#and that half is the half that are all just godawful people who do not deserve that peace and happiness while the people they actively

[arolesbianism]

Doodle I did of my girl Juliet earlier

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[arkangelo-7]

I bet that Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake, as the Batfamily’s resident corporate America breadwinners, have to occasionally go play a round of golf to keep up appearances with WE shareholders. The only problem is that they’re both fucking terrible at golf.

And when I say they’re bad, like, holy shit, they are really bad. For two people who often have to save the universe with their intelligence, concentration, and ability to effectuate incredibly complex, precision-reliant plans, they are both somehow really, really fucking awful at golf of all things.

Bruce, at least, has the Brucie Wayne disguise to hide how absolutely awful he is at golf. Which totally works for him, because he hates the reminder that he is inherently terrible at something. So, whenever he’s dragged out for a round with Lucius and the WE board members, he just pretends to get super drunk, act a little more clumsy then normal, and hits on the caddy until everyone just writes him off as too much of an ditz to put any effort into his golf swing. It drives Lucius nuts, because he actually likes golf and he thinks Bruce is just pretending to be bad as part of his cover for Batman—there is at least one occasion where he asks Bruce to show a little more decorum on the course and actually try to play, and Bruce just… blue screens. Because in reality he is actually horrible at golf and he needs the excuse of “dumbass Brucie Wayne” or his ego will implode.

Tim, however. Poor Tim.

Tim, unfortunately does not get to play the idiot to cover up his absolute shit golf game. (There is only so much room in the family for idiots and he has to keep up appearances as Jack and Janet Drake’s son.) As such, he avoids any and all golf courses as much as possible—but everyone once in a while there’s a potential merger or business deal he needs to discuss with someone important, and the best way to get the deal done is on a golf course. So Tim has to spend the next three and a half hours of his life torturing himself through a round of golf. (He ends up losing twelve balls, taking seven swings on a Par 3, somehow broke his putter, and tripped into a bunker.) The only upside is that his pure determination to actually finish the round, despite how godawful he is, is usually what actually convinces the investors/partner/board members agree to work out a deal with him.

But it’s best (or worse) when Bruce and Tim play golf together. It isn’t often—stories of their infamously terrible golf games means that most people will only invite one of them at a time—but inevitably they do end up on a course together at one point, and holy fuck, it is a miracle they don’t burn the place down.

[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 3

He barely recognised his friends. He was just glad they were themselves though. That somewhere along the way to a stardom he didn’t remember going through, his band hadn’t lost anyone. That someone hadn’t been replaced.

That happened a lot, didn’t it? Bands losing members due to circumstance, arguments over direction, infighting... but they were there. Older, Gareth had a little grey in his hair, Jeff had shaved his down completely, he didn’t have braces anymore, taller too, neither as weathered as Eddie but… definitely older, and Dougie...

Fuck, he'd slimmed down.

Eddie didn’t know if that was an improvement or not, he instantly found himself missing what had once been, he was still big, still broad, but... where disarming chub that Eddie had on more than one occasion fallen asleep on had been, soft muscle resided in its place and Eddie found himself wondering just how the biggest of four of them had done it. Whether it'd been through healthy choices or godawful ones like himself.

It was muscle though, it looked like healthy muscle, so... probably healthier than him. Good for him.

“Oh look who's joined us in the land of the living!” Gareth chirped, his mouth half full of pancake, syrup dripping down his lips.

Jeff, to his left “Saw Louie stormin out kicking up a storm, that shit for good this time?” Asked with a tone laced in caution, as if the subject was touchy. God what had Eddie done in the past that made his friends think they couldn’t rib him about relationships?

That was like... their whole thing back in high school, Eddie, and his disastrous non-existent dating life. He’d trusted them and them alone with who he was, with what he liked, and while there were the obvious ‘do you find me hot?’ questions at first, the playful ribbing, the teasing, the jokes only friends could share… he had them. They weren’t afraid of him. Afraid to hurt him because they knew they never could.

How had he lost that?

Eddie looked to Steve in a bid for help, Steve wasted no time in coming to his aid “One can only hope” with obvious exhaustion in his retort, his hands on his hips, a deadpan expression that Eddie couldn’t stop himself from smiling at.

Gareth snorted a little laugh and followed with “Amen to that, dude.”

“He’ll be back though, he always is.” Dougie piped up around his own bite full of some oat concoction, it looked gross. “Once he sees his job offers dry u—what?” The other two were giving it the kill signal, twin expressions of panic, as if he’d said too much… god who was he? “You fuckers know I’m right, Eddie knows I’m right, he’s a clout chasing pretty boy riding Eddie’s coattails to fame, just cause you’re too chicken shit to say anything to him doesn’t mean I am.”

Eddie looked to Steve again as Dougie spoke, only to receive a silently raised brow in return, he was on his own. “Well—” Eddie began, the other three froze, even Dougie’s attention was on him now, all three clearly expecting something “not anymore! Dunno what I saw in him, but I’m done, Steve, if you would… uhm… make sure he can’t contact me again?”

“Want me to block his number?”

“What?” Eddie whispered behind his hand, brows furrowed in confusion, block? A number? What?

“I’ll sort it.” Steve would sort it, and of that Eddie had zero doubts. He wouldn’t doubt the genie about anything ever again. Louie and his overly manicured entire self would never darken his doorstep again, of that he was certain.

“Holy shit, who are you and where did Eddie go?” The panic gone, Gareth seemed genuinely surprised by his declaration. He'd missed too much, too many things he didn’t know, too many things he’d done that he couldn’t apologise for because he didn’t know what he'd be apologising for. it'd be cheap, it'd be pointless.

Eddie hated everything. He could have probably lived with it, with his lost time, had this not been his first experience of the day with people he recognised. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not with his friends looking at him like he were a bomb ready to go off.

He could put on a brave face though, even if the muscles in his face felt foreign, even if he felt tired... he could act the part. “Turnin over a new leaf I guess... self reflection, new path, bachelor life never hurt me too bad, right?” His friends shared looks, a silent communication happening between them that made Eddie feel isolated, othered, outside, and alone.

He wanted out. To run.

And as if he knew, Steve’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed grounding him in place. He was there, the Genie was there, he'd fix it if Eddie wished him to. He wasn’t stuck, Steve just wanted him to live the day. Experience it. Be brave, it wasn’t permanent.

Jeff broke the silence though, he stood up, crossed the distance between them, that gigantic chasm that seemed so impossible to cross seconds before, and clapped his hands to both of Eddie's biceps, his straight toothed smile blinding “nice to have you back then, Eds, now eat your fuckin breakfast an let’s get this stupid talk show shit over with, yeah?” Okay... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Fuck the ‘old' Eddie, the Eddie who Eddie himself had never met and never wanted to meet, he had his friends, he'd be fine. Maybe he could even stay.

“Sounds good, what's for breakfast?”

“For you? Nothin but the good stuff, man, ordered you some wholemeal toast with avocado an egg whites” so many words, so little recognition in his eyes.

What the fuck was an avocado? Was that a real thing?

“...Can I not have pancakes like Gareth?” Gareth with his syrupy monstrosity.  

Dougie scoffed around his oatmeal, swallowing before he responded because at some point during the last thirty years he’d developed manners. “With your cholesterol? Fuck off, dude, we don’t want you having a heart attack on stage.” Steve only offered him a sympathetic smile in consolation. The beautiful bastard. “It's avocado toast or oatmeal, your choice old man.”

Strike being able to stay. He wanted to go home.

Eddie didn’t like Avocados.

He decided this the moment a semi-hard glob of green mush touched his tongue, lightly seasoned, mixed with something tangy, he hated it, hated the smell, hated the unexpected texture, hated the taste but he ate it. He pushed through like a little champ when every instinct he had told him to rebel against it, to demand French fries or something stupid that definitely didn’t come as a breakfast food.

Maybe he could swing fast food later, see what the future held for the fast food joints.

Later seemed too busy though, the moment they were done with breakfast, the band were whisked away into some kind of car, something way fancier than Eddie had ever seen, to get to the venue and prepare. Hair, makeup, the usual routine that Eddie wished he had an ounce of experience with because back at the Hideout it was just… them climbing up on the rickety old stage Bev’s late husband put together on the fly and letting loose.

There was no pre-gig warming up, no hoard of professionals tugging them into various chairs and rooms to make sure their hair was the correct brand of artful frizz, or mess of floof, or women with brushes coated in powders to minimize the shine from the studio lights that’d make their skin too shiny for the cameras to work with.

Wardrobe was fool proof as they were presented with options that ranged from smart casual to red carpet. Everything suitable for a talk show and nothing fit for a ‘metal’ band, which was strange considering they were advised to go for something they could move in as they were going to be performing during their run through, maybe more than once to make sure all angles were covered.

It was a lot, it was a hell of a lot, Eddie kept finding Steve in his peripherals though. Always there, silent, and observant off to the side, close enough to step in should anyone cross any boundaries but staying out of the way of the professionals so they could work unhindered.

It was grounding in a way, him there, even if he looked so very human despite what he knew Steve to really look like, having him there, knowing the man could get him out of the chaos at any time was grounding.

All those people touching him, all the noise around him, sounds, smells, lights, the pushing, and pulling, and the tugging on his hair, he wanted to scream, he wanted to get away from it all, he wanted—

“Alright, five minute break.” Steve stepped in, his voice firm, without room for argument. “Rockstar needs a breather.” Eddie could have kissed him, genuinely. The relief as all those professionals took a few steps back was instantaneous, that feeling only growing when Steve managed to corral them out of the room entirely, leaving just them in there.

The other band members were in their own rooms, Eddie clearly some ‘big shot’ that he didn’t quite get. Sure he was the front man but… they always said they’d be equals if they made it big. They’d always scoffed at the idea of multiple green rooms, of putting single members on pedestals, that was how shit went sideways, that was how infighting and breaking apart happened. They’d stay grounded, stay real.

They didn’t want that bullshit and yet there he was. All on his own, his friends elsewhere being prepped without him. He hated it. How had it happened? “I should be used to this, shouldn’t I?”

“What makes you think that?” Eddie damn near jumped out of his skin when Steve was just. Right there. Stood beside him in the reflection of the mirror. No longer looking all that human, he looked like himself, golden and beautiful, wearing the clothes he first saw him in.

When he turned around, the human looked back at him, smiling as if he knew what Eddie was looking for. Reflections showed the truth then. Interesting.

“I’m—fuck that's a cool trick, man... but i'm a fuckin rockstar! I should be, I dunno… used to it.” At the very least his old man brain should have caught up by now, right? He should have gotten used to it all, muscle memory of thirty years having passed should have at least kicked in a little, right?

He still felt like that kid from the trailer park on the inside, still felt completely overwhelmed.

He’d just been dropped into a life with no memory of living it.

“Who said you ever got used to it?” Steve hadn’t said that. In fact Steve had painted a pretty sad story of addiction and self-destruction. “Eddie… some people aren’t meant for this kind of life, yes, you’re very talented, you’re absolutely good enough to get this far, and once you’re on stage you are incredible—” for a moment, just a moment, Eddie felt warmth, a teeny sprinkle of warm pleasure trickle through his weary soul at the easily spoken praise. “The weariness fades away and you’re… yourself, everything that you are shines through and it’s breathtaking.” Eddie really did try not to blush, but he felt the heat in his cheeks anyway, as it turned out, older men could definitely be flustered by a cute guy thoughtlessly praising them “but the rest of it… everything that goes along with it… not that I’m an expert or anything, but I don’t believe it’s who you are.”

“I can’t just adapt?” All Steve offered was that similar look of sympathy he’d had in the bathroom back at the hotel. No… no Eddie knew the answer before he’d even asked it. He’d never been able to adapt. “Why?”

“If it helps at all, there’s millions of people out there who feel seen whenever you talk about your struggles with what happens behind the glamour, so many people who love you and support you for the very things that make you struggle so much, for the fact that you keep going, you made it despite them. I’m not going into the why’s and the how’s, but adapting really isn’t something you’re very good at, Eddie, there’s no changing that. You get overwhelmed, that’s just you.”

“Can I wish to change it?” Did he even want to? Not really, something told him it’d backfire somehow, not by Steve’s design, not on purpose, but… it just would.

“You can… I can work my magic, but you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t be the person your friends love, the louder than life DnD loving nerd, you wouldn’t be that anymore, and I like that person, he’s very sweet, so I really don’t want to.” There it was. At least Steve wasn’t just letting him make that mistake. “There’s a life out there that is perfect for you, and trust me you will find it, this just isn’t it. Do you want to go home?” Steve wasn’t going to force him to stay, he wanted Eddie to experience it for this very reason, to see the truth behind one of his biggest dreams, see the chaos behind the curtain of a life that maybe he just wasn’t suited to.

He could go home if he wanted to, but… “No. Not yet. I wanna experience it, just once, y’know? Even if it’s gonna suck, I think you were right, I think I need to.” If only to really drive it home that maybe fame and fortune wasn’t everything.

That maybe he didn’t have to be famous, maybe he didn’t have to be some metal legend, he could just… be. And that would be okay.

“Got it.”

“Will I at least know the song we’re meant to be performing here?” Given how little he knew about his present self, the very real possibility of his music having evolved, of new songs being written, it was an issue he really should have thought about by now, but Steve snapped his fingers, an otherwordly light flashing in his hazel eyes for the briefest of moments, and then he smiled.

“You will now.” And that made him feel a little better. Just a little. Until the chaos continued and the professionals filed back in to finish their jobs, the five minutes up.

Part 5

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 25

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, a tinge of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: I'm not sad... 🥲 Honestly, I don't have words beyond gratitude and cliché goodbyes, so let's end this journey together 🤍

<< 24 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

25. Dare

“Ugh, I can’t believe you convinced everyone to come out here,” Jo groans and raises her flat palm to her brows, shielding her eyes from the scalding desert sun. “What the fuck is wrong with Palm Springs, huh?”

“C’mon, we’ve always wanted to go to Joshua Tree together since we moved to LA. This is like the perfect time,” Y/N argues cheerfully and nudges her friend with her elbow. “Look! It’s so peaceful.”

“There’s a dead carcass over there. Looks like a symbol of my marriage,” Jo deadpans.

Y/N purses her lips before compelling another positive smile to her face. “We can get rid of that. The girls really needed this after the whole Crowley debacle.”

The group left straight after the network meeting in Dean’s office this morning, which didn’t go as planned, to say the least. While several executives were surely interested, Crowley and H-ELLTV put an abrupt end to it. Apparently, they sold their fucking souls by signing a contract with the devil. Crowley’s words still rang in her ears on repeat.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, ladies, but H-ELLTV owns your characters, which means you can’t sell them to another network. You all signed a contract and made a deal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, fucking asshole…” Jo huffs her agreement but then throws her friend a suspicious sideways look. “What’s up with you, though? Why are you so chipper and cheerful like a fucking Disney princess? I thought you of all people would be fucking depressed and devastated about the stupid show ending.”

Y/N shrugs. “I am. I’m just trying to make the best of our last weekend together. Can’t I be happy?”

“Fuck no.” Jo shakes her head. “Something’s up with you. Usually, when you’re like this, it’s overcompensation ‘cause you’ve fucked something up. If I were still married, I’d think you’ve fucked my husband all over again. So, what did you do?”

Y/N shrugs once more and keeps her eyes trained on the sprawling desert landscape in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Dean also was a bigger asshole than usual this morning. So, I’m asking again, what shit did you fuck up now?”

“Nothing, okay? Dean’s always an asshole,” Y/N deflects defensively. Although, even she has to admit – those were some spectacularly icy green eyes this morning. Not that he ever looked directly at her or spoke with her even once. She probably would’ve turned to stone if he did.

“Fine, don’t tell. God knows I don’t fucking care,” Jo says indifferently and joins the other women as they set up their tents on the campground.

Y/N lets out a small sigh as she stares at the bluest sky she’s ever seen while the hot desert sun beams down on her. She watches the girls for a while, her heart slightly cracking at the thought this might be the last time they all hang out together. This year has been the best one she’s ever had.

But then, her heart stings even more when she thinks about the one person who isn’t here, wondering what he’s doing right now. If anything, she owes it all to him.

Dean nurses his beer with a sigh, his green eyes barely paying attention to the half-naked girl who’s winding herself up and down a silver pole in front of him. This used to bring him joy – day-drinking at a strip club and watching tits bounce. But now all he thinks about is how that girl looks nothing like Y/N. None of them do.

“Hey, son. Startin’ early today,” Bobby notes with a chuckle as he sits down next to him.

“Yeah, they canceled the show.” And while that’s certainly true, it’s not the reason why Dean’s sulking at a titty bar.

“Too damn bad. I loved the show!” Bobby tells him enthusiastically. “It was insane. Good insane. It had everything – comedy, drama, heartache, tits, violence, a fucking wedding? There’s something for everyone there.”

“Well, uh, thanks, Bobby. Really appreciate it,” Dean tells him politely. He likes the guy, but he’s not in the mood for chitchat. He’s barely in the mood for naked women, for crying out loud. This is a deep fucking depression.

There are only two promises he’s made to himself: One, he won’t slump like he did after his last divorce. There will be no excessive drinking, which leads to excessively pathetic crying, which leads to a myriad of bad choices out of sheer desperation. Remember that awful dating videotape he made? Yes, there will be no more of that. And then there’s of course two, no drugs – no matter how much he tells himself he wants or fucking needs them. A tiny dot of hope seems to be still dormant in his plastic heart, reminding him that she might come back, and he doesn’t want to risk disappointing her once she does.

Dean has worked fucking hard to be the best version he can be – a version she doesn’t seem to give a shit about. But even he has to admit: He likes himself a lot better now, so he refuses to turn back to old comforts, albeit it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“You guys interested in doing a floor show?”

Bobby’s words pull him from his reverie. Dean arches a brow at him, straightening a bit in his seat. “What? Here?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “No, idjit. My wife Ellen has some stakes in a club on the Vegas Strip. She manages the hotel there, too. They’re looking for a new headliner. Just do the exact same show, night after night, 300 miles east. Vegas is where the money is. Headliners make at least 25 grand a week. You think that gym is big? We have to fill 1,100 seats.”

Dean stumps and blinks at the old man a bit baffled. “Well, uh… I’ll think about it. Talk to my partner, the girls…”

Bobby smiles and pats his shoulder as he gets up. “You do that. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now, how about a lap dance? On the house. Can pick any girl that fancies your heartache. You ain’t foolin’ an old man like me.”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks. Think I’m gonna head home and drink myself into a coma there.”

“It’s getting dark soon. How much longer?” Jo’s brown eyes dart to Y/N as she drags her feet over a rocky path. The sun stings less than it did when they started their little hike, but her skin feels perfectly tanned by now and the water is running low.

“Uh, I think it’s supposed to be just up ahead that hill,” Y/N muses and swirls her head around the formation of rocks that all look the same, squinting her eyes into the distance.

Jo sighs, and her stare intensifies. “You’ve been saying that for over an hour. Are we lost?”

“Noooo…” Y/N doesn’t sound convincing and surely doesn’t fool Jo with her reply.

“Alright, gimme the map.”

“I don’t have the map. I gave it to Meg.”

Jo groans and rolls her eyes, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“What? Meg’s the trail leader. Trail leader gets the map,” Y/N defends her faux pas with reason.

“Great! So we’re fucking lost in the desert,” the blonde huffs.

Y/N chuckles lightly, mostly out of uncomfortableness and panic she tries to hide behind it. “No, there’s a trail marker right over there,” she says, pointing to a pile of rocks. “That looks manmade.”

Jo quirks her brow. “You mean like that pile of rocks? Or that one over there?”

Y/N follows her friend’s gaze, only to realize that there are lots of piles of rock that all look too fucking similar. She purses her lips and scratches her head before resting her arms on her squared-off hips. “I think we’re lost.”

“Yeah.” With an exhaustive sigh, Jo plops down on another pile of rocks and watches as the orange sun dips behind the horizon, shadows of blue slowly crawling across the desert floor and swallowing the light.

Y/N clumsily lowers herself down next to the blonde. Her leg hurts like a bitch, and the desert sand that has wound its way into her cast itches a good deal. Her hands and arms hurt as well from clinging to her crutches all afternoon. Maybe Dean was right, and this was a bad idea, after all. Why does he always have to be fucking right about everything? How can one person be so annoying and frustrating all at once?

“Well, you finally get your wish,” Jo deadpans. “We’re gonna die together.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says ruefully and looks at the first stars appearing in the night sky. “Maybe the stars will guide us home.”

Jo just looks at her, unamused and unsurprised. “You’ve never been camping, have you?”

Y/N twitches her shoulders apologetically. “It was only supposed to be a three-mile moderate beginner’s trail to a beautiful vista. It’s what the guidebook said.”

Jo shakes her head and blows a raspberry, hugging her knees. “Joanna Wesson, 27, found dead near a random cluster of rocks that might have looked like a trail marker. She was best known for playing Beth Crowne on the soap opera Paradise Bay before trying to revive her career on an unsuccessful wrestling show. She is survived by her son, Sammy, and her bitter ex-husband Sam with his secretary Jessica.”

“Well, at least you get an obituary,” Y/N quips. “Mine would just read: Soap Star Found Dead Next to Unidentified Woman in National Park.”

Jo even snorts at that. “Well, I’m sure Dean would cut and edit an adorable video tribute with a bunch of B-roll about you at your funeral.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Y/N pensively licks her lips, her heart doing those painful twinges again whenever she thinks of him. “You know yet what you’re gonna do next?”

“No, I-… I think I wanna produce,” Jo announces with determination in her hazel eyes. “I don’t wanna ask permission. I’m so tired of it all. For once, I wanna boss people around and tell ‘em what to do. You know, you were right.”

Baffled, Y/N raises a brow. “About what?”

“Men,” Jo says simply and then spits with fire, “I fucking hate them all. The Crowleys and the Dicks and the Cases and the Sams and the Deans… They make the choices. They dictate the terms… I’m sick of it all. I just hate asking them for anything.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Y/N says quietly but doesn’t look at Jo. Her heart stings for the millionth time. “I got that role for the Sondheim musical. They called this morning.”

Jo’s lips curve into a soft smile that reaches her eyes. “Congrats. I’m not surprised. You were really fucking good.”

Y/N’s heart flutters a little at the compliment. Tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t remember the last time Jo was nice to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Jo notes attentively.

“No, I am,” Y/N manages to choke out, but the sniffling betrays her intentions.

“But?”

Y/N bobs her head, swallowing. “I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Jo huffs and rubs her cold and goosebump-littered arms as the heat disappears, the nightly air bringing a fresh breeze.

“Dean told me he loves me,” Y/N confesses. “He’s in love with me.”

“Yeah, no shit. Kinda obvious,” Jo says without a twitch of surprise. “Don’t feel bad for not loving him back. That’s what they want… For us to feel bad about every single fucking thing.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think that’s how I feel,” Y/N replies and lets out a jittery sigh.

Jo’s head turns to her, eyeing her friend up and down. “And how do we feel about that? I can’t tell. It’s too dark to see your face.”

“I-, uh, I don’t exactly know,” Y/N says, which is partially true. She might know how she feels about the green-eyed director, but not how she feels about the situation overall.

Jo purses her lips and nods. “Alright, here’s a couple of options: happy, excited, scared, or… repulsed?”

“Well, uhm… scared,” Y/N admits slowly and gulps. “And excited… happy.”

Jo throws her arms up, shaking her head at the stars. “Jesus fuck! Then what the fuck are we doing here?! Is that why you dragged me all the way to the fucking desert? Because you’re running from your feelings?”

“Kinda. I thought the peaceful quiet and beautiful nature would bring me some much-needed clarity,” Y/N explains.

Jo lifts a brow but tries not to seem too annoyed. She’s accustomed to her friend’s theatrics, after all. “And? Did it?”

“The hike didn’t, but facing death kinda does,” Y/N jokes and begins to laugh a little, Jo soon joining her. When their laughter dies down and the desert sounds of chirping crickets and screeching eagles remain, Y/N exhales a shaky breath. “I’m in love with him, too. He makes me really fucking happy. But… I finally feel like I’m on the right track with my career. I am where I’m supposed to be, you know? I don’t wanna throw that away for a guy.”

“Who says you should?”

“I don’t know… Isn’t that how it goes? You did it,” Y/N argues.

Jo licks her lips and clicks her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause I chose the wrong fucking guy. Sam made me give up everything I ever loved and told me what to love instead. If you pick the right guy, he won’t make you do that.”

“How do I know it’s the right guy, though?”

Jo smiles softly. “Look, I’m not Dean’s biggest fan, but he’s yours. You know that, right? He’d never hold you back. He adores the ground you walk on. Yes, he’s an asshole with so many fucking issues, and he’s goddamn annoying most of the time, but he’s always had your back, even when he pretended that he didn’t. The guy would probably sell every limb and his fucking soul to see you get everything you ever wanted, Y/N. He wouldn’t be a mistake. You know what would be a mistake? Not trying because you’re too scared of making one. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Thoughtfully, Y/N nods in agreement and grabs her crutches, rising from her rocky seat. “I need to see him. We have to head back to the city.”

“Finally! Thank fucking God.” With a grunt, Jo jumps to her feet and helps Y/N to steady hers. “Maybe the girls made a fire bright enough, so we can find our way back.”

“Shit.”

“What? They have matches, don’t they? I’m sure these bitches can manage a simple fire, right?” Jo then notices Y/N’s hand curling around her bicep, her grip tightening. And then, Jo glances in the direction of Y/N’s eyes and sees the same damn thing. Her brown eyes widen.

“Mountain lion.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the blonde hisses and holds on to her friend as well. Both women freeze on the spot. “What-, uh, what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should throw a stick?”

“A stick?” Jo arches her brow. The big cat snarls and stalks a little closer, making the two women jump back. Their hearts are thumping in their throats at this point. “It’s not a fucking dog, Y/N. It won’t play fetch with you.”

“I know that. How about you come up with a better idea, then?” Y/N snaps through gritted teeth. The lion hisses again, causing the women to tremble down to their bones and hug each other tighter. “I think I should jump it.”

“Are you nuts? No!”

“Look, while it eats me, you can flee. I can’t run with my cast anyways. This is the best option,” Y/N insists, but Jo vehemently shakes her head.

“Fuck no! You’re not sacrificing yourself. We die together. You’re not leaving me behind,” Jo maintains. “I always knew my death would be your fault. Don’t ask me how, but I knew you’d get me killed somehow.”

The wild cat takes another step forward and lowers to the ground as if to get ready to jump its prey – them. But then a few tumbling rocks and breaking twigs draw its attention behind the women. Is there an even bigger cat here?

And suddenly, Meg leaps forward from above them with a loud howl and snarls at the cat, which hastily tucks its tail between its legs and flees down the hill into the dark night. Y/N and Jo expel a big breath of relief and a shaky laugh as they find Meg.

“Meg, what the fuck? Did you just scare away a mountain lion?” Y/N gapes at her friend in utter disbelief.

Meg only shrugs her shoulders. “I hate cats. What are you guys doing out here so long?”

“We got lost. Couldn’t find our way back to camp,” Y/N explains.

Meg furrows her brow and thumbs behind her. “It’s just over there. You guys have been hiking around the same hill for five hours.”

Jo shoots Y/N a small glare of annoyance and blows some loose strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Of course we did…” she mutters.

“We have to get back to LA!” Y/N declares eagerly, trying to climb the small rocky hill with her crutches, foregoing the more suitable pathway.

“Right now? It’s probably 3am when we get to Burbank. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Jo says as she attempts to climb after her friend.

“No! I almost died! Twice… Dean needs to know how I feel before I get bit by a rattlesnake, too,” Y/N reiterates passionately.

“It’s probably for the best,” Meg chimes in. “We kinda forgot to pack food. I was about to hunt something for us when I ran into you guys. We have tons of drugs and booze, though.”

Y/N’s knuckles thunder persistently on Dean’s door and conjure up a storm. She has jumped out of Ruby’s limo so fast, the girls are still scrambling out and flooding Dean’s front lawn one by one. They’re loud and obnoxious, but the ringing in her ears makes their chatter barely noticeable.

The lock clicks and the door opens. Dean stands in front of her with weary green eyes, heavy with sleep, tousled bed-head, and a furiously scrunched brow. He half yawns and half grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he feels clearer, minus the soft buzz of whiskey remnants in his bloodstream, he blinks at the young actress in front of him and then tilts his head at the circus show behind her.

God, between his punk rock daughter and this, his neighbors must really hate him.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be camping in fucking Joshua Tree?” His voice is a gravelly bark. He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, especially when he just woke from a dream about her, but he’s not as masochistic as he used to be. He’s not a fan of torturing himself with the image of her any longer.

Y/N’s heart somersaults as soon as she sees him, even though his apprehension hurts a bit. “Look, I almost died tonight. We got lost in the desert and then a mountain lion almost fucking ate us.”

Dean licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah, I’m not fucking surprised. Told you Palm Springs is the better option. So, did anyone fucking die? What’s the head count?”

“No one died.”

“Huh. Then why the fuck are you here in the middle of the night, Y/N?” Dean bites, his brow creasing in anger. He can’t even fucking look at her for a second without his heart being on the brink of an explosion. Even saying her goddamn name hurts like needle pricks in an abused vein.

“I–” Y/N swallows thickly. Her drumming heart is stuck in her airway along with her words.

“She’s here to tell you she loves you!” Ruby hollers behind her before several girls tackle her and clasp her mouth shut.

Dean’s heart twists upon the sick joke, his frown deepening. But then he glances at Y/N and thinks he can spot the truth in her eyes. He thought that once before, though, and was terribly wrong.

Y/N gives a shrug of one shoulder with tears brimming in her eyes. A small smile forms on her lips. “What she said.”

Dean nods and drags a hand over his freckled face, feeling the tears well in his eyes, too. Fucking whiskey. Always renders him goddamn sentimental. “Look, uhm, you kinda gotta tell me this yourself. Otherwise, I won’t believe it, okay?”

Upon his request, Y/N takes a deep breath and looks him into his eyes. “I’m in fucking love with you.” As soon as the words are out, she starts crying and the tears fall down her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dean’s heart tumbles into free fall, and he’s sure not even a parachute can stop it. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Is-, is it too late?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, grinning brighter than the California sun on the longest day of the year. “Fuck no. Even if it had taken you thirty years, I still would’ve taken you back. That’s kinda how once-in-a-lifetime love works, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good movie,” Y/N jokes between her tears, her fingers tingling to touch him.

“Yeah, best one there is.”

His hands grab hold of her and pull her into his embrace. He claims her lips, Y/N eagerly parting her mouth as his tongue slips between. The kiss is rushed and fervent and perfectly desperate. They’re both so gone they can’t even hear the girls cheering and applauding them in the background.

“You’re gonna come inside?” Dean asks in a murmur against her lips, barely letting her breath.

“Uhm…”

“Hey, Lothario, you got space for us, too?” Cassie shouts with a wide smirk.

“Yeah, we’re fucking starving,” Ruby adds with an impatiently arched brow.

“We, uh, forgot to pack food,” Y/N explains with a chuckle.

Dean sighs and smiles knowingly. “Of course you did.” He then turns to the women waiting on his lawn. “Alright, get in. I’ll order some pizzas.”

The women then proceed to brush past the couple and filter into Dean’s house. Missouri pinches his cheeks, Ruby pats his head, Cassie fist-bumps him and sends Y/N a flirty wink, Meg tousles his hair, Charlie shrugs apologetically, and Jo offers an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m never gonna get rid of them, am I?” Dean looks down at her and tightens his jaw, even when a grin is visible.

“No, I’m afraid not. It’s like you’ve adopted twelve strays. One of which actually turned out to be your long-lost puppy. They’re gonna be here until you die and then eat your corpse,” Y/N quips.

“Funny.” Dean clicks his tongue, his dimples itching to form a grin.

“Oooo! Let’s call the guys!” he hears Ruby exclaim from inside his living room. “It’s a fucking wrap party at the boss’ house!”

“No! No party! Guys, c’mon!” Dean storms inside after them, leaving Y/N giggling on his doorstep.

“Let’s call Garth, Kevin, and Benny!” Donna suggests, ignoring his protests. It’s like they can’t fucking hear him.

“I’ll call my husband, too!” Bela adds and eagerly dials Cas’ number on his landline.

“Oh, right, Cas…” Dean mutters with an eye roll as he remembers the impromptu wedding. “No fucking Benny!”

Y/N joins his side and rubs his back in comfort as he watches his house sink into female doom. “You okay?”

The deep trenches in his brow flatten into soft valleys as his green eyes lock on her. He dips his head and pulls her to his lips, kissing her slow and reverently. “Better.” He smirks. “Just gonna have to sage the whole house tomorrow.”

That earns him a playful slap on his chest. He laughs and pulls her closer with an arm around her waist.

“Hey, uh, speaking of party…” Dean mumbles before he addresses the whole room, grabbing their attention with an authoritative clear of his throat. He’s still got it. “You guys wanna do shows in Vegas?”

“What?!”

Dean’s eyes find Y/N’s gaping face. He chuckles a little. “Yeah, uh, Bobby offered me a deal. There’s nothing in the network contract about live shows. I already went over it with Cas this afternoon. It pays well, too. You guys interested? It’s not like any of you have actual jobs lined up, right?”

Y/N closes her mouth. “I got that Sondheim musical in San Diego. It’s a workshop production, but if it goes well, it could go all the way to Broadway. I could end up in New York.”

“Good,” Dean says and smirks. “You’re fucking fired.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N’s mouth falls open again. “You said you’d never fire me!”

“Yeah, well, this is for your own good,” Dean reasons. “You think I’m gonna let you quit Sondheim for some stupid wrestling show in Vegas? You gotta be fucking nuts! This is what you fucking wanted. Don’t make me kick your stupid ass onto that stage. It’s gonna look embarrassing for you again…”

Y/N bites her lips to conceal her grin. Her eyes meet Jo’s, who mouths ‘I told you so’ at her. “Thank you,” she tells Dean and kisses his cheek. He furrows his brow at her in suspicion. “But rehearsals don’t start until June. Still gonna need a job till then.”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow shoots up in realization. “The June in nine months?”

“Yeah, the June in nine months,” Y/N confirms with a laugh.

“Whoops. Well, consider yourself rehired till June, then,” Dean relents.

“So, if I ever have to work in New York–”

“Then we’ll go to New York. Big fucking whoop-dee-doo. You know I hate LA.”

Y/N giggles, nodding. “What would you do in New York?”

“Same I do here, just on a little balcony instead of a backyard. I sit with my typewriter by a table and smoke and drink,” Dean retorts. “I’ve actually been working on a new script. I’m moving away from horror and into Western.”

“Got inspired by the motel’s wallpaper, huh?” Y/N teases. “What’s it about?”

“Father-daughter storyline. Thought I’d give that a shot…”

1990, 5 years later…

“Dean! We’re gonna be late!” Y/N reminds him and holds the blindfold in place over her eyes as he drags her somewhere by the hand. Her heels can barely keep up with his fast pace. “You know, check-in at LAX is the worst. Our flight departs in two hours. I’m nominated, Dean! I can’t reschedule! The girls are all flying in, too…”

“I know! I’m fucking hurrying, okay?” Dean assures. However, she can hear the stress and tension in his gravelly voice. He then suddenly halts and positions her into place by her shoulders before carefully taking off the blindfold. “Alright, here we are.”

Y/N blinks her eyes open and recognizes blurry shapes of purple and gold. She lifts an eyebrow as ornaments on the walls and a big stage come into view as well. “The Aztec porno theater?”

“Mayan,” Dean corrects her and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he gets down in front of her on one knee and tries to fumble out the too-big ring box from his too-tiny suit jacket pocket. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, wait!” Y/N stops his endeavor with raised palms, her eyebrows meeting her hairline when she realizes what he’s about to do.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N!” Dean frowns in frustration and rises to his feet with a huff and a shaking head. “I know you’re against marriage and the patriarchy and all that bullshit, but c’mon… We’ve been dating for five years. We have a good thing going, right?”

After spending a whole year in beautiful Las Vegas – the Paris of Nevada – the two of them moved to New York. Dean sold his house in Burbank and opted for a Brooklyn apartment instead. Claire also studied film at NYU before she graduated last Spring. But every few months, the couple finds themselves back in LA – for interviews, for business, for friends.

“Dean–”

“No! You know me. I’d make a great fucking husband. You love it when I make reporters laugh on the red carpet. I’m an awesome trophy husband, okay?”

“DEAN!”

“WHAT?!”

Why the fuck is she angry now? He should be the one that’s angry. She’s turning down the best opportunity of her life. She should consider herself lucky he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He even had an amazing speech prepared to knock her right off her feet, but does he get to say it now? How he wanted to grow fucking old together and support each other? How he wanted to marry her all those years ago when she told him she was pregnant? Nope...

“I’m fucking pregnant!”

Dean blinks at her in confusion before his eyes begin to wander around the familiar theater. Did he take something? Drink too much? Did he actually travel through time or is this a weird fever dream on his deathbed?

“What’s it with you and this theater? And why do you always yell that?”

“Because you never listen.” Y/N giggles and bites her lower lip. “And I’ll gladly marry you if that’s what you were going for. I just figured I’d tell you before in case you wanna change your mind and bail.”

“Why the fuck would I bail?” Dean’s brows knit together, close to offense.

She shrugs and holds up her palms in surrender. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Why? Isn’t it mine?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, a grin twitching on her pink lips as she slaps his arm. “Yes, of course it’s yours.”

“And you’re keeping it? You sure?” Dean throws her a quizzical look.

Her brow furrows. “Why, you aren’t?”

“No, I am!” he assures her swiftly, realizing how it sounded. “Hell yeah, I want another kid! You know I always wanted to make up for missing out on Claire so much! I finally get to change a diaper, go to the park, or the fucking zoo while my wife works… It’ll be so fun!”

Y/N tries to stifle her laugh. He seems happy, judging by the joyful glint in his green eyes. They resemble sparkling emeralds.

“But are you sure, y' know?” Dean checks with a deep look into her eyes. “I mean, I do what I can to support you and keep the thing alive in your absence, but you know you’re still gonna be benched for a couple of months, right? I’m not a fucking seahorse.”

Y/N laughs a little at that. “I know. I’m fine with sitting on the bench for a little while. I’m kinda exhausted. I did two Broadway musicals almost back to back, three off-Broadway shows, all the workshops and the rehearsals and Matinees and the dancing and the singing… Not to mention I’m nominated for a fucking Tony tonight,” she says and is close to out of breath by the time she finishes her list of accomplishments.

“Which you’re gonna win,” Dean reassures her persistently. He’s been telling her since the nominations were announced (and even before that when he first saw her in the role on the first night).

“We’ll see,” she brushes him off, although her blushed cheeks betray her words. In her heart, she hopes so as well. “Anyways, I could use the break,” she admits and takes his hands in hers, interlacing their fingers. She places a loving kiss on his lips. “Right time, right guy, right baby,” she says, smiling.

Dean squeezes her hand happily and pulls her to his lips for a searing kiss. “So, where did we land on that whole marriage thing?”

“See? You’re never listening,” she teases, laughing. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Under one condition…”

Dean smirks. “I've had the same exact thought – Vegas. It’s perfect!”

“What, no! I don’t wanna get married in filthy Vegas, you dork!” Y/N frowns playfully, shaking her head. “I wanna get married in Nebraska. I want my dad to marry us."

Dean’s brow creases. He chuckles in amusement. “What, like a shotgun wedding? Could be fun… Pastor marries pregnant daughter to older man. Is this gonna make headlines in the townie paper?”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head at him. “No, it’s a shotgun wedding. It’s very common,” she deadpans.

“I’ve never met your parents,” Dean realizes then. “Why have I never met your parents? It’s weird they never come visit you,” he ponders.

“Oh no, they do,” Y/N tells him, pursing her lips as she twirls her hair around her finger. “They’ve seen me both in Into The Woods and Gypsy.”

“Really, when?” Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Whenever you were in LA, visiting Claire,” Y/N admits ruefully. She never told them she was dating the director, not sure if they’d approve – not that she gives a shit, but she wanted to spare herself all the sermons and the exploring of the Sunday school dating pool. Whenever they asked who owned the men’s clothes in her apartment, she lied and said she had a gay-but-in-the-closet roommate. “But you can meet them now,” she promises with a reassuring smile on her lips. Thank God she’s an excellent, Tony-nominated actress. “I’m sure they learn to love you just like I did.”

“Learn to?”

“I love you.” Y/N smiles mischievously and shuts up any further comments by kissing him.

Dean grins and relents with a blissful sigh. “I love you, too.”

THE END 🌅

Thank you all so much for reading and making me laugh with your comments and screams throughout! 🤍

Are we done with these two for good? Probably not. I've left gaps and doors open on purpose, so I'm sure they'll make an appearance again at some point in the future 😉

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70

[prettyinpwn]

How Gravity Falls Could Have Been Better + Poor Ford and Wendy (GF Writing Analysis Pt. 2)

GF Writing Analysis Series: Pt. 1 - Ford Pines: A Masterclass in Writing a Good Flawed Character Praise the Axolotl, I feel horrible just writing that title. But let me preface this post with three statements:

I've been in this fandom since the first episode aired. I participated in this fandom while it was airing, and I will always cherish this fandom, those memories, and Gravity Falls itself even when I'm a crusty old lady in a rocking chair someday.

Gravity Falls is still my favorite show of all time, even as someone now nearing thirty years old. Nothing's ever topped it since in my mind, and I don't think anything ever will for me.

Writing and making a show is hard. It's easy for me to sit here and smash my little lady hands on a keyboard and criticize the Gravity Falls writing team's decisions. I'm sure if I'd been on that team, I'd have done a lot worse under that burnout and pressure, and I doubt I'll ever write anything anywhere near that critically acclaimed or beloved.

But... every time I've watched Gravity Falls from beginning to end, I've always felt that there was something off. And in recent rewatches, after I'd studied creative writing in college as a part of my minor, plus just having studied and done a lot of writing in my free time for years... I found out finally what it was:

The flaw, in my opinion, is the pacing. Gravity Falls is - and I mean this in the most respectful way to the writers, and I'm saying this as someone who will praise this show to my grave - poorly paced overall.

So what do I mean by that? Each contained episode is tightly written and nearly flawless in the pacing, but the overarching plot? I'll describe it like this: Picture a rollercoaster starting on a very, very slow incline. The scenery on the way up is gorgeous and entertaining to look at, but damn, you want to get to that peak that was teased in the advertisement of the ride. That first tease is what keeps you going on the slow incline. You know you're going to get there, but...

Okay, we're focused on getting accustomed to the seat, the people around us, how this rollercoaster feels, but... you check your watch. Are we there yet? What about that peak that was advertised? No, it's still a glacial incline. You inch upwards. It's godawful slow. You wait - and for those of us who watched when it aired during the hiatuses (which were more Disney's fault than the core team's, to my understanding) - it takes months to years.

Jesus Christ, you think. What about that tease? I want to know what's at that peak! Yes, I get tension and slow buildup, but this is taking FOREVER, and there have been no glimpses of the peak for eons. And then... suddenly, it gets more intriguing. There's a little bump. And another. And finally... there's another hint of the peak that you saw teased all the way back in the Stone Age.

Now, the ride consistently offers you little fun hills after that long, slow first incline. But seconds later BOOM! You skyrocket to that peak so fast your facial skin is flapping behind you. WOO! This is a blast! But holy hell, this is going a little fast compared to what it was like before. The last third of this ride must be MINDBLOWING, with lots of loops and spins and turns and even greater thrills, right?

And then the ride just drops almost face first to a plateau again. There are no more bumps, really. No loops. No twists. Just an almost straight, logical line back to Earth. Half the ride was pretty and made you laugh a lot despite how long it took, but the other half of the ride went so fast in comparison that it was just a blur. You're at the finish line now. Yes, it concluded like it was supposed to, but... is that it?

Rollercoaster metaphor over with, that's the pacing of Gravity Falls. For a more detailed visual example:

(Note - each episode is listed by their overall number. For example, 1 is Tourist Trapped, the peak at 31 is Not What He Seems, and the finale Weirdmageddon episodes are 38-40. Also, this is a rough, subjective view of the pacing tension, but generally... episodes that hinted or contributed to the overarching plot and tension earned higher points, and ones that added almost nothing besides comedy and character development that didn't necessarily add to the overarching plot were lower. The Weirdmageddon episodes are at a plateau since they - as finale episodes - serve to create as much tension as they do resolving it.)

Now, there are no hard and fast rules in writing, and every writer plots differently, but generally, this is the kind of pacing tension that's considered "good" (and that most common outlining techniques follow, just in different forms):

(Credit - please check out this page for a full explanation of each act.)

Generally, the trend is slow buildup. There's no plateau for eons, BOOM, then faceplant, like Gravity Falls. So that gets us to my main thesis of this post, building on what I bolded before:

Gravity Falls was too short because it's a three act story squished into a two act structure; the first season is paced like they were expecting three seasons - a season for each story act - and the second season is paced like they had to quickly fit the last two acts into one.

Why do I say this? Because there's a common writing plot point called the Midpoint / Plot Twist. So for those unfamiliar with writing techniques, let's explore what a Midpoint is:

"The Midpoint occurs at the 50% mark, halfway through the Second Act and (obviously) halfway through the book itself. Although many writers neglect the Midpoint in comparison to more noted moments such as the First Plot Point or Climax, the Midpoint is arguably the most significant beat within the story. It is what director Sam Peckinpah called the “centerpiece” of the entire story. Everything hangs upon it. In many ways, it is the moment that decides the ultimate fate of the story." "The Midpoint will feature at least one, possibly more, momentous revelations. Within the primary character arc and thematic exploration, the protagonist will encounter a Moment of Truth that forever changes his or her view of the story’s central philosophy. This revelation, perhaps in partnership with a further external revelation about the nature of the conflict itself, will forever evolve how the protagonist approaches the conflict��on both a personal and practical level. It signals a thematic shift from Lie to Truth (or vice versa) and an external shift from ineffective “reaction” to increasingly effective “action.” (Credit).

"But PrettyinPwn!", I hear you protest. "Gideon Rises is the episode smack dab halfway through the story and seasons! And that has a big reveal. And we learn a truth about Stan."

Yes, my sweet friends. Gideon Rises - and the reveal of what Stan's hiding in the basement - is a revelation, but the way the first season is paced, in my opinion it's what writers refer to as the First Act climax or Break Into Two. The Break Into Two is:

"Main character makes a choice and to go on the journey, and our adventure begins. We leave the “Thesis” world and enter the upside-down “Anti-thesis” world of Act Two."

(Credit).

Traditionally, this Break Into Two is literally stepping into a new world. Harry Potter getting to Hogwarts. Katniss Everdeen getting to the Capitol. Yadda yadda. But in Gravity Falls, it's more subtle:

We go from the "ordinary" world of Gravity Falls in Season 1 / Act 1 (which is anything but ordinary, but you get the point) where things are bizarre but lighthearted, to the "new" world of Gravity Falls in Season 2A / Act 2 where things are bizarre and definitely not lighthearted anymore. We've started to see the dark underbelly of this strange place and family, the seriousness ramps up, and... lo and behold... a B STORY pops up right at this point in full force, just like B Stories typically do right during or after the Break Into Two point. And that B Story? Is Stan's work on the portal and his search to find Ford, which was teased in the hook, all the way back at Tourist Trapped.

So no, Gideon Rises is not the real story Midpoint. The real story Midpoint is this nerd:

Let's look at those two plotline graphs again; Gravity Falls' and the typical one you see with three act structures:

Yes. Ford's reveal / Not What He Seems should have been smack dab near halfway through the series. But it's not. It marks the 75% point instead. Technically, if we follow the idea that the Midpoint should be roughly around 50% through the story, Not What He Seems should have taken place near where Gideon Rises is in the episode roster, and Gideon Rises should have been halfway through Season 1 (roughly near Fight Fighters).

So what caused this? Oh boy, I'm getting into speculation territory, and I know Hirsch has said it was meant to be this way, but based on the pacing flaws, here's my theory:

Hirsch and team wrote Gravity Falls Season 1 assuming there'd be three seasons; a season for each act of the story. They burned out, so compacted it down to two seasons, and fit all of Act 2 and 3 of the story into Season 2. That's why, at the time the episodes aired, Season 2 was referred to in two halves: Season 2A and Season 2B. Translation? Season 2A is Act 2 and what was supposed to be Season 2 but condensed, Season 2B is Act 3 of the story and what was supposed to be Season 3 but condensed.

TL;DR: In Gravity Falls, Act 1 = 50% of the story, Act 2 = 25% of the story, Act 3 = 25% of the story. AKA poor pacing. The equivalent in, say, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, would be if Harry spent 50% of the story at the Dursley's before getting to Hogwarts.

If Gravity Falls had had three seasons total, the slow buildup in Season 1 would be totally justified, as the first act of most stories takes its time to establish the characters and world. But we instead go from slow plateau to BOOM to faceplant, instead of a slow ride up to the top that consistently raises tension with a few peaks here and there, then a fun, bumpy ride of resolving the tension on the way down.

That's why Season 1 has a little hint of the overarching plot in Tourist Trapped with the Stan vending machine tease at the end of the episode - that's known in writer's circles as the "hook" or promise of the premise - and then literally almost nothing until the end.

I will reiterate: Season 1 is written like the writers thought they had enough time to pace Act 2 and 3 out over the same amount of episodes for each Act.

All this, combined with the fact that Season 2 has some very out of place episodes concerning the tension (*cough* Roadside Attraction *cough*, and no, I don't care that it was retconned later to have made sense), well... yeah.

But this didn't just affect the pacing. It also affected the characters' writing. Wendy barely got developed, Stan and Ford's backstory AKA the B plot got squished into two episodes, the government agents as an antagonist were "defeated" too soon to try to quick switch over to Bill Cipher for Season 2B / Act 3, and the most oof-worthy part? Ford got the short end of the writing stick.

I mentioned in another post that I think Ford is a fantastically written character as a concept, but unlike Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, his good writing relies more on subtext, rushed plotlines, and external materials (Journal 3, mainly). Thematically, as the show focuses on twins, parallelisms, juxtapositions, Ford should have had just as much "let's get to know this character!" focus and time to develop to the viewer as Stan did. But no, he got... what, roughly 4-5 episodes, some of them where his story was only the B plot? Literally, let's count:

Episodes with Stan plotlines: Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel, The Inconveniencing, Dipper vs. Manliness, Irrational Treasure, Boss Mabel, Bottomless Pit, Land Before Swine, Dreamscaperers, Gideon Rises, Scaryoke, Soos and the Real Girl, Little Gift Shop of Horrors, The Love God, Not What He Seems, A Tale of Two Stans, DD&MD, The Stanchurian Candidate, Roadside Attraction, Weirdmageddon 1+3.

Episodes with Ford plotlines: A Tale of Two Stans, DD&MD, The Last Mabelcorn, Dipper and Mabel vs The Future, Weirdmageddon 1+3.

Ford feels like an afterthought. Dipper, Mabel, and Stan get 100% of the story to develop, and Ford gets less than 25%. Also factor in how Ford is the peak the viewer is waiting for, the whole mystery that keeps viewers on their toes for most of the story... and he gets ~5 episodes, and none of those are 100% focused on him.

It's like hosting a multiple course meal promising the main course - the steak - is gonna blow your mind. And then you get it 75% of the way through the meal and it's like... dime sized. It's a damn good little nerd steak, but it's so small, and we ate like three hundred Dipper and Wendy crush and Mabel crush and really well written and funny but effectively filler episode salads on the way here, including ones that weren't even canon (Bottomless Pit and Little Gift Shop of Horrors), interspersed with the occasional hint of steak with episodes like Dreamscaperers. Which would have been fine had there been an equal and increasing amount of steak, but no. To ask an age old question... WHERE'S THE BEEF?

A summary of Ford:

Worse yet, let's compare his introduction to Stan's introduction.

Stan (in Tourist Trapped): "Heya, I'm a grumpy old conman runnin' a tourist trap, and all I care about is money, but... hey, you kids want something from the Gift Shop?"

Ford (in A Tale of Two Stans): "Greetings, I just returned from sci-fi sideburn land, I'm just going to punch a character - my brother - beloved by the audience in the face after he did something very nice for me, tell my long backstory that kind of makes me look like a douche in multiple ways, plot convenience the antagonist away, then tell said beloved by the audience character / brother to get off my lawn."

No wonder why - after ATOTS aired - lots of people thought Ford was a Class A, prime US Grade, grass fed dick. And to this day, more people seem to love Stan over Ford in the fandom. We get context for his decisions later in... drumroll please... Journal 3. And subtext. Not even an episode.

We THEN understand that Ford punched Stan because of the thirty years of hell he went through, that he was just about to defeat Bill Cipher when Stan activated the portal therefore interrupting him, and Ford was upset that the Shack had made a mockery of his paranormal studies plus Stan had literally stolen his identity, completely turned his house around, and made him look like a conman... so we then have an 'OH!' moment and realize, "Hey, wait a minute, this guy has reasons for what he did. Maybe he was more justified than we thought, or at least as justified as Stan was.".

But not in the show. In a book released after. He is actually equally as well-written as Stan is, in concept. He's a great protagonist with realistic flaws and reasons. But he got a sad little salad in the writing department compared to Stan, Mabel, and Dipper's whole ten course caloric explosion buffet.

So what would have fixed this? Just like the overarching plot's pacing... another season. Season 1 + the first half of Season 2 could have been solving the mystery of Stan, and the second half of Season 2 and Season 3 could have been solving the mystery of Ford.

And that, my friends, is why Gravity Falls is too short.

~

Where does this leave us? Well, er... my next thought is... how would I have written Gravity Falls using the typical pacing progress?

Well, for starters, let's decide this: how many seasons do we want overall? The two options are...

A. Two seasons like it is now, but shorten each story Act.

B. Three seasons, each season is one Act of the story.

If Gravity Falls were just two seasons long in this hypothetical outline, this is what I'd do:

Take out the Dipper/Wendy love subplot. I'm sorry, we all knew while we were watching it that it would go nowhere. I remember watching it as a teen girl as the show aired and being so damn bored with it as a subplot. Especially because... as it stands, most of Wendy's purpose is as Dipper's crush. She never got her own episode.

Put Gideon Rises as Episode 10 instead of Fight Fighters. Make Not What He Seems as the Season 1 finale.

Take out a lot of the "filler" episodes in Season 1. I hate to say this, because I love a lot of the Season 1 episodes. But to pace it better, I'd say order the episodes in Season 1 like this: Tourist Trapped The Legend of the Gobblewonker The Hand That Rocks the Mabel The Time Traveler's Pig Little Dipper Boss Mabel Carpet Diem Land Before Swine Dreamscaperers Gideon Rises Scary-oke Into the Bunker The Golf War Soos and the Real Girl Sock Opera (Any of the "filler" episodes from Season 1 or 2 here) Blendin's Game Society of the Blind Eye Northwest Mansion Mystery Not What He Seems

And as for season 2:

A Tale of Two Stans Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons Then... Here we have a big gap, because we put many Season 2 episodes in Season 1. We squished all that plot into Season 1, so what do we fill episodes 3-17 of Season 2 with? I'll tell you what: More Wendy and more Ford. In this version of the outline, Dipper and Mabel are present characters in every episode, with a special focus on Stan and Soos to a smaller extent in Season 1. So to make it even, I'd make this version of Season 2 have a big focus on Ford and then Wendy to a smaller extent, mirroring how Stan and Soos are focused on in Season 1. And just like the antagonist of Season 1 - Gideon - with a little bit of the government agents, have this season have a few more episodes with the government agents and then Bill as the big final bad.

This gap here gives us ~14 episodes to develop these characters. I also think The Last Mabelcorn should be in here somewhere, so make that 13. If we parallel Season 1, then roughly... Bill should get two episodes as a main antagonist like Gideon did before his finale in Gideon Rises. Wendy should get two episodes as a deuteragonist like Soos did in Season 1.

The Bill episodes could hint more at his backstory like Journal 3 did, have him mess with Ford more and tease at Ford's "sing to me O Muse" backstory with him (because more Ford parallels with Odysseus are always welcome).

The Wendy episodes could delve into the same issues Soos' episodes did: Wendy Episode #1: Her dating issues, but instead of finding someone like Soos did, she's happily single at the end. I vote a plot where Wendy is ready to date again after the Robbie fiasco, Mabel tries to set her up with someone new, tied to a B plot with Ford where Mabel digs into his dating life, finds little to none, and then both Ford and Wendy realize at the end that it's okay to be single and not ashamed of it in a romance obsessed society (also Ford on the ace spectrum ftw, personal headcanon though). Better yet, have it have a kid friendly explanation that some people love differently; actually show that Wendy is Bisexual and Ford is - I'd argue - Ace (or straight or gay but just super bad at relationships because of pouring himself into his work and his other flaws, fear of sharing his baggage with others, etc). Not that Disney would have allowed LGBT+ at that time, because, well... Disney.

This would simultaneously make Wendy A. NOT just a crush figure tied to romance, as female characters often get relegated to, and B. help Ford parallel some insecurities about how he compares himself to Stan, just like Stan compares himself to Ford in the episodes that actually aired, especially if we keep The Stanchurian Candidate as one of the episodes but involve Ford more in it. Have Mabel pull a Jane Austen's Emma and learn to stop being a busybody matchmaker. This idea - in my opinion - is way cooler and less ethically ambiguous than The Love God.

Wendy Episode #2: Her family issues, AKA her dead mother. Make it real tearjerky with a B plot tie to how Stan or Ford never got to see their parents again after the portal accident and before their parents died, and parallel it with Wendy regretting something regarding her mother before she died. This would give us a chance to explore more about Wendy as a character, and both Filbrick / Caryn (AKA Stan and Ford's parents) as characters, as well. I would also lean more towards having her bond with Ford over Stan in this episode. Or, alternatively, you could tie this to Dipper and Mabel and their parents. Because you can't tell me that their parents did NOT have questions about what was going on after Mabel sent that letter home about her "two grunkles".

But why so many Ford with Wendy plots? Because Soos is already the Shack employee tied a lot to Stan, so to parallel, you could have Wendy bond more with Ford. At first glance, this seems like it'd be an odd duo, but Wendy probably could relate to Ford's experiences of feeling like the responsible one in the family, hiding how much they care about things under a more calm facade, the fact that Wendy's dad built the Shack for Ford, maybe add Wendy having an underlying interest in science or the paranormal that she deadens down to fit in that Ford finds out about and tries to encourage her to not hide anymore to tie in with his theme of "it's okay to be weird". You could do a million things with Ford and Wendy subplots.

So that leaves us with a total of nine other episodes to devote to Ford here in this season space. I mean, picture it... in my original counts of how many episodes Stan vs. Ford got in the real version of the show that aired, Stan had around 23 episodes that featured him.

In this version of the outline, Stan would get 14-15 episodes featuring him. Ford would get 14 episodes featuring him. CHEF'S KISS; EQUAL TREATMENT BY THE WRITING. But what would these episodes be about?

A. More bonding and arc between Dipper and Ford. Dipper would go from "notice me Ford senpai / hyperventilating" to "holy crap the Author is as awesome as I thought he'd be!" to "wait a minute, this guy's got some flaws" to "maybe this isn't who I want to become?" to make Dipper's rejection of the apprenticeship feel more natural and take the blame heat off of Mabel (as the fandom's been eager to place).

If Dipper's reasoning for rejecting the apprenticeship was not just "Mabel needs me" but a combination of "Mabel needs me, Stan needs Ford more than I do, Mabel was right and I don't need the Journals / the Author / Ford to be a hero, and I don't want to become Ford", it'd make a lot more sense. Because thematically, the plot of Gravity Falls resolves BECAUSE Dipper and Mabel don't become Ford and Stan; they avoid the mistakes they made, and in doing so, heal the literal and metaphorical rift. And it also makes more sense for Dipper's character arc, which was always about self-confidence.

That, and I think it'd have been great for Dipper to have had a trust - distrust - trust again arc with Ford like he did with Stan. "Oh, Ford's so cool" to "Ford lied to me about Bill!" to "Ford is flawed, but he's still the great uncle I love now". Put a Dark Night of the Soul in there, where Dipper literally 'Trusts No One!'. Not even Ford. Have him teeter on the precipice of going down Ford's dark path, but Mabel saves him from fully falling into it. And have Ford have a Dark Night of the Soul, where now even Dipper doesn't trust or like him, and so Ford feels totally outcasted by his family like Stan felt years ago.

B. Slower plot twist revelations about Ford's past with Bill Cipher. Start him out reluctant to talk about it, especially in front of Dipper, who views him as a hero that Ford so desperately wants to be. Explore some of his trauma, what his choices have cost him, etc. Hell, I'm pretty sure Ford's got some form of PTSD, so throw a plotline in there about Ford isolating a lot because of it. Of course, since kids are a primary audience of the show, you can't get too dark, but you can't tell me Ford didn't experience some messed up stuff on the other side of the portal.

C. Goddamn, take some of Ford's multiverse explorations from Journal 3 and make them actual episodes. What a wasted opportunity in the show. And it better have Jheselbraum in it, or I riot.

D. More Ford bonding with Mabel. Please, for the love of God, I know Dipper and Ford are nerdtopia buddies, but Ford and Mabel would get along so well. They're both weirdos at heart, sweater twins, the older twins, and love the odd and the artistic. Make a B plot with Stan and Dipper bonding, maybe even after Dipper's loss of respect for Ford, and have Dipper "side" with Stan while Mabel starts to "side" with Ford more, almost getting lost in Stan and Ford's rift themselves. Because goddammit, we're riding this juxtaposition and parallelism and thematic train into the Sun!

E. GIVE FORD MORE MOMENTS TO LOOK LIKE A CARING, SWEET GRUNKLE. Stan got a truckload of chances to shine and for the twins to bond with him. Can... can Ford have the same thing? Please? Here, elevator pitch: Ford being forced to put science away to watch the twins for a day because Stan's busy, he reluctantly agrees, and by the end he's just as much of a softie for them as Stan is. Or have Dipper and Mabel get in trouble, Stan and Ford have to work together to save them; have them sabotage each other, trying to look like the better Grunkle, but then pulling their heads out of their asses and working together reluctantly and realizing they actually have fun on adventures like they used to (which would foreshadow their choice to go on Stan-O-War II adventures later).

F. By God, I don't care if Gideon's already in jail by this point, plot-wise. This boy spent episodes chasing the Author's journals. I need to see the look on his face when he realizes the Author is his arch-nemeses' twin brother / great uncle. Please. Have him start a rivalry with Ford that goes as horribly as you'd expect because Ford would use 30 years of multiverse experience to punt this kid into the next dimension for multiple reasons, one of them being having summoned Bill Cipher, another being having used his journal for nefarious purposes.

G. Don't make the government agents go away so easily. Foreshadow Stan's return of memory in Weirdmageddon 3 with the agents remembering what happened before the memory gun wipe in Not What He Seems, not only to utilize them better as antagonists, but to increase the stakes, and also to make Stan's memories returning later seem more plausible. Have Ford play a part in getting rid of them as a threat.

Or have them switch from antagonists to allies once they realize Bill Cipher is the real threat, but have them fail to neutralize Bill to make him seem that much more insurmountable and the Pines' defeat of him that much more of a feat. To wrap up them as an obstacle, just have them thank the Pines at the end and then have them put forth the whole "Never Mind All That" act and keep the stories of the weirdness contained to Gravity Falls. Have them try to lock Stan and Ford up still, though, but realize that they're gone on the Stan-O-War II trip (which, if that story's ever made into a show, they could serve as continued antagonists chasing after the Stans).

H. More Pacifica. Make her redemption more believable. Give her another subplot in Season 2, maybe following the plotline she had in the Lost Legends comic side story with Dipper. In fact, give her a B plot episode storyline with Ford; have them bond over having had to be perfect golden children with a parent(s) that care way too much about money, and it gives Dipper and Mabel more context and understanding about Ford's struggles. There. It writes itself.

I. More McGucket. I want to see Ford angst more about what happened between them. Then, finally, after all these episodes with The Last Mabelcorn somewhere amongst them... Dipper and Mabel vs. The Future Weirdmageddon 1 Weirdmageddon 2 Weirdmageddon 3

And ta-da! You'd have a version of Gravity Falls with two seasons with more fair attention to Wendy and Ford, more evenly paced tension and plot twists, and an antagonist cycle that goes from town enemy to world enemy to multidimensional enemy. ~

As for a three season version of this outline, keep Season 1 completely as is, make Not What He Seems episode 10 of Season 2, and... this is a bold suggestion, but turn the Season 2 finale into Dipper and Mabel vs The Future and make the Weirdmageddon episodes into a whole season. Make the failure to stop the rift really hurt, and use the whole of Season 3 to have the Pines figure out how to stop the end of the world. Use some of it to rebuild the portal, explore some of the Multiverse to find a solution, have them try to find Jheselbraum to help discover more about Bill and his weaknesses and his previous attempts on Earth to break reality (like Modoc's story in Journal 3, in fact, have an episode where they time travel back to Modoc which would give him inspiration to have drawn the prophecy wheel on the cave wall that Ford found hundreds of years later), gather the whole gang and build the Shacktron, have it fail and have to use the prophecy wheel... But wait, it fails, too, and Bill scatters everyone involved across the Multiverse instead of making them into banners - while also destroying the portal - to buy himself some time to get Ford to give up the solution to breaking free from Gravity Falls. Explore the Multiverse more to gather everyone again, use each episode to devote yet more time to developing each character, parallel Ford's journey in the Multiverse for 30 years. Maybe even have a bit of a subplot where Ford breaks from Bill and tries to rebuild the portal to get everyone back, paralleling Stan's struggle to get him back for 30 years.

Learn more about who Ford was those thirty years he was gone. Use the Multiverse episodes to make Stan sympathize more with what Ford went through for thirty years. Have Jheselbraum reference the whole "you have the face of the one who will destroy Bill" to Stan instead of Ford like she did in the past, and have Stan be confused at first, thinking Ford will be the hero again. Dark Night of the Soul up in this season, man, and make the prophecy wheel fail again, and Stan realize yep, time to brain zap, Jheselbraum was right, but HE'S the one that has to stop Bill, not Ford. And THEN try Stan's conman trick to trap Bill in his mind.

And that's how I'd rewrite Gravity Falls as three seasons.

~

I'll say this: after all that criticism I just laid out, you might think I hate Gravity Falls as it is now. No. I love this show. It won't leave my brainspace and lives there rent-free, like Bill does in Stan's mind. And I will say, I understand 100% why it was written the way it was. They seemed to have had a plan in Season 1, switched gears between seasons, and tried to wrap up two seasons of plot in one season for Season 2.

And they did it with little to no flaws in terms of the overarching plot. They told the story they wanted to. They pulled a Stan and took some shortcuts, but had good intentions and got the job done. And the show is still like... an A- to solid A grade show even with these flaws.

But it could have been nearly flawless and A++ had they either planned for two seasons from the start, or powered through the burnout to make three whole seasons (which is easy for me to say, as someone that didn't have to live through what must have been hair graying levels of stress).

All in all, I'm curious to hear others' thoughts on my critique, or if anyone would like to add more about what they'd put in this hypothetical Season 2 or 3. Or if you'd prefer the two seasons still as they are, or as I hypothetically rewrote them, or as the three seasons idea I explained above. Or if you think I'm just crazy, and that Gravity Falls is perfect as is.

[fuck-customers]

I'm sorry this isn't exactly what this blog is for, but I was hoping it could slide. I have something at work that I'd like the opinions of mods and followers, if possible please.

I was wondering if I should ask for/pursue a promotion to store lead, as several people in my life, including friends, family, and a very persistent (annoying) coworker, have been pressuring me to do so. But I have several cons and pros about it. And since all the people in my life are blindly telling me to apply to be a lead, they won't listen to what my concerns are and say that I'm just being stubborn and difficult without listening to why I'm hesitating. So here's why

Pros:

•it would look good on my resume

•get paid $2 more per hour

•I'd get paid for training. Yay

•it may force me to get better at responsibility, as I'd be in charge of keys and codes

•I'd get slightly more hours per week (more on that below)

•I would get to freely move around the store as I'm doing my tasks vs. being trapped at the register area as I've currently been, which is great for me personally, because I hate being trapped at one station

•I may be able to fix some things around the store that have been driving me nuts as a result of being free to move around (such as changing the godawful music)

•it would probably be a needed confidence booster

•I have several ideas of things we could and should be doing that would greatly improve the store and maybe my manager would actually listen to a lead vs. a regular employee, as she currently refuses to listen to my suggestions (which, for the record, are things like "hey maybe we should put price tags on the products" not only does she refuse to listen, she actively goes out of her way to undo the work I do and tear down price tags/signs)

Cons:

•store leads ≠ full time and current leads get the same amount of hours that I do, give or take 3 hours or so (for example, this current week I have 9 hours, the lead who has been pressuring me to become a lead has 10 hours, and other leads have between 10-15 hours) I would already be a lead if it was a full-time position, but that will not happen. I'd even consider it if there was a significant increase in hours while still being part-time. 1-3 hours more is not an increase in my opinion

•the store is severely understaffed by design and leads have to do several tasks alone at once, such as: run the service department alone, unlock anything customers need throughout the store, fill online orders, backup the cashier when needed (the only other employee in the store) get yelled at by angry customers who demand a manager and do a daily checklist from the store manager that consists of 20 or so tasks to do in a 3 hour shift.

•store leads have nearly all of the responsibilities of the store manager, except they can't hire or fire anyone and they get paid less than half of what the store manager gets paid while having to do all of the same tasks, minus the fun ones (hiring/firing people)

•there are many signs that the company may shut down in the near future, but the company and my store manager are pretending like everything is fine and refuse to discuss it with employees

•leads are also expected to go to the bank for cash deposits for the store/to get change, etc. and I do not have my own car or license (which is not something I want to mention to my manager, as I'm required to have reliable transportation to work there, I just don't have to specify whose transportation it is) and that is a job requirement of a lead that I straight up cannot do. And the public transport in my city is lackluster and taking the bus to and from the bank would easily be an hour long trip or more, when it takes someone with their own car 15-20 minutes.

•I have a very bad memory and I am not confident that I could remember all of the procedures and passcodes that managers are required to remember. I could technically write it down, but I don't want to draw attention to my terrible memory, as I've been successfully hiding it for years. Nor am I confident that I could be responsible for keys and not lose them. And realistically, I'd lose the book/accidentally delete the notes app I made notes on.

•I've been able to hide it for now, since as a regular employee, I am not watched very closely, but I cut a LOT of corners and there are several store policies that I think are extremely stupid and I either straight up don't follow them or have workarounds for them. Obviously as a lead, I'd have to stop doing that, but some of these policies strongly go against my morals. This is just a whining bulletpoint lol

•I'm not great under pressure, and I'm even worse when someone is yelling/swearing at me or talking down to me. I've seen leads get talked to like they're trash by customers and they have been able to successfully stay calm and collected. In situations where I have been yelled at or talked down to, I call a manager to back me up, but that doesn't work if I am the manager. And I don't mean that I'll cry, because in some situations, that may help. No. I mean that my natural response to stress, especially someone yelling at me, is to fight back. I will cuss them out, yell back and I have been known to physically attack. Not at work, obviously, but that's because up until now, I've been able to push aggressive customers off onto my managers. I've also successfully hidden my anger issues from management and coworkers to the point where they think I am always happy and never get mad. It helps to have someone to back me up/deflect off of, but if I am the backup, no one can defend me.

•There are several things wrong with the store that are completely out of the control of any of us employees at the physical location and are the fault of corporate, but customers blame the employees personally and as a lead, I'd have to answer for the fuckups of corporate that I genuinely cannot answer for. (Such as return policies and inventory inaccuracies)

•My manager is very shitty at communicating with her team. I've personally witnessed several incidents that were caused by her not properly communicating with her leads and I don't want to wind up in a position where I'm responsible for resolving the conflict she caused by not communicating. Also

•I have nearly zero respect for my manager. I think she is an absolute moron, but I've been able to hide it as I don't have to work/interact with her very often. As a lead, I'd have to work with her more and it may slip.

•I don't wear a nametag. I very strongly believe that nametags are a great danger to the employees, especially employees like myself who have a very uncommon name with a very uncommon spelling. Yet as a manager, I'd have to "lead by example" and wear a nametag. I would ideally wear a fake name or have several fake nametags to rotate, but my coworkers obviously know my name and would call it out.

•I'd have to double-check on this one, but I think leads, as members of management, are required to watch potential shoplifters and confront/track them down. I'm not sure if this is a requirement of a lead or if the particular leads at my store are going way beyond their job requirements/have been coached incorrectly by the store manager. I know I, as a regular employee, am not required to chase after thieves and I actively refuse to confront/chase thieves for my own safety. But I am not sure if that would change with becoming a lead. My work does not have a security guard.

•I have several ideas of things we could and should do to improve the store, but my manager is very arrogant and refuses to listen to constructive criticism or constructive feedback in any form. It would drive me insane to have to keep doing things the wrong/difficult way just because she won't listen to suggestions. And this isn't just an assumption by me. I have personally suggested things that she blatantly ignored and so have other leads.

Posted by admin Rodney

[prodigal-explorer]

i hate when people try to say that dear evan hansen is a good musical and that it deserved the tony.

it’s literally one of the shittiest musicals ever written.

“but evan is supposed to be complex, he’s supposed to be morally gray!”

then the writers should have done a better job of portraying that. half of the audience who sees deh walk out of it feeling pity for evan and wanting to forgive him when that’s not the point! the point is that people with mental health problems are infantilized to the point where it hurts both them and the people who are doing the infantilizing, and that people with mental health problems are HUMAN which therefore means they are JUST AS CAPABLE OF EVIL. the point is also that intention doesn’t equal effect! but pasek and paul did a GODAWFUL job at portraying that.

also all the songs sound the same and they are all shit.

and ben platt is not that good of a singer, he sounds like a goat.

and don’t think i didn’t notice that the only poc in the obc was the smallest and least influential role, and was also heavily demonized in the show, even more so than evan (im talking about alana).

great comet and come from away are SO MUCH BETTER. they’re both about mental health and morally gray characters too, but it’s done in a much more mature, fleshed out, and cohesive way that isn’t just a bunch of white 30 something dudes wanting to relive their high school days.

great comet recontextualizes war and peace, exposing its heavily relevant and poignant themes in a way that audiences in the 21st century can grasp without losing the magic of the legendary prose. as much as i hate tolstoy, this particular interpretation is a beautiful rendition of a shockingly resonant story with such a fantastic arc and even better music.

i cant even describe how amazing come from away is. the fact that it expresses such joy and exuberance while also balancing the chilling horrors of what it was like to be alive during 9/11. it takes my breath away. the fact that every actor played at least two massively different roles with different accents and mannerisms takes SO much talent, and i adore that the obc is so representative of what a group of ordinary humans smushed together by chance looks like, and that it’s not just a bunch of 20 somethings.

great comet and come from away were robbed because deh brought in more money. that’s the cold hard truth of it. but money doesn’t mean everything. it’s so clear what the better musicals are.

[allwormdiet]

Interlude 1

Time to meet the parent.

Scion is so fucking weird. Like even being spoiled on what his deal is, what a fucking wild introduction to the world's first superhero. Absolutely buckwild. Naked golden man just floating above the ocean looking depressed. What a way for the world to be changed forever.

Cancer and suicide are both hard things to grapple with, and they're both things that have rocked my family and loved ones. This, I dunno, incidental fucking gesture just feels so. I don't know what to call it, it just feels. Makes me feel. Whatever.

Again, just, that's gotta be so fucking weird for a superhero to just suddenly exist. No way people jumped to superhero first obviously, might as well have been the Second Coming for all anyone would know, but still. I want to know what it is that makes Scion act like a hero when his ultimate desires for Earth are. Pretty unheroic? Maybe there'll be an answer for that, and presumably it's more subtle in the long-term than just immediately going apeshit, but it's still a mystery to me, so I'm left with the speculation.

Feel like I've heard the name Vikare before but fuck me if I can remember the context. Setting that aside, there's something, I dunno, telling? In that the first capes were superheroes, that the villains came after. Even in a world that's as shit as this one, the first instinct people had when they realized they had actual for-real superpowers was to do good. That's honestly a bit less cynical than I was expecting.

It is interesting that the honeymoon period for heroes lasted not even half a decade, that's longer than I'd have expected. And I think this is the first time we hear the word parahuman, which is fun. "Para-" meaning alongside or distinct, they're not superhuman, they're not inherently better, they're just. Different kinds of human. That's a clever pick.

Whatever else can be said about Danny Hebert (and we are getting to whatever else can be said about Danny Hebert, gimme a minute), this is a really really really good way to immediately get us in his head and on his side. When someone isn't where you expect them to be, when it's the middle of the night and they're not in the house like they ought to, that's fucking terrifying. For a parent to realize their child has disappeared, I cannot even imagine.

And yeah, not far behind Danny being terrified for his daughter is this complicated tangle of longing-anger-guilt for his wife. His wife whose death has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of a cellphone I'm sure.

And I'll be the first to admit I was a lot like Taylor back in high school, although I had a friend group and the bullying was a fraction of a fraction of what she's dealing with. My wildest nights were spent in a too-hot garage drinking novelty sodas and playing RPGs with the world's crappiest Dungeon Master. But I'm distracting myself.

"I hope that my daughter's only source of catharsis hasn't gotten her kidnapped or raped or murdered in this godawful city in the middle of the night" is such a horrifying thought to have to grapple with. God.

Speaking of horror.

I know about the thing with the locker, and God what a nightmare. Like, obviously, number one victim here is Taylor, and it is a testament of immense moral character that she didn't kill anybody for that torture, but Danny takes silver in the aftermath. His daughter has been tortured, and nobody will punish wrongdoers, nobody will even say who it was. Taylor won't even say who it was.

Anger and futility juxtaposed again. Danny rages for his daughter but it's fruitless except for a settlement to cover the hospital stay, so all he can do is wait and hope that something changes for the better.

This is actually something I've always wondered about. Taylor goes to such extreme lengths to not tell Danny about her life, and I've never fully understood why. Like the cape stuff I get, or at least mostly get, but Taylor doesn't open up to him about the bullying in anything I've ever seen or heard, and I don't know what's stopping her. It hurts both of them in the end.

And here's Danny's failure, right? He doesn't commit. He's letting Taylor lie to him, he's letting Taylor think she's getting away with lying. That's... kinda useless.

Honestly the fucked up thing is that Taylor's already got that anger in her, Danny worries about hurting her and he's not WRONG to worry about that, but to some extent she's already got that same kind of smoldering emotion as he does.

And the fact that he's tried so goddamn hard to protect her from his anger, the fact that she's caught the edges of it anyway even if it's never been targeted at her, that's just so goddamn sad. The Hebert family makes me sad.

Current Thoughts

The thought I can't get out of my head is that Danny doesn't want to confront Taylor because he doesn't want to chase her away, doesn't want her to feel unsafe with him, but like. One day she's going to leave anyway, drifting apart from him as their lives grow so much more different from each other, and what she's going to remember is that he never tried to keep her by his side, that he gave up on trying to fight for her. And that's worse. That's so much worse.

[brokenbecquerel]

really sorry but as long as i live there is something about a woman being into dahmer that icks me out. there are some killers for whom gender is paramount to their crimes, jeffrey being one of them. i also think it's generally strange for someone to love such a particularly nasty serial killer (affectionate) in a non-hybristophilic way. i'm always all for free expression, i just have an eye for disingenuous and misguided attractions after being in this community for half my life.

it all just reminds me of the boom in ted fangirls who just thought he was hot after the godawful zac efron movie which shall not be named. i truly believe this is all because of the monster series; these people are going to fade away like the hundreds of others who fade away from their "twin flames" in this community every year as they realize the intense difficulty inherent in their attraction.

i don't love ted because it's easy or fun. i do it because it's been commanded of me by god and wired into my psyche by forces beyond my control.

[heliads]

All in the Words

Based on this request: "race and some of the newsies are hanging out with yn and yn is acting all tough. They keep trying to make her drop that attitude by making jokes, and race flirts with her as a joke. Yn gets all nervous and blushy so he just keeps going thinking its adorable until yn fires back and he kinda dies"

me when i flirt with someone and they instantly perish

masterlist

Dawn comes and goes, and you are not there to see it. Normally, this would fill you with more than a small amount of fear– miss your morning schedule, and you’ll be hours behind when it comes to selling newspapers. Newsies live in the daylight hours, shouting slogans and catchy headlines as long as there are still people out on the street who can see enough to hand you coins. It does make it difficult to get up so early each morning, but it’s not like you have a ton of options otherwise.

Yet when you open your eyes this morning and see not sunrise but a well established day, you feel not a bit displeased with yourself. After all, why should you? Today, as it turns out, all newsies across the city will have a day off. The newspapers don’t like printing on holidays, so you can get off scot free for the whole set of twenty-four hours. Nothing says special like that.

For newsies, days off are a bit of a mixed bag. There is, of course, the immediate response to hearing that you won’t have to get up at dawn and spend too many hours out on the streets hawking papes. That would explain the shrieks and calls of glee from some of the younger newsies. Older ones, too. The second Jack Kelly heard about the holiday, he muttered something about having to talk to someone and hurried off in the direction of the New York Sun. You have a feeling he’s tracking down a particularly pretty journalist.

It’s great to think that you won’t have to work. However, you aren’t a newsie for the thrill of it. Not working means you don’t get paid, and that’s far less fun than one would care to imagine. That’s why you’ve been carefully saving your pennies for weeks now, just trying to make sure you’ll have enough to cover today’s costs before your job comes back the next day. It’s a life spread thin, to be sure, but it’s what you’ve got, and you don’t intend to waste it.

Still, sleeping in is pretty nice indeed. You allow yourself one last moment of leisure before dragging yourself out of bed. Most kids in the Manhattan Lodging House have partaken in the same delights– more than half of them are still sleeping peacefully in their bunks. You do your best to get ready as quietly as you can, and shut the door silently behind you.

By the time noon rolls around, the rest of your friends are up and at ‘em. Most of you are choosing to either kick back and relax in the Lodging House or go look for trouble somewhere else in the city. You heard Spot popped in once to check on a deal with Jack, but other than that, there are no threats in sight.

None to your physical health, at least. Threats to your peace and quiet still exist. You’ve barely sat down on your favorite threadbare armchair in a corner of the main room (the title being won by a good few rounds of fisticuffs, all solidly settled in your favor) before your name is being tossed around by some of the newsies nearby. You have a feeling that they’re trying to be discreet, but their whispers sound more like shouts when you’re indoors instead of yelling to be heard in the streets of Manhattan.

Four boys are causing trouble today, as it appears. Race, Jojo, Albert, and Romeo. All of the newsies are good friends– you have to be, at any rate, or you’ll lose your head with the godawful conditions of being outside all day– but these four are no exception. They’re the closest of anyone here, exceptions being Jack and Crutchie.

Today it seems they’ll be proving their camaraderie by trying to get a rise out of you. This isn’t anything special. You have a bit of a reputation for being stone cold, but can they blame you? Girls have to fight twice as hard to stay alive in this city, so what if you’re more here to keep yourself afloat than make friends? You’re nice when you have to be, but you keep your distance when you want it. Just because you’re not flirting all the time doesn’t mean you hate the rest of them.

The ‘Hattan boys know you don’t hate them, but that doesn’t stop the four newsies nearest you from trying to win you over anyway in the only method they know best:  being annoying and turning everything into a joke. Romeo tries his luck first, shooting his shot with a tip of his cap and a wink. You arch one derisive brow, which is all it takes for him to give up and head back to his friends.

Albert is next. He starts off strong with a story about a dream he’d had last night about pretty girls going out with him, but you cut him off thoughtfully with a recollection of a dream you’d had recently where all boys left you alone under pain of death. Struck out, he gestures for Jojo to take over.

Jojo’s attempts at flattery are so awful that you give up on trying to entertain yourself by watching them fail. You reach over for a paperback Katherine had left behind on her last visit to the Manhattan Lodging House. The book serves the dual purpose of letting you ignore the laughter of the boys and also hiding your face for the last of their attempts.

See, you can ignore Albert or Romeo any day. They’re just friends, just coworkers. You’ll never see them in any sort of romantic light. The problem comes with Race. Race is charming. Race is cute. Race is the only one who has ever been able to get through the strongest of your walls. It doesn’t matter if he’s just doing it as a joke, if Race flirts with you in the slightest, you will be affected by it.

Best to make sure he can’t tell, then, so you prop up the book in front of your face and pray he can’t see the slight smile that makes its way across your lips when Race tries his hand at flirting. It wasn’t even a good pickup line. Still, it worked, and that is absolutely devastating to your reputation.

The worst part is that he knows it, too. Even though you do your best to act as if you’re absolutely fine, you can tell by the triumphant tilt of his head that he knows it. Y/N’s got a weakness at last, and it’s Race. Of course it is.

The other boys don’t seem to have caught on, though, they’re just laughing raucously amongst themselves about the usual. Albert calls something out to Race about wanting to go take a tour of the shop next door, but Race doesn’t even look back, gesturing for them to go on without him without turning even once.

“You should go with them,” you say as indifferently as you can.

“Why?” Race asks, cocking his head to the side, “I’ve got a far prettier sight in front of me right now.”

You roll your eyes, but even you can feel the slight heat pricking your cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

“Apparently not,” Race muses, “or you wouldn’t be smiling at me.”

You do your best to hide the offensive expression away, but your best attempts at staying serious just make your smile more stubborn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he says happily, “it’s not just because of me, is it? I bet Y/N L/N would never be susceptible to something like a boy.”

“Not even to a cute boy?” You ask, eyes wide with pretend surprise.

This, of all things, makes Race stutter over his words. You didn’t think it would be possible for Race to get nervous over someone flirting with him, but apparently you were wrong, because he’s all but shaking in his boots right now.

“That’s sweet of you,” he manages to eke out.

You grin. The tables have turned. “Funny,” you say, “I didn’t think Race Higgins would ever be susceptible to something like a girl.”

“I love it when you pay attention to me,” Race retorts, but it carries far less of the easy confidence he’d had earlier. In fact, Race looks like he can’t believe his eyes.

“I’m sure you do,” you muse, “Shame it doesn’t happen more often. If I knew you were going to react like this, maybe I would have started flirting back earlier.”

“I think you should keep doing it anyway,” Race whispers.

You laugh. “Only if you flirt back.”

“Oh, always, sweetheart, you know that,” Race says.

It’s easy to smile after that. Maybe Race has been flirting with you for a while, but maybe he’s meant what he said all along, too. It’s good that you’ll have plenty of time to figure him out, then. Yes, plenty of time indeed.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[henrysglock]

Because they blocked me instead of taking it straight from the horse's mouth that they misinterpreted the entirety of Papa Warbucks, I'd like to deconstruct the other things that particular "critique" took issue with, which I had saved to my phone so I could address when I had time. I did that while I had them unblocked/before they blocked me, because honestly I did want them to see my explanations.

Alas, here we are.

Number 1:

This just in. No more daddy kink. Pack it up, guys...let's go home...the kink police are here...

Also, to be clear, it was Henry who did that in PW. It wasn't even something Martin suggested Henry do. Henry's just a little freak who likes to press buttons to see what they do because, in keeping with TFS, Martin refers to his father as Papa. Henry can tell Martin's got daddy issues out the wazoo, it's something they discussed not even half an hour prior, and the poor guy just. blurts it out. It's not like Martin was there rubbing his grubby hands together like "uhuhuhu can I coerce Henry into calling me Papa in bed? uhuhuh". It was very much something on Henry's end.

(However, regarding Henry's button-pushing when he's lacking inhibitions, see also: Henry addressing Martin as "Captain" as a joke, which is a play on the whole "Martin's dad wouldn't approve" thing from earlier in the night. It's a bit.)

Number 2:

Martin Brenner may have been a psychiatrist by trade, but that didn't mean he couldn't recognize a work of art when he saw one.

Martin loved his job, no doubt; the human mind was his passion.

Bro...this is what he does for a living. It's his career. He's never met a puzzle he couldn't solve. He's fascinated by Henry. What a terrible thing. A tragedy, truly, and godawful abuse towards Henry, too. /s

Also, here's the "pouncing on mommy issues and insecurities" in question:

"My mother would say it's one of those ideas that kept me out of the good schools." Oh, there's something. Martin wanted to tug on that thread. A bit daring, especially for a first (and possibly only) date, but it was worth tucking away for later. If there was something he loved, it was taking people apart like puzzles.

"I mean, it was a joke, technically...but it would be kinda interesting to find out what, collectively, is wrong with the lot of us." Martin's reply, in all its blunt, factual glory, was out before he could stop it. "Autism, primarily." The shocked blink that greeted him in the rearview narrowed into amused incredulity as they breezed through the parking lot. "Is this a dinner date or a diagnosis?" Henry snarked, the bite of his tone undermined by the teasing twist of his lips. "Did my mother put you up to this?" Nevermind. Threads exist to be pulled. The backstory lurking behind his date's doe eyes was proving to be an irresistible treat. "That's the second time you've mentioned your mother, Henry. Tell me—is she not pleased that you're attending to the best art school in the country?"

The man literally just wants to know the dirt on Virginia CreeI, yes because it will tell him more about Henry, but also because he's a nosy cunt who likes knowing about the Drama. What a crime. How predatory.

Henry gives it back in kind, though ("Is this a date or a diagnosis?"), and he's very much aware of Martin's tendency to play detective. Henry's not stupid.

Rein it in, idiot. Henry's inner monologue had always been his most scathing critic; it was no different now, as he rounded the front of the town car and willed himself to stop yapping. Forget being trans, this is why no one wants to date you. Remember what Mom said about you and emotional labor? Martin's a psychiatrist, he can smell that stuff a mile away—

And regarding seeing Henry as an experiment, here's the only section where that comes up:

I wonder who made him so reluctant to let people spoil him, Martin thought as he watched the young man across from him fiddle with his napkin. No doubt it's his mother. Perhaps it was the doctor in him, but Henry's attitude towards having money spent on him only made Martin want to dote on him more, to see if he could get him to accept generosity without attaching guilt to it. What had started out as the prelude to one nice meal for a pretty, starving artist was rapidly progressing into a full-fledged experiment, and the best place to start with an experiment was questions. "So, Henry," he broke the brief silence that had fallen between them, "What area of art do you study? Animation, painting..." As expected, the open-ended question had Henry tearing his eyes off the square of maroon fabric in his lap.

The "experiment" in question:

Martin views the thing in general as "how much money can I get away with spending on a nice young man", but there's also a definite aspect of him genuinely liking Henry as a person.

Rather, it was that he had no idea how much he would enjoy Henry’s company on its own, all else aside. He was awkward, obviously, but he was also funny and almost painfully genuine; there was a charm to it all that Martin suspected most people couldn’t evade. "You know, maybe I ought to take you back to Rochester with me after all," he mused, more to himself than to Henry...

Christ. Maybe he wasn't too far off with that basement thing earlier. He shook his head, a little helpless. I met him this afternoon and I'd already like him to be a permanent fixture in my life. I need to get ahold of myself.

And yes, the secret basement laboratory is a running joke. Henry started it.

“Is that funny?” “No! No. I just…You are taking me to dinner, right? You didn’t pick me up at a con to lock me up in your secret underground asylum and study my brain or something, right?” Henry’s giggles slipped into outright laughter, the awkward tension in the car ebbing away as Martin found himself incapable of restraining a smile of his own. “No, Henry. Unfortunately,” he sincerely hoped the young man in his backseat could read the sarcasm in his tone, “I don’t have an underground asylum to lock you away in.” “Oh my God, wouldn’t that be just the thing, though.” Henry cleared his throat and adopted what Martin assumed to be his best impression of a hoity-toity doctor, “‘Longitudinal Study of Midwest Comic-Con Attendees’ Brain Abnormalities’.”

What a travesty, overall. 500 lashes for James Henrysglock.

Number 3:

Girl (gn) please.

It happens 7 times (I re-counted), and one of them was "20-something year old boy" like. That's an adult. You ever heard of older people referring to younger men as boys? People calling it "boy troubles" even when they're in college? No? Okay.

You know how many times Martin refers to Henry as a whole-ass man, though? 12 times.

There's also a whole bit about Martin sitting there worrying because he didn't double check that Henry was old enough to drink. Everyone here knows Henry's a grown ass man.

Mountain of a molehill makin' ass. Christ.

Also, Henry is not at all naive. He knows what he's about.

See:

Henry making the choice, unprompted, to bring protection

He glanced at the bedside digital clock. Seven-ten. He could feel a ball of something nervous and fluttery taking root in the pit of his stomach, the kind that made him feel the need to shake like a wet dog to shed the excess energy. Oh god. Would it be too presumptuous of me to stick a condom in my pocket? He’d never even know if we didn’t…y’know. But if we did, maybe it would come off as thoughtful? Easy? Smart? Full of myself? The clock read seven-fifteen. Henry dug around in his suitcase and produced the single little foil package he’d stuck in there just on the remote chance someone wanted to screw him. It stared him right in the face, pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Better safe than sorry. Right? I should just. Hoo-boy. I’m doing this. Seven-twenty-two. Henry shoved the condom in his front-right pocket as fast as he could, like he was ripping off a band-aid.

Henry reading Martin like a fucking BOOK

Maybe he went into psych stuff to spite his dad, or maybe to figure out what his damage was. Maybe he was an army kid, I know vets aren't always chill about psych stuff. After all, he seems about the right age to have had a dad who went to Vietnam. ... I may have been right about him being a military kid. "What, did he expect you to join the army or something?" "Navy, actually. He was a captain himself, and I suppose he expected I'd follow in his footsteps." Henry wanted to smile at the fact that he'd been right, but he figured it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for the situation and briefly sucked his lower lip into his mouth instead.

What I believe that point from the "critique" is picking up on is that Henry's inexperienced. He's a virgin. He's 21. Thus, he doesn't know how sex normally goes. He's awkward. He doesn't know jack shit about wine selections, other than "cheap and fruity is best".

Also...I'm not sure if OP missed it, but "easily flustered" is one of Henry's BIGGEST character traits. He's a nervous overthinker, a rambler, a dog in a "NERVOUS" vest. He doesn't know how to take praise gracefully. He says cringeworthy things and immediately kicks himself over it.

And yes, Martin thinks it's cute. Because it is cutesy behavior. Read any sugar mommy/daddy fic, and I guarantee they'll see a flustered sugar baby as something worth fawning over. That's part of the genre, I fear.

As for people being under the impression that they're father and son? THAT'S ANOTHER RUNNING JOKE. IT'S A BIT.

It starts in the very first section with Martin being put off by Virginia and thinking that he'd put Henry up in a nicer hotel if he were in her shoes.

“Hilton? God, no. I was lucky my dad talked my mom into putting me up at the ‘8.” If he were my son, he’d be put up in a suite on-site, Martin groused internally. Logically, he knew it was irrational to try and coerce Henry into moving rooms, and that the Hilton likely had no rooms left regardless. That didn’t mean it didn’t irk him anyway.

And then Henry jokes about their age gap re: booze

"D'you think they'll card me?" Maybe Henry wasn't over the legal drinking age, then. It wasn't unheard of for someone to be twenty years old at the end of their junior year. Perhaps Henry was born in September and would be turning twenty-one shortly after beginning his senior year...or maybe he'd graduated high school early. He was attending a prestigious school, after all. Martin swallowed down and staunchly ignored the odd gut-punch feeling that realization came with, and peeked across the table over top of the menu. "Just precautionary, nothing more." "I mean," Henry cocked a mischievous eyebrow, "you could always just say you're my dad. That makes it legal, right?" Recovering quickly from the momentary shock of hearing a statement like that come out of his date's mouth (and as if he hadn't had thoughts along the exact same lines himself just that afternoon) Martin coughed a little and shook his head. "No, no. I'm afraid Indiana is a little too...conservative for parental permission allowances." "Eugh," Henry scrunched his nose like a bunny, vague disgust playing out across his face as he dug his wallet out, "That's a bummer. It's a good thing I'm twenty-one, then, huh?"

It's the same as going "Do I still pass for 12?" about a goddamn kids menu. IT'S A BIT.

Then, the server assumes they're related because of the age gap. This is a play on married couples being mistaken for blood family.

"Is this going to be on one card, or are you splitting it with your...son?" "...One card will suffice." From across the table, he could feel Henry's eyes trained on his face as he tucked his credit card into the folder. Son. That's...hm. Well. Third time's the charm, I suppose. "Very good. I'll have this right back for you." As soon as the server was back out of range, Martin let himself look back over at Henry, who was still watching him with a sly smile. "Not gonna correct him?" "I wasn't the one who suggested that I play your father on the off chance you didn't bring your ID." Henry shrugged with his eyebrows, a quick up-down of acquiescence. "Touché. Thank you for paying."

And Martin returns the joke that Henry started. IT'S A BIT. IT'S AN INSIDE JOKE.

And when it happens a second time, but without the ability to joke about it, Henry is offended and has half a mind to correct the receptionist before deciding it's not worth the time. (Because he's wise enough to know he's never going to see this person again, so why bother?)

"Creel? Room twenty-two? That room doesn't have an outstanding balance on it." "...What?" "Yeah. A man came by and paid it. He said he knew you. Tall, about six-two, maybe six-three? Brown hair, middle aged? The last name on the card was, uh..." he tapped a few keys, and then squinted down at the computer, "Brenner." Henry's response was out before he could stop it. "You're shitting me." "Nope. I have better things to do than lie to teenagers. Take it up with yer Pop." He would have sputtered indignantly, but he thought better of it when he realized it was simpler to just nod and go on his way than try to explain to the receptionist that no, Martin wasn't his father, he was some well-off guy he'd met at a comic con who seemed to have taken a special liking to him after they'd slept together.

Also, has no one ever heard of calling someone a child to be nasty to them/to tell them that they're being annoying? That is what's happening, here.

The "son" thing was a BIT. It was a JOKE. and as soon as Henry can't joke about it, he's upset by the assumption. He's not happy people assume the two of them are father and son. Christ.

Also, parting notes:

I sure hope you didn't keep those poor people held up for over an hour. Sounds fake anyway, like one of those old tumblr posts with "and everyone in the grocery store cheered".

Also...have you ever heard of the term "hate-fucking"? It's kind of a pillar of fandom.

Okay, that's all I have to say. Cheers!

[olderthannetfic]

ONTF, you're older than I am, you're highly media literate, maybe you'll know: what was the appeal of the Joss Whedon style of writing to begin with? Everyone whateverishly wording their phrasey bits in that very Whedon-y way never did anything for me, positive or negative, and the constant need to have comedy during serious moments or interrupt a serious moment with either snark or a remark that nods towards tropes diffuses the tension to the point where I can't get invested. None of his characters ever felt capable of having sincere moments like most characters in other things I watch, and the few moments of that they did have would get undermined by one of the aforementioned flaws.

I do think the "omg worst writer EVER!" crowd is a bit much, because I've seen things so bad that Whedon looks like Shakespeare by comparison. But my half-sister, who is 25 years older than me and thus in her late 40's, swears Joss' style is revolutionary and deep. And frankly I've been wrong about a lot of media I used to hate and I'm open to the idea I'm missing something. It's super likely given my limited media exposure, though I am admittedly trying to work on that and branch out into more genres of media and more formats so I don't become that 'guy who has only seen Boss Baby thinks every movie has Boss Baby vibes' meme.

So. What am I missing? What's the context I'm missing and the key here that will allow me to appreciate the appeal of and enduring fandom for Whedon's work? I am admittedly a fandom baby but I am willing to learn.

--

I mean... I despised him from the get go, other than the Buffy movie, which I still quote that death scene from regularly, so I'm probably not the best person to describe what's appealing about his style.

But one-liners during action are a common taste even if I'm fonder of the sorts of homoerotic 80s trash Ruthless Reviews used to cover.

Ironic distance is also popular and easier to swallow than earnestness for a lot of people.

However, I do think Buffy's original audience was connecting with it emotionally. Look at the part where Buffy's all upset after the most clownishly 1980s take on loss of virginity and heavyhanded metaphors for guys being jerks that just made every writer involved seem excessively middle-aged and out of touch Giles asks if she has any idea what could have happened to Angel. For people who weren't going to high school in 90s California, that bilge was apparently very moving. Certainly, there are parts of Buffy where the quips die down for some actual emotional moments.

People like style. Something that commits to being aggressively stylized will often stand out from the bland clones that surround it. Look at Wes Anderson (another creator I don't particularly like). Whedon's godawful faux-witty dialogue did sound different from other things on TV at the time. He also lets women say some of the one-liners, which is sorely missing from most media.

But mostly, he was formative for a lot of people, and I had to live through many, many years of them earnestly entreating me to give his shitty writing another chance because this time I would somehow connect with this sex-negative parasite and his casting aesthetic that I didn't find hot or interesting.

(I like dumb and campy things. I just like them to star a bunch of body builders from New Zealand, not waifs.)

People always hold up the things they imprinted on as more revolutionary and deep than they seem in retrospect. In Whedon's case, his already obnoxious style suffers from having been copied so much since, but even if he weren't famous or popular, if you were talking to that one person whose adolescence was defined by their love of him, they'd say all this same nonsense your sister does.

[mdhwrites]

so I've seen it in your fics so I just wanted to ask: what was the appeal of Clarvee?

There's not really a nice way to put this: It's Lumity 5178 for the TOH fandom. It's a weird, quirky-ish girl with a bully. For the brief moment it caught the fascination of the fandom, that was essentially the pitch but with one big addition and one big drawback: It had a fuckton more angst... But now you had to write an OC.

Part of what was compelling to me as a writer was this fact that it's kind of an original form of Lumity because we know very little about Vee and we knew fucking nothing about Clara besides her having been around for many of Luz's shenanigans. We didn't even know if she was actually a bully, just that she looks like a human Amity. Meanwhile, one of the big things we know about Vee is she wasn't maybe bullied like Luz... She was tortured. Literally. She grew up in agony and managed to escape. She has baggage, to put it mildly.

But also to be blunt, the TOH fandom doesn't actually like extreme angst. No one I ever followed seemed to actually do anything with Vee. I mean, more people did comics about Amity losing it at Hunter over Eclipse Lake than ANYONE ever did about the fact that Hunter probably was involved in Vee's torture as the emperor's right hand. Bare minimum, A Golden Guard had probably participated in it. The fandom likes the angst they put on the characters that reflects their own traumas and problems but engaging with actual fantasy issues and the like never really seemed to be as big of a part of it, bare minimum by the point of S2B. And that is important because you honestly already by then saw a lot less comics, WAY less animatics and just less more extreme output from most creatives in regards to TOH.

The other half of the problem is that the fandom had done so much Lumity already, including Boschlow which was already a Lumity clone, that even before it was canonical, a lot more people gravitated towards Veesha. After all, Masha is a goth, spunky, weird but also genuinely feminine and a teen and just overall a nice character that is already close to Vee. There's also more of an overt betrayal angle from confessing what Vee is that can mirror allegories to the LGBTQIA+ experience... With the plus side that Masha would be more likely to go "Would" to it than Clara would.

It was a blip of a trend for the fandom and if you actually read that work, you can tell that a lot of the inspiration came from being able to do whatever the fuck I wanted with Clara. That is was, even accidentally, a bit of me flexing my original writing skills as I did a lot of interesting stuff with how she views the world. I don't think Vee ever got a solo chapter, and probably stopped around the time it might have happened, because I just didn't find, nor even now, find Vee all that compelling.

But also Clarvee was also me coping for the fact that the end of Yesterday's Lie left a godawful taste in my mouth from its no win cliffhanger, which I fucking called wouldn't be actually followed up on or enforced by Camila. It was me trying to still love this and have the same passion I did... And well, a year later I'd be essentially done writing for TOH.

So much for that. See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[ca-8]

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𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖!𝔹𝕦𝕟𝕫𝕠 𝔹𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕪 𝕩 𝕋𝕠𝕪 ℝ𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕥!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 (ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚)

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

(This is a yandere fanfic meant to portray behaviors seen in fiction and fiction only. This is not to represent people who have real mental/personality disorders and/or trauma that cause them to gain obsessive behaviors. Please do not romanticize any behavior like this seen in real life, and do not actively seek out a relationship with someone who is prone to hurt themselves and/or others. Keep fantasies in fiction. Thank you.) (Major Trigger Warning: Implied abuse, descriptive human gore, ingestion of human insides, body hacking) .

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The pile was gone.

Little Hoppy was licking up the bloodied stains on the floor. (Y/n) had forgotten she was there until they realized they had been staring down at her for the past half hour. Their vision became stable again, their body was no longer trembling, and their stomach growled with reluctant, sickly relief. So they sat there, filling their shriveling lungs with air that was curing out its hellish stench. Just like on the day when they all feasted on Devils.

Which made this impossible. (Y/n) and presumably every other toy in Playtime Co. gorged on hundreds of bodies for years, until they ran out. One minute they were bathing in a victorious bloodbath, the next their stomachs begged them to turn on each other. That's why it was always so empty. That's why (Y/n) and little Hoppy always hid. So…who…?

Gloved hands coated in red rested on their shoulders. And his godawful voice whispered in their ear, "Hello, darling."

Get up. Run. Grab Hoppy and run as far away as you can. But no matter how loud their inner voice screamed at them, they sat right in place. Little Hoppy had curled up in their lap and fallen asleep.

(Y/n) opened their mouth to scream, but Bunzo quickly hushed them as he leaned in to rest his head on their shoulder.

"Look how peaceful she looks. That must've been the first meal she had in a long time." They whimpered; he was so close that their cheeks touched. His breath reeked of Devil. "It must've been your first meal too, right, (Y/n)?"

His voice lowered when he said their name. There was so much pleasure laced within his tongue, they could feel him practically trembling as each letter spilled out. He gripped their chin with such force, as if he would break their jaw open if they even attempted to move from him.

No, he would. He'd have them writhe in agony and drag them back down to his little "playhouse". They looked down, their breath hitching. Bunzo's bloodied hand was caressing over the line of stitches connecting their beautiful (f/c) fur-covered thigh with a raggedy leg of another toy on their line.

It hurt. It stung so badly feeling the needle go inside and outside their leg It hurt. It stung so badly feeling the needle go inside and outside their leg with the thread harshly chafing against each hole. But what hurt more was tearing off a leg from another (Y/n)'s decaying corpse.

"You've been starving for so long, all because you thought you didn't need me. But now look at you, so filled with energy and beauty and life again. I was so considerate to look past the fact that you abandoned me, and brought you and your little pet back from the brink of death."

That God they praised was him. "Where did you get it?" their voice croaked from their voice box. It was the only thing they could push from their mouths that wouldn't make him harm them.

Bunzo's smile widened, and he brought his mouth closer to theirs. "A former employee was roaming around Playcare, all alone in the dark. I saw them, and I thought of you," he explained.

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, it wasn't hard. Who can go far with only one leg, anyway? And your only notable quality is how absolutely captivating you are, my dear. Having beauty that only I can admire."

Something was caught in the corner of their eye, and they glanced up. It was a rotting poster splattered in decomposing blood, but the most disgusting thing on it were the cartoon versions of (Y/n) and Bunzo embracing each other, surrounded by hearts and drowning in once better days.

Suddenly, he held their hand. "I'm so tired of worshipping your leg, it only makes me crave the rest of you. Come back with me, (Y/n). You and your pet. We can be a family together," Bunzo whispered. "From the second we were made, we were meant for each other. I can take care of you two. Other people will want to look for that former employee. You won't even have to lift a finger, I can kill them for you!" He wrapped his arms around them, forcing their hands to dig in their sides, and the maniac began to squeeze. "Do you know what you made me do when you left? I was so scared, so- so angry, I hurt so many little friends, so many of me!"

Little Hoppy's ears rose just a bit as soon as Bunzo rose his voice. She slowly rose from (Y/n)'s lap and looked up at their parents' trembling figure getting so painfully squeezed by the strange, bloodied bunny man. A low snarl erupted from that wide, toothless grin.

"It was so bizarre seeing myself bleed out by my hands - seeing so so much pour out from such tiny little bodies - but I had to do it. I had to! You are the one assigned to me, it's not my fault theirs are all dead, it doesn't mean they should have you-!" She leaped from their lap and flew straight to his face, sending him back on the ground. (Y/n) didn't look back, but their ears were doused in howls and curses as Bunzo tried to pry the little one off of him. She was little, but she wasn't prey. (Y/n) sprinted down the hallway and around the corner. They heard a gut-wrenching wail from little Hoppy, but their legs just kept going. It was pointless - when the Devils were wiped from this place, when the toys' only source of food were digested, all of their friends, their family, everyone only saw each other as either food or foe. The naive against the desperate, the weak against the strong.

And Bunzo was right, they were weak. They couldn't even take care of a little bunny. They could only run and hide and pray to a cruel God that he would disappear so they could fall asleep and never wake up.

The pitiful rabbit pushed open the door to a small, dark room and locked it behind them, then laid beneath a desk and held their mouth shut.

It had gotten quiet. Too quiet, and for too long.

Then, the silence broke far outside (Y/n)'s blanket of shadows.

"(Y/N)!" Bunzo screamed. His target stifled a sob. "I can't do this without you… I can't live without you! Don't you remember how beautiful we were together before The Hour of Joy? We knew how those Devils really saw those children, so we gave them the best life possible! We were one big happy family! We can be that again! We don't have to live out our final days in misery!"

'Go away. I don't care. I want nothing to do with you.' Yes, in the past, things were different. They were both powerless, but still made each orphan feel so loved and special. Just like how he made them once.

"I don't want you to die a hypocrite, (Y/n)," he continued. "You killed just as many as I did! I saw it all, the way you tore their jaws opened to silence their screams, how your breathtaking eyes blazed with fury as you ripped out their spines… it was heavenly."

(Y/n) clawed their face. They hated those Devils. They hated seeing their plans for those innocent children, they weren't fit to be called human! They had to protect them, they had to! They couldn't stand to see another one go! Those screams, they were like music - wonderful enchanting music! - even when living so beautifully, they've never experienced something so delightful before hearing such howls melt into choking groans as a Devil's blood flooded from their broken mouths. They didn't deserve to live! If those children knew what they were going to do to them, they would've done the same thing. THEY DID NOT DESERVE TO LIVE.

And then they saw the looks on their little faces. They looked at them as if they were the monster. They weren't, (Y/n) was just trying to protect them! But when they smiled and approached them and outstretched their arms for a hug like they always did, the children only screamed in utter terror, breaking that lovely song.

"So how can you give me that face when you've committed the same sins as I have?"

They couldn't kill again. When the children ran from them, they couldn't bring themselves to harm another. All of a sudden, that hatred had diminished, so they turned and hid, and the screams went on. They only stopped when Bunzo found and urged them to eat. They were starving, and they didn't mind it at the time because if they hurt those children, they only deserve to starve. But he dragged them out and fed them bitter Devil remains.

That's when they knew he had changed along with them. They saw what the children had seen and they did not like it one bit.

But now he fed them again. And they were hiding again. And another child got hurt because of them. If a cruel God was gazing down at this pathetic rabbit, they had hoped He could end its miserable life at at that moment.

But the cruel God kept living up to His title.

Bunzo's footsteps grew closer, and little Hoppy's mewls amplified along with them. (Y/n) let go of their stinging face. 'She's alive.'

"My dear, you're not just going to leave our poor baby to die, are you?" he called right outside the door. "I can't bear to tear this cute little thing to pieces. But I will if I have to. If you really are so selfish as to break apart our precious family, it only makes sense for you to die alone."

Footsteps walked past the room and little Hoppy's whines slowly began to fade. (Y/n) laid there, their stomach becoming more and more twisted and sick. Then, they rose, and exited the room.

"WHERE ARE YOU?" Bunzo bellowed. In one hand, he held little Hoppy's paw, making her dangle upside down. In the other, he held a half of her ear, letting small droplets of blood trail right behind him.

(Y/n) bit their quivering lip before softly saying, "Right here."

Bunzo whirled around. Little Hoppy's blood spouted across the lower wall beside him. "My beloved (Y/n), there you are!" he said cheerfully, his harsh and sadistic personality quickly fading. "You had me so worried for a second!"

Lights were flickering above them, but (Y/n) could still get a full view of him now. The green of his overalls were completely overshadowed by old blood every inch of its fabric, with little hints of fresh gore peppering a few areas. His yellow fur was completely dulled out and gave into the ugly mixture of whatever disgusting horrors he granted upon his other victims. Dirt and grime plagued his long ears, and surprisingly, (Y/n) spotted a bite at the tip of his left ear. But was most shocking was the fact that his right eye was missing.

They jumped when they realized Bunzo had moved much closer to them. "Hmm, you've must've noticed my own changes, is that right?"

"Yes, your…your eye."

"Oh! That old thing. That employee actually put up quite a bit of a fight."

"S-So…that wound…it's recent?" They glanced down at Little Hoppy for a second.

Bunzo face melted into a warm, enamored smile. "You're worried about me! That makes m e so…so happy!" He suddenly pulled them into an embrace, earning a fearful gasp from them. "You….me….this little one…" Pulling away only slightly, he brought up little Hoppy and made (Y/n) hold her along with him, dropping her half ear. It splattered only the ground, slowly uncurling like a wilting flower. "We'll be perfect together!"

They bit their tongue to keep themselves from crying. "If I stay with you…if w-we both stay…You won't hurt us?"

Bunzo's smile dropped. "Hurt you? Oh no no no no no no no! My dear, everything I've done, I did for you! To help you realize you need me as much as I need you. And it worked! Your eyes tell me you want to stay with me forever and ever!"

That crazed smile returned once more as he pulled them into another embrace. Little Hoppy whimpered and buried her face into (Y/n)'s stomach. "We'll have so much fun every day! I can show you the shrine I made for you! A-And you can give me more pieces of you so I can worship every single part of you every day!" He just kept going, on and on and on. "We'll never be apart again. We'll die together. And if you ever die before me, I'll tear open your body and make myself fit inside you, then close you up so I can suffocate against your wonderful skin. And you'll do the same for me! Doesn't that sound perfect?" (Y/n) tensed up. Their legs were aching to run away again, but they couldn't let him harm about thread on her body. Maybe this cruel God was giving her another chance at redemption. Protect the child, no matter what. Even if it means living every day in a hell with no rising sun. Even if it means becoming a slave to someone's sick fantasies. Even if it means wasting away your own life. It's time to repent for your sins. "Yes," (Y/n) said, "perfect." . . . Days have gone by. Or weeks. Or months. (Y/n) didn't care anymore. They and little Hoppy sat a table, kneeling over ragged carpet. Echoes of droplets sang close and off in the distance as they splattered against the cave floor. Sometimes they wondered what color they were. Behind them, a candle light flickered amongst the few that decorated Bunzo's masterpiece. (Y/n) always tried to avoid looking at it, as it just made them sick to their stomach, but sometimes they had no choice but to gaze upon its repulsive glory. It was a giant shrine of corpses spelling out their name, bodies once belonging to other Bunzos and (Y/n)s. Their faces were painted in such horrid agony, their mouths forever drawn out in an eternal silent scream. Each of them had their eyes gouged out as they were forced in a position to have their handless arms reach towards the shrine's centerpiece: (Y/n)'s precious leg. It was dirty and smelled absolutely appalling. Every inch of it was covered in smears and hand prints made from blood, like someone had gotten a little too personal in order to worship it. Even though asking was the last thing they wanted to do, Bunzo went ahead and whispered everything he did to it to them every night, in terribly excruciating detail.... (Y/n) released the breath they were holding and turned toward little Hoppy. Her previously damaged ear was sewn back together, and both ears were flopped over behind her head. Though she held her usual wide, toothless smile, the life in her eyes had greatly diminished. (Y/n) scooted closer and gently made her head lean on their side. "We'll be okay," they whispered. Turns out, Bunzo somewhat kept his promise; when they were good, he didn't lay a finger on Hoppy. If he was satisfied for the day, he treated them a little too well in fact, always going off into rants about how much of a good father and husband he was to his family. Always pulling (Y/n) into sudden, deep passionate kisses that had them gasping for air while he was off in a daze. It was so hard not to throw up once they were given a chance to breathe again. If he wasn't satisfied... They took in as much musty air as they could when footsteps began to approach. Bunzo emerged into the candlelight, holding yet another plate of throbbing Devil organs. The room instantly became poisoned with iron, and they held in a gag and sat up straight. "Thank you for waiting, honey!" Bunzo said enthusiastically, setting the plate down on the table and wiping the red streak off his face. "It's like this place is getting bigger every day...but we're so lucky. That employee has a lot more friends than I thought!" "Really?" (Y/n) stared at their meal. Bleeding rivers coursed through each crevice. Little Hoppy cautiously approached the pile. "We won't have to worry about food for a while!" Bunzo looked down at the bunny, who recoiled as soon as she saw him staring at her. He smiled. "Go ahead, dear, eat up. Your parents want you to grow up big and strong!"

She didn't move. (Y/n) grabbed a handful of intestine and held it up toward little Hoppy. She sniffed their hand and nibbled the contents slowly. "Aww, how adorable!" Bunzo cried happily. He scooted next to them and firmly grabbed their shoulder, pulling them toward him. "You're absolutely perfect... I can never get enough of you. Everything you do is so precious, so..." His breath clung to a gasp and broke out into quick, manic giggles. (Y/n) pulled back a bit before he grabbed their face and pressed his lips against theirs. His grip was so strong, too strong, they used their free hand to try to pry his hands off of them, or at least get him to let go.

Thankfully, he did, and he moved back just enough to let them have some air. With his half-lidded eyes swimming in morbid longing, Bunzo stared deeply into theirs, studying every smidgen of movement, every sliver of their dulling soul, every thought they could possibly be thinking and making sure it was only of him. They opened their mouth, and Bunzo cut them off. "Which reminds me," he started, "I'd like another piece."

His victim's heart stopped, and after a long, quiet moment that was only broken by dripping drops, (Y/n) picked up little Hoppy and sat her on the table next to their meal. She stepped towards them, almost putting one of her paws on their shoulder until they stood up and left the room with Bunzo following close behind. "I know you used to dream about escaping this place one day, my dear (Y/n)," he said. They entered another room with a bed and a table with various sharpened tool. The overhead light still made the fluids glisten. "When I saw you scurry from place to place, trying to ascend from our home. The more I watched you, the more confused I became." They laid down on the bed, holding out the arm fused with (f/c) and bright yellow fur from their side. Their and Bunzo's fingers trembled in sync. Bunzo grabbed a butcher's knife and ran one of their fingers against the blade. "You'd get killed the second you step outside of this place. You could never become adjusted or find someone to trust...or to love. Thinking about that made me so, so, so sad." He stepped to the side and laid his completely yellow hand firmly against the surface. "You had the nerve to leave me, then run off to get yourself killed? It hurt me. It hurt me so much. So much-" and he heaved in a gasp as he raised the knife, "-All I could think about was-" He hammered it down on his finger. A revolting crunch bounced off the walls. "How COULD you? How DARE you?" The knife flew back up and slammed back down on his finger, over and over again with each word and unstable gasp. "There wasn't ANYTHING I wouldn't do for you, and you still LEFT? After all we've BEEN THROUGH?" And with one final, painful CRUNCH, his finger laid severed in a pool of red. Bunzo gasped heavily, staring up at the wall whilst trying to regain control of his quivering arms. "...And..." he finally spoke in a haggard whisper. "And....and...and...and and and and....and you came back to me." Bunzo turned around, smiling ever so widely. Blood dripped off his teeth with pride. "And...and...and...and we started a new life together. C-CatNap was kind enough to- to...to lend us this part of the cave as our home, he...h-he, he only asked us to praise th-the...the the the Prototype, i-i-in exchange...." He pushed himself off the table and wobbled over to (Y/n). They only watched in silence, biting their lip to keep them from crying again. "I-...I don't..." He stumbled over, quickly catching himself before he could fall. "...I don't...g-give a single sh...shit about whatever he wanted, I don't care about the Prototype! I-I can't st-stand doing his...his little favors f-for his joke of a god..."

Supporting himself with his arms on the sides of their head, Bunzo hovered over them. Disgusting gore dripped onto their face, and they couldn't look away from that perfervid, boiling, doting glare. "Y-Y-You're my only God... I'll prove, I'll prove it to you...! W-We'll exchange pieces of each other and truly, truly become inseparable!" He grabbed their only good hand and brought one of their fingers up to his lips, dousing it in his saliva sighing so contently. (Y/n) was whimpering. Their heart was pounding and they couldn't keep themselves still. "Just do it already," they choked out. "Get it over with." "Aw, don't be so scared, my little bunny..." Bunzo reached over and kissed the top of their forehead. "I'll make this quick." He raised the butcher knife, and (Y/n) squeezed their eyes shut. His voice whispered within the darkness before the burning, unimaginable pain.

"After all, you've been so good for me. I love you so much." ・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・ Hey guys! Like what ya saw? Well you can commission your own private piece now!! Read more about that here! Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!~ 💜💜💜 So this was so much fun to make, and again, thank you to @zinnia1506 for requesting!! (But again, seriously guys, don't go actively looking for relationship like these in real life. A lot of people are saying "ugh I wish I could find a crazy yandere gf/bf" and I'm just like, no. No you don't. For one, it romanticizes people with obsessive behavior stemming from trauma and/or mental/personality disorders, and two, it will NOT be the relationship you want. Trust me, I know. So every time I'm gonna make a yandere fanfic, I'm gonna put that lil PSA in the beginning. Keep yourselves safe.

Okay! Also, you guys can now request CatNap because:

I've been researching about him and people have been saying that he was 7 years old by the time he turned into CatNap, and since this game takes place ten years later (as the game implies that the toys can age), he has aged ten years mentally and emotionally, technically making him 17-18 years old (Update on that: @atiz57 just informed me that he may be in fact older, as he was turned into CatNap at age 7, stayed in that body for four years before the Hour of Joy making him 11, and 10 years later when the game took place, he would be 21. I wanna say thanks to them for giving me that info!)

I kin and am hyperfixated on CatNap and I wanna write about him pLEASE GIMME SOMETHING THAT INVOLVES HIM/nf

For the most part, I ask you guys to keep it mostly platonic (because I still speculate on his true age from time to time), and I'd love to hear from you all!~ 💜 Next up, we have a requested DogDay fanfic! I'm so excited to write it and show you guys!!

[imnameimswrld]

002 ━━ 𝐀 𝐍𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ,,

warnings: language.

Turning down the Panic At The Disco that had been blasting in the car for the past half hour, everyone gathers their things before getting ready to step out into the fresh Miami air.

A few cameramen catch my eye through the windshield, and I know the second my door opens, the pictures for today's Formula One news are gonna get shot. Better make sure I look dapper. Haley's copper hair blows over her shoulder from outside where she awaits with two bodyguards at her sides, their size making her seem a whole lot smaller than what she really is.

"We all suited up gang ?" I look around in the car, handing the keys to my aunt who sits beside me so she could drop them in her bag once we're all out.

Everyone nods, Mattie's being a little more vigorous than the rest, his little hands having a death grip on the collar of his Ferrari t-shirt. Celina and Renée where the same, and of course I'm sporting my wicked blue jeans and SF polo shirt, a pair of RayBan sunglasses pushed up into my hair. Although I would've loved to wear my trusty Airfoces, Mattie refused to wear his slip on Van's unless I was wearing mine too – and I'm sorry, but no member of my party will be rocking up to the paddocks in flip-flops.

The doors all open as we step out, and a little smirk pulls at my lips when I notice Haley deliver a firm stare at one of the cameras that drift a little too close to the money maker. Chuckling softly, I pat her shoulder in greeting, before I round all my people up and we start the walk towards the entrance. The sun is absolutely unforgiving and my eyes can barely stay open until I've pulled my shades down, and I'm silently thanking my aunt for forcing Mattie and I to lather ourselves in SPF-50.

"Where's Micah ?" my manager keeps her voice low from her stride beside me, and at the sound of the name an immediate scoff gets released from the other side of me.

I briefly turn to share a look with Renée, and I can just tell she's fighting back a crazy hard eye roll.

I sigh softly before looking back forward, instantly noticing the throng of reporters hovering around the scan-in station.

"Not now Hals."

I don't need my name headlining the news tomorrow, and I sure as hell don't want to be making Bonnie's job harder than it already is. All I do is breath, and with that one exhale does a line of false rumors and accusations follow. The life of a Formule 1 driver is, unfortunately, not just about the car we drive.

I can tell this isn't a topic to be dropped, just by the stern look I'm getting in Haley's eyes, but for now she steps back from it, allowing a comfortable air to settle around us instead of the suffocating one that always seems to hang whenever Micah is mentioned.

Trust I'll be dumping the walking negativity soon.

"Ant !"

My gaze cuts to the voice ahead, gaze immediately settling into a set of soft,  pleading brown eyes. The reporters continue to shamelessly shove their mics in Oscar's face, and I suppress a chuckle as I excuse myself from my group for a moment.

"Hey Ozzie, hello." I hook an arm around the fellow Australian driver, placing a hand on his shoulder to deliver a reassuring squeeze. I can almost feel his relief seep out at my presence.

"Antonio ! Can you-"

I shake my head with a polite smile, not even daring to let them finish whatever question of the day it is. "I'm really sorry guys, but we actually have a meeting in about 10 minutes,"

I start pulling Oscar backwards away and towards the safety of my group, waving a hand to the reporters. "Thank you for coming, I hope you enjoy today's race !"

Once we're in the clear, the shorter blonde let's out a sigh of relief, and I pat his shoulder with a light laugh. "Thanks mate."

I toss him a playful wink. He greets my group and ends up waking along with us through scan-in. We talk more about what today could bring for us as driver's, but mostly complaining at how godawful hot it's going go be in the car today. Along the way Carlos and Lando end up joining, and we all agree to make a stop at the cafeteria for a snack.

"Oh mate," Lando swallows a sip of his Coke, twisting in his seat across from me with a curious glance in his eyes. "Where's Micah ? Feel like I haven't seen him in what, couple weeks ?"

The delightful cold of the air conditioning goes from a relieving blanket over me to an uncomfortable shiver down my spine.

Carlos hums from beside me. "Yeah, he was at Silverstone, but that was like, three weeks ago ? Tutto okay ?"

My fingers twitch around the dripping cold of ice coffee in my hands. Maybe I should just get it out so it would quit bothering me for the rest of the day. Besides, it would be nice to make the glower Haley is piercing into the side of head right now disappear.

Sighing softly, I look up to my aunt. I don't say anything, allowing just my eyes to speak for me. Fortunately, she understands immediately, and the little boy beside her doesn't. Which is why he's very quick to comply when she offers to buy him an ice-cream and go take a walk to say hi to the other drivers. He's just like me in the sense that he loves the attention he'll receive from everyone; the whole grid adores Mattie.

He's practically Danny Ric's son.

Bumping my fist to his and sending my aunt a grateful nod, I wait for the glass door to swing shut behind them, before leaning back in my chair, my hands settling on my jean-clad thighs.

"Don't expect a long explanation, because I'm really not looking for a therapy session right now," I sternly inform, stressing it with my tone, especially to my manager. That earns me a narrowed glare.

"I haven't heard from Micah since Silverstone."

Two reactions occur in that moment; my two fellow drivers gape with wide eyes at me, and the two remaining women around the table sit stoically, a brewing anger behind their gazes.

"But you've called, texted ?"

I scoff as I meet the Brit's enlarged eyes. "Of course I have Lando, and a fuck ton of times at that."

"So what, your novio just disappears for two weeks without a single word ? Esto es una mierda."

I hum once in response to Carlos, pursing my lips as I trace the little droplets with my fingers on my glass.

"It's not like it's the first time."

Two heads turn in the direction of the low voice, but Renée is sure to keep her bearing gaze on me. Renée and I rarely have serious fights, we just mesh that well. However rare though, things always start to heat up whenever my fuck-up of a relationship gets brought up. I know it's because she only cares for my well-being, which is why I can't ever find it in me to be annoyed with her reaction and attitude towards him. It's not like he deserves any better anyway.

"Mate, I would never butt into your relationship, I have no place whatsoever," Lando's eyes are full of sincere, and maybe just a twinge of fire. "But you're my friend, and a bloody great one at that. I just want you to he happy mate, that's all."

Who's heart wouldn't melt at the way those greens are looking at me right now ?

"Thanks Lan, I really appreciate that."

Contrasting the sweet moment, a shocking slap lands on the back of my shoulder, and I jolt at the sudden action. My eyes dart towards the Spaniard, who has a crooked smile on his face.

"I'm not one for the sappy stuff but, you know I'm here for you 'mano."

I huff out a laugh, nodding. "Si, gracias 'mano."

" Frederic wants his drivers in the paddock by 10, we should go."

They honey-toned voice speaks for the first time since, and my gaze cuts towards the brunette beside me. She already has her eyes ready to meet mine, and they are speaking a thousand words that her lips don't. She has been egging me on to drop Micah for a very long time, and I know it's about time I listen, but it's just about finding the right moment. For starters, he needs to fucking answer my calls.

"Right." I nod, following her lead as she stands, and it's only once we all do, do I notice a quiet gaze settled on me.

My fellow aussie. He hasn't said a single word since the topic of Micah came up, and it has me strangely confused. There's something very uneasy swirling around his eyes, and it's telling me just one thing.

There's something he knows about my boyfriend, that I don't.