#and its been the most effective way for me to cut thru my own shit

[violentviolette]

i think i have aspd or traits . but i dont wanna go to a psych and be like " btw here are my symptoms ive never told u about before , have fun ! ( insert the entire ASPD criteria here ) . sorry " because that makes me look bad & i appear the opposite ( passive , fearful , not aggressive ) , & dont want to appear as a threat and i most definitely dont want them to think im manipulating them when im not ( like for example when im just telling them my symptoms regarding other conditions ) . and i dont want to admit to committing crimes incase they report me or i have to go through a security clearance for job reasons and they go thru my stuff . anyways as far as anyones concerned i seem nice but weird but not the type of person to have those kinds of symptoms , and i want it to keep my Good Girl(tm) image . but also . i dont want to start having legal issues , become dependent on substances , pursue any illegal occupation , etc since it would suck to get caught and im only 21 so i keep trying my best to avoid it everytime i almost continue with it , but i need help bad lol . any idea of what i should or can do ? anything helps

okay real talk but literally do exactly the opposite of everything ur doing and also get out of ur own head and stop overanalyzing every thought u have to find justifications for not doing the very simple basic first step towards what u know is the right thing to do but just dont want to because being vulnerable feels yucky and ur scared

i say this with genuine compassion and no judgement because i *absolutely* did and still sometimes do the same thing but unfortunately the only way to get urself out of that cycle is to get over urself and touch grass (encouragingly) so that u just Do The Thing u know u need to do

being open and honest with a therapist about ur thoughts and feelings is the only way to get any actual positive growth or help out of it. u cant fix what u dont talk about and keeping it all to urself will only drive u more and more insane. staying cooped up inside ur own mind without telling other ppl what ur thinking out loud creates a feedback loop of crazy. u gotta hear urself talk to another person sometimes to actually really *hear* urself, u know? ur brain is where the crazy is and u cant stay there alone and expect it to work out and get better. u have to talk it out and be confronted and challenged with other viewpoints to realize where urs are disordered if u look for reasons not to do something u will absolutely find them, and while i could offer rebuttels to a lot of ur concerns, things like how ur medical records and psych details are not that detailed. u doing illegal behavior like stealing or doing drugs is not something that gets listed on those and falls under patient confidentiality. the only thing that gets documented is the official diagnoses name which most therapists are going to be very reluctant to hardline diagnose someone with aspd (and even then it only gets logged with that practice and submitted to ur insurance only if ur seeking care like meds or hospital stays or get incarcerated. otherwise, if u dont tell someone "i saw dr.x at yclinic from 2019-2022, then they have no way of knowing or finding out what that dr wrote on their internal records/notes. there is no centralized database of "medical history" outside of ur insurance company and specific practices internal networks) individual symptoms like "illegal activity" do not get listed and unless ur planning on enrolling in the military or working for the feds no job is looking more deeply than that into ur history unless u personally volunteer it. what comes up when specific companies do background checks with a medical history is ur insurance records. ur insurance only knows what gets submitted to them specifically, if ur therapist doesnt file paperwork with ur insurance to list aspd as a diagnosis they are looking for ur insurance to pay them to treat u for specifically (instead of more generalized things like "depression" "anxiety" or just "mental health care" ect, which they have to get ur permission to do) then there's no paper trail of what u two talk about in that office or how ur "good girl" image is legitimately worthless garbage and will grant u absolutely nothing in life and clinging to it in the false hope that other ppls perceptions of u will change who u actually are and make u happy is only gonna lead u to looking at ur shitty unhappy life in 5 years and being filled with nothing but regret and anger and wanting to kill urself or that while u cant know or control how ur therapist sees u or reacts to the things u share with them, u can control who they are. if u fuck up with this therapist or it takes a turn u dont like or they start treating u badly, u can very much just get another one. u can request a different person at the same clinic for any reaosn or u could switch clinics entirely. most insurance in the us is taken by more than 1 provider in an area and there are almost always multiple practices that take the local insurance. and even then, if u wanna drive 45mins to see a therapist a town over cause u burned a bridge with this one u can do that. ur not beholden to a single person, u can get dozens and dozens of opinions. ive had over 15 different therapists in my life. if u fuck up with one u can always get another

but all those rebuttals dont really matter because if u want to, i have no doubt u could find counter points to all those points. i know i could if i tried. so really it just comes down to the simple question of are u going to keep standing in ur own way or are u going to cut the bullshit and take it seriously and do the hard thing because u know its what u need to do? ur young still, uve got so much time, dont waste more of it waiting for the perfect solution or situation because it will never exist. do it now, do it messy, do it scared, fuck it up and get it wrong a bunch, and then try again and again until it works

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Teaser]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language (possibly more?)

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this criminal is stealing my fires, what the fuck?!“

Life is a rollercoaster, it always has been. One moment he feels at the top of the world and the very next he’s upside down at the bottom, wishing the ride would come to a stop as soon as possible. Things that shouldn’t be difficult, things average people would consider the norm to him were the equivalent of walking on glass, each step sending shocks of pain throughout his body, anxiety pumping his blood with adrenaline that provoked his fight or flight response. And after choosing ‘fight’ so many times, he’s more than prepared to choose ‘flight’.

But as he sits in the Walmart parking lot, he’s talking himself out of that habit of running from discomfort. He doesn’t want to battle it either, he just wants to face it and prove he’s strong enough to defeat it if he tried. Well, anxiety is laughing in his face right now, mocking him by the shaking of his hands and the tight sensation in his gut and throat. He’s here for what’s supposed to be just a quick shopping trip. Just to buy a few things! That’s all he has to do. However, he can’t bring himself to get out of his beige Subaru and walk into the store. 

I’m just hungry, right? Or maybe tired, he thought to himself.

That’s what everyone told him - that anxiety was caused by something simple to solve but hard to realize when your mind is in a frenzy. He’s planning on getting something to eat to calm his nerves. If that doesn’t work, to hell with it. He has been improvising plan B’s all his life, this wouldn’t be anything new. 

With a shaky sigh Corpse looks at his radio, switching stations until his luck smiles at him when he comes across a BONES song and turns it up just enough to not overwhelm his senses. He has been needing some kind of a distraction all day, why not gravitate to the one thing that felt real, as if sent to save him from the mess within his head. Putting the car into drive, he pulls out of the parking lot and into the nearest fast food drive thru. A plain burger with cheese so his stomach doesn’t act up, fries and an unsweetened tea. 

This will have to do.  He isn’t even hungry, and the thought of the greasy food only made his stomach churn worse but he knew he needed to eat something in hopes of it having the effects he was told it would have - magically cure his overwhelmingly hard to handle anxiety.

Once he got his food, he returned to the department store lot and parked in a far back spot. He has opened the paper bag to dig his food out, grimacing at all the grease and the smell of the cheap meal that wasted no time invading his car. He really isn’t hungry, but he hasn’t eaten all day and he’s aware of the toll the lack of food is taking on his system. He knows better than to work against himself in a moment like this when his mind is already working against him.

Chomping down on a fry, Corpse savors the salt as it hits his tongue and takes a moment to let his shoulders loosen and hang low. Something about the salt and fat seemed to make his body feel better. He tosses his head back slightly as he flicks a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, reaching into the bag and grabbing another fry.

He’s been content with sitting in his car, eating and trying to quell the anxiety bubbling up under his ribs and in his throat. There’s a sense of peace to it and to the loneliness of it. He doesn’t mind being alone, though. That’s how he prefers to be actually. Dwelling on that thought too long has had the tendency to kill even the smallest spec of a positive energy he possessed in the past so he avoids it for his own peace of mind. The feeling of his heart thundering in his chest to nothing more than his own unconscious is being muffled by the soft rap music coming from the car speakers, him having chosen to pay attention to that instead.

Corpse is so engrossed in his attempts of maintaining this peace that he fails to notice the person approaching his car at a rapid pace. He’s left completely unbothered until one of the backseat doors is yanked open and someone is diving inside, shaking the vehicle. 

“What th-..” He shouts, startled out of the peaceful bubble he had created around himself. 

“Hey, how's it going? Sorry to interrupt your dinner. I'm just avoiding somebody, so don’t mind me!” A slightly out of breath female voice answers from the backseat. But before he could bring himself to turn around and demand this girl get out of his car, fear takes hold of him, closing his throat and drowning his words in the sea of questions and anxiety rising from deep within his chest. 

Ok, breathe. This is weird. There’s a stranger in my car, but she doesn’t appear harmful. Just breathe, stay calm. Fuck, is that a fucking cop car?! 

His shaky hand is barely capable of holding the burger as his wide eyes follow the movements of the vehicle. The patrol car in question slowly drives through each aisle of the parking lot, seemingly searching for something. Or someone. He feels himself unable to blink nor breath as the car creeps closer and closer. He has already broken into a nervous sweat, head spinning with all the possible outcomes - none of which bode well for him.

How am I gonna explain this shit?! There’s no way they’ll believe that she just dove into my car. They’ll think I’m an accomplice. I’ll go to jail. God knows if I’ll get out. I’ll die in there. Oh fuck, I’ll die in there.

He inhales sharply, trying not to hyperventilate, all his muscles tensing before a slap to his arm shook him out of it, “Could you look any more suspicious?! Fuckin’ act cool!”

He nods automatically and looks down at his lap, like he’s trying to find a napkin before taking a quick sip of his tea in attempts to look natural. The liquid promptly went down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke and go in a fit of coughs which he suppressed with his baggy hoodie sleeve. 

The cop passed by, eyeing the man in the car before making a turn to go down another row of parking spots, allowing Corpse to finally peek his gaze upwards to check if the guy was finally gone when the voice in the back seat spoke up again. “Thanks dude, you saved my ass.” 

He hadn’t noticed at first but as he turned to look behind him he saw a bare arm reaching from the back seat, dipping into the paper bag and taking one of his fries. Before he could comprehend it, the girl had climbed up over the center console as the police car pulled out of the parking lot and left. 

Only now is he able to get a real look at the woman who is a potential criminal and went into his car. She isn’t tall but not short either. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are ripped around her knees and upper thighs and have little occult symbols drawn on them, peace signs and even an occasional tiny dinosaur - the majority, if not all, probably a DIY project of hers by the looks of it. She’s also sporting a sleeveless top with the sides cut open to show most of her waist. Under that, a black sports bra and a tattoo are visible - the tattoo extending from her back to her ribs just slightly. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a loose and rather messy hairdo, every strand going in its own direction as if she couldn’t be bothered by it. Looking down he sees the pair of black combat boots she has on. They look to be well taken care of and loved. A glint of a septum piercing attracts his attention when he notices it reflecting the ugly yellow light of the parking lot street lamps. 

She’s pretty. 

His cheeks flush a little in the darkness as he dumps the remainder of his food back into the bag, noting she was taking another one of his fries before he looked away, swallowing nervously when he feels her gaze on him. 

Before he could speak, however, she had already taken another one of his fries, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“W-why...are you in my car?” His voice showed off his confusion as well as the rising levels of his anxiety, his brow furrowed as he tries to remain cool and calm. 

“Hiding from the police...obviously.” She responds in a ‘duh’ tone as if she were pointing out something very simple and ordinary.

“Bu-...Alright...I guess. You should stop stealing my food though.” He finally mumbles, putting the paper bag into the back seat and catching a brief whiff of the perfume she has on as he turns to do so. 

He’s been alone so long, people have grown to terrify him. Public places terrify him, so it’s no surprise he stays inside for as long as he can. He hasn’t been this close to someone in months. Not since his ex left. She was just...another human being. Another one to leave. Nothing new to him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise nor a disappointment to him but he couldn’t not feel distraught over it for a while after it happened. He couldn’t help but hope she would….nevermind.

She grins - her smile a little spark of light in this lonely little world that is his life. Everyone around him always looked so damn happy. How come he never felt the happiness for himself?

He shifts back into his seat, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his black hoodie, avoiding her gaze as much as possible while still trying to take subtle glances at her. He feels uncomfortably like a teenager at that moment, stumbling his way through a conversation with a girl way too pretty to be talking to him.

“I bet you hear this all the time, but you should do like, audio books or voice acting or somethin’. You’ve got a rad voice to narrate some Steven King or Dean Koontz. Bram Stoker's Dracula would be sick, or some kind of devil or demon character.” She offers, grinning again as she steals another fry despite the bag now being in the back and shifts to reach into her back pocket, the sound of her wallet chain hitting the side of his car door echoes throughout the enclosed space of the car. She pulls out a couple dollars and slaps them onto his dashboard, “anyway, for the fries. Annnd for letting me hide in your car. Don’t go spending it all in one place.” She pushes the door of the Subaru open, winking at him and sliding one leg out. “Thanks for keepin’ the fuzz off of me, see ya Hades!” She jokes teasingly, slapping the roof of his car before closing the door and practically skipping off in the opposite direction of the one the cop went in. 

Corpse parts his lips, blinking slowly before looking at the department store and back towards the slowly shrinking figure of the girl. His head is spinning again, for different reasons now.

“What the hell just happened....?” He pauses for a lingering second before his voice turns sharp and a distressed look crosses his face, “Fuck, what did I need from the store?!”

[tigerdrop]

going insane after the knife scene in the latest chapter, absolute frothing at the mouth, i didnt even know it was possible to get slapped with a new kink that quickly

^q^

Your Welcome. i am beyond thrilled that this is the part thats sticking with people the most.....thats what i was hoping for. i dont think itd really be a Tigerdrop Special(tm) if there wasnt something viciously horny in it

for anybody whos interested: i put a lot of thought into this chapter and this scene in particular. and ive jotted down some of those thought processes under the cut. i care way too fucking much about hlvrai and it shows

i was thinking to myself like........hes been too nice lately. i gotta figure out a way to bridge the gap btwn "goofy little guy whos just trying to help his best bud through the game" and "terrifying big bad who genuinely freaks the shit out of gordon because hes under the impression that this is just a game". but mostly b/c i needed to find someway to help them along to the extremely self-indulgent rewrite of the public bathroom skit without benreys particular Demeanor in that scene coming out of nowhere

there is just like. so much going on in that intro commentary. emotionally speaking. theres a lot of set up going into getting them from point A to point B, okay

to me the bathroom skit is fundamental in terms of, like, establishing a really specific tone of their relationship. like, it is more complicated than just "silly guy gives gordon a hard time and makes goofs", you know? i think that when most people look at their interactions this is all they see, b/c theyre watching Best Of compilations or the same few redrawn scenes or fanon "wacky found family" stuff. but the thing that is really compelling about benrey as an antagonist is that he is unpredictable, and more importantly, he is really fucking mean and unsettling when he wants to be

but Most importantly, that skit establishes that not only is he mean, not only is he unnerving, and not only is he prone to giving their interactions a sexual undercurrent, but that gordon is Willing To Reciprocate. its all fucking flustered laughter and play-fighting on his part! the skit deliberately plays up how fuckin creepy benrey is with the horror music sting and all that shit, but like, the reaction that gordon gives him is not one of somebody who is sick of his shit. it is of somebody who is Playing Along

given that this comes after the events of the payday stream, this makes sense. that stream, in my opinion, gave their relationship a lot of really fun developments: benreys a lot meaner now, having already had his heel turn, but hes not The Bad Guy(tm) anymore so the tone of his interactions with gordon is a lot more.....playful. light-hearted. gordon is no longer viewing his actions thru the lens of "This Is My Story-Mandated Antagonist who is hounding me for Villain Reasons", but more like, "this is a fellow player who i dont really care for". in particular, the bit with benrey chasing gordon with a knife really sells this. benreys not The Bad Guy anymore, so its not a big deal! its just jokes! laughs!

HOWEVER. in co-op game theory, the payday stream never happened! gordon went straight from the end of hlvrai to the beginning of hl2vrai. which means that i have to do all that relationship development my own dang self

and it has to be flavored differently, too, b/c the setting of the payday stream is a lot more fantastical and light-hearted and overtly video game-y. but in co-op game theory, i am making a pretty big fucking deal of the fact that gordons stuck in a grim setting with painful consequences. and ive been playing a lot with just how porous the barrier is between "this is just a game" and "this is a thing that feels real and has real consequences" that hlvrai itself sets up in act 3, what with the whole "getting his arm cut off" thing. in the payday stream, they just kind of get shot at over and over again to no effect, nothing really has any weight to it, its borderline dreamlike, and so that lends itself to interactions like "benrey chasing gordon with a knife" being given this really gay "teehee omg nooo stoppitttt" flavor.

but you cant get to the whole "chasing gordon with a knife is just a goofy and fun moment with his best frenemy" thing without establishing that, between gordon and benrey in this setting, the one in co-op game theory, the rules are different for those two. gordon getting shot by the bad guys hurts, here! it hurts real bad! but with benrey, it doesnt, because hes operating on purely video game rules. cartoon character rules. you can get that kind of dreamlike, cartoony shenanigan-style chemistry between them by making it so that, when benreys chasing him with the knife (metaphorical or literal) he is choosing to make the consequences go away.

[the cool and fun part about that, i think, is that in this setting we have now established that benrey can turn it off. if he wanted. so now theres that lingering undercurrent of "okay but what if this time its for real. what if he gets bored. what if he forgets that gordons just a guy for a little too long. whats keeping him from doing exactly that"]

between them, the kind of tom-and-jerry shit that would ordinarily put gordons life in very real danger no longer does, because benrey is setting a boundary, so to speak, that this is a game. a funny little game just for them. and so gordon can learn to Play Along. point A -> point B.

its not exactly a 1:1 imitation of what develops btwn them in the payday stream b/c this is a different fucking thing but now hopefully u see what i mean. This is an insane amount of words. Sorry

[caphayzardous]

I don’t feel like I cracked or broke this semester I just like started very low because of the winter depression, and the lockdownz, and then started recovering slightly, but then slowed down, and slowed down, and slowed down...

I’ve been taking so much time off, all I do these days is sleep, eat, go for a walk, and somehow it takes up a whole day. I do spend an amount of time sitting curled up on the floor thinking, ‘I should work’, and probably that nebulous amount of time is where I am losing hours. that and I sleep too much. just the bare minimum existence and I can’t find any heart to work. next week is the first of the final assignments, and then the other three are all within 10 days of that; I have only really started 1 of them, and barely. I don’t want to apply for more extensions (one of them has already been extended) because if I can’t even access ‘stress mode’ productivity NOW then I don’t think an extra week will do anything at all to help me get things done.

I’m not really worried? I’m not stressed? I’m not too sad even, but I am not too good. Very empty. Although I have also cried on like 15 out of the last 21 days (since I turned 25) lmao but there’s been... reasons for most of that. I’m very self conscious of how other people might see my treatment of uni right now, but... I do love it, and I know I did well last semester, I believe I will do well next year... but we’re at uhh let’s see 66 days into the current lockdown, and we’ve passed a total of 250 days in lockdown as a city, so like. idk. I can adapt I can make the best of a situation I can persevere etc etc etc but I think in the last few weeks the tricks and methods just don’t really cut it lmfao.

its so hard to keep working when there’s nothing else, so hard to enjoy walking when it’s the same paths, so hard to manage your days when you also have to book vaccines (which, the process here was basically ‘seagulls fighting for a single chip, but also the seagulls have class disparity’) and then be knocked out with fatigue from said vaccines, and then you also continue to get colds even in lockdown because your immune system is shit, and then you have to go and wait 3 hours in a drive thru testing site - and also, you know what, getting a period every month doesn’t fucking help, I’m going to say it, I’m going to say it. when you’re not having a great time and then every 4 weeks you do that whole charade again it doesn’t HELP, does it.

I kind of feel just like I did in year 12 lmfao, where I thought, ‘I should have dropped out sooner’ lmao and then I had to just stick it out. a bit sunk-cost fallacy you know. but it’s literally week 12, which is the LAST week for half my classes, and I’m like motherfucker I should have trusted my gut and deferred the semester way back when this lockdown dropped, the idea of completing literally every week of a class and then failing the last assignment and having to redo the course is PRETTY BAD LMAO, but I guess it happens and it’s normal. Anyway. I wont fail ‘em, I’m going to get through it. when I chose not to defer I knew that meant I’d be accepting A Bad Semester in terms of grades so like. That’s ok.

The upside is. Once I get the semester over and done with (come what may) I think I will swing up a bit because. I can better enjoy things without this looming over me. I’m already kind of ‘doing whatever I want (within restrictions lmao AKA I am Walking) irresponsibly and dismissing my uni obligations’ but it doesn’t exactly feel good. We’ll be out of lockdown soon which is it’s own terror because the city is going to just accept a new rate of death which feels pretty bad you know lmfao. but lockdown doesn’t work as well here anymore and it will only be less and less effective (people really are tired).

But you know. Might feel nice to be able to do more things. On saturday I saw my best friend for the first time since this lockdown started, since we’re both vax’d now and the like travel limit was upped to 10km a couple weeks ago. Nice that I can see 1 friend now, you know! That was something different and enjoyable! We’re getting more and more days of sun so I can probably shake of the ol’ seasonal affective, which, honestly I’d’ve already shook if it weren’t for uni & lockdown ykwim, so like. etc etc.

here’s to a happy november, soon. lol new dave gahan album in nov too so genuinely excited for that as well hahah, media is not enough to sustain me but I think it will all culminate in a nice month I guess, let me just reach it without my brain dissolving completely, please!!!!

[urmomification]

WOOO POG DREAM SMP AU

theres 1.8k words and 9,393 characters of a schlatt au below the cut LMAO

[i was rambling to my friend and this is what came out of it! send me an abt it if u have questions i would love to talk abt it more pls]

(slight body horror/gore tw!!)

slams fists on table rattling any dishes on the table au where schlatt doesnt die of a heartattack and tubbo locks him up to rot basically and his horns grow into his eyes effectively blinding him and chained his hands together and basically a leash on him to keep him from moving around in his cell so he cant do anything to break the horns off before they get too long and one day when technos breaking into lmanberg he gets chased into the prison and loses them in the halls before coming across schlatts cell and schlatts calling out like 'whos there i can hear ur foot steps whos there please someone whos there' etc yk and technos speechless they thought they executed him to keep him from causing any more problems in the country but this is this is just much worse than anything he even thought theyd do and hes standing in front of schlatts cell just looking at him as if hes imagining it he knew lmanberg was bad but holy fuck they just let this man rot in a cell to the point of his own horns blinding him and giving him no aid or way to ease the pain so he makes himself known and schlatt 'ive never been so happy to see, well, hear an anarchist in my life, its good to see- hear you technoblade' and chuckles and blood runs down his face like tears would, few drops landing on his clothes before techno starts trying to get into the cell to take him out of there he cant leave him here sure he was an anarchist terrorist w a murder record but he had standards and now that schlatt wasnt in power he had nothing against him really considering he isnt a citizen of lmanberg so he manages to pick the locks enough to get him out of there, schlatts arm slung over technos shoulder they stumble out of the prison building and as they slowly make their way to the nether portal to get back to technos base, they run into tubbo and quackity, schlatts old right hand men and they try to stop techno bc hes well an anarchist terrorist w a murder record but the glare techno gives them levels them and theyre left staring at each other for a moment when schlatt 'whyre we stopped whos there tech' and techno mumbles 'tubbo and quackity schlatt' and schlatt just furrows his brows as far as he can without sending excruciating pain into his eye sockets before he purses his lips and asks 'are they going to try and stop us?' techno looks back at the other two 'no they wont, isnt that right boys?' tubbo and quackity slink away allowing techno and schlatt to the portal and them going thru, schlatt still silent as he tries not to trip over technos cape or off the ledge of the bridge passing over the lava lakes, they make it to the portal and begin the walk across the arctic tundra to technos house, philza isnt there right now so its just the two of them and techno leads him up the ladder to his room (its not really a room i think its just a bed, a bell and an enchantment table) and sits him down on his bed mumbling something abt being right back and he is with some medical supplies and a change of clothes to clean everything up, they dont talk techno works in silence and when schlatt winces he mumbles a small apology before continuing eventually techno got schlatt as cleaned up as you can get someone w horns in their eyes and a sweater to keep him warm and finally starts asking questions 'how long had u been in there' 'lost count' 'did they bring you food' 'a chests worth at the beginning of the month' techno sighs 'i thought they executed you' 'tubbo chickened out despite me being 'an active threat to our peace in lmanberg' and locked me up a few days after u set the withers loose and dropped off a chest of food once a month and most of them refused to talk to me others couldnt even make eye contact with me, other than the few instances where they said things like 'heres ur food' or 'u deserve this' or 'i cant believe tubbo let u live' i talked to no one other than myself for however long i was in there' techno stands and walks around for a moment before flipping some pages and schlatt can hear him gasp quietly in mild surprise 'what is it tech' looking in the direction he heard techno from and techno says, turning to face schlatt on his bed 'schlatt that was almost 3 months ago' a single beat of silence rings for what feels like forever 'oh. i, i didnt think itd been that long. though it would explain my current predicament' loosely gesturing towards his face 'oh right abt that i have a few questions if ur ready to answer some' schlatt hums and techno grabs a pen and paper and sits next to him in case he needs to take any notes for future reference 'how fast do ur horns normally grow' 'idk just a steady amount my whole life pretty much' 'will they ever stop growing' 'they generally stop growing around 30 and continue to grow more in width than length' 'did anyone who brought u food notice' 'they grow quickly and by the time the person w the third chest came around they were getting close to my eyes but they didnt listen to me, no one did' he sighs looking down at would be his hands 'the odds of both of my horns growing into my eyes and blinding me like this are so low but of course it would happen to me' a chuckle void of any amusement 'because losing my country and my people and my power wasnt enough already' techno stands up 'you had that coming' schlatt actually laughs this time, short and curt 'ok fair, u were the one that took me down afterall' and from then on schlatt lives w techno and phil and eventually tommy and then without tommy (tommy was Not happy when he found out that schlatt was living with techno but he needed somewhere to stay too and techno happens to live in an arctic tundra where only a handful of people know how to get to so he didnt complain too much) and eventually techno saws off schlatts horns at the bend adn removes them from his eyes bc if they kept growing into his head theyd hit his brain and kill him on top of blinding  him and techno gags and almost throws up despite not being sensitive to gore  and gives schlatt a bandanna to cover the holes in his head for everyones sake and once they heal somewhat he can find something else out and thats how they live, schlatt helps with what he can like farming w phil but mostly spends his time learning braille or something so he can read and techno gets him books in braille so he isnt bored or alone like he was in the prison and he feeds him and takes care of him and schlatt is funny and entertaining despite being blinded by something from his own body and the torture it was like to rot in a cell alone for almost a 1/4 of a year and nights when techno gets home late and hes shaken and the voices are bad schlatt will sit behind him and play with his hair and talk abt his own day and rub technos back and in return when schlatt relapses and gets violent and angry techno will wash his hair and read him stories until he calms down and hopefully asleep and no one told him the news that wilbur died so when ghostbur shows up and starts talking to him he treats him the same as he would wilbur bc he cant see that hes a ghost all thats different is his speech pattern and overall personality and one day he says 'ur different wilbur what happened to that, i dunno spark u used to have' and wilbur simply 'im not sure if im being honest a lot abt me has changed since i died, or so im told i dont remember much from when i was alive' and schlatt just 0_0 and then hes scrambling down the ladder and stumbling around the house looking for techno, finding him in the basement working on something and when he gets there hes out of breath and his hands are shaking bc holy shit wilburs not only dead but a ghost and he was just talking to me and he doesnt remember what i did and and and and techno is shocked to see schlatt in the basement and asks whats up and schlatt just 'wilbur died wilbur fucking died tech why didnt anyone tell him and now hes a ghost hes a fucking ghost who lives in ur house and doesnt remember anything he doesnt remember that he blew up lmanberg does he he remembers my name but not anything that i did what hes a fucking ghost techno hes a ghost holy fuck' and technos just standing there like ??? no one no one told him 'yea philza had to kill him after he blew up lmanberg i thought u knew thats why i didnt say anything' oh. 'phil, phil had to kill him?' 'yea its a touchy subject, dont bring it up' and simply goes back to what he was working on so schlatt sits on the ground by the ladder and listens to him work his brain going a mile a minute trying to comprehend whats going on 'would i have become a ghost if theyd chosen to execute me?' 'its hard to say im unsure if theres specific circumstances that contribuite to someone becoming a ghost but theres really no telling' and goes back to working yet again and from then on they fall into an easy schedule of techno going out and doing whatever an anarchist terrorist w a murder record does on ur average wednesday and schlatt stays home reading and organizing whatever he can based on size and feeling and sleeping in windowsills and schlatt greeting techno comes home beaten up and full of new resources and a side of bruises and cuts so he tends to them, getting better at maneuvering and functioning without needing to see then techno making dinner and then curling up by the fire for the night enjoying each others company as they talk abt their days :]

[dragonblobz]

Cell fluff kinda? Wrote this cuz I wanted to write a comfort fic for a friend uwu. I suck at fluff. I'm a natural asshole and this definitely translates to reader in this 😂 have a pregnancy reveal fic with the big beautiful bug bastard

WARNING: PREGNANCY

You pace nervously across the floor of your bedroom, your hands absently already beginning the instinctive rubbing over your belly.

Cell had noticed. The last time you’d been with him, you’d caught him gazing at your belly after you’d removed your shirt. For much longer than any errant gaze should last. Even from him. He hadn’t commented. But you know you’re starting to show just a little bit more than ‘just gaining a little weight’ would ever warrant. You’ll have to tell him.

HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA TELL HIM????

“Hey boo, sometimes, when you cum in a girl…..” the walls of the empty room ring with your shrill nervous laughter.

“She wants more? YOU always do.” You can HEAR the smirk in his voice.

You squeak and whirl. Of course! Of course the asshole shows up when you could have spilled the beans just from nervously practicing to what you’d thought was your empty home.

“You know, for a guy that squeaks when he walks you sure got in here friggin QUIET.” You’re spluttering and blushing. Here, in this setting, he looks even larger and more like some gorgeous pipe dream than an actual living being.

Cell is still smirking as he rotates his leg slowly, grinding the toe of his foot across your floor. “Carpet.”

Okay. Now’s the time. Just get it over with. Like ripping off a bandaid. You’re babbling inside your own mind. What if he’s angry??? He’s never harmed you in any way that didn’t actually feel GOOD.

He’s standing there, just outside your bedroom doorframe. The tops of his crests are not visible. He’ll have to duck to get in. You giggle again. The nervous sound is shrill and harsh.

The smirk fades and his face becomes blank.

“I’d say leaving your door unlocked is stupid. But then again, trespassing into your home, in particular, would be a far more stupid decision for anyone to make.”

Your mind instantly jumps to the idea of some poor sod walking into your home without your permission and him finding out about it. You suddenly feel like pacing is too much effort.

Cell enters your room then, ducking as expected. The movement is far more graceful than you expected. But, then again, his size and bulk never seems to have an effect on how smoothly and efficiently he can move. You also are well aware that his size doesn’t effect his speed whatsoever as well. The image this particular thought brings to mind, makes your naked toes curl into the carpet.

“I suppose I should just be grateful you don’t smash thru my wall like the fucking koolaid man.” You're babbling now.

He chuckles at this. “Yes. You should be. Very grateful.”

His face slackens again as he rotates his head, slowly assessing your room. You blush as you realize you’ve fucked this guy more times than you can count. Are literally carrying his child. And yet, he’s never been inside your home before.

Cell is beautiful. No doubt about it. But something about the way he observes things, the inhuman twitching of his pupils as they rapidly settle upon and leave each object, as if he’s a living computer, identifying and cataloging each subject. It gives him a loftier, more efficient sort of beauty. You’d love to tell him this. But he’d like that too much.

“Your color scheme….”

“What, purple? I don’t know I just….”

“Lilac.” He cuts you off.

“…. I just like lilac…….. Asshole.”

He turns back to you, crossing his arms and sneering at you. “I hope that you eventually begin to appreciate just how much I allow you to get away with, with that smart mouth of yours.”

Your retort dies before you can utter it. He’s absolutely right. Cell has killed more people than you can even understand. Yet allows some extraordinarily scathing speech and behaviors from yourself roll off his pretty backside like water. No matter what you say, he always shrugs it off or laughs it away. Especially recently. Somehow this makes what you have to tell him seem even MORE difficult.

What if he finally snaps and lashes out? Or worse. You feel a lump form in your throat. What if he doesn’t even CARE? You sit on the edge of your bed, suddenly exhausted and empty feeling. And afraid. “Cell?”

He’s still glaring at you. “Yes, human?”

Shit. He only calls you ‘human’ now when he’s irritated with you. Its actually how you know to stop your crap.

“I need to tell you something. Its important. Like REALLY important.”

He huffs. But his tone is oddly patient. “Go on then. I’m listening.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and wait for oblivion. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know.”

Your eyes snap open and you stare at him dumbly. His face is smooth and unreadable.

“Its yours.” You feel stupid suddenly.

He face stretches into the most incredulous and, quiet frankly, HUMAN expression you’ve ever seen on his face. The he tilts his head and laughs. Hard. As if he’s heard the grandest joke one can ever hear.

You’ve heard him chuckle. A lot. And you’ve heard him laugh a bit too. But never such a boisterous laughter. He’s rocking on his heels. It’s almost carefree. You chest tightens and you fight the urge to cry. Was he laughing because he didn’t care?

“Oh that’s RICH!” He’s actually gasping a bit.

Your body jerks as he freezes. He’s composing himself. But the cessation of movement is so sudden. His body visibly relaxes as he crosses his arms and smirks down at you.

“As if you would desire anyone else.”

You flush. That self centered egotistical……….

“Come to me.” The command is sudden and you’re almost angry at yourself for your body’s own instant compliance. You stand, almost too quickly. You’re dizzy. Or maybe it’s because you’re nervous.

You walk to him.

Every time it’s the same. Every single time. It’s like your body is programmed to ignite a fire deep down in your core every time you are close to his physical person. All retorts and quips are forgotten when you’re this close to him. All fear too. At least of anything or anyone else OTHER than him. It’s just you. And him. And that fire. At least to you.

You would’ve simply continued to stare at his feet. You’re just too nervous to look at him. But he’s having none of that. You feel his finger hook under your chin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes.

His face is expressionless again. His pupils leaping about, taking in every detail of your face. Piercing. But, then again, his gaze is always piercing. You’re held like this for some time. Long enough to where you begin to feel a little more calm.

“Are you afraid of me?” His question is curious.

You take a moment to think on it. Your eyes flutter to his lips. They’re smooth and unmarred by any expression or blemish.

“No. No I’m not.”

That familiar smirk. “That’s stupid. But not unreasonable. I have been giving you a lot of free reign, after all.”

“You really knew already?”

He scoffs. “Of course I knew. Probably before you yourself knew. Now…. Hold still.”

He releases your chin and you watch as he lowers himself before you. It’s a brand new feeling. Standing before him as he drops to one knee. His eyes haven’t left yours. And he’s every bit as intimidating, even at this angle.

“Remove your shirt.” His voice is now deadly calm.

You feel a clenching of fear. But you comply as you lift and shrug out of the garment, instantly regretting your tendency to not wear a bra when not at home.

His gaze drops to your belly, then. You watch as he raises his large hands to cup your baby bump. One on each side, his long fingers splayed nearly up to your ribcage. You steal a rare moment to appreciate how pretty the dark gem is, nestled between the crests atop his head.

You lose track of time for awhile. He’s just cupping your belly and staring at it intensely. Every so often he shifts his hands and presses and nudges your belly with his fingertips.

“144.”

His sudden speech startles you.

“O…. Okay?”

“It’s heart rate.” His voice is quiet. You feel butterflies twirling in your stomach as you realize what he’s doing.

“Can you tell….”

“Don’t be an imbecile. I’m perfect. Not psychic.” Still quiet.

You cant even begin to be mad. His face shifts upwards to return his gaze to yours.

“Are you well?” His face creases in confusion and you realize you have the biggest most idiotic smile on your face.

“I love you, Cell.”

“I know.” Back to that smirk. He stands again. “Now, is there any other form of comfort you require? Some other assurance that I’m not upset with you, perhaps? Other than my current exemplary behavior? My understanding is that human females require added emotional support due to hormonal changes at this time. Don’t get used to this.”

“Fuck me, maybe?”

His answering smile is a wicked one. “If you think this pathetic structure you call a home can withstand that…. Then I’m happy to oblige.”

[myimaginesandrp]

Kylo Ren x Reader

(NSFW)

Thanks for the requests :) This is written by me and full of mistakes. Please be kind, smut is not really my forté

Prompt 4:

Cleaning his battle wound

The echoes of your footsteps rang down the empty corridor as you made your way to your quarters. The crisp white lights of the day were now muted to grey tones for the evening. The hall was deserted on this part of the ship; no one would venture down this way after dark especially since no one wanted a run in with the commander. Having your quarters so close to his would have anyone thinking it was an honor, but to you it was the biggest burden to your job. Any mistake you made could cost you your life, it was a good thing most generals favored your skill set . Still, making your way down the long corridor always made you paranoid. It was as if there was always a shadow looming over you. Usually a few mechanics lingered thru the halls, picking up for the day, but today no one was around. In fact, half of the ship was in the med bay. Today had been brutal. An unexpected battle with the resistance fighters sent everyone into a frenzy. You would think that with all the protocols set in place, people wouldn’t panic and lose their minds. This time a prisoner got away and all of the superiors were giving everyone hell.  So after being yelled at by one of the generals for walking too slow, you were sent to assist the medics as punishment. Your feet were throbbing after running around tending to the troopers all day; it was time for a long bath. With a huff, you managed to drag yourself all the way to your door. You punched in your code waiting to slid inside as the door hissed open. They didn’t. After a few seconds you punched in your code again and waited. Nothing. With frustration growing inside you, you punched at the control panel until the doors finally flew open, ducking away from a few sparks that flew out of it. You had to get that stupid thing looked at again.

You stumbled your way straight to the resfreher and after a few minutes, emerged relaxed and ready for bed. You wrapped yourself in a towel and and looked around for your clothes. You’d left them sprawled out on the bed before you left this morning. You walked back into the living quarters confused. Why was it so dark in here? The air was filled with an eerie silence inside your quarters. You looked around as the refresher door shut behind you. Why weren’t the damn lights turning on? As you rounded the corner you froze in front of a mirror. There behind you was the silhouette of a man. Before you could turn around a hand gripped your shoulder. You wanted to pull away but you were frozen stiff. Yell, cry! Something! Yes words, use your words! A piercing scream escaped your lungs as your brain finally registered what was happening. Someone broke into your quarters. Was it the resistance prisoner?! In an instant the hand moved around to cover your mouth. Your hands flew to your face, trying to pull away from the intruder. It as useless, his arm was a wall of cement against you.

“Are you out of your mind?!” the figure spat trough gritted teeth. The lights flickered on and there in the mirror behind you was the commander himself. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, what was he doing in your quarters?! Your eyes flew around the huge room; it was so clean and adorned with strange objects and just off to the side was a huge viewport that took up the entirety of the wall. It was so beautiful and so not yours. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the surprise, or the sheer terror of what you’d just done, but when you looked back to see him everything went dark.

When you came to, you were sprawled across a couch. The towel still wrapped around your body. That was a dream right? A horrible, exhaustion driven dream you must’ve had. It had to have been, because there was no way you’d actually walked into the commanders personal quarters and used his refresher right in front of him. But it wasn’t, because there sitting at the foot of the couch was Kylo Ren himself , starring back at you with a scowl on his face.

“Commander I-“ you began.

“Save it” he said as he lifted a hand to stop you. “I thought you were competent enough to know where your own assigned quarters are. I will see that your general knows that is not the case” You took a deep sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t killed you.

“Not yet” he muttered at your thought. You winced as he stood up waiting for him to strike. “Leave” he ordered. You stood up quickly from your spot. You didn’t wanna press your luck. As you turned to leave you noticed he had a large tear running down his leg. It glowed red underneath the dark fabric.

“Commander you’re...”

“I am aware” he hissed back as he slumped back down into the couch.

“Sir” you gulped, unsure of where your sudden courage came from “that needs to be treated before-“ A sudden force pushed you against the wall nearly knocking the air from you. You stood up slowly facing him again.

“I believe I’ve given you orders” he said though griten teeth. “Are you incapable of doing that as well?”

“Sir please let me help” you begged. He stared at you for a long moment before giving you a nod. You sighed with relief and turned to grab supplies from the med bay but you were frozen in place.

“No, treat me here” he said and the invisible grip he had on you fell away.

“Sir I need to get supplies-“

“I have some here. If the supreme leader finds out I was off world there’s gonna be hell to pay.” You made you way over to him and crouched beside him. A puzzled look plastered to your face.

“Do you understand?” He wanted you to heal his wound with what? Your hands? There was no way he’d have the necessary tools for you to help him.

“Do you understand?” He repeated. His expression was grave. You didn’t understand, but if there was someone you didn’t wanna anger, it was the supreme leader. So you nodded your head and looked around for the supplies. He directed you until you had all you could manage in front of you. You examined his wound; It ran from his knee all the way up to his inner thigh. The gash wasn’t deep but it was definitely on the verge on getting infected.

“I have to remove the clothing” you said apprehensively.

“Then get to it” he ordered. You fixed your grip on your towel before nodding. With a trembling hand you cut away at the fabric careful to keep it away from the wound. It cling to his body, wet from the blood. After what seemed to be forever, you finally removed the last piece of clothing from him. You covered his privacy with a clean towel and got to work then, carefully cleaning his wound.

“This might sting” you warned as you poured a purple potion over him. His whole body stiffened underneath you, a quiet groan escaping him. You worked as quickly as you could, knowing he was in pain.

“You won’t feel anything after-“ you were cut short when his hand reached out and gripped your thigh. A wave of heat hit your face at his touch. He quickly removed it, sensing your discomfort.

“It’s not working” he yelled as pain pulsed through him. He cursed under this breath several times before settling on quiet moans.

“You need to relax, let the medication do it’s job” He glared at you before going back to his cursing. After a few minutes his whole body seemed to relax. You took the opportunity to begin patching him up. You worked your way up his leg, running out of bandages as you reached his inner thigh. Great. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? You sat back and thought about your options. Only one would work, but you dreaded the idea. His head wiped up to look at you as he heard your thought. Another wave of heat cursed through you once you met his gaze. He nodded and dropped his head back on the couch, numb from the medication. You slowly pulled his leg on its side and leaned your head down to press two clamps into place.

Now for the worst part. You thought.

You leaned in further and closed your eyes as your teeth curved around the clamps. Gently, you bit down into them until they clicked into place. As you moved up to work on the next one your lips accidentally brushed against his skin. The sudden touch made a gasp escape his lips. A sudden bulge began to rise underneath the towel. Your whole body tensed. His legs were now covered in goosebumps. Shit shit shit! A wicked though flashed through your mind. You realized he looked so hot, splayed in front of you, hard at your touch. His hand was on the back of your neck in a second. Without a thought, you leaned back down and pressed a kiss right next to his wound. You must’ve lost your damn mind. No way you’d just done that.

“Fuck” he hissed through his teeth. His cock was fully erect now. His hand pressed down on you, urging you on. You lifted the towel off him, and looked on as his member was freed. The sight made your insides itch. You lifted your hand and brushed your fingertips down his length as you trailed kisses down his thigh. His breaths grew labored, and his hand tangled in your hair. You lined your lips with his member blowing on it gently. He cursed under his breath, pulling at your hair. Your tongue brushed his tip before you took him in your mouth. Your hands traveled down his legs as you began thrusting your face against in a steady rhythm. His hips writhed underneath you as you bit down on his member. His cock throbbed inside your mouth as your tongue tasted him. You continued your work as his hands guided you in and out of him, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth. His chest was heaving as he came close. You looked up to see him as he came undone inside your mouth. His body went limp as you swallowed his cum. You pressed your lips to his cock one more time before you pulled away from him. Bet he was relaxed now. He laid there trying to catch his breath as you stood to pick up your supplies. After a few minutes he sat up and inspected his wound. The medicine had definitely taken effect.

“Not so incompetent after all” he muttered in approval. You nodded and finished your work. As you turned to leave your mind ran wild with a million filthy thoughts. You couldn’t wait to get to your quarters and quench your thirst.

“Y/N” he called out as you reached for the control panel. He motioned for you to approach him. You bit your lip and complied. This time, you couldn’t refuse your commanders orders. You walked back to him, his cock already hard for you again. You straddled him, careful to rest your weight away from his wound. His eyes were on fire as he reached to take your towel off. Your nipples hardened at his touch and a wicked smile spread across his face as he took you in. Your bare body was hot and ready for him to take you. His fingers dug onto your hips, pushing you closer.

“Stay” he ordered.

“Yes sir” you said before his lips came down on yours ready to devour you whole.

——

Thanks for reading! :) Requests are always open

[patientfocusly]

major canon divergences 

( i don’t expect anyone to read this because it’s a lot lmao. this is more so for me to have a reference because i forget things about my own muse / canon rip. if we’re rping together we’re probably also talking ooc so anything important from this post will be mentioned to you at some point. )

( please note that by canon, i’m referring to my general main verse which includes no interactions with other muses. each interaction with a muse is put into its own verse. new interactions can come into the main verse at any point of the timeline and then diverge from that point. )

does not marry curtis. they noticed each other because they worked closely as part of the atlas crew and maybe if the time and place were different there might’ve been a chance for them to get to know each other and form something but for shiro, there is a lot weighing on his mind that he needs to wade through

( a ) shiro has been thru Sum shit and he has an endless list of reasons to be sad but i just want to make it known that shiro’s no. 1 source of guilt and just general mind-anguish is the fact that he is living in a borrowed body, that he took from someone who had to die for him to live. 

( b ) at this stage he is also coming in touch with his feeling for keith which have been with him for a while, so even if he was aware of other potential interests . . . he’s not actually interested back.

adam is alive. he was critically injured in the first wave of attack by sendak and recovered enough only to provide ground support for the second wave. he remains an officer of the garrison and heads training and recruitment. he does not fly again. he’s happily married and reaches out to shiro. they’re amicable, but not close friends. maybe eventually they will be. ( this will obviously not be the case if i’m writing with an adam. )

allura is alive – i need to rewatch the end of season 8 to figure out how, but she’s alive.

after a year or so of captaining the atlas, the need for atlas to be an offensive military ship decreases and shiro consults sam and pidge for their thoughts on deweaponising his prosthesis. The new arm is still powered by allura’s crystal but looks more similar to the galra arm ( except it starts at the shoulder since his bicep??? disappeared magically ), but it’s coloured white and light grey, and the lit up areas are aqua ( same as the crystal. )

speaking of the crystal . . .  the original arm was designed to operate via a balmera crystal, because that’s what most of altean designs are based off of. however they didn’t have a crystal to use, and sam says the remaining energy required for the armto work would be drawn from shiro’s own electromagnetic field. he tries it for the first time and . . . his body rejects it, in what looks like an incredibly painful and potentially fatal way, if it hadn’t been for allura stepping in and replacing the original energy source for the arm with the crystal from her tiara. we don’t ever find out why shiro’s body rejected the first energy source but here are 2 theories:

( a ) shiro’s body is actually kuron’s body, a clone, manufactured by haggar, using ~space science~ and likely some form of quintessence. the electro magnetic field coming off of the clone’s body would vary to that of a human’s, which is what sam would’ve based his calculations on. balmera crystals have incredible properties that aren’t really explained in great detail but we know how powerful they can be, regardless of size. 

( b ) because it’s kuron’s body, maybe the connection to haggar didn’t completely shut off when keith cut off the arm. that flash that happens when the arm connects and shiro’s body starts rejecting it is very similar to the flash that happens when haggar starts controlling kuron earlier ( better explained in this headcanon piece. ) my only issue with this headcanon is that it implies haggar may still have some degree of control over shiro, and I just………….it’s been so overused, i just don’t want that for shiro anymore, so i’m most likely sticking to theory a !!!!!

still on the subject of the crystal, let’s talk about what shiro says after allura places the balmera crystal in his arm ; “i feel strange . . . i feel – great !” strange, as in he’s feeling something he’s never quite felt before. this is in contrast to what he feels when the first energy source is used in his arm ; “i feel . . . good,” but he sounds hesitant, like he doesn’t feel good at all, and obviously we see why moments afterwards. the great part is emphasised. he almost seems excited, like he really does feel great, and the scene cuts off with him trialling his arm by making a fist, and smiling. again, the properties of the crystals are pretty much undefined, but they are an immense source of power – what allura’s tiara contains is likely more than enough required to power shiro’s arm, and going back to how allura operated the castleship, and how shiro is able to operate the atlas, i’m loosely headcanoning that the crystal acts as a link between “captain” and “ship”, though obviously, allura herself channels quintessence and has so much more capabilities as a “captain.” 

what does the crystal providing an energy source for not only the new prosthesis, but also shiro’s body mean for shiro? an external boost of energy and human-compatible quintessence is probably the first dose of anything resembling treatment shiro has had since the kerberos mission. i don’t see the balmera crystal nor altean healing pods having the power to edit genes but as far as healing goes, it must have some effect in alleviating pain and / or fatigue for shiro to exclaim, “i feel great !”

( a ) sometimes it’s difficult to write in a universe set in the future because things of our current reality ( social injustices, shit politics, technological limitations etc. ) may not be a reality say 100 years in the future, and add space and alien technology to the mix and you’re sort of left with a lot of potential for creation and imagination and progression but also hindered by the reality of present day and representing present day. i wouldn’t want to “magic” away shiro’s disease or magically come up with a cure, but at the same time i don’t want to take away the possibility for him to be potentially cured ( which is what the “i feel great !” line hints towards ) just because of the limitations of today ???????? i’m just having an inner conflict over this - i will update what i decide when i decide !! 

major fanon divergences

does not qualify as space dad. it simultaneously infantilises the other paladins and takes away from their own journeys of being forced to grow up too quickly and take on the responsibility of fighting in a war, and puts undue stress on shiro who is only ~25 himself responsible for his team only in the role of their commanding officer at best

his prosthetic arm is not a sex toy, it’s a prosthesis ( refer to this post on arm related bed time activities )

shiro did not have a romantic connection with keith pre-kerberos. if anything the earliest signs of anything resembling a romantic connection would be late into season 2, but that is pending heavy plotting

shiro came from a happy family . . . he just lost almost all of it very early on. he grew up loved even though he learnt about loss too quickly ( please refer to this headcanon. )

shiro cannot sing lol . . . i dont know where this headcanon came from, but it’s sticking

i think it’s popular headcanon for shiro to have a little sister, or a big family; i wrote his backstory with his older sister before i came across this, so i’m sticking to my original headcanon because his bond with his sister is so strongly formed in my head  

shiro is not afraid of death . . . but he doesn’t want to die. i feel like his relationship with death needs its own post but the tl;dr version of it is that he had a timer put on his life when he was around 17 years old. life goes from seemingly endless to suddenly very very short ( not just in the sense that his lifespan is predicted to be shorter, but that his body will soon restrict him in movement and opportunity. ) and then kerberos happens, and the arena happens, and voltron and zarkon and he’s reminded that life is short regardless of whether they give you a timer at 17. any moment could be his last and shiro has had a long time to come to terms with this. it makes him incredibly grateful for the present, and of what he’s had in the past. it also is potentially why he prioritises a mission that will take him to see the stars, over a relationship with adam ten years down the track.

if anyone makes it this far . . . ur the real mvp, thank u for reading my brain ramblings <3

[darlinglissa]

no rest for the wicked

steph is just. so tired. and the batboys are so insufferable. just some shenanigans for 4,503 words.

summary: 

steph is a tired college student, just trying to make her way to her bachelor’s degree at least. doing this simultaneously with her nightly vigilantism is difficult and exhausting, but she makes it work dammit. she doesn’t even mind too much that her aforementioned nightly vigilantism comes with strange bat people that she isn’t fully convinced are people. but if one more tights-wearing, creepily-looming bat climbs through her window on her night off to actually complete an essay for once she’s going to make them write the six page essay for her, or so help her.

big big big thank you to @wisdom-walks-alone for being the best beta this girl could ask for!!!

read it on ao3!

Stephanie Brown is having what she likes to call a Shit Day. She’s just tired all around, and when it starts affecting her nightly hobby she starts to rethink her priorities for the first time in—she can’t remember when. Which then causes an existential crisis that she, at the ripe age of 21, should not be going through yet. Her crisis turns into an absolute nosedive of a tailspin when, of all the people in her life, Bruce “I’m Batman” Wayne notices that her help on the case is turning hindrance instead and tells her to take the next few nights off the case.

“It’ll still be there when you come back,” he says.

She may or may not stare at him for five minutes too long, and he may question his stance on asking her to work with them on the Falcone case of the week, but she goes home either way. Steph is not about to look this gift horse in the mouth, even if her entire view on life has shifted a solid eighty degrees to the right in less than two minutes. 

And boy, does she not regret her decision to go home. A full night’s sleep, an actual breakfast that isn’t from a drive-thru on her way to her eight am class that she’s always been perpetually late to, and she is on time to her class for the first time. In all honesty, Steph is living her best life in the first two hours of her day.

And it didn’t stop there: she’s on time to all three classes she has, she’s actually awake for the classes, and her notes are helpful instead of hopeless scribbles of random key words and names of people. She’s feeling like the student she always knew she could be, but was always too tired to be. 

When she gets home after her last class, she takes her time to shower and put on her comfiest pajamas, and make a dinner that isn’t frozen solid. The dinner is on the table, her books are opened and scattered around her, and Steph is feeling that ripe sense of productivity that has eluded her since she started offering the bats her help. With no risk of interruption—surely Bruce knew what a night off was when he offered her to take some—she eats lazily while working on some chemistry problems. 

She abandons the chemistry homework when she’s finished eating, and cleans her plate instead of throwing it in the dishwasher without a care. This productivity shtick ain’t so bad, it at least keeps her apartment cleaner—not clean, but cleaner.

Her planner is propped up against her bag, the day’s assignments actually written down neatly instead of rushed abbreviations that take an hour to decipher, and she gives it a look-over. Steph realizes that with this new downtime she’s been given she can actually get a head start on an essay due in a few days. “Head start” is used loosely, but starting it two days in advance is a new experience for her. She usually rushes the day of due to late nights on the streets and hopes it doesn’t actually look like it was rushed.

Blanket on, pillows fluffed behind her, and laptop fully charged, Steph settles into her couch to start this thematic essay that’s been gnawing at her mind since it was assigned. The introductory paragraph is slow to set up, but she can feel her brain gaining momentum as she puzzles out her argument. Her brow is furrowed and her fingers are flying across the keyboard, with the backspace having the most hits. She’s getting there, she is, her thesis is coming together so nicely and her ideas are flowing freely, she hasn’t felt adrenaline from something other than freefalls in...months? Years? Her fingers stutter and she rereads her thesis. This is such bull—

A knock on her window almost has her sprawled on the floor, and her hands catch her laptop at the last possible second. Her head snaps over to the window and there, in all his black and blue spandexed glory, was Dick Grayson, in his stupid skintight spandex suit and his stupid sheepish but pained grin, bleeding on her fire escape. Which she just cleaned her own blood off of. 

Irritated didn’t cover the slight boiling she could feel in her veins. She gives one last look at her document as she places her laptop on the coffee table, and another knock resounds through her living room.

“Okay! Okay. You win this round, Night-dork.” Steph goes over to her window and opens the hatch, letting the first Boy Wonder climb—more like fall—into her apartment. Her eyes follow his form as he all but crawls to her kitchen’s island, his domino being tossed onto the counter carelessly. She follows slowly, trying not to hate the man before he’s done anything other than exist, and maybe breathe, in her apartment. “Thanks for not bleeding on my carpet, too.”

Dick glances up at her before going back to his search for her first aid kit. “My pleasure, courtesy is my middle name.” His voice is strained, but his demeanor is purposely relaxed.

“Your middle name is John.” She watches him struggle, eyes darting from him at the cabinet above her fridge, where he’s reaching up even though it’s obviously hurting him, to the drawer beside her sink where her first aid kit is tucked away.

“It’s close enough,” he says with a tight shrug. He continues to search through her baking sheets and cooling racks.

Realizing he won’t be leaving that cabinet for a while, Steph sighs and pushes his body to the right drawer. He turns that sheepish-but-pained grin at her again, and she just pushes it away from her with a groan. Dick takes a heavy seat on one of her island’s stools, opening the kit with his non-bloody hand.

“It’s my day off. Do you know what that is?” she asks him, eyeing the needle and thread in his hands with mild interest as he misses the needle’s eye twice before taking it and threading it herself. Exasperation bubbles to the surface, and after Dick starts stitching his side she shuffles away to the couch. That grin seems permanently fixed on his face whenever she looks at him, so she stops looking at him and busies herself with folding the blanket that fell to the floor with her. “It’s this really cool thing where I stay home and not do what I would normally do. Like deal with your blood in my apartment.”

For a brief moment only Steph’s defeated sigh and Dick’s pained breaths are all that can be heard, and then Dick breaks it between stitches. “Yeah, sorry about this.” That grin is facing her and she looks at the blanket like it has a map that will lead her out of this conversation. Hell, out of this entire interaction. “You were the closest safe house, and I had a bit of a...situation.” He gestures to his side meaningfully with his head, as if Steph has no idea what situation he could possibly be referring to. “Hey, can you hand me the scissors?”

Dropping the blanket on the couch, Steph grabs the scissors from the other side of the island and hands them to him. He thanks her softly in that Earnest and Sincere Dick Grayson way, which makes it increasingly hard to be irritated with him, which in itself is irritating. He cuts the thread and ties it off a little sloppily, but effectively. 

“There, all done and no one’s dead.” Dick stands up, grunting only slightly as he does so, and sets everything back in the first aid kit. 

Steph notices that he puts it all in more neatly than it had been to begin with—she’s always in a hurry to get it back in the drawer and get to bed, don’t judge—and begrudgingly takes it when he hands it to her gently. She can feel Dick’s eyes on her as she puts it in its drawer, then she turns to face him, leaning against the drawer as it shuts. “Okay, you’re no longer in danger of dying, and I have an essay to write, so shoo.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. 

Her weight is fully being supported by her counter and Dick is looking at her with his kicked puppy eyes that make her give in sooner than she would like to admit. Steph slumps down a little more, legs stretched out in front of her and feet flat against the floor. She meets his gaze head on, feeling all the productivity and triumph from the day drain out of her so fast she’s a little dizzy. “What.”

His pout deepens, and she can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I feel bad, Steph.” Dick leans into the stool’s back and flattens his hands on the island’s counter. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

And there’s the Dick Grayson Guilt Trip. 

Steph’s eyes trail over to her laptop one last time, the screen gone black from inactivity. She huffs a laugh, because this is her life, and it actually feels more real with a newly-stitched up dude in her kitchen than writing an essay early. For the second time in less than two days she finds herself having a mini crisis, but Dick’s puppy dog eyes snap her back. Steph rolls her eyes, dragging herself to her fridge. “You’re not intruding, Dick.” 

Dick’s grin goes from sheepish to genuine with a touch of triumph, and he leans his body forward against the counter. “Great! So how does a nice midnight snack sound?”

She looks away from the orange juice she’s pulling off the shelf to stare at Dick in distrust. “You aren’t going near my stove, Grayson. I don’t need a small fire to deal with on top of my bloody fire escape.” A glass is taken from the shelf beside the fridge, and as she pours the juice into it she lets herself grin at Dick’s spluttering. 

“I wouldn’t burn your kitchen down this time! I’ve gotten better,” he promises, pointing a red stained finger in her direction. Steph continues to stare at him with that deadpan expression she practiced from Alfred, though she knows hers isn’t half as successful as the stern butler’s. “I’ve been practicing!”

“Well, you can practice somewhere that isn’t my kitchen. I’ll make us pancakes if you stop looking at me like I took Jason’s gun to your favorite suit,” she says, bringing her glass to her lips. 

Dick nods, pointedly looking away from her and over at the laptop on the coffee table, and wisely stays silent for the moment.

Steph whips the batter up as quickly as she can, flour settling on her shirt and the counter despite her careful measuring and whisking. The stack of pancakes towers on her chipped plate, and when the batter runs out she splits them between the two of them. 

They eat in relative silence, until Steph breaks it when she finishes eating, feeling exhaustion seep into her bones. She eyes the clock on her microwave, the green numbers flashing 12:45; her 9:30 class crosses her mind like a neon sign saying go to bed, dumbass. Tense hands rub at her eyes before she pushes her chair back.

 “This has been a lovely, if not bloody, visit,” she says, picking up her plate and stealing Dick’s even though he still had a couple bites left.

“Hey!”

She ignores this maturely, cleaning the plates and feeling satisfaction in her petty revenge. “But it’s getting late and I’m tired. You know the exit.”

Without waiting to make sure he actually leaves, Steph drags herself to her bedroom and kicks the door shut with her foot. In the next moment she’s face down on her bed and passes out when her head hits the duvet.

Surely tomorrow will be better is the last thought that dashes through her sleep-muddled mind.

---

Tomorrow isn’t better. She sleeps through her alarm, and misses her first class. She curses Dick’s name her whole drive to campus while she chugs coffee. She doesn’t even like coffee.

The one class she’s able to make it to sucks the joy of life out of her, and when she tries to heat up the leftovers she brought with her for lunch the microwave went up in flames.

(Yeah, Bruce will be the one getting that bill.)

Steph trudges into her apartment and just as she closes the door she realizes that she still has that essay, and she really doesn’t want to have to do it all on the last day possible. She doesn’t even have a complete introduction paragraph.

So she makes a nice batch of waffles to help lick her wounds, and when she’s full and feeling slightly better she sets forth to spite-finish her essay.

Her essay is actually coming along, one body paragraph finished and her argument set in stone, and she’s feeling that satisfaction building in her gut. A smile is tugging at her lips, and the idea of finishing it early is seeming more plausible. 

But then her window is being slammed open and a small body is shoved through.

Stephanie most definitely does not scream, and she will forever deny it.

Timothy “Pain in Steph’s Ass” Drake climbs in after Damian—who’s becoming increasingly feral by the second—and the laptop is abandoned once again. Unlike last night, Steph has no hopes of getting back to the document and has resigned herself to her fate of finishing it all tomorrow.

Steph eyes the feral child practically vibrating with rage, then looks over at Tim, who appears to be as calm as can be when paired with a murderous child. After shutting the window behind him, Tim gives a little wave, pulling his domino off with the motion. “Hey, honey, I’m home?”

All that satisfaction left her in droves, and she stalks over to her laptop and shuts it with a snap. 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Tim flinch just barely, and a smidge of satisfaction returns, but it’s quickly taken away when she notices Damian’s glare has settled on her. The sigh that leaves her body is heavy and tired, but she pushes forward and leans against the back of her couch to stare them down nonetheless.

“Tim, babe, what the hell do you want on my night off?” Steph crosses her arms over her chest, resting her chin in one of her palms. She glances over at Damian again but looks away from his piercing green eyes that promise pain. “And why does the bat-brat look ready to put me in a real grave?”

Tim turns to Damian with a grimace, and tries to start explaining, “You’re the only one technically available tonight, so—”

Damian cuts him off sharply. “So you need to help us with this lead so we can leave and attend more pressing matters. After all, crime doesn’t take nights off.”

Tim hides his face in his hands, muffling a groan. “I told you to let me do the talking.”

The smaller boy turns on his heel, his cape fluttering behind him, making him look just like Batman after a scolding for a night gone worse than it should have. “I agreed to nothing of the sort, Drake.” He walks like he’s commanding the room, rummaging through Steph’s fridge as if he has the right. Like he’s Bruce Wayne and could buy her out of house and home. 

(Well, he actually could, in all likelihood.)

Steph doesn’t like the comparison her mind is making, so she interrupts before it can go any further. “I don’t care who does the talking, just give me the info so you can leave faster.”

Tim’s hands run down his face and he looks at Steph pleadingly. “I know it’s your night off, but no one else would answer their comms and we really need an extra pair of eyes on this case. We’re driving ourselves crazy looking at the same clues over and over.”

Steph sighs, and takes in the bags under Tim’s eyes and Damian’s tensed shoulders. She lets out a groan, leaning against the couch back even heavier and getting a sense of deja vu with this feeling of defeat. “Okay.”

Damian scoffs from his place at her fridge before he moves on to browsing through her cabinets. “Of course you will, it’s your duty.”

Tim interrupts before Steph can retaliate with her, arguably, witty and biting remark. “Great, thank you, I love you, please look at the file.”

She begrudgingly takes the folder from her boyfriend’s hand, moving to plop on the couch. Papers are strewn about within seconds, and as Steph scans the information her mind is happy to have something more familiar to focus on. 

It’s quiet aside from pages shuffling and Damian finally finding suitable tea bags, filling her kettle with water. Tim settles down next to her, relaxing for what must be the first time tonight.

“Got stuck with Bruce Jr.? What’d you do to get that sentence?” she asks, eyes not leaving the pages.

Tim scoots in closer. “I was the only one who didn’t have an excuse not to work with him.”

Steph’s pen circles and connects a few sentences, and she hands the paper to Tim. She moves on to the next paper, scanning for pertinent facts, adding more circles and lines. “Dick wouldn’t take him tonight?”

He looks over her shoulder, taking papers as she passes them off and connects the dots she’s connecting. “He’s on medical leave. Stab wound, I think?”

Her pen stops mid-circle before she forces herself to finish the marking. “Yeah, that was a thing.”

“‘That was a thing’?” Tim asks as he leans back, staring at Steph in mild confusion. 

“Yeah, he used my needle and thread last night. Didn’t think it would actually be an issue for him,” she says as calmly as she can, very aware of the unhappy child pouring boiling water a few feet behind them. 

Sensing her forced nonchalance—and glancing back at Damian before looking back at her—he drops it. 

“It’s the bodyguard, he’s the link,” she declares, pushing the papers into the folder and the folder into Tim’s lap. “Good luck, he’s built like a linebacker.”

Damian sniffs derisively, sipping his tea like the snooty brat he was raised to be. “If I had had another half hour—”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” Tim says loudly, giving Damian a look. Damian just huffs and turns back to his tea. Tim gives Steph a kiss on her cheek before standing and putting his domino back on. “Damian, we should get going so we can get some intel before we have to head home.”

Steph jumps up and slides the window open, happy to let the two walking headaches exit her premises. “Yep, you should get going, little demon.”

Damian sneers at her, but finishes his tea and puts his mug in the sink. “Thank you for your hospitality, brat-girl.” He walks past her to the window ledge, sliding out to the fire escape. “The state of your fire escape is appalling.”

“Yeah, whatever bat-brat, go annoy that bodyguard for a while,” she replies, giving him a slight push as she walks by to go put his mug in the dishwasher and avoiding the right hook thrown back at her. She passes Tim and gives him a quick kiss while pointedly ignoring Damian’s age-appropriate hiss of disgust. 

“See you Friday?” Tim asks before he follows Damian out the window.

Steph looks back from the sink, and smiles. “Yep, as always.”

Tim disappears from her fire escape and Steph’s shoulders fall slightly. After the dishwasher is turned on because she’s a responsible adult and chores are her bitch, she falls into bed.

Tomorrow, she thinks, is another day, huh?

---

Steph wakes up to sunlight filtering through her curtains and 11:14 on her alarm clock. The light bugs her into getting up, but she feels rested enough as she stretches her joints. She takes a hot shower, and gets into comfy sweats and a sweater.

Thursdays will be her favorite day for the next two months. No classes make for a relaxed and mostly productive day, if not wonderful for her sanity.

So she takes her time making a nice breakfast of eggs and toast, and after unloading the dishwasher and putting her breakfast dishes into it, she’s feeling happy and productive. Her laptop is open and ready, and she settles in for the long haul to finish this goddamn essay.

She’s working at a steady pace, getting into the zone of writing about themes and connecting ideas and only semi-hating it. The time passes quickly, and she’s halfway to her six page minimum and mentally screaming because she’s gotten this far, she can finish it on time for the first time in years.

It’s when she’s just reached the middle of her fourth page that her window is smashed to pieces, glass littering her floor.

Steph is ready to cry.

But she’s been taught—well, she inferred from a few grunts—to use emotion as a driving force and grabs her slugger from under the couch and swings it at the figure, who is distracted by trying to avoid the shards of glass underfoot. Through his lapse of attention, he doesn’t dodge fast enough.

Jason now has a bruise blooming on his right shoulder blade, his face contorted in pain before twisting into a scowl aimed at Steph. Normally, it would have been effective, and it would have been if Steph wasn’t so angry and stressed. She drops her bat, and it rolls under her coffee table.

“It’s the middle of the fucking day, why the everloving fuck are you running around in your furry suit, you jackass?”

Jason’s scowl deepens, offense written over every inch of his face. He brushes glass off his shoulders, letting the pieces clatter against their kin on the floor. “I am not like the bat-freaks, Brown. I was trying to go undercover in a drug gang’s meeting, but I was found out. I lost them a few blocks back, so I had to move to a safe location before they caught my trail again. I caught sight of one of the guys just as I was climbing up so I was a bit rushed. You were closest, don’t be thinkin’ anything of it, you wouldn’t be my first choice if I had a choice.”

“Oh boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, Todd.” She stalks over to the closet in the hall, and when she’s back in front of him she hands him the broom and dustpan.

He takes it and just stares at it for a second before looking back up at her with an eyebrow raised. “You’re kidding me.”

Steph shakes her head. “Nope.”

Jason heaves a sigh, but starts sweeping the glass into a pile. As he cleans his mess, Steph looks over at the microwave clock. 4:06. She curses under her breath, rubbing her eyes for a moment to relieve the headache coming on.

“Did I interrupt something?”

She lowers her hands, crossing her arms, to see Jason looking up at her questioningly. She shrugs with one shoulder, glancing at her laptop. “Only an essay that the universe doesn’t want me to finish on time. No biggie.”

Jason hums lightly with a nod, brushing the glass into the dustpan, but doesn’t say anything more. An idea sparks in Steph’s muddled brain, and she eyes Jason’s hunched form with more interest.

“Hey, Jay, you like literature, right?” A content smile plays on Steph’s lips.

Jason glanced up, but stopped his motion as soon as he caught sight of the cat who ate the canary. “I...dabble.” He hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to finish his thought, but he does anyway. “Why?”

“Well, you see, my dear Jaybird—”

“—Don’t call me that—”

“—this essay is on Persuasion, which I didn’t actually read? Anyway—”

“—didn’t actually read, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

“—I’m writing about the theme of appearances, and my argument is actually kinda strong?”

Jason throws the glass into the trash can, then moves to sit on the couch and grabs her laptop. “All right. Open the doc.”

Steph grins, taking the laptop and doing as he asked. It worked. It was the longest of shots and it fucking worked. He reads what she has and gives honest—and really harsh?—critiques, picking her essay apart.

“Then fix it!” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. She can only take so much criticism before it gets on her nerves. “How do I structure it, oh, master writer? If my quotes are so stupid, what quotes would be better?”

Off the top of his head, Jason lists three quotes. And she has to admit it: they fit her argument perfectly. She grumbles as she flips through the book to find the quotes.

As he rambles on about the theme and effective arguments, Steph absentmindedly reflects that this would have been a great punishment if he didn’t look like he was enjoying it so damn much. In fact, it makes her connect school to Jason, and how he was a really good student from what Alfred says.

His borderline monologue is cut off as Steph sits up and looks at him curiously. Jason realizes that she hasn’t been listening and gives her an unamused look. “Really?”

She ignores him. “Why didn’t you go on to college?”

Taken aback by the random question, Jason looks more like a deer in headlights than the terrorizer of Gotham’s crime syndicate. “Uh, because I’m legally dead?”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Please, your dad’s the wealthiest guy in Gotham, he can pull some strings in the right places.” She stops at the angry fire building in his eyes at the mention of Bruce and backtracks like the expert she is. “Or you could literally make a fake identity? You’re a crime lord, you aren’t above fake identities, are you?”

Jason looks lost in thought for a moment, before seamlessly returning to his essay argument-turned-rant as if he hadn’t even stopped. Steph notes the sore subject and actually pays attention this time around, fixing the essay with his help.

---

For the first time in weeks, Steph barges through Jason’s window with a crazed grin on her face.

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jason asks from his stove, water boiling beside him.

She doesn’t reply, just walks over to him with a bounce in her step, shoving a stack of papers in his face. The red A is clear as day, and Jason will forever deny the proud grin and high five that overtakes him in that moment.

[bladekindeyewear]

Bloggin’ bout HS^2′s second upd8 continued.  > (==>)

And it had felt so real, almost like he could have reached out and touched him--

--Yeah, the next page is gonna be BGDirk just standing there like I saw before I read the update, right?

> (==>)

> (==>)

Two pages. Close enough.

> (==>)

Hah!  Get fucked, Dirk.  (Even if you’re supposedly one of the better Dirks.)

> (==>)

Yep, all see-thru and everything.

DIRK: You passed out in a puddle of your own drool. And what the fuck is that on your face? JAKE: My face? What do you mean on my face? DIRK: The moustache, Jake. Who’s idea was that. JAKE: Oh! You dont like it? DIRK: I didn’t say that.

Oh come the fuck on.  He looks good in a mustache, Jane-influence or no Jane-influence.

DIRK: We’ve had this conversation before, dingus. I’m you. And I’m me. But I only exist because of your powers. The fact that I’m manifesting here, in the new universe, outside of a dream, is evidence in itself for just how absolutely boned you are.

Now what exactly do you mean by that last part?  How is this a sign of trouble?

--Is it because this Dirk thinks he’s needed?  And therefore shit will be going down?

DIRK: You’ve been a useless sack of shit for two decades. I’m here to kick your ass back into active duty.

...Hm.

I mean, Jake MIGHT be able to help stop this stupid goddamn war, but this IS Dirk trying to help him, so...

JAKE: And what side am i supposed to be fighting on? for jane or against her? DIRK: Against her. Obviously. What the fuck, dude.

Pffff.

JAKE: But you were the one who wanted her to run in the first place! You wrote her bloody speeches! DIRK: Yeah, I did. And every single one of them kicked ass. I wanted Jane to be the democratically elected president. Not a cake-slinging Jeff Bezos with a great rack.

Pfff.  I mean, you didn’t do a great job the first way, either.  It’s heavily implied things in Canon-land were about to go to shit too.

Not as FAR to shit, nor as quickly, but still to shit.  So, really, how DIFFERENT is this from the way you wanted it done, Dirk?  How can you claim this isn’t half YOUR fuck-up too?

DIRK: Don’t worry about it. The point is, you have a chance to make a difference. You’re in the perfect position to infiltrate her operation.

Oh hell no.  Don’t send him back in THERE you utter horse’s ass!  How could THAT be good for his mental health!? What the fuck about Tavros?!?

DIRK: That’s horseshit and we both know it. Jane would take you back in a second. She loves you.

I think Jane’s definition of “taking him back” would be a bit broader than his body or soul could fucking afford.

> (==>)

Eugh.  You really liked the Condesce’s way of doing things right down to her style, huh?  To think you used to love the spoon.  Is that a fucking spork?  Is that zilly Battlespork your go-to weapon now?

Also, it took me a moment to realize those green and orange silhouettes were Jake and BGDirk.  I was a little like “how did Rose get here?!?”.

> (==>)

Have I mentioned how good all this art is?  So much attention being paid to the use of color, to making everything look so soft and streamlined?

Looks like she’s going in for at LEAST a hug.  And the art style might be mercifully light on showing us indulgent details of just how asset-laden Jane is supposed to be.  Shots of Jake’s manly bod aside, something in me doesn’t like the traditionally-sexualized stuff pushed like that in a canon that’s been light on it for so long...

> (==>)

Oh, that... THAT looks fake.  Or like, she’s about to turn around and happily wail on his ass or something.

JANE: Boo hoo hoo! Oh, Jake! Something awful has happened! JAKE: It--it has? You mean more awful than usual? JANE: The opposition has taken Tavros, Jake. They’ve finally shown their true colors. I knew it was only a matter of time before they attacked our family directly!

.....Ah.  Well, that explains it.  She’d never cry like that about HIM returning AFTER STEPPING OUT ON HER.

It’s then that Jake realizes that Jane isn’t mad because she’d never realized he was gone.

Poor pages, huh?  All their most dramatic gestures always undercut.

...It seems like we might see Candy kind of resolved in less of a fucked-up worldstate after all, at this rate?

She seems to have forgotten that she’d been cross with him the last time they met, because now that Gamzee is gone, there’s no one left to talk to.

It’s true. Gamzee’s absence always improves things.

> (==>)

All of it is made worse by the occasional wry glint in her eye, or moment of self-deprecation in the slant of her mouth. It reminds him of the Jane he used to know. Or the Jane he thought he used to know.

Ambition is a hell of a thing.  Seems like she’s drunk of it almost as deeply as Prince Dirk.  I’d imagine this could be a pretty consistent thing with really active Life players when they get actual power, huh?  The way it just gathers to Life players in all its forms -- power over others, status, wealth -- it’s easy to start to leverage it in ways that constitute abuse of power over others from a Riddle perspective.

At first Dirk stands at Jake’s elbow, a one-ghost support staff, before he appears to lose interest in Jane’s rant and wanders off across the office, reading the spines of books and spending way too long staring at a startlingly phallic piece of installation art,

--PLEASE let us see it.

, the provenance of which Jake doesn’t know, but could hazard a guess it wore a codpiece.

Nope, never mind. Interest lost.

> (==>)

Then he settles on Jane’s desk, propping his ghost butt there and sort of just...well. Here’s a picture of what he does.

Um.

Where is this going?

> (==>)

Oh, so the BEST option, then.  :D

Okay. That’s a bit of an exaggeration.

Boooooo.

> (==>)

--Alright, forgiven.

he’s thoroughly exhausted from attempting to pay attention to his supervillain wife while trying not to look at the crotch of a ghost man from his brain.

...Okay, hold up.  BGDirk, are you trying to steer him into doing this for self-indulgent, non-comedic purposes? Or is this a bit of Prince Dirk in there?  (I mean... I can’t definitively say Jake wouldn’t have wanted this.)

And I’m still wondering how all of this is going to be relevant.  IF it’s going to be relevant.  Despite promises to the contrary that are seemingly being ignored.

> (==>)

DIRK: All according to keikaku.

Fuck you.

JAKE: i really didnt think id fall off the wagon so quickly. I dont think being here is good for my emotions to be honest. DIRK: Yeah, probably not. But that’s okay. They don’t matter. JAKE: Oh.

Yeah, Dirk, you suck at this more than you know.  This ain’t going to go as well as you “hope” I don’t think.

DIRK: Don’t know anything about stiff lips, dude. But that’s not what I mean. It’s not because you’re a man. You’re a god. JAKE: Oh right. That. DIRK: The world comes first, even at the expense of all your relationships and personal happiness. That’s what being a hero means. JAKE: I guess...i never really thought about it like that.

You’re also not guaranteed to be fucking right, you know.

There are definitely dichotomies where what was best for the world wasn’t best for the person, so far, and vice versa in Homestuck.  But Dirk’s taking his anime-flavored principles as gospel as usual, and ignoring, oh I dunno, the impact of the heart in all of this.  Some people, ESPECIALLY JAKE and other Pages so far, CAN’T operate at their best until they’re at least reasonably healthy and sure of themselves, and investments to that effect are essential to letting them slowly realize their full potential.  Brain Ghost Dirk is likely making the same goddamn mistake he made with his overbearing Dirkbot back on Jake’s island.

> (==>)

DIRK: Think what you want about Jane, but at least she realizes that none of you can ever be normal, and she never bothered to try. Can it really be a god-complex if you’re actually a god? DIRK: People like us don’t get happy endings.

...Yup.  This is the fucked-over part of Dirk’s worldview coming in full play, here.  And he believes in it so strongly that he couldn’t even fucking leave NON-CANON alone anymore.  Fuck.

JAKE: Thats bleak dirk i dont think i could possibly believe that!

Mmmhmm.

DIRK: Yeah. That’s probably more a Dirk thought than a Jake one. I told you, it’s hard to tell sometimes. JAKE: Is...is that really how dirk felt the whole gosh darned time?

Mmmhmm.

> (==>)

Last page of the upd8.  Well... all I can say is, it’s a good thing he’s a fucking ghost here.  And half Jake, at that.  At least that can limit the damage.  Hopefully giving Jake just enough of a kick in the doing-something direction without being so overbearing that he makes things worse, making for a balance of...

...Wait.

Wait, is that why we’re here?

Maybe that finally makes some sense of all this.  Of this cut, of this small violation of that last sentence in Meat, of--  ah, yeah, I might be on to something here!  Only maybe, but still--!

We’re quite possibly bearing witness to a realm of influence where, through measures outside of his control, Dirk has a balanced impact.  Where this same ideology of his, tempered by Jake’s hopeful mindset and Dirk’s inability to take direct action, might just manage to make things better and actually make everyone happier by the end, while solving Earth C’s fucked-up Candyland state at the same time.  It’s possibly to show the readers (through the lens of a Hope player specializing in positive possibility) that Dirk, had he been restrained, COULD have had a positive impact, even at the same time that we’re shown Prince Dirk at his soul’s most overblown and heinous.

And, if we want to be optimistic..... perhaps this’ll show Dirk, too?

Canon and Non-Canon may not “meet” again.  But that doesn’t stop Dirk, via this fragment of his multiverse-spanning soul, from seeing Non-Canon.  From seeing how well things COULD have worked out, had he held back.  And if we keep cutting like this -- back and forth between the “real” story and these events in Candyverse -- perhaps the moment at which Brain Ghost Dirk realizes what he’s accomplished, realizes how much better things are because he could hold back, will coincide at the end with Prince Dirk finally, belatedly, realizing just how fucked his plan was, and understanding at the very, very end why he has to fucking die?

THAT would be interesting.

I guess we’ll see?  Talk to y’all next upd8.

[rhimorechill]

1-30 can i just have your opinion on all of them please

KDHSKHFKFB whoever u are anon ur actually my only follower ever

1. are you of the “tom nook is a crook” or “tom nook is an honest businessman” opinion ?

HES AN HONEST BUSINESSMAN !!! ur loans have NO interest and he was handing out 100k interest/month for a good while there !!!!! the only reason it dropped to 10k is b/c i accidentally made a mil while tryna get dreamies ok. the whole "nook inc owns the entire island" thing is KINDA WEIRD but like ! i mean. its still a pretty sweet deal

2. do you play as yourself or a made up character ?

i play as me !! and then everyone tells me my character is cute which ROCKS

3. where is your house located ?

well CURRENTLY. its just at the center of the island. but once i get terraforming (which will be as soon as i get lolly, mitzi, and purrl) it will be on its own little island in the middle of the island

4. who were your first villagers ?

hamlet and renee ! and bea and agent s and broccolo. oh and quillson. theyre all gone now but i moved bea into a friends island so i can visit her later !!

5. preferable method of earning bells ?

turnip runs babey !!! srsly i will pay like 500k tips and make a million in PROFIT (per run !!) its fucking awesome. i never use turnip exchange tho that shit website always stops telling me where i am in the queue

6. what villager personalities do you typically get along best with ?

i love all of them. so much. normal and lazy villagers might take the cake, but ankha was on my island for 2 days and nearly stole my heart, so snooty villagers r up there too. smug villagers ? like i mostly have experience w raymond b/c i fucking HATED quillson and keaton n ed i barely paid attention to (ed gets points tho. he shares my bday) but that goddamn nerd has a war with slugs. we love to see it. peppy villagers rock (i have THREE on my island rn... but ugh i gotta kick out merry sometime..... i love her but i just !! have too many). i CANNOT hate jock villagers those guys just wanna work out !!! and talk abt working out !!!! theyve done nothing wrong in their whole lives. uchi villagers are great too and cranky villagers r trying their best !!! every villager is good is what im saying. even quillson (i guess)

7. who is your current best friend in the game ?

MGHGSHGD felicity or raymond !!! they send me mail all the time and also i really like raymond. b/c hes such a fucking NERD of an accountant. and felicity was the first of my dreamies to move in so im 💚 when it comes to her...... SOMEDAY. lolly will also be my bff. lolly come home

8. is there a villager you want to get rid of ?

MERRY WHITNEY VELMA. PLEASE GO AWAY. U R ALL SWEETIES BUT NONE OF U MADE THE CUT. ONLY ONE OF U IS EVEN A CAT. (if you want whitney or velma pls dm me !!! someone asked for merry already but id love for them to be on islands where ppl love em)

9. do you hoard a lot of items ?

YES. i did a purge the other day and laid a fuckton of items out to give away. it did not fit and i had to shove some on the cliffs. i still have a big pile waiting to be taken. meanwhile my storage gets new items added

10. take medicine or save & restart ?

medicine is for chumps.

11. where is your favorite spot in your village ?

HMMMM i rlly like my entrance !!!! its rlly neat and has green AND pink mums + trees..... and fencing and a path. IDK i worked hard on it and think it turned out rlly well !!!! other than that maybe my shopping area ? i dont have terraforming yet so theres a lot i Havent Gotten To wrt my island (like my cliffs are almost entirely undeveloped b/c i havent placed any inclines. so theres no pathing)

12. what achievement do you want to hit the most ? (ex: golden equipment, all fish / bugs, etc)

its not REALLY an achievement but i want all my dreamies real bad. after that i want a 5 star island !! i would like a lily of the valley. or 20.

13. do you know any secret tips ?

HMMM i dont think so ?? i dont really know any secrets. ive been trying out campsite cycling and it has Not been going well tho. if u need tips on tting to move villagers out or smthn i can help w that !! this is such a vague q that im like DO i know smthn ??? that is a secret ?????? i also vaguely know abt *m**b* sp**f*ng but im not allowed to do that soooo. thats a pipe dream. fun fact: its not a secret but gardening is SO fucking complicated theres genetics n shit. its wild. thank god someone straight up gave me blue roses so i dont have to go thru that shit. also do not tt backwards when dealing with turnips. not even 30 mins to save ur 600+ prices frm closing time. They Will Change

14. who are your dreamies ?

THESE CATS (i know major shocker from tumblr user pumakittycat. app is acnh life)

15. favorite furniture item ?

HMMMM THIS IS A TOUGH ONE. maybe mum cushions ? those r cute as fuck. i love every flower item, honestly, frm garden wagons to flower stands to pansy tables to hycanith lamps to. idk the bonsai shelf ? i have one of those. i also love my sea globe. its great. WAIT DO RUGS AND WALLS/FLOORS COUNT THERES NO QUESTIONS ABT THOSE i love so many FUCKING items. also autumn woods wall, if ur out there,

16. favorite clothing item / outfit ?

my green clover dress !!!! its the best thing EVER. my full outfit also consists of a silver tiara, a cherry blossom pouchette, white fishnets, and green rubbertoed sneakers. and, ofc, clover facepaint. ALSO FOR CONTEXT. my island is named clover bay thats why im like Clover Time. Theyre Important To The Aesthetic. im also an aro bitch who loves overall dresses. b/c they slap

17. favorite museum room ?

I LOVE THE LITTLE BUTTERFLY ROOM do not even TALK to me unless ur the butterfly room in the museum THERES SO MANY AT ALL TIMES ITS SO NICE

18. cedar, fruit, or palm tree ?

FRUIT. i literally chopped down every single hardwood tree on my island and replaced them w orange trees

19. favorite fruit ?

.......Oranges

20. favorite fish ?

HM. bitterling has a special place in my heart for being my Only fish model. whale sharks also rock tho. and thats only of the ones ive caught !!! i also love frogs, turtles, and obligatorily catfish. oh and seahorses and bettas

21. favorite bug ?

HM. ladybugs maybe. and both birdwings ! maybe also emperors butterflies. possibly others as well

22. favorite flower breed ?

MUMS !!!!!

23. favorite crossbred rare flower breed + color ?

GREEN MUMS.

24. favorite villager personality ?

havent we been over this ? im a dumb bitch who likes all of them way too much

25. favorite time of day to play ?

i uh. play. all the time. i tt a Lot tho so i like setting my time to 1pm ? idk it Feels like a good time

26. favorite special visitor event or reward ? (ex: selecting an art piece from redd, aiding guliver and getting a special item, etc)

SAHARAH. im obsessed w the fucking rugs and the tickets and the lottery. i also love celeste, and gulliver has a spot on the faves list for providing lucky cats sometimes (also a fave item) and for having been to space

27. favorite kk song ?

call me basic, but bubblegum kk plays at all times in my living room

28. favorite animal crossing game ?

ACNH lmao. i never really sat down and got Dedicated to city folk, which is the only other game ive played

29. if you’ve played animal crossing before, are there any animals you’re nostalgic for ? if this is your first game, has any animal in particular left some effect on you ?

ROVERRRRR come home :( also harriet.... i Miss Her. and resetti (i REFUSE to use rescue services dont @ me). and also the bus driver guy who took u to the city. If You Were An NPC In City Folk I Miss You Now

30. share a story from your gameplay

SO. i love the little alien easter egg. i set up a photoshoot and made like a little storyline abt the aliens and stuff. i even got a flying saucer and put that down and used it. and every fucking time !!!! i do shit with aliens !!!!!!! gulliver shows up on my beach. i know he went to space in cf n stuff (I GOT FLAVOR TEXT ONE TIME-- DURING NH-- ABT HIM NOT WANTING TO GO BACK EVEN) so i think its fucking hilarious that the aliens show up.... so does he

[yellowshibe]

epilogue reaction rant

i am SURE this has been said but from the pov of a long long term hs fan seeing people angry about the epilogues and saying homestuck is cancelled etc is so fucking obvious to me that a good 90% of this fandom sees homestuck as a comfort, not an actual piece of content (more under the cut.)

its just crazy to me that people are legitimately telling hussie/v/jenna/etc that they’ve destroyed the comic, the characters, the fandom is wild rn with people saying the epilogue doesn’t exist...etc. its just so telling of how yall view homestuck as a whole, itself, even the comic. ESPECIALLY the comic.

homestuck, rereading it now as an adult, is a piece of media so intensely entrenched in PAIN, trauma, young/teen confusion petaining to relationships both romantic and parental, abuse, literal death and gore, meta universe bullshit, like guys. its about 13 year old children being saddled with the responsibility of not only each others lives and the fate of their and others universes, but also so much death. so much death! everyone they know dies - family, and every human, every species on their homeworld. and they are 13.

when i was 13, my bangs, my clothes, instagram were stressful for me. i am neurodivergent and left school in 8th grade. i found homestuck thru a childhood friend right before - and reading it the first time, i skimmed, i barely read any pesterlogs till act 5. it took me 3 years thru to act 6. (i think). and i never actually finished it. i never saw the last flash, i never paid attention to upd8s. i was a kid busy being fucked up and out of school and bed bound. but now im 20, and im rereading it with my girlfriend. its such, such a different piece of work than 13-15 year old me experienced. homestuck, essentially, is a story of stories. it’s over 150 (?) characters OWN lives and arcs and plots and deaths tangled up in each others. like literally, it is about where you came from, who you came from. how you were raised and how that effects you. how your lineage and your OWN timeline can fuck you up. both of them! how you are just a kid and its hard and NOBODY understands. it encapsulates such an intense feeling of middle/highschool depression and GROWTH - thru trauma and pain and wanting love and the love being offered not being enough or its weird and whatever else inner workings 13 to 16 year olds have. THAT I HAD. 

and on the other hand, homestuck is a tragedy. its as long as ulysses. it’s so so painful. so many characters, side or beloved, die, tragically and bloodily and painfully and sometimes only as a semi plot device. a lot of the time the death is meaningless in the moment - if the character is lucky, it matters later on. but something i see hussie put across so often is the set up of tropes in characters or situations only to destroy it. remember in like 2013 when an upd8 would drop and people would make wild predictions with just the most obscene random bullshit, because we all knew hussie was FUCKING CRAZY and would fuck shit up just to fuck shit up? that was probably my favorite aspect of the fandom back then - people wildly spewing ideas and theories and us all waiting with baited breath for the next installment and to see who was right about how fucking crazy huss is and also how well we knew our characters and our assumptions of plot and LORE. where is that mentality now? where are people saying holy shit. this is so intense. this is SO GOOD.

when i started reading the epilogues i went in with the assumption the people who created it could FUCK us up, and over. i honestly expected WORSE - that huss/etc would create and insanely twisted (plot wise) convoluted not satisfying or real ending. but they chose to make it TOO real. to comment on the characters humanity. the entrapment of characters and huss himself imo in fanon. how people’s interpretations of his/their work was becoming so warped post end of hs. and yall really outdid yourselves! you all chose to see this work, tragic and fucked up and HUMAN as it is, and say. oh well you didn’t write it HAPPY, so i don’t like it. you, hussie, the creator, chose to end this work with pain and trauma and more death, and even though that was in the comic, since i see everyone i like from hs as happy go luck comfort characters, i am removing myself from something i love denying canon and denying hussie his autonomy as a creator because I WANTED IT TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD..????????

please i implore you go reread the comic. it is JUST as fucked up as the epilogue - but thru the eyes of 13 year old kids, not thoroughly traumatized and broken and angry 23 year olds who hate each other but only HAVE each other, interacting w fascism and transphobia and unwillingness to confron one another because this is it, this is all we get. as a freshly new adult tm. i fucking loved it. it touches on so many interpersonal and PERSONAL fucked up things about being an adult in the wake of the destruction of your childhood and sense of reality. its such a relatable and painful thing but its NOT bad - they chose to make it this way, they also chose to warn us, to tag triggers, to say take your time, its 700,000 words and its painful . and yall are ignoring that bc your fucking fav character isnt happy, like jesus. homestuck as a work grew up. so should we.

[chrysolina]

My eternal love

Summary - The feeling of having, knowing and believing you have a totally unrequited love for someone can often make most people feel undeserving of such a pathetic fantasy in the future - but does everyone share that same view?

Pairings - Chris Evans x reader, Chris Evans x Jenny Slate, Reader x OC!

Warnings - swearing, angst, unexpected happenings

A/N - Here it is! Part 2 of My love! Enjoy! <3

“And that’s it, congratulations again Miss Y/L/N. We’ll see you on Monday,” the audition panel smiled and waved you off once you thanked them graciously and signed on the dotted paper, your signature being the last one they needed to begin filming ‘Practicion’.

You quickly wandered out of the studio hangar, zipped up well into your short tartan trench coat and out onto the forecourt where you were met by the cool LA January air that kissed your cheeks eagerly. Picking up your phone from your coat pocket, 6:13pm, the locksreen read. Jack would be here any minute now to pick you up and take you to dinner.

You scrolled aimelssly through your phone, your boredom quickly taking over. You took a quick glance at the three missed text messages you had and decided it should be wise to text back your sister and manager with whatever they were asking about or for. As if on its own, your thumb scrolled through the messages list and almost accidentally landed on the one name you swore you deleted - Crusty Evans - also known as, Chris Evans.

Your heart, mind and face cringed at the old nickname you had given him ages ago. It had been little over five months since you had last heard from Chris. From what the internet blogs, magazines and paparazzi rumours told you on an unnecessary week-to-week basis was that Jenny and Chris did spilt for a short amount of time but are - apparently - still ‘seeing each other’.

They must’ve been doing pretty well together since according to an inside source, the couple were last seen looking very happy out and around Tribeca, allegedly trying to find an apartment to live in together.

Why they had to come and live so close to where you and your family lived was beyond infuriating for you and your family.

However, your papa dismissed the idea that any of you would ever see them since ‘they are nobody’s to us’. ‘I wish I could believe you papa’ you thought to yourself as the words repeated themselves in your head ‘but they’ll always be someone’s in this world.”

Before your mind could digest the toxic thought of the couple together, a car horn cut through the chilly air and diverted your attention to where the noise came from.

An unmistakable sleek all black range rover was parked idle by the gates, waiting for someone - more specifically, you. Jack’s new car was certainly a beauty alright, wherever he went in it and wherever you saw it, the black luxury car demanded attention from onlookers - sometimes making you squirm in your seat on the days you’d accompany him somewhere.

In many respects, the car was very much like Jack himself.

Your face broke out into a smile as you pulled the the pricey car door open and was met by the charming Scotsman’s classic smirk. “Why good evenin’ m’lady,” Jack tried to charm you with his thickest Scottish accent possible which only made you laugh in return “did ya get the role?” He merely rolled his eyes at your laugh and began to turn the car around. “I sure did, got it with flying colours - apparently,” You squealed and jumped excitedly up and down in your seat and took Jack hand from the gearstick and shook it for effect.

“Alright you,” he pulled his hand away from your grip and focused back on the LA roads ahead of you “so where would you like to eat tonight? Wendy’s? Chick-fil-a? In-and-out?” Your stomach grumbled at the mere names of the fast food joints. “Wherever it is tho, food’s on me; got it? No buts, I insist.” Your lips turned upwards at Jack’s gentlemanly manner of buying you food.

Food, yes, that was what you were deciding on. After a second or two of short-wired thinking, your finally decided on where to eat. “How about we just go for a classic McDonalds, hm?” You watched eagerly as the Scotsman thought it through and twisted his face in (fake) thought. “Alright then, McDonalds it is.”

The rest of the car ride to the drive-thru was pleasantly quiet bar the sound of Jack’s playlist humming from the speakers. You weren’t bothered by that, you were just enjoying the sights of golden windows around you as the city lit up for the night.

“Tell me again Y/N,” Jack broke through the silence peacefully, making you whip your head around to the man before you “who and what is your role in this film?” The film - of course. You had even forgotten yourself considering first auditions were so long ago “Well, I am playing the role of the main romantic interest of her businessman-husband who is also a recovering drug addict. I think..” As hard as it was, you tried to pluck out who you actually were in the film through all the paperwork you had to sign today, scraping it as you did so.

“Hm, well so long as they have good teeth, you’ll be alright with kissing them huh?” Jack smirked at you and ran his tongue over his plush lips. You chuckled at the now-auburney haired Scot as you recalled the horror of your prom date all those years ago and how digusting his teeth looked once you got up close to kiss him. “Fingers crossed, just in case though,” you and Jack laughed again and watched as the Golden Arches of McDonadls came into view.

“So, what would miss Y/L/N like for food tonight hm? Burger? Fries? McFlurry? Or how about..Me?”

“Jack!”

•••••••

As if as the norm lately, your weekend spent up in the reclusive estates of Hollywood in your own little rented place was easy, relaxing and consisted of nothing more than eating your own home cooked meals, binge watching your favourite shows on Netflix, learning the new script as best as you could and sleeping until late.

It was a great way to ease yourself back into the rush of filming and took your mind off other minute things that floated around your mind.

Before you knew it, 9am rolled around quicker than anticipated and you found yourself being walked by an assistant to the main studio you’d just left that Friday before. Your eyes were quick to take everything in again, routes to the trailers, toilets etc - they all needed to be mapped out by yourself in due course.

Trotting through the main doors to the first - of many - sets and waited whilst the assistant went to look for the director and other cast members.

In the meantime, to calm your nerves, you began to smooth out your short black pencil skirt and toyed wth the sleeves of your white and black lined tailored jacket. In all fairness, your looks were definitely matching up to your status in Hollywood - clean, sweet and professional.

Everything most directors looked for in an actor or actress.

“Where is she?!” The booming voice of the director could be heard throughout the building, making you wince at the volume of his gruff voice.

All of a sudden, out of a door in the distance burst out a short, slightly chubby middle aged tanned man with a thick lit cigarette hanging from his seemingly chapped lips - lined by a grey black moustache. His hair was a little scarse, Black and grey in areas and cut very short - but overall, he looked pleasant enough.

“Ah you must be the infamous Y/N Y/L/N! Welcome welcome, it’s an absolute honour to have you here today.” The director began to talk to you but all you could pick up on was his familiar New York- Italian accent - one that you’d most definitely have if it wasn’t for travelling the world.

“Please, sir; the honour’s all mine,” you quickly thanked his graces about you and excused them as silly and unfitting for someone like yourself. “Oh please darlin’, you’re worth all the hype.”

The director winked at you and shot you a genuine smile in return, one you mirrored almost instantly “and don’t worry about the ‘sir’ thing Y/N, just call me Joe,” before you could thank him on the comfort of calling him his real name, Joe shouted out - seemingly - to his PA that stood a few metres away.

“Marie! Darlin, call him back in,” the young lady only nodded and trotted off someone to the side of the set behind a wall to find someone.

“I’ve yet to introduce you to your co-stars haven’t I?” Your voice was a blubber out of the new oncoming embarrassment and only trusted your head to do the talking, nodding in agreement. Your newest crew had evidently caught wind of your arrival were quick inforce to come and see, greet and meet you.

“Sir, I got him. He’s comin’ now,” the PA quickly shouted out from the wall she disappeared from and disappeared around it again.Who were they on about? Was it your other romantic interest - the drug addict businessman? Who knows.

Before your mind festered any more, you could hear the imminent of clicking heels aiming from the wall the PA came from. Surely it couldn’t have been a woman - the footing of his person was too deep and long to be that of someone in heels.

“Y/N, I’d like you to meet your main co-star, the Chris Evans.”

‘Oh shit!’

••••••

Time seemed infinate and everlasting as you sat hunched over in the plush leather chair you were given in your trailer. Judging by your emotionless stare into nowhere specific, anyone looking at you would say you’re just daydreaming, sleepy or even bored - but you were far from any of those things.

Your mind was running at a million miles a minute, every stupidly minute thought you ever pushed aside during the past five months had all resurfaced and were causing your poor brain havoc.

You wished it wasn’t true - no, you prayed in your hands and knees that this was all just some silly joke. He wasn’t really going to be the actor you’d actually have to kiss and be romantic to once the cameras were rolling, was he? He couldn’t have been - why Chris?

He had marvel films and soon-to-be broadway appearances to be dealing with, he shouldn’t really be here in reality. Maybe this was all just a big fat mistake; a joke that everyone will laugh off in a couple of hours, right? Well...one can hope, you supposed.

With your back to your trailer’s door, your mind allowed you to think that the assistant who was getting lunch for everyone had come back and came with food, so without caution you just called out “The door’s open,” and expected the assistant to waltz in on her own accord.

“Hey, I - uh - brought some lunch for you.” That voice - damn that smooth Boston accented voice - it was here, right behind you. Just over a metre away from you stood the (anxious) man of your nightmares these past couple of months. At the mere sound of his voice, you shot up out to the chair you resides in and whipped your head around to look at him dead in the eye.

The look of shock-horror plastered your face like a pantomime mask, you just couldn’t help it. It was agiven reaction and so was Chris’ in all fairness. He was bewildered by the look on your face and only sent his brain further into it’s shell, his anxiety picking up that bit more. With the paper bag in one hand, Chris began rubbing the nape of his neck and shoulder - a habit you found to have stemmed from his anxiety.

“I thought maybe we could - uh - catch up or well, moreso me apologising for..everything.” It wasn’t until the end of his sentence he finally looked back into your eyes, your posture suddenly relaxing that little bit more, understanding that Chris had only good intentions from being here.

Moving away from your armchair, you decided to collect your lunch from Chris and serve it up - Chicken Caesar salad - your new favourite. Chris quickly gave you the paper bag and watched you help yourself to cutlery, bowls and bottles of water from the stylish yet homely mini kitchen.

“Would it be wrong of me to imagine that you have a bit of a grudge against me right now?” There it was - you wondered how long it’d take for the confident, assured Chris to come through again - evidently not long enough.

“No, you’d be bang on the money,” you huffed and began tossing the salad in the ceramic bowl, those blue eyes continuously boring into your uncomfortable frame - just like the did the whole time you met your fellow cast members- Chris got on your heels the whole time.

“Lucky me hmm,” Chris hummed to himself, tucked his hands in his tan jean pockets, making the light blue shirt he wore bulge around his Adonis-like muscles and leant against the dresser. Why this had to feel like some sort of meetup by two ex’s was beyond you but you thought nothing of it as you set your salad, bottle and cutlery down in the space you were intending to eat from. That was until Chris wedged his body into you, preventing you from moving.

“Y/N, we - I can’t keep doing this. This whole avoidance game, I’ve had enough.” His eyes looked down into yours with a heat that you couldn’t stand on a day like today. Much like him, his look was strong and confident and it made you squirm in your spot.

“I don’t think there’s much more I can say to get us out of this limbo, Chris.” You dared not to look into those eyes and tried to turn away from him, but in just one breath of air, his muscular form was now pressed up against you; breasts to chest, stomach to stomach, you were officially toast.

“Oh I beg to differ Y/N. There’s nothing more Jack can say for you but I think you’re a completely different picture. You have a lot more to say, don’t you darlin’..” you watched intently as Chris’ hand slid out from his tan jeans and out to play with the hem of your jacket.

The air between you was palpable, you could feel his short warm breaths tickling the apex of your neck, the way his muscles rippled against your body after every movement he made. The air was choking you and you hated it.

“Perhaps I do, but I think you’ll find my words will have a very similar ring to Jack’s,” a sudden burst of confidences surged through your veins and made you straighten your spine in defiance to this beautiful menace. Your confindence led you to look right where you didn’t want to and only found hunger in return. Chris’ eyes were lit up with an unmentionable hunger that you couldn’t digest, making you quiver even more.

“Tell me something darlin’, are you and that McCallister a thing? Are you two..dating?” You continuously locked eye contact with the actor and winched in pain as his smirk grew wider, deeper and more mischievous by the second.

“N-no. We’re just very - very - good friends. Nothin’ more!” You denied all the claims Chris tried to pin on you feverishly, trying through every means to keep your image of Jack clean as possible. However, it was evident in Chris’ furrowed brows and darkened stare, he wasn’t having it today.

“Not even friends with benefits? ‘Cause I’ve seen plenty of pictures of you and him together and nothin’, not one inch of those pictures tell me that you’re just friends.” How it was even possible that Chris’ tone could drop another two or three octaves was beyond you. The deep rumble of his chest against yours and the bitterness of his tone solidified your thoughts, he was jealous.

Deciding that now might not be the time to push any buttons, you tried your best to put out the fire Chris had started. “I - I think that’s something you’d have to ask Jack himself. I can’t comment for him if he does have feelings for me.”

“Oh,” Chris chided mockingly, his hand stopping all movement on your jacket “So he does have feelings for you? Aren’t I a genius..” still refusing to make even the slightest bit of eye contact, you tried to wriggle out of his imaginative hold - failing miserably as you did so.

At the thought of you wriggling away, Chris’ hand flew to waist and gripped you possessively tight - he just had to know if you had fallen for the Scotsman over him - he had to. “And do you reciprocate these feelings for him? Hm?”

“Maybe in d-due time..” They do say that the heart is very very precious and Chris knew no different.

His heart dropped ten miles underground at your confession and his eyes began to prick with the hot tears of nearing heartbreak. You were refusing to give in to him - something was holding you back from him and he had to find out what or die trying.

“And what about now?” He chided coolly, the change in tone made you look at him scrutinisingly. “Honestly Y/N, do you have feelings for him as of right now?”

“I don’t...” to think such a small sentence could lift his heart was unbelievable to Chris but filled him with internal joy all the same. Instead of easing up on his hold on you, Chris chose to close in on you even further and cage you in his arms - your body stuck between his and the dresser behind.

“And do you have any feelings for anyone in particular right now?” You knew what he wanted to hear right now, hell - you were close to giving him it. But with being so close to him and in the full knowledge that he had a girlfriend - you weren’t so keen to give him what he wanted.

“Not especially, no.” You deadpanned your time and took to looking straight into his eyes again, watching his eyebrows shoot up his face in undeniable shock.

“Not even for someone like..me?” He chided at you again and pressed his body closer to yours, angling you in such a way one could call it erotic - you, however, begged to differ entirely.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Christopher.” You snorted at his high-hopes, hoping and praying he’d just leave you alone to eat your untouched salad.

Your heart and mind were tearing apart by the seams, one half of you wanted to slap, kick and hit him in all the places it’d hurt the most, the other half of you just wanted to jump his bones here and now, give in to himself and indulge your worst thoughts.

But that would never come to be.

“I actually don’t, do please enlighten me on it.” His mischievous smirk had returned again for the worse and cranked up the anger metre in your mind.

“Fine! You win! I did have feelings for you, yes; I was bordering on loving you, yes. But that and everything else were all ruined the day you decided that fucking bitch you still call girlfriend!” You yelped in anger, pain and grief and tried to push Chris away by his chest, failing in doing so entirely. The tears that were stashed away were now making an appearance and began to stream down your clenched face, ruining your mascara and eyeliner in the process.

Chris didn’t know what to do with this information, you had just confessed that you were romantically attracted to the man and here he was, dumbfounded and generally reeling. He didn’t believe Jack’s word on the phone, he thought they were just to dig at him but now - now, god he was so wrong. “W-what girlfriend?”

“Don’t play stupid now Chris, you know who I’m talking about..” your voice wavered and cracked at his stupidity over the situation.

“Oh, we’re talking about Jenny now, are we?” His voice was suddenly pointed, shard and bitterly cold and made you shiver in fear over what’d he’d say next.

“Who fucking else would I be on about, Chris?”

“Considering I’ve been single since December, I’m finding it hard to think about any ‘girlfriend’ I’m with as of right now..” you felt his head tilt upwards and a heave of air rush from his lips. “I’m calling bullshit, Chris.” You winced in memory of seeing the claims all across the internet, Jenny spending Christmas with his family, the house-hunting, all of it, how could it all be a lie?

“You really think I’m bullshitting right now? Really Y/N?” Chris’s chin came to rest upon your head and you felt the familiar hands wrap around your shorter frame, hugging you tenderly close to him, your hands still stuck in shock on his chest. “You’d be surprised..” you sighed into the tender warm hold of the actor, a feeling you dearly missed, feelings or no feelings at all.

“You have no clue how much I’ve been hurting these past months Y/N, I didn’t think I could want anyone as much as Jenny..but fuck, did you screw me over..” chris chucked at the memories of him reeling over the new found feelings he had for you, realising you weren’t with him anymore and no longer share the same feelings. “Is that meant to be a good thing or a bad thing? I’m having a hard time telling right now Chris..” he laughed again at your sarcastic, straight-to-the-point question, your charm never ceases to leave you after all this time.

“It’s a very good thing, well..that’s if you still feel the same way as you did back then.” He remived his hands from your frame and cupped your wet cheeks in his hands to look at you thoroughly. You looked at him with such a look of longing chris just couldn’t help what he did next. He’d be damned if he never did it and would regret it for the rest of his life.

Wordlessly, Chris quickly joined your lips together in a smouldering yet very endearing kiss. His lips moved and slid between your perfectly, like a missing piece of a jigsaw, fitting you perfectly. Your hands froze open on his chest, your eyes forced wide open at the sudden intimate contact.

It wasn’t until Chris began to move his lips slowly against your own that you realised it - you finally realised that no matter how much pain was done, how much you tried to combat your feelings with denial, you still loved the bastard with all your heart - and that was something you could never change.

Before Chris could pull away in heartbreak over your refusal of his love, you yanked in shirt forward into you and kissed him as if it was the last time, your hands running up his neck and found purchase on his prickly hairy cheeks. Your kiss wasn’t anything like Chris’, trepardising in some areas and soft; yours was passionate and fierce, the kind of kiss the two of you would have to fight for dominance over.

Pulling away slowly, the two of you held your stare into each other’s eyes and lost each other in them. You wanted to kiss him again, and again and again but instead, you focused only on him, the man you fell for so stupidly. Instead of holding you for longer, chris decided to take purchase in the plush seat on front of the dresser and sat you in his lap, his eyes never leaving yours as he relished in the feeling of you playing with the ends of his slightly longer than usual hair.

“My god..where have you been my whole life?” Chris whispered and shook his head in bewilderment and listened to the melodic tune of your giggle ring in his ear. “Right under your nose, silly..” you swiped the bottom of his nose with your index finger and ran your fingers through his growing beard. This had to have been a dream, you didn’t believe for one minute that this was happening - you were actually in Chris’ lap stroking his face like a lovesick baby.

“How will I ever make it up to you Y/N?” He whipsered quietly, running his fingers along your tack and up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You smiled warmly at the softness of the question and thought over how he could make it up to you. “Well, I think it’d take an awful lot of hugs, kisses, time and attention just for being such a bad boy..” you smiled like a Cheshire Cat once his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of your hands soothing his face, a knowing smirk then beginning to grow after you finished talking.

“What?” You laughed at the smirk on those heavenly lips “you do know I’ll always be a bad boy when I’m around you, right?” You sighed and shook your head at Chris’ mark and only embraced his frame, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “Not in public you won’t, will you?” You whispered into his neck firmly whilst your lips found their way around his neck, sucking and kissing certain areas.

“For you darlin’, I’ll be your angel and your devil.”

•••••••

A/N - I just wanna thank everyone for reading this little fic going on and hoped everyone enjoyed it as much as I did! <33

Taglist : @dlb113 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrisevans1fan @badtzmarurogers

[emeraldnebula]

Thoughts on the comic book industry, Part 2

One of the biggest gripes about comic books is one that’s gotten a lot of traction since the end of the big 1990s comic book boom. And it’s only become a much bigger, much more unavoidable issue since then:

American comics are inaccessible to the general public, largely inappropriate and/or incomprehensible for all-ages audiences and newcomers, and are prohibitively expensive for anyone who isn’t already a die-hard collector.

Let me put it this way: For about $5 to $7, you can buy at your drug store or supermarket a 300-page paperback novel that tells a complete story. For $4 or $5 bucks at minimum, your money will get you a 22-page comic book that more often than not is part of a prolonged story arc that even upon completion probably won’t be a complete story. And you won’t be able to find said comic anywhere but a comic book store, so you have to put out the extra effort to see if there even is a store in your area. Which is the better value for your money? The complete story that’s easily accessible and reasonably priced, or the 22-page booklet that won’t be a complete story, will likely be impossible to understand unless you’re already a fan, and will be much harder to come by?

Obviously, the devolution of American comics from something easily available and accessible to all to the impenetrable mess they are today is the result of the industry switching over to the direct market system exclusively. In the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, comics started abandoning newsstands, grocery stores, and drug stores in favor of comic book stores. That transition bled a lot of readers over time, and gradually led to comics catering almost exclusively to an audience of aging die-hards. Dick Giordano commented around the time of John Byrne’s Man of Steel that they were playing to “a much smaller and much more demanding audience” than had existed before. So there was no more incentive to make comics reader-friendly for potential newcomers or to bother with wide distribution. Just play to your captive audience and call it a day.

The consequences of this have been playing out for the last 32 years. Since 1986, when Alan Moore and Frank Miller made their names by shaking up the public perception of comics (for good and ill), the major publishers have adopted soap opera-style storytelling as the default model, a nihilistic and mean-spirited overall tone, lots of graphic violence and shock value gimmicks, and the default assumption that their readers are the same people who’ve been with them all along. Little to no effort is made in publicizing their wares to appeal to a larger audience; any publicity that’s done is purely to pimp the latest bad idea the editors are stuck on at any given moment to their existing readership. (This is even more baffling when you remember DC and Marvel are both owned by major studios, and could have used those resources at any time.)

And by not even bothering to make themselves available on a mass scale, comics have abandoned any notion of being reader-friendly, relying on convoluted, incomprehensible “continuity” and seldom bothering to open issues with even a brief recap of previous events to get new readers up to speed. The assumption is that anyone who’s reading today’s comics has already been doing so for years, is already an adult, and is more than likely somebody who gets off on material that can best be described as malicious. The high price of modern comics is even more of a problem when you have franchises with multiple books to their name, as crossover events either within said franchises or within the publisher’s entire line force readers to buy multiple books just to follow one storyline. And God help you if there’s a book or even just a creative team you don’t like, because you’ll be faced with the choice of buying stuff you don’t like or not buying anything at all. At $4 or $5 a pop for 22 pages at a time, that’s not an investment worth making.

This all assumes, of course, that there’s even a comic book store anywhere near you. In the last 18 years or so, comic book stores have been gradually dying out with the emergence of digital media. (In my neck of the woods alone, at least four stores have bitten the dust.) Again, availability is a major issue. And since the overall idea behind crossover stories is essentially double-dipping – profit off both the individual issues and the eventual trade collection – missing out on the individual issues automatically means having to wait for the trade. But by that time, any potential new reader is likely to lose interest and move on to something else. So again, the industry is still playing to the same aging, ever-shrinking audience.

Another failing of the direct market system and the overall inaccessibility of comics is that new readers more often than not won’t have any idea what all is really out there and how much variety there is. In the olden days where comics were available everywhere, it wasn’t just DC and Marvel running the show. You had stuff like war comics, funny animal comics, crime comics, horror comics, romance comics, comedy comics...anything and everything you could imagine was available on the newsstand. And while there is still some variety in the comic book industry from the smaller publishers, it doesn’t get nearly the exposure it should because DC and Marvel both stand to benefit from the limited availability of comics in general. If all you’re aware of is those two companies, you won’t know to seek out anything else. And if you find those companies’ output to be absolute shit (and it is), you’re not going to want to bother looking for anything else. So again, the other, smaller publishers end up suffering for it.

And let’s be honest, there’s really no reason for the comic book industry to be so exclusive and inaccessible in the age of social media. With Facebook and Twitter alone, promoting and bringing awareness to comics should be a snap. It’s even less excusable when you remember we live in a time where digital downloads for books and music are the standard, and movies and TV are gradually following suit. But since the industry by and large doesn’t want to be accessible to a bigger audience and doesn’t care about appealing to anyone outside the tiny clique it already has, a golden opportunity to bring in new fans is being wasted. Then again, as gruesome and nihilistic as DC and Marvel have become, would parents even want their kids reading this stuff? Would kids really want to see the heroes they watch on TV and in the movies making deals with the devil, being humiliated/torn down/killed off and replaced with alternate universe impostors, being dismembered and having loved ones killed off needlessly, having their romantic relationships destroyed out of the blue on a whim, turned into glorified villains in heroes’ clothing, or changed beyond the point of recognition?

(Yes, I’m fully aware that there are still kid-friendly comics in existence. But those books don’t get nearly the publicity and the attention as the event-gimmick crap I just mentioned, and tend to fall by the wayside. Again, another opportunity to get new readers on board is being largely wasted.

And yes, I also know that as of this time of writing, DC’s planning a series of 100-page digest comics for distribution with Wal-Mart. But since it’s just going to be more of the same shit they’ve been doing and failing miserably with in the direct market, I’m not holding my breath on it.)

The biggest sin with the current setup of the industry? Everybody who’s currently in the fandom was a newcomer at first. They all, in one way or another, benefited from the industry at one time being accessible and easy for a newbie to understand. By making comics so impenetrable, hard to find, unappealing to anyone who isn’t maladjusted, and expensive, the industry has effectively cut itself off from the people who could, in theory, keep it alive for years to come. You can’t expect comics to stay in business when you’ve made them too costly, too unpleasant and confusing, too far under the radar for anyone not already in the know to be aware of them, and too hard to come by. And by clinging to a dying brick-and-mortar system in a digital age...well, we all know how that sort of thing ends.

It’s not rocket science. The 22-page pamphlet format of comics is obsolete. In the age of digital, it’s not worth the inflated price tag and doesn’t give you any real value for your money. Digital comics made widely available thru a variety of distributors AND complete paperback graphic novels on sale at retail stores and/or newsstands would be a far better bet. Greater convenience, more satisfying formats than the old model, more value for your money, and a cool-looking graphic novel available for a decent price at your grocery store or drug store would be an enticing impulse buy for kids (provided, of course, the content wasn’t nihilistic garbage). But that would require looking beyond the ever-shrinking core audience of entitled fanbrats the major publishers cater to, so thus we’re not seeing anything like that happening. They won’t take advantage of digital media (if they do digital comics at all, it’s in the most half-assed way possible), and they do not want in any way, shape, or form to reach a wider audience. This goes beyond leaving money on the table; this is the industry saying they don’t want to make money at all if it means actually putting forth anything resembling effort. Forget long-term business sense, this is idiotic even in the short term. And it’s ignoring the most basic truth of the comic book industry: Without new fans, without another generation to carry it along, the industry will die.

But as we’ll be discussing soon enough, neither the major players of the industry or its ever-shrinking core audience of aging, lunatic fringe fanboys and fangirls see anything wrong with that at all.

[xottzot]

2017-11(NOV)-18th---Saturday--(evening)

2017-11(NOV)-18th---Saturday--(evening)

STOP PRESS: a tiny fragement of rain passed by and dropped 20 drops of rain down it seems outside.

There has been NO THUNDERSTORM that the crystal ball official weather department forecasted. Instead in reality it has been HOT and then tailing off to just too too bloody 'warm' at this hellhole where forecasts mean nothing but a dart thrown blindfolded into a dartboard.

AND...the power blipped out for no reason, causing everything to have to be reset in this hovel. - Strange how such power blackouts occur with almost utter yearly timing EVERY YEAR ISN'T IT!?

AND.....my internet connectivity and 'speed' is back to utter total shit AGAIN...even much SLOWER than a 75 baud modem.....

I can barely get a text-only weather report to load and show.

AND.....yesterday I received in the mail absolute bullshit shitty shit addressed to dear Fliss (Felicity Carthew) from Telstra. (an Australian telephone/telecommunications company megalith)

We do NOT have ANY business with TELSTRA at all, and nor have we for MANY MANY years. And yet these fuckers blind-post a shitty pice of mail adressed to dear Fliss (why to Fliss!?) and it said that 'our initial checks show'... - Yeah, so what fucking records are they suddenly just now checking!?

"Our initial checks show you can now connect to the NBN network."

Oh really? - Would that be the ultra slow useless as tits on a bull internet broadband network that literally thousands of people are legally suing according to the local newspaper that was in the letterbox delivered on the same day as this unsolicited letter from Telstra arrived?

They're suing because this shitty NBN network shit is like a dice-throw in the dark tossed by a blind man over a cliff and then called a 'success'? - Countless people have lost ALL internet connectivity, speed and access. Countless people have tried so very hard to have ANY connectivity whereas before they agreed to be part of the NBN, they at least had a vastly superior product that actually worked, was reliable and speedy.

But all that changed. All this shit occured with here having NO connectivity and the most shitty internet speed and connectivity that drops out to nothing at any time for no reason whatsoever day and night. It all occured right around late September 2015 and not only affected internet stuff, but also mobile telephones.

It was also right around the time when I was in communications with dear Fliss as we were trying to sort things out with her after her terrible medical epiosde. But as we were talking my phone would cut out at any time, I would have to re-dial and re-connect, over and over and over and over again. And it ate up all my pre-paid phone credit, so I had to buy more. Then THAT ran out for the same reason.

Dear Fliss kept wrongly thinking I was hanging up on her! - On top of everything shitty that had been going on, there was THIS we were assailed with! - At EVERY step with dear Fliss, I have suffered and we have suffered.

And afterwards, despite dear Fliss PROMISING ME we would stay in close contact as before......I NEVER EVER got another voice phone call from dear Fliss.

And now yesterday....TELSTRA comes along in the mail and inists Fliss is able to connect to the NBN at this address here at this hellhole.

They have done NO WORK AT ALL in this street with phone lines. It's still all the same shit that has been here for decades.

The only 'work' that was 'done' was for a neighbour who complained so vehemently about their internet speed that the TELSTA company sent out a single guy to ferret about in a below-ground little pit for a day or so. And since then MY internet connectivity and speed has been fucked. So what did he do I wonder? Just hardwire pair-up my connection to the neighbours to give them more speed at the expense of mine? It certainly seems like that. And it's been that way almost all the time.

Oh, and Koongamia school (Clayton View Primary School) has supposedly (I've never seen it myself) been outfitted with high-tech whiz-bang technological stuff including high-speed internet and high speed connectivity and commuications.

Draw your own conclusions.

There are RARE times when my internet speed approaches SLOW normality, but it can cut out at any time for any length of time on any day or night of any week. Even when the school is empty. It's Saturday now.

My mobile phone is okay. But there is nobody but fucking shitty telemarketters forever hounding and harrasing me. The lastest one was (a foreign-based telemarketing woman) insisting I should join NBN because of x. (x being supposed wonderful benefits to me.)

Really!? -- First that, and then two days later the letter from TELSTA comes to hound me into connecting to NBN. -- And the fucking phonecalls to my mobile phone have been flooding me for MANY MANY months and getting more and more frequent on ANY day of the week.

And NEWS is leaking out that the NBN is utterly shit and that ordinary companies are going broke from its shitty effects, the installers, the workman doing the installing demanding more money, the internet companies going broke, and on and on it goes. - And all through it whenever any user complains they are either suddenly switched on to slightly more better connectivty and speeds only because they complained, or they lose all connectivity.

And every company and his dawg is claiming to have users connect-via-the-internet or wth the HIGH SPEED NBN! to be able to watch movies and do every and anything they like. - REALLY!? - I can't even get a simple local text-weather report to show in my fucking web broswer!

AND......in the NEWS in recent months has been reports of vast sections of the NBN cabling being the victim of criminals who dig-up, cut up, and sell as 'scrap metal' the metal cabling that's been laid. - At least that's the story they've been saying. (or did they get inspired from watching documentries about that going on in the United Kingdom?)

Surprising.....given that here the cabling was claimed by the companies to be supposed to be glass-fibre cabling, rot-prrof, cheaper than copper cabling, and vastly superior and speedy and was the answer to the future. - And all they've been doing is the same old, same old shit laying copper cables, which the thieves then dig up, cut up and steal!?

FFS.......

All throughout my blog you'll have seen me constantly talking about all the shitty trouble I've had with the internet and that. - AND the electricity power. AND the water. AND the criminals. AND the mail and thefts of mail and total unreliability of mail. AND the fucking HEAT of HELL. And this fucking HELL itself.

Prison would be paradise compared to this fucking hellhole.

No wonder the criminals of these streets don't give a shit about being criminal and being caught and (rarely) jailed.

And if you ever complain about ANYTHING...you're always BLAMED first, and if that doesn't put you off, you're then fobbed off in endless shit that doesn't do anything to solve anything. And you're liable to have to PAY for being fucked around like that. And when you'be gone thru the whole torture of all that, you get right back to the beginning again.

So forgive me for being fucking cynical.

I can rememeber when not so long ago that internet connectivity and speed was totally reliable and all the companies and telecomunications companies were proud of it all. Absolutely proud. High speed. And it all only would go shitty was because of lightning strikes or something dramatic. And companies would be SO APPOLOGETIC and give you as compensation more quota or free access for awhile. I've been through all that. So has dear Fliss here.

And around late 2015, ALL THE FUCKING SHIT STARTED.

And dear Fliss went off the rails and threw me into hell.

And the criminals in the streets became rampant and started taking over more and more houses until they formed the criminal ghetto and STILL they kept going and continue to keep going. - They demanded shit and got it. Companies were tripping over themselves to do any and everything for them. They've had endless money and resources. Every other innocent resident was suffering but the criminals were absolutely loving it all and thriving and multiplying whilst still being criminal.

In nearby Midland they too have had shit, but they are rolling in money and quickly get things done for them. -- Here at this hellhole it's the opposite.

I fully expect a created media story trying to explain away all this shit that is going on this Saturday at this hellhole. That always seems to happen. The constant and pithy, 'a backhoe operator accidently dug up a telephone line and disocnnected thousands of people' is REALLY pathetic and has been used for YEARS AND YEARS. It's anonymous and 'satisfies' anyone trying to enquire anout anything.

Oh I know, how about the usual 'copper thieves' bullshit? - How about 'copper thieves broke into the Greenmount telephone exchange and caused massive damage as they stole the copper cabling and left residents and businesses without any internet accesss.'

(the Greenmount telephone exchange is just up and over the hill)

AND when all that is not good enough to use, they always resort to teh ol' stanby...oh it rained and combined with dust on powerlines it caused a short and tripped out circuit breakers on the transformers. -- They used THAT ONE for so many years that they then started using helicopters to seasonally supposedly 'wash' high tension power cable towers. -- Funny that eh? Especially when all this shit never went on when I was groing up in the same place at this now hellhole for decades. And there was penty of dust back then. And plenty of rain back then. No helicopters doing daring-young-men-in-their-flying-machines bullshit routines.

You simply cannot trust ANYTHING you're told now. So many times they later admit things that they lied or have been forced to admit the truth. And everyone just washes over all that and thinks it's 'normal'.

I'm going to try to post this message online into my blog. Then hopefully die, perhaps in my sleep. Bitten my a mosquito perhaps.

Outside there is no wind at all. There's hordes of mosquitoes. AND BIG SPIDERS. And if the mosquitoes are not bad enough, news is that the terrible "Ross River Virus" transmitted by mosquitoes that used to be confined to the south of Western Australia, is now able to be caught via being stung by a single mosquitoe here at this hellhole area thousands upon thousand of kilometres away (half the state of Western Australia away) from where it had been rampant and supposedly 'constrained' and controlled we all had been told for decades. Only and rarely did it ever make the news when visitors who would go 'down south' would be afflicted. It really was THAT rarely reported. But the terrible effects of it upon people being bitten and aflicted and badly suffering for MANY YEARS by Ros River Virus often made the news purely as sensationlism.

Oh I know....how about the fairly new high-speed vehicle highways to southern parts of Western Australia is responsible for 'bringing in' in the Ross River Virus plague and spreading it about?

Mosquitoes...just ANOTHER shitty aspect of this fucking hellhole.

I'm sure that the next bit of bullshit announced will be that the 'recent rains from the thunderstorms' has made worse the 'season' of mosquitoes so be VERY VERY careful out there......(as if you can protect yourself from just a single mosquitoe biting you).

Soon they will be joined with clouds of filthy flies that are terrible in themselves and I wonder how soon before they state there's a rampant vicious new disease (deadly or debilitating) suddenly being spread by THEM?

For the past two years I've seen an 90% drop in the population of bees at this hellhole. Nothing hardly gets pollinated now, at least not hardly by bees but moreso by roaming flies, midges and bugs, and almost EVERYDAY I'm finding dead and dying bees everywhere. But still no grand NEWS anouncement about ANY of that going on yet.

Fliss and I had a great vegetable garden in the backyard of this hovel. I've spoken about that many times. But in the later part of 2015, everything died, Fliss got terribly worse with her own aflictions, the bees all vanished andor were dying everywhere, NOTHING GREW in the garden...it ALL died, even the huge plot of garlic that we were growing without any pesticides. All gone, died. - The entire vege garden is wasteland and I have done nothing with it since Fliss left in late 2015 other than to continually haul out all the rampant grass weeds growing there to avoid it becoming a hazard, and HAVING TO BE FORCED INTO DOING THAT gives me SEVERE pain that you cannot imagine that is pure massive agony to me.

TRY TO TELL ME THIS IS NOT HELL.

----------------------------------------------

What new hell is there to come.......North Korea?

They've been angling to have that happen as long-planned out to happen for ages.

PLEASE detonate a nucelar device at this hellhole and fucking blow me up well.

----------------------------------------------

I love you dearest Fliss and want to be with you. - Sam has been having nightmares as I was writing this and wuffing in his sleep. Max has too. Poor dear Max has been quite 'sedated; but not by me. It's by something else he has been affected by, and he may well be on the short road to his eventual death. It's how Matey went downhill and dies and caused you dear Fliss such traumatic grief as well as me since he was so much loved by us and was more than just a dog to us. Dear Sam and dear Max are the same. - And you Fliss wonder why I never wanted ANY human child go through what the horrors and torment and hell they've gone through? And Fliss, you wondered why I could not handle being able to stand a child crying at dear Caths place without trying to help? - I love you dearest Fliss and want to be with you.

[nuevorealidad]

(2019) plot.plan.time

$$ MONEY $$ The only economy that matters,  that can actually put money in your purse, wallet, or the cracks of your sofa, is the economy created by your thoughts, words, and actions. Every day, someone new, near you, becomes a millionaire. The Universe

Most people believe they must “earn” money through hard work and this is why it’s so challenging for them to manifest more money. With this belief, the Law of Attraction must continue to bring money only as the result of hard work. When we can start to expect money to come in unexpected, easy ways, it will.

It's time to give everyone the big fuck you and bloom how you choose. You get to be whatever kind of fucking flower you want to be. You inherit yourself.

This is where we make a choice, punks. What is the story you are going to choose to tell? Are you going to keep telling the same old fucking story, or are you going to take what you want? Are you the master of your own fate, or will you allow the illusion to suck you back in?

It tells us that we are finally shedding the bullshit, letting the hail storm knock away all that isn't fastened securely to the truth.

‘’ Tess Mahal Ko , 1 way to defeat invisible, limiting beliefs, even ones you may not know you have, is to simply ‘’dream*think*create’’  a life so grand, that they couldn’t possibly make sense. And then start living that life today, however humbly at first. Make a decision of what you truly desire, want.. give your attention there ..  find the feeling place of it — and *bam* you are there instantly. ‘’ 😍 ‘’ ~ JS

****** OUR NEW GAME Commences November 2018  ***********

!!!!!! ^ - ^ !!!!! En Garde 😍 Get Ready For It  !!!!! ^ - ^ !!!!!!

‘’He’ll always be there for her. Standing in the shadows to keep her safe. Laughing with her in the light. Watching through her eyes all those who get close. He’ll always be there. She will be fine.

T.E.S.S. (the.eternal.spontaneous.spin#master) ~

*T*F*S* a #baddass mf gangsta/goddess in cahoots w/ CIA (cosmic intelligence agency) @undisclosed no.extradition.treaty.lat/long.domain in the  A.I.R. (alternate intelligence realm)

““  That’s My Girl  ““  

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Rewriting my story- Update 3/2018

Free at last/ free at last/ free to live my life the way I really choose it to be. I am Fearless & I am not afraid. I am sovereign/ I own my authority . No one/nadie/nada can impose itself on me. I am my own Higher Guidance Council how will I know.. if what I hear resonate or feel right to me then it is.. if not its kicked to the curb. I am not here to confirm or follow. I create my own reality / my own sets of beliefs it's my way or the highway .. everything always goes my way .. everything is always working out for me .. good shits are always lining up for me /awesome ideas /brilliant options flows to me in groves/ synchronocities leads to serendipities all the time. And why shouldn't it be.. I am worthy / I am integrity / I am a Privilege Being & a Pampered Soul.

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December 26, 2017 ·

in the flow ~ I AM FREE <3 I AM FUCKING FREE :) FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST :*

2018

Become self-reliant, self supporting. Prioritise your own highest interests - highest being the key word. Cut away anyone or anything that drains or feeds on your precious life force. From now on your mission is to engage only with creators, those who have already woken up Get real and be real. Stop curating your life. Become inner not outer directed. Find what you're really good at and do it all time. Do a personal resources inventory. What do you know or what skills you have that are valuable to others? You have physical, emotional and spiritual resources all around, lying neglected and unacknowledged in your psyche or hidden away in your very own dustbin of history. Now is the moment to excavate all of them – your finances, time investment, skills, talents, possessions, qualities – and release them into the light of day to form and reform into more authentic ways of self-expression and making a living.

Be strongly steadily directed from within. there is no outer, THERE IS NOTHING TO DO INSTEAD YOU CENTER URSELF AND ALIGN W/ WHO U TRULY ARE AND ADAMENTLY REMAIN IN THE PLACE OF AUTHORITY AND POWER AND INWARD TRUTH as your statement and the only thing you know.”

It is all about FEELING EMPOWERED OF YOUR OWN POWER, (UR OWN MC/AUTHORITY) your own soverignity. NOTHING TO DO .. ALL ABBOUT BEING ALL THAT U ARE . So instead of thinking what is there to do...FEEL WHAT U FEEL LIKE DOING and doing preceeds the being...here i rule my life to the fullest as i await my instant death w/out pain without knowing ... there;s really nothing else ofcourse xcept for the receiving of alot of abundance, cash, money , gifts, bonus, opps stuf jup sco. all about attaining desire for personal sovereignty.independence and detaching anything less of my being. i am and will always be a priviiledge being and pampered soul.

Just do the next right thing Walk your talk Redraw your boundaries SHIFT TO LIVING AT CAUSE, NOT AT EFFECT. Identify the one thing you’re afraid to say about your life and what you’re going to do about it.

Take concrete steps to becoming self-supporting and self-sustaining Make financial independence your priority, what would you do differently starting now? How can you deliberately live between structure and surprise; between safety and experimentation Recognise that the deeper mind is always on 24/7, not only does it have your back, it’s part of who you are - when you lose sight of it it’s because you’ve gone back to thinking you have to handle this life thing on your own.

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"Now I know better, I do better". It's time to commit to your own preferred reality Time to stop trying to fit into friendships, jobs and realities that have nothing to do with who you are. you no longer need to try to "save" or "heal" anyone nor urself because there is nothing to be working on urself anymore there are so few people to connect to who get your reality - as it should be..dont want otras cramping my space solitude santuary

This is what it feels like to be brilliantly alive. Alive and active not reactive on the good or bad

no choice but to find higher level solutions. As Einstein’ said: 'We cannot solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them'. But remember when such collective shifts happen, first comes confusion and chaos.

In your own life, this is a fertile moment to think out of the box or even to jump up and down on the box. Ask:” How have I been underestimating myself? What have I been settling for? What is my wildly impossible goal?” Doing new things is good. Going outside our comfort zones is what we are all about. We are not among those who are playing it safe. But we too can get stuck. So things happen to move stuck energies. They may come in the form of hurricanes, storms, celestial events, getting sick, losing a relationship or a job.This embodiment process is the most difficult thing a human being could ever do. You are being asked to do the impossible, or so if feels.

Pursuing what is desired and nothing else. Waiting, stalking, strategically watching for openings. One-pointedly intent upon grabbing and holding what you lost somewhere and must find again. Going for reminders, facsimiles, totems. Hungry for proof that it is there, that it is possible. Alone forever. You are deeply seeking the other side of yourself, the inner partner, the true motivating spark. You have got lost in the dark, identified with the one who needs and lacks, the one who is broken into fragments of experience. You search everywhere and come up empty. The one inside will be there, when the outer versions cannot sate your hunger,and as a last resort you feel into your own solitary spaces, willing to meet whoever is there and love them with all your heart."

the old world feels so dark eecky sucky that you're willing to let it go AS IT HAS ALREADY BEEN DELETED. Choice is not an option -the 3D time-lines are deleted. MAKE UR SHIFT QUICKLY AND PERMANENTLY so ur transition thru 2018 will go smooth effortless MASTERY OR BUST I am immensely powerful and deeply hidden. I work between the lines and the worlds. But I am good at what I do.

"What we take to be true is our reality " This is start of the Return Home via a solo journey of ground breaking proportions. It is living in Free Fall without a Safety Net ..TO LIVE AND THRIVE IN MY OWN PREFERRED DESIRED ALTERNATIVE the edge between order and chaos -

<3 Become self reliant, self supporting. Prioritise your own highest interests - highest being the key word. Cut away anyone who drains or feeds on your precious life force. Get real and be real. Stop curating your life. Become inner not outer directed. Find what you're really good at and do more of it. Upgrade the quality of your thinking -the codes which determine the results you're getting . If you believe your own random thoughts, you're living in the feeling of your thinking, in a self -created matrix.

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Visionary Activist principles -

0. Believe nothing, entertain possibilities. Therefore everything hereafter is offered playfully.

1. Imagination lays the tracks for reality to follow. 2. Better to create prophecy than live prediction. What makes us passive is toxic. Predictions make us passive, but prophecy is active co-creation with the Divine. 3. The invisible world would like to help, but spiritual etiquette requires that we ask. Help is always available; operators are standing by. (WELL THIS IS ME TO T, IN MY CASE I DEMAND :D ) 4. The only way that the gods know we're asking for help is through ritual. 5. If something is a problem, make it bigger. If you cook rage into outrage, it takes it from personal tantrum yoga into the realm of useful action. 6. We only possess the power of an insight when we give it expression. 7. Creativity comes from paradox. We aspire to be disciplined wild people who are radical traditionalists. 8. Stay Strong, FOCUSED INTENT TO CREATE & STAY IN UR OWN WORLD WITHIN THE WORLD .

"There are no right answers. But there is a right question. It's the one that whispers "Why the f* not?"

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Transition is itself transformation. So in this frequency shift from 3D to wherever, reading Facebook posts about "taking back your power" or "moving out of victim mode" as you have thousands of times before then "liking" them because it appeals to the need to feel special without actually changing , is a dead end. It is just another go-around of working on yourself by using willpower to get to somewhere new/different/more exciting than here and now. It is a deadly psychic shortcut avoidance of the alchemy that needs to incubate in the dark to carry you across from personality level living to your emerging higher time-line.

in 5D perspective, frame it as an opportunity to master the arcane art of becoming your own Source - of life, of energy, of feedback and validation, of generative creator consciousness.This will prove a crucial skill to help you navigate 2018's radically different astrology.

In your own life, you need to ask yourself some hard questions – about what you really want and what is truly good for you. About how specifically you're underestimating yourself and about which victory is now available for you to claim.

Make two lists: what you want to resolve or eliminate and what you want to create.

EASY BREEZY 4 ME... RESOLVE / ELIMINATE all if any 3D REALITY dat doesnt support me. WHAT TO CREATE ...TO CREATE MY VERY OWN DESIRED PREFERRED REALITY.

You are now in a moment where you get to review, rethink and recreate just about anything you want.

:are you channeling this insistent 5D wavelength consistently enough to expand your 3D paradigms and constructs so far out that they refract the whole, not just the parts?

We're in a freefall into future. We don't know where we're going. Things are changing so fast, and always when you're going through a long tunnel, anxiety comes along. And all you have to do to transform your hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act. It's a very interesting shift of perspective and that's all it is... joyful participation in the sorrows and everything changes.” Joseph Campbell.

The single most radical decision to make now is is refusing 3D ways of operating -not swallowing the bait of making New Year's resolutions or buying into programs to reset you for 2018,or calibrating your 12th DNA strand (!)- and instead tracking your unique emergence as it is happening.

This is a Gateway aligning you to your High heart, your crystalline DNA and switching up your time-lines, your bandwidths of experience. Don't even try to shape it to your 3D desires-

As I keep saying: nothing is working because the 3D time-lines have been deleted. No modality, no matter how temporarily uplifting, can change you or rescue you. Look around you right now -the current chaos-climate, political, financial -is elemental,energetic and profoundly personal and collective all at the same time. I've been writing for ages about events arriving right at your front door and this will escalate in 2018 and the crunch year of 2020. You have to make hard choices based on your highest values, not on comfort or expediency. The time for superficiality of any kind is gone - life is being stripped down to essentials and you need to collaborate with it.

If you have never been called an incorrigible, defiant, impossible woman… have faith. There is yet time" Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

You don't need to fight to make life happen in the way you'd planned, in the way you had thought it would be. Instead, see where the hours, the days are inviting you to go and try to participate in the dance. Don't fight your flow, put your energy where doors are opening" Sophie Gregoire The Writing Wand.

When you suddenly just " know" that none of the old ways work anymore and you stop. Even those things that seemed like a spiritual safety net- such as must-follow rules of meditation, clean eating, entire New Age belief systems- are revealed as just masks and defences against the dark.

All dressed up as spiritual but in reality more never ending pressure to work on yourself. F* DAT AM DONE W/ WKG ON MY SELF! There is no more working on yourself- there never was.(DAMN STRAIGHT) Drop that and feel your animal body exhale in relief and release. There is only and utterly your dance with life as it unfolds moment by moment. And it's a solo journey of sacred proportions . 2018 will be a giant stair step on the way through the Connected Universe into the Age of Aquarius when Pluto enters the sign of the Futurist in 2023. 😍🌾⚘🌸🐱🐥🌻🍀🍂⚘ 🌷☘🌺🌳🌻🍀🐬🐺 🔥🌀🌷☘😍🌾⚘🌸🐱

{Onyx Radcliffe} oh awww. thank you! wow. that's validating. i needed that lol. phew. Tess, I have been thru the ringer with humans, and been so ashamed to share a bloodline, to the point of no return. I guess now I only realize that we all have our own perspectives and lives, and our purpose is only to be what/when/where we are, whatever that is. You just go shine all over the place, roll around in the sand or the grass. You dont have to be a human, a human is just a word. You're a child of God, of the sun, of the stars. You're an inspiration to all of us with all of your posts. You are a kind, warm heart in a brutal, wintery world. We need people to stop being humans, and start being themselves. Shine as bright as you can. You're not a starseed anymore. You're the real thing, the star blossom, the star fruit, the star itself♥

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So  This is what 2019 Goin 2b  ALL ABOUT* A F*  CULMINATION OF EVERYTHING U LEARNT/MUSTER OF BEING A MASTER

Next Stop Wonderland march 2018 (update) --- I AM AT AGE STAGE IN MY LIFE WHERE I JUST WANT TO LIVE THIS LIFE FEELING COMPLETELY ALIVE  CADA f* MOMENTO  IN WAY I PREFER/DESIRE IT TO BE . TO LIVE IN THE NOW CUZ DATS WHERE MAGIC IS  WHERE SYNCHRONIZED./SERENDIPITIES & MANIFESTATION OCCURS.. where EVERYTHING’S ALWAYS WORKING OUT FOR ME & EVERYTHING GOES MY WAY <3

Ultimate F* Goal ~ 2 B ..