#anyway I really gotta write something for all these fellas

[felsicveins]

Prequel to this

[therealslimshakespeare]

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

[funnymemesandreblogs]

So I posted something about telling my friend I'm a lesbian some time ago and I must inform you of today's events. Few days/weeks ago I sent my friend, let's call her L, that I gotta tell her something but deleted it right away. Doesn't matter - she still saw it. She asks me about it the next day and I say I can't tell her right now but I will tell her after a few days/when I'm ready. Today, my fellas, we were ready to go outside. But I (as always) took much more time to get ready than expected, even tho usually she's the one that's even more late than me. Anyways, she came to my house because of that and asked me when will I tell her. But it was literally like my body doesn't let me say it out loud. I told her I will tell her outside so we went outside. First park - full of children, second park - full of children, found some benches and sat there talkin' bout some shit when she asked me again. I couldn't answer even tho I wanted to so I consitered writing it down but that would've been really weird so I waited a bit more. (I also was smiling awkwardly and uncontrollably, I just be like that when I'm embarassed.) I started saying some random shit about how it's not really that important so she better not be expecting something amazing but that it also could be a really big deal. L talked a while and when she stopped for a moment I felt that I could finally say it and was like, fuck it, if I don't say it now, who knows when will I so I just blurted out an "I'm a lesbian" in the middle of a conversation about god knows what. L then says that she actually expected that and asked me WHEN DID I DECIDE TO BE LIKE THAT, LIKE NOOO, WHAT THE FUCK, YOU THINK I WOULD JUST CHOOSE TO SUFFER LIKE THIS??? overreacting rn, anyways I explain to her I do not decide that and that it comes to me naturally and she's like "Oh, ok", and I. Think. She. Maybe. Understood. But I was so fucking wrong. L said "I support you (amazing, right, that's what I thought, too) BUT I DO NOT SUPPORT OTHER PEOPLE. YOU'RE MY FRIEND SO YOU ARE AN EXEMPTION." I was sad, also she will probbably have the best reaction out of all my friends so I. Am. Fucked.

Some time passed and she asks me, how did you think I would react?

Me: ...

I actually thought you'd react exactly like this.

L: Yeah, I think I reacted too casually/relaxed.

Me: [?????? what the fuck]

Haha, not really..

L: What do you mean? See how relaxed I am? [points at her way of sitting]

Me: Yeahh, but... (mumbling some random shit because I'm too sad and overwhelmed to even tell her about what I don't like.)

L: How do you think P (other friend) will react?

Me: I guess same as you.

L: When will you tell her?

Me: I don't know, probbably after a few weeks (definitely not, lol).

L: Any crushes??

Me: Nope. (Even tho I like this one girl soo much but I know L hates her.)

I am sorry. This post is so messed up and makes no goddamn sense, especially now at the end, but that was literally our conversation till P came so I guess it's okay. Also, my whole class thinks LGBTQ+ people are mentally sick but I'm still in a better position than some other people because she didn't discriminate me (even tho she will probbably soon). :D, bye my dear gay stranger, hope you enjoyed and didn't suffer much in life or through this post, :D

[froizetta]

Since it's WIP Wednesday, I've decided to post an excerpt from a longer WIP to motivate myself to write it! If it's technically on the internet, I can't just not finish it, can I? Right??? Fingers crossed I can make this a regular thing with other WIPs...

So anyway, here's part of chapter 1 from my early-career superbat identity porn fic!

“The thing you’ve gotta remember,” Jimmy said firmly with a slightly overenthusiastic wave of his jack and coke. A little bit of liquid sloshed out onto the countertop. “The thing you gotta remember. Is.” He blinked. “Ah, cripes. What was it again?”

Clark absently took a sip of his own drink. The whisky was at least a pleasant burn in his throat, even if it wasn’t exactly his favorite flavor. “Gee, I don’t think I can help you with that, Jim.”

Jimmy beamed. “Oh yeah! The thing you’ve gotta remember is, that there’re plenty of fish in the sea.”

Clark couldn’t quite suppress the wry quirk to his smile. “Wow. That’s some original advice right there.”

“No, but for real though!” Jimmy insisted, slamming an emphatic fist on the table. “Just. So many fish. A whole ocean! Of women! And, uh, also not women!”

“That does sound like a lot of people.”

“Exactly,” Jimmy said, nodding sagely. “You’ve just gotta widen your net, is all. To more than, like, one fish-woman.”

Ah, yes. Clark was honestly a little surprised it had taken him five drinks to bring it up. Apparently, Jimmy had needed some Dutch courage before embarking on the ‘romance advice’ portion of the evening.

Clark could humor him on it, at least. “You mean Lois?” he asked.

“Yeah I mean Lois! Don’t get me wrong, Lois is great. But she’s just one fish,” Jimmy said emphatically. “Like, sure, maybe she’s a really cool fish. Like… Like koi or something. Koi are actually pretty amazing, did you know they—” He paused and then shook his head. “Wait, no, this isn’t the time for fun fish facts. What I mean is, just because koi are cool, doesn’t mean there aren’t equally cool salmon. Or tuna. Don’t let the koi blind you to all the…the really hot tuna around you. You know?”

Jimmy looked concerningly pleased with his increasingly labored metaphor. Clark charitably chose to blame this on the alcohol rather than Jimmy’s abilities as a writer. “Maybe you’re right, Jim. I guess it’s pretty silly to be so stuck on her, huh?”

Jimmy frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I think you guys would be great together, you know that.”

“I’m not sure her new fella would agree with you,” he said. Embarrassingly, the glumness in his tone wasn’t entirely feigned.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Jimmy said insistently. “We don’t know that it’s like that. Maybe it’s just a pity date?”

It wasn’t just a pity date, Clark was pretty sure about that. Lois had been wearing the perfume she wore whenever she wanted to impress someone. And yes, that was a creepy thing to notice, but he couldn’t help it, okay? Super-senses make a lot of things really hard to ignore.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s none of my business anyway. I know she doesn’t see me that way, and that’s fine.” And it was. He knew that to Lois, he was just a coworker – and a bumbling, awkward, country bumpkin of one at that. Even though he definitely hammed up the act to create distance between Clark Kent and Superman, the real Clark Kent still wasn’t the kind of guy who would appeal to someone like Lois. She’d want someone classy and sophisticated. Someone like her.

Probably someone like whatever guy she was on a date with right now, in fact.

“And, I mean… it's Lois,” he added, as neutrally as he could manage. “She’s out of most people’s leagues. It’s not— I mean, I never really thought I had a shot with her, you know? So I’m not about to get all bent out of shape because of one date. Honest.”

Apparently, this wasn’t what Jimmy had wanted to hear, at least judging by the way his face fell. “What? No no no, that’s not what I— Look, I’m not trying to say you don’t have a chance there. In fact, I think she’d be lucky to date you. But what I mean is, it’s not the end of the world if she doesn’t see that. You’re an awesome dude! I just think you deserve to be happy, with or without Lois.”

“Oh,” Clark said, then blinked and ducked his head, taken aback by how hard that had hit him. Jimmy really was a great friend. He suddenly felt guilty for spending their evening together daydreaming about eating pizza on his couch. “Shucks, Jim, that’s…that’s real nice of you to say.”

“I’m not being ‘nice’, I’m being honest. Listen veeery closely, Clark.” Jimmy set his glass down and grasped Clark around the shoulders, looking him straight in the eye.

Clark tensed. “Um. What’s happening.”

“Shush,” Jimmy said. “You’re listening.”

“I am?”

“You are. Now focus and take this in. Really internalize it.” His gaze was a little unsteady, but still intense and undoubtedly sincere. “You – Clark Kent – are a bona fide catch.”

Clark couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. It would be easier to take Jimmy seriously if he wasn’t starting to slur his words. “A ‘catch’? Are we still on the fish metaphor?”

Jimmy blinked. “What? No, no. Look, you’re smart, you’re a successful reporter. You’re probably the nicest guy I know. And you’re tall, like…what, 6’1”? 6’2”?”

“Something like that,” Clark half-lied with an easy smile.

“Yeah, so. Tall. Trust me, as a short guy, that’s a big plus. Everyone loves tall guys. You’re, you know, the tall, dark and handsome type. Like Superman!”

His smile froze. “Oh?”

“Yeah! Chicks love Superman. Not saying you look much like him, of course—”

“Of course,” Clark agreed.

“—but you’ve got, like. A similar appeal.” He squinted up at Clark. “You know, I’m not the best judge for this type’a thing, but if I feel like you’d clean up real nice if you made the effort.”

“Hm. I dunno, Jim…”

Jimmy was insistent. “You could change up your style, maybe. You ever tried contacts?”

“I’m afraid they don’t really agree with me,” Clark said apologetically. Which was true, in a sense. The glasses were pretty integral to the whole secret identity thing, after all.

“Shame,” Jimmy said, finally letting go of Clark to lean back. But as he did, something over Clark’s shoulder caught his eye. He grinned. “Oh, hey, my first piece of evidence that you’re a catch: I’m 90% sure that guy is checking you out right now.”

“What?” Clark said and made to look behind him.

Before he could turn, Jimmy grabbed his face in both hands. “Shhhhh!” Jimmy said urgently, even though Clark wasn’t saying anything. “You can’t just look. That’s waaay too obvious.”

Clark was pretty sure Jimmy was being more obvious than looking himself would have been, but he stayed obligingly still while Jimmy peered over his shoulder at the mystery man.

“Okay,” Jimmy said eventually. “So I’m not great at telling when guys are hot, but I’m pretty sure this guy is hot. And, again, definitely into you. I’m 95% sure.”

“I thought it was 90%?”

“Sure, but I’ve accumulula… accumama…” He frowned and shook his head. “I’ve got more evidence since then, see? So I’m surer now!”

In retrospect, he probably should have insisted on Jimmy eating something more substantial than bar snacks over the last couple hours. “Sure, Jim,” he said gently. “It’s, uh, getting pretty late, though. Maybe we should head home soon?”

“It’s—” Jimmy squinted his watch and balked. “It’s only 10:30, so no way! I’ve got a new mission now, and it’s to wingman you with this probably hot guy. Trust me, I’m a great wingman.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Are you? What would you even do?”

“You know, the usual. Hey, have you met my friend Clark? He’s like 6’2” and a hotshot reporter at a big newspaper. And then I just slide out—” he made a slow swoop with his hand “—and just like that, bam! Take that, Lois! Clark’s got a hot date of his own!”

Clark raised the other eyebrow. “That’s…not particularly subtle.”

“Well, subtlety isn’t a part of the Olsen Wingman Experience. But it works!” Jimmy said brightly. “I even managed to wingman my ex-girlfriend while we were still dating, although that was mostly an accident. But it was still very effective. Thanks to that, I know for sure it works.”

“Oh!” Clark said. And then frowned. “Oh. I’m, uh. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you wanna talk about—”

“Nope,” Jimmy said firmly, decisively. “Tonight isn’t about my borderline traumatizing romantic history, tonight is about you. You and this totally hot guy who I’m, like, 99% sure is into you.”

“Mm. I see you’ve accumulated more evidence.”

“Yeah, actually! I—” Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Okay, crap. It’s 100% now. He’s coming over here.”

Clark blinked. He’d been half-convinced Jimmy had just been imagining things, but… “He is?”

“He is! Just be cool, okay?”

“Jim,” he began in protest, but before he could say anything else there was a presence at his back. Clark turned to greet the stranger. And stared. Because— Huh. Huh?

Either those whiskies had been a lot more effective on him than he’d thought, or that was Bruce Wayne leaning ever-so-casually against the bar next to him.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Wheezy Weasel x Fem!Reader x Greasy Weasel || Oneshot

Plot: Inspired by 'Bro Code' by Brantley Gilbert. Reader and Greasy have been growing apart; He's rarely around to spend time with you, which is leaving you to spend a lot more time, alone, with Wheezy, and... feelings start to develop... Wheezy decides to do the respectful thing and warn Greasy about it.

Better show that girl a good time If you don't, it's gon' be goodbye And if you take it for granted You hand her to another man It's a matter of time, bro

It's a matter of time

Now, I know it ain't my business But I gotta insist that if this was somebody else Your deal is already finished because Bro code goes out the window Just be glad it's me lettin' you know, bro

Warnings: Me writing serious romance stuffs for toon gangster weasels. ... Love triangle? XD I'd say its handled pretty well though

"Hey Wheezy!"

"Hey- " You plop down on the couch with him suddenly; Your head in his lap. It honestly surprises him for a moment, the affection - though not unwelcome, - having come out of nowhere and could be interpreted as innapropriate, by some people... considering who you really belonged too around here. "Y/N... "

Giving a little, teasing smile, you dont address the elephant in the room- deciding to rather just move on, fiddling with your fingers above your stomach. "What are you up to, tonight?"

"Smokin'... " Obviously. "Was gonna watch some TV, too. Nothing much- nothing exciting, anyway. What are you doing? Wasn't Greasy taking you out somewhere, tonight?"

At this, the mention of your boyfriend, the bright light flickers out of your pretty eyes a little bit. You look away from his face, a frown tugging at your lips. Wheezy frowns, too, the three cigerettes he was puffing away on held away from his face between two fingers; This can't be good. "Oh! We were... " Your voice is polite, almost cheerful still in a totally fake, forced kind of way. "But, um... I guess we got our signals crossed, or something. I thought I was supposed to meet him here now, but Smarty says Greasy's out doing something for him tonight, so... " Giving little shrug, you force the sadness out of your eyes and take a deep breath. Wheezy's frown only worsens, though. That explains why you look so nice... well, nicer then usual. That seems to be happening damn often, recently, too. "I'm free, now! Was hopin' you might be willing to share your evening, with me?"

... There's a cheeky glint in your eyes that Wheezy can't help grinning back at, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure. Whatcha wanna watch?"

"Oh!" You hop up off his lap and into a sitting position, crossing your legs and picking up the remote- focused on the TV. "I have the best movie in mind. I think its started already, but not too long ago so we should be fine. You'll love it! Promise."

~

"This is the dumbest fucking movie I have ever seen Y/N- " Wheezy's saying, much to your dismay even though you grin- his frustration a source of amusement, to you. He's cute, you decide; His words are biting, but the expression on his face is soft, and relaxed. You like it. You like him- he's a good friend!

"No way!-" Giggling, you shake your head at him.

"Dont you show this to the boss, he'll blow a gasket. Is this supposed to be gang representation? Hell- "

"Its the best kind of gang representation!" You reply, not looking at him as he turns to give you most incredulous look possible. "... makes you guys look so dumb- fella's watchin'll think they can outsmart you and be so much easier to deal with, don'tcha think?"

"Pfft," Wheezy rolls his eyes, but he's grinning; Theres something cute about your theory, there. He's gotta admit. "We gotta deal with enough idiots, don't you be pushing any more on us."

"Hmm," Humming, you lean back into the cushions behind you; Eyes glued to the screen as some 'gangsters' play a game of poker. "Plus, they're all gorgeous... would you say that's misrepresentation, too?"

He scoffs again, shaking his head. "Depends on the gang, doll."

As soon as that slips out of his mouth, he just about has a stroke and freezes to the spot as you just continues to watch the movie, like she didnt hear it. Hanging out with your pal's girl all alone is one thing, even sitting this close to her can be interpreted as a close friendship, but calling her doll?? Thats got to be breaking every damn rule there is about pal's and their ladies. Greasy would lose his damn mind if he heard that, and Wheezy wouldn't really be able to blame him.

Except... you didnt react at all to him using that name with you- for you. As well as the fact that you haven't been seeing much of Greasy, lately. At all. He hasn't been around. And not just for a week, no- you two have been missing eachother for months now, slowly drifting apart. Greasy used to stress out like the damn Queen was coming over to the apartment if he ever had to dissapoint you, the two of you used to be so attached to eachother all the time that it made everyone else sick (And really uncomfortable, at times), you used to hang out in Greasy's room if he wasn't around when he said he would be... But not anymore. For weeks now you've been spending your time with him - Wheezy, - , almost treating him like your boyfriend...

Like a stand-in. But that doesn't mean that when you're together you aren't treating him like him- that you're using him as a place holder for Greasy at all, no- its just... like...

Instead of Greasy getting to spend his nights with your legs in his lap- it's Wheezy. Instead of Greasy getting to make you laugh- it's Wheezy. Instead of Greasy making you smile... its Wheezy.

And he doesn't think he should really have to feel guilty for enjoying it, anymore.

It's time to give Greasy a warning, Wheezy decides as he relaxes back into the cushions to watch the rest of this dumb movie that you like.

If Greasy doesn't buck up, soon, then he's going to let you know that he's throwing his hat into the ring.

~

Greasy's eyes are narrowed after what Wheezy says, disbelief and betrayal written all over his face. "... what, amigo?" His voice is quiet but emotionless, giving Wheezy one chance to take it back, his proclamation. His absurd, ridiculous, traitorous proclamation. If he did, then all would be fine- he would forgive and forget it. You're beautiful, and wonderful... he cant blame the man for falling under your spell for a moment. But if he doesnt-

"You heard me Grease." Intimidation is one of Greasy's favourite tactics- Wheezy's close to him, so he knows that. Plus... you can't really be intimidated by a man after you've heard him singing in the shower. "... I'm just warning you. As it is I'm not gonna do a thing, not unless she makes a move on me, because you're my friend- but if you don't start putting in more of an effort again, stop standin' your girl up... you're gonna lose her. And it might be, to me."

"Hm. Brave, fumador, you're very brave... So, am I to believe you haven't don't anything behind my back?"

"Yes."

... Greasy nods. He believes him- of course he does. Like Wheezy said, they're friends. He knows when he's lying and when he's telling the earnest truth, and besides he trusts him.

... and also- Wheezy isn't the lying type. Never has been. Greasy has never really had to worry about that, with him.

So... that brings him to a different thought. Another issue. One that makes his heart restrict inside his chest. "So then... Y/N... she has been sad? Missing m- "

Wheezy rolls his eyes deeply and groans, his hands in his pockets so he doesnt smack Greasy. "Of course she's been fucken sad, you little freak. She loves you, moron. And you've been everywhere but with her- where you should be." Some 'ladies man', this one. Wheezy thinks. Doesn't even know when he's making the biggest damn mistake of his life.

Sure, it might be Wheezy's gain... this mistake of Greasy's... but he won't take it lightly. This is a fucked up situation they're in, and whoever ends up with her is going to have to live with knowing the other is having to live without.

Greasy's heart squeezes and squeezes... forcing him quiet as thoughts rush through his mind about how bad he feels and how he didn't realise this, his working more lately, would affect her badly... and how if he had then he would have never...

Ugh, he thinks. He wishes he could say he was doing it for more money, to buy her an engagement ring or something... but he was not. Dammit.

... thats a prety good idea actually. Maybe he can still do that-

"What the hell are you two morons doing in my kitchen?" Smartass suddenly appears in the doorway, catching both their attentions with his frustrated tone. Greasy opens his mouth to explain, but their boss is already on it. "What I tell you??? No snacks past 6.30! Dinner's in the damn oven- what do you want from me here?? Damn vultures. What- you can't wait 15 minutes?? Sheesh."

This time Wheezy opens his mouth to explain for them both, but also gets cut off as Smartass pulls on two oven mitts. "And Y/N's just got here. Go bother her for a while, wouldja?? Both of you. Out."

Barely a millisecond passes and Greasy is already out the door, leaving a Greasy-shaped dust cloud behind him as he races to find you. Wheezy takes another moment, sucking in a good long puff of tobacco, before strolling after him.

When he finds you, standing by the billards table with Psycho and Stupid, Greasy's already attached himself to you like a damn leach.

"-so sorry, mi vida... Lo siento, Y/N... All my apologies... I didn't realise that I had been gone so much... " He's trailing kisses all over you- your cheeks, your forehead, down your neck... Psycho scowls at you both, before covering his eyes. Wheezy wishes he could do the same without feeling like a fricken 12 year old. "I mean of course I noticed you were away from me... and I missed you but-... you know? Why don't we go and spend some time- alone?~ " Finally he pulls back, looking you in the eye, a flirtation smirk on his face. "I will be sure to thoroughly make it up to you for my mistakes. Prometo~ "

Giving a giggle at it, you allow yourself to fall right back into familiar patterns, with him; Tucking hair behind your ear and letting your hands fall to his arms as he holds you, and tilting your head to the side. "I don't know~ Why don't we?"

You're just glad he's back.

Wheezy watches Greasy's wolf-like smirk broaden, all sorts of - likely, - depraved shit going in his head, and lean into your ear. He whispers something you that has your eyes widening and your fingers tightening onto his suit.

... you look cute as hell, but Wheezy would rather not know what it was that had that affect on you. Or at least not until he can figure it out himself.

Then Greasy's disconnecting from you, pressing one final lasting kiss onto your cheek, before heading to his room. You would follow in a moment, absolutely, but you're just reeling for a moment from how he went from 0 to 100 all of a sudden.

... woof. You give a smile, shaking your head. Whatever it was, you aren't about to question it. When you notice Wheezy standing in the doorway, smoking to himself, you catch his gaze and give a bright grin. He's back, you mouth, pleased.

He nods, blowing smoke. Yep... "Sure is."

Approaching him, you hold your arms behind your back and stand just beside him; Watching the Psycho and Stupid play billiards while Wheezy watches you. "I wonder what knocked some sense into him?... or who???" You ask, twisting in place and carefully peering up at him.

Immediatly he looks away, taking a draw from a cigerette. "Oh- don't give me the credit. It was allll him."

Without really thinking, you throw your arms around Wheezy; Giving him what was supposed to be a quick, warm hug. Of thanks.

But then he wraps his arms around you too, and you pull back not far... just enough to look at eachother and for a split moment, with both your heads slightly at an angle and your breath on eachothers lips you stay there; Inches apart and hearts beating erratically inside chests.

Something changed in the few seconds you were hugging him. The way you looked at him all of a sudden was different, like- realisation. Then surprise.

Then horror.

Quickly you wipe the wide-eyed look off your face and cautiously let go of Wheezy, stepping back. Theres a heat in your cheeks betraying you. Wheezy- you think, an odd and terrifying mix of shock and something really lovely and warm swarming inside your chest. Tall, laid back, sexy, comfortable... Wheezy.

You must look at him for too long, because he reaches out to grab your hand. "Y/N? Are you- "

Quickly you yank your hand out of jis reagh, surprising him. "Um- I'm fine! Yeah, I just- Greasy. I gotta go to Greasy. So- um- yeah. Uh, bye!"

Then you flash a awkward smile, to comfort him and show everything is alright, then rush up the stairs to Greasy's room.

[critical-thinking-is-mandatory]

"You know, that Adrien from Chat Blanc was totally a d*ck. Glad I'm not him and am completely perfect. Oh, when did I change? Just now." (Season 5 Adrien)

LITERALLY. like it is one thing to have a character change suddenly and drastically, perhaps even by surprise, but it's another thing entirely for that character to state how much they've changed because of personal reflection...and that personal reflection just...doesn't exist.

like i haven't actually watched season 5 (not subjecting myself to that lol) but going off of every other "brilliant" writing move the creators have pulled in the past, i'm certain they've pulled this "pivotal character moment" out of their asses. in fact, i am willing to bet my brand new pet baby chickens on it. Not once in the 4 seasons prior has Adrien shown a shred of guilt, regret or remorse for the way he mistreats people, especially Maribug.

now, i'm not saying characters can't change from bullies/harassers/Nice Guys (TM) to legitimately good people, it's been done plenty. but this kind of thing doesn't just happen. there's gotta be some kind of...prompt, a build up. something that sets the change in motion.

it can be over the long-haul, such as with Zuko in the Last Airbender. His change had been set in motion when he was branded a traitor, a whole season and a half before he made his final decision.

or it can be much shorter, less serious, such as with Jaune, in RWBY. Actually, Jaune is a pretty handy case because his issues were quite similar to Adrien's.

Jaune was also harassing a girl he liked. and, while it could have been handled better, he did stop and at least attempt to make amends. in a way. my memory of the scenario is a bit fuzzy after all this time, but i'm pretty sure he realised the girl he liked was interested in a different guy, and after a small kerfuffle between said girl and her fella, Jaune more or less shook some sense into the guy and moved on.

obviously, the whole thing could've been done a bit better, but for what it's worth, it's an effective character moment.

From what I've gathered? Adrien didn't really have a moment. he's just like: "damn, that was crazy. Anyway." it's so soo frustrating because they literally had all the material they needed!

Adrien has spent the whole show being fawned over and pawed at by the likes of Chloe and Lila. Adrien has also spent most of the show pawing at and fawning over Ladybug. This right here! That is all you needed! Just one single moment of "hang on, I don't like it when Chloe does this to me. Maybe Ladybug doesn't like it either". Just ONCE! One single tiny itty bitty thought comparing his feelings to Maribug's. That is all we needed!

Just a teensy weensy bit of introspection and compassion. But no! That's too hard for a team of professional writers to manage *rolls eyes so hard i fall over* I am honestly blown away by how pathetic this whole situation is.

[unknownarmageddon]

It Will Come Back by Hozier reminds me so much. of that one au, with thieving sneaky Killer busting into and stealing from fancy people at Rich Himbo Cross’s fancy people party

like. hell yeah

the idea ive come up with in my head is that killer is like, a street-living fella who swiped some fancy-passing clothes from a clothesline on an upperclass house’s balcony and periodically goes around taking from places that are rich and panhandling and shit and like

i keep picturing cross dressing in some lower class style clothes and going out with killer on dates in the Fun Parts of Town, where rich folk like him can’t go because they will get jumped and killed or just get tricked or something because they don’t know the culture in these streets well enough and like cross is like.

“so is there any particularly cool spots?”

and killer goes to be like, “oh well there’s a fight club in the market warehouse”

and cross is like “no, no, i mean like.” he points at the trees that can be seen over the houses and stuff and he’s like “in there?”

and killer takes him to a big water hole, and he’s like “ight rich boy, you gotta be careful, the tree rootsstick up from the ground-“

and cross, already really fucking giddy, has thrown his shirt off and he’s sprinting past and just leaping into the water and killer is like, taken aback for a moment and then cross comes back up and holds up a rock he hit his head on at the bottom of the lake thing and he’s got a big goofy grin and he’s like “A ROCK :D!!!!”

and then he spits out some mud and idk killer would lowkey be like, amused at it? cuz he had this idea that cross was a rich dude who’d spent his life in safety or something and never really had a taste of nature, so he thought cross would be hesitant at best, so to him, cross looks really out of place

and cross is like, bored of waiting, so he like, ducks into the water and scoops up the mushy swampy mud and hurls it at killer’s face and anyways im loving the idea of them goofing off in critter infested waters (cross totally gets snipped by a small mollusk or crustacean)

also, they’d totally use the vines that stretch around to swing into the water and climb them and shit

and then the rock cross found ends up like, being one of his decorations at his fancy house

so like imagine you go in a nice nice house, marble floors, chandeliers etc, and then there’s just an ugly ass rock with moss on it and it smells of dirt and it’s like, one of cross’s prized possessions and no one but him and killer understand why and i just love the idea lmfao

also, alternatively, cross has to go to some meeting and he shows up and one of the fellow rich dudes is like. “sir. is that. is that mud.” and there’s a smear on his forehead and he’s like “…it’s uhm. a birthmark.”

anyways ive been doing much think (literally made this all up as i went) on this au

OHHHH FUCKING ABSOLUTELY DUDE I LOVE THAT SO MUCH WAIT

Godddd absolutely. Absolutely

Augh I love that AU I really should write more for it

ALSO ALSO. about the lyrics and song and all that. YEAH. IT IS ITS SO THAT AU very real so true

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

Stand On the Rock.

And don’t tell me no!

I have given you so many snips at this point that you've read most of what I've written, haha. Stand on the Rock is a slice-of-life one-shot that takes place in my People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse series. I gave Tommy and Maria three kids in that universe (one biological child, and two older children they eventually adopt) but those stories aren't really about them, so I never really got to flesh them out the way I wanted. The story really ended up growing as I got into it, so we actually get a glimpse of how Tommy and Maria begin seeing each other, and then fast-forward into them trying to deal with the fact that the children in their house now outnumber them. Have a tiny snip:

“One dance – then I’ll fuck off,” Tommy promised, covertly wiping his palms against his jeans and then extending a hand out to her. Maria didn’t reply for a solid few seconds, and it was an eerie thing to be on the receiving end of such an intense gaze. The weight of her stare pinned him into place, a laser that felt likely to bore right through him – but she took his hand anyway; lightly, hesitantly, as though she was afraid she was condoning something wicked if she at all squeezed his fingers or showed any enthusiasm whatsoever about what she was currently instructing her body to do. 

“That a promise?” she asked, and he snorted, drawing her a little closer, taking a chance to slip his arm around her waist – and this resulted in a rather withering look, certainly, but after a quick scan around the room confirmed many other dance partners in similar poses, she seemed to relax a little, the tension slowly seeping out of her shoulders. She settled into his hold, if not with enthusiasm then at least with a grudging acceptance.

“I’ll getcha it in writing,” he said with a nod, and she choked back a laugh. For a wonderful few moments, she allowed him to lead her; they swayed with the crowd, following the melody of a vaguely familiar country ballad that Tommy thought he’d last heard in an Austin dive bar, but wasn’t entirely sure. And it was easy – easy to lead, to keep his arm wrapped around her waist, to try to pretend as though he’d ever been this nervous at any point in his life that did not involve him aiming a gun at someone. “So,” he said finally, slowly turning on the spot, apparently determined to immediately ruin this, “Jay, huh?”

“Oh, here we go,” she sighed. 

“Nice guy,” he said, “but don’t you think he might be a little…I dunno…young, for you?”

“Is this how you flirt?” Her voice held an edge to it – he grinned anyway. “By telling women they’re too old for their dance partners?”

“Nothin’ to do with you,” he reasoned, and he took a step back from her, quickly, lifting her arm – and though she was surprised by it, she followed his lead, allowing him to spin her. When they came back together, it was with a laugh that she tried and failed to hide. “Just him. Don’t get me wrong – Jay’s a nice fella. Real nice – but, do I really gotta say it?”

“Say what?” she asked coolly.

“C’mon, now,” Tommy huffed, “you know what I mean. That one – he’s a boy. You don’t need that. You need –”

“So help me,” she warned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “if you finish that sentence with ‘a man,’ I’m leaving.”

[cloudninetonine]

Hii! I'm sorry if you meant your inbox is closed in general and not only for requests, but I really need to tell you this after binging a player's aid. Feel free to throw some gasoline on this and burn it! (also sorry it got a lot longer than I thought)

Man I,,, I don't even know how to begin. Like you're one of the first blogs in my Tumblr life that I actively checked for updates back in the days of Follow the Light. I remember writing a super cheesy ask where I sang praises to your works and I was so scared of interaction for no reason at all 😭

Yesterday I stumbled across the link (must- refrain- pun not intended) to that fic and opened out of curiosity,,, I don't really know the Zelda universe, I played BotW and I'm now waiting for TotK, but I said "hell yanno what, I want to read some of their stuff again" and… fella… I wasn't ready, your writing is absolutely insane, even more than I remembered. From the style, to the pacing, to the story and the characterisation- everything. It makes me feel so satisfied, like when you eat your favourite food yeah?

And now I want to watch the gameplays of every game (even tho I have no idea of how i should start) cus the brainrot is too damn real :')

Again I gotta say your style is immaculate and I'm trying to absorbe as many details as possible, maybe I'll stop having troubles with the pacing of my own stories lmao- But anyways, big ggs and kudos to you, you deserve them all <3

No but actually I wanted to ask if I could spam like and reblog the chapters. I didn't want to flood your activity thingy without asking you first. In case you don't want me to I'll just reblog one every two hours or something, idk whatever works better for you. Have a nice day/night :')

HI SORRY I MEANT FOR REQUESTS BUT NOT FOR GENERAL ASKS!

ALSO HI!

ANOTHER ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH!

It means so much at the fact that you started reading just because you wanted to see my work again :') when I tell you that actually makes me a little tearful (positive of course!) and all the way back from Follow the Light (Missed writing that in all honesty)

And Player's Aid it's actually based on an au comic called "Linked Universe"! So there's a starting point if you haven't already! Just type the name into Tumblr and the first blog should be it! I didn't even start looking at gameplay until later on!

Also, I know this is late but no need to ask! I don't mind spam likes/reblogs- just reminds me people like my work :)))

[sehtoast]

What inspired your oc?

what inspired Ben?

that’s a hell of a rabbit hole, but lemme give it a crack. hope you're ready to read a whole book lol :

so, for starters, i’ve always been a spider-man kid for as long as I can remember.  I’m not sure what my first introduction to spidey would’ve been, but i’d bet it was either the 90s animated series or tobey maguire’s spider-man movies.  The first maguire movie came out when i was 2, but i’m positive i saw it super young because i don’t remember a time where i didn’t absolutely fucking adore spidey. Some of my strongest memories are actually of ‘wall crawling’ up my grandma’s brick sidewalk and running around her yard like i was swinging from a web.  I had the toys, the pajama suit, the string-can webshooters, plastic masks, played all the games growing up, etc etc. Spider-man stuff is just like, idk INGRAINED in me. He’s what i wanted to be- and, honestly, i still dream of swinging from a web.

Now, that said: Ben.

Ben started as a x reader concept. I’d never written fics before stumbling onto homelander, but i ended up finally snapping one day and giving it a shot for two reasons.  a) blindmagdalena inspired me to write and b) i wanted to finally see some form of trans rep for fanfics, particularly for transmasculine people.  I have my brain trained so strictly to swap pronouns, gendered terms, and even body part names that it actually affects my reading outside of fics, too. Which isn’t necessarily good, but it just goes to show how little is out there for us (fic is usually always skewed toward fem readers- which isn’t a bad thing! It just makes it hard for transmasc folks to indulge sometimes).  But yeah, i really fucking wanted to finally put something out there for us.

But, this fella had to have powers right?  Tender Threads was the start of my writing adventures and i was adamant that it would follow a supe!reader.  And what powers would i want if i were a supe? Spider powers, of course!  Initially i was really insecure about doing this because webweaver already exists in the boys comics and i felt like a copycat.  I couldn’t even figure out a better spidery hero name than spider-man, so i said fuck it and went with it.  Of course, months later across the spider-verse came out and validated me putting a spider-man in another universe, but that’s besides the point lol.

The more i wrote this x transmasc!reader concept, the more and more i could see Ben in my head.  He started off as a concept and just… grew?  I picked his name because i really like ben reilly as spidey and i figure there’s gotta be another spider-man out there named benjamin, right? They can’t all be variants of peter and the more major characters. Funny enough, he was almost a Bennett.  Anyway, i imagined him quite similar to peter parker in the ultimate spider-man comic line, but he’s steadily grown to have his own appearance, especially once i went out looking for a face claim for him and found froy gutierrez.  Now, he looks like a ~2018 era froy!  Funny how ocs grow and change.

I decided that i wanted him to have powers more along the lines of Miles Morales in the insomniac games (bc i fucking ADORE miles and i think his bioelectricity is SO FUCKING COOL). So, i picked that. Kept the organic webbing bc that made sense to me. 

Also, it  wasn’t even a thought in my head of whether or not to carry over the aspect of being trans for ben.

His suit design was heavily inspired by the unbreakable spider-man suit by @ vaughanilla_cosplays on instagram, but i’m still working on building a design that is truly ben’s.

From there, i thought of him in terms of what my ideal spider-man would be like. This part i actually struggled with until i stumbled across this video of Peter Cullen about the day he auditioned for optimus prime (hopefully the time start works, otherwise it's at 1:38-2:10).  Those words hit me first, like, as a person, and i find them influencing me in my day to day life, surprisingly.  But then i realized, that’s what i want for ben.  If ben was going to be a hero, he was going to be a real hero.  Benjamin would be strong enough to be gentle.  Even being a character destined to love a man who is anything but, Ben would be strong enough to be gentle.

Above everything else, Benjamin is gentle.

And from there, he grew.  He grew and grew and grew, and now he’s actually very precious to me.  Ben is my spider-man, more than any iteration ever. When i think of spidey, i think of Ben.

But yeah. I guess ben was ultimately inspired by my love for spider-man meeting my love for the boys. Just, one day an egg appeared, you know?

Anyway, thank you so much for this ask. I fucking LOVE talking about my lil benny-boo 

[crickey-itsjake]

Task 3 — Short and Sweet One-Shot: Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long (can star one or multiple characters.

Summary: Short stories from the 5 POVs of my characters.

TW: Mention of fires + buildings, Dingos, Brief mention of an allusion to drowning

#1: Biscuits

"The timer for the biscuits!" I say to myself in a gasp as I wave my jalapeno covered fingers towards the oven as the timer continues to go off. Will I touch my face accidentally? Maybe. Will this food be worth it? You betcha. I pull them out. Maybe I let that timer go a little too long. They look a little dense. A little overdone. The bottoms are almost burnt. I eat them anyway. Not bad. Let's take it from the top.

#2: Coach

"She shoots... she--totally misses the goal." The puck goes wide, careening into the side wall and sliding around the outline of the rink during the drills on the ice. I skate over to the teen who put a little more show in her shot and had the ego to boast about it. I knew that feeling. The feeling of building yourself up so high only to completely fall on your face. That's why I had mentors and friends to keep me honest. "Let's see if we can get you to aim as well as you talk, yeah?" Passing the puck back over, I call out to the team, "I know we're all rusty from break, so let's give that another go. If we're going to act like the best, we have to back that up with some evidence of skill."

#3: Alone

"You know, I never quite understood why people travel to large cities." I said, stirring my tea as I sat across from my friend, "Not even this past travel to some of the largest in Europe. So many people, but that loneliness seeps in--Don't look at me like that, I'm speaking in generalizations. How can I be lonely when I have such wonderful company now?"

#4: Buckle

"There I was, facin' down the most menacing looking dingo, drooling at the mouth and snarling, with my pants round my ankles and my belt in my hand. Gotta make yourself look big, and don't even turn your back on them so there was no bending down. This fella really got an eyeful of me. Soon enough he scampered himself off away from the food scraps and didn't bother me again."

#5: Spanner

"You got a problem? Never seen someone use a wrench before?" I stopped to glare at a bystander who had her mouth open and ready to say something. Wrench in hand, hand above my head, "Sure, the wrench is being used to beat in an already broken window, but that's life. You gotta throw some wrenches in it to see some improvement. Keep on moving. I've got dibs." I'll admit, it's not exactly the norm for me to salvage parts off of a totaled vehicle, but when you need a couple extra components here and there for some projects, you might need to be a little resourceful. That and I really needed to smash something.

#6: Lessons

"You'll get it! I know you will. Let's try that again." My student looks at me with their very perceptive eyes and lack of filter. "You look happy," they observe. Sweet of them to notice, not that I was unhappy before, of course, but it did feel like a particularly sunny day today. I tap at the sheet of music in front of them. The music sounds sweeter today.

#7: Waterlogged

"I've never been one for water, not before you anyways. What? It's deceptive and I can't exactly figure it out. Land's under your feet, you feel the bottom as you walk. Rivers have currents just lurking about ready to throw you under, Oceans have basically no bottom--Listen, I just don't trust 'em. The only thing I'll trust in a body of water is that body in water."

#8: Unstable

"Don't move! Ma'am, this whole structure is unstable. I'm going to come to you, I'm going to get you out of there. Just wait for me to--" A beam crashes down between the two of us, dust and debris flying. The radio goes off asking where I am, asking if that collapse missed me. Got off lucky this time, but you got to have a little luck in this position and, if you're like my Gran, a little faith as well. (I don't wear the necklace of St. Christopher she gave me because its stylish, that's for sure). I'm the person they send in to do the more risky rescues up in the crane and crawling into structures. Ultimately, if it were too dangerous, I'd be hearing it from the Chief. So as long as I'm cleared to continue, I'll keep going. I radio back that I'm fine and call out to the woman, "Shout if you can, I'll find you. What a day to be on the fourth floor, eh?"

#9: Longwinded

"So let me just get this clear," I scribble down the order on a notepad as I hold the phone to my ear between my shoulder and neck. "You want a Jack Benny on wheels," I stop, because I should clarify but diner lingo is always so fun "--to carry out--" silence on the phone, so I phrase it another way. "A bacon and cheese omelet for the road, especially made for putting in a box and sending out. With cheese and bacon, an omelet only to-go." A pause, this customer has definitely ordered from here before, its a small town, some orders and names stick. "Is that what you're saying?" The voice tells me that there's onions as well. "Make it cry too, got it."

#10: Socializing

"You know, I'm not exactly the clubbing type." I say as I shove my hands into my pockets as someone else once again suggests Pixie's. I haven't exactly been back there since Halloween. That was an exception. I sigh, "Fine, I'll go. make an appearance, say hi to whoever, and then me and a bag of chips--crisps here or whatever--got a date in front of the tv. Alone. Together." Is my personal life thriving? I do what I can when I have the bandwidth. Not easy living a double life, you know. The school and garage keep me busy as it is and I'm not exactly trying to give up my cultivated low profile. But, I'll go to Pixie's again. Balance is key. At least for something like tires, don't have it and the wheels wear down unevenly. I'm not looking to sacrifice the other wheels of this car. Who knows, maybe something will impress me and make me stay with them a while longer, but I wouldn't hold my breath.

[hellboundhimbo]

MORE JOJ GIRLS joanna's design isn't creative at all with the exception of her dress. like its deadass just jonathans outfit. REASON FOR THIS BEING a lot of my thoughts on her are less abt her design and more abt what her story could be. strap in fellas its time for an Unhinged JoJo Rant courtesy of tumblr user hellboundhimbo.

now i already touched a bit on the subject here, but boy howdy if she still doesn't live in my head rent free. since writing said post, I've had a brain blast in the form of an epiphany that, what if all those concepts, but she's TRANS. i know, i'm a genius (read also: stupid gay idiot). t4t jonaeri, anyone?

i wanted her design to reflect the journey of coming into her own, and finding her own definition of womanhood. at the beginning of PH, she wears very traditionally victorian clothing. long dresses, corsets, those big ass hats, the whole sha bang. over the course of the story, however, she realizes she doesn't need to conform to societal standards to be "worthy" of the title of woman, so she begins to dress in ways she wants to, or is practical for that specific situation. i wanted to make it a point that while she lets her hair down, she never cuts it or is like "EW EARRINGS BLEH' cuz like. femininity isn't her enemy!! its the patriarchal standards that enforce such a rigid, static form of it onto people!!

when it comes to the trans aspect of her story, I thought long and hard about how to go about it cuz like. i'm trans masc myself, and the last thing i'd want to do is try to infuse transness into a story and have it feel like a redundant, shitty commentary that intrudes on the narrative or smth. i think I've come up with a good idea of where to go with it, though.

i think joanna probably came out sometime in her early teen years, around 13-15, but started questioning around the time she met erina, (haven't come up w a name for him yet, if yall have any ideas feel free to shout em.) who came out much earlier, like 9 or so. just like the idea of joanna being like "omg wow u changed ur gender wow that's so crazy haha doesn't everyone feel that way tho" and erina's like. no???? they don't????

anyway once joanna came out lady joestar was like "ok fine u can trans ur gender BUT you gotta be a lady." which sucks cuz no more rugby but fuck it we ball (or I guess. not. ball.) she struggles a lot with being a poised debutante cuz shes like 6'5 and rich dudes don't really like it when their dance partners could chuck them to the colonies with one arm but fuck them. rest of the story remains mostly unchanged, blah blah blah dio blah blah stone mask blah blah you know the drill ANYWAY speedwagon's first appearance is when we really start making some real impacts on joanna's character, with some definite parallels being drawn between joanna, who was lucky enough to be rich and accepted by her family (for the most part,,,) and speedwagon, who lives in the slums with no family to speak of. by proxy, some parallels to dio as well (she'll get her own ramble when I post her design in 284738374 years), because phantom blood sets up so much for a conversation about classism that we see so little of :( love phantom blood tho dgmw

also you can bet your sweet ass that hamon is becoming a metaphor for queer liberation.

don't wanna divulge too much about it cuz like I am hoping to write something about this at some point but,,, big Thoughts here trust me bro.

to address the elephant in the room, how does joanna got honkers if there was no hormone therapy in victorian times? hamon doubles as hrt. if araki's allowed to pull new hamon capabilities out of his ass every 5 seconds, so am I. it works for the metaphor too but like that's less funny.

[arrowflier]

Can you write Mickey be the whipped married guy in his friend group who always leaves early because he misses his husband 😂🥰

“Read ‘em and weep, boys,” Mickey said, smirking as he laid his cards on the table with a flourish.

The other three men groaned, tossing their own cards to the middle without even bothering to show them.

“That’s the third one in a row, Milkovich,” one of them complained. “You tryin’ to hussle us?”

“Ey! Shut up, Danny,” another hissed, whacking his arm with the back of one hand. “Kid’ll probably gut ya for sayin’ that shit.”

“Nah,” Danny said. “He wouldn’t dare, he’d get sent back to the can without his hubby.”

All three men broke out into raucous laughter, Danny making kissy noises until Mickey grabbed up a handful of cards from the table and smacked them right into his pursed lips.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Mickey said. “Just remember that Joe knows what he’s talkin’ about—learned a lot of ways to kill a guy in prison.”

“Not much else to do there,” Joe agreed with a nod as the other two men started to wind down.

“Unless you got a man!” the third man, Timmy, chimed in, and they were off again.

“Sure, sure,” Mickey said, letting them laugh. “But there’s only so much an ass can take, fellas, and once that’s done…”

He mimed slitting his own throat.

“Ugh, Mickey,” Danny groaned. “We don’t need to know that shit, man.”

“You’re the maintenance guy, Dan,” Timmy said. “Don’t tell me you never walked in on the two of ‘em?”

“Fuck no!” Danny exclaimed. “If their stupid little ambulance is in the lot, I come back later!”

“Lucky,” Joe sighed. “I was up there cleaning the windows once before they got curtains, and—”

“Whoa!” Mickey interrupted, holding out a hand over the table. “Let’s keep that shit to ourselves, fuck you very much.”

Joe grinned.

“Why should I?” he asked. “Not like you cared at the time.”

Mickey rolled his eyes.

“At the time, I had a more important issue to deal with.”

His phone went off in his pocket, the shrill tone cutting through the room loud enough to halt the conversation.

“Speak of the fuckin’ devil,” Mickey muttered, digging it out. “Ian just texted, he’s heading back up. Sorry guys, guess that’s it for today.”

A chorus of groans met his statement, a chair creaking as Danny leaned back too far.

“You always abandon us, man,” he complained. “As soon as he’s done, you nope outa here, even in the middle of a hand.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows.

“We in the middle of a hand now, genius?” he asked. “No? Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go meet up with my husband.”

“Fine, fine,” Danny said with a sad wave. “But someday you gotta at least bring him down here to meet us when we play, so you can’t go runnin’ off before you lose.”

Mickey snorted.

“I don’t lose,” he said dryly. “And you’ve already met him.” He looked around the table, meeting every pair of eyes. “All of you fuckers have.”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “I have. And you know what?” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, let it go. “I don’t fuckin’ get it, man, I really don’t.”

“I’m with Dan,” Timmy said, sitting straight. “Guy’s an over-sized puppy dog, and you’re a badass, Mick. How’s he got you so wrapped around his little finger?”

Mickey waited a beat, then looked to Joe.

“Anything you want to add?” he asked the cleaner, but Joe just shook his head.

“Nah man,” he said with a snort. “I’ve seen exactly how he’s got you wrapped up.”

Mickey flushed.

“You shut the fuck up,” he demanded, pointing at the older man. “Or next time, I’ll open the window and shove you off your platform.”

“The windows don’t open!” Danny called toward Mickey’s back as he turned to walk away.

Mickey threw him a middle finger over his shoulder.

“And I’m not sure you’d get to them anyway if he trusses you up like that every time!” Joe added, and got the other finger added for his efforts.

The door to the basement slammed as Mickey left, and the three men were left alone in the pleasantly chilly employees-only room.

“Think he’ll ever bring him by?” Timmy wondered.

“Nah,” Joe answered him. “Only time he comes down here’s when Big Red is busy.”

They all nodded in agreement as Joe gathered up the cards again.

“Another hand fellas?”

—

Exactly a week later, Joe, Danny, and Timmy were down in the basement again, clustered around their little card table between the lockers that held their personal things.

“Too hot to be mowing, man,” Timmy complained, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “When I took this job, I thought it’d be cushy, but that Melanie bitch is demanding as fuck.”

“Your own fault for pickin’ such a stupid job, mate,” Danny told him with a heavy pat on the back. “It is hot as balls out, though,” he agreed a second later as he took a seat. "That weird lady on the third floor doesn't run the AC, and I was up there all mornin' fixin' her shower."

“Anybody know if Mickey’s joinin’ today?” Joe asked, shuffling the same deck of cards they used every week.

“Nah,” Timmy answered. “He only comes when his man’s at the gym, yeah?” Danny and Joe both nodded. “Well, Big Red was headin’ up to his place when I finished up; he must’ve decided it was too hot too.”

But before Joe could start dealing, the door above them creaked open, and they could hear heavy footfalls on the steps. From the sound of it, more than one person.

Mickey appeared first, a wide smirk on his face, followed immediately by Big Red himself.

“Hey losers,” Mickey greeted, making straight for the table. But instead of sitting, he just pulled out the chair, and motioned for his husband to take it.

“Uh, hi guys,” Ian Gallagher said as he obediently sat down. “I hope you don’t mind me joining.”

The three men just stared, then stared harder as Mickey, instead of finding a seat of his own, chose to plop right down on Gallagher’s lap.

“Figured you guys had bugged me enough,” he told them. “Might as well give you what you asked for.”

“Uh, yeah.” Joe was the first one to recover, offering a cautious smile to the newcomer. “Hey man, good to see ya. You know how to play?”

“Probably,” Ian said with a shrug, one arm wrapping around Mickey’s waist to keep him in place. “What are we playing? Five card draw? Texas hold’em? Seven card stud? High Chicago? Low Chicago? Follow the Queen?”

He looked around the table, and stopped when all he saw were stunned faces.

“Uh…or something else?” he added hesitantly.

“No, no, just…regular poker,” Joe answered, eyes wide. “None of that weird shit.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ian said with a little laugh. “My dad made sure we knew all the games, made it easier to help him cheat. I remember one time he tried to sneak me into a casino just to grab wallets while he played, but I ended up winning big at a high-rollers table until they found out I was only seventeen and chased us out.”

He sighed wistfully.

“Still wish I had managed to cash out first, would have set us up for a year.”

All the men, Mickey excluded, just blinked at him.

“Your puppy tellin’ the truth, Mick?” Timmy finally squeaked, but all he got from Mickey was a shark-like grin.

“Deal him in,” Mickey ordered with a nod to Joe. “And remember, you fuckers asked for this.”

[sporadicthingcollection]

Cute SFW idea: Irno comes across a friendly stray Tooka cat and decides to bring it home, much to Bane’s chagrin. In natural cat fashion, it immediately takes a strong liking to the person who never wanted the damn cat in the first place (in this case, Bane) and slowly becomes his cat.

This is an EXCELLENT prompt and it was VERY fun to write thank you from the bottom of my heart

99 Problems: Entry #69 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: Cad Bane hates your pussy.

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: Mild animal abuse, mild sexual situations.

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list1.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE A PAIN IN THE ASS AND I SHOULD TURN YOU IN

#69: YOUR FUCKIN PUSSY

---

Bane leans against the speeder, hat tipped down low, drumming his fingers on the butt of his LL-30s. He’s not worried about you. Really. You’re a capable little burglar and damn near impossible to catch -- by anyone that isn’t him, anyways. And you’re paying him specifically not to catch you, so you should be in the clear.

His wristcom crackles to life. “I’m out,” you chirp. “No followers. Headed to the rendezvous.”

He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Attagirl. “I’m in a red two-seater in an alley off Fourth. Drop in and we’ll head off.”

“Roger roger,” you say in your best droid impression. It’s not very good, but it gets a half-smile out of him.

He swings his legs over the edge and into the driver’s seat. He’s not used to being the getaway driver, but hey: fifty thousand credits to sit in a speeder and do nothing is a deal only a fool wouldn’t take.

He twists the ignition, and the engine purrs like a tooka-cat. He sits back. Now all he has to do is wait--

Shff shff shff.

Bane’s hand goes to his blaster as he looks around. Something moved. He knows it. He heard it. Couldn’t have been Human, though. Too small. Too quick.

He’s so focused on scanning for the threat that he barely notices when you drop into the seat beside him. The jangle of metal in the bag you carry echoes off the walls of the alley.

“Think you were followed, girlie,” he murmurs.

“That’s not possible,” you say, voice low. “I was in and out. No alarms, no nothing--”

Shffff. Clank.

It’s coming from behind the garbage bin, deeper in the alley.

“Do we take him out or just take off?” you whisper.

“Yer payin’. Call de shot.”

You think. “Take him out,” you say, “but I wanna watch you shoot.”

He grins. Your hybristophilia will never cease to amuse him.

Drawing one of his LL-30s, he slips out of the speeder and lands silently on the ground. He’s got it all planned out: shoot this sucker as foreplay, make out a bit in the speeder, then fly off back to the ship to fuck you wearing that jewelry you just stole. Perfect end to a perfect evening.

A shadow jumps out at him. It’s half the size of a Jawa and he misses both shots he takes at it because of it. It streaks across the ground and into the speeder. You shriek in surprise and he goes to fire, only to pause.

Staring at him is a big ol’ tooka-cat, black as a starless night and with a single yellow eye.

He’s relieved until you let out... noises. A string of words in a strange, high-pitched tone that he’s only heard in the context of mothers talking to babies.

“A kitty!” you coo. “Sorry, sweetie, we almost shot you!”

He sighs. “Thank de Maker,” he mutters. He holsters his blaster and flaps his hand at the cat. “Shoo. We gotta get outta here.”

The tooka-cat stares at him a moment, then lets out a scraggly mrrrow. Bane just cocks his brow at it. It then turns to you and lets out the same mrrrow.

You reach out to rub its head, and it butts up into your hand appreciatively. “What a polite little fella, asking for pets,” you say. “Nice to meet you too, little guy.”

Since you’ve clearly lost your mind, he gives you a moment. “Alright, alright. Enough o’ dat. Let’s go.”

The cat doesn’t move, just happily receives your pats. You don’t make any motion to shoo it away.

He pulls out his blaster. Your reaction is one of wide-eyed horror. “Don’t even think about it!” you cry. You pick up the tooka-cat and set it in your lap.

Bane can really only blink at you as he replaces the weapon. “...so ya have no problem wit’ me shootin’ people, but ya draw de line at a cat?”

“Cats never did me no wrong,” you say simply.

He shakes his head and hops in the speeder. “Get rid of it so we can go.”

You frown. You look down at the tooka-cat, now purring, then back up at him.

He frowns back at you. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll keep him on the Breeze,” you say. “Not like he can climb the ladder anyways.”

“No.” He fires up the engine.

You jut out your lower lip, only to pause. Obstinate realization dawns on your face. “I don’t need to ask for permission,” you say. “I’m keeping him.”

Bane stares at you. When he realizes you’re not going to budge, he just shakes his head.

Starting the engine, he takes off with you -- and your passenger -- into the night.

---

Bane thought for sure he was going to get laid that night. He’d been planning on it. Showered, put on a clean shirt, brushed his teeth, everything.

And all that effort went to waste because of a fuckin' cat.

It’s been hours and you haven’t even changed out of your thieving clothes. You’re seated at the booth in your galley, watching the tooka-cat lap from a dish of water you’d placed on the table. You’ve got a big sweet smile on your face that would make his heart do somersauts if it was aimed at anything except that fuckin' cat. You haven’t even looked at your haul. Or at him.

“I’m turnin' in,” he calls.

“Sure,” you reply. You are very clearly not listening.

“Be sleepin’ in yer bed,” he says. “It’s comfier.”

“Uh-huh.”

He leans against the wall. “Ohnaka called. Said he’s got his hands on the Jewel of Yavin, the Crown of Rana, and most of de Alderaanian coronation jewels.”

“Yup.”

He examines his knuckles. “And I’m crazy in love wit’ ya, li’l lady. Will ya marry me?”

“That’s fine.” The tooka-cat stretches, and you coo. “Ooh, that’s a big stretch for a little kitty!”

And if that didn’t get your attention, nothing will. He heaves a sigh and departs for your bed.

Very rarely does he feel dejected, but this is the most down he’s felt in a while. He likes the attention you give him, sexual and otherwise, and he’s gotten perhaps a bit too used to it. It’s on him, really.

He trudges up to your quarters and shucks his clothes, throwing them over the back of your vanity chair. He peels back your big, fluffy comforter. Since he’s got it to himself, he can sprawl out, limbs splayed and fully extended.

He’ll take that win. It’s the least he deserves.

---

Bane wakes up to your fur coat on his chest, heavy and warm. It’s not unpleasant, though he’s a little confused as to where it came from. Maybe you put it on last night to admire yourself in the mirror and threw it on the bed without thinking. Doesn’t sound like you, though. You keep meticulous care of your fur.

He brings his hand up to stroke it. He loves that coat. Soft and silky and so pleasant to the touch. Like the hair on your head, but finer and fluffier. You refuse to tell him how much it cost.

The coat moves under his fingers and he very nearly jumps out of his skin. He scrambles into an upright position, trying to get away from the zombie coat on his chest.

The tooka-cat scrabbles as it tries to get away, leaving little scrapes on his chest. The commotion wakes you, and the cat jumps onto you. It uses your face as a springboard to launch itself onto the floor and scamper away.

You stare after it, then turn to him, squinting. Judging by the bleary look in your eyes, you’re too groggy to be mad.

“...the fuck?” you ask.

He examines his chest -- no bleeding, but it stings quite a bit. “Fuckin’ cat!” he hisses.

You blink at him, then turn to where the cat was. Its black ears are pulled back as its one visible eye peers over the top of the steps. It looks between him and you.

“Aw, did he spook you?” You’re doing that high-pitched thing again. You clamber to your feet and onto the floor. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

The tooka-cat blinks, then lets out a mrrrrow. It bounds up the stairs and butts its head into you as it passes. To Bane’s surprise, it jumps onto the bed and sits down, staring at him.

He flaps his fingers at it. “Go away.”

Mrrrow? it asks.

“I think he likes you,” you say.

Bane raises a brow at it. “Why?”

You haul yourself back onto the bad. “I ask myself that sometimes.”

“‘Cause I’m fuckin’ irresistable. Mystery solved.” He grabs the cat by the scruff, and it immediately goes limp. “Get outta here.”

“Hey!” You grab his wrist and make him drop the animal. You take it into your own arms. “Don’t hurt him!”

He’s killed at least a dozen people in front of you and yet you’re getting worked up over a disease-ridden little varmint. “It’s a cat, Favara.”

“And you’re a lizard,” you say. He scowls at you and you shrug. “Sorry, I thought we were stating the obvious.”

You set the cat on the ground, and it trots over to the stairs. You follow behind it.

He can’t help but stare at your ass as you walk away. It’s almost enough to make him forget his annoyance. Almost.

---

You make breakfast. Not for him, though -- for the fuckin’ cat. You and the fuckin’ cat get bantha bacon and scrambled eggs. He gets a protein bar.

And then you go out to do some shopping while he stays behind. With the fuckin’ cat.

He tries to ignore it. He really does. And, for the most part, it stays out of his way, perching on a countertop and peering at him or tucking its legs under itself and closing its eyes.

And then it gets bold. Jumps onto the table where he’s tinkering with his gadgets. Sits at his feet. Mrrows at him. Paws at his boot. He gently kicks it away, but it always wanders back.

The final straw is when he goes to take a leak and comes back to find the fuckin’ thing sitting in his hat. Literally in the crown. It flipped the whole piece over just to sit its ass inside.

He growls and swats it away. This little fucker’s gotta go.

His first reaction is to kill it. It’s too quick and small to shoot without putting a few holes in the wall, so he looks up what foods are poison to tooka-cats and goes through your cupboards.

But then he considers your reaction. You’d be furious, distraught, outraged... You’d hate him. He doesn’t want that. You’d almost certainly never sleep with him again.

Obviously the biggest loss.

So he throws it outside and locks the door. Hopefully it’ll find some other pretty girl to charm and mooch off of.

It meows for an hour -- long, drawn out caterwauls. Scratches at the door. Climbs up and around the ship to try and find a way in.

And then it stops. Bane thinks he’s finally free of the little varmint until he opens the door to get some fresh air and it zips back in.

He manages to snag it by the scruff. He drags it out the door and out into the docking bay, where he tosses it into an alley.

And yet, when he walks back to the ship, the little fucker is sitting on the ramp, waiting patiently for his return.

He drags it farther away this time, out into the city streets. He drops it into a trash can, a sturdy one with a solid lid -- but not an unused one. He can’t shake the feeling that you’d someone find out he’d killed it even if you didn’t see.

He thinks he’s rid of it when he returns to the ship and it’s nowhere to be seen. And then he enters the galley to find it sitting on the table, cleaning dust out of its tail, an open air vent above it.

Cad Bane is not a man prone to fits of madness -- that’s more Ohnaka’s speed. But somehow, this fuckin’ cat has finally made him snap.

“Ya li’l shit!” he spits.

He’s about to pull his blaster when the tooka-cat freezes mid-lick. Its ears perk up and it goes completely still, its one eye dilating.

Even on a non-sentient species, he recognizes that look. A hunter searching for its prey.

He holsters his blaster and decides to see what it does.

Without a sound, the cat jumps off the table. It presses itself low to the ground and slinks over to a closet. Its ears twitch and it stares intently at the door.

For several seconds, it doesn’t move. Bane strains to hear what it’s listening for. He wonders if it’s hunting shadows, but he’s never known a tooka-cat to be wrong. They’ll hunt sun motes and paper, but never nothing.

The cat’s ears go back. It looks to him, then the door, then back to him.

Cad Bane is not an altruistic man. But not being tall enough to reach the door panel isn’t the cat’s fault.

He sneaks over to the door and presses the button to open it. The tooka-cat slips inside in a streak of black. Bane hears sounds of a struggle -- claw-on-tile, items being jostled, hurried breaths. A small, barely audible dying gasp.

Moments later, the tooka-cat emerges, carrying a good-sized mouse in its mouth. It trots over to him and lays its quarry at his feet. It sits on its haunches, wrapping its tail around his legs, and peers up at him.

Mrrrow, it proudly declares.

His stomach churns and not in a good way. How long have there been mice on your ship? How many more are there? Are they on his ship, too?

He looks at the cat. “Clean kill, pussycat,” he says, “but good hunters don’t leave evidence lyin’ ‘round.”

---

Negotiations go well. In exchange for room, board, and help with his crippling catnip addiction, the tooka-cat will keep the ship pest-free. Easily the best deal he’s ever made.

Bane is sitting in the galley booth, tinkering with the tension of his electro-lash cable, when you return. You’ve got an armful of boxes and bags, and you toss them down on the floor as you enter the galley.

“If Vincenzo’s dead--” you start.

He looks up from his cable to quirk his brow at you. “...Who?”

“The cat.” You plant your hands on your hips. “I know you don’t like him, but this is my ship and I’m the one paying you. He’s staying. So where is he?”

Bane points at his lap, and you squat down to look under the table. Instantly, your face softens.

In his lap, the cat -- Vincenzo, apparently -- trills as he stirs. He hops out of Bane’s lap and pads over to you, bumping his forehead into your shins. Bane returns to his tinkering as you squat to pat the little creature.

“So what changed?” you ask.

He shrugs, not looking up. “I’ve always liked pussy,” he says simply.

You let out a laugh so sweet that he can’t help but smile as well. He sets his tools down and stands. He grimaces a bit as his stiff legs stretch, but he strolls over to stand just behind you. You straighten up as he lays his hands on your shoulders, dipping his fingertips into the collar of your blouse.

Vincenzo, reading the room, trots off out of the galley, leaving Bane alone with you at last.

“Need something?” you ask, leaning into him.

He brings his hand up, placing his palm on the hollow of your throat, resting his fingers along the curve of your collarbone. He presses his face to your neck, inhaling deeply. His mouth waters at your scent, flowery and feminine.

“Been wantin’ ya since last night," he murmurs against your skin. "Fuckin’ cat blew all my plans.”

You giggle. “Well, you got me now. What’d you have planned?”

He rumbles low in his throat. He drags his tongue up your neck, from the base to just under your earlobe.

A shudder racks you. Before he can stop you, you turn and push his hips right up against the counter, trapping him between your arms.

You lean in close, ghosting your pretty little lips along his mouth. He darts forward to nip them, but you pull away just in time. You give him a mocking smirk that makes his blood boil -- exactly what you want, based on the glint in your eye.

He wraps his arms around your waist and, lifting you up, spins to set you down on the counter. He takes your jaw in his hand and, tipping it, examines your face. Round, smooth, pink, handsome as a holo. He squeezes your cheeks to pucker your lips. He loves the color you paint on them -- red today, dark and vivid.

Your eyes twinkle with amusement. “Just kiss me already.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “You’ve been awful rude t’ me, li’l lady. Y’owe me an apology.”

You give your eyes an exaggerated roll. “I’m sorry,” you say with a smile. “Please forgive me.”

He pretends to consider it. “No.”

You jut out your lower lip. “Please?”

He dips his other hand down, up and under your skirt. You jump as he trails his fingertips along your warm thighs. He grins at you. “Yer gonna hafta beg.”

You open your mouth, but he presses his fingers against the front of your... panties. He frowns and inwardly curses his luck. The one day you’re actually wearing underwear...

...ah, but he can feel the wetness gathering. The one thing the scrap of fabric is good for.

He releases your face and leans closer to you, adjusting his position. Reaching up, he slips his fingers between your skin and the elastic. He can already feel the warm, wet, welcoming heat of your--

Mrrrrow, Vincenzo declares.

You pull away from Bane’s face and look behind him. The twinkle in your eyes vanish as they go wide with horror.

“Is that a mouse?!” you shriek.

Bane turns. It is, in fact, a mouse. Vincenzo lays the furry corpse at Bane’s feet, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

He sighs.

Fuckin’ cat.

---

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list2.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE KIND OF USEFUL AND I SHOULD KEEP YOU AROUND

#69: CHANGED MY MIND YOUVE GOT A GREAT PUSSY

---

⬅⬅⬅ | "Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[columboscreens]

On another thread elsewhere on your end on Twitter, I floated the idea that basically he'd be a cop for exactly 1 (one) episode and he'd be out of the job well before its end.

(Warning: WOW I got way too carried away writing out this hypothetical scene. Skip to the last orange text if you don't want to read a bit of glorified Columbo fanfiction.)

Even had a scene worked out where he talks to his superior and talks about, apropos of seemingly nothing, how he was in the house of the cop who did the killing. Just a bit of drinking with The Boys, you know how it is. Because he was drinking, he happens to be at his house late at night, and saw a rat in the kitchen. He remembers the cop talking about how his house has a rat problem. Columbo being Columbo, the human equivalent of a raccoon, doesn't do anything to harm it. Rustles through the fridge and gets him some cheese, as a matter of fact. (I SWEAR this is going somewhere) He noticed that rat has a lame leg. Caught in a trap once before. He left it be, knibbling on that cheese, off to go back home where Mrs. Columbo is no doubt waiting to punish him for being so late getting home. Not in a fun way, either.

"I dunno, just something he was thinking about, nothing major. Although...you know, the weirdest thing happened this morning? There I was, going through my daily routine. I give the missus her kiss, I get to my car...and there's a rat. Least I think that was a rat. Nailed to the hood of my car. Poor fella. Sure hope she wasn't alive when they did that. There was a piece of paper beneath it - real nasty message there, don't wanna get into it here - but you know what was real weird? The coincidence of it all. I mean...it had the same lame leg. What're the odds, eh, chief? I'll let you get back to work, sorry, I've been rambling. Fortunately, I'll find out who did that to that poor mouse, eh, rat. Whichever. Gonna see a handwriting expert about the message later. Have a good day, chief."

(This is where the scene concludes, sorry about that. Last orange here!)

Boy I really hope I did a good enough job with the dialogue. Anyway, he'd get fired, because That's What Happens to cops who actually give a shit about justice. He sets up a private detective agency, since clearly working within the system was Not The Right Idea. Occasionally he does jobs for the police, but it's pretty rare (since cops tend to talk about snitches; word gets around). Most of the time he'd get cases from friends or relatives of the victim, desperate after police failed to give them closure as they so often do. Makes sure they pay what they can, not necessarily what the ad says (it's a mystery how Columbo stays in business), sometimes doing work pro bono if they just can't pay and the case fascinates him. A part of the shows formula would be updated that he butts heads with the local police just as much as the killer. Sometimes they're one and the same, and that's when things get real spicy.

I could probably go on, but I've been writing this so long I straight up forgot the rest of the message, so I gotta stop here.

I'll just say, pretty clearly, we should snatch some of that Disney tech and get a CGI Peter Falk to play him, with an AI doing his voice. Its *clearly* the better idea, compared to just...recasting him. Give that old man no rest! I want Peter Falk's ghost to possess the stand-in and ruin everything with his rampant perfectionism.

i remember you mentioning this on twitter! it's a fascinating notion. really, columbo is a cop because that level of authority grants him clout and access to people, places, and things he wouldn't otherwise. it's more a means of convenience than anything else.

so barring that, a PI firm is likely the way columbo would operate in the modern day, knowing as we do the direction in which the policing institution has headed. PIs do, after all, cooperate with the legal system and have access to many of the same resources.

at any rate, i think i'd want them to do a really bad cgi of peter falk in the reboot. like ps2 graphics quality where he blinks out of existence occasionally and clips with the floor. anything else is a waste of time

[keimisan]

NOT A REQUEST BUT LIKE HI IVE BEEN MEANING TO ASK THIS... okay but like...what do you think of police officer y/n and ran getting all flirtatious and shit with her with that shit eating grin on his face and y/n is all like “yeah sure“ and y/n does not bother reprimanding him cause he'll be out of there in no time and cheeky little mf just leaves his phone number with y/n when he leaves IDK IT'S SOMETHING THAT HAS BEEN BOTHERING ME ANYWAY HAVE A GREAT DAY AHEAD

OMG OMG OMG ANON YOUR MIND SHALL BE BLESSED THIS IS THE PERFECT FUCKING IDEA EVER I WILL START A BRAINROT OVER THIS WHAT DID U DO

dude come out of anon, let me kiss you. i love you.

okay so omg let me finish hyperventilating. so this one time the haitani brothers get lazy with leaving before the police comes and they get like confronted by you and your squad. ran shoves rindo in a pathaway but ends up not managing to get out himself. so when he feels the flashlight and your legally registered gun on his back, ran puts his arms up, almost ready to beat the shit out of whoever caught him.

but then he looks behind and sees you, you who looks absolutely adorable to his eyes. his eyebrows raise in interest, lips taking on his signature lopsided smirk as he checks you out, shamelessly. that kind of creeps you out but you keep the gun pointed to his head as he turns around, and says, "they sent a pretty one today. gotta give in since bunny's been trying so hard."

you can't begin to explain how irritating it is to hear him call you bunny.

"cut it out."

and how he willfully dropped into your hands when he could easily get himself out with his gang connections.

and then you signal your squad to hold him and lock him into your car. damn man doesnt stop his incessant babbling even when your direct sub-ordinate was there. he goes like,

"do you have a lover, doll?"

"how old are you, babe?"

"you've got a pretty face there, mind letting me see it again?"

and you're annoyed.

and when he gets into the investigation room, fella's replies are fucking irritating. he never ceases to exceed your imaginations with the outrageous shit he says. not to mention that he sits on the chair like he owns the entire building, which he just might. it goes like,

"what was your goal?"

"my goal is accomplished since i get to see you, beautiful."

"where is your brother?"

"i'm right in front of you and you want to see my brother? i'm hurt."

"what were you dealing or trading with the other organization, who are they?"

"well, fuck them, how about we make a deal? i treat you to a meal and you give me a kiss?"

he was trying too hard and you were trying to be the stoic cop you're supposed to be but when you tell him to stop joking around, he leans back and puts an arm behind the chair, smirking as he says, "who says i'm joking? i'm really into you." you end up letting out a deep sigh coupled with a smile- of exasperation obviously.

and then he gets bailed after a few hours, shitty dude tells you that he'd let you into a very personal information and that he'd rather write it since it'd be hard to tell.

when he leaves out the door, not forgetting to shoot you a wink before he does, you open the folded paper. there's a prominent hint of 'fuck him' in how your eyes narrow at the writing. he's written his number in clear view, along with a little message that makes you angrily shove the paper to your pockets.

- [number]

i still want that date, call me when you're free baby.

;)

you have no idea why you shoved the paper in your pockets and now tear it and throw it out, but you knew he'd never receive that call.

until you get into dangerous problem and its the only number that can help you.

"where to, sweetheart?"

FUCK ANON I'M A SIMP WHY DID U DO THIS TO ME.