#awful rancid bastard

[scarecrowdrugs]

I think Jonathan Crane should always look like he's ten seconds away from biting his therapist just for the enrichment

[dreamcrow]

it's saturday! my blog my rules! have some procreate cleanup screenshots. i worry i might have posted at least versions of some of these before, but oh well.

horrible roommates hotsprings episode, pt. 2/infinity. it's pt. 2 bc i don't think this was specifically from skrael sous vide... but i had a lot of fun with the landscape on this (there's a lot more trees/rocks i cropped out, maybe i will come back to this)

silly little outfitswap i can NOT get out of my head, but make it colored and more detailed (foiled by high resolution and not actually wanting to figure out how bellroc's pants work)

world's smuggest and most fashionable ancient baby. actual boss of prehistoric eskisehir. she shows up for roughly 10 minutes and i love her

(+ one of the best/stupidest skraels i've ever drawn, after the cut)

oh, completely embarassing marital tenderness dot comic... you can tell where i ran out of energy/patience drawing his fancystuck outfit, huh lol

if i could actually figure out how sequential art works i would be unstoppable!!

[see-arcane]

I have been possessed by a stronger than average craving for tinkering with Jonathan Harker's genders (Jonders). Jonathan Harker is undeniably and forever my favorite gothic heroine. But, being that there is so much to chew on regarding his potential fluidity when it comes to gender roles within the story--the classic damsel, the willingly submissive half of the couple, the vengeful berserker, etc--it's got me thinking.

Let's take the metaphor out. What would happen to the Dracula narrative if Jonathan Harker was...

First thing's first--she almost definitely gets shouldered out of the Important Solicitor's position due to reasons of Being Girl. But she still has to get to Transylvania to be menaced by Count Bat Bastard. How?

Hawkins! Johanna is working at the firm as a secretary and personal assistant to a still very paternally mushy old Peter Hawkins. When Dracula's request comes around, he can't give up such a lucrative client over his gout and there's no one he trusts to pass it to. He has to go. And it'd only be right to treat his surrogate daughter to a paid scenic vacation have his aide along on the business trip. Especially when she hunted down Carfax Abbey herself! What a lovely outing they'll have.

...or not.

True to form, Count Dracula is very much not to be trusted around pretty young things of any kind. Considering his canon habits, things aren't about to go any easier for Miss Harker. But at least she has Hawkins watching out for her in-person! It all makes for some very tense talk when discussing anything other than the estate purchase; which Hawkins seems as keen to rush as Dracula is to dawdle over. But at least they'll be out of here soon. What's a couple of awkward nights, right?

One in particular has Johanna nervous as she goes to bed. Hawkins had taken Dracula aside with a hard smile, insisting there was a 'delicate matter' he wished to speak with the Count about. The last time a 'delicate matter' was brought up was when he nearly lobbed a typewriter at one of his ex-solicitor's heads for some distinctly unseemly behavior in her direction. She hopes there isn't a storm brewing under their host's roof. She hopes harder that tomorrow they'll be heading back to the Borgo Pass.

Instead:

Oh.

Oh no.

Between this and one requisite nightmare-week in which the joys of womanhood come and go--let's leave it unspoken whether her set of bloodstained cloths stay in her possession or not--Johanna gets put through the wringer. Per usual. But eventually..!

Yeah. No shock there. Deep calming breaths, Jack. Don't let the wonderful diary concuss you.

Part of being one of two (gasp) G I R L S in the Scooby Gang, Van Helsing and company vote Johanna and Mina out of the dirt hunt. Except. Well. Johanna is still necessary to have on the ground here. She's the only one with the location intel--and a surprise willed gift of inheritance and the firm from poor Hawkins, who the Transylvanian locals all vouch for as being 'slain by wolves,' leaving Johanna free of blame--so she's still running around for the crew.

Even so, odds are high that she initially gets sidelined with Mina. Which isn't overly awful. It is good to be side-by-side in this timeline! No needless sequestering from each other! Johanna is already planning to see Mina back to their new house before they have to sleep another night in an asylum.

And then comes the 3rd of October.

Van Helsing: "Madam Harker, is it not somewhat attention-catching to wear trousers in public? We are meant to be unremarkable while we wait on th--"

Johanna, has already smoked through two cigars, kukri in her lap, playing a game of chicken with God: "Do you think I scaled a mountain in three layers of skirts, Professor? No? Then I will not do the same if the rancid bastard tries to escape out the window."

Van Helsing, aside: "Friend John, can you speak sense to her?"

Jack, melting off the side of the bench: "I think I hauve consumption"

Anyway. She very much does get to the Dracula head chopping. And there will be much rejoicing. BUT all that grimdarkness aside, there are other, more hijinks-flavored opportunities to think of with this particular set up. If only because I genuinely believe that Lucy and Art, having two spare best friends on hand and a general vibe that radiates 'ooooh what if triple wedding???', would come up with the following master plan. Some truly Shakespearean folly kind of shit:

Thankfully, Johanna and Mina nix the idea pretty quick. Case in point:

And, last but not least, my final word on the range of Jonders that exist within my very best gothic heroine friend:

ha ha I do that

[whoishotteranimepolls]

Fandom observation nicknames and funny tags: Part One Piece

Okay, one piece fandom it's your turn and I'm going to highlight your creativity. Again this is not meant to shame or call anyone out. I am genuinely impressed with the creativity and you guys made me laugh. So again in my opinion these were too good just to be lost in the tags or in the anonymous messages, several you sent me. So expand post at your own risk. This one is unhinged

*updated as of May 4th with more tags and new characters

I have mentioned this before, but for some reason that is beyond me. One Piece fandom you guys refer to your characters as daddy and mommy (And it's in a kinky way) way more than any fandom. I think I should just start with the list of characters that have been labeled as such before I go into the creative names for individual characters. Because trust me who makes the list and who doesn't is actually funny.

One piece Daddy's: Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy, Sir Crocodile, Benn Beckman, Killer, Sanji, Rayleigh, Roger, Doflamingo, Rosinante/Corazon, Katakuri, Ivankov, Arlong, Yamato, Marco, Izou, Smoker, Garp, Sengoku, Zeff, Kuzan/Aokiji, Kizaru, Fujitora, Akainu, Blackbeard

When it comes to the One piece Mommy's: Nico Robin, Boa Hancock, Charlotte Smoothie, Charlotte Galette, Charlotte Amande, Vice admiral doll, Catarina Devon, Ivankov & Crocodile

Now due to popular demand the new category the One Piece Babygirls: Ace, Buggy, Sanji, Luffy, Sabo, Zoro, Ussop, Marco, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Kid, Law, Bepo, Killer, Mihawk, Shanks, Perona, Yamato, Kuzan/Aokiji, Kizaru, Fujitora, Rosinante/Corazon, Katakuri, Smoker, Robin, Nami, Vivi, Jinbe, Hatchan, Roger, Zeff

Now when it comes to individual characters there have been some interesting standouts but I'm just going to do some highlights because you guys have so many characters

Ace: "Depressed sunshine orphan boy with daddy issues", "ace has that grungy line cook riz you know he lays legendary pipe", " he got goofy older brother swag", "Beautiful butch dyke wife", "Ace my greasy fire narcoleptic king", "The narcoleptic babygirl", the greasy crusty desert rat. "He would be worth the burn risk", "my favorite fire donut", "something about greasy alabasta ace hits so different", "with his riz he's probably a walking STD risk but it would be worth it. Just look at him probably also probably got a couple bastard kids running around the grand line", it's ok he's still greasy in my heart worlds most feral baby boy he looks like he eats dirt I could fix him (force him to bathe regularly)

Arlong: "Y'all are too afraid to recognize the truth too afraid of his drip, his swagger, his saw nose, to admit that he's hot also live action arlong?!?!the only sexy fishmen," "arlong looks like a toxic florida frat bro," "I legitimately think there's something wrong with me sometimes due to how bad I want arlong the rancid personality enhances the appeal", "yall are p****" arlong is sexy put some respect on his name look at those lips the laugh the hair!"

Akainu: "The world's next top authoritarian," magma Daddy, "He makes donuts and I still love him"

Bartolomeo: "the man hasn't showered in probably a week he's obsessed with the strawhats he'll pee anywhere and he's an absolute dweeb he's like a stray mutt that followed me home look at his fit it's AWFUL AND FABULOUS he's gross and dumb and if something bad happens to this silly barrier- creating puppy i'll LOSE IT"

Belo Betty: "True story: Belo Betty made me, an Aroace woman have a sexuality crisis."

Ben Beckman: Dilf, "retirement blorbo", "Benn Beckman is a religious experience", "to me? beckman is the character with the most sex appeal ever. raw sex appeal. I would [redacted] if I met this man. just sayin", "He can ruin my life any day of the week", "Also lest we forget pre TS Beck a++ quality right there I just want someone smart who will also hit a guy with a gun is that so much to ask for", "This p**** wants what she wants and its always going to be Benn “back breaker" Beckman", husband material, "men are like wine in order to get a good vintage you want the one that's aged", he had that sexy blind and reckless loyalty about him", "Beckman is a fine aged vintage of wine as men should be", "DEAR GOD the things I WOULD DO to that man LIKE [redacted] and [redacted] because [redacted] and [redacted]", "idk how to explain it but he's so wife", "benn beckman? more like benn breastman ok sorry yeah anyways. said it before and ill say it again beckman exudes raw sex appeal like jesus christ. why would you not want to fuck this man ive had lesbian friends who said he would be an exception to them which is so real his tits are big he loves his captain he STUBBED HIS CIGARETTE IN A MAN'S EYE UNDER THE GUISE OF DEFENDING HIS CAPTAIN so fucking sexy mwah mwah beckman my wife you are so hot SO HOT. in conclusion benn breastman you will forever be a top sexyguy in my head oh also forgot to add. he canonically gets bitches which is so real. he could get me any day", "Oh dear I just realised I have a thing for older men with grey hair and have substance abuse issues I choose to believe lung cancer does not exist in opu", "

Buggy: Assigned clown at birth, walking disaster, "my pathetic sniveling wet clown", my Beloved, "he has blue hair and pronouns", Failboy, "the skrunkly clown", "my clown wife", "he has that fail boy cringe", "buggy has the stronger levels of foolishness and fumbling his way to success", "the cringefail clown extraordinaire buggy", "he is silly and pathetic like a bisexual divorced dad",

Catarina Devon: "my problematic lesbian sugar mommy”,

Cracker: "if Cracker just let his hair down he'd be unstoppable i fear", "get wrecked cracker", "I am so curious about the people voting for cracker let me study you please", "cracker getting murdered as expected", "you can't do my biscuit husband like that", "i find cracker really hot"

Crocodile: desert daddy, Babygirl, "He's like if tony soprano was trans", crocodaddy, crocomommy, Big titty mob boss, He's 8ft tall and I would let he ruin me,"Mr. Sandman", "the human sandcastle," "literally has sand in his britches", "son of a beach", "World's Most Expensive Sand Sculpture", "he's got 99 problems and his hook is one of them", "casino blorbo", "I would subject myself to sandburn any day for THE SIR FUCKING CROCODILE Anakin Skywalker don't go here because I WOULD love sand if it was like 8 feet tall and had a voice like that absolutely rabid he could stick his sand in so many places and I'd thank him crocodile is one of those guys i wanted to hate so bad and then went actually no i want this guy carnally Crocodile has some weird rizz goin on and i need to climb that sandcastle", "I'm so sorry but I need to eat crocodile's pussy", "With Sir Crocodile you can have Sex on the Beach. Literally. Plus he owns a casino so you could probably sip on the cocktail version too...while getting some cocktail.", "mafia vibes and style", "crocodile's got style. class. you will be wined and dined in the most exquisite way you can imagine", "He's got DADDY vibes", " One handsome mafia boss", "I love crocodile but also i wanna punch him and i feel like hes got the sandiest pussy/dick that shit will give me a rash", "my evilest baby boy", "Crocodile invented evil trans swag just saying", "im sorry az but crocodile was my dilf awakening", "in Crocodilf we trust",

Dragon: "the revolutionary scrungle dragon",

Doflamingo: "Dofy's got some wierd (potentially fun) energy but he would NOT treat you well he'd be awful", "The psychopathic pimp on a shoestring budget. Seriously dude, San Diego Zoo called and they want their flamingos back. That coat is so last season.", "fashion travesty", "Doflamingo dresses like an eye test and will probably steal your credit card by the end of the night not because he needs the money. because he finds it hilarious", "Mingo is just a spoiled frat fuckboy who's too full of himself to be interested in anyone/anything else", "a balding white man", "evil florida man my beloved they dont understand you", "Budget Pimp who robbed San Diego of their world famous Flamingo flock"

Eustass Kid: Pirate punk, "He's a sopping wet loser", "a man wearing eyeliner and nailpolish is by definition hotter", "my scrungy little fuck", he would also probably give me an STD and it would still be worth it

Franky: " Three words light up nipples"

Fujitora: "fujitora yes plz that like calm collected way he fights makes me KNOW hed take care of his partner real good", "have you seen how he slurps his noodles? I just know he could eat me out in ways I could never imagine"

Gol D. Roger: "the "Tom Selleck" of Pirates. He mustache'd the gold somewhere. You think these puns are bad wait until you hit my NSFW tags. Can't believe no one pointed those out yet, his name is a literal gold mine of innuendo. king of pirates? nah he's the king of rogering roger this roger that roger anyone he damn well pleases he has the D", "why does no one thirst after Gol like i do? youre all weak! cowards", "sorry but i am all about his dads mustache", " I can't be the only one that wants to ride that mustache"

Jinbe: "I wanna suck on the webbing between his fingers", does anyone else contemplate how soft Jinbe's tits are to lie on or is that just me?

Kaido: "beefcake beast of a man",

Katakuri: "I'm a monsterfucker at heart", "Katakuri is literally so good man he's a family man #he's badass he's got a great sense of honour you know I had to go for the mochi man", "donut king", "KATAKURI MY MOCHI MONSTER TEETH KING CHAMPION HUSBAND THAT I WOULD CLIMB LIKE A MOUNTAIN #I'M ALWAYS ON MY CLIMBING AGENDA WITH MY ONE PIECE KINGS!", "i just know this man would treat me right we love kata", "Kata definitely ticks that hot box"

King: "King is literally the most beautiful OP character you can't change my mind", "Gotta chose the melanin yknow", "king is so ajdhjdjdjchjd bark bark bark bark", "I saw King and decided he is my blorbo", "king of my [REDACTED]", " I know he's like 20 ft tall and I'm probably the size of his d*** but it would be worth it. I would gladly choose death by snu snu for one night with him"

Killer: "big tiddy murder boyfriend",

Marco: Bird daddy "Mr. Dr. Emotionally-Stable Scrungles", "surfer hippy electric blue glasses wing flapper", "DR. MMMMM", Fineapple

Luffy: "l am in the minority here I need luffy's gomu gomu no [REDACTED]"

Mihawk: The Vampire Pirate, Goth Dad, the sword father, Pirate Dracula, the big titty goth husband, "I think mihawk would treat you right. i want mihawk to treat me right", "I love his gay wine uncle energy", "I appreciate that he dresses Like That everywhere extra ass bitch", "hot vampire cowboy pirate", Morticia Addams, "Mihawk oozes 'step on me' energy",

Robin: "she has irresistible weird girl rizz", "big tiddy archaeologist gf"

Rosinante: "my insane clumsy tall dilf", "wife material", "he has cringefail dad swag", "rosi is everything to me actually. I would climb that tall clumsy king like a tree", "the klutzy mime", "he has that pathetic depressed clown vibe thats irresistible", "He's the epiome of strong but silent, he's the asshole with a heart of gold, he has everything", rosinante is hot tho and his clumsiness somehow enhances it", "I've said it before and I'll say it again I WOULD climb that clumsy king like a tall tree want to kiss him until his silly jester makeup is all over me too", "I am loyal to the guy who actively sets himself on fire",

Sabo: "bc he said killing woth lead pipes and then he just kept doing it its the crazy for me"

Sanji: fail wife, Cooking Daddy, "I NEED sanji to f*** me to tuesday and make me dinner before and breakfast after", "The man will feed you the best meal you've ever had and genuinely compliment something about you", "His fighting style is 'kick the problem until it goes away' and he chugs Love Women Juice", "he can cook and fight and he's damn fine while doing both"

Shanks: Margaritaville Himbo, "Dilflicious", "the deadbeat malewife wifi user", "I am a whole lesbian but if there were a butch girl version of these men I would let shanks ruin my life", "favorite guy in the local frat" He's probably a walking STD risk but he's hot and I'm a slut that has a thing for red heads, "the unwashed bitch", "LOOK AT THAT SCRUFF ON SHANKS the three scars on his face that smile", "my Scrungle drunk bastard", I would volunteer to be his next baby mama you know shanks got a few a dozen red haired children all over the grand line tell me I'm wrong," " The biggest fuckboy to ever whore about the Grand Line."

Smoothie: "ah...smoothie....or as i call her... one piece tsunade Imaoo", "ultimately my desire to be crushed by Smoothie's thighs won out", "SMOOTHIE. THANK YOU mommy long legs... gauhggfghgh......i want her to juice me pleeeeaaaseeeeeeeeeee /silly",

Silvers Rayleigh: "Silver Fox Rayleigh", "he's old but he can get it", "Rayleigh has that 'your daughter calls me daddy too' energy", "he's a gilf who married a literal queen", "rayleigh has spent his entire life SERVING CUNT", "Raiyleigh has that gilf energy despite having no kids", I need him in so many different ways I cannot list", "he has my heart around his little finger", "Rayleigh makes me howl like a dog I swear", "I mean come on look at his HAIR his GLASSES that incredible STARE even his wrinkles are hot", "Rayleigh got the 50 year anniversary in the bag idk why you would go for anything else", "helloooo????? Rayleigh is the hottest old guy in one piece please", "I would let rayleigh ruin me and I would thank him", "Rayleigh to me is more like a really smooth mead", "genuinely may be the hottest man of onep just like. objectively", "rayleigh you will always be famous for being the most fuckable old man ever. there may be dilfs galore out there but ur the only gilf in my heart", "that scene where Rayleigh gets out of the ocean shirtless After swimming to the island of women I actually said Daddy out loud",

Smoker: "Smokedaddy", "Smokestack. 'Ole Smokey. Smokin' Hot Smoker", "smokers allergy to keeping his Tits covered compels me", "i do love smoked sausage i'm sorry i'll see myself out", "smoker he's just so beefy like fuckkk and he's like almost 40 i just wanna be smokers lil housewife", "smoker is a beautiful lesbian to me", "smoked sausage I just *know* he's got more to work with than a cocktail weenie", "SMOKEYBEAR PAPA SMOKE MY KING i would smoke him like a chimney if you're pickin up what I'm putting down wink wink nudge nudge he really would kill my lungs but it'd be a fun time", "SMOKER PAPUCHO RICO I NEED HIM", "smoker is solid (despite being made of smoke)", "smoker. smo-yan. ultimate "guy who is allergic to wearing shirts" and honestly? he's so right for that. he needs to show off his tits! in a one piece man boob ranking he's coming number 2 (after crocodile) i said this in dms earlier today but it needs to be released to the world "fat d*ck fat tits fat ass he has it all" smoker is PACKINNNNN in every way he's genuinely so attractive, even just considering him physically and look at his sexy facial scar also (beck also has one. very good) and his slicked back short hair.....not to mention the things that are very endearing about him personality wise - he does masculinity like NOBODY ELSE. genuinely NO ONE does it like him like. he's gruff but he has a very strong personal moral code and he really *does* care..... the man's a tsundere and he's never been cruel to those undeserving like in his introduction - kids bumps into him, spills ice cream on his pants YOU KNOW WHAT SMOKER SAYS? YK WHAT HE SAYS? "my pants ate your ice cream." KILL ME NOWWWWWW HES SO FUCKING HOT IM EATING MY OWN HANDS and then he GIVES THE KID MONEY TO BUY MORE ICE CREAM. jesus christ smoker big d*ick big tits big heart i fucking love him good god", "something something vague moaning sounds I would call him smokey just to provoke him", "

Trafalgar Law: "DR. Slut", "He has them tattoos which makes me go fucking feral", "A stoner greasy boyfailure", "the edgy emo orphan boy with daddy issues", 'My tried stressed bitch", "law is hot because hes pathetic has tattoos and is the narrative's favorite punching", "i am DERANGED over a depressed formerly-suicidal surgeon",

Yamato: "I need my trans man big naturals...... I know nothing about one piece but yamato lives rent free in my brain and my heart at all times the only anime figure i have is of him and i don't even watch the fucking show", "he's new + he's trans + he's over 8 feet tall + he's a wolf god what more could you want?!", "he is filled to the brim with TRANSMASC SWAG", "it's transmasc dog boy swag for me he's my best boy", "Yamato's boobs call to me I need to motorboat yamato titties. whoa who said that", "yamato could crush me and i would thank him yes indeed", "I just found out Yamato is Literally a whole entire meter taller than me & that's all the convincing I need", "my canon transmasc king", "cant compete with is the fact that on top of beautiful yamato is just. fucking huge like i can not will not get over it every time i remember he's 8'7 in canon I'm like aaaAaaAaAAaAAAAaa kiss me on the mouth big boy", "as an aroace person. if yamato stepped on me id thank him. thank you for your time", "hes literally the whole reason i started watching/reading one piece

Zoro: "The President of the strawhat's local big titty committee", "The king of boobs", "Beautiful butch dyke wife", I would probably get an STD but it would be worth it, "his stupidity and gay attire make him very appealing", canonically the biggest tits in one piece, He got them big naturals, "Big honkabadonkaroo hoinkybadinkirs massive man tiddies Zoro", "Zoro oozes 'I won't let anyone hurt you' energy", "zoro is hot because of his big naturals

Zeff: "He will wine and dine me before leaving me lovingly bedridden the day after. And he actually takes care of his kid", "Zeff is honorable and can cook and clean and bathes and almost dies for a kid that's not his and then adopts him" He's got line cook energy. If you know you know

I definitely know I'm going to have to add to this since there's so many more characters and you all are definitely going to get more creative after seeing the list.

And a few observations. Why did Sanji make the daddy list and not Zoro? Characters that I thought would be short cliff notes turned into some of the longest sections And characters I thought would have some of the longest sections turned into some of the shortest ones. And I still think this was worse theyn JJK I just forget how unhinged this fandom can be because your unhinged craziness is dispersed amongst so many characters. And I haven't decided which fandom's next.

I now have my answer on why Sanji made the list and not Zoro. Overall the fandom is just thirsty so very thirsty. Hence the many updates to this list

Commentary added as of May 4th.

Characters that I never thought I would ever add to this post are on here and I am so confused. When I started this blog, I was warned that the JJK fandom was unhinged horny and thirsty AF. But in my opinion, the one piece fandom is much worse. Just look at this post for proof. One Piece you guys are definitely the thirstiest fandom by far I mean Catherine Devon has a section. You guys just hide it better than the JJK Fandom. Plus I do regret challenging a few of you to come up with tags as a joke because you definitely delivered

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 5 - Grumpy vs. Sunshine

pairing: pre-steddie | word count: 830 | rated: T

“Ugh this is the worst, why is everyone playing Christmas music already? First Melvald’s, then Johnston’s record store, now even the damn arcade is playing this god-awful music.” Eddie grouses, flinging a hand toward the ceiling in general.

“Oh, I see,” Steve laughs, following slowly behind their herd of nerds at Eddie’s side, “It’s fine if I decorate my whole house already, but god forbid anyone else start celebrating?”

“Duh.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause I actually like you, obviously.”

Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest, but he continues to rile up the other man. “Got it, got it; so you don’t like the record store anymore? Don’t like the arcade anymore?”

“I see where you’re going with this and I’m not falling for it. Yes Stevie, Johnston’s and Hawkins’ only arcade have fallen completely out of favor with I, Eddie Munson, for the rest of my days.”

“Okay, so leave.” Steve deadpans, having expected this outcome.

“Also, a declaration like that only works with your full name, Eddie.” Dustin calls back to them.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up you dork.” Eddie waves him off, then changes gears, “So, Steven, what frivolities shall we partake in whilst our hellions engage in their own chaos?”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Okay, okay, hold on, give me a second to try and figure that one out.” he says, pretending to sort through Eddie’s words as if he hasn’t spent enough time around the lot of them to understand what he’d said immediately... “I was going to hit the pinball machine, how about you?” “Ooh perfect!” Eddie rubs his hands together as if that’s something he should be mischievous about. “That SOB S.O.H. is going down today, Stevie. I can feel it.”

So, Steve watches Eddie cajole and smack and tilt and praise the Star Wars branded machine in one of the far corners of the place for the next hour, never getting close to his “sworn arch nemesis” S.O.H.’s high score on the machine. 

“Damn that jerkward!” Eddie complains, kicking one leg of the machine in frustration after his last quarter is gone.

“Jerkwad?” Steve splutters, “No ‘Terrible Archduke bent on World Domination’? ‘Hellbound scum of the earth’? ‘Rancid-breath-having Satan’s-asscrack-smelling bitch of the highest degree’? C’mon man, Eddie Munson can hurl better insults than ‘jerkwad’.”

Eddie just stares at him, mouth agape.

“What? You act like I’ve never spent time around you, Eds. Now get out of the way,” he nudges Eddie out of the way of his machine, and drops a new quarter into the slot. “It’s my turn.”

For the next four hours, Eddie stands rooted to the spot as he watches Steve use a whole three quarters on the machine. The first two times, he beats Eddie’s score, then his own again, stealing the second place spot first from him, then from himself, entering E.M. into the machine each time. 

The last quarter however, the longest game he’s seen yet, Steve manages to beat S.O.H.’s high score. 

“Holy shit!! Steve, you did it! Take that you sonofabitch!” he exclaims, pointing accusatively at the small display scrolling “NEW HIGH SCORE!” in orange letters across it. “You gotta actually put in your initials this time, Stevie.”

Steve just gives him a crooked smile, then shrugs, turning back to the machine to enter an S, an O, and a H into the field.

“No..No, Steve! You can’t let that asshole take the credit! That was your win, Harrington! That wa—” Eddie cuts himself off in realization.

Steve’s still smirking at him. “Yeah, Eds?”

Asshole.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah, Eds?” he repeats.

“What’s your middle name?”

Steve grins wider. “Otis. Why? What’s your middle name, Eddie?”

The bastard.

“I…hate you.”

“Aw c’mon Eddie, don’t be like that!” Steve laughs, following him back through the arcade and out the front door.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I don’t wanna look at you, I don’t wanna—oh gOD fucking damn it!!”

There’s snow falling softly to the wet cement at his feet.

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah, Steve, thanks for pointing that out.”

“You’re welcome, Eddie.”

Eddie shoots him a glare, only to find the smug bastard smiling at him still. His cheeks are flushed, there’s big clumps of snow in his hair, and he looks so goddamn pretty it hurts.

“Awe, sweet! Snow!” Lucas’ exclamation from behind them breaks Eddie’s reverie of Steve’s unfairly attractive face.

The rest of the party troops out from behind him, each expressing their own excitement about the weather. 

“Oh gross, it’s snowing.”

“Thank you, Mike,” Eddie agrees, pointing at the teen, “At least someone here has some sense.”

There’s a sudden warmth over his shoulder as Steve leans close, “I’ll get you to like Christmas somehow, Eds.” The warmth is gone just as soon as it arrives, Steve peeling away nonchalantly to give him a quick wink before starting to herd the cats.

As improbable as that is, Eddie can’t help but believe him.

steve being a whiz at pinball comes from this post by @findafight

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 21 - Lavender 4

This is a long one! I wanted a way for Shanks and Mihawk to come together, and what better way to do that is a nice sick fic!

Shanks is a flirt and both are possessive bastards. They worry about their little treasure. Took some creative liberties with Haki btw! hope you enjoy!

No warnings today!

Masterlist

Hank watches his human lay still and silent in her bed. His nose twitches when a draft comes by and tickles his nose, and a sneeze follows when his little brother comes back and smacks him in the nose. Hank grumbles at the fluffball, but at least Sukuna doesn’t use his claws this time. The cat jumps to the chair that Hank lays under, golden eyes watching his human too. 

Neither animal understands what had gotten into their human. She had yet to get up and start the day like usual, instead, she still sleeps. Hank whines when his nose picks up the scent of something that doesn’t belong on his human, and he shuffles out from under his chair to stand by the bed. Sukuna joins him, jumping from the chair to come to a stop by their person’s head. Hank jumps up, nosing forward and huffing when he picks up that same smell. 

It’s hot and rancid, and the two of them nearly jump a foot into the air when you suddenly groan and roll over, eyes cracking open to the sight of two concerned brothers. 

“Hello children,” You green softly and wince at the soreness of your throat. You snake an arm out from under the covers, shivering when the cooler air of the room floods the blanket cocoon you’ve made around yourself. You feel awful, and you wonder what had changed so suddenly for you to feel this way. You frown as you think. No not suddenly. You’ve not been feeling yourself for a couple of days now. More tired than usual, a constant chill that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried, and you dearly wished that Mihawk and his overheated body were here to help warm you up. 

Sukuna darts forward to press his forehead into your open palm, purring up a storm as his human gently scratches between his ears just the way he likes. Hank shoves him when he heaves the rest of his huge body up, and Sukuna sends the mutt a sharp glare for the disrespect. Their antics bring a giggle out of you, however, so the cat isn’t too upset about it. 

“Gimmie a second and I’ll get up. Not like you’re starving or anything, you gluttons,” You grumble good-naturedly and force yourself to sit up. 

Hank surprises you by butting his big head in your chest and knocking you back down. It takes the wind out of you, and you send a half-hearted glare at the big lug, “Hey. What was that about?”

The shaggy dog whines, not wanting his human up in fear of spreading the hot, sick scent that he can still smell. You break easily when Sukuna teams up with him and steps on your chest, making a round of biscuits and then lying down. You shove one hand into his fluffy orange fur and then the other into Hank’s grey, tangled locks. You have half a thought of brushing him soon before your stuffy brain is making you go back to sleep. 

Sukuna shares a look with his older brother when a soft wheeze spills out of your chest. This is not good. Their human was sick and the other humans who liked to show up were not here, and probably would not be back for a while. The dark-haired one that smelled like steel and old books had left only a week ago.

It’s hours later that you wake again, and luckily, Hank allows you to get up when you express the need to go to the bathroom. He knows what that word means, but still diligently followed after you when you got out of bed because he is a good boy. Sukuna flees to the kitchen, selfish enough to beg for food now that his human is out of bed for now. 

You wash your face after doing your business and look at yourself in the mirror. You look like utter shit, face flushed and skin pale as a ghost from whatever sickness that has a hold of you. You sniff and blow your nose a couple of times, hurting your throat even more each time. A cup of tea sounds like a grand idea, so you shuffle to the kitchen and put on the kettle. You choose a nice chamomile and load the cup up with the honey that Dracule had gifted you not too long ago. A lemon slice is next, another gift, though the lemon tree had come from Shanks on his third visit to your island. 

Speaking of the redhead, it’s been a while since you’ve seen the other man. You assume that his Emperor business is keeping him busy, but you still kinda miss the older man. He always knew how to make you laugh. Gullt curls in you at the thought, but you shove it away and remember the talk that you and Dracule had on his last visit.

Mihawk had assured you several times that he and Shanks had come to some sort of agreement. They would more or less stay out of one another business unless there was a shared concern about your well-being. Dracule had basically given you his permission to seek comfort and companionship in Shanks when the warlord could not be there. 

You still didn’t really know what to think of the idea that Shanks and Mihawk had spoken about you while you weren’t there, and you know that neither of them had come completely clean about whatever deal they had going on.

What you did know was that something fundamental had changed between the two men, but honestly, you didn’t much care about all the details. If they were happy, then you were happy. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself if either man stopped coming to your island, and just the thought of being alone like that makes agony tighten around your heart. You’ve known Mihawk for over a year now, and the reclusive man had slowly opened up to you during that time. He was a friend, a lover, a protector, and you loved him. 

Of course, you haven’t told him yet, you’re not so much an idiot to bring the L word into the equation, not when the very notion made fear strike through you like lightning. You wouldn’t ruin what you have going on with him, not unless he said those three words first. You just couldn’t risk being that lonely again. 

And Shanks? That mischievous man had wiggled his way into your daily thoughts and heart, fast. His easygoing attitude is so different from Mihawk's, but no less enjoyable to be around. 

A loud meow right in your ear has you jerking out of your thoughts. Sukuna stands on the counter, big golden eyes narrowed as he meows loud enough for it to echo in the house. You wave him away and apologize for not being fast enough to meet his majesty’s needs. 

You feed Sukuna his usual dish and a little extra for being patient with you this morning and then go outside to do the same for Hank. He whines when you step outside, but his food easily distracts him so that you can go check on Neal and the three chickens. You really need to give them names, you feel bad that it’s been this long. 

Neal bleats a greeting when he catches sight of his human, and you laugh when he digs into your loose dress for any snacks to be found. You gently steer his the other way, fixing up his feed and water before leaving them to it. You stoke your fireplace and settle in on the couch with a new cup of tea, blankets bundled high around you. 

You still feel awful, and a deep ache has settled in the middle of your back, but the satisfaction of doing something keeps any bad thoughts away. Sukuna and Hank find their way back to your side whenever they finish, bullying you into lying down so that they can cuddle with you on the couch. It works, for you are back to sleep in no time, dead to the world. 

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

Three days later, It’s Neal who hears the sound of loud laughter and the soft thuds of crates hitting the sand down at the beach. He waits until he can see a familiar silhouette trudging up the footpath to his home, hoofs stomping when he realizes that it’s the red-haired one, and not the one with the tasty-looking hat. Neal bleats a warning, loud enough that it gets the attention of Hank who comes bounding out the door. 

Shanks grins when Hank runs to meet him, the shaggy dog jumping up to place his paws on his chest and whining in his face, “Hey, big guy. You seem excited to see me.”

He pets the dog for half a second before Hank jumps down and trots into the cottage. He turns and whines again at Shanks, big eyes demanding the other man to hurry up. Shanks frowns and picks up his pace, entering the cottage with a frown when he notices that you are not up and about like usual. It was midday, but the house was silent as a grave. 

The emperor winds his way through the house, following Hank until he reaches your bedroom. He doesn’t hesitate to step inside, and his chest seizes when he sees the pitiful bundle of blankets and pillows that lie on the bed. He can hardly see you, only your hair making your whereabouts known in the mess on the bed. Hank whines at his feet, paws tip-tapping on the floor in his distress.

“How long has she been this way buddy?” Shanks asks out loud and doesn’t receive an answer, not that he was expecting to. He steps to the side of the bed, knee sliding on the mattress as he reaches over and pulls the blanket closest to your face down.

“Babygirl?” Shanks murmurs and slides his hand along your jaw, hissing when he finds your skin literally ice cold. His hand throbs when he pulls away and he wipes the frost off on his pants leg. Gods, no wonder you were bundled up like you were. 

You groan when he pulls away, your body seeking any amount of warmth and your voice is nothing but a croak when you speak, “Who?”

Shanks slides his hand back to your cheek, uncaring of the cold when he hears how loopy you sound. He wonders if this is how your devil fruit is reacting to you having a fever. Freezing you to the bone instead of warming you. Mihawk would know how to answer that better than he could. 

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Shanks. Think you can tell me what’s wrong?” Shanks shifted more onto the bed, crowding you close in hopes that he could warm you up a little, “You’re freezing, way more than usual, Baby.”

“Dunno. Thought it was a cold, “ You slowly slur as you focus on the handsome man above you. You grin up at him, chest losing one kind of ache now that one of them is here, “Shanks, how was your trip?”

Shanks scoffs at you, eyes rolling skyward as worry curdles tight in his stomach. How could you be asking him questions like that when you looked like a zombie come to life, “It was fine, silly. Don’t worry about that right now. Tell me what I can do to help you get better.” 

Before you can speak, a shiver wracks your body so hard that it leaves your body shivering, teeth chattering and frost creeping up your neck. Shanks jerks his hand back before the dangerous frost can touch him, anxiety curling up when he spots the fear lingering in your eyes. You swallow and curl further in your blanket next, “I don’t know, Shanks. I- I don’t have any medicine. I didn’t think that someone like me could get sick!” 

You don’t have any books on devil fruit users, had no idea how to deal with how your body works sometimes even though you’ve had this horrible power since before you came to this island. You’d always resented the devil fruit inside of you, having never been taught how to properly use your logia abilities. 

Shanks licks his lips. He was out of his depth here. None of his crew had a devil fruit. They’d fought plenty of men and women on the grand line who used them, but Shanks never had the responsibility to know any more than he needed to know about them. 

“That’s alright, Babygirl. We’ll figure it out together, okay?” Shanks assured you and went to rise off the bed only for your hand to shoot out and wrap around his wrist. He looks at you and sees the fever lingering in your eyes, so he changes tactics and shifts to lay down on his side, curling you against his chest, and tossing his arm over your waist to pull you in close. You snuggle close, grateful for the heat that slowly seeps past your blankets. 

Shanks thinks quickly for a solution. He would need to move later, go check on his crew, and see if his crew’s doctor could help with any of this. If that didn’t work then the redhead would call the one person would would most likely know what to do, and Shanks couldn’t help the excitement that erupted at the thought of having his two treasures in the same room together. Despite the situation, it was a chance that Shanks couldn’t pass up.

He wanted to see how the two of you looked curled up together. Wanted to watch the sweet way Mihawk would kiss you and how you would open up to him in kind.  

Turns out that Shanks wouldn’t have to go anywhere, for Benn came to check up on him when he didn’t return after so long. He knocked on the doorframe before peeking his head inside after Shanks told them it was fine.

Benn took one look at your pitiful state and then left to go grab Hongo. The doctor of the crew was able to suggest the proper things than most medical professionals could for what looked like the common cold gone bad, but even he became stumped when it came to the problem of her devil fruit. 

“In a way, It’s preventing her fever from getting too bad, internally at least, but it's also inhibiting the growth of any fresh, healthy cells and bacteria that are trying to get rid of the virus. She needs medicine Captain, and I doubt that I’d be stocked up with what she needs.” 

Shanks sighs heavily from where he sits on your bed, hand behind him to keep hold of your own. You had refused to let go of him, and Shanks didn’t have it in him to leave your side. 

“Bring me my transponder, I need to make a call,” Shanks ordered and Benn left to go find the snail as Hongo packed up his medical bag. 

“Keep her hydrated captain. She needs food too, nothing too solid or hard on her stomach,” Hongo advised and then he was gone too. 

Now alone, Shanks rolls back over, looking down at your scrunched face even in sleep. He smiles and leans down, balanced on his knees so that he can place a quick kiss on your brow, “Don’t worry, Baby. We’ve got you. You’ll be better soon.” 

Benn leaves again when he brings Shanks the snail, though he reminds his friend to call if he needs anything. Shanks had given him a grateful nod and then focused on the transponder, licking his lips as he dialed the number he’d never forgotten. 

Ca-Lick

“There aren’t many people who know this number, who is this?” Dracule sounds furious, and Shanks can hear the sound of shouting and battle in the background, “This better be good.” 

The Emperor takes the dive, “Mihawk, it’s Shanks.” 

The silence on the other end, at least from Dracule, is deafening. It’s only been a month or so since Mihawk had tracked the other man down. He can feel the panic on the other side, and quickly continues, “It’s _, She’s sick, Mihawk, and we don’t have the kind of medicine that she needs.” 

Shanks hears a sudden explosion and then the probable death of whoever it was that Dracule had been fighting. Arousal swirls inappropriately when he listens to Mihawk wields Yoru, and Shanks longs for a time before when he could watch Dracule fight whenever he wanted. The sounds of battle fade away after a moment, and when the warlord speaks next, Shanks can hear the worry lacing every word.

“What do you mean she’s sick? What is wrong with her?” Mihawk had left your island a week and a half ago, and you had seemed just fine then, so what had happened?

Shanks quickly explains the problem, and Dracule wracks his brain for a solution, though one seems unlikely until Shanks mentions that the devil fruit is the problem. He focuses on that, licking his lips as he debates with himself. 

Haki users like Shanks and himself were logia users' worst nightmare since haki could bypass their powers. Could Shanks negate yours long enough that normal medicine and treatment could work? But that could take days to work, especially with just one of them, and Mihawk refused to let someone else from Redhair’s crew get that close to you. Garp would be pissed that he was leaving his assignment half-finished, but Mihawk could care less. His angel and Shanks needed him.  

“Dracule? Is everything okay?” Shanks’ voice brings him back to the present and Drcule straightens up even if the redhead couldn’t see him. He didn’t like how his body had warmed up at the concern he could hear swimming in the other man’s tone. 

“Fine, Shanks. I have an idea.” He informs the redhead then hears Shanks shuffle on the other side of the phone, and realizes that he had to be near you, “Let me speak with her.” 

The emperor shifts so that you are comfortably lying across his chest and can be closer to the transponder snail. You open blurry eyes and sniff harshly, “Mihawk?” 

“There’s my angel,” Dracule coos over the phone, tone soft and full of affection for the young woman, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but Shanks helps,” Comes your blunt reply and Mihawk can’t help the snort of laughter that leaves him. He still feels that jealous sting at knowing the redhead is the one holding you, but it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. Damn, Shanks and his ability to get into people’s good graces, his included.

“Then I am glad he is there for once,” Mihawk quips dryly and fixes his hat, “I’m going to have Shanks try something, Darling. He’s going to try and coat your body in haki. If that works, then your devil fruit shouldn’t be a problem. That way, your immune system can fight off any infection, and you’ll start feeling better.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” You slur, already half asleep by the time he has finished his explanation. Thankfully, you have a redhead who has taken his duty as a caregiver very seriously. 

“This is why I called you, Dracule. You always know what to do,” Shanks praises quietly, voice laced with sincerity. The other man is quiet on the other end, but Shanks doesn’t mind, it just means that he’d surprised him. 

“Just do what I said, you fool,” Mihawk grumbles quietly, “Have Hongo come back and give her some medicine, whatever you have in stock should work once her body is coated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The smile on Shanks’ face is nothing but fond, and he nods even though Mihawk can’t see, “Sure. Be safe, We’ll be waiting for you.” 

You call a weak goodbye to Dracule, lucid enough to hear that he is coming back, and then you are gone again, body weak and exhausted from fighting off the growing virus. Shanks curls around you, focusing on weaving his haki over your body until you are completely coated by his will. 

Shanks doesn’t know how to describe the way it feels to have someone so intimately twined within his will. He can feel everything, every twitch of a muscle, every shallow breath you take. It’s almost overwhelming. However, it seems to be working. 

The frost that has been ever-present has slowly begun to melt away, leaving the blankets damp and uncomfortable, but Shanks feels victorious. He calls for Hongo, and the doctor is back in the cottage in a flash and tells his captain that whatever he is doing, he needs to keep it up. Shanks easily nods, curling around you and focusing on keeping his haki a consistent stream to regulate your body. It’s harder than it looks, and Shanks is very glad that Mihawk is coming.

----------

You are still loopy and out of it when Dracule arrives two days later, pushing his ship as hard as he can and catching every tailwind he can navigate to speed up the process. Even though your body had regulated itself into something more human than logia, the process of recovery was slow going. The Red Haired crew greets the warlord when he makes landfall, but Mihawk is in too much of a hurry to return the greeting.

He darts up the path and into his home, stopping long enough to toss his boots, hat, and coat off, and then Mihawk is creaking open your bedroom door, ringed eyes landing on the bed. What he seems makes him choke up, but in a way he hadn’t expected. 

It’s not anger that he feels upon seeing you curled up in bed with Shanks, blankets tangled around both of you as the redhead holds you to his chest. Your face is pressed into his chest, mouth open in a soft snore that has Mihawk’s lips curling at the sides. Shanks turns his face just enough to catch sight of the older man and send him a weary grin, and it definitely isn’t jealousy that Mihawk feels. No, it is satisfaction, at seeing the two people he cared for most in this world curled up together in the too-small bed. 

Dracule shuffles to the other side of the bed and lays on his side, boxing you in between the two men. He can feel the way Shanks’ haki coats you and his own reaches out to glide along the redheads, curling protectively around you and Shanks both. He jumps when he feels a hand land on his waist and glances over you to see Shanks grinning, that familiar teasing look in his eye. 

You wake between them before Mihawk can puff up about the sudden invasion of space, and his attention is quickly drawn to you. You yawn, and then roll, opening your eyes to see another body beside you that isn’t Shanks. A blush floods your face when you realize that Mihawk is there, his magma-like body pressed close to your own. 

You latch onto him, arms coming up to wind around his neck as you bury your face in his neck. Mihawk tightens his grip on you, kissing your brow as you sniffle into his chest and ramble about how much you missed him. He glances up and catches Shanks watching, a fond, though possessive look in his dark eyes. 

“Thank you for looking after her,” Mihawk whispers once you’ve quieted down. It pains him to admit it, but you would have been so much worse off if Shanks had never shown up.  

“Don’t thank me for something I wanted to do, Baby,” Shanks says and pulls at Mihawk from where his hand still rests on his side. The older man looks exhausted, and Shanks knows that the warlord pushed himself since the phone call, “Sleep, Mihawk. I’ve got you.”   

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax

[opinated-user]

So apparently Lily’s got a fucking Tiktok account now: https://www.tiktok.com/ @lilianorchard . Obviously she hasn’t posted anything awful on there yet, this ask is more just to let people know that it is something she depressingly fucking has now. Oh, and she is following her incredibly conservative, transphobic brother on there who Courtney is somehow worse than. So that’s fucking fun.

A periodic reminder that Lily has absolutely NO fucking standards or actual convictions about anything whatso fucking ever. She will support any person, any belief, and any ideology no matter how rancid/horrific they are, as long as she can use them to make herself feel good. And also as long as they are people that obsessively support her and her alone. That’s why she and Mikaila shamelessly supported and open Nazi on Twitter, and why she is now following her openly, deeply conservative and transphobic fucking brother on Tiktok now. It’s all just completely “head empty, no thoughts as long as you support me and me alone” when it fucking comes to Lily. No wonder it’s fascists/far right bastards that support her and RARELY any marginalized people themselves.

oh, LO has no clue where she is getting herself into. if she thinks we were ruthless here on tumblr or that twitter is mean, she's not prepared at all to how unhinged discourse in tiktok can get.

for anyone curious, these are the people LO is currently following there:

i don't know about the other two men, i don't recognize either, but this is Hank, the brother that is being accused of abusing multiple women, not just Courtney, saying that climate change is a scam.

on this other tiktok hank, while using a hashtag that is also used by hate groups like LibsOnTiktok, is using a completely harmless pride video to say essentially "we have to stop them" and treat them as predators for the crime of being queer.

[circledemptiness]

Can't Get You Out Of My Head – Chapter 1

Fandom: Batman (Arkham Knight) Pairing: Edward Nigma (The Riddler) x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: Angst, Romance

Locked away in Arkham Asylum, the ghost of your complicated relationship with the Riddler still torments you –until an unforeseen reunion gives you the chance to exorcise your past.

✦ Chapter index ✦ Read on AO3

Hey Eddie, you’ve been inside my mind an awful lot, lately.

Your eyes open painfully as you emerge from a restless slumber. It isn’t the shy sun that woke you up, but the inmates screaming bloody murder at the top of their lungs, the guards shouting back threats and orders, banging against the crappy cell walls to scare the lunatics away. You sigh deeply, a tired sound of defeat, as you massage your temples and swallow thickly, desperate for a corner of peace. But there isn’t much to look at or hold onto in your cramped, filthy cell, devoured by rust and humidity.

The hand that was rubbing soothing circles on your forehead falls heavily onto the nasty, uncomfortable mattress. The familiar knot in your throat, which once burned and made silent tears roll down your cheeks, is merely uncomfortable now; you think that people must be right in the end –time must heal all wounds. Or something like that. Perhaps you’ve simply become numb to the utter hell that is Arkham Asylum. After all, you’ve been locked in here for the past eight months. Would be sad if you hadn’t gotten used to this new normal by now.

Breakfast, like every damn morning, has a rancid aftertaste of nightmare. It marks yet another day stuck in this shithole, surrounded by poor bastards who are either brain-dead or wish they were. Drawing aimless shapes with your spoon in your porridge, you glance at the other inmates in the cafeteria. There are the difficult ones, the ones who bite hard and yell even louder —that is, until a guard tases them, beats them, or puts them in solitary; there are the overmedicated ones, who are nothing but the shell of the person they once were, thanks to the chemicals pumped into their system, drooling over themselves and essentially turned mute; and there are the quiet ones who just hope to serve their time without attracting attention, without getting into trouble, fading into the cold walls. You belong to the latter group.

Once you’re done with your quick and disappointing breakfast, which you’re not entirely sure isn’t cardboard, you get rid of your tray and promptly retreat to your cell, under the curious or apathetic gazes of the other inmates. Your fingertips graze the soot-covered walls as you close your eyes, trying to escape to a world far away from Arkham –a world you know all too well. Clunking noises of machinery and electronic orchestras flood your memories, while toxic green lights flash behind your eyelids, replacing the screams and general chaos all around; you hum softly, letting your mind wander freely through familiar visions of the past.

Hey Eddie, I’ve been thinking about you and I a lot.

Your bed creaks infernally loudly as your body falls onto it, lethargic and empty, stripped of all life and desire. Rolling onto your side, you mechanically pull your knees to your chest, burying your head in the cocoon you've created, holding your fatigued body. Deep breaths.

Every day gets better, you convince yourself; you have to, or you'll lose more than just your freedom in this rotten place. Despite your most valiant efforts not to teeter on the edge of insanity, there are always days like today when bitterness takes over, leaving something sour in your mouth –tastes like regrets and shameful memories of him.

Would be so much easier if you hated him, but you know that isn't true. Not when you're fighting so hard to remember him, remember the features of his face that time has dulled. Memories of him come in flashes, and burn like them, too. Your mind seems to have done a spectacular job of erasing him, erasing everything about him that hurts. But your heart resists, stubbornly refusing to let go. A voracious passion that stirs your innards unpleasantly, like a sickness, a plague that nothing can cure.

A loud, yet friendly knock on your door snaps you back to the grim reality, pulling you out of your distressed episode. You shift in bed, grunting at the unsolicited visitor as you drag your body to the door, rubbing your bright, tear-filled eyes on the sleeve of your beige facility shirt. Another inmate greets you with a meek smile, leaning against the metallic frame. His name is Dennis, a broad, tall man, who you can never quite tell if he's "fully there" anymore. His voice has a sing-song quality, much too cheerful for your gloomy mood.

"Wanna watch TV? Better than spending the day sulking, or what?" he snorts.

You nod. Yeah, yeah, you want to watch the damn TV. Why not.

Hey Eddie, I can’t get you out of my head, you know.

You absentmindedly watch the dusty screen in the hobby room, surrounded by other companions huddled in front of the idiotic romcom. Some of them laugh far too loudly at a joke from last decade, and even Dennis seems amused beyond reason. Nice distraction, you suppose; too bad it isn’t nearly good enough to truly pull you out of your train of thought –or really, make you laugh. But wait, there’s a romantic scene now. The lunatics whistle and coo with "aww"s and "oww"s as the characters kiss and embrace, and it makes you feel funny, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You cross your arms over your chest and frown as something tingles in a special part of your heart, like it’s piercing through you.

Images flash through your mind, as if someone is pinching your brain at strategic points, fueled by a cruel need to torment you. Pain shoots down to your stomach, tying a knot so tightly that you swear something’s going to burst in your guts, spilling its contents onto the damn plastic chair. Each heartbeat stings, feeling like someone’s driving a nail into your bones, and yet you don’t scream; you merely endure the sharp memories that now feel like insults.

You become an unwilling spectator of a movie you wish you could forget entirely. Can almost feel his hands caressing the back of your neck. His adoring gaze silently pleading with you. The taste of his chapped lips.

You look down at your feet. Dennis nudges your elbow and offers you one of his trademark dead-inside smiles, and you nod, returning a soft grin. Fucking Dennis.

The pain doesn’t stop. That feeling, it burns your throat, closing it to the point where it’s nearly impossible to swallow. You can’t quite describe the precise nature of the torrent of emotions flooding through you –a filthy mix of sadness, regret, spite, and fury. Feels like they grow in intensity and violence the longer you let them fester. Digging your fingernails into your forearms, you hold yourself until your knuckles turn white, half-moons carved into your skin.

There’s a static noise in your brain now as you gaze far too intently at the once-white, now greyish wall in front of you. There’s a stain on the wall, probably from an insect that has been smashed not so terribly long ago. It doesn’t even look all that wrong, with all the filth surrounding it –surrounding you. Probably how you feel too, right now. An insect smashed against the wall. That’s how it all started anyway, isn’t it? Eight months ago.

Hey Eddie, you still haunt me.

You witnessed the rise and fall of the Riddler. His brilliant intellect shining through impeccably crafted designs, each cunning scheme infused with a passion that only he possessed. You also observed his sanity regressing to the most miserable depths of delusion, nurtured by an ardent hatred and an insatiable desire for revenge. And somewhere right in the middle, you were there.

Once his nameless assistant, you poured your sweat and blood into his cause –a cause you somewhat believed in. Not so much in the chaos and violence he spread, but in the exhilarating thrill of being so close to his glory. It was addictive.

To you, he appeared as an angel made of light, a deity among the mediocre plebeians, and you were merely a mortal, worshiping him reverently if it meant catching a glimpse of his triumphant smile, witnessing his success, and basking in all his magnificence. You lived for his design –perhaps you lived for him, really; after all, you always felt like an empty shell, forever lacking purpose in your life.

You still can’t pinpoint the exact moment you became aware of your own feelings, but you do remember the intensity of your passion for him, how it burned inside you. As a result, quite sadly, you excused his constant moodiness and frustrated insults, glossing over his explosive anger and unwelcome ruthlessness. You never really did anything to deserve such treatment, but, truthfully, a single triumphant smile from him was all it took to make you forget everything else. The sparkles in his emerald eyes kept you from leaving, even though you considered it quite frequently. 

Surprisingly, over time, he even grew accustomed to your presence, visibly appreciated your patience. You were no longer just a nameless, burdensome assistant. Most importantly, he loved that you loved him. Your balmy and encouraging words, along with your compliance and submissive nature, filled a void he desperately tried to conceal and ignore –a deep-rooted illness that plagued him. Your love was nurturing, your love was safe, your love was unconditional.

Progressively, almost insidiously, the boundaries of your once strictly professional relationship became unclear and undefined. Pet names were occasionally exchanged, a chaste touch sometimes concluded the day, and deeper, more intimate conversations became less and less unusual. This only fueled the ever-growing, ferocious fire burning inside you, and although you remained starved for more, you suspected (well, hoped, really) that he felt the same.

One fateful night would forever alter the nature of your relationship –or so you thought. You can still recall the infernal noise of machinery growling and screeching in the iron hell of his hideout, vivid green lights glaring against the walls and casting strange silhouettes, while steam hissed from heavy pipes like devilish snakes. In the center of this almost arena-like space stood a terrifying giant of metal –a golem designed to assure Edward’s triumph and crush his mediocre, insufferable caped opponent.

Edward screamed as his creation came to life, a raw yell of success, primal and visceral in essence, expressing all his excitement, hard work, and furious desire for revenge. Finally, it was complete –the ultimate weapon that would surely lead him to victory. And you were standing right next to him, bearing witness to this moment in history, your heart racing so frantically in your chest that it felt like it might explode.

But what truly pushes you over the edge is the way he looked at you –with the brightest eyes, two emeralds glowing in the dim, iron-clad room. His gaze, so intense and almost childlike in its essence, conveyed more than words ever could. And when he smiled at you, wide and full of teeth, a smile so pure and honest, you felt it deep in your core: there was no appropriate response, nothing that could capture the moment. Words have become utterly meaningless.

It happened almost organically, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In one fluid motion, you moved toward his enthralled form, your hands reaching up to cup his face. Before he could react, you pulled him into a kiss –tender and chaste, yet it only felt natural. For a moment, surprise froze him in place, his eyes wide and blinking owlishly, but then you felt him relax in your embrace. One arm snaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he kissed you back with the unrestrained passion of the emotionally starved man that he was.

His chapped lips tasted of dirt and sweat, the remnants of days spent in hard labor; his scent was just as raw –pungent and animalistic. You wish you could call it repulsive, but it really was the exact opposite; every part of him ignited a fire deep behind your navel, a heat you never knew you could feel, and couldn’t have imagined needing so intensely –like water to drink or air to breathe.

Swallowing each other’s gasps, sharing the same breath, you became a single creature of desire and affection. You lost yourself in him, savoring the warmth of his hand as it roamed over your back –both pulling you closer and exploring the softness of your skin beneath your shirt, while his other hand gripped the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, as if holding on to prevent you from vanishing. If only he knew how far from the truth that was.

You deepened the kiss, savoring the softness of his tongue and the taste of his mouth, all while tugging desperately at his filthy shirt, never wanting to let him go. In that moment, you swear you could have died right there, in his arms, within the metal Eden he had crafted with his own two hands –as if he were both Creator and the first Man, and you, his creation and other half.

But you didn’t die, in the end, and the piercing shriek of an alarm tore you both from that otherworldly embrace. His hands still held you by the waist as he looked at you through half-lidded eyes, the green of his irises nearly swallowed by an obsidian sea. His parted lips, swollen from your shared passion, his flushed cheeks, and his soft panting mirrored the storm within you. You had no doubt you looked much the same, your hands still cradling his face, thumbs gently tracing circles over his fatigued skin. His gaze held so much –so much left unsaid– but in your heart, you wanted to believe there was a confession there, silent but true. In the end, you never knew.

He left the arena eventually, drawn away by the pressing matters that demanded his attention. After all, there was still so much work to do –his vengeance couldn’t wait, his victory couldn’t wait. But for a fleeting moment, you had truly felt like a part of it, part of the grand design he had spent years crafting and perfecting. You were wrong, of course. And when he pulled his body away from yours, stealing all the warmth you had shared, you felt cold and lonely once again.

Neither of you ever mentioned the events of that night again, even though it left you with even more doubts and questions. He didn’t try to kiss you after that, which you had almost expected. What you hadn’t anticipated was that all the small gestures of affection –his occasional touches throughout the day, his terms of endearment, your intimate conversations– would stop altogether as well. Now, every time he was around you, he seemed conflicted, pensive, troubled; a sight obvious even to you. More doubts plagued your mind and twisted your heart: was the answer he was searching for not as clear to him as it was to you? Did he not love you back?

You had spent months trying to decipher the emotional riddle that was Edward Nigma, and you were convinced you had him all figured out by now. You shared entire evenings together, exchanging secrets and deep memories he had never revealed to anyone else, baring his soul to you like never before. You wanted to believe in his love so deeply that there was no room for doubt in your mind. To you, this passionate kiss only confirmed what you had always believed –or rather, what you thought you knew. Were you truly that blind?

For weeks, or perhaps months, you chased after him, chased after his love, with painful patience and delusion. There was something profoundly pathetic in the way you offered him a professional, polite distance while drowning him in flattery and praise. You encouraged him even when it wasn’t needed, all in the desperate hope of seeing half a smirk or even receiving a slight nod in your direction, which you welcomed with the devotion of a dog wagging its tail for an undeserving master.

A few times, you tried to rekindle the faint spark that once flickered between you. But when his only response to your fingers brushing against his shoulders was to flinch and turn away, redirecting his attention elsewhere, you realized that the fire had long since burned out. The rejection never stopped hurting, no matter how many times you tried to subtly seduce him.

Eventually, even you grew weary of his mercurial temper. You can’t quite recall the final catalyst, but one night, you decided to choose yourself instead. You ended the exhausting song and dance you had performed for the faintest glimpse of his attention. He had been starving you emotionally, while you kept him full and glowing. Surely, even you deserved better.

And so, at the end of your tasks, you simply wished him goodnight, as you always did. He turned his head in your direction and gave you a cold nod, never offering more than a fleeting acknowledgment. As he always did. But this time, it felt different. That night, you began mourning what had never truly existed.

You began rationalizing, compartmentalizing –anything to stop yourself from drowning in parasitic thoughts. You flirted with him, and it escalated into a kiss. That’s all it ever was. The reality of your relationship came crashing down, shattering inside you, sending tremors through your body with the bitterness of withdrawal as you processed it all, alone in your bed. You knew you had to end this charade and reclaim ownership of your thoughts, your feelings, your life.

You stopped wishing him goodnight and no longer brought him fresh water when he neglected his own needs. You stopped asking about his latest creations, and stopped praising him constantly. Gradually, day by day, you withdrew emotionally, picking up the pieces of your heart scattered in the aftermath, protecting yourself as you built walls around your feelings.

The most intriguing reaction came then; his behavior shifted, almost imperceptibly at first. One evening, after another long day of work, as you silently gathered your belongings to leave the iron room, his voice echoed faintly behind you –a hesitant, “Goodnight?”, which sounded almost like a needy question. Was he offended that you had withdrawn your small gestures of care? Hurt, perhaps? You weren’t entirely sure. But the next day, Edward was in a foul mood, marked by bouts of misplaced anger and frustration. And the day after that, it only worsened. The more you withheld your affection, the more his temper soured. It made sense, really -he loved feeling loved. You might have laughed at the irony, if only your heart wasn’t aching so deeply.

Hey Eddie, was it really all inside my head?

As days stretched into weeks, the tension between you grew unbearable. Edward’s tantrums became an almost daily ritual, his anger igniting at the smallest –and, frankly, often absurd– mistakes. Yet, through it all, you remained composed, offering only quiet apologies, fully aware that this wasn’t about your errors or submission. You refused to give in to his provocations, unwilling to let him punish you for the tangled emotions he couldn’t untie or understand.

After one particular one-sided fight –another conflict that seemed to arise from nothing, a feeble excuse on his part to provoke a reaction, to ignite some passion within you– heavy words spilled from his mouth like a wretched torrent of insults, laced with anger and, perhaps, something else, something deeper, more visceral. His voice broke almost imperceptibly, his composure faltering as his final words struck you like a blade, cutting something deep within you. 

“You don’t understand! You don’t understand anything!”

And despite the loud, oppressive environment, everything suddenly fell silent. His expression was distorted in panic, frustration, and something that almost resembled despair –a sight that was strangely heartbreaking, though you couldn’t quite explain why. Pressing your lips into a thin line, your brow furrowed with anguish, and you sighed, defeated. That was the tragedy of your relationship; you wanted to understand him –if only he would let you.

“Show me, then. What don’t I understand?” you murmured, your voice as soft and calm as possible, offering what felt like an olive branch, maybe even a truce. But he said nothing.

His silence carried the bitter weight of failure, and as the ache in your chest swelled into something more fierce, you sighed, closing your eyes in an attempt to gather your fractured thoughts and soothe the storm of emotions. Then, you felt it -his warmth, growing closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath brushed your skin, like a soft wave lapping at the shores of your face. His lips almost brushed yours, barely a whisper away from your flushed skin, as if hesitating, seeking permission, or needing you to lead the final step and close the distance; perhaps it was all of those things at once.

Your throat tightened, and you remained immobile –unsure, overwhelmed. And just as quickly as it appeared, his warmth vanished, leaving behind only the silence as he quietly left the room under your agonising gaze.

You often wondered if it was a mistake to maintain this false boundary, to let him throw his passionate tantrums while you withheld the affection that once sustained him, even as he, in return, left you starved. But as your eyes glowed with unshed tears, the ache of unrequited love tightening in your chest, you reminded yourself that you couldn’t go back. You were too old, too drained to play these endless games –even with him, even with the Riddler.

Every now and then, you’d extend an olive branch, testing the waters by sharing something about your day like you used to, trying to open a dialogue beyond the rigid confines of your work. That was the most you allowed yourself to offer. Yet, he remained perfectly uninterested, his pride too wounded to admit what he truly craved from you. Stubborn asshole.

An inmate yells as the episode wraps up, immediately bringing you back to the present. You flinch, startled, suddenly reminded that you’re still very much trapped here, and still very much pissed. Dennis turns to you, flashing a grin that’s more wolf than man, his expression wrecked and ravaged as he asks what you thought of the latest episode.

The man has always had a thing for his soap operas. Why, you have no idea –but he never misses a single one, even though they’re all on DVD and could be watched any time. He could even ask a guard to play one whenever he wanted. But you guess watching it at a scheduled time gives him the illusion of spontaneity, like he’s back at home in front of the TV (did he even have a home left on the outside?). Something like that. You’re not sure you understand half of what’s going on in the back of his brain anyway.

Hell, you’re not even sure you know what’s wrong with you, most of the time.

✦ Next Chapter

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Usopp fumbles in his pockets, digging for a throwing knife or a smoke bomb or a something — comes up empty handed, damn it, why is it always like this in dreams? Can never find anything when you need it. If he turned to run now, he’s sure he’d be running in slow-motion.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” He demands instead. “You’re not my nightmare!” His voice cracks on the last word, high and frightened and making him a liar, but what else is new?

Stealth Black tilts his head, smiling an awful little closed-lipped smile. He’s blond tonight, and it sparks something furious and painful in Usopp’s chest. How dare he wear Sanji’s color? How dare he wear Sanji’s face?

“Are you sure?” he laughs, and it’s Sanji’s laugh, that low chuckle in his chest. Usopp grits his teeth until his jaw aches. “Are you sure I don’t scare you worse than dying?”

Sanji’s hands, raising a cigarette to his lips. Sanji’s voice and Sanji’s words but he’s not fucking Sanji. He’s not even real.

Stealth Black stands up, and the whole fucking counter just crumbles away under him. Sanji’s meticulously neat workstation with all the bells and whistles Usopp and Franky have built into it, just gone, chunks of marble and rotting wood under the bastard’s feet. Usopp makes a sound, almost a snarl, almost a sob. His next breath in smells vile, like rotting produce and rancid mean. Something’s leaking out of the fridge. It puddles on the floor and then spreads, soaking into the floorboards, pooling at Usopp’s feet. Maggots writhe in the rot.

“Your mind makes me real,” Stealth Black says. He takes a step forward. Usopp takes a too-slow step back, and then another, until he can’t anymore with the table digging into his tail bone. “Yours, and his, and theirs. I could be living and breathing by now with how much he thinks of me. I could be more real than he is.”

There are rats in the pantry and flies in the fridge. The table, when Usopp grabs it, is caked in layers and layers of dust. Usopp turns to look, to watch his fingers leave stark streaks in the grime, and that — somehow, that’s the part of this that hurts the worst.

This is the table where they eat. Every meal, three times a day, this is the table the whole crew crowds around, laughing and arguing and shoving at each other, stealing food of each others plates because they know there’s plenty for everyone. This is the table where Sanji feeds them. This is the table where Sanji keeps them fed.

Stealth Black is still talking. “I grow like a tumor inside of him,” He says. He’s so close now, the heat of him at Usopp’s back. “And now you’re infected with me too, and I’ll kill all of you from the inside.”

The fridge creaks and swells. The pantry door splits open. Everything is rot and rubble, churning with bugs. Rats go scurrying across the floor, over Usopp’s feet to burrow into the walls.

This is Sanji’s kitchen.

He can feel Stealth Black’s breath on his neck. Usopp’s pockets are still empty, so he donkey-kicks instead, putting his hips and back into it, leveraging off the table to land his heel in Stealth Black’s gut and send him stumbling back. Not far, but far enough for Usopp to spin on the ball of his foot and land another kick, high and using his body’s momentum, scything at the bastard’s head.

Stealth Black makes a choked sound, more startled than in pain, but he moves back another step and that’s enough. That will have to be enough.

“Is that what you think you’re gonna do?” Usopp snarls. He dives for the knife block on the floor, and this time his body moves as fast as he needs it to. Sanji’s fancy kitchen knives have shit balance, they weren’t made for throwing, but they’re the best Usopp’s got right now so he snatches up two of them and rises to face his friend’s bogeyman. Stealth Black, shockingly, doesn’t charge at him. He’s just watching Usopp, an unreadable expression on his stolen face. Usopp stares right back.

“He builds you up so much in his head,” Usopp shouts. “He’s terrified of you, but I see you. I see you! And you’re not some — some demon sent by Germa to possess him. You’re just a bad dream!”

[jonsmissingribs]

I love how in the album Orpheus is treated as this little baby boy cinnamon roll who definately doesnt belong with the criminals and must be protected at all costs 🥺🥺🥺

And then you read the fiction and he's like an absolutely depressed bastard. Just fuck awful rancid vibes. Highkey pathetic and wettest cat around (according to him)

[firecrackerhh]

I don’t think sending people death threats is right or whatever, but I’m not gonna pretend like the people crying about our very fucking existence haven’t done the same exact shit.

But of course, antis don’t have shit to say when WE get fucking harassed, fuck us right? Maybe we would be kinder to them if they showed any respect for us! But noooooo, fuck that, god forbid they don’t virtue signal every wretched hour about how every little aspect of the show, fandom and creator included, pisses them the fuck off at all times and how awful we are and how dangerous to society we are or whatever the fuck you mentally ill weirdos believe.

But the second we give them back that energy they wanna play victim? Spare me. Play in fucking traffic or something.

“But that’s-“ what? Is it mean? Am I hurting your wittle fee fees? 🥺 oh you poor fucking babies. Cry to someone who gives a fuck.

It’s not like any fan who tells these people to off themselves is gonna actually do it, antis live off of spite and hatred and frankly anyone with such rancid opinions as them tunes us the fuck out anyway. It’s the ones who don’t y’all should be worried about.

I just wish these people could stop being such fucking hypocrites. Like you can’t bitch and moan about death threats when you’re in a group of people who routinely say that others should die over fictional fucking bullshit.

May I remind you all that this fandom wasn’t half as bad before these miserable fucks came in and started their whining and crying over their bad faith takes on everything involving the show? If anything, these people love the drama, they love the attention, it’s probably the only reason why some of these bastards wake up in the fucking morning! But sure, cry like our negative attention isn’t what you want.

Sure, it’s the hazbin fans that routinely send death threats, say racist shit, act homophobic, whatever, yeah, it’s always the fans right? Never antis, no, not them, pure cinnamon rolls they are./sarcasm

Clean up your own fucking house before you judge other people’s dumbfuck.

And yeah sure, Squidiot apologized for whatever bad shit she’s said and done in the past, but to be honest with you folks, I don’t believe this bitch for a second.

Lmao the same bitch who claimed that Viv was going to destroy society with her fucking cartoons thinks sending death threats is bad when by her own ‘logic’ (if you could even call it that) the only way Viv’s “society ending” cartoons would stop being created is if she died.

I can’t imagine being such a fucking tool to where I don’t fucking realize “hey…maybe this group of people routinely sending death threats to people over fictional bullshit isn’t the group I belong in” but then have the balls to say to the world “Vivziepop’s cartoon empire should fall!!!” Or whatever wacko shit without realizing the consequences of such a statement.

And just for the sake of clarity, yeah, clearly I’m not the pinnacle of kindness myself, I’m beyond aware, but Christ, at least I don’t directly send people death threats or whatever, like yeah, I’ve said bad shit before, I’m not denying that, but at least I don’t send it to the people I’m mad at.

If an anti sees my posts and that makes them angry that’s their own fault for looking at my shit to begin with.

Honestly the fact that most of those pictures of “harassment” the anti showed of non-Hazbin fans is at most fans telling the person “can you shut the fuck up” is kinda evidence to me these people are babies.

Like statistically I know there’s gotta be some subsection of fans who do send death threats on the regular and that shit isn’t ok, but shitty people are in every fandom my dude, it’s kinda inevitable, maybe stop whining that the hazbin fandom doesn’t do enough to remove people from the fandom and focus on your fucking behavior.

As if removing people from any fandom is even really possible, definitely for a fandom the size of Hazbin. It isn’t like we vote in leaders or something, it isn’t like Viv is Zeus and the big Hazbin accounts are Olympians, at most you can warn people of a person’s behavior, ostracize them even, but that doesn’t guarantee they’ll stop watching the show or engaging in fandom in other ways or with a different group of people or something.

People are awful, so most fandoms are toxic waste dumps, the hazbin fandom isn’t special, neither are antis, we’re all varying degrees of awful, it’s just a matter of what degree you are, and I think being an anti is significantly worse than any fan of a stupid fucking cartoon.

Giving off some real “I have the right to free speech!” Energy tbh. Like we all have an opinion my dude, doesn’t mean we’re obligated to endure your horseshit.

But on the bright side, that free speech bullshit applies to us as much as them, truly nothing is more American than telling a bitch to shut the fuck up over their bullshit-ass opinion. God bless America.

🧨🔥~Firecracker out~🔥🧨

[charlottesweetly]

please oh my god thyme bastard (charted cafe au) has a scrapped scene where ted (customer) buys a rancid drink just to see how it tastes and charlotte (barista) is just like "are u sure." but makes it anyway and it does taste awful and ted lets her have a sip and then she makes him a new drink and fuck off that EXACT THING happened to me today

[gardenofedenuniverse]

Alexander Skarsgård: ‘There’s a politeness to Swedes. It’s a facade. Deep down we’re animals’

The actor talks about his new film, the explicit sci-fi horror Infinity Pool, why he gave up acting for eight years – and why he likes playing darker, more twisted characters.

Alexander Skarsgård: ‘I’m quite mellow in my disposition.’ Photograph: Charlie Clift

Alexander Skarsgård is an embarrassing creep who tries to coerce women into partying naked with him in hotel suites. Or so it would seem from the version of himself that he played last year in Donald Glover’s comedy Atlanta. “I’m not saying that I dance around in a leopard-print thong in front of girls I don’t know,” he says. “But I’m also not saying that I don’t. That kind of thing works really well when there’s a kernel of truth in it.”

This twinkling, teasing playfulness represents the default setting of the 46-year-old actor. His natural self-deprecation is what makes it so startling when he turns up on screen as another of the brutes and bastards that have become his speciality over the years. There was the violently abusive husband in the HBO series Big Little Lies and the violently abusive cop in War on Everyone; a racist in Passing and a rapist in the Straw Dogs remake, as well as a sad, moustachioed sleazeball who sleeps with his partner’s underage daughter in The Diary of a Teenage Girl. Eric, the vampire he played across all seven series of True Blood, was an absolute catch by comparison.

It could even be argued that Skarsgård looks lost or vague in those roles that don’t supply some darkness to temper his natural sheen. He was ferocious as a mud-caked proto-Hamlet in Robert Eggers’s wild Viking epic The Northman, but as the yodelling vine-swinger in The Legend of Tarzan, there was none of the usual depth present behind his beauty. Whereas his character in the new satirical horror Infinity Pool – directed by Brandon Cronenberg, son of David – is up to his disbelieving eyes in vanity, amorality and rancid privilege.

Skarsgård plays a novelist called James living off the wealth of his wife, Em (Cleopatra Coleman), and struggling to write a second book six years after his debut. In search of inspiration, he and Em visit a luxurious resort in an unnamed country. What begins as a taunting comedy about the awfulness of the 1% veers off into extremity when the couple fall in with the hedonistic Gabi (Mia Goth) and her partner, Alban (Jalil Lespert). All it takes for the impressionable James to be hooked by these reprobates is a few compliments from Gabi followed by a sex act shown in graphic detail. “My job is so hard,” the actor says with a smirk.

Cronenberg and Skarsgård are both the sons of talented men. (Skarsgård’s father is Stellan Skarsgård who, like him, is part of the Lars von Trier Cinematic Universe.) Director and actor also have a certain placid temperament in common. “There’s a politeness to Canadians and Swedes,” says Skarsgård. “But it’s all just a fucking facade. Deep down we’re animals. We’re just very good at concealing it.” He gestures at me. “Brits too. It’s all down there, though. You can just open the tap and let it out. That’s what this movie does.”

Even as the film descends into gruesome horror, Skarsgård remains committed to the idea of his character as a show pony with delusions of being a stallion. “James is arm candy. His wife buys him all these expensive clothes. The two of them look like something out of a travel brochure: the perfect couple on vacation. And he’s trying to play that part while wanting also to be this serious author. But he’s not a Charles Bukowski, he’s not tormented and twisted. He isn’t in touch with the darker side of his personality.”That changes when James finds himself facing the death penalty after accidentally killing a local farmer. He is assured by the police that there is a way out: for a hefty price, a clone of him can be created to take the fall on his behalf. This is no dumb beast, however; the sacrificial lamb will possess all his memories and feelings. It will, in effect, be indistinguishable from him. In a film featuring explicit sex and violence, there is still nothing quite as unnerving as the moment James encounters his own double as it wakes with a shocked gasp in a vat of red goo.

“The film company gave me a prosthetic of the clone’s face with all that goo round it,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s incredibly disturbing. What am I meant to do with it? Should I just hang it on the wall? Put it in the fridge?” He decided to go down the practical joke route. “When I have guests over, I’ll hide it in different places around the house.”

Would he take the clone option himself, I wonder? “One hundred per cent! I don’t blame James for going to the ATM. But it opens up other questions. If the clone retains all his memories, then how will he ever know that he is not the clone? Maybe they’re killing the real James. That fascinated me, and I love that there’s no answer in the movie. To throw another wrench in the works: maybe James has even been to the island already. Maybe he’s done this sort of thing before.”

These questions of authenticity, dilution and duplication are especially intriguing for an actor who proposed that twisted alternate version of himself in Atlanta, and who claims to suffer even now from impostor syndrome. Had you been present in 2008 on the set of Generation Kill, the HBO Iraq war mini-series written by the creators of The Wire and shot in Namibia, Mozambique and South Africa, you might have noticed him sitting off to one side between takes, quietly totting up figures with a pen and paper. “It was my first big job,” he explains. “I was so convinced they were going to fire me that I started calculating the cost of recasting the role once they realised I wasn’t good enough. A month or two in, I was still convinced that every time the phone rang, it was my agent saying: ‘Pack your bags, you’re not cutting it.’ It was only when we’d done some big battle scenes that I knew it would be too expensive to replace me.”

It wasn’t as if he has a history of flunking, though there was the job in the Stockholm bakery that he was sacked from at the age of 16. “We were dipping little biscuits in chocolate for six hours a day in a basement and that was the only thing we got to do,” he says pleadingly, as though mounting the case for his defence. “When you get chocolate on your fingers, it’s tempting to put little stains on your buddy’s white robes. That turned into a bit of a food fight.” He smiles bashfully. Chocolate wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

A few years earlier, he had abandoned a childhood acting career after feeling freaked out by all the attention he received. “When people recognised me, or I thought they did, it made me very uncomfortable. I also believed everything I heard about who I was. Most people at 13 have no idea who they are. I was going from a boy to a man, which is a crazy transformation anyway, but to do it while being in the spotlight was not healthy. That’s why I didn’t work for eight years.” What could he learn now as an actor from his younger self? “There was a lot of joy,” he says. “That makes me sound bitter now! But there was something innocent and lovely and wide-eyed. It’s worth remembering that it can still be a big silly game.”

On Becoming a God in Central Florida. Photograph: Everett Collection Inc/Alamy

His continuing appetite for comedy bears this out. He was a riot in the opening episode of On Becoming a God in Central Florida, where he played a dope who gets involved with a pyramid scheme before being eaten by an alligator. (His on-screen wife was Kirsten Dunst. For further proof that their marriages never end well, see Von Trier’s apocalyptic Melancholia.) He also goofs around gloriously in the new season of Documentary Now!, in which he stars as a Werner Herzog-esque director shooting an epic in the Urals while simultaneously showrunning a US network comedy pilot called Bachelor Nanny. “I’ve met Herzog a few times over the years, but I don’t know if he’s seen this yet,” he says, slightly sheepishly. “I’m curious to hear what he thinks.”

It was in fact comedy that tempted Skarsgård back to acting again after all those years away. He was on holiday in Los Angeles in the early 00s when his father’s agent suggested he try out for an audition. Six weeks later, he was pootling around New York in the back of a Jeep with Ben Stiller, pouting away happily as gormless Swedish model Meekus in Zoolander. Getting that job was such a breeze that he was crestfallen to be knocked back repeatedly in other Hollywood auditions. He returned to Sweden to continue acting; another six years elapsed before Generation Kill kickstarted his US career.

These days, he seems somehow both ubiquitous and judicious. He is getting ready to make his directorial debut with The Pack, in which he and Florence Pugh star as documentary makers in Alaska. And he will return this month in the fourth and final season of Succession, which reportedly places even greater emphasis on Skarsgård’s character, the tech bro Lukas Matsson. Another bad boy of sorts.

With Brian Cox and Kieran Culkin in Succession. Photograph: Graeme Hunter

“Quite a few of the projects I’ve chosen deal with the juxtaposition of someone trying to function in modern society while also dealing with that atavistic primal question of who he is deep down and what happens when that flares up and can’t be suppressed any longer,” he says. “It’s incredibly cathartic to play those roles. Maybe because I’m quite mellow in my disposition. These darker, more twisted characters give me an opportunity to howl that primal scream and let it out, which I rarely do in everyday life.”

James in Infinity Pool has his head turned by the tiniest compliment; Skarsgård knows that, for all his own protestations about refusing to read what is written about him, he is just as susceptible to praise. “I really don’t read reviews,” he says. “That said, it’s so nice when people enjoy your work enough to come say something or take a photo. I’d prefer that to the alternative, which is crawling around in the mud for seven months and giving it everything and then it’s just … crickets. I like people appreciating what I’ve done. I’m a vain motherfucker!”

[scenicphoenix]

God tell me about it

My first therapist was a real piece of work

Didn’t know how to deal with SHIT, would openly talk about other patients problem (took phone calls during appointments and than told me the problem of the patient she got off the phone with) and would talk about how my problem would be fixed if I became christian

THAT SOUNDS AWFUL

Therapists who just yap about other patients should be outright ashamed and fired. The only time my current therapist has ever told me about someone was to tell me I’m not the only queer person she speaks to to help me feel less isolated in the rural Midwest.

A lot of Christians and Catholics don’t know shit about mental health. A family “friend” outright thinks it’s bogus and a principal when I was in elementary school and middle school thought I was faking shit. Same principle was apparently afraid of me because of my mental outbursts, I don’t know how adults can fear children they manhandle regularly. Neurotypical children get upset when manhandled, undiagnosed and undermedicated child me was having melt downs. I don’t like being touched without my permission to this very day.

You can skip my god talk if you want (My relationship with god is complicated. To hold any form of faith in the bastard I consider them an artist or writer that can’t interact with us in real meaningful way besides edits to the story or canvas. If god is an artist and/or writer then I kinda understand the madness of the world, you want an interesting story to tell. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.) god talk over

The rancid YouTube comments people keep thinking I’m the crazy one for saying we shouldn’t be calling anyone a serial killer unless they’re Ted bundy or some shit. Is bullying kids online for their mental health normal for them?! I’m going to just mute YouTube I think. Their argument is that killing animals is an early sign of becoming a serial killer. And I wasn’t really saying it wasn’t, I was saying we shouldn’t be calling mentally ill people serial killers in the making. We shouldn’t be cyber bullying people. Especially children. But I also think their argument is bull shit and they watch too much true crime. Is farmer joes son who learned to kill chickens for the family young and learn to hunt deer going to be a serial killer?! Fuckers?!

Christians will find anyway possible to try and convert people. Going into psychology to convert mentally ill people is piece of shit behavior. And a lot of Christians (hey mom!) think queers/lgbt people online are converting their children. They are projecting I think!

[mrmonster459]

The Skunk Ape

“And we’re here.” My coworker Tyson said, as he stopped his truck in a flat, grassy area near the marsh.

We had a three day weekend thanks to Memorial Day, and I was spending it hunting with a pair of coworkers, Mike and Tyson. Truth be told, I didn’t like these guys very much, never did. But, they invited me out with them, and I figured it would be better than a normal three day weekend at home, just streaming TV with my girlfriend.

She almost didn’t let me go. I love her, but she is crazy (or at least back then, I thought she was); she believed some local news story she saw on TV about some rednecks who said that this huge, apelike monster, one  that smelled as rancid as a dumpster, killed their dog. Personally, I thought it was just a bunch of bullshit. There’s no way a monster was really out there, less than an hour outside the city, right?

________

We planned to camp out in an area that technically wasn’t a legal hunting ground, but Tyson had been hunting hogs in this area for years, he knew this was the spot to get started. Besides, legal or not, feral hogs are a nuisance; I figured we were doing the land a favor by getting rid of one, (or a few, if we were lucky).

“Alright guys, we’re already a little behind thanks to last minute stop for drinks, so let’s hurry up,  we gotta get this tent pitched while it’s still daylight before we start hunting”

“Start hunting?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to wait until the morning?”

Mike and Tyson both laughed. “Sorry, I just forget you’re a newbie sometimes. Best time to hunt hogs is at night; the little bastards are virtually nocturnal. So come on, let’s stop wasting time and get this tent setup, otherwise we’ll be doing it in the dark.”

As we were getting our tent and our firepit setup, I heard a strange howl coming from the marsh. Sounds like a bizarre mix between a chimpanzee screech and a lion’s roar.

“What do you think that was?” I asked.

“I don’t know, probably a horny buck.” Mike said, although it was obvious he was only guessing.

____

By the time the sun went down, our tent was pitched, and our firepit was assembled. We then loaded our rifles, and went hunting for wild pork chops.

About an hour or so into our hunt, I began to smell something foul; imagine raw sewage mixed with rotting meat, that’s how overpoweringly awful the smell was. I thought for sure it must have been a rotting carcass somewhere, but the smell almost seemed to follow us, as we were walking through the marshland.

I then heard a noise; it sounded like something rustling through the nearby bushes. I turned my flashlight in its direction, only to see nothing. I then heard a similar sound, this time coming from behind us. Immediately after, Mike screamed “HELP!”

He was dragged behind a tree. I ran over to try to help, and then, I saw the monster that I was warned about. Standing right in front of me, and right on top of Mike, was a monstrous ape. It stood at least seven feet tall, and had layers of brown, matted hair. Its odor was so abhorrent that it made my eyes water just standing within like, ten feet of it.

I looked down, hoping Mike was alive. But no, his head was bleeding profusely, and he wasn’t moving. Once the monster was sure he finished him off, he then started staring me dead in the eye.

I was sure I was about to be its next victim, before Tyson took a shot at the beast. The beast then retreated into the marsh, and we lost it as it entered the brush.

“MIKE! MIKE, SPEAK TO ME!” Tyson said, but it was too late. 

“Come on.” he then said to me. “We have to get back to camp.”

_____

We walked back to our campsite in a hurry. I was hoping that the monster was dead, but had no way to know for sure. We kept our heads on a swivel, aiming our guns in the direction of every sound we heard, hoping it wouldn’t be the beast again.

I remember getting closer to the campsite, thinking Tyson’s bullet had either killed or scared off the ape. But then, I smelled something; a smell so awful, I instantly knew what it had to be.

“Tyson, it’s…” I began to say, before the beast rushed out from the the brush, and before either of us could aim and shoot, he plowed into Tyson like a football player. He knocked him down, and then pounded on his face with his ungodly large fists before finishing off by biting him in the neck. I  turned and started running. I had to get away, but the beast wasn’t letting me go so easily.

  I could hear it running after me, and quickly. After a long sprint, I decided to take my last stand. If I was about to die, I was at least going to try to take the monster with me. So I stood still, took a deep breath, aimed in the direction of the monster’s noise, and fired one shot. 

I didn’t think it would work. I expected to miss, and for the skunk ape to then jump out and kill me. I went over to look for its body; I didn’t find it, but I found a trail of blood leading away. After a minute or so, I couldn’t smell its awful stench anymore.

_________

To this day, I’ve never been back hunting in that marsh.

[forensicated]

04x38 - Snout

TW: 80's homophobia

Frank is driving to meet a snout. Originally the song playing over his radio was Every Breath You Take and there's a scene where Frank is singing the chorus. It has been removed in the DVDs and repeat airings and the song is changed to Message In A Bottle. I don't get the swapping given that it's still a song by The Police but there we are! A mid-50s man, Alfie Dodds, gets in his car and sits sideways, gesturing for Frank to drive. Alfie wipes Frank's car over with a handkerchief, insisting he's not going to let Frank charge him with something because he has his fingerprints. Frank laughs and dismisses his concern. Alfie continues worrying that Frank might be wired up. Frank responds by taking corner at speed and worrying Alfie further. Alfie asks if Frank will take his name off the PNC and Frank grabs him by the collar. "Alright, you've made your point!

Alec opens the door to check on a prisoner to find he's done a rather impressive amount of vom during the night. No prizes for guessing what he's in for.

Brownlow is looking for Reg who hasn't presented the morning report to him yet. He tells Bob to pass on the message that he wants that morning's report on his desk ASAP or he'll be given point duty in the rain. (aka: directing traffic). Bob's already up to his eyes and has had the station inventory landed on him but promises he'll pass the message on. He then answers another call and tells the person complaining about the computer being down for the third time that week that he can't help them. Alec says that's why he sticks to working with people (obviously he's forgotten his CAD stints ;)) Alec asks if he's seen Reg and like magic, he appears. Reg has a very painful verruca apparently and he'd been changing the plaster on it. Alec steals him to clean up the prisoner's cell before he can get upstairs to see Brownlow. Reg tries to protest but it falls on deaf ears.

(*grrr just seen the typo - that should read 'federated')

Frank drops Alfie off and tells him that next time he calls him it better be something more mouth-watering than 5K of stolen nappies.

Bob asks Taffy to go round every office in the building and collect the inventory form for him after he's had his lunch. Taffy thinks it's unreasonable and mutters about sticking a broom up his arse to sweep the floor as he goes. "I heard that!"

The puking drunk claims he shouldn't be in the cells as Reg tries to move him. In doing so, Reg slips and lands arse first in a pile of vom.

June earns Star Pupil award by bringing a cuppa and chocolate bar to poor Bob. "Don't let the bastards get you down, Sarge!"

Whilst doing his job for Bob, Taffy hides a musical device from a birthday card under Burnside's chair that plays Colonel Bogey's March on repeat

Reg bails his drunk who almost gets run over by Frank as he pulls into the car park. Yorkie has to 'see him out' politely. Frank takes the chance to hit on June - who still isn't interested (See Chief Super's Party) They would have been an awful pairing, June would never have been able to cope with Frank's methods.

Bob catches Taffy listening to make sure that the card device keeps playing when he leaves the room and so Taffy lets him in on his secret. Bob is very amused!

Frank is still trying to chat up June and won't take the hint. June tells him she's after a toyboy. "You wind me up all darling, I'll go all night." As he heads inside, June and Yorkie laugh as they watch the drunk break Frank's car aerial. "Job for Hollis!"

Frank swaggers along the corridor, not missing the chance to tell Reg he smells 'rancid'. Alec tells him they have a prisoner who was found on the roof of the bingo hall, however, he's not very cooperative. Frank tells Jim not to pass go and not to collect £200 because he's got a job for him - as long as he goes and gets him a coffee first. "Sometimes feel like I'm working for Ghengis Khan." Jim mutters.

Upstairs Reg is being bollocked for being late to see Brownlow with the morning report. Taffy and Bob are next up with the inventory check so they need him to leave the office whilst they take stock.

Jim asks the Bingo-Roof-Man his name and he responds only in bingo calls. Mr Quackety Quack Two Little Ducks continues winding Jim up for the full interview, eventually declaring 'House. We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen."

Reg takes Frank a coffee (milk, three sugars) and claims Reg is 'walking like a shirt lifter'. "It's a verruca." He pouts. Frank asks him if he's working on a new angle to get his pension and Reg shrugs. "One bloke over the river got one from Tinnitus." Dashers has complained to Reg, as Fed Rep, that he's been called in with less than 8 days' notice on his day off. Mike later asks Reg if he has told Frank specifically that he's now owed a day off paid in the future for coming in on his day off and Reg smirks. "You guys think we've [The Fed Reps] got no teeth" and he insists he laid it out clearly to Frank and that the ball is now in his court. (He really didn't...) "You put it to him?" "We're not all running scared!" Reg scoffs, leaving the room.

Jim and Alec return to interview Mr Quackety Quack Two Little Ducks. He tells Frank he wants a brief and refuses to be interviewed by him. Frank orders Jim outside and to close the door behind him. "Any marks and I'll have you!" Mr QQTLD starts. Frank shouts at him to shut up and then tells him to listen and concentrate because it's like Mastermind. He can only accept his first answer. Mr QQTLD sticks his fingers in his ears in protest so Frank gets nearer and SHOUTS at him.

He's investigating serial sexual offences against young children and he's going to be putting it on him. Mr QQTLD tries to protest. Outside the cell, Alec and Jim are listening, not that they can help it given how loud Frank is. Jim confesses he gets a knot in his stomach each time he gets 'involved with Frank'. "Hang on to his shirt tails and hope he doesn't offload on you." Alec suggests before leaving him to it. Mr QQTLD snaps that he wants his brief. "Hold on, am I in the wrong cell... what are you here for?" Frank asks innocently. Reluctantly the man admits that he's there for being found on the Bingo Hall roof rather than getting blamed for abusing children. Frank shouts Jim back in 'Did you hear that?" "Tampering with little kids..." Jim tuts and then puts the charge of being on the bingo hallroof to him. Frank tells him to make it official and charge him in front of the custody sergeant and then remand him for interfering with children. Mr QQTLD can't take it any longer and asks Frank what he wants before realising they want him to grass. He asks what's in it for him. Frank suggests that he might be allowed to walk free so Mr QQTLD asks how he knows that he's not bulling him up. Frank tells him he has his word. "We're not all toe rags" he claims before suggesting he tell Jim what he did on the roof whilst he 'sorts out minor details'.

Frank must have been even more terrifying to cons when 'being nice'.

Jim and Mike visit the local pub where Frank is having a drink with a lady. They ask for a word, telling him it's important. Frank excuses himself and they tell him that one of his snouts, Alfie Dodds, has been landed with 5K of disposable nappies and is asking for him. "Is he?" he asks, sounding bored before ordering two more drinks for him and his ladyfriend and then one for Mike and Jim. On their return - eventually - Frank spots Reg fiddling with his car aerial and shouts at him for breaking it. Reg asks Yorkie and June for back up and June jokes that she'd not shop him normally but..." she finishes with a grin. "Paid for or replaced by the time I get off!" Frank orders, marching inside. "I think that's very fair, sir!" June adds. "You two have grassed me up and I haven't done it!" "Funny... they all say that." Yorkie laughs.

Brownlow visits Custody and asks if Dodds has had his solicitor visit. Alec tells him he was caught bang to rights with the nappies but Charles reminds him that he still needs his full legal rights and Alec says it's all in hand. Claire interrupts to tell Charles that a man is there to see him. He snaps at her because the man arrived early ( because that's obviously Claire's fault!) before saying that he'll go and see him.

Taffy tells Yorkie what he has done in Frank's office whilst Reg listens in. Taffy hopes the batteries last for 6 months before Yorkie laughs and says with any luck it'll drive him off his rocker in that time.

Alec sits in custody playing with his Airfix models. Frank approaches to tell him that he's heard Alfie Dodds' is asking for him.

Alec tells him the Chief Super has said that he has to have a brief and that his hands are tied. Frank shrugs. "Mine aren't." Alec gives in and lets Frank in to see his snout with a warning to make it quick.

Frank tells Dodds off for playing both ends against each other and then tells him it's time they put a real one together. He gives him a choice. He puts up or goes down and it better be something more tasty than the nappies.

Reg goes snooping in Frank's office and finds the card under the chair, removing it.

Frank runs into Charles' visitor and it's obvious they have a history. He tells Charles they have a saying 'why get measured for a suit when Mr Burnside can fit you up perfectly?" Both men laugh but Charles does not. Frank follows Charles, telling him that the man he's just seen out is a registered squad informant. Charles freezes. "Are you telling me he has convictions?" "Oh no... not whilst he has license to graft!" He drawls before asking for authorisation for a level 2 (I believe that's armed response/CO19 back in the day.) team for the next day.

June takes her notebook up to Mike to ask for his opinion on a case. Mike doesn't think she has enough on the suspect to make a charge despite the new statement that has been made. Frank tells him to go charge him and tells June she should savour the moment - it's not often a senior officer makes a decision. He calls for Mike and Jim to follow him, moving to his office. The next day at 5am they're going to 'dance with a first division team'.

Taffy is called to Charles' office and asked how he's supposed to be so amused by a juvenile prank. Taffy apologises and moves to go to the DI's office to retrieve the card and Brownlow shouts at him - it's now playing somewhere in his office...!

Alec clears his Airfix up as Frank tells him he owes him a pint. "When you've got them by the nuts their hearts and minds will follow!"