serving android drinks at a human bar - you either shelled out for sturdier furniture or the dents and chips became a charming aspect of your décor. “Don’t get spicy with us Sir Lancelot!”

“Apologies fair maiden,” Markus responded easily. He took her hand delicately and made a sweeping bow over it. “Alas, my passions got away from me.” He dropped her hand and whirled around, coat billowing with the movement and most assuredly by accident, placing both hands to his thirium pump. “Conjuring up the magnificent images that is the love of my life oft times sends my emotions into a tizzy! His hair; cloud like in my grasp as I run my fingers threw earthen chestnut tendrils - ”

‘Hhhhhhhhhhhhn so many adjectives Markus whyyyyyyyyyy,’ Connor wheezed internally. He didn’t bother trying to keep down his blush. Markus was nowhere near done laying on the compliments and he’d be subjecting himself to an endless loop of canceling the process. Besides, he could just blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on the a a a a a alcohol - wait no. What!? WHAT. Connor looked down at his drink and saw, to his mounting horror, that the glass was emptier than it had been a few minutes ago. Goddamn his automated rest mode cycle for transforming into fidgeting whenever he was nervous! He resolutely pushed the glass out of his immediate reach.

Nines, who was quietly sitting next to him, hunched over and taking notes on his own napkin, snapped his head up to attention when the glass brushed against his arm. His younger brother was looking from Connor to Markus, eyes narrowed suspiciously as Markus carried on. Connor didn’t like that look at all. It was always a risk inviting Nines to their little outings, the only thing Connor could bank on was Nines passing out - as his dear little bro was a notorious light weight - before his deductive skills could pierce through his drunken haze. Apparently Nines had chosen tonight of all nights, where Markus had never been more obvious about their relationship, to bloody pace himself.

If he could, Connor would be sweating bullets.

“ - a wit SO SHARP!!” Markus declared, foot now planted on his chair and shaking his fist to the ceiling as if it had insulted one of Carl’s paintings, “that neither an UNDEAD HOARD nor a POLITICIAN’S EGO could survive it’s precision strike!!”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, banger body, smarty pants, good at analyzing shit, likes animals” North listed off, holding a hand up and ticking a finger down. “Well that rules out all the Jerrys; they’re all redheads and they’re pretty aggressive about it - except for Jerry #86. Is your man-squeeze Jerry #86?”

“No no no last I heard Jerry #86 is dating Hatsume Miku’s bodyguard; Android Lucy Lawless.” said Simon.

“Tch. Lucky,” pouted North.

“Oh wow, she really kept that name huh?” Josh said, voice faint with wonder and disbelief. “That’s such a mouthful.”

“And who are you to question a Queen!?” snapped North.

“Huzzah and many blessings to the fortuitous couple!” Markus cheered, toasting a stein of frothy blue intoxication that looked as cartoonish as it did poisonous to the sky, knocking it back in several impressive gulps and slamming it back on the table. “BUT NEITHER OF THEM CAN COMPARE TO THE BEAUTY AND GRACE THAT IS MY LOVE!!” he boomed, louder and more British by the second. “WHO’S CURIOSITY AND INTELLECT A CHERISHED BOON TO I, BUT A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION TO HIS ENEMIES - !”

North slapped her hand on the table several times, the proverbial light bulb lighting up in her eyes - oh. No not proverbial. There was currently little lightbulb emojis pictured in her pupils. Yet another drunken download added to the bill. Connor was glad he’d drawn the long straw on ‘irresponsible buying duty’ tonight. No doubt there would be a lot of strange receipts to sort through in the morning. “Oh! I know I know! It’s Josh!”

So startled by this declaration/accusation, Josh jumped in his seat. “What!?”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, hot, obnoxious, smart - everything FITS!”

“...he didn’t say obnoxious,” Josh muttered, then physically shook sanity back into himself. “It can’t be me. I think I’d know if I was dating Markus!”

Simon leaned in closer towards Josh, arm on the table, determination in his mien. “But what if…” Without breaking eye contact with his friend, he smoothly cracked open his Thirium berry blast bahama mama banana punch wine cooler, and proceeded to pour it just two centimeters off from his glass, all over the table. “You don’t know.”

Josh was shook in the face of this evidence. North narrowed her eyes so hard that they were just closed at this point. “Highly suspicious.”

“No. Nooooo. No? No! Of course I’m not. Right Markus?”

Markus steepled his fingers together and cackled in a way that most people would find concerning, but Connor just found it adorable. He would saving that in his memory banks. “I’ll never tell~,” he sing songed.

“H i g h l y s u s p i c i o u s.”

“I know who it is,” Nines suddenly said, calm but with such confidence that he was easily heard amidst the ruckus. He had his elbows planted on the table, chin resting upon his entwined fingers. Steele grey eyes swept over the now quiet group, everyone waiting with baited breath.

“Grant us your wisdom ‘o soothsayer,” Markus whispered, eyes wide with anticipation and literally perched on the edge of his seat. Connor seriously measured the pros and cons of just throwing his portion of the tab on the table and yeeting himself out of the window.

“It’s Sixty.”

Immediately the room erupted into scoffs and hisses of disbelief. North gave him a thumbs down and cupped her hand to her mouth, letting a long, “Booooo!”

“Why are you booing me I’m right!”

“BoooOOooOOOOOoooooo!” Markus, Josh and Simon joined in.

Connor blinked, and suddenly felt all of his concerns about Nines’ being the lynch pin in solving this mystery evaporate. If Markus transformed into a C grade Shakespeare impersonator when drunk, and Connor subconsciously wanted to be recruited by America’s Got Talent, then Nines became a consummate dumbass.

“That’s it!” North exploded. “Ten dollars says it’s Jerry #92! I caught him in a wig once!” She stood up, her chair sliding back from the force, and slammed a note on the table.

Simon also stood up with equal intensity. “Twenty says it’s Josh!” He reached into his pocket and slammed its contents onto the table. When he removed his hand six lego pieces, a My Little Pony leg, and two actual diamonds were revealed. Connor hoped dearly that the bartender cut Simon off soon.

“It’s not me!” Josh said exasperated. He paused, then pointedly pulled out some money and threw it in the pot as well. “I put forty on Brenden.”

“Bull! Shit!” North declared. “Fitness guru Brenden!? No way!”

“He fits the criteria.”

“I doubt ‘How To Tell If An Android Has Welded on Parts from China vs Russia in their Selfies’ videos on his YouTube channel is the kind analysis Markus was talking about.”

“You don’t know that! He didn’t specify...”

As the two continued to argue, with Simon chiming in with some non sequitur, and Nines tutting about these ‘ignorant fools and their blindness to the evidence presented’, Connor looked over to Markus. He was quiet. He had his elbow perched precariously on the edge of the table, his cheek resting on his fist, a small hat (that was not there literally two minutes ago) was on his head, folded from one of the bar napkins.

And he was looking at Connor as if he hung the moon and stars.

‘How could the world not already know,’ Connor thought, soft and warm inside, happy merely to be in his line of sight, ‘When he looks at me like that?’

Connor picked up his glass and lifted it. “One hundred dollars on Sixty.”

Chaos erupted. Nines threw his arms up and hooted like he’d won the super bowl. Josh tried to explain to him how that was mathematically impossible. North shook her head and warned him that he would live on the streets with an answer like that. Simon pulled out a Yu-Gi-Oh! Card and said he would give him this Charizard if he agreed with him that Josh was Markus’ secret boyfriend. Connor withheld himself from trying to convince drunk people that this was not how betting worked.

Maybe Connor shouldn’t worry so much about their relationship being discovered after all. At this rate, no one would know about he and Markus being together until the wedding invites.

[wwilloww]

tell me what you want | myg

pairings: Yoongi/Reader, (mentions of Yoongi/Namjoon and Namjoon/OC)

genre: 18+. nonidol!au. friends to lovers.

word count: 5.7k

warnings: alcohol use. pining. some minor angst. smut. pwp. penetrative sex. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). creampie. fluff.

summary: Yoongi teaches you how to ask for what you want.

a/n: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction and smut! Thanks so much to my friends Carl and A for supporting me through the writing process and for encouraging me. If you enjoy this, leave a comment: I am so excited to hear what you think!

do not copy, repost, or translate without explicit permission from the author.

The pounding in your head matches the pounding in your chest.

You thought you would be fine, surrounded by your friends. And you are, in a way. After a couple of drinks the tension in your chest has eased and it’s easier to fall into conversation with strangers and friends alike.

After years of hard work and careful saving, you’ve purchased your first apartment. Tonight, you’re hosting a housewarming party that has quickly turned into a full-on house party. There’s nothing like a little spilled beer to baptize a new home.

With the music blasting, and good friends at your side, you almost forget why you’re feeling uncomfortable in the first place: Yoongi.

He’s been a good friend of yours for a long time. You had met back in college, having been paired up for a group project. But when the assignment was completed and turned in, you never stopped hanging out. He kept showing up at your door, beer and pizza in hand and a gummy smile spreading across his face until he was a steady constant in your life. But recently things have started to take a turn. It was a gradual process. Like water slipping underneath the door, your feelings snuck in quietly and devastatingly. And like a slow flood, there was no stopping their gradual rise.

At first you admired him. How caring he was. How intelligent he was. The way his signature no-funny-business attitude took over when he was deep in the process of his passions. How he always seemed to know exactly what to say, while it always took you an extra second to come up with that snappy comeback. How, when he took a second to put his thoughts together, his words spilled like poetry from his lips.

Before you knew it, there was something strange and fluttery pooling in your stomach everytime his name popped up on the screen of your phone or when your friends mentioned he would be stopping by.

You didn’t expect Yoongi to return the feelings. He was always kind to you, helping you with the move, showing up for you at a drop of a hat. But that’s all you thought it was: kindness.

Still, knowing he didn’t feel the same way about you didn’t change the fact that it felt like you had been punched in the gut when you walked into the kitchen and found a very tall and wildly handsome man draped all over Yoongi.

It seemed effortless, the way the strange man so casually ran his fingers through Yoongi’s hair as they chatted with some of your friends. What was this sinking feeling in your gut?

It wasn’t jealousy. At least not over Yoongi’s redirected attention. Instead, you envied the ease with which the beautiful man held onto Yoongi. The way his desire pooled openly in his eyes and settled comfortably throughout his entire body.

Even if you had enough courage to make a move—and enough validation to know it wouldn’t be squandered—you had no idea how to. Every time your interest rose, it became trapped in your throat, leaving you frozen and confused.

With the pit in your stomach still open and yawning, you proceed into the kitchen, slipping your hand into one of your friend’s and tugging her to the counter where you uncap a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet and pull two shot glasses towards you.

“Hana, who—,” you begin to whisper-ask, but you’re interrupted.

“Shots!” a familiar baritone sings into your ear. Yoongi was standing wildly close, his arm already reaching around you to grab a shot glass and then to press you into his side. You stiffen, feeling your heart jump out of your chest at the sudden proximity. “You want one?” he asks the beautiful stranger.

“Only if you’re having one,” the man winks at Yoongi.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a coy smile. You feel oddly trapped between the intensity of the two men, the chemistry between them burning. Still, Yoongi winds his arm tight around your waist and, as if its second nature, your hand comes to rest on his stomach. You two could look like a couple like this. You’re not sure if it’s just you, but you think he pulls you closer and when you instinctively grab onto the thin fabric of his shirt, the smooth planes of his stomach tense under your touch.

“Oh,” Yoongi breaks his gaze from the man to look down at you. “By the way, this is Namjoon.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. So this is the infamous Namjoon. Yoongi’s ex. You had been hearing about the complicated ins and outs of their relationship for the past year, usually only after Yoongi had a couple of beers. But Yoongi had never brought Namjoon around to meet his friends, because, quote, “It’s just not that serious.” But here Namjoon was, standing in front of you. While Namjoon had ended things in their most recent breakup, it seemed as if tonight he was doing his best to mend his relationship with Yoongi. Either way, you wipe the surprise off of your face and smile at the man.

“And Namjoon, this is one of my closest friends in the world. She’s the best.”

The f-word hits a little harder than you’d like it to, but you grin up at Yoongi anyways, giving him a playfully light shove.

“Ah, stop, you flatter me,” you tease, but the words seem to fall flat.

The four of you take the shots of vodka with hisses and groans as the burning liquid slides down your throats. Slamming his glass down on the counter, first, Yoongi watches you finish your shot straightfaced.

“Never seen someone make taking a shot look so attractive,” he teases you, laughing.

Still, you blush from his comment. It’s too much. You pull away from Yoongi’s unwavering hold on your waist and tug Hana towards the living room where dancers have congregated.

“I want to dance!” You say, a little too cheerfully.

Hana throws you a sideways glance but ultimately understands. She wraps her arm around your shoulder as you join the group of bopping dancers.

“Let’s distract you,” she says, dramatically spinning you into a dip and you can’t help but giggle at your friend’s absurdity. She holds you tight against her for a song or two, before you break away to dance sporadically as one of your favorite songs comes on.

Here, away from Yoongi, it’s easier to lose yourself, surrounded by your favorite people, the vodka paving a liquid ease through your body. It’s easier to close your eyes and let the bass carry your thoughts.

When you open your eyes, you see Namjoon twirling Hana in a clumsy rendition of a jive, and Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

The lights go out and a cheer rises up from the living room. The music pauses for a moment before switching to a more sensual groove. You let out a whoop, throw your head back, and start to roll your hips. The only thing lighting the room is a lava lamp that is precariously passed around.

It’s not long before you feel a gentle hand on your back and you find yourself leaning into it, not a single question in your mind. Without looking to see who it is, you reach behind you and pull them flush against your back. It feels good to lean into someone, to have someone wrapped around you--not to mention the hand sliding up your side to rest on your waist does wonders for your bruised ego.

Namjoon is smirking at you as he sways against Hana.  

You push your hips back. They meet your movements with their own grinding hips and you can feel strong hands tracing up your sides to guide you into them. Closer. Tracing circles against one another, following, as if with one mind, a shared rhythm.

You know the heat building in you is part this, part the worn-out out tension you feel whenever you’re around Yoongi. But you want to let go. You want to lean into this stranger and just let them take it all away. They press you against them, and you can feel their breath brush against your neck--hot and light and so delightful. You let your neck roll to the side, giving them better access to your warm skin. Fingers trace down the slope of your neck, skate down your side, and press into you. But the pleasure of their heavy touch only lasts for a second because then those same hands are turning you around and you’re face to face with Yoongi’s blooming red cheeks and warm, indecipherable eyes.

You falter through your next movement and Yoongi takes the opportunity to maneuver you through a graceful twirl out onto the dance floor and then back into his arms. It only takes you a moment before you catch up and soon the two of you are dancing, too close for your own good.

If you could just fall into this. Into his hands, into his touch—without explanation, without expectation and let the sinful pleasure of the moment cradle you. Yet, you know that it will never be enough. To answer this desire, even for a moment, is to split yourself open for him.  

He meets your movements with his own hips, and this small moment of synergy is enough to send a wave of warmth shooting up your spine.  

He leans down, and tucks your hair behind your ear.

His lips brush against you as he whispers, “I want to talk.”

“Not now.”

You try to pull him back into the music, but he steps away.

“We can continue when we can talk,” he says sternly, but his eyes betray something kind as he pinches your chin.

Namjoon leans over to you, as if he had heard the entire exchange. “His bisexual ass is so hard to pin down, you know, metaphorically—but also physically,” he winks at you.

“Let her be,” Yoongi chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice. Still, he takes Namjoon’s arm and pulls him to the kitchen, reaching up to his ear to say something to him that you don’t quite catch. The pair step into the adjoining room, where Namjoon proceeds to wrap Yoongi in a hug that feels almost too intimate to watch.

You do your best to distract yourself in the blaring music and your friends, but you can’t help but keep Yoongi in the corner of your eye. Within you, a new and uncomfortable tension rises—and you don’t understand it. You already knew he wasn’t interested. Nothing tonight has proven you otherwise.

By the time the party begins to wind down, you’re left stunningly sober and with glasses and half-eaten food all over the apartement.

You wave goodbye to your friends as the crowd trickles out of your new home. Yoongi helps you find misplaced jackets, and as Hana and Namjoon collect their things and head towards the door, Yoongi leans up to Namjoon and presses a kiss against his cheek.

“Get home safe, okay?” he says, chuckling at his ex’s inebriated stumble towards the door.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does,” Hana sings as the door closes behind the pair.

Yoongi immediately turns to start picking up glasses and brings them to the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you go back with him?” you ask.

“Hana seemed like she was perfectly capable of taking care of him tonight.”

You shot him a confused glance, which he caught. He sets down the glasses he was holding in the sink and turned to you.

“You know me and Namjoon are over right?”

“I don’t know if he knows that.”

Yoongi laughs. “You know—He and Hana—they’re hooking up. He was here for her, not for me.” He chuckles, leaning back with such composure against the kitchen sink. “Sure, we’re still close, but that’s over.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, you know you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“I know,” he says gently, coming over to where you’re drying some dishes to lean his head on your shoulder. “But I want you to know these things, I—,” he takes a deep breath as if he’s steeling himself. “I want to talk about what happened earlier.”

You push away from him and head to the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s really anything to talk about,” you gulp. He follows you anyway.

“I want to talk,” he says again. His voice is level and dry.

“I don’t.”

Your eyes widen as he steps closer and leans over you.

He’s got one hand pressed firmly against the wall by your head. With the other hand, he pulls a streamer out of your hair. But that’s not what you’re focused on. He’s caged you in, towering over you, something dark and unknowable in his gaze.

“Then why make eyes at me all night?” he asks, slowly. “It seems like you want to talk.”

You don’t have an answer, but still you manage to stutter, “I...I just...I have nothing to say.”

“Ah. So this has nothing to say to me?” His hand comes up to cup your face, a calloused thumb running over your burning cheek. As if on instinct, you lean into his touch. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this, like you were something delicate.

He watches your expression carefully, a glimmer of a smirk playing on his lips. “Or this?” He reaches down to grab your hand before drawing it up to brush your palm against your ribcage. Beneath your hand your breath is fluttering—heavy and inconsistent. “Or this?” He draws the pair of your hands upwards to cup the swell of your breast. He spreads his palm over yours, fingers pressing into you. Despite the audacity of his current moves, his touch is gentle and feather-light.

He can feel your heart pounding beneath his touch, pounding like it wants to escape.

“I affect you...” he said, as if the notion surprised him too.

“No. You don’t,” you stutter, your face flushing with the lie.

“...just like you affect me,” he finishes.

“What?” You’re shocked to hear those words fall from his lips.

He smirks down at you.  

“Mhmm.”

He leans down to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth.

You stiffen and he pulls back slightly, searching your eyes, waiting for you, waiting for permission. Some very loud voice tells you that to give in is to give yourself up. But then, if his lips on yours isn’t a sign, you’re just not sure what will be.

You barely give it a moment before you pull his taller frame fully to you and press your lips against his. He falters, shocked by the crack in you that he’s finally seeing through. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back, wrapping his hand behind your head where his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck. His other hand comes to the gentle valley of your lower back, pressing your torso to his. This kiss is a gentle and nervous search and you find your insides fluttering against his touch.

And then he’s pulling away, taking a half step back and the fear that you thought you had put out of your mind is rushing back in like the tide.

As Yoongi pulls away from your lips, he can feel the crack closing. He can feel you slipping away again. Your eyes shift downward, and you use one arm to wrap around your torso.

“Does that give you anything to say?”

If you didn’t before, you definitely don’t now. It’s as if his touch has stilled every thought in you. Has quieted the voices—all of them—the nagging voice, the one that tells you he’s too good to be true.

“I don’t know how to say it,” you finally murmur.

The silence draws out between the two of you.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t keep guessing.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

There is this gnawing ache in you, a dull throb in your chest that wants so badly to reach out to him and pull him back into your arms and never let him go. From this place comes a desperate need for him to know just how you deeply feel about him. And yet, as the words rise to your throat, they stop on your tongue. As if by uttering your own desire you will shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fear. That’s what this is.

Your name falls off his lips and you bring yourself to look him in the eyes, your hands still gripping the front of his shirt.

Looking down at you—your eyes wide, your flushed chest, your lips blooming red from his attentions—his heart breaks as he says these next words, “I can’t do this if you can’t talk to me.” His words hit like a boulder dropped on your chest. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock but still, you say nothing.

He nods. Your silence is enough of an answer for him. He turns away from you and swings his jacket over his shoulder, his heart shattering. His hand is on the doorknob.

“Yoongi,” you call. He stops in the doorway. He thinks his name sounds like a song when you say it. “I’m sorry.”

He turns back to you  just enough that you see a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating everything you’ve done up to this point. Hating your cowardice. Hating the part of yourself that stops in fear at every chance of getting close to someone. Of opening up and allowing someone to see that you want, that you crave.  

With every ounce of strength you can muster, you push past the doubt, you push past the fear. At last the words are tumbling from your mouth:

“Yoongi, I want you.” Your eyes are still squeezed shut, as if by keeping them closed there’s a chance you can reel your words back in. “I want to let go.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

He strides back from the doorway to you, his eyes burning, a real smile spreading across his face. He presses himself against you again, but this time his movements aren’t searching and hesitant. You’ve both waited so long, there’s nothing to hold back. He lowers his lips to yours before letting his mouth travel over your chin and down your neck. Goosebumps spread like a tide across your skin.

“I need to know you want me too,” you gulp, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against your neck, working his teeth and his tongue against the sensitive skin. “Telling me what you want.” You flush at the praise. “I want you, not just this, but you.”

He bites down on your lip, loving the way your grasp tightens around him and a small oh slips out of you. “I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you,” his eyes meet yours, “and see you like this, all fucked out and needy for me, every night.” He runs a thumb across your lower lip, loving the way the swollen flesh parts for him. “Do you want that?” You gasp against him, barely getting an mhmm out as he sucks a bruise into your neck.

“Use your words.”

“I do. I want it, too.”

He pulls away from you, holding your head in his large hands. The soft smile spreading across his face is the most delightful thing you’ve seen. It gives you courage.

He’s not lying. He wants you.

Before you can unravel and doubt the thought, you take his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it as you lead him to your bedroom. He follows without a second’s hesitation, and this moment—you leading without a single question fluttering in your mind—brings something singing and happy to the surface. All that is left is clear and clean and throbbing.

Gently, he guides you onto your back and crawls on top of you, lifting your shirt to kiss and nip up your belly. When he gets to your chest, he pushes your shirt and bra up and latches onto one of your nipples. Your back arches and the buds raise and pucker as his tongue swirls around one before he bites down.

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out. It comes out breathy and Yoongi thinks it’s the most divine sound he’s ever heard.

“All good?” he asks.

“Good—good, keep going.”

Yoongi pays each breast due attention, sucking and biting in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure, before sitting back on his heels. Beneath him, you couldn’t be more gorgeous, hair spread against the pillow, face and chest flushed. In this moment, your guard is down and he’s never seen you this stunning, your body relaxed and preened with desire. Desire for him.

His bulge strains painfully against his jeans. He wants nothing more but to rip off your pants and take you right now, but first he wants to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of you.

Yoongi smirks, an idea crossing his mind, as he continues to play with your nipples. Just enough to keep your eyes fluttering in pleasure, but not nearly enough to bring you the sense of fulfillment you’re desperately searching for.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says.

Your eyes snap open, searching his. All you find is mischief.

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He slows his ministrations to mere palming.

“No,” you whine, “I want you to touch me.”

“Don’t make me pull it out of you. Tell me exactly what you want.”

He wants to see you beg.

“I want you to touch my pussy. I want your fingers in me. I need you closer,” you all but gush.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos at you. “Get undressed.”

Hastily, you move to slip your shirt and bra over your head and shimmy your jeans down your legs. Once you’re left in nothing but your underwear, he leans down to kiss you gently, like all of the tenderness in the world could be captured between your lips.

“Turn over.”

You roll over, onto your belly, twisting back in time to see him pull off his shirt. He moves towards you, straddling the backs of your legs and spreading his palms across your ass. “So pretty,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He slides his finger underneath the band of your underwear before roughly tugging them down, but not all the way off.

Before you know it, the pads of his fingers are brushing against your dripping cunt, exploring the part of you that he only imagined ever getting to see, let alone touch.

“So wet already. Is this all for me?” he asks. You nod into the pillow. With one hand still drawing lazily through your folds, he grabs your hand and guides it to the prominent bulge in his pants. You gasp when you feel how hard he is.

“Do you see what you do to me? I’ve been this way since you thought it would be a good idea to grind your pretty little ass on me in front of all of those people.”

You moan at the words dropping freely and easily from his mouth—a moan cut short by Yoongi thrusting two fingers into your cunt and starting on a nearly punishing pace. Your hands come back up to grab onto the sheets beside your head.

“I want to get you nice and ready for me. Can I stretch you out so you can take me?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but still, you nod, desperately wanting him to, desperately wanting to please him. With two fingers in you, his thumb begins to press at and circle around your swollen clit.

You moan incoherently into the pillow and push your hips back towards him.

He’s watching your every move, lapping up every delicious sound that falls from your lips. He wants to know exactly what will make you tick, what will bring that gorgeous flush to your face—and he’ll do anything to earn it.

All of a sudden, he’s hitting someplace soft and spongy within you, over and over, and it’s like you’ve been shoved off a cliff, tumbling forward in your pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you before you can even say anything. It comes fast and hard and breathlessly. You clench helplessly around his fingers and he outwardly groans at the sight.

“Did you just come?” he asks, incredulously. He pulls his fingers from you and wipes them on his pants.

“I think so,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath, rolling over and propping yourself up on your elbows.

He chuckles.

“That was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your already rosy cheeks somehow manage to flush even more. He reaches forward to brush your hair out of your face.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. “We don’t have—”

“No, I want to,” you sit up to reach towards his lips and hook your fingers into the belt loops on his pants. “I want you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want your cock. I want to make you feel good.” You slide your hand to cup his growing erection through his pants and he trembles under your touch.  

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Take your pants off,” you order, not sure where this boldness is coming from, but relishing in the way it courses through you. The clarity of it, like a rain-bloated river flowing after months of drought.

He does as you say, standing up from the bed to roll his pants down his legs. When he rejoins you on the comforter, he’s just in his boxers.

“Off,” you say as you kiss him. “Take them off.”

He peels them off.

You lock gazes with him and reach down to wrap your hand around his cock. You don’t look away: You want to see every moment of pleasure unravel on his face. You want to know you are the source of his pleasure.

You are rewarded with a moan as you begin to stroke him, rolling your thumb over the head to collect the precum that’s gathered there. He thrusts up into your grasp as you tighten your grip and begin to move a little bit faster. But then just as you begin to lean down to take him in your mouth, his hand comes to rest on yours and he pulls you back up, stopping your movements.

His hand soon comes down to rest on yours, stopping your movements.

“God,” he gasps. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

You pout. “But I want to make you feel good.”

“Don’t worry, you are,” he chuckles. But you’re still frowning. He presses a kiss to your lips, pulling your torso against his. “There’s no rush to do everything tonight. We have all the time in the world.” His words make your heart swell.  

He guides you onto your back as he comes to straddle you again, hand slowly stroking up and down his length.

“And you want to do this?” he asks. “Like I said, there’s no rush.”

You nod eagerly, biting your lip.

“Good. Spread yourself for me.”

You reach down and spread your lips apart. Despite the simplicity of the action, you can’t help blushing at the sudden and explicit exposure. But it quickly morphs into pleasure as he grasps himself and slides his length along your slick folds, teasing your clit and your entrance.

“Please…” you whimper, your need building to a desperate ache in your abdomen.

“Please, what?”

The words come tumbling without hesitation.

“Please. I need your cock in me now.” He pushes his cock against your clit just to see you gasp. “Please, Yoongi. Please fuck me.”

If he had any resolve to continue teasing you, it is completely dissolved by your begging. He leans forward, placing one hand for support next to your head, and with the other hand, guides his cock to your entrance and slowly begins to slide in.

“Oh god, it’s like you’re fucking made for me,” he groans, pressed in to the hilt. He stills when he’s all the way in, loving the fit of your tight cunt around him.

Finally wrapped around him, you’re entirely blissed out. If only he would goddamn move.

“Yoongi,” you moan, “I need you to move.”

“Alright, baby girl,” he says cooly—but it takes every ounce of strength he has to keep from pounding into you like an animal. He starts moving, slowly, relishing in the drag of his cock against your snug, wet walls. As he begins to set a pace, these warm, wonderful sounds begin to slip out of you. Each one twists something deep in his gut and he groans out your name. “You’re so good for me, making these pretty sounds, taking my cock so well. Making me feel so good.”

You clench around him at the praise and he moans.

The room fills with the sweet sound of skin meeting skin, your breath tangled in a game of push-and-pull.

His hair has fallen onto his forehead, and with the sweat, stuck there, divinely dark. You reach up to push the strands out of his eyes, hooking your thumb in his mouth. He bites down lightly on the digit, his breath coming heavy, his eyes boring into yours. Just the sight of his own pleasure makes you tremble.

You can feel a second orgasm building.

“I-I’m close,” you tell him.

“Come for me,” he pants in your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me again.” You close your eyes and allow the sound of his voice to roll through your body. You can almost trace the pleasure through your veins. It’s building, like a spring in your abdomen, reaching out into your limbs, your throat, your mind—and then it hits something hard and solid. A block in your chest. A place where you want to keep things tight and close and unseen. Let go, you repeat in your mind as you begin to lose acceleration. Just let go!

But it’s gone, that breaking point seems so far away now.

“Baby, come back to me,” he’s saying, and your eyes shoot open. He reaches up to the hand you’ve tangled in your own hair and guides it around him so that it presses against his back. “Just hold onto me. You don’t need to do anything. Just sit in the space in your body where it feels good. Let it feel good.”

He starts rocking against you again. You take a deep breath and wrap your arms fully around his torso. This slight adjustment allows his pelvic bone to rub up against your clit and you arch your back to push as much of yourself towards him as possible.

“Take it slow,” he says, kissing along your collarbone.  

You take a deep breath in. On the exhale, you imagine unwinding the wall within your chest. As you continue to breathe, to just feel the way your chest rises, other sensations begin to rise to the surface. Like the sinful sound of  Yoongi’s ragged breath edged with the smallest groan every time he exhales. Or the way his consistent pace seems to press deeper into you with each thrust, building a sensation split between pressure and pleasure. And finally, the way there’s an unending heat simmering in your belly, just waiting for you. Just waiting for you to dive in.

Is this what it meant to let go? To give yourself—your pleasure—your control—up? Finding a space to ebb and flow with sensation instead of trying to track pleasure down? As his hands run over your body, you shudder, allowing the sensation of his rhythm, his warmth, and his affection to rip through you.

“Let go, baby. Let go just for me. Let go,” he pants.

That’s all you need. The pool of pleasure growing in your abdomen explodes, ripping through your entire body. You throw your head back, mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Yoongi hisses at the tight sensation of your warm walls are clenching around him. Looking down at you, spine so delicately arched, sweat pasting your baby hairs to your forehead, your nails leaving small half moons in his lower back, it seemed impossible to hold on any longer. With a grunt, he pounds into you, chasing his own high and loving the way you too are unraveling beneath him. With a final thrust, he comes, thick ropes shooting into you.

He collapses on top of you, making sure to roll to his weight slightly to the side so as not to crush you.

For several minutes the only sound in the room is the sound of your panting. Yoongi props his head up so he’s looking up at you from between your breasts.

“You good?”

“More than good,” you smile.

He looks sleepy, eyelids heavy and pleasure-filled. You made a mental note to get up and wash off and pee in a couple minutes, but for now you just want to stay here, your hands tangled in his dark hair, bathing in the comfort of his weight and rhythmic breath against your skin.

There was no denying the pleasure he had led you through in the past hour. But this, his arms wrapped securely around you, with no doubt that he wanted them there, that he wanted you here, was the kind of pleasure that coursed slowly and gently through your entire body.

“Will you stay?” you mumble into his chest.

“I’m staying,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “For a while.”

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[tcm]

Interview with Richard Benjamin on Making Comedy Look Easy in MY FAVORITE YEAR (’82) By Donald Leibenson

To hear Richard Benjamin tell it, MY FAVORITE YEAR was a charmed production. For his first film as a director, he had been looking for a comedy (“I’m just kind of bent that way,” he jokes) and the stars aligned to bring him a script that, he says, was everything he knew. He had Mel Brooks as the film’s guardian angel. He had a bona-fide movie star that his wife, Paula Prentiss, recommended after another actor regretfully declined the film’s plum role. And he heeded Carl Reiner, who gave him succinct advice about making a comedy: “Get funny people.”

Which he did. The film is character actor heaven, with Joseph Bologna, Anne de Salvo, Selma Diamond, Adolph Green, Basil Hoffman, Lainie Kazan and Bill Macy.

MY FAVORITE YEAR is set in the mid-1950s when television was live and comedy was king. Mark Linn-Baker stars as Benjy Stone, a young comedy writer on a variety show reminiscent of Your Show of Shows, where he ardently pursues the show’s not-amused production assistant (Jessica Harper). During one life-changing week, he is assigned to chaperone the show’s guest star, his idol, former swashbuckling screen hero, Alan Swann (Peter O’Toole in an Oscar-nominated performance), who has a penchant for drink, womanizing and otherwise behaving badly. 

Benjamin spoke with TCM about casting O’Toole, trying to pin down Mel Brooks and why you should never end a comedy in a graveyard.

To quote Alan Swann’s great line, dying is easy, comedy is hard. With MY FAVORITE YEAR, you make it look so easy. How did the project come to you?

Paula and I were in New York. My agent, David Gersh, sent the script by Norman [Steinberg] and Dennis [Palumbo, credited as co-writer due to the Screen Writers Guild arbitration]. I remember reading it in the hotel room and as I finished, I said, ‘This is everything I know.��� I was in high school when Your Show of Shows was on. I would get on the phone with my friend Shelley Berger, who I am still close to, and we would do all these routines they had done on the show on Saturday night. I grew up loving Errol Flynn and those swashbuckling movies. I had also worked at 30 Rockefeller Plaza [the film’s setting] as an NBC page and guide, and I knew every inch of that place. [The script] was right up my alley, as they say.

Brooksfilms produced the film, and Mel Brooks was a writer on Your Show of Shows. Did he serve as the film’s guardian angel or offer any input?

Guardian angel’s good. He kept saying he would give Norman and I two full days to sit down and go over the script to see if we could make it even funnier. The truth of the matter is that the script didn’t need much of anything, but he promised that. Trying to get Mel to stop moving is a feat. We went to his house, and he invited us in and then said he was going out. He said he had to walk the dog. Then he comes back, and he said he had to go, that there was a crisis at Fox. I said, ‘No there’s not,’ and he said, ‘Well, there could be.’ So, what he ended up giving us was two hours, but it was a great two hours. And the next thing you know, he was gone.

But Norman and I came up with one of the best jokes in the movie while we were standing in his driveway watching him drive away. It’s the one where Swann falls off the roof and plummets past the two elitist guys. And one says, ‘I think Alan Swann’s beneath us,’ and the other guy says, ‘Of course he’s beneath us, he’s an actor.’

I cannot imagine anyone but Peter O’Toole as Alan Swann. Was he the first choice?

Albert Finney had been offered the role, but he had not committed. He was up in Sausalito making SHOOT THE MOON [’82]. They told me I had to go up there and convince him to do the film; otherwise they couldn’t make the movie. The list of people M-G-M would go with was very short, because who are you going to believe with a sword in their hands? So, I’m on this mission, because if he says yes, I’m going to get to make a movie. We arranged to have lunch together. He’s completely charming. I get ready to ask the question – which could change my life, by the way: ‘Will you do it?’ He said, ‘Well…,’ and I could tell it was going to be a no. He thought the script was really good, but he had done two or three movies in a row and he said he wanted to get back to the theater. Then he said to me, ‘Why don’t you get O’Toole?’ He said, ‘We do this all the time. I turn something down, he does it, he turns something down, I do it.’ When I got back home, Paula who had made WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT? [’65] with Peter, said, ‘Get Peter. He is perfect for this.’ Finney said it, Paula said it. And I asked [co-producer] Michael Gruskoff if M-G-M would make the film with O’Toole, and Michael said yes.  

What was the meeting with Peter like?

(Laughs) That meeting! That meeting was quite something. First of all, we couldn’t find him. We could tell we had the right person because the behavior was just like the character. He had a farm in Ireland with no phone. You had to call this pub to get a message to him. I called the pub and they said Peter wasn’t there. His agent didn’t know where he was. I called his manager and said, ‘We’re trying to find your client.’ He said, ‘He’s at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He’s been here for a week.’ 

So, I’m actually talking to Peter O’Toole, and he said he had heard about the project and to send him a script and we would get together the next day. I go over and there he is in a beautiful suite wearing a smoking jacket; he is the character. He said, ‘Here’s the thing…’ and I thought, ‘Here we go again.’ He said he liked it very much, but he hadn’t read the last ten pages and to please indulge him and he would call tomorrow. The next day, on the dot, he called and he said to turn to the last page of the script.

Now, in the original script, there’s a scene which I shot that would have played after what’s in the movie. It took place in a Hollywood cemetery, and Benjy is walking past the gravestones. He says in voiceover that Alan Swann made him promise he would do something on his birthday every year. Alan has passed away, and Benjy comes to his grave, kneels down and pours a bottle of Courvoisier over the tombstone. That’s what’s on the last page. Peter asked me to read the date that was on the tombstone. It was Aug. 2. He said, ‘Aug. 2 is my birthday; did you know that?’ I asked Norman if he knew that, and Norman said no, he had made it up. And Peter says, ‘Therefore, I must do the film.’

What happened to that scene?

I was terribly reluctant to take that out because Peter did the movie because of it. But people at M-G-M said I couldn’t end a comedy in a cemetery. We had two audience screenings, one with that ending and one without it. In the screening with it, the audience enjoyed the picture, but the scene put a pall over things. Then we had the screening without it and the audience was very enthusiastic and very up as they came out.

How did you find Mark Linn-Baker?

Our casting director Ellen Chenoweth said the first person to get was Mark Linn-Baker. Mark came in and read and was terrific. I said, ‘This is my first movie, I can’t cast the first person who walks in here.’ I saw maybe 25 to 35 more—some really good people—but she was right, so after all of that, I said to get him.

Peter and Mark had great chemistry.

They seemed to hit it off right away, but later, back in L.A. after we shot the long scene on the roof, which played like a mini-farce, Peter came up to me and said, ‘I like the lad, you cast him well.’

Was Peter game for the physical stunts?

I couldn’t stop him from doing them! The bathroom scene required him to fall headfirst into the wall. I came to him before we shot and I said, ‘The camera is so close, I can’t pad this wall.’ He said, ‘I was brought up in music hall. I can do this all day. Don’t concern yourself.’

Director Howard Hawks once said that a good movie was three or four good scenes and no bad scenes. I lose count watching MY FAVORITE YEAR of how many great scenes there are in it. Between those driven by comic banter, the TV sketches, the physical comedy scenes, the quieter romantic scenes and even the dramatic confrontations, did you have a favorite type to direct?

I can’t say there was a favorite. It’s all of a piece. I will tell you that one of the scenes I like is in the Stork Club and getting to do something that reminded me of all these kinds of wonderful comic movies I loved growing up. I do remember that one of the first things we shot was the scene in Central Park where Alan Swann mounts the horse. It just seemed to lack energy. And I was thinking, ‘I have to go tell Peter O’Toole that he has to pick up the pace and it has to be lighter.’ I went up to him and said, ‘It’s good, but…’ and before I could finish, he said, ‘You want it faster and funnier.’ I said, ‘You’ve got it,’ and he said, ‘And you shall have it.’ And I thought, ‘This directing thing is not so hard.’ (laughs)

Were there directors you worked with as an actor who particularly inspired you when you became a director? For example, you worked with one of the best, Mike Nichols.

Mike, yes. He directed me in the national company of Barefoot in the Park and [the film] CATCH-22 [’70]. Mike’s thing was he’d come up to you very quietly and say, ‘Just like in real life.’ That was his main thing. It meant that there should be no ‘acting’ here; your character responds to situations as they would in life. It’s like what [critic] Walter Kerr once said about Neil Simon’s jokes: They have the truth in them. This is what funny people know: You can’t try to get a laugh, because you won’t get it.  

At one point, Alan Swann says that doing the TV show was the most fun and the hardest work since the world was young. Was that what making MY FAVORITE YEAR was like for you?

It was the most fun, there’s no question of that. It was a magical experience because of the screenplay and everyone involved. Everyone’s game came up because of Peter. You don’t need many takes with him, that’s for sure. But how all of this came about and got to the point where I would be offered this, and what has to happen in your life to come to that moment – you can’t make it up. And when that moment comes, you’re hopefully ready. I was really fortunate.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

…the ugly. SYAC: The Master Review 4

Last post I covered much of what I consider the good or passable strips of SYAC of the pre-Dobbear era. What I have admittedly not covered yet, were three certain characters of the strip that exist beside Dobson.

Persistent Pam

 Curmudgeonly Carl

And… this guy I am not even sure has a name.

No, seriously. He shows up in like the 61th strip of the series for the first time and yet I never see his name mentioned once

All I know is that he is an accountant, who pities Dobson (for good reason)

And despite Dobson not liking alcohol, they regularly meet up in a bar as if they are some late 80s comedy duo

Funnily enough, he shows up way before Pam, who would have her premiere in these strips

 And despite only showing up in a few strips after her premiere (mostly to make “fun” of overbearing and snarky commissioners I suppose…)

 She actually managed something no other character or series by Dobson managed to get: A fanclub

 Not that she would really be of any major importance afterwards.

As for Carl, he is supposed to be something like an antagonistic embodiment of Dobson’s “old” art teachers and people being stuck in old ways, who shows up for the following strips forming a sort of arc.

In addition, it is very obvious, that Carl is supposed to be a mockery of people flaming Dobson. Not helped by the fact that THIS character sheet of him made by Dobson assures us, that there were quite a few even less “endorsing” things he wanted to name the character.

Yet funnily enough, Carl turned into such a popular character with readers, Dobson was essentially “forced” to make him reappear in other strips. Not of the “classical” SYAC strips, but he showed up as the “antagonist” to Tenku in the storydriven multi pagers. Though even antagonist is a strong word, as he is essentially more of a jerkish art teacher and college advisor who is harsh on Tenku, but actually has his best interests in mind. To the point he even offers him to be his “harsher” art critic in the years till he enters college, because he wants to see him grow artistically.

 However, Carl was also more of an “accident”. Cause when it came otherwise to tackling criticism or things that irked Dobson (and were not anime related) he would end up more or less creating strips that painted him in a manner where he would supposedly always look like “the better” compared to his opposition or mock it. Which is where a lot of the irk Dobson would earn over the years eventually comes from.

Now to be fair, I do not want to call every comic in that regard “strawmanning”, nor do I want to say that Dobson doesn’t have the right to also mock to a certain extend the mentality of certain “snobs” and so on. For example…

On one hand, I know there are people out there who think they are “special” by having the best tools at their disposal. When in reality you can achieve good results also with less expensive stuff. So mocking that sort of attitude is fine to me to some extend

BUT, when you also make down the line a comic like this…

… essentially making yourself come off as a “better” artist or person than others because you have “chosen” the better mass produced crap (btw, that is coming from someone who types this review on a Mac that runs Windows) , then the hypocrisy ends up to be rather strong with you.

 Which is also essentially the biggest issue with the strips I am about to show. The hypocrisy of Andrew Dobson. And no, I do not mean the tumblr blog by that. I mean the simple fact, that the content of some of the soon to follow strips gets kinda muddled when you take into consideration some of the things real life Dobson had said and done either at the time or in the years to come. Well that and the way how he tries to mock issues people have with his work, not realizing how he is essentially just reassuring those “silly critics” in their opinions while making his flaws more obvious to people that may have been previously unaware of them.

But enough talk, let me just show you in quick succession examples to confirm said point.

Considering Dobson’s longterm disdain for DnD you have to wonder what the joke really is outside of him portraying DnD players as ugly nerds, supposedly too geeky even for him. Which is hilarious in hindsight as he would years later become a fan of TAZ among other things.

Less hypocritical but the set up is kinda flawed. Like, you are obviously at a convention trying to sell stuff. Why would some old dude not interested in “kids crap” be at the convention anyway? Is he just bringing someone there and just wants to go, but first needs time to belittle your life choices?

 Rather hilarious in hindsight to me. Cause for someone claiming he has ideas that last for a life time and who seems rather distraught on the idea of others giving their input, he turned out to be so in need of ideas. Alex ze Pirate e.g. became from 2015 onward only defined by Dobson talking about the sexualities of his characters (and not even in comic as by that point it was discontinued, but rather in tweets and so on). Formera, which ran heavily on cheap shonen anime tropes ended up cancelled after two volumes, Cabin Rest was a failure after 20 strips, 2019 he relied primarily on cheap comics about Miraculous Ladybug and his understanding of certain genres is so bad, he can’t even think up the most basic ideas for a magical girl story.

Weirdly enough, that pitch of a garbage truck driver who fights crime? I think that could make for an enjoyable short story about a vigilante a la the Punisher or Sin-City.

 The way Dobson perceives criticism, while also essentially giving a quick rundown how he appreciated criticism in his childhood way better than in adulthood. Yeah, because criticism by your parents as a kid was always VERY constructive. (looks back at certain drawings from own childhood) brrr. And sorry Dobson, but sometimes criticism by strangers is better than criticism from friends. Cause friends may mince their words. Plus people have over time given you quite some insightful criticism aside “U SUX” when it comes to comics. You were just never willing to listen

Hey Dobson, you hear that? That is the sound of your career, dying and no one caring.

Yeah, I think someone who made such “brilliant” comedy as in these comics, totally has the right not to listen to what seems to be solid theoretical advice.

BTW, that Talus comic… I swear to god the worst “joke” Dobson ever told.

 Wow. You essentially make a point why you suck at drawing. While still not trying to change.

And as someone else once said: Don’t play with fire if you can’t deal with the heat, BLOCK-son!

This is not how I perceived your shit over the years. See, on one hand it is true that Alex ze Pirate e.g. has its own webpage to read the comic for free. HOWEVER most of his comics Dobson would hide from the start behind a paywall. The idea being that he would e.g. put a small reading sample of 10-15 pages up somewhere and then expect people to buy his comic for full price to get the rest. And you know, if you are e.g. a professionally published writer, that is fine. But when your average art output looks like THIS

And you expect people to pay more than 10 dollars for something that is only around 70 pages long while most people can get 200+ pages for the same amount of money that look like this…

 You can frankly go and screw yourself.

On one hand I get that the joke is meant to be, that as an independent content creator you may find yourself in a weird spot where your “child friendly” work may be put in a palace between edgier stuff other creators sell at conventions. On the other hand, I find it rather insulting in hindsight, that self declared feminist Andrew Dobson portrays such competition as either psychopathic murderers or stereotypical cartoon bimbos. If modern day Dobson saw the same strip by any other person, he would be insulted on behalf of the female that she is portrayed as a bimbo, when she could also be a very smart and attractive woman who knows how to tell brave and sexy stories.

Also, I have read your “child friendly” stuff, Dobson. I would call Atea or Alex abusive bitches who like to bully orphans but child friendly? Not to forget that your work is so basic and shallow in depth, it’s like the someone tried to create a chimera out of some of the worst traits associated with Dora the Explorer, 80s toodler cartoons and the Fairly Oddparents.

I frankly hate this theory on comedy. It is true, a lot of comedy can be deprived from conflict, misunderstandings etc. Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry and other cartoons as well as screwball comedies such as Rat Race can depend on it. Heck, one of my favorite comedians of all time is Christopher Titus, who based his entire career on the misery and absurdity of his life.

But comedy is not just defined by misery and conflict.

There are for example also the following theories when it comes to comedy…

And to get back e.g. to Titus, yes, he has build a lot of his comedy on the bad stuff that happened in his life. But he is also someone who in his comedy has build a lot of punchlines on the absurdity of certain situations he has been in life but which in a way have enriched his life positively.

 What I am trying to say is, comedy (and entertainment in that regard) does not just have to be defined by misery. And all things considered Dobson, you could have really tried to also just make comics wherein either you or your characters are just happy with their situation in life.

For example, this page from an Owl House fancomic?

I think it holds more entertainment value than your “joke” right here, despite not even telling a joke.

Simply because as a page overall, it tries to convey a positive emotion. Which is more than I can say about the strip.

Because of a lack of different level of thickness regarding your lines, which would trick people into perceiving depth, the fact that the fill bucket and shade layers can only do so much to cover for the rather monochromatic dull nature of your comic, the fact that your characters are not really all that complex and look rather simplicstic even compared to stuff from a comic like this…

And that is just coming from the top of my head as someone who never studied art. If any reader has something to add, I am willing to listen

And considering you could in later years never keep up to any release schedule, which among other things resulted in only three SYAC strips in total being released in 2016, I say go fuck yourself. Not to forget that even some of the worst newspaper comic strips out there tend to actually find a decent following and good jokes eventually, otherwise they would not manage to stay popular for years, if not even decades.

As someone who has worked internships a lot in life, I just want to say fuck you in all our names. Glad to see you having just as much respect for interns than any other scumbag on the planet. Probably even less respect, cause you know, in some places interns tend to get paid.

Also, there is supposedly an entire real world story going on about Dobson having worked at his former university at the time the comic came out and Chaz is based on a fellow intern.

Things are unfortunately rather vague in that regard and only hold up by demonstrative evidence such as the name of Chaz showing up in certain pages of the university and Dobson’s internship being mentioned somewhere.

Well, would you look at that: People have different opinions on your stuff.

There are ways to draw memes funny and then there are ways to fail at them

 You failed.

Funnily enough, that comic rings a lot truer to text than you expect. Considering how Dobson would often emulate certain aesthetics in his comics of shows that were rather passee by the time he published his stuff, plus how he will obsess over certain trends and games for years to come (like Skyrim or his Quiet Hate Boner) while also being unaware about current trends (how do you e.g. not have heard of My Hero Academia by 2018 at least once by accident?) Dobson has always been kinda late to the party. Missing the “zeitgeist” of nerd culture and as such never quite finding an audience.

Yeah, what Pam says. Not helped by the fact that yes, the floating eyebrows are real. Look at some earlier sketches or “professionally published” comics by his and you will see that each time characters get excited, their eyebrows will suddenly split into sets of three and float higher than Pennywise’s victims.

Ironically, that fits real life Dobson at the time and later on even more so than this comic version did. Sorry, but what am I supposed to call a person who has an hate boner on anime for years for superfluous reasons, made Danny and Spot a “gaming webcomic” deliberately to piss on non Nintendo fans and has admitted in some by now deleted youtube video, that he kept a list of usernames from an old forum just to remember even years later the people that were mean to him online?

 Fuck both of you. I do not expect the Sixtin Chapel in the background, but something to filll up the empty space behind you is at times needed.

The comic here is actually called politics. … ironic how things changed once a certain reality show host turned president.

Jesus Christ. I am not even that much of a Transformers fan (Prime fan for life however) but even I know that this is not supposed to be what you design the head of a Transformer like. Not even if they ever produce the Transformers equivalent of Teen Titans Go.

Too bad you still can’t stand the heat, otherwise you wouldn’t have completely disappeared last year.

When you know you are in a no win situation, and still manage to choose an even dumber option to escape. I really don’t get it. I just think the Portal reference makes the comic dated and Dobsn’s attempt at a smug face looks so stupid. Like his cheeks are falling in and his mouth is about ready to get raped by a garden hose or something.

Yeah, considering Dobson’s later constant need for safe spaces and to be in control of a situation and the narrative, which led to so many blocks over the years… if you know anything about Dobson, how this comic becomes harsher in hindsight is rather self explanatory. I just want to say one thing: There is a difference between genuine agoraphobia and just wanting to be by yourself. And I think Dobson just prefers the later on average. Which is okay, but humans still need to interact with other human beings in one form or another, even just for the sake of keeping their mental health stable. Why do you think are so many people getting depressed in times of covid lockdowns, despite many having all sorts of technical gimmicks at their disposal to at least keep boredom at bay?

And by putting himself into a bubble like that, I think Dobson has deprived himself of some of the most basic human interaction, which was likely a severe factor in his mental degeneration over the last years.

It is still a valid suggestion! Just draw some cartoon characters or a nice fantasy scenario on a mural and earn yourself some bucks. Just be sure they are not by Disney or the Mouse will tear down the school!

… Just google up the words Andrew Dobson and Samus Aran commission by ED and you will see how this comic just further shows how much Dobson seems to actually be proud of being an unproductive asshole.

 And by the way, I know that any form of artistic work takes time. Just writing these review posts takes a lot of time for me. But that doesn’t change the fact that people should post and create stuff in a timely fashion, especially when there are e.g. deadlines to hold up too. And by the way, Sloth’s don’t have fingers, they have claws!

And that is it.

Sorry if I missed anything folks, but I just saw how many pages in word this is already filling up, so I call quits for this part here right now. I think I made my point about how Dobson trying to badly deflect arguments people may make against his art and work ethics via jokes clear enough, while also showing some posts that are either harsher or hilarious in hindsight.

Next time we will however address one certain issue about our main character, that has been not directly addressed here. In the meantime, have a little fun video that shows hopefully how entertainment and a certain amount of comedy can be gained NOT via misery.

[adultswim2021]

Aqua Teen Hunger Force #18: “Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from the Future” | December 29, 2002 - 11:15 PM | S02E13

Oh man this is a wonderful episode of the show I’m reviewing (forget what it’s called). A robot shows up and talks everyone’s ear off about some bogus tale about how Carl’s house is actually Santa. And, I’m repeating my joke from the old version of this site where I call the Cybernetic Ghost “Cybernetic Ghost from Christmas” because boy, that’s funny.

Speaking of funny, this is a real funny one. Carl moves away because Danzig beats him up and takes his house, I think, and he gets Carl’s blood everywhere. Then there’s a part where Meatwad goes under a blanket and says “HAUNTED MAYONNAISE!” but they talk over it, so you have to really listen for it, but it’s there and it’s funny.

This episode is essentially the gift that keeps on giving. The DVD deleted scenes and DVD commentary track are also wonderful (see? that’s what I meant by [reverently] “the gift that keeps on giving”). The deleted scene consists of camcorder footage of Christmas morning featuring, I’m assuming, Dave Willis’ family. He even does a cool nod to the camera. What a cool kid. And the commentary has all the guys, and Carey Means cracked me up intimating marijuana use, and Dana Snyder calls Abraham Lincoln “Gaybraham Lincoln” so watch out for that. Honestly, that’s one of my favorite jokes of all time and I forgot what it was from! ADDITIONAL DVD NOTE, BECAUSE I’M NICE: The most unfortunate thing about this episode is it’s fate on DVD, where they reduced the weird effects on Cybernetic Ghost From Christmas’s voice to make him more intelligible. BIG mistake, pal. He was better the way he was before, and you can hear a glimpse of his voice in either the commentary track audio or the deleted scene on the DVD. Is this the version on HBOMax? I don’t know.

MAIL BAG

I’ve neglected you, Mail Bag. May your gifts be bright

Kon writes:

I'll let's hear it for 7211 you >: >: >:

WOAH! Jeez!

The rest are anonymous, which... I guess if that’s how you wanna go about it :-/

I think it's kind of cool how Homer and Bart's relationship evolved over the years from the show. From the start it was antagonistic and abusive, then they kind of became co-conspirators against the girls, then it kind of mellowed out into a distanced fugue which is normal for most teenager/parent relationships. I know Bart is still a 10 year old by the canon's decision but it seems like him, homer, and the relationship has matured even if they haven't.

wrong blog, Gomer, SHUT YA STINKIN’ TRAP! But I agree, I’m glad they did not go the incest route

People like the alvis episode!? Horrifying. Another one on for the "adam reed writes like a 14 year old with a notepad file and a dream" pile

It’s true! I like imagining things to piss myself because I’m secretly republican, but I wonder if Archer ever referenced Alvis. Why does the idea of a fictional religion appeal to so many dorks? If you like fictional religious figures I got a good one for ya pal, it’s JESSUS

You don't like alvis but what do you think of the wee Flying Spaghetti Monster? lol. Aye religion is an attack helicopter. lol.

I meant Jesus earlier, by the way. I didn’t mean to misspell it like that. I am not making my own Jesse and the Rippers based religion. Oh god. Please don’t make that. 

I will confide in you that I recently bought a Church of the Subgenius book at a used book store because I’m mildly curious about that whole thing because my main exposure to it was annoying prank phone callers on WFMU in the early 90s who used to treat J.R. Bob Dobbs as their own personal Howard Stern

adult swim seems pretty funny. got anything else to say about it in the meantime?

No

[rjhpandapaws]

Will Never be Boring

Ch 2: Neighborhood Changes

There were a lot of kids in this neighborhood, that was a large part of the reason their grampa had moved them there. He had explained it as he and Leo needing more friends. Markus hadn’t liked that, he was fine on his own. He did like the park though, it seemed like it would be a nice place to sit and draw. He was drawing in the park when he met some of the other kids. A boy with blonde hair and blue eyes that looked to be about his age was the first. He knocked on the bench before he started talking; it was a polite little thing that Markus had appreciated. “Um,” He started with a note of nervousness to his voice that Markus could relate to, “My name is Simon, and well, we were wondering if you were new here.” Simon gestured to the play tower where Markus found a few other kids staring over at him, “We haven’t seen you before, and North said I had to come over and ask because I’m the nicest.” Markus smiled slightly and moved so Simon could sit beside him if he wanted to, “We moved here a couple of weeks ago. So I am new-ish.” He held his hand out in a way his grampa had said was polite so Simon could shake it, “My name is Markus Manfred, its nice to meet you Simon.” That had been the start, and in the next few days he would meet everyone else. Friends of his own rather than the ones he drew for himself in his sketchbook. It was a nice change, and something Leo probably wouldn’t make fun of him for. They were here to make friends after all.

There was Daniel who was Simon’s twin, and somehow even more shy than Simon, but he seemed nice enough. North, who was angry sometimes, but not all that bad to be around. Josh, who really seemed to be the only one who could get North to relax, he was a calming force and liked to read. Lastly there was Elijah, he was a year older than them and really only there to get out of his house, he didn’t talk much and he was always studying. Markus became part of the group through the sheer amount of the time he spent at the park when they were there, and not much else changed for most of the summer. Then in about August a new family moved in at the end of the street near the park. The group was abuzz with excitement and Markus found himself feeling a bit of it as well. When the curiosity got the better of them they stopped by the house on they way to the park to see who lived there. The new kids were Connor, Silas, Cole, and a little one named Richard. Connor was pretty reserved and polite; he was Markus’s favorite. Daniel had taken to Silas and it was the most expressive Markus had ever seen him. Simon seemed to like Cole a lot, they were both on the skittish side so it made sense. Just like that, there little group had grown.

When school started Connor’s house became the place to hang out because there was almost always an adult there. That was also when Markus started to notice more things about Connor. He wasn’t so much reserved as cautious, afraid almost. When their classmates, even friends, would approach him he would seem uncomfortable. Towards the end of the year that discomfort seemed to follow him everywhere. Part of it, Markus knew, was because of what their classmates said when they thought Connor couldn’t hear them, but there seemed to be something else as well. He had learned not to push Connor about these things, he would talk when he was ready. Ready happened to be when he was given a packet of papers from their teacher on the last day before spring break. He gave it to Markus to read on the bus. It was an application to skip ahead a grade after summer. Markus was happy for him and it made more sense why he was nervous now. Connor didn’t do well with new people. Markus was proud of him though; being a grade up would help with his boredom. Connor gave the packet to his dad when they got to the house and didn’t say anything for a long while. He was thinking about it though. Markus could see the thoughts piling up behind his eyes like bricks. He would be ready to talk about it soon, and Markus would be there to listen when he was.

He was ready just after Markus had started drawing him. He sounded more hesitant than usual. Uncomfortable, if Markus had to pick a word, hesitant wasn’t quite it. “Should I even take the test?” He pulled his knees to his chest and looked over at Markus, “Or would that just make things worse?” Markus thought about it; honestly it might, but that wasn’t the point. His Grampa Carl always said that it was good to be different. “Do you want to?” That was something he asked Connor a lot. He tended to do what was expected of him most of the time, even if he hated it. “You wouldn’t be as bored if you did.” Connor looked nervous and broke eye contact, “But we wouldn’t be in the same grade anymore, I would be with Elijah.” Markus took Connor’s hand and squeezed it. It made sense that he would be stuck on that, he was Connor’s grounding point a lot of the time. “We’ll still be friends though.” He reassured and then stopped to think, “Look at it this way, we’re in different classes now too. So is anything really going to change?” “No, I guess not.” He hesitated and tightened his hold on Markus’s hand; it almost hurt, “It’s just, what if they are worse? I’ll be the youngest person in the class. What if they don’t like me?”

There was that ever-present worry again. Markus didn’t like it but there wasn’t all that much he could do about it. He learned to just comfort him and wait for it to pass. “You’re worrying too much Connor.” Markus chided gently, “This will be good for you if you decide to do it. Even if they don’t like you, you’ll always have us. You’re my best friend and I’m not going anywhere.” “Thank you.” Connor’s smile was tired when he met Markus’s eyes again, “I’ll think about it I guess.” “Just remember that it’s good to be different.” Markus parroted his Grampa as he often did when it came to Connor. It looked like his friend could use a distraction, “Do you wanna go play outside now?” Connor nodded so Markus put away his drawing stuff and they went out to the backyard to join the others. He and Connor eventually wound up on the swings, they moved slowly and watched the others wrestle and roughhouse. Connor seemed to be in better spirits now. That was all he wanted.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD Holiday Special Clues

Hey Everyone! I watched the holiday special last night. I know not everyone can. At least not yet. (Not sure if they’ll air it eventually.) So I’ll report what jumped out at me from it.

The first thing is that I definitely noticed a “return vibe” running through it. But first thing’s first.

They mentioned “reuniting the Greene sisters” at least twice. Maybe three times. Chris said it in the intro. I’m paraphrasing but something like “Emily Kinney and Lauren Cohan are here. We’re gonna reunite the Greene sisters!” And then he repeated that again during the episode. So yeah. Side-eying that.

Then Emily sang her song, Up on the Housetop, pretty early. I wasn’t sure about this at first, but it did occur to me that they chose to have her sing a song about Santa returning stealthily in the night. And yes, I know that’s pretty weak on its own. I mean, it’s a Christmas special. Any song they sing is either going to be about Santa or the Christ child. But even so. It wasn’t Jingle Bells or anything more generic. They picked the song about Santa returning stealthily (he does that every year, after all) when and where no one was looking for him to be. I’ll talk about this more at the end.

(Just recorded this oon my phone, so not the best quality. ;D) 

 There were a lot of small things that MIGHT be clues, but also might not be. Things that we COULD read into but we really might be reaching. Things the actor (such as Josh McDermitt) said while telling stories about childhood Christmases, for example. I’ll skip those, for the most part, as they aren’t all that compelling on their own.

So then there were two 10-season things they did. They had the actors who play Ezekiel, Yumiko, Jerry, and Lydia sing a rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas, except it was the 10 seasons of TWD. It was fun, and I want to read into some of the lines, but it’s hard to read into all of them. They basically picked one thing from each season, and they were all pretty random. They skipped over Beth entirely, and I’ll admit that IS kind of suspicious (I’ll tell you why in a minute) but at the same time they skipped over a LOT of important things, so I’m not sure we can call it a pattern.

So, for example, the season 2 line was “Hershel at his Farm.” That makes total sense because it encapsulates the gist of S2. So, if they’d stayed with that theme, you ‘d think s3’s line would have been about the prison or the Governor or Woodbury, right? They went with “baby Judith’s birth.” And obviously that was a big deal but it doesn’t exactly bring across everything that happened in S3, you know? So, kind of random. For S4, you’d think they would talk about the downfall of the prison, but they went with “look at the flowers.” 

So, they didn’t mention Beth or Grady at all for S5, and I find that suspicious bc Coda was definitely the biggest thing that happened in S5 with the biggest fan reaction. But again, they weren’t exactly breaking pattern here. For S5, they went with “Morgan Jones returns.” S6 was “Scary Saviors arriving” or something along those lines. (Understand I’m paraphrasing most of these because I didn’t write down exact words.) S7 was “Abe and Glenn in heaven.” S8 was Carl getting bitten. Sufficiently a big deal, of course, but there was also that burning Phoenix. Must not have been very memorable, lol. S9 was “Rick in a copter” and S10 was “Negan killing Alpha.” I think.

Not until they’d sung several more verses did the part about Morgan returning start to jump out at me. I mean, in terms of S5, that literally happens the last two minutes of the season. And yes, it was a big deal to the fandom, but it hardly represents all of S5, right? But using him as the “5th day of Christmas” part of the song automatically puts emphasis on it. If you think of the song, it slows down considerably and emphasizes “5 golden rings.” And for this it was “Morgan Jones return.” So it felt like there was a heavy emphasis on that.

So, an emphasis on the return of a character who hadn’t been on in a while before that. And of course there are all those DC al Coda parallels between Beth and Morgan. Just saying. Later in the special, they do another “return thing.”

Then they did an “In Memoriam” that covered 10 seasons of walker kills. This one was much more suspicious in a TD way to me. Like the song, they basically chose one iconic, epic walker kill to represent each season. And there are a lot more of these I think we can read into as Beth symbols. So, for S1, it was Teddy Bear Girl. For S2, Well walker. (Water.) For S3, that walker they killed when cleaning out the prison yard whose face slides off. The thing about this walker is that it’s wearing black riot gear. A lot like what the CRM soldiers wear. For S4, it was the Big Spot walker that falls through the roof. That one made me happy. For S5, that walker Daryl killed at Terminus with the crow bar. You know, the famous one whose face he caved in against the brick wall? 

For s6, it was the sewer walkers Maggie and Aaron ran into under Alexandria. Definitely side-eyeing that. For s7, they showed Winslow. And what was great about that is that it specifically showed the part where one of Winslow’s spikes when through Rick’s hands. (Stigmata, making him a Christ figure.) For S8, it was where Daryl was riding around on his bike shoot boxes with his gun that then blew up. He blew up one of the walkers that way. For 9, it was the walker that came up out of the river while Daryl was fishing (long hair after Rick left). And for S10 it was the walker horde hitting the electric fence before the Hilltop battle.

So yeah. We can definitely read into some of those as Beth parallels.

The end of the special had some weirdnesses in it, and my favorite TD reference.

First, Chris asked everyone to say what their character would bring to a holiday party. Lauren said Maggie would bring the turkey. Kaylee said Judith would bring the games. But we didn’t hear Emily or IRonE’s answers. I just thought it was weird because it cut very abruptly and we didn’t get to hear what their characters would have brought. I mean, it’s obvious they edit these, because they often jump suddenly to the next question and you don’t hear the segue. I don’t judge them for editing. They have to do this in a certain time frame, and there can lots of white noise when conducting zoom calls. But still, I have to wonder what, exactly, they’re cutting out.

So then Chris asks, again, as though he’s going to ask each person, with the show ending, who they think will be the “last person standing.” He didn’t say man, I don’t think, but the echo of Beth’s line was painfully obvious. And he asked Emily first. And who did she say? She said Norman, or Norman and Melissa.

So, she didn’t actually say Daryl, and the “Norman and Melissa” thing is pretty obvious given the spinoff. But we literally had them asking who the last “person” standing would be, and she said Norman/Daryl. Just saying.

Then Lauren did this mock, I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-pick-your-sister thing and they all started laughing and Emily said something like, “just kidding. If I were writing the script, they’d kill all the walkers and Maggie would be queen.” I think IRonE answered the question as well, but I think what he said got lost in all the goofing around.

But yeah. Obvious Bethyl reference and they indirectly tied it to the spinoff. Just saying.

So, before I get to the final one, they they took Emily and IronE away and brought on Angela and Gimple. That part was kind of meh. Just nothing that really jumped out at me. Chris asked Gimple to give us some tidbits about the Rick movies. And Gimple did his usual, “we’re working on it but can’t say much” thing. So then Chris asked AK to talk about the bonus episodes. She talked a lot more than Gimple and Chris gave Gimple crap about that. But honestly, she pretty much just repeated what we already know from the episode synopses that were released: A Daryl/Carol episode, a Negan episode, with Hillary Burton, more on Eugene’s group, etc. So yeah. Nothing knew or exciting there.

They showed a very short clip of the table read from the episode where Daryl and Carol go their separate ways. I thought it was interesting that they used that particular moment. But I suppose they’re doing it to hype the spinoff.

Finally, they ended with Chris reading a TWD rendition of Twas the Night Before Christmas. Most of it was cute little rhymes about the various characters, but one part REALLY jumped out at me.

“And that’s when they saw it high up on a shelf:

A new walking talkie. Was it left by an elf?

They heard static and crackling but nothing made sense

The room became quiet, so SERIOUS, so tense.

Together they gathered, a closer look they did take

When a helicopter overhead made the entire house shake.

And then a voice on the walkie was heard so clear and so bright

It was Rick grimes wishing “Peace unto all and to all a good night.”

 Now, there were other passages I found suspicious as well. Stuff about Daryl and Dog, and Connie and Kelly receiving tons of cats for Christmas. You’ll have to tell me what part stands out most to you.

But here, we have a voice on a walkie, Rick in a helicopter, and a serious mention. Of course they were never going to put Beth’s name in here. It would be too obvious, but given the parallels between her and Rick, I know I don’t have to explain why this makes me happy. AND in the story, it’s happening on Christmas Eve. The return of a character they think is dead.

So I think it also works with the Up on the Housetop theme I mentioned at the beginning. As I said, I wasn’t sure about that at first, but after hearing their poem, it made me think I was barking up the right tree there.

So, because there was such a heavy “return” emphasis here, it got me thinking of the weirdness of having a holiday special at all. I hadn’t really questioned it before now. Just something fun to tide people over. Because Covid, you know?

But now it feels like a clue that THIS is the Christmas after which she’ll return. They’re doing it this year, where they haven’t in years past, because THIS is the year Daryl will get something from Santa Clause.

Also, about a week ago (before the special aired) @wdway​ sent me an article about it. It was obvious this was filmed early, not live, because the article actually talked about some of what would happen in the holiday special. And the part they talked about was where Emily said Norman would be the last man standing.

So what we found suspicious about that (apart from what I’ve already talked about here; the blatant echo of a famous Bethyl moment) is that the article ONLY talked about Emily and that question. It mentioned who else would be on and such, but the entire emphasis of the article was Emily and her answer to that question.

So it felt like the special was entirely geared toward featuring Emily.  

Thoughts?

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 1 ♡ sonic

Flawsome First Meetings

EARLY RELEASE!

Hello, my darlings and WELCOME to my second multi-part fanfic, Flawsome Bandits (a Sonic the Hedgehog Movie! x Reader). I have not yet finished the second chapter of this story yet, and I’m currently trying to prewrite these chapters so I can update them along the way, but I wanted to get the first one out to all of my patient darlings as soon as possible! Please let me know what you think, the love always encourages me to write more ;) Love you all, please enjoy!

Warnings: none

♡♡♡

If you've ever had amnesia, you'd know that things seem very quick.

Little flashbacks of what you're guessing to be your backstory come back in little spurts that never last long enough and are gone too soon. They leave huge, gaping holes in your background information from what your favorite color is to who your parents were. Try your story on for size.

You were Y/n Wachowski. A sassy, quick-witted teenage girl with a love for speed and a sharp tongue. Parents? Unknown. Distant relatives? Undiscovered. Hometown? Who the fuck knows. You were sent to live with the Wachowski's as your permanent foster parents after you were discovered wandering around the woods by a couple of hikers. They said that they found you wearing a ripped and dirty jumpsuit with pastel colors that looked like it was ten times smaller than your size. When they had tried to confront you, it was almost as if you couldn't hear them, your mouth open and unspeaking. Eyes wandering, glossy and unseeing. 

You couldn't remember much about your past. Most of the time it was like looking at a blank sheet of paper, ready to get into the printer but it's out of ink. After being diagnosed with a concussion and severe amnesia, you were seen as unfit to take care of yourself, so that was how you ended up with the Wachowskis. But just because you were lucky enough to have loving and patient foster parents didn't mean that you had an answer to every question they asked. You had no idea what your favorite color was, what you liked to do in your free time, or even if you were a night owl. 

It was like you didn't even remember who you were. Like you had just been born, only you weren't a baby and were instead a teenager. It got incredibly lonely being a child with no memories, and the kids at school found you very creepy. But it was okay. Tom and Maddie made sure to give you as much love as was humanly possible, and when the bullying at school got to the point where they would follow you home, they switched you to homeschooling. 

It appeared that you not only had no existing memories of your past, but you also had barely any idea how things on earth worked. Whenever someone mentioned examinations, vaccines, bucket lists, and even governmental agencies, you had no clue what they were talking about. 

Not everyone was as patient as Tom and Maddie were, unfortunately. Most people would assume that you were kidding when you asked them what a protractor was or why people ride animals. It all seemed so strange and new to you, like Tarzan when he was visiting the human world and not the ape land he was familiar with. But out of it all, there was one thing that you became absolutely fascinated with. 

Cars. 

The faster, the better. You seemed to have an unchecked need for speed that tickled at your mind every time you got behind the wheel. Whenever Tom allowed it, you'd take the truck or his old squad motorcycle out for a spin in the abandoned corn fields where you could do as many tricks as you wanted without putting anyone else in danger. One of your favorites was driving backwards. 

It's during one of those days where our story finally begins. The Montana sun was high up in the sky, beating down its scorching rays onto the untouched pavement. A flock of birds fled for the telephone polls in an attempt to escape from the ever increasing sound of revving coming from the abandoned corn field near Crazy Carl's traps for the supposed "Blue Devil." In the midst of the dead and crusty corn stalks, there sat a young girl on a very old squad motorcycle. Her hair fluttered gently in the slight breeze running through the air, a pair of sunglasses perched delicately atop her nose in the absence of a helmet. Before her stood a makeshift riser composed of some old wooden slabs she had "borrowed" from an old tree house a little ways south. A smirk played across her lips as she kicked up the bike's kickstand and revved the engine. 

"Alright, Y/n, if you make this jump, you'll be the most famous girl in Green Hills…" Her words got lost in the wind as she took a deep breath and began to ride towards the jump, her speed increasing with every passing second. The distance began to decrease, her growing closer and closer until an abnormal electric blue blur zipped past her. Startled, she swerved, momentarily losing control of her bike as she slowed to a stop, planting her boots firmly on the ground. Chest heaving, she flipped her sunglasses up onto her forehead and slipped off of the bike, looking around the empty field to see if she hit anything. 

What was that? She wondered. 

Unbeknownst to her, a couple feet away from her, hidden deep within some dehydrated bushes was a royal blue hedgehog. He had been on his way back to his cave after taking a turtle for a little joy ride down the interstate when he spotted his favorite human on earth, Star Chaser. She was the most amazing girl he had ever seen, and lived with Donut Lord and Pretzel Lady. He would make it a priority to hang out with her every time she was out practicing her racing tricks, a dopey grin spreading on his face every time he saw her ecstatic smile. She just never knew he was there. 

More than anything, he wished that he could get to hang out with her just once. Just for one day, spent full of speeding down the empty country roads and flying over makeshift jumps and laughing about the funny faces they made from the wind hitting their skin. But he knew better. He had to stay hidden, just like Longclaw said. Never stop running, and always stay hidden… alone. 

There was something about her that just drew him to her, something familiar. He watched with caution as Star Chaser searched the field a bit more, her footfalls making satisfying crunching sounds on the long gone plants. Her beautiful e/c eyes searched the grounds before her for whatever had interrupted her practice. Finally, after she was satisfied with not having hit anything, she got back onto the cycle, flipped her sunglasses back on, and zipped away, leaving a trail of smoky exhaust in her wake.

The blue hedgehog zoomed back to his cave himself, dodging trees and bushes with expertise. The whole time he ran, he couldn't prevent his mind from wondering what life might be like if he were somehow able to live alongside the humans. If he could have a conversation with Star Chaser that didn't exist in his imagination, to maybe even discover why she seemed so familiar. What would life be like if he didn't have to hide? 

♡♡♡

Just when things finally start getting familiar, the concept of moving decides to rear its ugly head in. Y/n had found out that her foster dad got a promotion, a job in another city with a higher ranking and a wider variety of donut holes to snack on. That meant that they were going to have to leave Green Hills. 

But, knowing her, she shoved the grief and frustration so far down inside her until it became nonexistent. Maddie had left on a trip to see her sister, leaving Y/n and Tom alone. They had had a freak power outage the night before, leaving Tom a bit on edge. His phone kept ringing off the hook as his coworker was just a bit dependent on him, and had no idea if he should just ignore the 911 phone calls or pick them up. 

“Remind me to drive by the library tomorrow,” Y/n set down her latest novel on the counter by the car keys. She watched as Tom stole a bit of frosting off of the cake and scrunched up her nose at the lack of sanitation. “I need to return this before we get fined.” 

Tom nodded just as his phone began ringing. He held up a finger to his daughter and leaned against the counter, lifting up the phone to his ear as he began to talk to his wife. Y/n turned to the fridge and was trying to decide whether or not she was hungry or just bored as she did her best to not listen to them talking about the move. Just as she was about to reach for the watermelon, a loud clattering noise came from outside. Tom and Y/n exchanged an alarmed glance and quickly shuffled over to the window, childishly trying to shove each other out of the way so they could get a good look. 

“Shit,” Y/n swore as she took in the knocked over trash bins sitting next to the garage.

“Watch your potty mouth,” Tom scolded, but a smile still stayed on his lips. “The racoons are back.” Y/n watched as he quickly turned towards one of the junk drawers and pulled out Maddie’s bear tranquilizer gun. She snorted. 

“You better not be using my tranquilizer gun,” she heard Maddie’s voice say over the speaker. “That’s for bears.”

“Good,” Tom grinned as he loaded up the machine. “Now I know it’ll work. Y/n, stay inside.” Y/n scoffed as he hung up the phone and opened up the back door. Yes, of course she was going to stay safely inside like a crappy sidekick and miss the potential action of scaring trash pandas half to death. Grabbing an extra flashlight, she raced out after her dad to see him pressed up against the side of the shed, holding the gun and flashlight near his face. He jumped once she saddled up next to him, putting her flashlight in front of her like her own makeshift gun.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” He narrowed his brows. To his dismay, Y/n only shrugged.

“You did. I didn’t listen,” she grinned, making it obvious that he had no other choice than to let her stay. He sighed, but nevertheless nodded. On a quick countdown from three, the two burst into the shed, waving their flashlights around like mad men.

“Green Hills PD, put your paws up!” Tom hollered. Y/n slowly made her way out from behind him, flashing her light around the empty room until it finally came to a stop. Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw nearly dropped to the floor as she tried to make sense of what exactly she was looking at. An electric blue creature wearing white gloves and tennis shoes stood before them, holding what looked like a gold wedding ring between his forefinger and thumb. She couldn’t tell what was stranger: the fact that he existed or the fact that he seemed oddly familiar. The creature’s green eyes flashed from hers to her father’s before he let out a small, nervous chuckle. 

“Uhh, meow?” 

And then, Tom screamed. His fear and the sudden introduction of the loud noise caused Y/n to scream, too, which finally led to the little blue creature screaming. But the longer Y/n stared at it, the more she began to experience a slight hint of deja vu. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she had seen this thing before. 

“Wait,” she whispered, barely loud enough for her dad to hear, but the blue creature’s ears perked up. He turned his attention back to her and the second they locked eyes, the same sense of familiarity began coursing through his veins. After all of those days spent watching her from afar, how did he never notice the e/c eyes? Where had he seen them before?

Unfortunately, Tom just had to go and ruin the moment by pulling the trigger on the tranq gun. 

“Dad, no!” Y/n cried, but it was already too late as the dart sank into the blue creature’s thigh. They could only watch as the animal looked down at the needle in his leg and slowly looked back up with a hurt glare.

“Ow,” he whined, his eyes already beginning to lose their concentration. Y/n was about to take a step towards the creature, but Tom wrapped his hand around her arm to stop her. The creature’s eyes floated over Tom’s shirt, zeroing in on the words that littered the old fabric. “San… Fran…sisco?” He muttered. The ring he had been holding on to loosely slipped from his fingers, and began rolling across the floor. As its velocity increased, it began expanding, deying all laws of logic as a portal overlooking the given city appeared. Y/n and Tom’s jaws dropped to the floor as they watched the creature stumble, dropping his little bag through the portal and collapsing onto the ground. Y/n’s heart ached for the poor thing as she fought to get out of her father’s grasp in order to help him. 

Within seconds, the portal closed up, eliminating the slight wind that had appeared. “N-No…” The creature whimpered before finally passing out. A thick silence crossed over the three as Tom’s grip on Y/n’s arm loosened, both humans trying to figure out what the heck they just witnessed. 

“What the actual fuck?” Y/n breathed. 

“Language…” 

♡♡♡

“Yes. Let’s shoot the poor thing and then put him in a cage,” Y/n rolled her eyes sarcastically, watching as her father poked the blue creature resting inside of their dog’s old cage. She batted at his hand, and gave him a death glare, but he just sighed. 

“Come on, kid, what if he’s an alien?” Tom asked incredulously, turning back to the sleeping creature. He nudged its head with a metal spatula and sighed. 

“I don’t know…” Y/n sighed, resting her head on her knuckle. I mean, she had to admit he was kind of… cute. The nostalgia that he was causing was just an added complication. There was something about his entire being that seemed eerily familiar to her, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Tom slowly withdrew something that had fallen onto the padding; an electric blue quill. The two slowly leaned closer to inspect the object, noting the little blue bolts of electricity that whizzed across its surface. It absolutely fascinated Y/n, while Tom seemed a little more apprehensive. He turned away from the cage and set it down on the counter, running a hand over his face. 

“This is nuts,” he whispered. Y/n took the opportunity to get a little closer to the being, scanning his body with careful eyes. She debated reaching through the bars to touch him, but before she had a chance to, his eyes slowly popped open. Her eyes widened and she stayed perfectly still as he pushed himself up to a standing position and made his way to open the cage. Her breath catches in her throat as he finally looks up at her and gives her a small, sheepish smile, stumbling out onto the counter top. Even in the given circumstances, the only thing that the girl can think of is how absolutely adorable he is. 

...wait, what?

“Star Chaser?” Y/n quickly turned her attention back to the present and furrowed her brows in confusion. Who was Star Chaser? “Donut Lord?” The blue being slurred, holding on to the cage for support. Tom swiveled around at the sound and scoffed.

“So the Blue Devil can talk. You’re not here to abduct us are you?” 

“YOU abducted ME,” the Blue Devil replied defensively, pressing his hand against his chest. Y/n rolled her eyes and stepped between the two, looking the being in the eyes. 

“I am very sorry for that-”

“Why are you apologizing to it?!” Tom cried, running his hands through his hair incredulously. Y/n just rolled her eyes. 

“I told him to just leave you alone. But, if I may ask, who are you and why were you in our shed?” She finished. Tom facepalmed behind her while the Blue Devil did his best to concentrate his fatigue on the beautiful girl standing before him. Gosh, her eyes were pretty…

“I-I needed a safe place, and Donut Lord’s house was the only place I could think of, Star Chaser!” 

“Why does he keep calling me Donut Lord?” Tom asked warily, slowly reaching for the tranq gun. Y/n quickly shot him a glare and he let out an annoyed huff. Even though he was her foster father, they acted like siblings with good-hearted and frequent quarrels. 

“Because you talk to donuts,” the Blue Devil explained. “And then eat them when they get out of line.” Y/n snorted, trying her best to contain her laughter by pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She didn’t notice the small smile that formed on the blue hedgehog’s face as Tom shrugged, nodding his head slightly. 

“Fair. Why is she Star Chaser?” The Blue Devil got a distant look on his face, a small, thoughtful smile still lingering on his lips.

“I’ve watched her race out in the fields. It’s amazing how fast she can go. Sometimes I wonder if she’s trying to chase the stars out of the sky…” A soft smile slowly formed on your lips at his words. No one had ever talked about you like that before. 

The distant look on his face was suddenly replaced by one with worry. His eyes began frantically glancing around the room, Y/n being able to practically see the alarms going off in his head. “Wait, where are my… Why am I still on earth? Oh no, I lost my rings!” 

“Rings?” Y/n furrowed her brows in confusion. Just then, a loud rumbling sound came from outside. It had such an impact that it shook the entire house, startling the chimes that Maddie had hung up above the sink. The three looked around in confusion.

“What’s happening? Is this your mothership?” Tom began panicking, walking briskly around the table towards the window. He jabbed an accusing finger at the nervous hedgehog. “I do NOT want my daughter getting probed.”

“Dad, stop,” Y/n sighed, following him towards the window. “You’re the one who abducted him. Can’t you be just a little bit sentimental?”

“Thanks,” the hedgehog muttered just loud enough for Y/n to hear. She stood next to her foster dad at the window and peered out the glass. A giant grey vehicle that had been passing stopped and began backing up towards their driveway.

“What the hell kind of make is that?” Y/n muttered. The Blue Devil was by their side in a second and was peering through the window too. Once he caught sight of the ginormous lab van, he let out a squeak and pulled the white curtains shut.

“They’re after me!”

“Who’s after you?” Y/n questioned in concern. She got pushed behind Tom as he stood protectively in front of her, eyeing the Blue Devil suspiciously.

“And what does that have to do with us?” 

“I don’t have time to explain, but you have to help me!” He pleaded. Y/n felt her heart sink for the creature, her instant gut feeling telling her that they had to help him. He was in danger, albeit he was apparently a runaway. Unfortunately, Tom had different ideas as he furiously shook his head.

“No, we don’t!”

“But Dad-”

“Y/n, enough,” Tom ended her protests sternly. He turned back to the blue hedgehog and furrowed his brows, wondering what reason he could possibly have that would need them to help him. “Why should we help you?”

“Well, my legs, which normally would be classified as legal weapons, feel like spaghetti. I need your help, please! It’s life or death.” The Blue Devil’s green eyes pleaded to Tom. Y/n slowly made her way out from behind her dad and glanced down at him. He knew exactly what to say in order to get Tom to help him, didn’t he? It was almost as if he had been there all of those times when Tom was wishing for someone to come to him in their time of need. His facade crumbled and he caved in almost instantly.

“Alright, fine. Y/n, take him up to the attic. I’ll take a look at what’s going on outside.” Tom ordered. Y/n nodded and motioned for the blue hedgehog to follow her. They quickly scampered towards the stairs, and as they began to walk quietly up the flights, Y/n noticed two things. One, Crazy Carl was right after all. The little “Blue Devil” was a lot larger than she had expected him to be, measuring up to be about half of her height. And two, the thing was having a horrific time walking. With a strangely racing heart, Y/n slowed down her pace and offered her hand to the being. He gave her a small smile and accepted it, wrapping his gloved hand around her own. 

“My actual name is Y/n, by the way,” she finally spoke in an attempt to break the hurried silence. “But I like Star Chaser better.” He smiled beside her, trying to figure out why the girl before him seemed so familiar.

“I just thought it suited you. My name’s Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog.”

“I knew you weren’t an alien,” Y/n said as she let go of his hand to pull down the ladder. She picked the hedgehog up and set him down gently inside the attic. His name kept ringing throughout her head on an endless loop, like it was supposed to bring back some big part of her life, but it always came back empty. She gave him a small smile and was about to head back down when he stopped her.

“Wait,” his dreamy green eyes were full of concern as he looked straight into Y/n’s. “Be careful.” 

Y/n appreciated how genuinely concerned he was for her safety. It was a beautiful gulp of fresh air amidst all of the others who thought she was crazy or weird. At least his sincerity made the fact that he had been basically stalking her and her family for a while now a little bit less creepy. Y/n gave him a reassuring smile and closed the attic door, racing all the way back down to the main floor where she skidded to a halt by the door. 

There was Tom, with some very strange looking man sporting a signature Man with the Bowler Hat mustache standing in the Y/n slowly approached her dad and watched as the man turned his attention towards her.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” the man smiled creepily, sending shivers down her spine. She scrunched her nose as Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulder protectively.

“I have a name,” she raised her brows skeptically. “Y/n.” 

At the sound of her name, the man got a shocked look on his face, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he stared intensely at her. Tom and Y/n exchanged confused glances before the man quickly snapped back into reality. 

“Y/n…” he repeated. “Interesting. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes,” he suddenly propelled himself towards Tom, becoming very uncomfortably close to his face. Y/n slowly sank into her father’s arm in order to back away from the strange man. “I was spitting out formulas while you were still spitting up formula.”

“I was breastfed, actually,” Tom responded, mildly weirded out. Y/n’s face contorted in disgust. What the hell was this conversation?

“Nice,” he nodded. “Rub that in my orphan face.”

“Okay,” Y/n spoke up, finally having enough as she pushed the two apart. “Listen, I have no idea who you are and why you are here, but I think you should be leaving.”

“Ooh, fiesty one,” the man nodded, narrowing his eyebrows at you to the point that the folds on his forehead nearly overlapped one another. “Doctor Robotnik, I-”

A sudden thump sounded from the kitchen, startling the man enough to make him shut up. Tom and Y/n froze, running through every possible excuse in their minds as to what that could have been that wasn’t Sonic. Y/n turned to Robotnik and offered him the best sheepish smile she could muster.

“Um… Racoons?”

Robotnik gave her a fake smile and shouldered his way into the house. Y/n and Tom scrambled to follow him, praying to god that their little blue friend wasn’t sitting on the kitchen counter. Thankfully, once they reached the kitchen, they were greeted with a friendly racoon, shoveling handfuls of celebratory cake into its mouth. Y/n breathed a small sigh of relief through her mouth.

“See? Racoons.” Tom spoke defiantly, placing his hands on his hips. Y/n began to search the room quietly for any sign of Sonic while Robotnik was preparing to leave. They had almost gotten him out the door when he stopped and backtracked. In confusion, Y/n and Tom followed his gaze and their hearts stopped.

He slowly held up the lone electric blue quill for all to see.

“Looks like I was right,” a shit-eating grin formed on his face. “Note the lack of surprise.” He pointed to his monotone expression and Y/n could already tell that she fucking hated him. She slowly began to back away from him when a floating egg shaped orb harnessing a bright red laser became very interested in Tom. Y/n’s heart raced, back growing tense as she began to hesitantly back away until Robotnik gave her a warning glare. 

She wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, let’s try this again. Where. Is. It?”

“Look, man, leave her out of this. We have no idea what ‘it’ is,” Tom exclaimed, beginning to hold his hands up in surrender. Robonik simply shook his head and pushed some buttons on the gloves that he was wearing. 

“I hate liars. You have five seconds to tell me where it is. Five… Four…” He began to count down, Y/n only being able to watch in horror as the white orb came ever closer to her father, the menacing light flashing. Daring someone to challenge it. Tom stared, his facade crumbling with every second that was counted down, trying desperately to find a way out. Things were looking to death when a sudden electric blue blur shot out from behind the counter and stood in front of Y/n, hands outspread in protection.

“Wait!” Sonic cried. “Don’t hurt them!”

Y/n looked down at the little hedgehog in shock, and was startled when Robotnik let out the most girlish scream anyone had ever heard come from the pipes of a man. Then Tom punched him in the face. 

“Yes, go Dad!” Y/n whooped as the Doctor crumpled onto the floor, unconscious. Their victory was short lived, however, as the second she finished talking, she was dragged behind the counter by Sonic to avoid getting hit in the face by a laser beam. The three watched in horror as the Wachowski’s custom designed kitchen became destroyed by the angry red bots, shooting around with no instructions as their master was now taking a nap on the floor. Before Y/n even had the chance to ask what they should do, they noticed that Sonic was already missing. Looking frantically around the room, Tom motioned up to one of the kitchen cupboards, and sure enough, there was Sonic preparing to jump onto one of the bots that was probably scanning for their heat signatures or something equally significant. The two shook their heads rapidly, but Sonic simply gave them one of the most adorable sassy nods Y/n had ever seen. He leapt onto the robot, trying desperately to smack it as it spun around like a horse without a head.

“This-was a… horrible idea!” Sonic screamed before he got flung off the robot, sailing through the air, and landing straight into Y/n’s arms. He offered her a sheepish smile, and Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile still playing across her lips. She set him down just in time to see her dad knock the bot out with a frying pan. It careened to a halt and collapsed onto the ground. 

“Alright,” Y/n nodded, kicking it once with the scuff of her shoe for good measure. “Shall we get out of here?”

“Yes, please.”

♡♡♡

The three runaways were able to pull out of the driveway just as a bunch of other Men in Black vans were pulling up to the house. Tom sat behind the wheel while Sonic sported a shotgun, and Y/n crouched in the middle of the backseat with no seatbelt. Because this was living on the dark side, and on the dark side, we don’t wear seatbelts.

“Okay, so now that we aren’t running from scary doctors, what the hell is going on here?” Y/n asked, leaning forward on the console and resting her head in her hand as she turned to Sonic. He leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

“Well, I just might have been the reason for that big power explosion… and now people after me. To make things worse, I lost my rings to a place that I’ve only ever seen on your dad’s skin tight T-shirt, and I have to make it to the Mushroom Planet or else I’m putting everyone here in danger.” He finally took in a deep gulp of air after pulling out that whole explanation in one breath. Y/n furrowed her brows in concern.

“Mushroom Planet?” Tom asked, his lips pressing into a firm line. 

“You must have lost them in San Francisco,” Y/n said. Suddenly, Tom jerked the wheel to the right and pulled off to the side of the road, unlocking the doors in the process.

“Alright, get out.” Y/n and Sonic stared at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sonic narrowed his eyes slightly. Tom leaned forwards and opened the passenger side door for him, running a hand down his face.

“Look, this is the worst time for me to be getting into trouble with the law and my daughter doesn’t really need a track record. So, you can go off and have good luck with finding your weird little Mushroom Planet. I’ll hopefully wake up in a hospital room soon with a successful colonoscopy and a happy, totally sane teenage daughter, so goodbye.”

“What? Dad!” Y/n started to object, her blood boiling in irritation at his insensitivity. Sonic shook his head and gave her a half-hearted smile as he slipped out of the car. 

“It’s okay, Y/n. Goodbye, I guess…” But instead of leaving, he just stood there. Staring. Y/n turns to stare at her father too to double the effect. 

“Why aren’t you leaving?” He groaned in frustration.

“How the hell is he supposed to know where San Francisco is?” Y/n laughs, and Tom sighs in defeat, knowing that she’s right. He gives her a half-assed glare, but as usual she was refusing to back down. Sonic doesn’t notice the small smile forming on his own lips, his appreciation for this strangely familiar girl increasing with every second he spent with her.

“It’s West. Straight shot.” Tom finally tells him. Sonic nods.

“Okay. West. Cool. Cool, I’m totally cool with saying goodbye right now,” he exaggerates, swirling his gloved hands around with the hurt clearly evident on his face. 

“I’m not,” Y/n grumbles, pressing her cheek against the rough leather of the driver’s seat. Before anyone could say another word, Sonic shot off in the given direction faster than the speed of sound. Y/n’s jaw drops open along with Tom’s as they look down at the spot where he once was. 

“H-holy shit,” Y/n stuttered. 

“D-did he just-” Tom didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Sonic came back, only this time soaking wet. He was sporting a nice fish on his head and a bunch of seaweed hanging on to his quills, which accented his sarcastic expression perfectly. Y/n tried to stifle her laughter by pouting and turning to her father as he rolled his eyes.

“So, as I crashed into the cold, dark Pacific,” Sonic began, sending a wink in Y/n’s direction. “I noticed a couple things. A, I have no idea where I’m going. B, salt water stings. And C, I shouldn’t even be on this planet right now but I am. Why? Because you shot me.” Sonic’s eyes narrowed.

“I know,” Tom sighed, turning back to the road.

“You shot me!”

“Okay, you don’t need to rub it in,” he sniffed, glancing at Y/n out of the corner of his eye. “She was there too…”

“She didn’t shoot me,” Sonic stood up for her. Y/n gave him a kind smile as he began listing off characteristics on his gloved fingers. “I’m wet, I’m cold, there’s a fish on my head, and clearly I’m not going to be able to do this on my own!” Once he finished, Y/n slowly reached out to him and pushed the fish off his head, watching as it flopped about helplessly on the ground.

“You do owe it to him,” she subtly pressed, leaning back once again in her seat. Tom stayed silent for a moment, staring firmly at the little blue hedgehog for what seemed like forever. Finally he caved and started the ignition once again.

“Fine. Get in.”

“Really?” Sonic and Y/n chimed in hopeful unison. “You’re going to help me?” He shook out his fur at such a high speed that once he finished, it poofed out like a dramaticized afro. Y/n giggled in her seat, not being able to handle how cute it was. Butterflies began to wander around in her stomach.

“I guess it is sort of my fault,” Tom hesitantly admitted. 

“Actually, it’s entirely your fault,” Y/n teased. He gave her a playful shove, but snorted nonetheless. Sonic quickly climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Road trip!” He cheered, looking excitedly around the car. Y/n cheered along with him while still trying to shake the eerily feeling of familiarity. Tom shook his head, squeezing the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“What the hell am I doing with my life?”

♡ a.a.