#OH NO...THEYRE GETTING ALONG

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #21: Snowfall

Masterlist

content: captivity, immortal whumpee, aftermath of murder, disposal of a dead body

It's finally December, dear readers. I know I'm looking forward to this year's December break! And who could forget all the snow! I know I love snow: the cold temperatures, the risk of hypothermia, the endless white horizon that slowly kills the fire of hope... it truly warms my heart :) I hope you all enjoy this winter-themed chapter! ❄️❄️❄️

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather had just successfully killed a man, and Jackie was feeling terrible. Not specifically because of the murder. He felt terrible all the time now, maybe from a lack of sunshine, but also probably due to the whole kidnapping thing. Anyway, the corpse was not helping. Jackie was not a superstitious man, but there was something in its eyes, the way they seemed to follow him even after death, the way they twisted the knife of guilt…

Jackie was not superstitious, but he decided to barricade himself in the bathroom until Heather returned. He thanked his lucky stars that his captor was a clean person. It was hard enough ignoring the stale smell of blood after all her little surgeries. A rotting body would be too much to endure.

He did not believe he could have prevented that man's death. Though the guilt lingered, Jackie didn't kid himself. At best, the stranger would live in a cage, trapped in the basement and trying to tread the endless days. And what kind of life was that? Better that he'd died, better that he was free.

But it would have been nice to have company. Constant company, not just Heather's occasional visits. And company that sympathized with him. They could have helped each other survive, even escape. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

These musings didn't matter, anyway—the stranger was dead. Jackie would survive on his own, and he would escape on his own. Besides, who said that a corpse couldn't be helpful? Heather hadn't examined the body thoroughly. Maybe there was still a weapon or tool to be found on him. 

Looting a corpse. A terrible thing to do, but still. The knife of guilt was overshadowed by the greater, much more alarming blade of hunger. The hunger for freedom. That was not to say that a literal hunger did not haunt Jackie—despite her many promises to do so, Heather was still not regular with the meals. Jackie would buy a burger as soon as he got out of there. Hell, he'd buy two burgers. He'd buy half the menu.

And to get out of here, I've got to loot that corpse, and to loot that corpse, I've got to open this bathroom door. Jackie did exactly that, his eyes screwed shut to steel his heart against the humming fear. 

When he opened it, nothing had changed. The corpse lay sprawled in its blinding simplicity. The blood lay splattered and stained upon every surface. The silence lay thick and heavy upon them both.

Jackie approached the corpse. "Hi. Sorry that you… you know, died. Happens to the best of us. But you'd want me to escape too, right?"

The corpse said nothing, for what should be obvious reasons. Its gaze looked to the heavens, to a sky it could not see. His expression held no weight, no rage or sorrow.

"Yeah. You're dead anyway. So…" He stepped closer. "If I take a few things from you, please don't come and haunt me. I just want to get out of here. You've no clue what it's like. It's—it's like—"

Jackie fumbled for the right words, but the stranger did not care. What a nice man—endlessly patient, the perfect listener. After all, he was in a place where mortal worries could not reach him, where he had all the time in the world. He was as still as stagnant water.

That was all the permission Jackie needed. If Heather could touch a corpse without even gagging, so could he. In a single swift motion, he reached for the man's jacket. Nothing in the pockets but a rolled-up dollar bill and a receipt. Jackie kept the bill, then continued. His jean pockets had a pencil—useful, he would keep that—and a cough drop still in its worn yellow-white paper wrapper. The stranger didn’t carry a phone, or Heather had already taken it with her. She would not miss anything so vital. 

It was something, but not enough. Jackie had been hoping for a weapon. Originally, he planned to use the blade of a blender, but Heather never got him one. Even before she took the scissors and plate shard away, Jackie didn’t find them particularly useful—the scissor blades were too dull for anything but paper, and the plate shard would have better luck in a circus than as a tool to slit throats. Perhaps this was for the best. Where would he keep a weapon, anyway? Not under the mattress again. Maybe in the defunct bathtub. Or in his water bottle—no, too obvious. Anyone would hear the rattle.

The door creaked open. He felt the shadow of someone behind him, then heard them speak. "I leave you alone with a dead body for a few minutes—"

Jackie glanced down. His hands were smudged with blood. "Didn't you say you would take an hour?"

"Oh, but what is an hour if not just sixty minutes? Tomato, tomahto."

How unusual. Heather would normally snap at him. "You're happy today."

"Don't change that fact, please. Now—" 

"The body."

"Yes." She walked down the stairs, stopping beside the stranger's corpse. "The body."

A brief silence lapsed, in which Jackie was able to analyze his options. The thing had stopped bleeding out, at least. He didn't know much about murder, but he had read a book once. A fiction book, but writers loved their research. That was enough. Even if his plan failed miserably, he would leave the basement. Jackie couldn't lose.

"Heather."

"Yes?"

"I want to help you get rid of him."

She seemed skeptical, but she didn't scowl. "How?"

"You're going to have to trust me on this." Jackie let the pause run for a moment or two, while he formulated his next words. "If I'm going to help you get rid of this thing, I'll have to go outside."

"Oh. Okay."

"Heather, if I don't get out—wait, really?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, why not? You've been behaving yourself, and I don't think you'll be able to run off anyway." What she meant by this, she did not elaborate. "Go wash that blood off and put on your gloves. We're leaving immediately."

He felt it then, that long-lost springtime of the soul. That spark of light, melting the permafrost over his heart. "You're amazing. Thank you for everything, I'll—" 

She held up a hand to silence him. "Save it for later. We don't have much time."

"Yes, I'll go and do that stuff. Sorry." 

He hurried to the sink to scrub the stains off his palm, then returned to the main room to retrieve the box from under his bed. There, he took out the gloves and pulled them on. To prevent the presence of fingerprints, he assumed. They were stitched out of a black cotton material, as thick as wool, and fairly warm as well.

Heather stood waiting, arms crossed. "Ready?"

"Of course." He rushed to the foot of the stairs. "Come on, let's go."

"Alright, slow down. I had to walk four miles to the bus stop, you know. Couldn't risk bringing my car."

"Right, sorry again." He pushed down the static electricity in his nerves, willed his heart silent. It beat faster anyhow. "You go ahead."

She gave a short nod and climbed the stairs, at what felt like an inchworm's pace to Jackie. Outside, out of the basement, maybe back into the sunshine! Out into fresher air, at least, or a nicer view. Anything but the basement. Anything was better than staying there.

He climbed up after her, then watched with bated breath as she opened the door. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. If this was a dream, put him in a coma, or cut out the part of him that still knew the waking world, because—

"Why are you so excited?"

Jackie faltered. "I—"

"I'm just taking you outside.” She didn't look quite angry, more a shade of annoyed. Confused? “Do you really hate living here that much?”

"Sorry, I didn’t—"

"What did I say about apologizing?"

A flash of self-righteousness won over self-preservation. "Leave me alone. I'm sorry I'm not Winston fucking Churchill or whoever. I'm just happy, okay?" His voice cracked to an impressive pitch. "Why is that a problem? Do you want me to be depressed? Is that it? Do you just want to see me suffer? I'm sorry that I get sick of staying inside every day, but you're not the one stuck in a basement. You're not the one who has to put up with a corpse next to your bed and getting your eyes gouged out and starving half the time—"

"Shit." She glanced at the ceiling. "I didn't give you anything today, did I?"

"No!"

"My bad. I must have slept through the alarm." Somehow, Jackie didn't think she actually had an alarm. "I'll get you lunch after this. Now, be quiet."

"You can't tell me to—"

"Do you want to go outside or not?"

He said nothing.

"Good." She took the corpse by the wrist and dragged it up the stairs, leaving a faint trail of red behind her on every ledge. The body shuddered after every sharp ridge. Once it was safely stowed on the floor upstairs, she stepped out into the hallway. 

Jackie stepped out after her. It was fine. Whatever. He was still going outside. Though even that joy was soured by the reality of his situation, he needed to find happiness wherever he could.

The hallway was as he remembered it, hazy though that memory was. The length of it ran horizontally to the basement door. It was plain, without any decorations on the walls, devoid of furniture. A short distance away, the wall opened to another room. The living room? Kitchen? Maybe the door to the bathroom, or another flight of stairs. The floors were dark, honey-brown wood, rather than concrete. 

Heather tapped Jackie on the shoulder, making him flinch a little. “Eyes forward, Curious George. We've got a body to bury."

"Where are we going?"

"To the yard, I suppose." She took the corpse and shoved it into a black garbage bag, conveniently left beside the basement door. The top was tied off with a knot, which she used as another handle to continue dragging. "It's this way."

The entrance to the next room. That made sense. Jackie followed after her and the corpse, into the next room, trotting at her heels with barely disguised impatience.

The next room was actually another hallway. This time, it opened into three rooms: two were blocked by doors, but the one in the center—the living room?—was open. Heather’s house was big, Jackie realized, bigger than any place he’d ever lived in. Not a mansion by any means, but not quite the cramped one-bedroom apartment he pined after so often. It was all very clean and organized, too. That was probably what she spent all day doing—cleaning and organizing instead of giving him breakfast. What else did biochemists do in their offtime? Play chess? Read philosophy? Solve world hunger?

“I guess I can’t keep you in the dark forever.” Heather continued walking, then stopped in the living room doorway. “The exit’s this way. Down this room. Don’t take it as an invitation to escape.”

They entered the living room. The sofas were pretty, the rugs white and fluffy, the tables impressive. It was a picture out of one of those home decor magazines. Industrial post-modern, or something complicated like that. Ridiculous, the beauty of it all, especially when compared to Jackie’s old apartment. He would have honestly loved to live there, if he was under different circumstances. It was an awful lot of wealth for one person. Heather probably never had to skip meals to pay rent. Heather probably never felt afraid of ending up on the streets, or having to take out loans she couldn’t possibly pay back. 

A rose lay dead in a blue and white vase, its stalk drooping over the edge. Curtains obscured a window near the back. There was a telephone on the coffee table—that could be useful. A selection of books had been stuffed into a bookshelf. Baseball trophies had been halfheartedly stowed away beside them, cluttered in neat rows. Baseball? What a thought. Heather did have a good aim with the saw—maybe she’d been imagining a diamond instead of the bleak basement, rolling green instead of asbestos white. 

Turning a corner, he could see the door leading to the outside, and a closet beside it. Heather slid it open and unhooked a black coat. Jackie watched her pull it on. It was a little thick for the weather. They were still in summer, weren’t they? The last date he could recall was the twenty-first of July. How long had Jackie been there? Couldn’t have been more than a few weeks. A month at best. Or at worst, Jackie supposed.

“What’s the date?” he asked as she wore her gloves. Black, like his, but made of leather instead of cotton.

“October… something. Can’t remember the exact day.”

“Ha, ha. Seriously, what’s the date?”

She absently dusted off the front of her jacket. “It’s definitely October. Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready to go home. Good Lord.” He rubbed the side of his face. “It’s been three months? Four months?”

“Something like that.” 

She unlocked the door, then opened it with a small jerk. Four months? Just like that, gone like dust in the wind, flicked away like nothing more than an old scab. Sixteen weeks or so, and nothing to show for it. Past the door—it had snowed. His breath hitched in his throat. Sheets of even white covered every surface he could see outside, going on for miles. The trees guarded their bare limbs with icicles. Good Lord. Good grief. Last time he’d been out, he remembered warm, dry spells, maybe the occasional cool breeze. This was… a lot. 

Better not to dwell on it. “Can I have a coat?”

“No.” Heather stepped out the door, then turned to face him. “Do you want to know why?”

“Because you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” She placed her hands into her pockets. As her head turned away, a puff of frozen air blossomed from her lips. “If you don’t have a coat, you won’t try to run away. That’s all. Even immortals get cold, and we’re about five miles from anyone else. You won’t make that distance without going unconscious.”

It was clever, which only made Jackie more upset. “Maybe I won’t go unconscious. You don’t know.”

She shrugged. “You can try to run, if you want. But I’m never bringing you outside again if you do. I don’t have to bring you outside at all. Get the body for me, will you?”

“Fine.” He took the bag by the knot and hauled it out the door. Heather made it look effortless, but it was a struggle for him. At last, the body fell across the snow with a crash. It sank into the surface under its own weight, leaving a staggered mark across the ground. 

Heather said nothing, but she took the bag before he could continue struggling with it. She dragged it forward with a casual, easy motion. Jackie’s face grew red, and not just from the weather. 

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, gesturing forward with a nod. 

“It’s too cold. There’s snow out there. I can’t go without a coat.”

She rolled her eyes and took his wrist. “You’ve got a sweater on. You’ll survive. Don’t be such a baby.”

He wrenched his wrist free and stepped into the snow. To say he was wearing warm clothes was a bit of an overstatement. The sweater hadn't even withstood the chill in his room. At least he had his boots. As much as he hated to admit it, Heather's gift had come in handy. If he treaded carefully, he could manage to keep snow from falling in them. 

"What's your plan, then?" Heather asked.

Every step they took landed with a dry crunch. A steady path began to trail behind them. "Sorry?"

"You said you wanted to help. That’s why I brought you here. So?"

A plan. He assumed that Heather already had one. His plan was whatever Heather wanted to do. Evidently, she didn’t actually think that far ahead, so he’d have to be the clever one this time. The clever Houdini, the sly fox, the crow in the cornfield. 

There was that book Jackie had read. It was the only body disposal he’d ever come across. They left their victim in a mountain valley, where the snow covered up any trace of it until summer arrived two months later. By that time, the evidence had already decomposed, or been eaten by the coyotes. 

“What if we leave the body under the snow?” he suggested.

“No. The snow is going to melt soon. I won’t be able to explain why a dead body is lying on my front lawn.”

They walked a couple more paces in silence. Like the gait of marching soldiers, their footsteps fell in staggered tandem. He shivered. Nearby, a red bird startled off a branch and darted into the trees.

It was a picturesque scene. It was the kind of landscape that made people want to climb impossible mountains and swim to unreasonable depths. Everything glittered white. The sun seared a white-hot hole in the sky, small as a cigarette scar. The silence was interrupted only by their footsteps and thin breathing. The whole place had a hollow feeling about it, like reliving a memory. The horizon was as flat as a photograph. No wind raked across the trees.

Jackie glanced over his shoulder at the house. It was painfully normal. A normal, innocent home with no secrets nestled inside, in the basement or otherwise. The edge of Heather’s car was just visible, a thin black outline against the ashen whites. When he glanced forwards, he could see no other buildings. However, he did see plumes of smoke pouring out in the distance. Telephone wires crossed and tangled into each other overhead. And he was sure that, if he just kept walking, he’d eventually find something tangible. Some highway or backwoods road—a payphone, at the very least. All those structures taken for granted.

He couldn’t keep walking, in any case, because Heather had stopped. 

“Found something?” He stepped up to her side. 

“The river. Can you see it?”

He could not. It was all a flat carpet of snow, with a few rises and dips here and there. This was one of those dips, a great and stretching valley about five feet wide, two feet deep, and who knew how long. They were now in what could be considered a forest, albeit a thin one. The trees loomed over them, lanky, threadbare branches and ink-splatter silhouettes, and a couple overgrown firs. A few dry leaves stuck out here and there, like bits of meat on a cured hide. The woods went on for a while, but the chainlink-gray fences closed in alongside it, studded along the snow not too far away.

“I’ve no idea why it’s so cold.” She played with the top button of her coat and looked away, to the pale horizon. “It’s usually not this cold.”

“Do you own all this land?”

She shook her head. “Nobody comes here, but I’m not allowed to build on it. It’s government property.”

“But you own the house?”

Heather glanced at him, eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Why?”

She probably thought he was planning some grand escape involving property laws. In all honesty, he only wanted to speak to her. Not to her specifically, but he needed to have a normal human interaction, and she was the only one around. “Just curious. Why did we stop at the river?”

“To throw the body in there.” She stepped forwards, over a short and sloping ridge. With her shoe, she scraped the snow off the ground. Ice shined through underneath, like scar-skin against the light, visible through a narrow arc where her heel had pushed. “They’ll think he drowned. Probably. Maybe we should take the bag off first…”

“I guess we could do that.” He shivered again, tried not to let it stutter his words. “Or, better idea, we could go with my plan.”

“Your plan is objectively not good.”

Yes, that was kind of the point. He wanted the police to find out. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and where you find a dead body, there’s likely a missing person or two nearby. The cops would have no problem putting the pieces together. The only issue would be getting Heather to go along with it—she wasn’t as oblivious as he’d hoped—but it was worth a shot, anyhow.

He stepped forwards as well, right over the ridge. “We can’t. The lake’s frozen.”

“Break the ice, then.”

“You break it.” He nudged her a bit on the shoulder. “You’re stronger than me. Apparently.”

A small, barely amused smile appeared on her lips. Her cheeks and nose had been flushed a pretty shade of frostnip pink, a rosewood kind of color to break up the endless white fields. “It’s okay, you know. I’m not expecting you to lift elephants.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He let out a short breath, watched it crystallize as it coiled and wisped. He peeled back the edge of his glove. His hands had gone a violent shade of bloody fuchsia at the joints, the rest of his skin ashen and brittle as the bare branches. He bit at the edge of his dry lips. The cold stuck to his teeth.

“If you insist," she said at last.

She stomped down hard on the ice. The first time, cracks split across the surface. The second time, a significant chunk broke off—she had to stagger back to avoid falling in. By the third time, the hole had become big enough to fit the body through. Water rushed past at a steady pace. He could hear its faint warbling, all its hushed whispers beneath the snow. 

She tapped his shoulder. “Roll the body in.“

“I have to do it?” He tore his gaze away from the frothing river to stare at her. 

“Yes. I’m sure you’ll manage.” She lifted the black-bagged corpse off the ground, then handed it to him. The plastic crackled in his hands. “Don’t forget to remove the bag.”

He refrained from arguing any further and untied the knot at the top. He positioned the body at a downward angle, then shook the garbage bag until it slid in. It took a few pushes of his boot to get it to go all the way, what with the dead man’s crooked limbs and wide shoulders, but the water eventually swallowed it whole. 

They watched the river writhe for a while.

Heather pulled up her gloves. “Care for a swim?”

He laughed once, dry and short. “That’d be a fun experiment.”

“Just throwing you in there?”

“Sure.”

The river rose and fell, over and over into itself. 

“This is good snow,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s crunchy. Packing snow. You can hear it.” She kicked a bit of snow, as if to demonstrate. “You can feel it, too. The ground doesn’t get powdery.”

He kicked the snow as well. “What’s it good for?” 

“Building. Building snowmen, I mean. Snowballs. Maybe a snow angel.”

“Snow fort?’

“Why not.”

Jackie knelt down to gather a clump of snow in his fist. His gloves became unpleasantly damp, but he continued. By clasping his hands together, he formed a rough ball. Its surface was mottled and uneven, but it didn’t fall apart when he pulled his hands away.

The trunk of a spindly tree lurked a few feet from where they stood. With one eye closed, he swung his arm back and aimed. Jackie threw the snowball as hard as he could. The momentum of the motion made him almost stumble, though he caught himself before he could plummet downwards.

The snowball burst apart, not quite at the center of the trunk, but closer to its edge. A large chunk had fallen to the ground, the rest of it stuck to the bark in a splattered mess. 

“Not bad.” He shook his hands out. “You should try. You play baseball, don’t you? I saw those trophies.”

She made a mildly disapproving face. “Not anymore.”

“But you used to. Did you really win all those games?”

Heather shrugged. “We should go back inside.”

Back inside. Back to being locked in. There was no sunshine, out there in the snow, but it was better than back inside. “Do we have to?”

She glanced back at the house. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He was. But only a little. “It can wait. I’ll survive, right?”

“Right.”

He took another clump of snow, made another snowball, then handed it to her. “Go on, then.”

“I’m better at batting.”

“I believe you. But you’ve got to try! At least once.”

“Fine.” She drew a foot back, aimed, waited for a single split second.

When she let go, her throw was much gentler than Jackie’s. It landed a perfect bull’s eye on the trunk. The snow fell down the bark in a staggered line.

“That’s it?” Jackie grinned. “No wonder you quit baseball.”

“Oh, shut it.” She looked away—Jackie could tell she was stifling a smile. 

“No, really. I bet I could do better.” 

“Could you?”

“Watch this.” He gathered the snow, then threw it. The ball landed several strides away from his target. 

“That’s better?” Heather couldn’t hide her smile now. 

“Hey, I almost had it!” He gathered another lump of snow. By this point, the ground around them had been mangled to a cluster of white-gray potholes, turned over like plowed soil.

He tried again. Another snowball landed and completely missed the mark. Heather was practically beaming now. Even if she was mocking him, he liked this side of her, the Heather who didn’t threaten to rip out his various body parts. Low bar, but that was the territory when it came to being held captive.

To his surprise, she stepped closer, then took his hand. “You’re not aiming right. Here—“ She gently nudged his shoulders to one side. “You’re standing straight on, but you’ve got to be at an angle. Push your right leg back.”

He followed her instructions. “Am I doing it right?”

“Close enough.” 

“You show-off.”

She gave him a friendly shove. “You idiot.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” He felt his face flush with warmth. Partly due to embarrassment, as she was standing very close to him, and partly due to happiness. “I’m smart enough. I can speak French, you know. I did four years in high school.”

“Really? Say something.” Her grasp was still firmly on his arm. 

“Aidez-moi, j'ai été enlevé.”

“What does that mean?”

“Uh… I like your eyes?”

“Oh, shut up.” She laughed, pushed him a little harder. 

Jackie laughed too, then pushed her back.

In fact, he pushed her a little too hard. She tripped over a branch, then fell backwards into the snow. His breath hitched in his lungs.

Like a fallen bird from the nest, she lay there, gracefully sprawled across the ground. Her hair was spread out all around her, like the fanned wings of a crow. Where the snow made contact, her skin had gone redder and rawer than usual. 

She ran a hand over her face to wipe it off, and Jackie’s terror returned, all at once, for whatever reason. Maybe it reminded him too much of the spit she’d swept away with her sleeve, after the vivisection. The small show of defiance that got him crushed to pieces, like an eggshell in the palm of her hand, like an insect under her heel. 

He stepped back, eyes wide, waiting for the gun to inevitably go off. “Heather, I—I didn’t mean—“

Instead, she laughed again. It was a genuine laugh, warm and brilliant, not a manic cackle, not a mocking scoff, not a killer’s howl. Just a laugh, and they were just having fun. It was a joke. To her, and to him, if need be. If he couldn’t be the Houdini right now, then he’d be her friend. The perfect prop.

False alarm, then. The revolver had drawn a blank. Click, click. He cleared his throat and managed a weak smile. 

“Oh God, Jackie, you’re…” What he was remained unclear. She trailed off and rubbed at her eyes. Then, she lifted from the snow, clumps of white falling away like water off her back. “It’s getting dark. We should go inside.”

That was true: the brisk shades of dusk were beginning to settle. “Sure. Yes. Let’s go back inside.”

Jackie gave one last glance to the river. He wondered where the stranger would end up. Nearby, in some swelling eddy? In the crook of a branch? Would he sink to the riverbed? Would he break apart under the gravel, or would he end up somewhere farther? Somewhere darker, somewhere colder, foreign land. A place where there was nobody to miss him, nobody to mourn for him. But Jackie could never forget him. Those images were too vivid. Every time he felt the rush of a river in his chest: that October snow, that sky without end.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[ratatatastic]

Vanha Kauppahalli date: en full, a 2 minute 50 second masterpiece...

Primetime Panthers | 11.6.24 (x)

[daily-hanamura]

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[greasydumbfuck]

i like thinking about how all the versions of frank i know are so gentle with civilians in a certain way. its always "it was my pleasure", "youre safe im not going to hurt you" and "just stay still youre fine" while hes defusing an actual bomb. its always we cant shoot at the strip club because the workers are going to get injured and we cant have that above most else. the punisher is big and scary and kills people without a second thought but if you didnt ask to be there and are just a regular guy wrapped up in situations way beyond you he is also so gentle and its driving me insane

[cent-scratchnsniff]

messy doodles plus with some picked ramblings with them as i process, learn, and progress. yes only some out of many. i talk far too much. i missed so much too im just too tired to talk abt those aspects rifht now

[jrueships]

pretty privilege in general is a terrible tool. but when the racism that it's ingrained in really has a platform to activate, it's just absurd .

[fluffalpenguin]

the mean girls of duel academia

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i really hope buck like embodies that "i'm your first, not your last" and is really weird about with eddie. like post mutual feelings realizations, buck is all "eddie, i want to be your last, and i can't be your last if i'm your first." and eddie is just like, "buck, i want you to be my first. i want you to be my first because i know you're my last so why would i try with anyone else when all i want is you?" and then buck cries

[princessponies]

one fun thing about having like 30 active sideblogs is it's like having a little scavenger hunt for all your friends. every once in awhile you'll see them stumble across one of your blogs in your notifs and if they don't know about blog #28 you get to wait and see if they figure out that SURPRISE THAT ONE IS ALSO YOU.

[veggiecorner]

Man how cool would it be if there was a Zelda game where the plot was Zelda being raised thinking she was the hero for that time only to find out she wasn't and it was her friend who knew all along

[ratatatastic]

i dont know what kills me more here sasha signing furry art of himself or him yoinking the maffhew canvas into his car and placing it on the passenger seat gingerly like

[daily-hanamura]

[narwhalandchill]

its been like. nearly a year (How.) already but i cannot lie theres Still a part in the back of my brain occupied with and being thoroughly entertained by the way that childes confirmed 4.0 complete self-awareness over waking up the narwhal at 14 recontextualizes some key liyue things leading to some very funny self indulgent scenarios in my head

like yes chili is old news its basic please excuse me for predictable popular ship crimes (do NOT however associate me w the crimes of fanon against their actual range. theyre peak to Me) but i just keep replaying the imagery of zhongli and childe back on their homoerotic Professional Working Relationship bullshit where their flirting passed the jkjk unless treshold of even remotely plausible deniability like 8 exorbitantly priced business dinners ago and theyre just like. doing that whole song and dance now neither committing to a move except zhonglis presently feeling moderately conflicted (but nonetheless fairly unfazed at) by the prospects of actually developing some sort of a thing for the harbinger hes supposed to puppet master into executing the major story climax of his 67-step retirement plan bc he turned out to be quite the strangely charming ginger specimen (to His weird fucking 6000 year old tastes at least. they deserve each other) with some fascinating life ambitions he cant help but be enraptured by.

but because hes still 100% Locked In on his entire plan zhonglis also just . simultaneously dual wielding his coy-ass "i like you and am taking it slow to Savor this developing relationship (Also bc of the Geo Archon Shaped Elephant In The Room) except am old as shit so my languid sense of time inadvertedly Automatically turns my behavior into an equivalent of the dark souls boss of playing hard2get" act (cue "waddup im ajax 24 and im in fucking agony with this hot funeral consultant". Yes they live like this) AND also meticulously theorycrafting like 12 moves in advance for his 6d chess play of leaving the most subtly crafted trail of breadcrumbs behind for the tsaritsas 11th to follow into the intended & completely "Coincidental" idea of unleashing the one particular sealed sea deity that zhongli Specifically wants momentarily released for his sweet 6k retirement party and graduation test for the nation hes helicopter parented for 3.7k years .

like. this is zhongli we r talking about the guy Absolutely has it planned out down to a fucking art like he has an entire branching path dialogue tree planned and memorized like its a visual novel for every possible way he can conveniently namedrop osial in a non-suspect way and also that he just happens to be sealed right over there across the harbor (what a coincidence!) and also to slip in the intel about the latent power of the sigil of permission etc etc. like zhonglis just out there doing all this massive galaxy brain computational work simultaneously while infodumping on an academic level about whichever subject childes latest random comment of amicable small talk happened to remind him of because in his helicopter parent in remission mind its Absolutely Critical that the idea about releasing osial occurs Completely organically in childes mind it Has to he Cannot risk revealing anything . (hes in remission not in recovery guys.) so like here we are. he requested notes from the tsaritsa Personally on the character of her 11th just to ensure every move was painstakingly crafted to draw him Specifically to the intended conclusion without risking revealing his true identity .

except. the thing . neither he. nor the tsaritsa . would have been informed of . is that this simply isnt childes first fucking rodeo waking up an eldritch city sized sea creature . and he is very well aware of this fact . he woke that beautiful wonderful beloved huge fucking narwhal up by himself had his brain chemistry Immediately and Irrevocably rewired as a direct consequence do you fucking think hes somehow stopped thinking about that singular moment for even a second since then???

yeah . thought so.

so what actually ends up happening in reality is theyll be on another definitely-serious-business-not-just-a-date and zhonglis going to get down to like dialogue selection part 10 of the 86 step conversation tree at Most where hes only beginning to like Vaguely allude to the key pieces of information involved but it turns out Because Hes That Guy (TM) And Has Been There Done That Before childes basic pattern recognition and sense of irony simply proceed to kick in Way ahead of time and hes Immediately perking up like Hey wouldnt it be really fucking funny if i wake up an eldritch sea beast Again . like just in case. as a last ditch effort .

and zhonglis just sitting there seeing the gears turn in his head as they enjoy their cringe fucking picnic (bc they just stare at each other intently like that nowadays its a thing. being in a room with them by this point is essentially a human rights violation) and is just completely fucking flabbergasted and lost on how in the hell childes speedran his way to that conclusion at what amounts to barely a 13% completion rate in his whole overkill fucking plan (just 1 of 3 contingencies btw) and its like yes he has his intended outcome but also precisely 0 idea on how the fuck said outcome was reached the way it was this fast . like hes still winning its His plan thats well underway and ahead of schedule but How

(pov: ur selling the concept of waking up destructive sea creatures to the guy who woke up a celestial body eating cosmic whale at 14)

anyway its truly beautiful i absolutely detest these two and have prime liyue AQ hijinks nostalgia now thank you for the lore drop that allowed this to become canon in my head hoyo