#anything even remotely halfway decent

[beepborpdoodledorp]

alright, I'm in need of a palate cleanser, TADC Episodes ranking because why not

Now that Episode 4's marked the (almost) halfway point of the show it's as good a time as any to do a personal ranking and also I want to procrastinate working on more angsty fanart as much as possible for my own sanity

Mystery of Mildenhall Manor

What is there that I can even add to this conversation, the episode is fucking stellar. Pomni and Kinger's dynamic is impeccable start to end and I'm a sucker for anything remotely resembling the found family trope so that just further elevates my opinion, and as both an avid Zooble enjoyer and a very un-cis person their subplot hit me hard. And oh my God, the hallway scene, it's still my single favorite moment in the entire show. The soundtrack, the atmosphere, the gorgeous visuals, the emotional build-up from the conversation beforehand, I want to just absorb the essence of this scene into my bone structure. I've watched this episode twice so far and both times the hallway scene almost made me cry. I'd recommend this in a heartbeat to someone who isn't even interested in TADC or the wider genres it belongs to, it's just that fucking good. 

2. Fast Food Masquerade

It is. Probably not that hard to figure out where I stand on this episode considering how much I've been annoying every TADC tag under the sun the past 72 hours. I absolutely adored this episode, was literally everything I wanted and more based on the promo material. I love Gangle, her storyline about hiding her depression hit way too hard, I love Zooble, I love Gangle and Zooble being gay as fuck, I love Ragatha being absolutely fried the entire episode, I love Jax showing three whole seconds of human decency. Gummigoo. Oh my God. With how much praise I just threw Episode 3's way it's probably weird to learn I actually think Episode 4 is an overall better episode (by a very thin margin, but still), it just gave us a lot more interactions and development with the group as a whole which is something we were mostly lacking in up until this point usually due to the group being separated at some point or another during an adventure. In all honesty if Episode 3 didn't have the hallway scene I'd probably put it in this spot, but it does and the hallway scene fucks so Episode 4 is down here. 

3. Candy Carrier Chaos

Again, what can I even add to this conversation. A great expansion after our first taste of TADC, Gummigoo solos, I love sentient AIs undergoing existential crises as they come to terms with the implications of their existence. My one major complaint (which I had back when the episode first released and it's just been amplified with the last two episodes' releases) is just that we don't get much content of any of the main cast besides Pomni, their interactions are surface-level and don't offer us basically anything new from what we saw of them in the pilot. But that also wasn't what the episode was about so I can mostly give it a pass.

4. PILOT

The pilot was a very good jumping off point for the series and is decent as a standalone, but after rewatching it about a month or two back I don't think it's aged all that well. Again, it's still a perfectly fine watch and does its job of setting up all the stepping stones for the series, but the best way I can describe the pilot is…cluttered. It's just a lot of information and events you need to fit into one twenty-minute episode, so most of the episode goes at a breakneck pace in between a lot of back-to-back jokes that sometimes miss the mark (mostly the fault of Caine, I love him but he is definitely a character who is most effective in short bursts of screentime). You can definitely tell they were still trying to get a feel of things while making this episode and that's completely fine! It's a pilot, that's the whole point. Just doesn't really hold up when compared to its successors.

[thishazbinamistake]

In my opinion, Loona is a character with some of the most wasted potential in Helluva Boss.

Though we don't have a ton of information about her background, we do know she lived in a shelter for much (or maybe even all) of her childhood. Loona is cold and distant to her adoptive father, and outright rude to many others, particularly Moxxie, who she constantly mocks and belittles. I'm thinking that this behavior is either a result of her upbringing, or perhaps it was even the reason she was put into the shelter to begin with. But until more is revealed about her past, I want to complain about the way she's currently written.

Loona is abusive, plain and simple. The way she treats Blitz, her adoptive father, goes way past simple angsty teenage rebellion and well into the abuse territory. Any semblance of Loona being remotely sympathetic was thrown out the window in Seeing Stars, when she kicks Blitz in the groin, all because he was relieved to see her and wanted to give her a hug. And all of that after she gives Octavia the "cut your dad some slack" speech.

I've seen people try and defend this behavior by pointing out that Loona has childhood trauma, and this is why she has these behavioral issues. It's certainly not unheard of for victims of childhood abuse/neglect to have anger issues and poor emotional regulation, and I would have absolutely no problem with this being the case if it was shown to actually be a problem, but it isn't. Not once does Loona get called out for her behavior or face any sort of consequence for treating others poorly. If anything, this abusive behavior is treated as a joke more often than not.

It's extremely ironic that one of the most despised characters in Helluva Boss, Stella, receives so much hate for being abusive towards Stolas, when we've seen Loona do far worse to Blitz. I honestly cannot think of a logical reason as to why we're supposed to like Loona, while also hating Stella. We see Stella nearly hit Stolas and it's (rightfully) treated as being abusive. But when Loona is constantly beating up her dad for no good reason, we're just supposed to laugh? It seems extremely hypocritical on both the writers' part, as well as many of the fans'. I honestly can't tell if the writers genuinely think this behavior is okay (when it's coming from Loona) or if they just see it as a quirky character trait of hers.

If we're supposed to find Loona likeable, which we clearly are, then the writers seriously need to start making some changes. I'm not saying they should just completely retcon Loona's character and suddenly make her nice, but they do need to start being consistant with how they portray abuse, and they seriously need to stop excusing and coddling her horrible behavior, regardless of if she has childhood trauma. That is not how you grow as a person and overcome your issues. Yes, it's a process that is often long and difficult, but it hasn't been shown that Loona is actually trying to make any change at all, or that anyone is actually encouraging her to change.

If you want an actually halfway decent example of a character overcoming their trauma (at least within the Hellaverse) look no further than Blitz himself. It's clear his father was abusive and explotative towards him, not to mention he accidentally caused the death of his mother and the maiming of his close friend. Both of these things likely contributed to many of Blitz's flaws and issues as an adult. But the thing is, despite all that, Blitz himself isn't abusive to his daughter. He has shown nothing but unconditional love and devotion to his daughter despite his past. I'm not saying Blitz is a perfect character by any means (I won't excuse him literally threatening to rape his employees), but it really goes to show this whole argument of 'Loona acts the way she does because she has childhood trauma and that makes it okay' doesn't hold up to scrutiny as much as her stans seem to think.

I think a good idea would be to start showing more of how Loona's behavior negatively affects those around her, something which would give her the motivation to want to change. Show how hurt Blitz feels whenever Loona lashes out at him. We get a taste of this in Spring Broken when she hurts Blitz's feelings, but it's clear from both her dialogue in the scene as well as her later actions that the writers apparently don't want her to actually learn from her mistakes and grow as a character, which is such a shame.

Loona had the opportunity to be an extremely complex and compelling character if her aggression and violent outbursts were actually addressed as being a problem she needed to overcome, and if she actually tried changing herself for the better. Seeing the effort she puts into treating others better and breaking the cycle of abuse would have made her character feel so much stronger and more likeable. But instead, the show just treats this abusive behavior as a quirky, edgy joke and "lol that's just classic Loona!! What can ya do lol!!!"

She does have her moments where a good character actually shines through, but they're so few and far in between. I want to like Loona so much, but as it currently stands, I just can't, and that makes me sad.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for using a poem I wrote for my ex-girlfriend to apply for a scholarship?

I'm pretty sure that I'm not TA here, we're still on good terms anyway and it's unlikely she'll ever even find out about this unless I outright tell her, but I'd like to know if I'm committing some grievous social faux pas here.

So. I (21F) met my ex-girlfriend, who we'll call Jolene (22F) online a couple years back. The specifics of how we met will make it immediately obvious to anyone who knows either of us that it's me writing the AITA post, so I'm going to leave those out, but we were friends for a while before she asked me out, and it's relevant that we became friends over writing. We hit it off pretty well for a while, to the point where I wrote a poem being incredibly gay for her despite not (then) being much of a poet at all.

And then I went to visit her in person. Y'see, she'd come to visit me in person the previous winter, and that went fine, barring the fact that I ended up being super overwhelmed by the end of the visit—suffice to say that I'm extremely asexual, and she's extremely not. This came to a head when I went to visit her, she constantly wanted to be hanging out and doing things, and I straight up could not handle that much social interaction with anyone for that long. It got to the point where I was straight up dreading being with her, so I took a step back, examined my feelings, and decided yeah, we'd probably be better off as friends or as queerplatonic partners or something nonromantic.

We're still on fairly good terms, I'd say? Though I still feel extremely awkward over the circumstances of said breakup, she can't change how she is and I can't change how I am, and she's really happy with her new girlfriend so. Hell yeah. We love to see it. (There's also the additional complication that I might be something approaching arospec, but. Y'know. Details.)

Fast forward to today, several months after our breakup. I'm applying for scholarships for my university. I happen to be going for an English major and one of the available scholarships involves submitting up to 5 poems of any length. I remember, abruptly, the poem I wrote for her, go looking in our DMs, and—yep, there it is. Still incredibly gay.

Between that and some haikus about wildlife (long story), that brings my count of poems up to four of the five total allowed. I haven't submitted the application yet, but I've only got four days left to, and I absolutely don't have to submit my extremely gay poem alongside the wildlife haikus, I'm looking at the application right now and it says up to 5 poems of any length, presumably implying that I can have anywhere from 1-5 poems in that document.

But... I really want to. I'm not romantically in love with Mabel anymore, and while our personalities don't mesh super well these days, I still care about her a lot and if this is some giant social faux pas I'm unaware of (I'm unaware of a lot of those, I've never gotten formally diagnosed with anything but I highly doubt I'm remotely neurotypical if that's relevant) and it feels kind of like a way of saluting the relationship that was good while it lasted?

Also, and possibly more relevantly to the scholarship thing, it's a halfway decent poem. Nothing award-winning, but I'll never get any scholarships if I don't try for them, y'know? ...And I kind of really need the scholarships, due to reasons best brought up in an entirely different AITA post involving my mom.

So. Uh. Yeah. I know what I'll be doing regardless, no way this gets a solid judgment before it's time to submit, but I do want to know if it's an AH move or not. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[jakey-beefed-it]

Managed to dedicate all of 2 or 3 hours to creative attempts over the past few days, but the results are uninspired, derivative, lifeless schlop. Comparing it even to the dashed-off effluvia of the worst hack, it's garbage. Comparing it to anything even remotely palatable is just Homer's BBQ without the found art angle.

I just wanna climb into a suspiciously coffin-like container, like a Tokyo capsule hotel or a sci-fi cryosleep chamber, and seek oblivion out of everyone's way until I get some halfway decent ideas or they shut off the life support, whichever comes first.

[youraveragedeltafan]

Jarod and Lola

A small rant fueled by a dubious take I heard on Jarod and Lola's relationship in both the game and first book, I've never fully read About a Girl so I can't vouch for that one.

((Now that I think about it, the OP was probably from a troll but it's too late I'm in too deep))

That being said. Spoilers.

TW for abuse and a brief talk about implied SA

Did Jarod abuse Lola in some way? It's likely, especially considering he slapped her in the first book. While it only happens if Lou decides not to do anything, it shows that Jarod is willing to hurt his child.

To be clear: hitting your kid is never okay. Even when he's trying to get her out of a dangerous situation, it's clear that smacking her did nothing, and that it wasn't an accident. It was retaliation for pushing off his hat. The direct quote is:

"The man’s long and thin fingers are clutching Lola’s bright red arm. The kid continues to flail, knocking back the man who loses his hat in the process. His response is immediate, a slap hard enough to knock her head off her shoulders." (31)

Lola's response directly after doesn't help

"The man sits at the wheel of the cab, and leers at Lola who flips him off. Once the car is gone, she stands up and dusts herself off." (251)

No reaction. We don't know what Lola was like before the Brigades, but I think anyone would be at least somewhat shocked after their parent hit them if it wasn't normal. Even if it was the first time, it's still entirely unnecessary. This was put there for a reason--to depict what kind of a person Jarod was before the attack. It shows that Jarod is not an innocent man who was pushed over the edge, and wasn't exactly a shining beacon of good or even halfway decent parenting before Lola's death.

Even without this, we already know Jarod is an objectively bad person. If we take away the nuance, he's still at his core a scary fictional bad guy who has it in him to hurt his daughter and kill people if they annoy him too much. So yeah, it's not out of the realm of possibility that he abused Lola even before the Brigades, and might have contributed to why she left. This is reprehensible on its own.

HOWEVER

It's okay to like Jarod and find him interesting, he's meant to be the archetypal stranger you shouldn't talk to in horror movies (the hitcher), and plays that part well. It doesn't make you a bad person to like Jarod. Look at it this way: just because you like the Joker doesn't mean you're gonna get a clown mask, rob a bank, then burn the money.

Back to Jarod though. I think if he did anything else, it would've been implied. If they wanted to go that way with his character (SA), I feel like it would be kind of irresponsible of the writers to leave it at small 'hints' (that for the record aren't really there). Making a shrine for your dead daughter isn't weird; the 'shrine' was in front of what was basically her bedroom--something parents of dead children tend to keep untouched. Being obsessed with your dead daughter, while probably unhealthy, isn't weird.

Just because Jarod has a short fuse and likes to threaten and kill people when his cold anger meter breaks doesn't automatically mean he gets some creepy sexual pleasure from doing so. It isn't implied like, at all. The closest things I can think of that's even remotely iffy without context is Better Be Good To Me, but even then it isn't about the crosser, it's about the cop.

TL; DR: Jarod, from what we know in canon, probably physically abused Lola before and after she joined the Brigades, however, there isn't enough evidence to say the writers (both book and game) wanted Jarod to be read as a sexual predator. To be clear: It's fine if that's *your* personal interpretation, as at the end of the day its art, but trying to stand on a moral high ground about a fictional character for something that was never remotely implied in game is really...yeah.

[tenebriskukris]

Oshi No Ko Chapter 164 - My Thoughts/Analysis

It seems the authors have somehow managed to pull off a chapter that was worse than I could have intentionally come up with myself. Spoilers for Oshi No Ko Chapter 164 below.

This chapter starts off with a montage of events that have absolutely no relevance to the Aqua’s life hanging in the balance. How many pages was it? Three pages that could’ve been dedicated to the actual plot rather than a Windows Powerpoint Slideshow. I’d be more lenient with things if there weren’t two bloody chapters left.

And now, back to Oshi No Powerpoint, we see Aqua’s probable death. Nine panels of a slideshow that could’ve easily been folded into the past three or chapters. More than half of the chapter at this point has just been close to, if not completely superfluous. This “death” scene might as well have been thrown out because last chapter’s ending could’ve been enough to put the nail in the coffin for any hope of survival for Aqua and this series’ ending being somewhere even remotely close to decent. 

I don’t even care that Akane is basically infodumping everyone’s reactions to this travesty and her thoughts on Aqua’s death. If the police found his body, that means it’s over. They’re not going to mistake Aqua’s body for Hikaru’s especially since Akane mentions that the damage to the corpse was minor. I guess that confirms that Aqua’s dead, huh. As sad as Akane’s reactions are, I just can’t bring myself to care about the writing equivalent of someone’s shit being smeared onto a plate and having it actually being published. It’s an insult to all the well written manga that only have a fraction of success this godawful manga has garnered thanks to one lucky anime adaptation. 

I’d heard off the grapevine that one of the author’s other mangas that wasn’t Kaguya-sama was axed and if This is the kind of output that the author has been churning out, then that cancellation is more than deserved. These last ten chapters might as well have torched the series. I wouldn’t trust the authors to teach a fucking high school writing class, let alone go anywhere close to writing a popular manga again.

Alright. Fine. Final thoughts on the chapter. I’d like the time investment that this manga stole from me back. I don’t even feel the need to rub my braincells together to type out a competent analysis of a chapter that was just so objectively garbage from almost every angle that you’d think that they were trying to completely trying to nuke the manga’s quality. With how these past chapters have been going, it’s not the worst media ending I’ve ever seen, but it’s certainly up there. At least in the top 20 at best, and we’re not even fully over.

On a more serious note, it’s hard to meet this chapter where it is mostly because I don’t want to get my boots dirty in the filth that it’s swimming in. It’s difficult to meet the manga halfway and actually putting effort into analyzing something that the authors obviously didn’t even put a smidgen of effort into in terms of anything but the art. It’s almost the inverse of trying to analyze that one piece of installation art that is literally a urinal. If the creator of said piece of art wasn’t an actual good artist and didn’t put thought into Why the bloody thing was a urinal, then people wouldn’t be debating endlessly over it even to this day. Unfortunately, this manga isn’t a urinal, though with the quality of it being so piss poor, it might as well deserve that title. There are children’s television shows that can handle themselves better than the ending of this series even on a bad day.

So. Aqua’s dead. Probably. They found his body so he’s probably dead. Doesn’t mean that Crow Girl can’t deus ex machina him back and reincarnate him again. Would not even be surprised at this point. Maybe he’ll reincarnate as Ruby’s child. That feels about on the level of garbage writing that this series has been doing. I went on a whole tirade on Why this was a bad decision in my last analysis, and oh boy the authors proved me right again. This chapter was executed so badly that I think there are some people who have zero writing experience who could end it better. It’s actually impressive.

With this chapter out, it almost invalidates the last one. Which is certainly Not what you want to do when you only have a handful of chapters left. Hell, you could probably just read 162 and 164 and skip 163 and you would lose absolutely nothing but Aqua pitying himself for making some objectively bad decisions, because somehow Nino trying to stab Ruby was forgotten by the narrative at large. So was Akane, by the way. If Aqua really wanted to get rid of Hikaru in a more subtle manner he could’ve very easily just asked for her help for an alibi after getting rid of Hikaru. It’s all just so idiotic.

It’s a fucking crime that we don’t get to see Ruby in this chapter. All these side characters get a turn on the react couch to Aqua’s death and Ruby is just a footnote in this entire thing when she was the reason that Aqua went to these extremes in the first place. I’d say that the authors don’t know how to handle their characters, but that implies that they knew how to handle them in the first place, which is very debatable. The cracks in the series may have become more evident as it leapt toward the finish line, but they were still there at the start. They were just hidden because there was still decent writing that distracted from the rot hiding beneath the surface.

From what I gather, this arc’s title was Toward The Stars and Dreams. I have a better title for it. Toward Burning The Manga Tankobons Down. The funny thing is that all the emotions I have for this manga have crystallized into apathy with all the horrible decisions the manga is taking. I didn’t feel sad at the end of the chapter when everyone was reacting to Aqua’s death. It felt too much like a slideshow of things that should’ve been given more time in the spotlight. It’s just a feeling of “oh, that’s how they’re going with this? huh. that’s garbage!” and then go on my merry way. If you’re losing the emotional investment that your readers have with the work as as you sprint toward the finish line, then you’ve done something really wrong.

Two chapters left. Let’s just get on with it. I’m not going to be getting my time investment back with this godawful series, but at least I can put a little bow on it and rip it to shreds when its over.

[avi17]

for the kiss meme!!! hobie/pavitr, 24!!! if that's a repeat of one you already have, lmk<3

24) A kiss in danger

New York- whichever New York this is, Hobie doesn’t even remember right now- is spinning.

They land less-than-gracefully behind a dumpster, Pavitr’s swinging awkward and off-balance while supporting Hobie’s full weight. The piled bags make a halfway decent cushion as Pavitr sets him partway down, unhooking the guitar strap to move it aside before letting him fully collapse onto his back.

"Puttin' me right back in the rubbish, eh?" Hobie chuckles, pulling the bottom half of his mask up as though that'll make breathing with a few probably-cracked ribs any less painful. There’s blood seeping into the fabric from the gash where his forehead connected with brick hard enough to smash through. "I've slept in worse."

Pavitr yanks his own mask off, breathing hard, his perfect hair even a little out of sorts. His sweat-shiny cheeks flush darker with embarrassment. "Shut up, it was the closest place I could think of to hide you." He glances nervously down the alleyway, before snapping back to Hobie and kneeling “What were you thinking, running right back into the fight after that? You can barely walk straight, let alone swing or anything else!”

"Told you I was fine,” Hobie retorts, trying a bit pathetically to push Pavitr back and drag himself into a halfway proper sitting position. Everything around him still feels like it’s moving, as if he’s dipping through the sky between buildings rather than flat on his arse on the pavement. “Takes more’n a crack to the loaf to keep me out long.”

Pavitr obviously isn’t having it, and he pushes Hobie’s mask up further, lifting each of his eyelids in turn to examine his unfocused pupils, wiping away the still-seeping blood with the pad of his thumb. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Numbers’re a tool of capitalism…oughta abolish ‘em…” Hobie mumbles, which is definitely a real view he holds and not absolute bullshit to make up for the fact that right now he’s got no idea. Pavitr hisses something in Hindi that he doesn’t understand but that has to be a curse based on the tone alone. It's sweet that he's so worried.

Shit, he's fuckin' beautiful. Both of him.

…Alright, that's not great, maybe Pavitr's got a point. But Hobie managed to string up his universe’s Vulture last week with his eyes still stinging and watering from tear gas- whatever the villain of the week can throw at him, he’s had worse. And this one’s no fuckin’ joke- he’s not leaving Gwen and Pav to deal with it on their own. Not that he doesn’t trust them- ‘course he does, and he can’t say that for many- but he’s not about to let them be the ones to get hurt because he let himself get knocked around one too many times.

Spiderman always gets back up- nah, that’s bullshit. He doesn’t care what Spiderman is supposed to do. But Hobie Brown does always get back up, without anyone but himself telling him that he has to.

He pushes again, harder this time, and manages to get a foot and a hand under him, ignoring the wave of nausea that hits him as he starts to rise. “Alright, I sat for your li’l checkup, let’s get back innit.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but doesn’t quite manage, on account of Pavitr grabbing a handful of the front of his suit and yanking him in for a kiss.

Surely he can blame the concussion for the way his brain all but short-circuits.

He’s…fuck, he’s dreamed about this, even if this isn’t remotely how he pictured it happening. He’d have a hundred questions right now if his head didn’t feel like it was full of rocks. As it is, all he can think is how soft Pav’s lips are, warm like sunshine- perfect, just like the rest of him. And hell, it’s such a cliche he’s almost embarrassed to think it, but it’s like time stops for those few moments, letting them breathe the same air, letting Hobie memorize the feel and the taste of him in case this never happens again.

He doesn't even notice the twinge of his spider-senses, because they've been screaming for hours as it is-

-Until a nasty crash echoes from the direction of the fight and Pavitr's lips pull away from his, and he moves to sit, to follow them- and he can't.

...Wanker's webbed him to the goddamn wall. He'd be angry if he could see straight, if he was in any fit state to tear his way free. As it is, he's a little impressed, and more than a little struck stupid by the lingering feeling of the other boy’s lips on his. Pavitr is glaring at him, nostrils flared, and now is absolutely not the time to tell him that he looks even more gorgeous pissed off like this.

"If you are too stubborn to take care of yourself, then I will do it for you,” he snaps, wiping a smear of Hobie’s black lipstick and blood- far too attractive on him, criminal really- from his mouth before pulling his mask back on, disappearing back under Spiderman’s blank white eyes. “Gwen and I can handle this, I promise. I’ll be back the moment it’s safe.” His voice sounds softer, gentler than it did a moment ago, cracking a little as the worry slips through. He sounds more like himself, he sounds...it sounds like he really cares. And yeah, they're friends- or...something now, who knows what- but Hobie's still getting used to people caring.

...Or maybe Hobie’s just starting to hallucinate. Jury’s out.

Pavitr begins a running start down the alley to web himself back into the air, only to turn awkwardly mid-step, gesturing to the dumpster. “Just- stay there, okay?” he calls back, and Hobie snorts, wheezing out a pained laugh.

As if he’s given him any choice on that.

“Oi, Pav, hang on-” he starts, struggling pointlessly, but the other Spiderman is already gone, leaving him with the rubbish and the absolute mess of his thoughts.

“...Bollocks.”

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] The Runaway

A silly little Wild West AU that nobody asked for 🥰 Rated T | 600 words | ao3 link

"—And bring him back unharmed. Do we have a deal?"

Caleb huffed. "Y'know the Sheriff wants him on a noose. Payin’ bail ain’t gonna cut it this time."

“I know.” Richter’s expression didn't even flinch. "But Sheriff Tapp isn't here, is he?"

Caleb bit back a smirk. Richter was usually a real stickler for rules who put his business first and anything remotely fun second. But pull the right strings, and he was apparently ready to take some shortcuts with the law.

Caleb knew that feeling all too well—after Bayshore and the warden, many of his Hellshire boys had gone right back to their outlaw ways. And after dealing with sour sheriffs and incompetent militia on the regular, some days Caleb was very close to joining them instead of continuing this gun for hire bullshit.

Luckily, Richter wasn’t interested in his gun.

"Bounty's for dead or alive," Caleb drawled. "What's stoppin' me from puttin' him down and gettin’ the bounty for his corpse?"

"The fact that I'm tripling the bounty if you bring him to me," Richter immediately countered.

If his broken jaw still let him, Caleb would have whistled. He didn't know why someone with Richter's status would bother throwing away that much money on some low-life scum, but he wasn't about to complain about a well-paying job.

"It ain't gonna be easy," Caleb said. "A lotta bounty hunters are gonna be after that gold, an' a rat like him's not gonna just let himself get found."

"That's why I'm asking you and not them," Richter simply said.

It was almost a compliment, but Caleb didn't care. They both knew he was the best tracker in the business.

"Alright," Caleb said. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on to rest his bad leg. "I'll bring 'im in."

Richter smiled from behind his desk. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

Caleb grunted an affirmative and went to walk out of Richter's office.

"Oh, and Caleb?" Richter said once he was halfway out the door.

Caleb stopped but didn't bother turning to look at him. "Hm?"

"Unharmed," Richter stressed.

Now that Richter couldn't see it, Caleb was free to roll his eyes. It was like people took one look at the Redeemer and thought he went around harpooning people for fun.

Well, he did. But only those who deserved it.

"I got it," Caleb said.

Not waiting for a reply, Caleb slammed the office door and straightened his hat while he walked through the pompous manor. Because Richter supposedly lived alone, Caleb did his best to ignore the numerous Spanish books tucked into every bookshelf and the pair of boots in the entryway that were too small to be Richter's.

He already had a good few ideas where to start looking for his target. The bastard had a bounty in almost every state around these parts, but knowing him he’d just ignore the danger and hide in plain sight in one of the big cities. Poking at a few contacts would probably be enough to get a decent lead; after last time, Caleb had asked a few of his boys to keep an ear to the ground for sudden new gambling rings or snake oil merchants.

After all, this was already the third time in as many months that Caleb had been hired to drag Visconti home.

[geryuthespacesquid]

Hi I'm a nobody asked digital artist, here's my thoughts on all the digital art programs I've tried. These are based entirely off my own memory, and I'm not picking up any of these programs again to test them. Just going off vibes.

Autodesk Sketchbook - Mobile:

This is more or less the definitive Draw You In To Art program. No exaggeration, I think if you asked maybe 50 digital artists in the modern day, most of them would've tried this one at least once. It projects an illusion of polish to distract you from a number of critical missing features, but overall, it's not even remotely bad to start out with. I think if my mobile tablet had a halfway decent degree of pressure sensitivity I could make something okay with it.

A more detailed explanation of my thoughts is hard, but to sum it up, this program bombards you with a million brushes for free, something rarely done by digital art programs, but, it also has extremely limited layer behaviors, you can't change canvas size anymore, and the stablizer is pits. I won't say it's bad. It's not. It's just not good. 5.8 out of 10.

Ibis Paint X - Mobile:

Comedically simple, this is the program you pick up when you're doing digital art a little better, and want to actually have fun. Bread and butter of the mobile digital artist. It has literally everything you need, it's just not fancy in any way. Getting every brush isn't worth paying for, but you'll live. They recently tried to step into AI and got punched in the gut so hard they stopped, which I like.

In general, this program doesn't do anything in particular extremely well, but it also doesn't do anything poorly. It's well rounded. I'd say if you're gonna do digital art on mobile, you'll always find yourself coming back around to this. It's just too solid. 7.8 out of 10.

Medibang Paint - Mobile:

I am biased against this program. I just don't like it. Maybe I was using it wrong, or maybe the mobile version is just worse, but it felt like drawing with mashed potatoes and gravy. Also it seems to be no longer available on my tablet, so fuck it.

In truth, my memory on this program is hazy despite me using it probably the second most out of all of these. No clipping mask, limited layer styles, an extremely limited number of brushes, no way to get more on mobile, anti aliasing made everything pixelated, and I don't think it can change canvas sizes, or if it can, I never figured out how. I just don't like anything about how the program feels. 3 out of 10.

Clip Studio Paint - Desktop:

Goddamn. I wanna recommend it. I really do. But. You have to know things.

First and foremost, the new subscription model for CSP essentially means that after a year, whatever version you have is obsolete, and won't even get updates while you have it. You have to pay a yearly subscription to get the updates for your current version. if you pay for the 3.0 version when it drops in march, it will be 10 dollars extra to get any of the updates to the 3.x version until 4.0 drops, when you can pay 25 dollars to upgrade to that and get all the 3.x updates, plus whatever came in 4.0. On top of that, it can cost anywhere from 25 to 200 dollars depending on which version you get, and if it's on sale.

But goddamn. It's pretty worth it. The brush engine is fluid, works great for making your own, I've never seen the program fail to do something. It has limits, but I've never hit them. 8 out of 10.

Rebelle 5 - Desktop:

Listen to me carefully. This one is extremely specific. You have to WANT a digital art program that replicates IRL media PRECISELY. If you don't care about that, this program is not worth it. I got it on sale for 10 dollars. Can I reccomend it at that price? Heartily. But at the near 200 dollar price point it usually goes for? FUCK NO. Rebelle caters to a specific demographic. Nothing else matters.

That said. When it works, it works well. I do like how rebelle feels and works. But not enough for me to ever tell someone to get it for full price. 4 out of 10, but if you really want to replicate traditional media, 9 out of 10.

Corel Painter - Desktop:

Never before has a program sent me on such an emotional rollercoaster as this one. It's just so much. It's a midpoint between Rebelle and Clip Studio, but for the worst. It's expensive beyond comprehension, you can't make your own brushes, only pay for new ones, it's a yearly format meaning a new, barely distinguishable version goes on sale every year for another 300+ dollars, and I only got it as part of a Humble Bundle for 25 dollars, and I still feel like I wasted my money.

And you know what? I didn't just dick around in this program. No, I made a full drawing in it. Nothing spectactular. Just a simple drawing. And I felt accomplished. and I went to export it, to share. Only to find out you can only email images to the email associated with your account to get a regular image version. Now. This made me irrationally angry, but, I calmed down, and tried it.

It only works with microsoft emails, and I have a gmail account associated with my Corel account.

This program is 300 dollars, and lacks the functionality to simply export a png to your computer. 2 out of 10.

[redmyeyes]

for @wincestwednesdays, prompt: trapped

day 1

Sam woke to the scent of gardenias and pine wafting through the open window.  The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudless.  Next to him on the bed, just now blinking his eyes open—his brother, his partner, the love of his very long life.  "I still can't believe you're here,"  he whispered, leaning over for a soft kiss.  No morning breath, that was a nice touch.  "That we're here," he amended.  "That this is— is this real?  Feel like I'm dreaming."

Dean brushed a thumb across his cheek and Sam leaned into the touch.  "Feels real," he said softly.  "Told you though… I hadn't even slept until last night.  Felt like one long drive to me."

"I wonder how time works here.  You think it felt the same to everyone?  Like, fifty years just passed while we were sleeping?"

Dean flicked him between the eyebrows, and the past dropped away.  Every time Dean had ever done this to him, from age eight to thirty-eight, merged into one, and he was straight back there, here, now.  "You think too much."

It wasn't until much, much later that Sam roused himself enough to ask, "Do you think we should… I mean, everyone's here right?  We should— visit?"

"Time enough tomorrow," Dean said, and Sam, relieved, nodded in agreement.

day 45

Sam woke to the scent of gardenias and pine wafting through the open window.  The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudless. 

"You think it ever rains here?" he asked Dean later from his rocking chair on the porch.  The view was better than anything he could have dreamed up—tall pines surrounding their little clearing in the woods, the ground soft with years of fallen needles, a crystal-blue lake peeking through in the distance.  He still wasn't used to it.

Dean frowned like the thought had never occurred to him.  "I dunno.  Maybe… if we wanted it to?  Try real hard, Sammy, concentrate.  Bring in the clouds."

As hard as he thought of thunderstorms, the sky stayed blue and cloudless.

day 337

Sam woke to the scent of gardenias and pine wafting through the open window.  The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudless. 

Dean had taken up whittling.  The results of his efforts lined every windowsill in the cabin, starting from those very crude first attempts and ending with something halfway decent.  He hadn't tried whittling since that summer they were trapped in a cabin when Sam was sixteen, but Dean had always been good with his hands and it didn't take him long to pick up the skill again.

"You know, it just hit me."  The whittling paused as Dean looked back over his shoulder at Sam from his perch on the front steps.  "We still haven't gone to see Bobby yet.  Or Dad, or Mom.  Or, hell, even— your kid?  You think he's—"

"Maybe tomorrow,"  Sam interrupted lazily from the rocking chair.  He closed his eyes and leaned back, the breeze gentle on his face.  "No rush."

day 1384394

Sam woke to the scent of gardenias and pine wafting through the open window.  The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudless. 

Dean still whittled.  Sam still rocked.

Rows and rows of wooden animals lined every surface.  Only ever animals.  He'd gone through a realistic phase, and then a cartoony phase, and lately he'd been doing a kind of hybrid—personified animals, with the most delicate of human expressions.  A grumpy cat in a nightshirt, clutching a stuffed mouse.  A spotted lizard, a butterfly tickling its nose.  A fox dressed in ghost-sheets with a little bowtie.  No two were remotely alike. 

Sam couldn't remember if they had ever left their front porch.  It didn't seem important.  

He had a vague memory of the lake.  

Everything beyond that was formless.

day ???

He woke to the scent of gardenias and pine wafting through the open window.  The temperature was mild, the sky blue and cloudless. 

Time passed.

They were seated on felled logs beside a campfire out back.  The little area around them glowed golden from the fire.  Outside of that was black.  When he looked up, stars shone brightly through the gaps between the pines.  Perfect.

He was whittling.  A frog, this time.  He watched it come alive in his hands.  Its hind legs were tensed, its arms outstretched.  Halfway through a leap.  One perfect moment, preserved.  

When he finished, he held it up to the light, thumb stroking its little belly, his mouth quirked up in a fond smile.  "What do you think?"

"Lemme see," he said, taking the frog from his hands.  "Perfect," he said after a moment.  Then he tossed it onto the flames.

[forebodingprophet]

Moirai || Clotho C4P1

“Shit, it got away,” Minoru spat as he went to collect the unconscious Ofthalmós.

“Wouldn’t have happened if you were halfway decent at your job, fuckwit,” Roul spat.  “Having to do this twice in one day is not my idea of fun, but 3 out of 4 will have to do.  After all, the main prize is this guy.  That thing wouldn’t have kept anyways if it can teleport,” he cackled, hefting Théo as Minoru handed the man over.  “He doesn’t look like he has any powers, but he’ll still fetch quite the pretty penny.  Enough to offset the cost of raising the other two and losing that egg at least.”

“After all the effort we put in though, it’s such a waste.”

“Wouldn’t have needed to be an issue if you’d done what I told you and raised him up the way they said to.”

“And we wouldn’t have needed to sell him if you hadn’t jumped the gun,” Minoru growled.  Raoul scoffed.  “You and I both know that raising him to be one of us never would have worked.  That house would have dug it out of him one way or another, and it’d have been a lost cause.  And even with this plan, it was a crapshoot at best.  We got lucky when he managed to snag the young patriarch, and you ruined it by throwing a fuss over a children’s fight.”

“Hey.  Don’t forget I’m the one in charge here,” Raoul spat.  “Yeah, we lucked out that the holy brat himself came to do the investigation, but the whole thing was too delicate to leave to some kid.  I’ll just be glad to finally be rid of him.  I always thought it was a dumb idea.”

“You’re not the one that had to play dad for 12 years,” Minoru hissed.  “And all we had to do was get him to bring the kid back to the house just once, and we’d be good.  Kids fight all the fucking time.  If you hadn’t taken him outta the picture, catching the other one probably would have gone a lot easier!”

“As if!  I don’t know what kind of idealistic scenario you were imagining, but that guy had no interest in coming into the house.  I doubt that brat would have made the situation any easier.  And I still did a better job in the last month than you did in those 12 years!”

Minoru scoffed.  The man hadn’t lifted a finger in the month or so they’d been there.  He hadn’t even spoken to the boy.

“I swear, I don’t know why they keep sticking me with fuck ups like you.”  Raoul opened a panel in the floor before dropping Théo inside and shoving him in next to Hikaze and Itsu so the panel would close properly. 

Minoru scoffed but didn’t bother trying to argue.  This man wasn’t the type who would accept anything but total agreement.  This was all way too much trouble.  They’d just gotten here a month ago, and now they had to move again.  He’d been excited when he first got this assignment, but now he wanted nothing to do with it, even if the payout was supposed to be fantastic.  It was too much of a long game.

“Now help me pick up the rest of ‘em,” Roul ordered.  “We can’t have it lookin’ like something actually went down.  Damn thing’s useful in the moment, but I’m not using it outside again.”

“It’ll alter their memories and perception though, so what does it matter if they all wake up in the street?” Minoru grumbled, trudging back outside.

“Fucking idiot,” Roul spat under his breath.  “We still gotta clear out.  It’s going to be at least a day.  We can’t have anyone realizing that something’s up before we take off.  Not to mention, the holy brat himself will probably be the one doing the investigating again.  If anything is even remotely off, we’ll be in trouble!  The organization’s managed to stay under their radar all these years because of this thing.  We can’t let those bastards catch onto us.”

Minoru’s eyes drifted to the pocket the creature was being kept in.  The spheres were only good for a single-use, but they were effective every time.  To make them even more convenient, only certain people could see them, although he wasn’t entirely sure of the requirement.  However, they were never given to someone as low on the ladder as Minoru, so he had no idea how to even use one.

“Dammit, the girls get the easy job while we have to clean everything up before we can leave,” Minoru grumbled, picking up one of the townspeople by their arms and dragging them into their house.  “Hurry up!  We don’t have long before someone comes looking for him!”

◊◊◊

               The first thing Hikaze registered was a profound aching that covered almost his entire body.  His back was especially bad, but his shoulders and arms clearly didn’t like anything about the way he was laying.  His stomach and ribs were also in some pretty intense pain.  He recognized the clattering of wooden wheels and the dusty smell of a wagon, but couldn’t immediately remember how he’d gotten there.  The carriage went over a bump, knocking him a few centimeters into the air before gravity mercilessly brought him back down, slamming his head, hip, and shoulder into the hard wood and making him cry out.  He moved to sit up only to realize he was restrained.  No wonder his shoulders hurt.  His feet were bound too.  Hikaze groaned as the memories came back.  Right, he’d been beaten within an inch of his life by his uncle, but he couldn’t remember anything after that.  Did his family decide to move?  He started looking around, trying to find Itsu, but all he saw were unlabeled boxes and bags.  What caught his attention, however, was the sight of another person, laid on his side with his semi-long black hair fallen over part of his olive-tanned face.

“Théo?” Hikaze asked weakly.

               “Good morning, Hikaze,” the man replied, in his usual polite tone.

               “Why are you-”

               “I came to deliver the young master’s pay for you.  They, unfortunately, got the better of me.”

               Hikaze grimaced.  “I’m sorry.”

               “Well, given that you’re also tied up here, unless it’s some elaborate ploy to earn my trust-”

“Never!” Hikaze cut in, looking genuinely horrified.

“-it’s not your fault,” Théo replied, smiling reassuringly.  “But we should probably be quiet.  If they know we’re up, they may come to check on us.”

Hikaze felt his heart stop for a moment and nodded carefully.  Then, as if to further cement that fact, the tarp at the back of the carriage pulled aside.  Hikaze instinctively closed his eyes as soon as the light hit him, but his breathing wavered.  He hadn’t been able to get a good look, but the adrenaline rushing through him made even the clacking of the wooden wheels beneath him sound muted.  Heavy footsteps fell between them, and while he couldn’t see it, Hikaze could feel their owner shifting to stare down at him. 

“You got a shit poker face, boy,” came the gruff voice of his uncle before Hikaze felt himself launched into the side of the wagon.  Having taken another kick to the stomach, his eyes shot open, and he gasped for air, trying to get his bearings but struggling since his hands were bound.  “Don’t try to play dead on me.”

“Well, I wasn’t awake before,” Hikaze grunted out with a cracking voice, “but I am now.  Should you really be manhandling the merchandise?” 

His uncle scoffed.  “You still clearly have enough energy to mouth off, so don’t push your luck, or I really will beat you within an inch of your life.  And enjoy it.” 

Hikaze huffed and blew a lock of hair out of his face.

“Just be quiet and behave yourself.  The more I gotta deal with you, the worse you’re gonna get.  We’re almost there anyways, so just shut up and stay put.”  With that, his uncle turned around and jumped back out of the moving carriage.  Hikaze briefly caught a glimpse of two horses, one of which was mounted, and realized escaping wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped.

“You alright?” Théo whispered, re-opening his own eyes.

“Yeah,” Hikaze replied, still sounding a little pained.  “I’ll be fine.”

Théo sighed in relief.  “I have to say, I was rather surprised when I woke up to see you laying across from me,” Théo added.  “I hadn’t been permitted to meet with you, but I never would have expected you to be here.”

“You and me both…  Hey, they captured Itsu with me.  You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Théo sadly shook his head.  “Apologies.  I haven’t been up much longer than you have, so I cannot say.”  The two of them looked around the carriage as best as they could.  It was filled with boxes and chests stacked at most two high, some of which had toppled over, and although Itsu may have been in one of them, it was impossible to tell unless the little soldier started making noise.  Hikaze sighed and returned his attention to Théo.

“So what-…” Hikaze hesitated, unsure if he actually wanted to ask this question.  “-what’s going to happen?”  Even though he knew some of the stuff Esaias had gone through, what few stories Esaias had been willing to tell him had been vague, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going to come next.”

“Well…”  Hikaze could tell that Théo was hesitant, and he couldn’t blame the guy.  Hikaze was technically 12 years old, but he had the memories and experiences of an adult in his head, so he should be able to handle it better than a normal 12-year-old.  ‘Should’ being the key term.  “I can’t speak for what will happen to you, but the fact that you haven’t been killed yet despite how beat up you look raises your chances.  I’m not saying they won’t kill you, it may have just been inconvenient for them at the time, but given that you haven’t, they may see some further value in you.  It means they may be thinking about selling you.”  Hikaze pulled a face of disgust, but, in Théo’s eyes, this was a good thing.  Having value meant they wouldn’t kill you or do anything that might lower your value before a sale is completed, which insured some degree of safety, although Hikaze’s perceived value wasn’t particularly great right now, but the man wasn’t about to tell him that..  “As long as you hold value, they won’t do anything that might jeopardize their ability to profit from you.”

“Are you kidding?  I don’t need a mirror to know I look like shit right now.”

Théo gave a wry laugh.  “I can’t deny it.  When I first woke, had I not seen that you were bound, I would have thought you dead.  With any luck, you may receive some degree of medicinal treatment once we arrive at our destination,” he replied optimistically.

“… And?  What about you?”

“If I’m lucky, I’ll be sold off as a male concubine to some noble, I’m sure,” Théo replied.  “I don’t have any powers, but it isn’t entirely rare for the gift to skip a generation.  There’s no shortage of nobility around the world who covet the house’s powers.”

“That still sounds disgusting,” Hikaze replied, his face pale.

“Which is why we should probably come up with an escape plan,” Théo replied.

“Well, I can tell you one thing we have in our favor: all we got holding us back are ropes,” Hikaze pointed out with a smirk.  C’mere, I’ll chew through yours if you chew through mine.  Then we can start looking for Itsu.”

“An excellent idea.  I was about to suggest the same.”

◊◊◊

To most of the rest of the house, Anastasios was almost the picture of a perfect patriarch; calm, always on the moral high ground, and able to solve most any situation without even letting so much as a hair getting out of place, so to say that his family members were alarmed to see him sprinting through the quiet halls would be an understatement.  He all but skidded into the teleportation point and had to pause and lean in the doorway to catch his breath.  The woman there, an aníschyros in her late-20s, stared at him like he had two heads.

“Wow, Stasi, did you run anyone over on your way here?” she asked sarcastically.

“Shut up,” he hissed between breaths as he brushed loose hair out of his face.  “Just tell me what’s going on.  Why is Skirí here, but not Théodore?”

“Beats me,” she replied, exasperated.  “Skirí can’t communicate telepathically yet, so I haven’t been able to learn anything in the ten minutes it’s been since I sent you the messenger.  All I can tell is that she’s pretty shaken.” 

Anastasios looked over at the Espurr in front of her who was holding out her little paws as she walked towards him on unsteady legs.  First things first, Anastasios had to figure out what’d happened.  He crouched down on the floor, reaching forward and scooping the furry thing into his hands.  Skirí had been with Théo since not long after Théo had become Anastsios’ attendant, so she and Théo had gotten incredibly close.  She’d never been able to communicate telepathically, but that had never been a problem… until now.

“Skirí, where’s Théo?  What happened?”

The Espurr squeaked and mewled pitifully, but, unfortunately, Anastasios couldn’t get anything out of her other than that she was scared and confused.

“Celia?”  The Darkrai rose out of Anastasios’ shadow and took the small Pokemon in his hands.  The Espurr mewed at her for several moments, and then Esaias set her down.

“It would appear that Théodore has been abducted.  Unfortunately, Skirí’s memory of the incident is somewhat hazy.  All she remembers is that something was called out and struck everyone present with debilitating fear.  Whatever it is can also tamper with memories, but Théodore gave her the order to run before it could fully affect her.  She has some pieces missing, but she does remember that Hikaze’s family is involved.”

Anastasios was struck with a strong sense of dread.  Now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he knew that someone was going around abducting members of House Ofthalmós, and, to make matters worse, they’d taken his attendant.  Théo was privy to a number of classified pieces of information about how the house ran itself, including information about where family outside the house was located and, of course, what times Celia left the house unguarded.  Being Anastasios’ attendant gave him far more value than simply being from House Ofthalmós.  He had to find him before they realized that or it wouldn’t just be Théo in danger, but the whole house.

“… Did you see Hikaze?” Anastasios asked, hesitating.  The name tasted like pith in his mouth.  Skirí chirped, and Celia shook her head.

“She doesn’t remember seeing him.  She remembers being told that they couldn’t meet with him.  They said he wouldn’t leave his room, but something about it felt off.”

Anastasios knitted his brows.  Hikaze must’ve left with Itsu on his own journey without talking to his family.  For now, Anastasios needed to think out a new plan of action.

“For now, I’m going into town.  Skirí, I’d appreciate you taking me there.”

The Espurr hesitated, chirping quietly.  She was obviously terrified, and it’d be cruel of him to force her to go back, but, without her, the trip would take hours, and he didn’t have time for that.  Finally, Skirí nodded,, and Celia handed her over to Anastasios.

“I promise, I’m going to find who took Théo,” Anastasios assured her before turning to the other Ofthalmós in the room.  “Cosíma, if I’m not back by dinner, assume something has happened.” 

“Uhhhh… don’t think our Patriarch will be happy with his heir going off on his own like that,” the woman pointed out.

“Well papu can suck it!” Anastasios spat.  At that moment, the messenger Cosíma had sent to him finally arrived, breathing heavily and carrying Fotiálos who vigorously wiggled about in his arms, trying to get to Anastasios.  Apparently, when Anastsios took off, the small flame soldier had tried to follow after him but couldn’t keep up.  Everything about him screamed ‘Take me too!’  Finally, the person holding him let go, and he darted over to Anastasios’ side. 

Celia shook her head.  “The training regimen you’re used to is complete,” she said to a confused Fotiálos.  “We are not going to see your brother and his trainer.”  Fotiálos looked up at Anastasios.  Until now, every day had been spent with Hikaze and Itsu from the day he’d hatched.  Perhaps that had been a mistake.  However, at the time, even Anastasios believed that they would all be going on a journey together.  The fact that such a thing would no longer come to pass made his chest clench.  He didn’t want to admit that he’d been looking forward to it more than he let on.  But he’d made a mistake in how he handled the issue of Hikaze, and now, no doubt, the boy would want nothing to do with him.  He needed to distance himself from anything and everything to do with his former best friend.  No matter how much that may hurt.  What he was doing now was more important.  But the small voice of Esaias inside of him said that there was no way that Kazuya would abandon Esaias over something like this, and that went the same for Hikaze.  If he just apologized properly-

Anastasios bent down again and patted the soldier on the head.  “We won’t be seeing them again,” Anastasios told him, trying his best to keep a neutral face.  “Hikaze and Itsu have left.”

Fotiálos snorted in indignance.  ‘Why would they leave?  We were all supposed to go together.’

“That’s just how it turned out.”  He couldn’t bring himself to tell him that they left because Hikaze was rightfully angry with him.  “We’ll be on our own from here, but right now there’s a different problem.  I’m going to investigate, so you have to stay here.”

“Bring him along.  Was such a thing not the point of all that training he did?” Celia pointed out.

“True.  I don’t expect a battle this time, however-”  He hadn’t exactly expected a battle last time either, and even if he took Skirí, she wasn’t equipped to handle battle.  He glanced down at the small cat in his hands who still seemed to be working up her courage on whether or not to come.  “Yes, you’ll come along too, Fotiálos.  Does that help, Skirí?”

Skirí hesitated but then nodded.  She would take them.

“Good.  Let’s hurry.  The sooner we investigate, the sooner we can catch up.”

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Somehow, planning for wilderness camping can get rather crazy

DENVER: It certainly took our own sweet while to try and find anything remotely resembling a decent outfitting shop who would be willing to as much sell some decent supplies for a few days' wilderness-type camping out near Estes Park as give us some advice on how to manage the survival process.

And for some reason, we managed to find it in the form of a somewhat John Denverish-looking outfitters shop not that far from downtown. Whose staff, mind you, seemed to look like hippie types from the 1970's, even ... and yet, Huck and yours truly were able to get the whole shebang, so to speak, of advice.

And what we had in mind was basically hammock camping. To which one of the clerks suggested getting a decent rain tarp, considering how quickly storms can develop afternoons in high elevations, with plenty of rain even.

Not to mention some portable cookstoves with special fuel to ensure such burns cleanly, as opposed to the so-called "white gas" commonly deployed--"although," as Huck explained, "we were aiming for more of a what you'd call a 'leave no trace' approach; would you recommend something on the order of meal replacement shakes such as the supermarkets sell?"

Which, as the clerk explained, was something of a new one on him; still, though--and considering what a certain Yogi Bear has been known to go through--when you're considering wilderness camping, it's definitely advisable to have special bear-proof cannisters kept well away from the campsite.

"So," Huckleberry asked, "might dehydrated food best be the answer, even if such sounds a little like The Jetsons?"

The clerk recommended a few menu options, along with the advice to make sure the packaging was packed up and hauled out once leaving. Even to the point of separating recyclable and non-recyclable garbage.

"Still, boys, at any rate," Hokey Wolf was quick to chime in, "it will be rather interesting to know what camp food actually tastes like, even if such has to be prepared on a camp stove portable!" (Though Huck and I admitted that the meal-replacement drinks will be more in the vein of a light lunch, and breakfast would probably have to be instant oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal with evaporated milk.)

The sales clerk was also quick to suggest that up in the mountain country, lake and stream water was bound to carry diseases such as giardia; hence, the need for a portable water filtration system as could deal with giardia and other associated water conditions. Hopefully, the filtration can be cleaned out easily.

"Oh ... we do plan to try our hand at swimming, snorkelling even, in the waters of one of those mountain lakes," added I.

"I think you might need a wetsuit," the clerk explained, "considering how cold the lake waters can get. Not to mention the likelihood of swimmer's itch and giardia." (Pause) "By the way, what was the idea you have in mind for so snorkelling?"

"Just for the experience," admitted yours truly.

"Augie, my son," Doggie Daddy was quick to admit, "THIS is going to be a rather interesting camping experience unlike anything we probably ever experienced in camping, to begin with!"

"Well, I should say so, Acme of Fatherhood," Augie chimed in.

Wally Gator: "As for this alliugator, imagine what sort of response this Florida boy has in the mountains of Colorado in the face of bears, mountain lions, bighorn sheep--"

Which had Huckleberry telling Wally he might be getting a little too ahead of himself--bound to happen with an alligator like Wally, when all is said and done.

But still, another of the outfitter's clerks spotted our motorhome parked just across the way and wondered why it wouldn't be better to just use the motorhome as a base camp to begin with, hoping some halfway-decent road would lead us to the ideal camping site. To which I remarked, "What ... and miss out on the adventure inherent in just parking the motorhome close to trailhead, hiking a few miles to the campsite and setting up camp over a couple of days just for the sheer sensation?"

After a short and utterly stunning silence, the sort that could have you hearing the proverbial pin drop even, Huckleberry Hound was quick to remark: "What's there not to like about the experience of wilderness camping?"

"Brace yourselves, boys!" was all Hokey Wolf could respond.

"Oh, and one more thing," the clerk added. "Because cell phone reception is impractical in the mountains, you might also want to rent a satellite phone from us; you never can tell when you need to call someone."

You can only imagine how this is bound to turn out.

@warnerbrosentertainment @joey-gatorman @theweekenddigest @xdiver71 @archive-archives @thebigdingle @screamingtoosoftly @princessgalaxy505 @themineralyoucrave @thylordshipofbutts @warnerbros-blog1 @iheartgod175 @jellystone-enjoyer @haiyis-dark-void @warnerbrosent-blog

[jinxessticktogether]

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[angrythingstarlight]

Choose between being; Mafia!Andy’s right hand or Mafia!Nick’s lawyer

Pairing: Soft!Dark Mafia Nick x Reader

Warnings: Dubcon, fingering, coercion, bad bosses

A/N: I don't know where this came from.

"You're making a big mistake," Andy says, holding the elevator door open with his foot.

Sighing, you adjust your purse over your shoulder and snatch your worn leather briefcase out of his hand.

"So everyone keeps telling me," you dryly intone. When it becomes apparent he's not going to move, you shoulder past him, making your way down the hallway. "I'll take the stairs."

It's been three hours since you sent your resignation in and promptly sent your firm into a tailspin. Not that you were expecting anything less from the uptight pricks you work for.

As of 12pm today you no longer have to deal with Barber and associates. Emphasize on associates.

Andy jogs after you, his long legs easily eating up the distance between the two of you until he's at your side.

"I told you I was going to walk unless you reassigned me to a different case." Turning your head, you give your former boss a sharp look, matching his stare beat for beat, not breaking your stride.

He blinks first.

Typical.

Andy runs his fingers through his hair, a deeply frustrated groan rising from his chest. "You can have a corner office."

You push open the exit door leading to the stairwell. "No."

Your heels clatter on the steps as you descend to the first floor.

"No more weekends."

You go down another flight of stairs, briefly pausing to laugh at that ludicrous offer. Shaking your head, you continue downward.

“You can have my office.”

“No Andy.”

"I'll-" Andy runs ahead of you, turning to face you, the desperation dripping from him makes you cringe, you can smell it rolling off of him, it almost drowns out his cologne. "I'll double your salary."

"Not even remotely tempted," you retort, stepping past him when you reach the final landing, you push open the door with your palm, distant sounds of conversations and bright fluorescent lights from the lobby pouring into the dim stairwell. "Unlike you when I say I'm going to do something, I mean it. Goodbye Barber."

The door slams shut behind you, cutting off his worried good luck.

Closing your apartment door, you lean on the wall, letting your bags fall to the floor and toe off your heels.

Strolling down the hallway, you turn into the dark living room. You're already contemplating new jobs-ones that don't involve negligent bosses and daunting mobsters, hell you might even take the opportunity to move to a new city.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize the living room light is on until you're halfway in the room.

"What the fuck," you gasp, taking a step back.

"Ah welcome home," Nick says with a cold smile, livid blue eyes sweeping up your startled body. He leans back in your one decent chair, legs spread like he's sitting on a throne, a glass of bourbon in his hand.

You glance around, eyes widening as you see more men in your small apartment.

Swallowing, you calculate the chances of escaping. It immediately drops to zero when you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, a lithe blonde in a forest green suit salutes you.

"Mr. Fowler," you breathe out, you ball up your fists to hide the fine tremor running through your hands. "I don't-"

He nonchalantly waves his ring-adorned fingers in the air. "Come here and explain to me why my best lawyer is no longer handling my case."

You hesitate, taking a step backward.

Nick places his glass on the end table, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. "I don't like to repeat myself." He doesn't raise his voice yet his icy tone seems to resound across the space. "I'm going to give you two choices. We can have this little talk in front of my men or in private."

You look around, heart beating frantically in your chest. "Pr-private."

"Get out." He never takes his eyes off you as the men file out. Footsteps fade. Doors close. The stark silence sends a chill down your spine. He looks at you expectantly and you force yourself forward until you're standing between his legs.

He grabs your waist, shoving you down on top of his large thigh. One large hand curves around your throat while he gently strokes the side of your face with his knuckles. "Imagine my shock and dismay when I have to hear from Andy that my sweet moglie left me days before I’m supposed to go to court."

You should have known that asshole was going to sell you out.

"I had-" The pressure around your throat increases just enough to convey his rage.

"And then I thought to myself, I know why you would quit," he states, his fingers dropping from your face to slide under your skirt, the calloused pad of his thumb finding your clit with ease.

He gazes at you, an unreadable expression forming in his blue eyes while he continues rubbing tight, fast smooth circles. "It's because you must want to work for me personally."

You bite your lip, unsure if the whimper clawing it's way up your throat is because of the sparks of pleasure shooting through you or the prospect of working for the city's most infamous mobster.

He drags your face closer to his, his lips brushing over yours, a smirk stretches across his face. "Don't worry, I'm going to show you all the benefits that come with working for me mia bellissima moglie."

There's something about the way his voice deepens when he switches languages that sets off an alarm in your head. "What does that mean?" You pant, the impeding orgasm making your stomach tense.

He laughs. "You'll find out soon enough."

[bitchassbucky]

Ｂａｃｋ Ｔｏ Ｙｏｕ (Ｓａｍ Ｗｉｌｓｏｎ ｘ Ｆ!Ｒｅａｄｅｒ)

📎Word Count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: some heckin’ words. Bucky’s in this, he’s a bit annoying (affectionately) <3 MINORS DNI.

📎A/N: omg my first Sam fic! i wanna thank my boo @babyboibucky for enabling me hsakjdhak ily! this is for you, bee!

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

📎 Follow the story: Back To You, Dimples, Inked

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky says, annoyed that Sam has been looking down on his phone, remotely giving attention to their conversation.

Sam grins, fingers dancing over the keyboard on the screen, “Yeah, yeah. Something about motel rooms—or beds.”

“I said that they gave us two beds in one room,” the former spots their door number, quickly walking to it. The tactical bag swinging over his cybernetic arm freely.

The night was warm, the air blew the ocean mist towards the town. The parking lot is empty save for a black sedan that’s already been through a lot. They chose to stay low instead of getting a room at a decent hotel close by–something about them not likening the crowd.

Once inside, both men cleared the room in 30 seconds flat. The window opens out, the door stays closed and locked. The TV has to be on but kept on low volume. The beds are made, it’s clean; beats the flat beds on the plane.

Sam throws his bag over to the bed closest to the window, calling dibs. “Hey, you got headphones?” He asks.

“No,” Bucky answers, settling his things below the foot of the bed, “why?” He catches Sam again smiling giddily over something, “what you got a girl there or something?” 

“It’s none of your business,” Sam retorts, quirking his eyebrow upwards, “well? Do you have headphones?”

“If you listened to me, you would’ve heard me say ‘no.’”

Bucky should’ve had brought headphones. Sam has been droning on and on with a ‘friend’ over on a video call.

Not that he’s eavesdropping and nosy but he saw how Sam lit up when a voice came in from his phone.

“Hey, Sammy! I finally get to see your face.” You say, your voice crackling over Sam’s speakers, “am I on speaker right now?”

Sam smiles, focusing on your background and seeing pictures and posters plastered on the wall, “oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot my earphones somewhere.”

“What? Old man Barnes rubbing off on you?” You laugh, your glasses reflecting your laptop’s screen. Your joke sending Sam into a laughing fit.

“You know he’s in the room, right?” Sam clarifies as he turns the camera to Bucky, much to the former’s dismay. But despite himself, Bucky waves to the camera.

“Heard a lot about you, Barnes! Hope you’re ready for frequent bathroom trips from this one.”

Sam faces you again, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes, “Shut up or I’m gonna drop the call.”

You quickly send him an emoji via text, Sam rolling his eyes as you giggle. “Anyway, since you can’t join in on the fun, you’ll be my audience tonight.”

Sam gives you a confused look, a hint of crease appearing between his brows. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

A fake gasp and an overdramatic show of hurt had him chuckling, “You already forgot the karaoke night you promised me, didn’t you?”

He grins apologetically and looks at the camera, as if looking into your eyes, “I’m sorry. Been busy these past few weeks.”

You smile softly, the imagery giving Sam a burst of butterflies in his tummy, “it’s okay. I was just being dramatic. I got that from you, you know.”

You are not a good singer. But you confidently belt out the highest of notes like one. Complete with hand gestures, you hold out the last note of the song.

“Thank you,” you bow down to your imaginary crowd off-camera, “I’ll be here all night.”

“On god, please don’t,” Sam interjects with a tender smile and soft eyes.

“Sammy!” Your eyes glazing over your screen, a deep pang of homesickness hitting you, “I missed this. I missed you.”

He nods, his lips pressed tightly as he tries to find the words to respond, “I missed you too, bub.” 

A soft note of a love song sounds over your speaker, traveling to his, “you love this song.”

Sam nods, reminiscing the moments he had with you during college. The one time you almost kissed—where are these memories and feelings coming from?! “Yeah, and---”

The doorbell rings on your end. Your eyes glinting as you stand up. Food delivery!

“Hold that thought, Sammy. My food’s here,” you say, your voice faint as you’re practically halfway through the door.

“She is a god-awful singer,” Bucky expresses, “but you love her, don’t you?”

“What?” Sam quickly taps a button on his screen—stupid Bucky and his stupid mouth. He covers his phone’s mouthpiece as if that could help, “shut the hell up.”

Sam’s changed demeanor confirms Bucky’s growing suspicion, “so you do love her!”

The latter glances at the empty screen, hoping you didn’t hear anything. Or maybe, he does?

The only sign of life from your end is the sound of various utensils cluttering and a metal bowl falling to the floor, making both men wince at the sudden noise.

Sam lowers the volume of his phone, facing Bucky from their respective beds.

“Shit,” Sam exclaims, running a hand over his handsome face, “maybe I do.”

This time, he finally lets himself go through the memories you made together before he left for the military.

The coffee dates, the late-night calls, the breakfast hangouts, the study sessions. You light up even the most boring of things. The texture of your skin, the sound of your laugh, the twinkle in your eyes bring Sam into a warm place.

You make him feel enough. You see him through and through.

Oh shit, he is in love with you.

Bucky just looks at him, boring holes in his face, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really just realized, just now?” Sam’s not sure if it’s a rhetorical question.

“The way you talk about her. The way you talk to her. You see her and the things she like everywhere we go and you realize it just now?” So, it is a rhetorical question.

The revelation leaves Sam amused but unable to form words, “I… Do–I do love her. I’m in love with my best friend.”

A silent beat drops in the room—save for the faint hello? coming from Sam’s phone.

Ah, fuck.

Bucky put on his jacket planning to head out (to the motel’s ice machine) to give you two privacy. He bids Sam good luck and you a good night before walking towards the door.

As soon as the door shuts, Sam increases the volume on his phone again.

“Sam?” You call out, “I can’t see you, your cam’s off.”

In panic, he realizes that he tapped the wrong button—maybe Old Man Barnes had rubbed off on him.

You smile and sat up a little bit straighter when his face lights up your screen again.

“So… how much did you hear about the whole thing?” Sam wants to tread carefully around the subject, the first time he feels uncomfortable opening up to you.

He fully expects you to dismiss the topic, turn in for the night, and leave him lamenting about his feelings. And he’s somehow okay with it.

“Kinda, everything.” You confess, there’s nothing holding you back now, “I, you know-- I’m glad you got ‘round it. Even if it took you years.”

Another pin drops inside Sam’s head, “what do you mean?”

“Look, I confessed to you before we graduated but you never acknowledged it. So, I never brought it up again.” Even miles apart, Sam’s presence was around you. The bracelet he gave you during junior year, his favorite mug you borrowed from him, a ton of his shirts and hoodies that he gave to you before moving out after graduation. 

“You confessed to me? When?” Sam racks his brain for the smallest of details, for the quietest of whispers.

“I wrote you a letter. Remember? I slipped it under your door after finals week.”

After all these years, Sam never quite found out who wrote him that letter, “you never signed it.”

Sam didn’t expect you to laugh, to double over such a serious conversation, “dude, I did, I signed it. Why would I send you a deep proclamation of love without signing it?”

“It was written on pink paper, right? I still have it. You wanna bet that you don’t have your name on it?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, heat creeping up your cheeks, “oh my god, are you serious? I didn’t sign it?”

Sam laughs softly, his eyes crinkling the same way. There are lines decorating his eyes but he was still your Sam.

“No, ma’am.” He declares, the air somehow lighter now, “if you did, I would’ve said something.”

A hum escapes your lips, curling into a gentle smile, “good to know.”

The comfortable silence envelops the room, years of yearning and pining finally coming to end.

“Hey, after this mission - I was thinking if you want to go out. Catch up and you know, finally, talk in person.” Sam asks, there’s still a tiny voice inside his head not believing the talk that had transpired.

“I’d love that, Sam.”

The sentiment crashes and closes in on itself as Bucky barges into the room, holding a bucket of ice in one hand and a pack of beer in the other, “congratulations, idiots.”

[mac-n-cheese-flavored-arson]

Not to mention that if you wanna dress cool while fat you basically have to be rich or able to sew

You can't find anything second hand because 1) most people aren't making cool clothes for fat people and 2) when fat people buy cool clothes we literally wear them to death because they're so rare and expensive so they don't get donated

And fat fashion is always more expensive than straight sized fashion (even in stores like Walmart and target) so sometimes the only option for poor fat folks is really unethical brands like shein and temu cause it's the only thing we can afford if we dont want to wear nothing but plain t shirts and ugly blue denim shorts but ofc no one wants to hear about the fact that fat people don't want to support those brands either but sometimes we don't have any other options that look even halfway decent or are even remotely affordable

Enjoying fashion when you're fat fucking sucks